#emotions processing through writing

[yohohonabottle]

Memento - In memorial. Smiling sun-Weeping sun

A sunny day, the charming knight and his former charge taking a stroll. Then the "moon" grows abruptly distant, and Valen gets a tour of the sun's memories through him.

Trigger Warning: Depictions of loss, passing of pets and grief, minor violence (smacking into a shelf). I wrote this to process my feelings and honor the memories...and to tell their stories, our story. I posted this, to leave their marks and.. in a way, make them immortal through this fiction-fanfiction. This is not intended for shock value.

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It was a normal pleasant day in the serene picturesque cottage of Golden Wheatshire, nothing amiss. The sun's warm rays shine on the fields of golden wheat and rye, the air slightly humid and cool as a breeze blows from time to time making the fields gently sway. Valen was enjoying the leisurely, more easy-going day-- Whistling a cheery tune lightly with a content smile as he calmly walks by Pirin's side with steady unhurried strides, hands behind his head.

The Heroic Order knight has no idea why the Magister wanted to go back to the Sun and Moon temple ruins, or at least it seems this way to him, but he didn't mind. And who's he to question the mage, anyway? Besides, they'd pass through Northville and Southville on the way, a little detour from their 'pilgrimage' so to speak.

The talking hamsters of his had brought it up as a suggestion, saying something along the lines of how it'd be nice to check up on some old faces and the magister had agreed (or more like caved in). However judging by the way the ginger knightly-dressed hamster salivated, big bright auburn eyes sparkling with giddy excitement at the prospect of stopping by that sweets shop the four of them had passed by the first time while running around Southville....

Valen simply knew the little acorn-knight's actual intentions about the trip and couldn't help but smile a little, clearly amused as he watches the two hamsters interact with Pirin as the four of them saunter the cobblestone streets of Holistone.

They took a quick stop here and there. Which happened to easily turn to more little detours.

Funny how I've gotten used to those two and their squeaky little voices by now from all the adventures I've had with them and the 'Magister'. In a way, Chippy and Hammie are endearing--The orange and white-furred hamster knight reminding him of a little kid while the white hamster mage was more level-headed... When she's not fawning and squealing over Pirin that is, taking every opportunity to constantly point out how great, all-knowing and mighty Magister Merlin is. Even if it isn't the real Merlin.

Suddenly Hammie stops in her tracks, pressing a pink-gloved paw to her mouth, eyes wide in alarm as if having just remembered something crucial.

Glancing down over at the chubby-cheeked familliar with a slightly puzzled look on his face, the Solitaire pauses in his tracks.

—"What's wrong?"

The white hamster slightly shrinks in on herself, fixing her blue hat and cape, a bashful pout on her face as she admits. And Valen internally heaves a sigh of both relief and slight exasperation. Not sure whether to laugh or facepalm. Really, now-- You'd think a group of Adamant Syndicates had snuck-up and were about to jump them with how she gasped.

—"I forgot to my staff at home.. I'm sorry." Sweet Dura above, this hamster. And just like that, the four of them took yet another detour from their journey to one of the Cassolot's posts, or however the tavern-like spire mounted on a giant long-necked llama is called. Merlin's home. The creature arrives slowly and settles down, and Valen decides to wait for them outside. Once the two pip-squeaks and the magister were done preparing and step out of the spire, ready to head out for the trip-- The swordsman moves to join them.

And so the four of them set out on their journey to their destination, the acorn knight and mage chattering away happily. As for his part, Valen is more than content to simply listen while keeping up with the pace, nodding along from time to time somewhat absently. He wasn't particularly paying much attention to them, drifting in his own mind, keeping an eye on their surroundings and planning ahead. Everything was as usual.

Nothing could possibly ruin this fine clear sky, sunny day.

Casting a sidelong glance down at the quiet star beside him, the dazzling undercover knight's casual smile falters. There's something off...Sure the 'Graveborn' is the quiet and somber type, not for idle talk, but today he's.. Not quite here. Observing the shorter man's profile and slowing his pace to be in-stride, the swordsman creases his coarse brows. Staring ahead with unseeing, listless gaze, the false Merlin keeps mechanically walking. A sense of cold, hollow grimness exuding from his slim form like a heavy billowing cloak. Amidst it, his own irritation etched subtly onto the doll-like pale features of his soft triangular face. The feeling continues to pulsated dully and throb, ripping and rippling through him from the very core. Breathing a sharp exhale through his nose, the felled star stubbornly marches on--Wrestling to shove the sensations off and raise a mental barrier to keep them out.

And yet that chill refuses to pipe down and settle, ebb away from him. The landscape seems muted and shallow, meaningless blur.

Why do you have to always let your emotions rip through me as though they're mine? His lips press into a taut line. Sighing internally. This is nothing new. It's always been this way since his Director and 'half' 'met' him, by allowing his genesis. Willed it--with all the fleeting good and spiraling, lingering bad, and atrocious. Every joy, anger, fear, hope and sorrow... gain, triumph and loss... she'd go through her burst of emotions, that would inevitably seep right into him and rip through from the very core to the whole in full drowning and scorching or elating intensity, sight shared. And he'd be there, in the end, to collect it all and 'archive' it in coalesced memories somewhere in the nexus point of their consciousnesses.

Etch each fragment into the overarching mural, allowing the Player to 'forget' and 'reset' in symbolic 'rebirth' by taking away her pain to shoulder, filter it, himself. One phase or the Sun burns to ash, another rises after time and he's merely the prism, catalyst or conduit for the metamorphosis. The middle point bridging the past and future.

Like extracting a curse from a patient, taking it on his own body and letting his organism neutralize the negative energy by processing it. Leaving the neutral and good energy free.

So the 'Sun' may be vibrant once more. To rediscover the times by looking back upon the mural of highlights, pick up the memory fragments, when ready to face them. Healed fully.

Thus the cycle repeats itself infinitely. That shadowy menace has put it best back at the chance 'meeting': Two sides of the same coin, always in conflict yet can't without one another.

The pulsations get interrupted by a sharp pang, like a spark suddenly lit again. And sets everything to zero.

Halting in his tracks and shutting his eyes tight with a grimace, Pirin distantly registers the trio's voices call in worry. ("Vanya.? Are you alright?" Concerned, Valen. "Magister!" Alarmed, Chippy and Hammie) Standing completely still, the mage stiffly lifts a hand. Wait. Quiet down. Staring listlessly at the ceiling, lying on the bed in the dining room as a way of connecting with a loved one in search of solace, hugging a shark plushie tightly-- Tears well at the corners of his eyes, jaw clenching as knees feel weak and threatening to give out. The urge to howl at the top of his lungs like a wyvern's shrill roar or scream of a banshee surges hotly in his veins.

Warm, lean and strong arms carefully wrap around his shoulders. 'Merlin' leans on his companion. Loss. Deep, gripping, abyssal. At last the magister finds his voice, keeping it stead, even. It quivers a little. Something bubbles, boils within. Fights to break out. —"My half. She's mourning a loss--I can feel her emotions like mine. I...also see and hear what she does. It's not for the open." In private.

—"...Let's go to the Mystical House, we should have privacy to talk and can get a drink later." Merlin's familiars stay oddly quiet, allowing their presence to be anchor rather than ruining the moment with chatter. Merlin could have a solution, no doubt, too. It almost sets on the tip of their tongues but they refrain from blurting it.

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The bell on the doorway of the Mystical House sings merrily, announcing the arrival of people.

Sprawled on the sofa on the lower balcony of the tavern's lounge, the brown-haired archmage lifts her head from the page she's reading. Her features pinch into a puzzled frown, sensing something is wrong. The way her adorable hamsters, so energetic, simply pad over and hop onto the couch by her side without a word only confirms it.

—"What happened?" Looking between her trusted companions, stand-in and the uncharacteristically serious Solitaire, Merlin's confusion grows to mild worry. And a hunch stirs. This can't be related to the--

—"Pirin is experiencing the Sun's grief. We brought him back so he can go through it more peacefully. ...And perhaps find a solution, hopefully." Grim understanding settles on the Arch-magister's visage. So it is. There are no patrons at the House. Standing up languidly from the sofa, Merlin holds the grimoire she's been reading under her arm, speaking in a measured tone. Her steps are quiet as she descends the stairs to the lounge, main room of her home. Matters connected to the Sun and Moon aren't to be taken very lightly. Although this is more about the disgruntled 'Helper' not burning out than his Director.

—"No one will be coming over soon, so we've got the lounge all to ourselves. Go crazy, as they say. And--I've heard oftentimes that sharing a burden helps. Or simply getting it off your chest." You look on the verge to break. It looks like the anguish will turn physical at any moment, the cup overflowing. Poor thing looks like Carolina.

Casually settling down onto the ground, the legendary magus places the tome next to herself and waves a hand to both men to sit down as well so the three of them form a circle. "In all seriousness, there's only so much one can bear. And, selfish or greedy as it sounds from me, I can't run the risk of letting you spiral until reaching metamorphosis...or not emerging from that spiral at all." A pointed look of 'light-hearted' sternness is sent in the vampire's direction. The lost descendant makes a pained grimace in a wince, still remaining standing. Doesn't need to look down at his former escort to know the suave solder echoes this sentiment.

Or that Merlin is voicing a lot of people's collective thought with this line.

With a soft sigh, the stoic and dutiful Moon relents, lowering himself on his knees. Casting a look at the pages of her spellbook, the Magister looks back up and slowly extends a hand. Valen wordlessly clasps it, his other held up for the last person in the link on his left. An ice-cold palm grasps it with a hesitation, eyes closed. Reluctance.

Well turns out Merlin lied. It's not just the three of them. Only muted the bell so it doesn't ding whenever someone enters the spire. Or teleports in the lounge. And had the audacity to somehow snitch. Merlin. I know you're my boss, but I will snap your neck.

A warm, weathered hand takes his, a familiar presence of a certain Captain. The presence of two chieftain siblings, an Earl that perished too young due to chronic incurable illness, a Witch of Flames, a sinister jester that harbors no laughter in the moment. An aspiring scholar, a breezy god of banquets and a determined gem-magic dancer. All people linked to him more than most--Partners, family, friends, nemesis that somehow can't do without him, admirers;

Two opposing elements of light and darkness, for once align to form a strong, sturdy node for a grounding anchor. A protective measure to the circle and a safety net to mitigate damage without taking away intensity. Guidance.

I need every person in the circle to speak in turn along with me second time chant. First time I go alone, third time goes the person sharing with us. The faint hum of magic. Merlin begins first.

Μεμοριες οφ τηε παστ, (Memories of the past, Μεμοριες οφ τηε πρεσεντ, (Memories of the present,) Σπιριτ οφ μομεντς παστ, (Spirit of moments past, Σπιριτ οφ μομεντς πρεσεντ, (Spirit of moment present,) Ρισε φρομ ψουρ δεπτης ωιτηιν. (Rise from your depths within,)

Ρεσυρφαξε το ουρ ξαλλ, (Resurface to our call,) Λετ υς πεερ ατ ψουρ δεπτη, (Let us peer at your depth, Τηρουγη υς εββ ανδ φλοω, ( Through us ebb and flow,)

Σηοω υς ψουρ τρυτη ιν φυλλ. (Show us your truth in full.)

As instructed, each person in the circle uttered a line from the incantation- One starting it and the other echoing it with the next line of that 'excerpt'. The magic, invisible, rises gradually and the world around falls away. Their mind, spirit pulled into a new space slowly beginning to take 'form' with each passage said, bodies remaining still in the Mystical House. Each line tinted by each person's individuality and cadence unique to each and every one of them. From closest to furthest.

"Μεμοριες οφ τηε παστ," (Valen, quietly spoke in careful neutrality) "Μεμοριες οφ τηε πρεσεντ," (Sinbad echoes in low, somber tone.) "Σπιριτ οφ μομεντς παστ," (Alsa murmurs in solemn reverie, a spark of her sunny cheer still resonates. Followed by her brother calmly echoing her verse in grim, carefully kept neutral tone that sounds like a mutter, giving her hand a brief squeeze.) "Σπιριτ οφ μομεντς πρεσεντ." "Ρισε φρομ ψουρ δεπτης ωιτηιν." (Ludovic voices quietly, tone soft yet firm in willing the spell, closing the first passage. A dull, weak pang at the subconscious of the gathered, the very vague outline of images. Like wisps in a fog veil, the blurry distant fragments flash into vivid visions for a second then blur once more.)

"Ρεσυρφαξε το ουρ ξαλλ," (Fay whispers in a solemn murmur of subdued and suppressed excitement, nervousness. Her right hand gripping onto Cassadee's left briefly tightens, body staying stiffly still.)

"Λετ υς πεερ ατ ψουρ δεπτη," (The devoted mage mumbles in reverent serenity of her soft, timidly quiet voice. Restrains herself from shuddering or recoiling in any manner when the clown of Fay's left takes his turn to carry on the spell.)

"Τηρουγη υς εββ ανδ φλοω." (The normally impish Hypogean utters in somberly lowered tone, voice tapered to a near 'listless' whisper. Firm, reinforcing the spell and sealing the second verse. His own magic coils but he wills it to stay aside, not interfere and collide with the Celestial on his left nor taint the incantation. Courteous, serious, for once.)

...Maybe, as much he'd despise to ever admit it--This Merlin, fake as he is and merely contractually playing along with the real one-- has managed to crawl his way and chew out, carve a spot for himself. Not only because it's easy to annoy the huffy little bat, get a good laugh at the blood-sucker's expense or because he stands out as a pawn playing on a different board--But also, because he keeps things here interesting.

Out of all the Merlins to have walked this dull little world, from the Divine war good old days of chaos, the Scuffle with those glowy pomps that're the Celestials, to present days--Pirin, Ioan Hestopeous of the Eclipse bloodline, is the most intriguing by far. For many reasons. The firm neutrality and morally grey approaches being one, fiery, defiant and unbreakable spirit another along with walking on the tight-rope of calling out Celestials and Hypogeans. Worships, bows, agrees fully or disagrees with neither, facing both with a straight face despite his own inner conundrums. A witness, overseer and performer into one. A masterful actor in his own right, something the clown can respect- in his own wicked ways.

And Berial, begrudgingly, gives credit where its due.

It's been a long while since any burning star has been brought to Esperia, be it through getting called down or reincarnating as their real self out of their own volition. Most have either moved on to other realms, or chose to forsake their core-- melted to be like the factions known on this world and into plain regular animals, plants.... Pity.

"Σηοω υς ψουρ τρυτη ιν φυλλ." (The gallant deity of indulgence resonates, sealing the spell in full. The blurry, outlines of memories flare into the forefront on the circle's mind, sharpening into cohesive forms. Flashes of fragments stitching together to form a vivid vision within the void they are in.)

And Pirin echoes the incantation from beginning to the end hollowly, voice strained. Exhausted from the agony viciously ripping at him now finally flooding out in the open, swirling together with the magic--

Walking over to the tall cage sat on the guest bed, Rila lifts the gate and puts the green clothespin to keep it secured open. A tiny thrum of uneasy worry pangs when her bird stays on his perch. He's been quiet for a month now, not his usual energetic self. Normally he'd bolt out the door right away... The intuition gets dismissed. Going about her routine, the Sun watches her familiar settle onto her laptop's monitor, ready to hang out with her while she types, watches or plays on it. Moving to briefly leave the room, no call or whistle follow after her back. (Something's wrong... gamma said he stinks earlier.) The thought quickly gets pushed aside, stamped down.

Coming back, her smile of endearment turns mildly amused at finding the parrot perched onto her chair. Padding over to him, she bends down to give him a kiss on the head like usual after cheerfully murmuring his name. A stab of surprise and alarm pierce in the brunette's heart as the bird suddenly jumps on her with loud squawking, quickly climbing to her neck and beaking her fingers as she tries to lightly, gently keep him back a little. Then darts to land between her shelves, standing stiffly at the edge for a moment before shuffling over to the tall photo frame with a picture of her... pausing to gaze at it. At his loving friend in her younger years at a ceremony.

And then turns, sits down on the shelf like a plush toy or as though taxidermized. Standing by the shelf with a worried, strained light frown, Rila hesitates-- then gently taps him on his wing. Unsure of what's wrong, what's happening, what to do. Taps him again....then slowly, reluctantly reaches to wrap her hand, pick the animal up to move him away from there. Something stops her.

If a bird is too stressed, it will die.

I don't want to stress him out more... Catching him will stress him out, he's already in distress..

Reluctantly with heavy heart and sigh, Rila moves away and sits on the guest bed, watching him warily. Fidgets with her phone, mulling over whether to call the shop owner and ask for advice or not. Will he even have anything helpful? Will his advice even hold water? Probably not...

The fiery rosella sits between two shelves completely still, breathing shallowly. Eyes wide, small sounds flitting from its open beak rapidly. His owner eyes him with grave sorrowful anxiousness from her seat on the bed with phone in hand. Scared. Scared for her companion, scared of stressing him out even more and causing his heart to stop, debating if calling the shop owner she bought him from is a good idea. If the man would even be able to help at all-- But I can't just stand and do nothing! ...But what can I- What should I even do? Helplessness, mounting tension of dread, sorrowful frustration bubble, warily watching her poor bird sit on the shelf.

Should I grab him? Move him out of there..? What if I scare him? I can't do nothing..! i can't do anything... please no.. (A small voice wanly reminds of grim reality-- "There are no good avian vets in town. You can't get a proper diagnose and medicine to treat him. Even less afford any of it, your family struggling to make ends meet. Even your firebird was a hefty toll by himself. There's nothing you can do.")

There has to be something I can do. There has to...

A dream creeps itself back to her mind's eye, blending with intuition insisting something very, very bad is imminently to come. A dream of the same rosella standing before her, looking up at her while her quivering and desperate voice endlessly weeps. "Don't die! Don't die! Don't die, I'm begging you! I'm begging you..!"

There is no judgement in the bird's innocent dark, adoring eyes as he continues to look at her, listening to her devastated pleading, her anguished sobbing. The animal seemingly not understanding why his friend is so distraught...or maybe does and wants to tell her 'Don't cry. It's okay.'

---Merlin hugs Chippy and Hammie, watching the viscerally realistic vision mutely. It seems this isn't the first time the Sun had had a prophetic dream warning her of impending danger or loss. Nor the first time her intuition has told her the same, if more vaguely. Judging by the Player's reaction, understanding and knowing what that dream she had not too long ago nor too recently meant. And knowing it's true, it's only a matter of time it inevitably happens.

The acorn mage and knight watch the scene with baited breath, dread, in their Magister's arms.---

The woman's heart thunders, lurches, sinks and clenches. A dream she had vehemently denied, refused to accept holds full weight and had wishfully dismissed as just that--A weird, unpleasant but ultimately baseless dream randomly cropping up some days after the parrot has entered her home and life.

A warning.

A prophecy that Rila kept stubbornly ignoring, fully focusing on bonding with the animal.

Enjoying each day to the fullest--Whistling melodies, talking and larking with the fiery-plumaged bird, laughing at his silly antics as he flies around her room with a squawk or chirp.

Fondly rolls her eyes in feigned irritation as she gets up from her chair to briefly leave the room for a snack, the rosella calling out after her back the name she has given him with proud joy, love-- 'Zhar! Zhari!'-- whistling and squawking. (Where are you going? Come back! Don't leave me alone!) Chuckles at the sight of him gripping the bars of his cage and trying to push his beak through them, colorful wings half open and 'fluttering' in happy excitement--Waiting her return. So happy to see her return, whistling right away when she answers his whistling call.

Something the two of them had sort of established--Whenever Rila leaves his sight, he'd whistle from her room and she would whistle or call back in answer. As if to tell him 'I'm here!' or 'I'm coming!', resulting in a back and forth. When his friend is mad at him, she would leave the room and not answer his calls or whistles for a moment then come back. (And he'd flit around the room restlessly, searching for her. Immediately land on her head when she comes back. Happy, calm and content to be perched atop the 'watchtower', his human back. Rila whistles, and Zhar happily whistles right away from his 'nest'.)

Warmth fills the heart of the 'giantess', watching her 'firebird' hop back on his perch and stand by his water tube, neck craned. Lively, happy, curious, energetic ball of mischief and devious playfulness. A little rascal always up to no good.

Walking over to the side of the tall cage, she sticks a finger through the bars--And Zhar immediately runs over to playfully beak it, puffed up. 'Te-tee!' Waits, following the finger closely as it draws a circle quickly then gets close slowly-- Zhar's beak hits the bars with a 'clang!', trying to catch the finger before it could withdraw again-- Fails. Makes an 'Uh!' noise, the strange giant giggling. The finger comes back, and this time he catches it, squawking and squeaking in triumph as he grips it hard..but then the finger escapes his grasp.

And the looming thing gives kisses, cooing his name warmly with endeared cheerfulness. "Zhari~! Birdy! Who's a pretty boy? You!"

It's been a week since he was brought to this home. But his bowl is always full of food, his water fresh and cage kept clean. The giants have even given willow leaves and vegetables and fruit!

(But it's so much better when the giantess holds the slice or piece through his cage's bars. Always.

Tomato, watermelon, peeled seedless grape, apple, cucumber-- She had cut them up, once, put them in his other food bowl. Said she can't hold them up through the bars while he munches away. Well those pieces were swiftly taken out, and chucked on the newspaper floor!)

A month passes. And then it turned to two--July--August. Almost every day, after noon classes (that he diligently chimed in, whistling the tune he's partially learnt from the family, cheerful or squawks and calls out his own name, makes kissing noises.) his door is lifted up and he'd dart out to do circles around the room, squawking happily. Hang onto the curtains, peer down at what his owner is doing this time on her device, zip to her bookshelf, to her tall chest of drawers and land on the small mirror to play with all the trinkets she's got--And then dart to land right on her head. Hop onto the laptop's monitor, and chew on the wooden Asian dragon on the smaller chest of drawers on the desk. (For some reason she keeps saying not to toy with it, inching her finger to his side as if to give a small 'boop'. And he'd quickly walk away to the other side of the monitor or sometimes puff up and 'Te-tee!' in protest then get gently, playfully booped on the beak. His feathers ruffled affectionately with mumbled 'I love you, you know that?' Followed by larking 'You gypsy.' It was never out of malice.)

The brown-haired giant would have caught, hurt him long, long ago if she wanted to. On the very first day she first let him fly free and attempted to get him off from the curtain-- He'd bit her hand as hard as possible in anger while climbing down onto it. She didn't yell or hit, only grit her teeth in pain but murmured calmly "Come on, boy. There, wasn't so scary and bad. Was it?" No anger or contempt. Humorous, maybe bit unhappy at having been bit. But not angry.

At most only threatened, once, sternly "I won't be nice anymore if you keep this up. I will be mean. I will catch you.", exasperated with him continuously darting away when it's time to go back so he can eat and drink. But it only stayed as a bluff. Patient. It's obvious she loves, adores him so deeply-- And Zhar knew. Could sense it, and loved the human in turn tenfold. She still mistook his hard beaking, kisses, as angry bites from time to time because it hurt. But it's love!

Sitting on her device's monitor and watching her play, he sees Rila pause to look up at him, eyes full of fondness. Warm, tender, unconditional and unwavering, endless love and smile soft. Leaning forth, she gives a kiss to the top of his head--Zhar ducks down, but allows it.

Listens to her loving murmurs, praise. "Handsome, pretty boy. Zhar, pretty boye. Beautiful birdy." Sure, it's not scary to sit on her hand or arm, but perching on her head or monitor is the best. Or on her knee, when she lays down, one knee always drawn up for him to land and perch on, play with the sleeve of her pants or simply rest and gaze out the wide window.

Life in this home isn't bad at all, turns out. It's better than at the shop, stuck in a cage 'underground' with other birds.

Good food, treats, veggies and fruits, toys to play with, fresh water, freedom, warmth and company, love all around, fresh air (when taken out with the cage on the balcony) and many new experiences, sights. ...if the illness that's been nagging him is set aside. It's nasty, but the family is doing their absolute best to make sure he's never neglected, unhappy or uncomfortable. Happy memories...

Suddenly the fiery-feathered bird jumps up to take flight while sitting between the two shelves (Rila's dread spikes, flares into horror, jolting)-- smacks his head on the upper shelf with a loud squawk of distress and flies low, crashing on the ground next to the balcony's door roughly. Rila's alarmed, horrified, voice echoes sharply with the bird's crash, yelling his name. "Zhar!"

The woman immediately rushes to his side, runs to pick him up from the floor- the bird squirming one last time with a squawk then goes limp in her hands.

Rila collapses on her knees, clutching gently her beloved familiar in her palms-- And lets out a loud, wailing cry. Pauses in shock, refusing to believe he's dead as she waits for him to move. "Zhar...? please say something... please move, wake up!" No response to her shaky, tearful plead. But the young woman keeps trying, hoping in vain that somehow her begging the bird to move, to wake up in rapidly deteriorating, quivering voice of desperation.. would revive him.

Five months. Almost six, since he choose her, 'called out' to her at the zoo shop and she took him home. Almost six months of hanging out, whistling, playing together and bonding. Another cry tears itself out the Sun's throat, piercing and riddled with pure anguish. The woman cradling her pet in her arms and slumping. The howl is followed by another, between sobs that sound like laughter-- A wail, a yowl raw with pure grief. As she hugs her parrot to her chest, rocking and running a hand through his feathers. ("Zhar!")

The devastation rips through the spectators' very core, watching the memories unfold in fully vivid detail. Each agonized howl is like a stab. The fiery rosella wasn't just some pet. He was a most closest companion for the Player, a familiar that she loved, adored with all of her heart and soul.

"...gamma...I killed him. I killed Zhar..." Sinbad winces. So much self-blame, self-loathing and misplaced guilt. Believing she had stressed the bird and caused or sped up his passing, added to his pain. None of which is true at all. The little 'firebird' adored her far too much to be scared of her. You didn't kill him. It's not your fault. You gave this bird the best life he could ask for.

Fay hugs Cassadee tightly, misty-eyed herself, the urge to sing and dance-- cheer the weeping catalyst-- flares. But the Hail moon star knows it's futile, this is only a memory. Rila won't see or hear her. The white-haired apprentice quietly hugs her, consoling. Alsa looks over to the duo, tears running down her cheeks, and gently hugs them, murmuring words of comfort. Ludovic stays mournfully silent, closing his eyes.

And this is still relatively subdued thanks to Dionel, Berial and Pirin's magic. The anchor the jester and Celestial set, linking each of them to it so it helps mitigate the damage. Keep them grounded from getting lost by the maelstrom of raw, crushing emotions billowing at them. A fraction of what the Sun is going through.

Pirin stands in place, distantly watching all unfold, arms limply at his sides. Empty. Exhausted. A warm, clawed furry hand lands on his shoulder offering wordless comfort and strength. Stoic as ever. The blazing star leans into Soren's side listlessly. Standing next to the archon, the shadowy clown absently plays with his top-hat, feeling the torrent of grief as if his own. It's....strange, foreign, this searing agony and chilling, cold emptiness. Profound loss. Just as the love--Rila's love-- for Zhar flowed through his being as though the emotions are his own.

Merlin hugs his hamsters tightly, jaw set. Mirael places a hand on her Magister's shoulder, sullenly watching the memory sequence. Merlin's squared shoulders slump, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

The two truly, indisputably, loved each other.

The vision gets mixed up for a brief moment with old memories of another bird's final moments--A violet budgie slowly dying out of old age, ailed by the pains in his infected feet. The little parakeet snuggles up in Rila's cupped palms as though getting ready to sleep or nap, always turning his head to look up at Rila with...love, utter adoration and serene, peaceful calmness in spite of his pains torturing him. As if telling her not to cry, or 'I'm okay.' It's this memory that haunts her still. The memory of the previous bird's peaceful death is contrasted with the new parrot's abrupt passing.

Suddenly Rila is a kid again, coming home.. The second the bird heard the front door open and shut, senses his owner's presence, excited chirps, incessant chatter fills the air. He sounds... younger, too. Restless, flitting around his cage, as soon the girl shows up--He calms down. The memory shifts to a few years later, both little older, with Rila returning home from school and sitting down at the dining table to eat her lunch--A violet little rascal quickly pads over to her.

Scowling, the student gently pushes the budgie back from her bowl but he keeps trying to hop or climb on it. Absolutely trying to eat from it, too, however his owner keeps pushing him back. Warding her lunch. Doesn't deter the lil menace though. (The scene makes Valen smile with a suppressed chuckle. Whatever Rila eats and drinks, her feathery scamp simply has to share too. There were no negotiations about it allowed, it seems. And the parakeet always goes to her plate or bowl specifically, no one else's.) Played 'stylist' with her hair, and looking dang proud of himself, played with cards, stole notes, nibbled at her pen, pencil or paintbrush whenever she writes or draws--And Rila would tense up, hurry to get him away from it. His little feet were smeared with colors, that she washed off. And so many more antics. A fiery, cheeky little hooligan.

The memory shifts to when the rascal is old, resting on his owner's stomach and napping contently under her hand. To when he grumbles in protest at being taken out of the cage but then sleeps soundly in her palm, 'snoring' quietly. If he could purr, he no doubt would be. The time he was out and snuggled up to the woman's hip, angrily grumbling whenever someone tries to disturb him...When the old champ climbed up the big donkey plush and settled into the crook of Rila's neck, tucking his head under his wings.

Almost fifteen years old. Would have turned. Whatever wrongdoings Rila did to him as a kid, he has long forgiven her for. Even though she has not forgiven herself, gnawed by guilt. The vision shifts once more, showing Rila walking out on her balcony with a makeshift coffin in hand and face stained by dried tear tracks. Tired.

Lowering herself onto her knees in front of the tall cage and opening its door, the brunette murmurs soft words in her native to him, to the parrot, as she reaches in and gently picks the lifeless fiery rosella parrot. Holding him in her hand, about to lower him into the shoebox. Voice less raw but having gone listless.

("Come my boy..."), pausing in her movements to lower him into the casket. ..And cradles the parrot close one last time, running a hand through his feathers. Tenderly, lovingly. Soothing, murmuring to the deceased animal in sweet, sorrow tinted voice.

("My firebird...Zhar, my beautiful firebird..."), hugging him for a long moment. Before finally lowering the dead bird into the improvised coffin, still speaking to him.

"Thank you, for coming into my life and being with me. For choosing me. May your next lives be the best, happiest."

A reflection of self-blame in her last words of blessing, for 'not doing enough' and 'not giving a good enough life', as though she could've done so, so much more. As if Rila feels like she wasn't a good enough owner. Devastated frustration at being powerless to help, do so much more for her bird both current and previous.

The vision morphs to showing a shoebox closed and sitting atop the tall cage the bird resided in. The box is lined with colorful tissues inside, a blue paper rose and a big, round owl made of salty bread sit inside by the body. The cold night wind blows on the balcony.

The scene in the vision morphs to Rila, wearing a fur vest, walking out in the night and holding the makeshift coffin as though cradling the bird itself-- most precious treasure. Strides solemn, somber and head held high, dried tear tracks on her face, ignoring the November chill biting her skin. Searching for a place suitable to bury the casket... the young woman picking up nearby heavy, large, stones and roof tiles with unwavering effort. Struggling to carry them back to the chosen spot but refusing to give up, setting them down over the filled in grave with a determination.. like creating a monument. And a way to discourage cats and dogs from digging as it would be too much work. A way to keep the parrot's rest undisturbed by unwanted 'visitors'.

Slowly the vision fades away, the Sun weeping over the two graves and hugging her father. "My boys, my beautiful boys.." One last dream, the same as in the prophecy warning of Zhar's passing. This time, her devastated voice sobs to him, to Rio, to both of them "I love you!" through tears. And just like last time, there is no trace of judgement or accusation in the eyes of the 'firebird'. Nor the budgie's. Both look at their owner with the same deep, profound, unwavering love, longing and adoring affection as in life.

"We know. We love you too."

The vision ends, the void dissipating and the world comes back into focus. What sits on the ground at the heart of their circle, are tiles like stained glass, the happy memories from Zhar's short life. The emotions of the Sun vanished, leaving the group as they slowly move to get up and shuffle around the lounge. To share a drink, shake off the tragic memories. Move on with their own routines, the 'crisis' averted.

Pirin remains kneeling on the ground, taking a deep shuddering breath and slowly exhaling, carefully picking up the tiles. The transition won't be long--The next day after the funeral, that version of the Sun would've died away with the grief and a new, 'blank slate' reincarnation will take her stead. 'Reset'. 'Reborn.' Still will love her familiars will her whole being, every single ounce of her soul... But will no longer weep, rather smile. Like nothing ever happened.

As she picks up the tiles of her bright moments with them.

Merlin watches the dutiful, sullen Moon pensively for a long moment.

"Will this cycle repeat? Get a bird, bond then weep and go through symbolic death-rebirth?"

"Yes."

"Why..?"

"Only the Sun knows for herself."

---

Somewhere, out there, a bright phoenix flies freely--Whistling a half-learned merry melody, calling his own name like in victory. Proud and happy, accompanied by a smaller bird made of stardust. A little 'stray' star, soaring alongside the bigger one of eternal flames, chattering and snickering.

Unbound, happy and healthy as they can be, forevermore. Two companions that would soon join the Moon, watching over their Sun vigilantly. Just as she watched over them. Forevermore. Together, never to be separated again.

[abstractfrog]

Happy 1 year anniversary to Mr Sherlock Holmes! Here's a litttleee celebratory comic from me

[kizzer55555]

Little Artist

So I saw this

and had an idea for Danny X Damian. Where Danny likes making various stories he publishes online. Everyone said he needed a hobby and he can’t be an astronount (or join a sport since it would be more suspicious if he left in the middle of a game or practice for a ghost attack) and Ghost Writer got him to try writing, saying it’s relaxing. And honestly? It was. Danny enjoyed making stories. Sometimes he would just type what crazy thing happened to him that day while tweaking names and a few details to not give away his identity. Sometimes he made fanfiction of some stories he liked. And sometimes he tested out making original stories, taking and first hand knowledge from various ghosts and cultures to make his writing more authentic. And after much encouragement from Jazz, he posted some of his work online.

Cue Damian coming across one of his brother’s laptops. He didn’t mean to look for long but he thought the file was for a case and wanted to know more about it. ….then he got invested.

There was an author on this sight who wrote amazing stories. The emotions captured were so vivid, and he even fact checked a few historical facts and languages used. Everything from the dialogue, to the accent, and culture. Each new story completely enraptured him.

It made his fingers twitch for a piece of paper. Some paint, perhaps charcoal?

Damian started putting heavy encryption on his computer and search history. And locked his art room up. Then came a story that truly resonated with him. An original work about a boy from a different place, trying to fit into his new reality and the new rules and expectations placed on him…worried if his family would accept him. It sounded so much like when Damian first came to Wayne Manor. And it sparked his inspiration. He spent days working on his newest piece. Trying different angles and lighting, mixing colors. It looked like a collage between charcoal and watercolor, showing someone leaving a world of darkness into the light, yet this new world was unstable and strange compared to the rigid structure of his old one. When it was finally done, Damian felt like he was both looking at himself and a stranger. The character from the story brought to life.

It felt both freeing and settling, like he finally had a name for what he had been feeling. AstroBoi13’s fics always had that affect on him.

And for the first time, Damian did something he thought he’d never do. He snapped a picture of his masterpiece and sent it to the author. Quickly so he didn’t lose his nerve.

It was fine. It’s just one picture. It’s not like this would be a repeat occurrence.

[newtonbridgerton]

cressida practicing writing by putting all her thoughts into unsent letters to eloise

all her feelings of betrayal and inadequacy and yearning and loneliness

and then her aunt jo finds all these sealed letters and mails them off trying to be helpful and then cressida is losing her mind when she cant find them

meanwhile eloise has just received several months worth of mail all at once to a rainy secluded castle in scotland

[quillver]

Why we write.

Because something happened, and silence makes it louder.

Because if you don’t put it down, it sits in you wrong.

Not to be clever.

So it doesn’t tear through the quiet you built around it.

[punkp3rcyjacks0n]

Hey funny crack fic idea. Percy isn’t actually poseidons son. Poseidon looked at a demigod who killed a Minotaur, said hey. Why not pretend to be his dad, give him a blessing, and make him do all this stuff for him? (Yeah, I know it makes no sense, that’s why it’s just for shits and giggles)

Anyways, he tells Percy one day, probably after the battle of manhattan, and of course Percy is…distraught- doesn’t know what to do with himself. I mean, he didn’t like Poseidon anyway, but he’d just been lied to for years? Now he had no idea who his godly parent was, and he’d just been abandoned.

Anyways, word gets around camp, obviously, and Chiron and Mr.D are talking about it in the sunroom, playing pinochle and drinking soda. Mr.D gets curious and asks—“Whats Peter’s mom’s name anyway?”

“Oh, sally Jackson.” Chiron tells him, and Dionysus chokes on his Diet Coke. It couldn’t be, right? He tried to convince himself that wasn’t her name, that wasn’t the name of the woman he hooked up with on the beach, right? But he knew deep down it had to be. He’d been under the impression the woman was on control—but maybe because he was the god of fertility- she still got pregnant? and oh gods, HE WAS PERSEUS JACKSONS DAD!

Dionysus is just staring ahead all thousand yard stare like, Chiron is confused. And just watches as Dionysus slowly puts his head in his hands. He’d always felt weirdly attached to the kid. But then he was claimed by Poseidon, (in my mind Dionysus would never knowingly be a dead-beat, he just genuinely didn’t know percy was his son) so- Percy was definitely gonna meet a terrible fate, as a son of the big three. So he didn’t let him self grow attached. But now he understood why.

With a despaired sigh from Dionysus, across camp—a wine glass appears over percy Jackson’s head and grape vines grow into a sort of flower/grape crown around his head. Everyone is confused and absolutely shocked. Lots of conversations are gonna happen between Percy and Dio

IM DEFINITELY GONNA CONTINUE THIS- didn’t realize I’d rambled this much but now I gottaaa continue it. Don’t know if I’ll write a fic yet though…

[zigrethsnotebook]

(in my deathbed)

Pls.... more.... reader who doesn't express much emotions like the other one your wrote (still the water runs deep) omg it was so good like imagine reader laughing like once at something they're watching and ford absolutely screaming internally over it omg plssss plssss.... stoic... reader.... (dies)

oh man, it's such a shame you won't get to read this now :/ still, might as well fullfill your last wish <3 (Part 1)

Still waters run deep 2

Ford x Reader

words: 2,540

tags: sfw, fluff

It had been a whole week since Ford found you crying on the roof. After the moment had ended, both of you had climbed back downstairs and you went home for the day. You two haven't talked about the whole situation since.

But, at the very least, your mood had lifted a little. You still brought Ford a plate of food every day and you were meeting his eyes again. Seeing him smile so genuinely at you every day made all the stress you felt pale a little. Like maybe those things weren't as bad as they seemed right now.

It took Ford a week to build up his courage to bring it up again, going against the part of his brain that told him to not make you sad again by bringing it up. He needed some time convincing himself that talking about it and maybe finding a solution for one of the things would be better than not doing anything.

He came up into the gift shop and found you sitting at the register as per usual. The tourists that Stan was still guiding around the house wouldn't be here for another couple of minutes. Ford walked up to your counter and watched you raise your head from your phone to him.

He decided to try a more casual approach. "What are you looking at on there?" He pointed to your phone. Without changing your expression in the slightest you sighed lightly. Most people would have assumed you were annoyed at the question. Ford knew that wasn't the case. But he didn’t quite understand that you were sighing in exhaustion either.

"Job offers." Was your simple reply. It didn’t need any more words to give Ford the same tight feeling in his chest he had the first time you told him that you were looking for a new job. "Why do you want to leave the shack?" He tried to keep the panic out of his voice.

Ford knew that there was no real way for him to build a proper relationship with you if you spent most of your days somewhere else. This knowledge made him sick to his stomach. He couldn't bear to not have you around anymore. You, your food and soft mystery, that came with trying to decipher your emotions, were the highlights of his days.

You let out another audible breath. "My rent is too high." You shook your head as you placed your phone on the counter with the screen pointing downwards. "It's either a new job or a new flat." You honestly felt like crying again.

It just felt so futile. You couldn't lose your place, there weren't any other available. If there were, you'd just move. So you had to settle for a new job, except nobody was hiring either or just wouldn't pay enough from the start. Maybe if you worked two jobs?

Ford couldn't see it on your face but it was like he could feel the hopelessness radiating off of you. It made him feel tiny and helpless. "I... Is there something I can do to help?"

Ford watched intently as you tightened your lips a little in thought. "I don't think so." You admitted, shaking your head a little. Ford just nodded, unsure what else to offer.

Your conversation was cut short when Stan guided the tourists right into the gift shop, causing you to spring into work mode, your phone quickly disappearing behind the counter.

Ford watched the people scatter around the room for a moment before he walked over to his brother and pulled him to the side, out of earshot of everyone in the room.

"Give her a raise." Ford told him, his expression serious. Stan laughed in his face. "Listen, Sixer. I know you have a crush on her as well, but I can't just go around giving people raises left and right." Stan patted him on the shoulder and was about to walk away when Ford pulled him back.

"It's either that or I'll offer her to move in with us." Stan chuckled, now a little nervously. "Woah, buddy, aren't you moving a little too fast here?" Ford grunted in frustration. "I know!" He cringed at his own sudden loudness, quickly falling into a quieter tone again. Not that anybody had noticed.

"I just..." Another frustrated groan. "If we don't do something she'll leave the shack." Stan furrowed his brows in confusion. "What? Where did you hear that?" Ford looked at his brother with bewilderment. "Where do you think?" Stan looked over at you for a moment, watching you ring up a customer with that expressionless look on your face.

He looked back at his brother, a little smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "Tell her to move in with us. With you. Maybe that way I'll learn if she's really such a good cook." Ford looked away in annoyance, trying to hide the very obvious blush that was spreading on his cheeks. Stan just laughed again.

After all the tourists had left Ford was on his way back down to the lab. He could hardly go down there while everyone could see the secret entrance.

However, Stan had other plans. He grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him over to your counter while whispering in his ear. "I know you, Sixer. If you don't ask her now, you never will."

Standing in front of the counter Stan gave you a big grin as he patted Ford on the back encouragingly. Ford on the other hand felt like throwing up. He couldn't ask you this! It was way too forward and completely out of the blue. He swallowed thickly.

As the silence between you three grew longer Stan looked at his brother and gave him another clap to the back. There was no going back now. Ford took a deep breath and then locked eyes with you.

"It's a new flat." You just looked at him as you tried to decode the cryptic message Ford was trying to convey. Even Stan furrowed his brows at Ford. "I mean. Move in with me. Us! with us." Ford's ears turned a soft shade of red in embarrassment at his mistake.

Your eyes widened in shock and your heart skipped a beat as you let his words sink in. Ford, the guy you have been crushing on for the past few months, was asking you to move in with him to help you out. This had to be a dream, right?

Meanwhile, sheer panic took hold of Ford's soul as he watched your wide eyes, that gave no real hint of your emotions other than shock. He was sure you'd be appalled. Surely, Stan had just misinterpreted your care as a crush and you now thought he was a massive creep for offering this.

Ford couldn't do anything but stare and let his thoughts spiral while you were trying to figure out if you were even awake right now. Stan looked between you two and realized with annoyance just how perfect you two were for each other.

"Okay." Your voice was quiet, careful. Your eyes had gone back to their normal size but you were still unsure if he had truly meant it. Now Ford's eyes widened and he could feel his lips curl upwards already. "Really?" You just nodded.

Now Ford couldn't help the smile from spreading on his face. This was a huge development! Not only would you not leave your job, you wouldn’t even have to go home - you'd already be home. With Ford!

"Perfect!" He was so excited that his voice came out a little louder than expected. Barely more collected, he continued. "I'll go get a room ready for you." And with that he was off into the house, looking for a room he could move a spare bed into.

Stan stayed behind, watching his brother leave and then turning to you, smirking. "Nice trick ya pulled there. I bet the whole thing was just a stunt to get him to be closer to you, huh?" You furrowed your brows ever so slightly at him.

That, combined with the wide eyes from before made Stan doubt himself. He had never seen so many expressions from you, and on the same day no less!

You let out a sharp breath, looking away from Stan and back to the hallway Ford had disappeared into. "I wish." Stan's expression softened again. "Oh."

By the time your shift had ended and you were about to prepare the meal for Ford, the realization had really hit you. You agreed to move in with Ford. How were you supposed to keep a cool head about that?

You walked into the kitchen where you found Ford drinking a glass of water. His eyes lit up as he saw you enter. You noticed that he had a bit of dust on his cheeks and a little cobweb in his hair.

As you followed his hand with your eyes while he put the glass down, you also noticed that he had rolled the sleeves of his turtleneck up to his elbows, revealing a few scars, grey hairs and strong looking forearms.

It took every bit of strength from you to not immediately drift off into a daydream featuring his strong arms lifting you like you were made of feathers... You took a conscious breath, trying to regain your composure.

Ford hadn't noticed any change in your expressions. He was, however, very excited to show you the room he had prepared for you. It was the room Stan had mostly used for storage of spare parts and also the wax figures before they turned evil.

He proudly told you how he spent the whole day tidying and cleaning the room up before moving a spare mattress in there. "We'll get a real bed soon of course. And other furniture. Whatever you need, really."

Ford looked at you with a big smile on his face and you wanted to cry tears of joy. Instead you looked around the room with wide eyes, taking the actual reality of it in. He was so kind and generous.

Ford felt a pang of worry when you didn’t say anything for a moment. Was this not enough? He could do more, he'd just need a little more time and- "It's perfect."

You turned to face him again. "Thank you." Ford could see the faintest curl of your lips upwards and his breath hitched as his heart skipped a beat. You were smiling at him! That had never happened before.

Ford could feel a warmth spread through his entire body as well as a tingly feeling in his stomach. Were those the metaphorical butterflies he had heard so much about? He made a mental note to research the topic later.

On the same day, you wrote to your landlord that you'd move out by the end of the month. That left you with two weeks to get all your things to the shack. Stan was kind enough to offer to drive you and your belongings a couple of times.

That way, by the end of the two weeks, you handed the keys to your old flat over to the landlord and felt a relief flood through you that you hadn't felt since you had moved to Gravity Falls in the first place.

On the same night, the kids had planned a welcoming party for you, to celebrate your moving in with their grunkles. And them, at least for the summer.

You put your last bag on a chair by the wardrobe Ford had built for you, before Mabel knocked on your door. "Are you ready? Come on, everyone is waiting for you!" A fondness, as well as a sense of belonging filled your heart as you followed her to the living room.

In there, the twins and the kids had prepared a feast of candies and sodas as well as planned the whole night with board games and movies. It was going to be a long night and you were more than happy to be a part of it.

Throughout the night, while handing each other something, you had managed to brush Ford's hand once or twice. Each time causing him to blush a soft red. It was absolutely adorable. The second time Mabel noticed it as well and immediately began gushing about it to Stan and Dipper.

Stan just whispered back: "Yeah. Why do you think she's moving in with us?" At that Mabel's eyes lit up. She had a new mission: Make sure her grunkle and you ended up together.

She turned to Dipper with excitement. "Oh my god. Would that make her our Grauntie?" Dipper laughed at that. "Mabel! Gross!" But even he couldn't deny that the two of you made a cute couple.

As the night dragged on the kids started to get tired and all of you banded together to clean up before Stan brought the kids upstairs.

Ford escorted you to your new room. It even had its own little bathroom now. Ford had put so much effort into making the place nice for you and all you wanted to do was fall around his neck and kiss him about it. But you didn’t dare.

Ford stood in the door frame as you looked around the room once more, taking a deep breath. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.

"I really hope we didn’t scare you off tonight. I know the kids and Stan... and honestly me as well - I know we can be a bit overwhelming at times."

You turned around to look at him. He wasn't serious, right? But he looked honestly apologetic as his eyes landed on you. Then you felt it.

A laugh bubbled up inside you. You put one hand on your belly and the other went up to cover your mouth. The laugh was loud and joyous, letting out all the stress you had held onto for the last couple of months.

Ford looked at you like he had found the most precious diamond in the universe. He didn’t dare breathe in your direction for fear of ruining this magical moment. If it were possible he'd want to live in this moment forever.

After you had settled down again you looked at Ford. He already mourned the absence of the sound. A big genuine smile was left on your face as the remnant of your laughter though and Ford made sure to commit it to his memory.

"I have never felt so much like I belonged as I did today. And it's all thanks to you, Ford." Ford nodded and after a moment, cleared his throat, trying to find his voice. "Anything for you."

A moment of comfortable silence passed between you two as neither wanted the moment to end just yet. Eventually, when Ford heard his brother come back downstairs again, he spoke up.

"Good night." The smile on your face had softened but not fully faded yet. "Good night, Ford." With that he left and closed the door behind him, leaving you alone in your new home. This was truly the start of something magical.

[somegrumpynerd]

Do you guys wanna see a thing I tried writing? It's pretty unfinished and I don't think I will finish it but it was fun to play with and it might be okay as a lil snippet! I also have like no energy for drawing right now but I wanna post something lol

(The context is Cross and Killer are alone on a mission in some unspecified au when Killer goes stage 3)

“Killer?”

Cross looked over when he got no response, half expecting Killer to have wandered off in some direction as he did on these longer jobs. His loyalty to Nightmare was often at war with his attention span in the field, and you could expect a job to take longer if it was anywhere a cat was liable to appear.

What he didn’t expect was to catch sight of Killer’s wildly fluctuating soul glinting in the reflection of the knife that was coming right for him.

Cross managed to lunge back just in time for the knife to arc downwards into the snow in his place. Its wielder slowly turned his head, tracking the path to where Cross was now. His empty eye sockets gushed with more ooze than usual, stare somehow colder than the ice he was now shaking from his blade.

“Killer…” Cross began, trying to keep his tone steady and authoritative like a warning. He was ever hopeful that this was some stupid game Killer was playing out of boredom, but that hope died as he watched some of the black goop begin to drip out of the corner of the other’s mouth.

That only happened when he went stage 3.

Shit.

Cross felt his soul drop. He’d never dealt with Killer like this alone, usually they handled him as a team if Nightmare wasn’t there to take over. In the time it would take him to look down at his phone to call for help there would probably be a knife in his head.

This was fine. He could handle it. He always had more training and stamina than Killer anyway, he just had to play keepaway with his life long enough to go home with it.

Killer teleported in front of him, something that caught Cross off guard. In his right mind, Killer almost never seemed to use his magic in fights unless he wanted to fuck around with the other. 

[Put the fight part here idk pretend there was a really cool fight, it was so cool, you loved it]

Cross felt his soul drop again, but this time the rest of his body followed. Killer was using his gravity magic to hold him to the ground, and was shambling towards him ready to finish things. Cross struggled for a moment to see if he could fight his way out of the magic’s hold, but to no avail. He was pinned as his assailant now stood threateningly over him, knife raised. In a flash of desperation, he reached out both hands and grabbed Killer’s ankles, quickly moving his head to one side as a bone attack pierced up out of the snow and struck the other in the jaw.

It wasn’t his strongest attack, but it was enough to knock Killer backwards and stun him. As Cross felt his soul being released from the other’s magic, he quickly scrambled forward and sat on Killer’s chest as he lay sprawled out in the snow, pinning his arms down on either side of his head as he began to come back around. His face was leaking so much determination from every crevice that at that point it was hard to make out an expression under it all, but Cross could tell he was frustrated as he felt the rumble of bone attacks beginning to rise up out of the snow around them.

He followed suit, carefully forming a line of his own bone attacks closely around them to act as a barrier. He could feel Killer’s attacks bouncing off of his, each hit more desperate and frantic than the last like an animal clawing at the sides of its cage. He felt some magic encircling his soul again, but this time trying to raise him up rather than push him down. It was weaker than before, whether because Killer’s attention was split with still launching bone attacks or because he was beginning to tire out, but Cross managed to fight against it and stay put.

“Killer!” he barked, leaning over the other’s face. “That’s enough. You’re not going anywhere until you pull yourself together!”

The gravity magic seemed to cease at his shout, so Cross continued in the fervent hope that he was getting through to him.

“We’ll stay here all night if that’s what it takes, but I’m reporting back to Nightmare when this is over and I’m not leaving without you! Do you hear me?! I don’t care if I have to bring you back hogtied over my shoulder, I’m not gonna hurt you and I’m not gonna let you kill me!”

He didn’t realise he’d been shouting until the clinking and scraping of bone attacks had slowed and stopped altogether, and it was just the sound of his promise echoing off the bones and snow surrounding them.

And the strange gurgling sound coming from below him.

He opened his eyes again in confusion and stared down at the skeleton weakly fighting against his grasp, determination pooling and soaking into the snow from every gap in his skull. It took a second longer than he’d like to admit for Cross to realise that sound was Killer choking on it.

His bone attacks shrunk back into the ground and he shot backwards, landing ungracefully on his backside with a little curse. He hurried to pull Killer up and help him lean forward, swatting his back as he retched and spat the toxic goop up onto the ground where they’d just fought.

It was never an elegant dismount from these things, they’d found there was just no dignified way to get out a ribcage worth of black ooze. After a minute of heaving and gasping, Killer finally got a hold of himself and started glancing frantically around.

“Where’s Dust??” he managed to choke out with the urgency of a parent who’d lost their child. It always seemed to be the first thing on his mind when he came to from one of these episodes, Cross was never really sure why since any other time it seemed like they hated each other.

“He’s at home,” Cross assured, pressing one hand to Killer’s spine for support. “It’s just us, we were on a mission.”

He could see now that Killer’s soul had calmed down from the pulsating mass of spikes it was a few minutes ago and become somewhat soul shaped, still twitching nervously but a far calmer sight than before. That was a good sign that the attack was over. He wondered how much control Killer had over it, since he’d definitely seen it turn that way without having to go through a fight to the death first, but it was rare.

Cross flinched as he felt Killer grab him again, though this time instead of kicking him in the ribs he simply held on for dear life. That was another clear sign, after he was done puking up whatever goop had built up he usually cried for a while.

It was odd, especially the first few times, to see someone who always seemed so disconnected and unphased have a sobbing breakdown after trying to kill you.

“Hey,” Cross said, voice hushed as he wrapped his arms around the skeleton trembling in his lap. “It’s okay… you’re okay…”

Cross had never been the best at comforting words, but he knew Killer just needed someone to cling to while he got a hold of himself, and he was content to be that for a little while. Especially after being thrown around so much, his aching bones were more than happy for an excuse to sit in the snow for a bit. He could feel Killer’s soul being pressed against his chest as he wept silently into Cross’s shoulder, the fear and regret seemed to be radiating from it like smoke from a smothered flame.

He wondered idly if this was what Nightmare could feel all the time.

...

He also wondered just how hard it was going to be to get these black stains out of his jacket again once he pried Killer's face off of it.

[fivefootoh-andtrains]

Attrition, Retention Chapter 15: A Quiet Denial

(AO3 link)

Emmet visits an old room. Elesa becomes the point of contact. Ingo comes to a realization, or maybe it's something he's known all along.

[flowersandskeletons526]

Alright I did my little feel good fic and now it's time for the soul crushing angst I built my platform on :D

[insteading]

I enlisted my housemates’ help in editing my “Hi, I need therapy, will you be my therapist?” letter, because it was a wholeass page long, and that’s too much.

One of them was like, This sounds like a Tumblr post and not like a work email, and my response is, Yeah, that’s the sound my mouth (metaphorical or actual) makes when I’m being a bit vulnerable in front of other people. The proportion of charming to exhausting a person finds it probably has some bearing on whether we are a good therapeutic fit. And I can’t sound recognizably like myself in five sentences that deliver information as efficiently as possible.

I have been convinced that being Robot Insteading long enough to get some appointments scheduled is a good trade off, but it is HARD.

[thecranewivesrpf]

they think I'm looking at my phone smiling and typing because Im texting my crush. WRONG. I'm writing haikaveh

[kissedbyivy]

“describe your childhood bedroom.”

Pink… So pink. Sprinkled with flowers and butterflies, the room was fit for a fairy princess disguised as a disturbed child. Shelves up to the ceiling filled with dusted snow globes and candles unlit, untouched, and unnoticed for more years than she had breathed in life’s defiled air. The floor was scattered with various toys, bubble wands, sticker books, and imaginary friends.

She never found genuine interest in any of it. She was defective. Yet she forced herself into fake tea parties with teddy bears and dreamlands of mermaids because she understood that’s how children her age were meant to be. They were meant to frolic within their innocence before the grim reaper of growing up snatched their souls from them. So, she compelled herself into normalcy, never truly able to imagine away the filthy ghost of guilt that haunted her. A little girl like this shouldn’t even know what it means to feel so dirty. Dirty like a washed up whore.

The toys that littered the floor were worked with rather than played with. The only thing she truly knew how to play with was herself. Supple skin, both torn and tender, she rubbed and fingered all the sorely intimate parts of herself she was taught in the backseat of a car. A sparkly, signature pink bed canopy hung high above her every night she wept. Dreams, nightmares, and prayers to God were caught and forgotten all the same in the dream catcher hanging from the endless possibilities of midnight.

There wasn’t ever a night where she didn’t cry herself to sleep. In truth, I don’t think there was ever a night where she even slept at all.

[brown-little-robin]

I need to sleep for 70 hours and then maybe I'll feel not evil again

[petrichoraline]

the way they misunderstand each other is so realistic i cant even complain, even the way they give into their desires even though they both think it's wrong - that's realistic and shows once again how human they both are, they want to respect the other person but they want to have them and give themselves in return to the point of pain so they let their counsciousness get drowned out tll it's only kiss noises and heavy breaths left. i'm so happy they didn't actuall do anything, i was surprised the show seemed to be going with the idea of their first time together being as someone who they are not, while they are being dishonest both with their partner and themselves. i cheered seeing asami cut it off but it still hurts because maybe in the process they could have found out, their sincerity showing through. ultimately their first time should be when they're both out in the light and ayware of all that's happened after theyve had time to process it. dizzy sex wrapped in guilt and doubts just isnt it for these two

[pandora15]

life is cruel.

it's tragic, horrific, and unfair. it gives us the worst of things, causes us to feel and experience things that are so unspeakably painful that sometimes I can't even. I can't even.

and it seems even more cruel in those moments of pain and grief and loss when you see something beautiful, like fall colors, or the color of the sky at sunset, or how the holidays typically are meant to bring joy to people but all you can think about now is that every year when this time of year comes, you'll just think about how tragic it is.

and cruel.

and horrific.

and unfair.

and beautiful.