#excerpts of the insanity

[letters-from-himring-hill]

In Which Morwen Is Very Done

All the times on their first day as a Party where Morwen had to repress the urge to bang her head against the nearest hard object because Gavrel and Atticus were being doofuses. Under a cut, because it is LONG.

@scleroticstatue @exploding-the-wine-cellar @kanerallels @accidental-spice @sunflowergardens-world

@sweetcardamom @awwyeah-rambles enjoy The Nonsense TM.

I look around as we go, enjoying the walk in the woods even if it is dangerous, and trusting Paranoid Dingbats 1 and 2 to alert me if something actually dangerous shows up.

- Morwen, shortly after threatening to TURN THIS CAMPING TRIP AROUND RIGHT NOW if Gavrel and Atticus couldn't be civil

I follow him carefully, wrapping the long ends of my cloak up and around my shoulders to keep them out of the mud. On one of the stable bits of ground, I check over my shoulder to make sure the very silent Atticus is still there. He's taking the hike and the weather like a champ, and either he's doing magic constantly to keep those pristine robes clean or he's been very lucky about where he's stepping because not even his hems are speckled in mud. He smirks a little as you hear a squelching sound and says, "I'm not pulling him out." I sigh, pinch the bridge of my nose, and look in the direction of the squelching noise. Gavrel, sunken to his thigh, pulls himself out in a very impressive version of a marshland pistol squat, says to you "don't step there," and then continues walking around the marsh. Eventually, you get back to old growth forest, and, around 1pm, you see a city wall. I do not step there. By the time we sight the city wall, I’m grateful. I like hiking, but I’m a desk jockey, and the icy silence between Gavrel and Atticus is starting to wear on me a bit.

- excerpt from the Hiking Trip of Awkwardness

When your food comes, it's with dark ale. The adventurers pie is like shepherds pie, but the meat is a bit more goaty, and you assume it's taur. I dig in and ignore the two of them acting like offended cats. It's good. Not as good as Gavrel's cooking, but good. Gavrel meanwhile is eating the sausage and hogroot, while Atticus got the cetus and chips. The silent battle of wills besides you is going to drive you insane, you're fairly certain. I consider asking them, Do you actually disagree about something, or are you trying to set each other on fire by glaring for fun? but I don’t. “So the plan is to stop in [redacted] for the night?” I ask. Gavrel nods. "It's smaller than [here], but it will suit our needs well enough. We'll need a boat to get from [there] to [the next stop] anyway, so it makes sense to get it in the morning." “And where to after that?” I ask, a little desperately. "We'll keep going through the Labyrinth cities for a few more days and then swing west."  Atticus looks up sharply. "West? Why are we heading west?"  Gavrel shifts uncomfortably and looks at you. “I assume that’s where we can find the…[redacted], I think you called them,” I say softly. "[redacted]," Atticus murmurs softly, glaring at Gavrel. "Are you insane? They'll kill her. You must not have heard the proper story about them from him if you think this is a good idea." “Atticus, I don’t particularly think it’s a good idea to do any of this, but I have my orders and I have to follow them as best I can. I’m picking the least bad option I can think of. Gavrel says he can get the [redacted] to talk to me. I trust him.” "No one escapes them alive. The closest I've gotten was a few close calls back when — a few years ago, and I wasn't even in their territory."  "I escaped them alive," Gavrel says smugly. "It will be fine," he says, more to you. “Fine is a generous word for this situation, but I trust you not to make it worse,” I say with a sigh. "We'll only be locked up for, like, an hour," he says, before immediately shoving a large bite into his mouth so he doesn't have to explain more. I run through several responses and reject all of them. I settle for rubbing the bridge of my nose and thinking, Lord, give me patience, because if You give me strength I’m gonna strangle one of them. “Okay, I trust you not to make it permanently worse, how about that?” I say, after doing some deep breathing exercises.

- in which Gavrel is totally annoying Atticus on purpose

"Kelpies and fuath are no danger to us, darling. They're...rather like gnats at this point. But you might be more gnat-like to them. Don't get swatted." He says this, and three plates of sticky toffee are set down in front of you. Atticus eyes Gavrel suspiciously.  "You still have to pay for yours," he responds testily. "Thanks, Gavrel," I say, picking up my fork. "Atticus, you should make a career of reverse psychology. You'd be fantastic at it." "Whatever do you mean?" He asks dryly, still considering the food in front of him, as if it might be poisoned. "That you're very, very good at making me want to do the exact opposite of what you're trying to get me to do. Something about the tone of honeyed disdain just activates every bit of cussed stubbornness in my body - and I have a lot of that. You're lucky Gavrel's along to put things bluntly." "Honeyed — darling, your stubbornness came long before I did, I have every conviction." He ultimately decides the food is safe, or at least not likely to kill him, and takes a few bites. "Atticus, if you don't want me to do something, tell me bluntly that you don't want me doing it and why and I may, as I just did, say 'I hate this', but I'll admit your point. Compare me to a gnat and I will be sorely tempted to find something to fight purely to prove you wrong." "Fine," he says, blase. "You're such a low level right now that you could lose health points to a stiff breeze. As much as I loathe to admit it, Gavrel is a talented fighter, and I'm not far behind him. You don't need to worry about us getting hurt because we're capable. Don't try to save us or protect us because you'll just end up getting hurt." "That actually puts my back up much less, and I really can't argue with it. I am dead weight but I'll at least do my best to avoid being stupid dead weight." "All my years spent training on how to hold diplomatic communications out the window for a single person," he sighs. "I'm not taking the blame for this when we get back." "I'm not sure what kind of person thinks being compared to a gnat is less insulting than being told right off that she'd lose health points to a stiff breeze, frankly, but I do not belong to that type."

- in which Morwen's dignity, already near the point of death, receives yet another blow, and Atticus is confused

"Fascinating. It's giving me a headache, but it's fascinating." "That's likely because your awareness is high enough to know something is wrong, but not what. I can curse you with low awareness until we get out, if you'd like." "That might. Actually be helpful." I look away from a path that is violating all the known laws of geometry and shake my head. "Please do." He does something — but it's not music. It's a screeching, grating, pile driving noise that makes you feel like you're in a techno horror film for a moment and then, with a bone-shaking kathunk it stops, and the maze around you looks like a normal maze. At least for the two seconds you get a look before Gavrel has pushed you against one of the hedges with one hand and is shouting at Atticus. "What did you do?!" "WAIT!" I shout at the top of my lungs. In the silence which I assume follows this, I step between them. "The maze was giving me a headache because my awareness is high enough to tell me something's wrong but not to tell me what. He offered to help by 'cursing' me with low awareness until we get out. No attempted strangulation of anyone is necessary." He looks back at Atticus, who is picking himself off the ground and dusting his sleeves. "I'm being helpful," he smiles antagonistically.  "You cursed her."  "Helpfully."  "Cursed." "Atticus, now you're being unhelpful. Thank you for making the world stop behaving like an optical illusion. Please stop provoking Gavrel. Gavrel, please stop chucking Atticus around." They both mumble something along the lines of "fine," in a very broody tone that is difficult to hear exactly what it was they said, but that might be the awareness curse. "If I need to be helpfully cursed again, I will let you know beforehand," I tell Gavrel. "Now let's get out of here." (and this is why I have a hard time thinking of them as lethal warriors, because I keep having to break them up like they're a pair of thirteen-year-olds in a snit. they may have all the combat prowess but I have all the emotional functionality)

- *"fights broken up" counter ticks over to 2*

“Got a concussion. No blood loss as far as I can tell.” Gavrel pinches the bridge of his nose. "Let's get to the village where we can get you in the bath," he says. "Can you walk or should I carry you?" I see how dizzy I feel when I take a few steps. Your head throbs, but there's no dizziness. "I can probably manage," I decide. "It might be easier if you gave me your arm." He offers you his arm on one side, while Atticus claims your other. (that CHILD. he no longer sets off my BITE instincts but it is POLITE to ASK before TOUCHING someone) I gently but firmly remove my arm from Atticus', and put my hand through Gavrel's elbow instead. "Atticus, I appreciate your willingness to help me, but I generally prefer to have warning before someone touches me. In this case, I would appreciate it if you asked first." He sticks next to you anyway, with a terse "He doesn't get to grab you and run." I roll my eyes, regret it, and start walking.

- *"Atticus invades personal space and is oblivious about it" counter ticks over to 2*

"Food first or inn first?" Gavrel asks, noticing your grip getting tighter over the last hour. "Inn, probably. The headache is, shall we say, not improving." They take you to the inn. Gavrel sits you on a bench, Atticus sitting next to you, and goes to check in at the front desk. The conversation is quiet, but he turns to you, squeezes a smile into his face, and says "Atticus." Atticus sits up, and looks over at him with a raised eyebrow. "You can go talk to him if you need to," I say. "I'm not leaving this bench unless someone helps me, and if anyone tries to grab me I'll shriek for help." He stands and cautiously approaches the check in desk. They have a brief and tense discussion with more than a few moments of standoff, then they seem to agree on something and Gavrel turns back to the check in. Atticus returns and says, "there's only one room available. We rented it, but it looks like we're sharing." By this time, I've hit the point where one more inconvenience is barely even relevant. "At least this way neither of you will have to come bang on my door in the middle of the night to make sure the other one hasn't made off with me like I'm someone's luggage," I say drily.

- in which the boys LIE to Morwen about there only being one room available and she is absolutely oblivious but still tired of the Nonsense TM

"It might be a cultural thing here," Gavrel says. "Bathing together, touching more. He kept looking at you during the bath — like he thought you were weird, not like he thought you were hot, by the way." "What did you tell him to get him to wear the towel?" I ask, getting some dry clothes out of inventory. "And thank heaven it was that. I can handle him thinking I'm weird. I don't even want to think about the other thing." "I told him I would fist fight him in the hallway if he didn't, and when that didn't work, I said it made you uncomfortable and you'd probably try to ditch him tomorrow otherwise," he snorts. It's a good thing I'm sitting down, because otherwise I'd have had to sit down to laugh. "And you wonder why I told [Sir Dwarf] what I did about you. I'm not sure why those two threats went in that order, but thank you very much regardless." "I'm not diplomatic," he tells you. "I'm combative."

- in which Gavrel finds out that he can get away with wizard-baiting as long as it's in defence of Morwen's boundaries

I take the book with thanks. If the room is equipped with an armchair, I claim it and start reading; otherwise I take my shoes off and sit on a bed. (There are multiple beds, right?) (there is one bed). You curl into an armchair and read for a while. (Did you. Did you just put me into an “only one bed” trope. With THESE TWO. Statue. Statue.) (The hilarious thing is that there is NO combination of people who can share the bed.) My goal is to read for about an hour and then go to bed. After about 45 minutes, you get a notice that says you've earned the Cryptozoology skill, and by the time you're done, you get level 3. (>:3) (yay! maybe next time something tries to kill me I will know what it is!) (incoherent and indignant spluttering because WHY. WHY THEM. XD) I set the book down. “Okay,” I say. “Sleeping arrangements. How are we doing this?” "You take the bed," Gavrel says firmly. Nothing else is offered. “Alright.” I hand him the book. “Thank you.” I remove my shoes but do not undress further. “Mind if I blow out the candle? Are you two going to sleep or just…sit there in the dark?” They share a look which is one part exasperated at you and two parts hostile at each other. "We'll be up for a while more, Morwen," Atticus purrs. "Go ahead and sleep, it won't bother us." “The inn had better still be standing when I wake up, is all I have to say about that.” I blow out the candle and go to bed.

- in which the consequences of the BLATANT LIES are dealt with and Morwen remains oblivious as the day finally draws to a close

[letters-from-himring-hill]

"I'm going to kill him," [Gavrel] mutters darkly, then starts trudging to find the aforementioned dead man. "Atticus! Atticus!" You both shout for him a while, until you find him, in a pile of dead Ramidreju. He turns to you and waves, his tongue flopping from his mouth as he drools slightly. "Oh, heck," I mutter. "He got bitten too, didn't he?" Gavrel restrains a giggle. Barely. "Atticus," he says slowly. "Did one of those bite you?" Atticus nods, if you can call his head flopping down to his chest and back by moving his torso a nod. "Did lots of them bite you?" He 'nods' again, then unsuccessfully tries to stand using his working right hand and a left knee. He flops down into the forest litter and makes a noise that gets across either "you've got to be kidding me" or "if you laugh at me I'll kill you." The situation WOULD be funny if the only unaffected person wasn't the worst fighter in the company, and we weren't still outside the city. "Okay. Gavrel, while you're coherent, I need a rundown on the effects of that venom, and on how long you're likely to be functional..." "I am staying functional. Just, uh, one arm down. And part of a lat..." "Oh, thank heaven." I check to see if I have any open spots in my inventory. "I was getting concerned. Is he going to be okay?" "The poison causes numbness and loss of function until it's purified, and occasionally some weird attempts at self harm. He'll...he'll probably be fine. It looks like he kept his torso from getting bitten, so we shouldn't have to worry about organ shutdown. Maybe he'll lose consciousness, depending on where that bite was, but, uh, Atticus? Did it bite you on your neck or face?" Atticus stays stubbornly quiet, still face down in the dirt, though you're not certain he could actually say which one if he was up enough to face you. "Okay. So you'll probably have to lug him to the next city but he'll probably be alright. I swear, I need a backpack leash for this kid. This is rather impressive but he really should have known better than to chase after them alone." I kneel down to check Atticus' pulse, still a little concerned by his silence... Atticus makes a noise when you touch him, his pulse strong and steady. "Okay, he is still with us," I say, rolling Atticus over on his side and arranging his limbs into a recovery position, just in case, while I wait. He's not only still with you, he's still awake, and glaring straight ahead, most likely embarrassed. There's dirt on his tongue. Gavrel...says, "I can carry him, but I won't be able to get him on my shoulder." "Okay, if you can kneel down I'll try and help you pick him up." I gently wipe some of the dirt away from Atticus' tongue; it feels rude to leave him like that, even if he'll probably hate me for it later. He makes an indignant noise and jerks his torso back, then makes another indignant noise, just to let you know. Gavrel kneels beside him. "Sorry, Atticus, but I figured you wouldn't want to taste dirt all the way back." I move around behind the recumbent wizard, amused by his indignation now that it seems he's not in serious danger, and lift him into a sitting position by the armpits. "If you get an arm around his waist and tell me when to lift I think we can get him onto your shoulder." Gavrel gets his arm around Atticus, who, in turn, adds his arm to the mix — badly, but he's trying, bless. "On three. Ready?" "Ready." I lift with my legs on three. You manage to get him hefted onto Gavrel's shoulder, then help him stand when his numbness throws him off balance a little. "This was poorly planned, Archmage," Gavrel says to his new potato sack as you head out. Atticus, his face in Gavrel's abdomen, makes a pithy sound. I snicker at both of them, but mostly Atticus, and walk beside Gavrel, ready to help steady him if he needs it, and keeping a weather eye out for any threats, since both the actual competent people are now compromised.

It was pretty funny! Even Morwen could appreciate the humour, though she was too worried to really enjoy it. XD Poor Gavrel indeed, though. He had to climb a ladder out of the sewers with one good arm and two people on his back. It was a rough time for everyone.

Me handing out stickers to my favourite characters like

[tendermimi]

Euripides, Herakles (tr. Anne Carson) / Tom à la ferme, dir. Xavier Dolan

[oshaskell]

What's a little making out between friends?

Based off of @heygirltimeformorning's WIP Wednesday excerpt (with a little encouragement from @playinginthunderstorms). <3

[letters-from-himring-hill]

Some of this is not as bad as it sounds and some of it is worse. In order:

The last time Gavrel died, it was at the hands of a monster which apparently flayed him (partly) and then removed his spine (to use as a whip, possibly, considering the legends I found when I looked them up). Morwen does not know this. Morwen is going to be utterly horrified when she finds out.

Bloodbinding is a form of magical oath which creates a compulsion to obey the exact terms of the promise and drives you mad if you don't fulfill it. Kaera briefly inflicted one on Atticus as part of his punishment for [redacted events], but broke it after losing her memories, because she is currently in denial about Atticus being who he says he is.

When Morwen initially met Atticus, she was CONVINCED that he was Budget Saruman, and one wrong word from her would have him murdering her for her Titles. In fairness to her, below the cut is the transcript of the first time they met, so you can see how badly his flirting backfired. For context, she had overextended herself casting magic and was basically bedridden until she was cured, and Gavrel brought her to Atticus because he didn't have a high enough potion making skill to cure her himself.

You are entirely correct about the need for eucatastrophe!

The room seems to be a sitting room or library. There's a desk with a plush chair, two sofas and a coffee table, and a rather impressive collection of books behind locked glass. He lays you gently on a sofa. "There is a slim but not-nonexistant chance," he says, looking at the door with apprehension, "that I might die in the next few minutes."

"What. Why. You could leave and I could explain to him. After all, he's going to need the true story anyway and I can give him that."

"I wouldn't trust him alone with you if my life depended on it. I...I killed his previous master, the man most like his father, when I first came here. He has a right to my head and I have just willingly walked into a space where PvP is legal. I'm stronger than him, so it's unlikely he'll try, but as I said, the possibility is non-zero."

"...the ONLY thing keeping me from threatening to explode his study is the knowledge that you would probably have to clean up that mess."

He looks over at you with a dark glare. "Try it. You'll find that within these walls, only one mage's powers are permitted."

"I'm not going to try, that's what I just said, because you would have to clean up the aftermath and someone would probably blame you for all of it. But I am running out of tolerance for nonsense and rudeness, and trying to kill my friends is rude."

All the malice melts from his face, and he's left with a lost look of surprise and innocence. "We're friends?"

(...oh, look at those shards on the floor, there goes my heart.) "If saving my life, sitting up with me for a day while I was unconscious, and taking the blame for the explosion I caused doesn't make you my friend, I don't know what could. Okay, come here. I'm going to hug you and either I can stand up and then fall over trying to do that, or you can come over here."

"That's-" whatever he intended to obfuscate with is cut off when the doors to the room bang open.

A young man with long white hair, crystalline red eyes and a trailing white and turquoise robe enters the room. If the look Gavrel had given was dark, this is one of pure malice. It sweeps over Gavrel first, then over you, softening into one of pity. There isn't any magic being slung just yet, but the magician does languidly taunt Gavrel: "Ah, so I see you have enough magic to blow her up, but not enough to heal her injuries. How will you effectively brainwash her into submission at this rate?"

Gavrel clenches his jaw, but doesn't refute it. "We need a rebound curative."

"Oh? So you can cure yourself and then show how powerful you are again? I think she read the message the first time." The white wizard steps closer to you, and Gavrel moves between you two almost instinctively, but without even breaking stride, the wizard flicks his wrist disdainfully and Gavrel is slammed into a bookcase. You can already see him struggling against it, but it's not particularly effective. The man kneels in front of you, his kind tone — though still a bit silvery — is a counterpoint to the fact that Gavrel is doing his best to thrash about in the iron grip of his spell. "I am Master Atticus of the Wizards Guild, Archmage of Terrafell. Where are you hurt, darling?"

I restrain the impulse to bite him. “My arm,” I say. “Please let my friend go.”

"Come now, darling," he says with a gentle touch to your arm, above the injury. "Tell me what's happened and I'll help you." He begins smoothly unwinding the bandage. "Usually, healing is an art left to the Tamed Garden, but as he's been banned from the premises unless being Reborn, I will not refuse you any courtesy in return." Gavrel shifts uneasily in the bind.

“I would like a rebound curative, please,” I repeat quietly. It is at this point that I realise the man in front of me would kill me for my titles without hesitation. I send up, mentally, my first attempts at prayer to the powers of this world.

Atticus smooths your hair, either oblivious to the hatred rolling off you or mistaking your cool fear of him for a fear of Gavrel. He returns to unwrapping the binding on your arm, then drops it and reels back when it's halfway undone. His hold on Gavrel drops but before he can get on his feet again, the spell is back. "What the hell is this?" Atticus hisses at him.

When you look down at your arm, it's clear that it hasn't been crushed by rocks. There are three distinct bolts of lightning streaking across your forearm, the wounds open and still dancing with lightning. When the lightning from one part dies back, liquid flesh seems to ooze from the wound like melted cheese only to bubble and burst. Idly, you wonder if the reason your head is swimming so much is because Gavrel has given you something for the pain because there is no way you shouldn't be feeling this. "We need," Gavrel gasps, a "curative."

"Why in the five civilizations is she the one suffering from rebound? This is complete Numenosis. What did you tell her to do?" Atticus is shouting at Gavrel now.

I decide to play the naif. Atticus has clearly underestimated me. “Master Atticus, why is my arm doing that?” I don’t even have to fake the shake in my voice. “Gavrel said you could help me!”

He's stopped short by that, gives Gavrel an indecipherable look, and then turns back to you. "This is Numenosis, darling." He's soft-spoken this time, calm and collected. He fetches something from his desk, a crystal vial of shimmery magenta liquid. He approaches you smoothly, and unstoppers the vial. "This will help with your arm. Can I administer it to you?" It's as if he's approaching a spooked horse, and just as before, the attitude in how he treats you versus Gavrel is jarring.

“Is that the re…the rebound curative?”

He nods and slides his knuckles under your chin to tilt it up. "May I?"

(I AM GOING TO BITE HIM. BITE HIS FINGERS. RUDE MAN.) It’s a very good thing Master Atticus either can’t read minds, or isn’t reading mine. I assume Gavrel would be making indignant noises if this was not what Atticus said it was and somehow I don’t want to look to him to check, if only to avoid reinforcing the abuse narrative Atticus is constructing. “Yes,” I say quietly.

He smiles at you, or rather smirks, and touches it to your lips before tilting the bottle up. It's similar to the cordial Gavrel gave you earlier, but not at all nice. It's acrid and drying and gritty and the aftertaste is like trying to eat a teaspoon of dry cinnamon. You cough and gag as it goes down, but the minute it does, the room stops spinning and your arm stops thrumming with an incessant drip of magic. Atticus then slides his fingers from your chin down your arm, trailing a warm, green magic in its wake. He's humming something warm and tender that brings to mind a babbling brook in spring. He trades from fingertips to whole palm when he gets to your forearm, practically encasing it. You feel your skin knit together and cool under his ministrations, which finish with him clasping your hands together for a moment. When he withdraws, you're left with three lightning-like scars that stretch from just above your elbow to the heel of your palm. He looks over you again, and shifts your hair away from your sweaty forehead. "Are you hurt anywhere else, darling?"

"No, thank you," I say, sitting up carefully. (Is Gavrel still stuck against the bookcase?)

You're safe as you sit up, no dizziness or white outs at all. "Very well," he says, and sits across from you on the coffee table. "Now, please, darling. Tell me what you've gotten yourself into. I can help." (he is)

"Master Atticus, I appreciate very much that you just healed me. But please let my friend go now. I'm very tired, and I'll be happy to come back here, but right now I want to go to my own house and have some time to recover."

He narrows his eyes and glances behind him at your mention of the word friend. "I am sure you need your recovery. Would you not prefer to stay in the Inn? I happen to know of a room with a private bath which would, of course, considering your state, come free of charge. We can meet over breakfast and discuss what exactly happened. You've no need to fear — the innocent aren't punished for accidents here, and we have the best prison in all of Terrafell right beneath our feet."

"Master Atticus, I thought you wanted to help me!" I don't have to act the fear here, either, just let the mask slip a little. Only to show the fear. Not to show the desire to beat the snot out of him, grab my friend, and run.

"Of course, darling," he says. "Whatever you did, you surely couldn't have done it on purpose. You don't have to be scared of him. Even if you don't wish to cause his death, there are options for you." Gavrel sputters in the background.

“I’m not scared of him!” I snap, shooting for ‘petulant and confused’ instead of ‘I want to remove your spleen with a blunt knife’. “Wait. Did you think he was going to hurt me?”

He glances back dangerously. "I think it's fairly obvious he already has," then turning back to you, he says "Being scared of him would prove your wisdom."

“That was an accident,” I say, still going for petulant. “On both our parts. When the spell started going out of control he tried to stop it. Master Atticus, I promise you, if he ever acted against me from malice, I would come right here for help.” (Half of this is true. Half of it is lying through my teeth, of course.)

He looks at you consideringly. "While I assure you, I have nothing but the highest regard for you, I'm afraid I distrust him immensely. I'm rather disinclined to believe any narrative with him as a hero, and even if I can't explain the rebound you have, that's hardly an explanation for the state of the Court of Thaumaturgy." He rubs the bridge of his nose. "There isn't a way to legally deal with this without your cooperation, however. So I will make...an arrangement with you, hmm, darling? You come meet me for tea once a week, and I'll let the Holy Knight go. Is that a deal you can accept?"

At this point I’m frazzled, terrified, and can’t think of a better way out. I hate this but I hate it less than the other options, and all of my other plans involve things like ‘agree to leave Gavrel and then try to initiate hand to hand when Atticus’ back is turned’ and seem like they could blow up in my face spectacularly. “Of course!” I chirp. “I love tea.”

He smiles, and tells you firmly, in a way that says he doesn't quite believe you're telling the truth, "I'll hold you to that, darling."

He nods, and with a twist of contempt, drops Gavrel to the ground. He coughs and heaves for a moment, getting his breath back, then stands and glares. "I look forward to the next time, Atticus," he says grimly, brushing past him and setting Atticus off balance enough that he almost ends up on the ground. "Come on." He helps you stand, then rushes you out the door, down the stairs, and out the front door. He turns to you in the street, his hand gripping the back of your shirt in desperation. "Are you okay?" He sounds like he's on the verge of tears himself.

I hug him. “For future reference, my dear, dense, absurdly self-sacrificing friend, the fact that the person you’re relying on to heal me has a murderous grudge against you is relevant information, which I should be told about before I am lying helpless in his study. I think I’m okay, but if he ever touches either of us again I’m going to want to tear his throat out with my teeth.”

Atticus scar mockup. Do not come for me about his robes, Sims 4's available clothing is pitiful.

[newvision]

— Marguerite Duras, from The Lover

[gh0st-0f-luke]

excerpts from an epistolary tale told through student essays!

wangxian are professors leading a study abroad trip, and the junior squad just wants the tea on their personal lives 🙏🏻 (i guess they must not be that concerned about passing the class because their essays are insane)

[howifeltabouthim]

'It's destructive. It takes up a lot of energy. It makes people insane.'

Mary Gordon, from Spending

[wesleytreehouse]

guys I can't take it anymore anyone got some kind of transcript of the davechella q&a. I'll even take a compilation of highlights I just need something

[letters-from-himring-hill]

Arsenic tastes metallic, like cheap forks.

- Sock Police, to a somewhat concerned Morwen

[lotuslate]

“However, the colder his eyes were, the brighter the raging fire within his heart burned.”

[letters-from-himring-hill]

*delighted cackling*

Oh, I have looked up the excerpt, and it WAS the Sad Eyes specifically:

“You are going to the baths once you’re done healing him,” I say firmly, wondering how these two can veer so rapidly from a pair of what must be truly terrifying warriors to a pair of boys telling on each other to the poor beleaguered adult in the room. Best not to dwell, you decide, and instead prepare to defend your choices against Atticus. "That's ridiculous," he informs you. "I'm barely injured." “I just watched the two of you half fall through the door covered in blood after fighting goodness only knows how many werewolves. And a hag, apparently. It may be irrational but I would like to see both of you healed. Please?” I give him the sad eyes I promised Nik I’d use as needed on this trip. Atticus actually flinches back from you and mumbles a very doleful, "yes ma'am," and then corrects himself to, "only if he does as well."

I'm gonna have to deploy the sad face against him again. It might be the most effective weapon I have yet discovered in getting him to look after himself!

“Are you okay?” I ask Gavrel, subdued. He nods. "I am now. Thank you." And he says the thank you with such earnestness you feel like you're the only person that he's ever thanked honestly before.

Where did the extra emphasis come from, here? Is it because he's not used to having people worry about him? Because he's just relieved that Morwen isn't dead? I have been wondering about this since we first had this conversation.

Yes, he was relieved you were okay, but mostly because 1) he hasn't had anyone be kind to him, let alone be so worried they cried over him, and no one's tried to help him when he's injured either, and 2) because he was functionally, well, nonfunctional, and that means you could have killed him at any time but you didn't, you were even trying to guard him, despite the fact that you were way too low-level to seriously fight off anything, instead of running or even just hiding. You were risking your life to keep him safe and he couldn't even do anything for you, which is worlds beyond anyone else in Terrafell.

[nixoon-again]

The idle hum of the fluorescent lights is all that resonates in his sensitive ears. 

Distantly, he recognizes that he's been sitting in the same position for too long. Long enough that the light seeping through the  window somewhere to his right isn't as warm and golden in its hue anymore. He realizes that night time has fallen upon the bustling city of Station Square and perhaps it's late enough for everyone to be leaving for their homes and settling in for sleep after a nice warm meal.

Even more distantly, if that is even possible for his current almost disassociated situation, he realizes that he should be asleep too. Of course his rest doesn't have much to do with the time and the shift in the sky's colours or the quiet city just beyond these walls. He never fell into slumber with the sun, working late at nights for hours without breaks sometimes left him no opportunity for sleep at all. He doesn't mind it though, he likes working. Even if it costs him a bit of rest, he'd rather have his work done sooner than later. Maybe that's what he needs right now. Something to work on will be much better to distract his mind than the buzzing of the lights.

Unfortunately, as much as the idea entices him, he can't leave for his workshop just yet.

He doubts he'd be able to.

If his trembling legs don't give in under the weight of his body then the soul crushing grasp of something icy and sharp around his heart will certainly stop him.

So he stays where he is and listens to the buzz of the lights, of the footsteps as people walk by thin in numbers, as a clock ticks away in a distance — indicating that hours have passed but Tails can't get himself to count the ticks or look at the clock. He has worked hard to concentrate on the fluorescent lights, on their inner workings, their first discovery, their usage and why they're being used in hospital waiting rooms and everything he can think of about them on the top of his head in an attempt to ground himself but he's afraid if he looks at the time, he'll lose his progress and will be back where he begun; on the verge of curling up in a ball of fluff and crying his heart out until he passes out.

The waiting room falls deadly silent after a while — no more footsteps entertain his hearing range and Tails is afraid he's the last one left waiting for updates from the doctors.

This is a bit odd for him too, he hasn't been in this position many times aside from a few where one of their battles did get pretty out of hand but despite all of the adventures, they don't regularly show up at hospitals. Let alone sit in waiting rooms for hours on end, hoping and praying that someone will walk out of that door and tell him that everything is fine, he's fine, he's safe—

Do they even know he's here? 

Probably not.

Then again, technically, he isn't supposed to be here either. 

For all the doctors and nurses know, he's supposed to be asleep under the weight of all those painkillers in his hospital room.

But there's not much sleeping he can do, can he? 

Not when he doesn't know if Sonic's breathing again or—

Nope. No. Okay, let's not do that. Back to the lights. There's a moth that has started bumping into it repeatedly and he briefly wonders where it got in from since the windows appear to be closed and all. Briefly, since he doesn't ponder it for long. He lets his tired eyes — exhausted, red, getting heavier with every passing second and threatening to dampen — trail the insect's movements. It bumps into the light, circles about afterwards and then tries again and keeps repeating this cycle and maybe it's enough to distract him, even for a while. He's enraptured with the small creature's naïveté. 

He thinks, in a sense, he isn't that different from the moth. 

He just doesn't know if the waiting room is his light or is it his brother?

He's afraid to say it's the latter. 

Tails loves Sonic. 

He loves his brother more than anything in this world and he's been so sure that Sonic loves him just as much if not more too because that's just who they are. They are Sonic and Tails, they're brothers not bound by blood but something stronger — an unbreakable thread binding them both. They're a cosmic truth.

Yet Tails finds himself sitting here and questioning himself of that bond.

Sonic and Tails are to each other what a moth is to a flame.

They love each other.

But Tails is starting to see the flame get too close.

They'll burn.

And Tails is okay with burning if it's for Sonic, don't get him wrong. He'll do anything for Sonic. He's burnt for Sonic before, the bandages covering half his face and his right arm should be enough proof.

He's just afraid of burning Sonic.

He's afraid they've reached that point today.

Sonic is hurt because of him.

He's supposed to be the smart one, isn't he? Three hundred IQ and he couldn't have realized this sooner? Did he really need for today to come pass to know what the unbreakable bond truly means? Could he have spared Sonic the pain?

Tears prick at his eyes but Tails doesn't think he deserves to cry.

Not after what he did today.

Not after being the reason he almost lost his brother today.

(Worst of all; he still doesn't know if Sonic is okay.)

Tails finds it difficult to breathe around the lump in his throat.

Pathetic. Cry baby.

His own voice echoes in his mind, taunting.

He takes a deep breath and steels himself. He knows the solution to the moth and flame problem but he's certain Sonic will never agree to it. Sonic is too kind, too good, too generous. It will be cruel of Tails to know how to protect his brother and not do it, Sonic doesn't deserve that. 

Tails hurt Sonic.

The flame burnt the moth.

In order to not hurt Sonic anymore, Tails will simply snuff out the flame.

Even if his brother disagrees with him, Tails knows it's for the best.

(Quietly, distantly, his own heart disagrees with him too but he's too scared to listen to him.)

Another half an hour passes before a doctor walks out of the emergency room.

There's a hint of surprise on her face upon seeing him there — since he's supposed to be resting in his room and not be here — but she quickly moulds her expression into a more professional one before she delivers the news to him.

“He's awake.”

Even though Tails smiles, his ocean eyes tired and out of tears, he doesn't visit Sonic.

He doesn't visit Sonic for a long time.

[x-en-jpeg]

x•en: ‘I Show My Father Around His House’ is a poem i wrote today for an assignment for class. here’s an excerpt - the first stanza.

[jacqueillustrates]

Vampires attacked her and her family on her wedding day, feeding on everyone else and turning her by accident. She lost her mind and now lives in the cathedral, (abandoned after the fall of humans to vampires) spending her days making friends with bats 🦇 @drawtober

[sainteclectic]

when whole meets soul by chance on the roof that day... he sees the same dull look in soul's eyes he had when he was still human. that lost and lonely look that made him an easy mark. and that's why whole chooses to stay. because of how easily a death wish can be twisted into something much worse. because he can't bear to leave anyone, not even a stranger, to the same fate.

the first time soul faints during feeding, whole is terrified. he should've known better, he should've known he'd hurt someone, what was he thinking? and he panics, trying to remember how first aid works to stop the bleeding. soul wakes up just enough to give whole a weak smile and murmurs something about "keep going, you need it more than I do, I'll be okay"

and whole cradles soul's cheek gently as he continues, keeping his spinning head upright. it's so wrong for whole to be doing this, and yet soul lets him so easily. he mutters apologies against soul's broken skin while soul slurs through his reassurances. whole takes more than he ought to in the end, but soul would give it all to him if he asked.

he doesn't. instead, he pulls back and looks at soul's half-conscious face, still resting on his palm, still giving him that same woozy smile. and whole is awful, just awful to find that dazed look so very beautiful.

soul notices him staring and giggles - and despite how wrong it is, whole can't help but smile at the sound.