#(... maybe its mostly just loneliness without knowing how to find friends)

[ganondoodle]

sometimes i wish i was one of those artist that make people go "this is a PAINTING???" or "with WHAT programm/medium???" but its just not what i can do or find fun :/

[blueiscoool]

Connie Converse: The 'Genius' of a Singer Who Was Ahead of Her Time - Then Disappeared

Connie Converse failed to find fame as a singer-songwriter in the 1950s, then mysteriously disappeared without a trace. On the 100th anniversary of her birth - and approaching the 50th anniversary of her disappearance - she's now remembered as a great lost talent.

In January 1961, an unknown Bob Dylan arrived in Greenwich Village with a guitar in his hand and $12 in his pocket, on his way to revolutionising popular music with his poetic, personal songs.

Maybe he brushed past Connie Converse as she went the other way. She moved out of the New York neighbourhood that same month, after a decade of struggling to get significant attention for her own intimate, sophisticated and beautiful songs.

There is a parallel universe where Converse was the one who got the big break, and she is a household name.

At least, that’s the theory put forward in a recent book called How To Become Famous – not a manual, but about why some talented people become successful and others stay in the shadows.

It imagines a world where Converse is "widely known" as "the most original, and perhaps the greatest, of the folk singers of the 1950s and 1960s", who influenced everyone from Dylan to Taylor Swift, and for whom "a Nobel Prize is not out of the question".

Musician and author Howard Fishman, who published Converse’s biography, To Anyone Who Ever Asks, last year, also thinks Converse could have made it big.

"I love to think about an alternate reality in which Connie Converse’s music did receive the recognition it deserved in its own time, and she became a recognised for the musical genius that she was," he says.

"I almost think a better version of American cultural history could have happened, had that been the case."

But How To Become Famous author Cass Sunstein concedes that Converse wasn't better than Dylan. She also faced barriers because she was a woman. And perhaps her clever, melodic and mostly melancholic songs just never quite had mass appeal.

They dealt with subjects like loneliness, promiscuity, quarrelling lovers, and frequenting saloons in the afternoons. It's certainly hard to imagine them really catching on in the early 50s, an age dominated by schmaltzy crooners, folk purists and show tunes.

"She didn't sound like anybody else that was making music in her own day," says Fishman. "And she doesn't sound like anybody else making music now, to my ears."

British singer Vashti Bunyan became a Connie Converse convert after a recommendation from US DJ David Garland, the first person to play her songs in 2004.

"I couldn't believe that they were [recorded] so long ago, it was the 1950s," Bunyan says. "And just to hear her speaking in a way that I would have always wanted to speak was very moving.

"She was completely ahead of her time, and it must have been very hard for her. She must have felt isolated.

"If she had any ambition for her songs, she must have known how good they were, how clever and funny and wonderful they were, and poetic. But other people didn't seem to recognise that kind of genius writing at the time."

Bunyan knows what it's like to have her music "rediscovered" decades later. She released an album in 1970, which has gained cult status in more recent years. She says their stories are very different, but agrees there is an allure to the idea of "the discovery of something from so long ago".

"And how lucky that she was recorded," she says. "Connie was recorded by her friends, and none of those recordings were supposed to be commercially released.

"But it's so wonderful that they have been, that they have been found. And it makes you wonder about all the other people that weren't."

Converse was recorded at the home of one of her friends and champions, Gene Deitch, but she never released any music in her time. She performed for small groups of supporters, but never played a proper concert. She made one TV appearance, but that led nowhere.

Ellen Stekert, a folk historian who was also performing in the 1950s, believes Converse was just "too different" to have "made it".

"I think she was wonderful. I think she was totally out of sequence of any kind of cultural impulse," she says.

"She was self-contained, and also self-isolated. It was too bad somebody could not break through that."

Converse did have her supporters, but any female singer at that time needed to be backed by a man with the right connections, Stekert says. And Converse was socially awkward, and not good at self-promotion.

"Unfortunately, she didn't have much social understanding of things. She did not have a very good rapport, I think, with people.

"Evidently, she had very bad teeth and her body odour also was fairly prominent. And those are two factors in middle-class America that will make sure you don't make it any place."

Converse worked for a printing company and then for the Institute of Pacific Relations. After leaving New York in 1961, she became editor of the Journal for Conflict Resolution in Michigan, and her intellectual activities, and peace and anti-racism activism, were highly regarded.

But then, her life seemed to lose purpose and direction. On 10 August 1974, a week after her 50th birthday, she posted letters to family and friends, telling some she was returning to New York.

She drove out of Ann Arbor and has not been heard from since. Neither her body nor her car was found.

A new life?

"As far as we know, she never made it to New York," Fishman says.

"As far as we know, she never made it anywhere.

"I'd love to think that she started a new life somewhere else, and that she lived more years. But who knows?"

On Saturday 3 August, exactly 100 years after Converse’s birth, Fishman is in her home town - Concord, New Hampshire - for a ceremony to give the singer her first official recognition.

Her music has gradually spread over the past 20 years. So, too, has her story, and the mystery of her disappearance is often the first thing that gets people's attention.

"The unfortunate and darkly poetic thing is that she needed to disappear in order for us to see her," Fishman says. "That was the hook that was needed for us to pay attention to her.

"But what I always say is, don't focus on how she disappeared, focus on how she lived, because her life is so much more fascinating and meaningful, and has so much more to teach us than the fact that at age 50, she felt that she had to vanish."

By Ian Youngs.

[oceansssblue]

hello hello friend, i have a writing request!

can i get a commander mayday x reader? something along the lines of reuniting after him surviving barton 4, just some fluffy fluff (and maybe a little angst sprinkled in if you feel its necessary hehe)

much love <3

Hey there! Interesting request, we don't see much of Mayday round here but I totally get the appeal!

Obviously some changes to the show, but all for us to enjoy ;)

Hope you like it!

Xx,

Sky.

"COLD WITHOUT YOU"

SW REQUESTS –MAYDAY/(GN)READER 📩💔💖

WARNINGS: FROSTBITE&INJURY, OTHERWISE FLUFF.

It is a cold day in Barton IV; and that is saying a lot, considering the ever present freezing air on the almost desolate planet currently ruled by the Galactic Empire. You are somewhat of a nomad, having left the troubles of your past life behind; living a mostly solitary life in the mountains. It isn't the most comfortable of lifes; but you appreciate the peace and quietness that blankets your little home cavern after so much pain and destruction.

You step inside your home, instantly feeling physically better. The cave you live in shields you perfectly from the howling wind; and once you lit up a small fire in your humble living room of sorts, the temperature rises slowly but steadily. Today has been one of those days where the cold seems to slip it's thin fingers inside your clothes; leaving them humid and sticking them to your skin.

You disrobe and change to an entirely new set of clothes. You're shaking while you do so; but soon you're dressed with a dry set and you sigh in relief, sitting down next to the fire and pulling your socks off, smiling at the warming heat inches away from your frozen toes. It feels like heaven, such a small thing.

You stay close to the fire for some minutes, warming up. Once the tingling sensation has reduced and your skin and muscles feels something akin to normal, you reach over to your vault and take a pack of rations out.

"Cheers, Mayday" you joke out loud, and take your first bite into it.

It's not your everyday dinner; not you're favourite. You're pretty self-dependant. You know how to hunt your food –wether it's edible plants and fruits, or a small or large mammals–. Birds are more difficult to catch –unless they're injured–; but you've definitively had them more than once too. Hell, you've even had lizards and other small reptiles for lunch. However, when the temperatures are extremely cold and you aren't as lucky as to find much of a prey, you always have Mayday's extra rations. That's actually how the two of you met; he was scanning the perimeter of his base, once, and you were inmerse on the hunt. He watched you kill a mountain cat; and made a comment about that being a good ammount of food for two. You had been shocked by his presence and his suggestion; but loneliness had started to pull on the strings of your heart back then, and you had nodded dumbly. That night you had shared your first dinner and the warmth of your bodies; and the rest was history.

In present time, you go to sleep with a tired but soft smile on your face.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hours later, you wake up with shuffling steps and grunts right outside your cave. You instantly frown and grab your blade, standing up quietly and slithering towards the entrance in alert. It sounds human, so your first instint is to think of Mayday; but there's more than one set of wobbly steps, and he would never bring visitors unannounced. No, it's definitively a stranger.

You see him first. He's tall and skinny; you can see that even with his armour on. It's different than those you've seen before as well; almost black, and paiting a dark contrast against the white of the snow behind him. He's got a riffle attached to his back and a visor on his helmet; some sort of sniper. He's covered in snow, shaking visibly; his companion too, who has to be almost dragged inside in order to...

"M-mayday?" You stutter, freezing on the spot and lowering your blade, abandoning your agressive possition instantly.

"W-we're going to n-need some... help..." the stranger grunts, teeth clashing violently against each other, and you spring into action, quickly standing at your partner's other side and holding some of his weight.

The three of you stumble inside; and collapse near the fire.

You're frenetically checking him inmediately. You rip his helmet of; for once having no care where it lands while you cup his face trying to get his attention and then take his pulse when he barely responds. It's faint but it's there.

"What happened?" You question the stranger in pannick.

You quickly work on taking his armour off; piling it up fast and methodically at your side. You feel the stranger studying you, but you don't even glance at him. Mayday is all that matters now.

"Avalanche" he answers, voice raspy "he hit his head. The most worrying thing now is the frostbite, though. I'd take a look at his feet if I were you".

You nod in understanding.

You're both silent for the next handful of minutes; while you leave Mayday in just his underware before covering him with one thick blanket after another. You take up some heating packs of your vault too; breaking the sticks and pushing them under the blankets so he warms up even faster. You throw some other things at the stranger too; hear him change as well in the silence of your home.

Mayday's still shivering half an hour later. His skin still looks dangerously red and blue; body trembling in his unconsciousness. You've already pushed him close to the fire, used some heat sticks, changed his wet clothes and covered him in blankets. There's only so much you can do.

Without worrying on the other soldier seing you half naked, you take your clothes off, and cuddle up close to Mayday inside his refuge of blankets. He's so cold it makes you wince and tremble; but you clench your jaw and stubbornly press your whole body against him. He needs you, and the cold isn't going to stop you. Mayday mumbles and you soothe him with a caress and a Keldabe kiss.

"You better not try anything or you'll end up dead" you warn the soldier, who's still looking at the both of you, either from mistrust or surprise.

"Won't" you hear him grumble, shakily. "You're my best chance of survival. Besides, I owe him".

You only desperately wish Mayday survives the night as well.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You wake up with your man mumbling incoherent words and pressing further into you, cold –but normal cold– nose hiding on the curve of your neck. You blink sleeply, and scan him instantly; a relieved sigh escaping your lips at the feeling of his no longer alarming body temperature stealing some of yours.

Your hands come up to cup his face; brushing his long disheveled hair aside and staring at him with raw adoration and love. You can't help yourself and kiss him, then; a soft, heartfelt press of lips.

Mayday groans and groggily opens his eyes; scanning the situation –gaze lingering on Crosshair's lying form a pair of meters away– before returning to you. He hums, and hides his face in your neck again, kissing your skin gently.

"Morning, cyare" he whispers, voice hoarse but sounding like a dream to you. "Sorry for stealing your heat tonight".

You sigh in content and wrap your leg around his hips. One of Mayday's strong big hands reaches down to hold your thigh against him.

"Just happy you're safe and sound, May" you whisper back at him, pulling back to look at him in the eyes. "You scared the shit out of me".

Mayday hums and tugs you closer to him. The warmth feels delicious below the blankets. You can't help but feel a slow, unhurried tingle of arousal building inside of you. You don't do anything to chase it.

"Mm. I know. I'm sorry, mesh'la. Yesterday was a mess".

You stay in silence for some time; both of you caressing each other's skin softly.

Your eyes glance back at the other soldier sleeping on your cave.

"Who is he?" You whisper to him.

Mayday takes a moment to answer.

"Imperial sniper. A clone, though obviously different than me. I Think... Think he's starting to get tired of it. Some part of him clinges to the Empire like it's the only thing he has left; but I think it's just a matter of time before he let's go".

You hum distractedly. Your nose brushes against his.

"You trust him?"

Mayday sighs.

"Trust is a powerful word" he carefully answers. "I think he's made some bad choices, like me. But he's a good kid".

You give him a soft smile and kiss his lips once more. His beard and mustache tickles your skin.

"You can't save everyone".

Mayday smiles; a small, nostalgic tug of his lips.

"I know" he whispers, closing his eyes and cupping your cheek with his hand, foreheads pressing together. "I'll just focus on you, then".

THE END.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Boom! This oneshot came up being a mix of fluffy and nostalgic/melancholy angsty! I hope you liked it!

Next work will be a non romantic Echo&Omega angsty/comfort convo. After that we've got a cryptic pregnancy with Hunter, and then some more fun&light oneshots too!

Stay stunned,

Xx,

Sky.

PS. Still not knowing how to link works with just the title. I accept help xD.

Back to my main masterlist here:

[what-a-weird-rose]

RoseKiller: The Things You Do (Make Me Crazy)

Pairing: Evan Rosier / Barty Crouch Jr.

Rating: E

Prompt: Choking

Word Count: 1.4k

There is a long mirror on the wall of his office, stretching from the ceiling to the floor; it was too big to fit anywhere else, not to mention a strange addition to the rustic look of the rest of the bar. Barty liked it, he liked looking through it during the wee hour of the night and seeing his father’s face staring back at him. Perhaps it was strange, his need to see his father in himself when he was half-way high, or drunk, or both. The crazy thing about it was, really, Barty wasn’t sure when it started, all he knows is that from the moment he can remember he reveled in seeing his father’s face on his own, doing terrible things.

Maybe that was the problem with the whole picture, Barty could never let go. His father had quietly disowned him -gave him a good chunk of cash and sent him away- and clearly had no intention of reaching out, but Barty just couldn’t. He loathed the very idea of letting the resentment die because, at the end of the day, the resentment is what kept him going most times; when the dark was too chilling and the loneliness too overbearing, the resentment of his father kept the embers stirred.

Even now, as the night dwindles into very early morning, Barty finds himself lost staring at himself -his father- in the massive mirror.

There is a knock at his office door, he says nothing.

The door opened and Barty makes no effort to look at who decided to ignore the obvious brooding energy in favor of annoying him, not like he doesn’t know already.

Of all his friends -the ones he considers friends and not stepping stones to bigger things- Evan is the one with the least patience for Barty’s moods. Often, he outright ignoring them in favor of doing whatever it was Evan dragged him into on those days.

“Good morning, hot-stuff,” Barty snorts as his swivel-chair is spun around, “brought you breakfast, sexy.”

“Disgusting,” Barty says derisively, digging his hands into the flimsy paper bag Evan holds out.

“You get stuck with Dorky and McKinnon for a day and then tell me how you’re planning to cope with the things you’ve seen.” Evan nods to himself, as if trying to convince his own brain that he’s in the right -he’s is, no one should be subjected to Dorcas and Marlene’s hot-garbage flirting.

“You mean you don’t think I’m really ‘hot-stuff’?” Barty pouts, exaggerated in the motion as he dunks fries into a half-melted milkshake. Evan shakes his head vigorously, though Barty is unsure if its in reference to his comment or his fry-milkshake crime. “Thanks for the food, babygirl.”

“Ew. Never call me that again, toad.” Evan recoils, pulling his feet up to rest on the plush of the chair he must have pulled in from the hall. “They’re so fucking nasty, hot-stuff, I don’t know how they manage it.”

Barty nods, throwing his legs out to rest precariously on Evan’s socked feet. “Who stole your shoes?”

“Nargles.”

“Of course, pesky things.”

Evan stretches out in the chair, shoving Barty’s gross mostly-decayed-but-decent-enough Sketchers’ off him. “Those things are so gross, Barty.” And he laughs, as though Evan can’t see his hot pink socks through the holes.

“But without them, I can’t see in the dark,” Barty whines petulantly, stamping his feet on the ground to demonstrate his point, waving his arms around as the soles flicker to life.

“Get a flashlight ‘fore you give me tetanus.” Barty smiles wide as he stands, lifting his arms up high. “When’re you leaving tonight?”

“Wanna take me home?”

“Better than you going with some crazy with a vendetta.”

“One time, Ev. It was one fucking time.”

Evan watches as Barty moves across the room to stare into that mirror of his. He watches as the muscles in Barty’s back shift as he scoots the thing over to access the safe; he says nothing as Barty unlocks the metal box.

“Pandora wants you to come to breakfast tomor- later this morning,” He can’t see it, but Evan can certainly feel Barty roll his eyes, “don’t blow me off, and don’t blow her off either. They’re getting worried about you.”

“Panda send you then? Wanted to make sure ickle Barty was staying out of trouble?” Evan feels the moment Barty stiffens, as if prepared for a fight.

“Either you meet them somewhere they choose, make niceties, and convince them you’re fine, or I tell them your half-homeless and living mostly out of your boss’ office.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Fucking test me, Crouch, see how close to wouldn’t I’ll get.”

Evan’s hands are warm and soft around his neck, holding tight around his airways- Barty feels high.

Evan licks the side of his face, moving one of his hands from Barty’s neck to his arm, where he pulls one hand up and toward his face. He bites and licks Barty’s inner wrist before setting the hand in his hair.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” Evan says, like last time, and every time before that.

“Take me somewhere nice, Ev.”

Evan tightens his grasp over Barty’s neck, shifting his body if only to get more leverage. He pushes backwards into the wall until there is even less no where for Barty to go- not that he’d want to.

Evan kisses his jaw, scraping his teeth along the skin as far as he can get before he runs out of space to mark on Barty’s face. His hand loosens, moving off of Barty’s neck entirely to join his other to pin Barty’s wrists against the wall. Evan’s mouth works quickly, licking stripes of sweaty skin and kissing the crevices between Barty’s jaw, neck, and shoulders.

Barty throws his head back, whining loudly as Evan licks along his collarbones.

“Fuck you, make me cum.”

“Shut up, Barty, no one wants to hear you whine.”

Evan releases his hands and spins him around speedily, before grasping at Barty’s neck once again and sending him back into that quiet submission they both seemed so fond of.

Evan takes the opportunity to bite into the back of Barty’s neck, sucking the skin into his mouth enough to definitely leave a mark. Good, he thinks as his free hand unbuckles Barty’s cheap belt.

Barty jerks his hips forward in some half-hearted attempt at getting friction against the wall; Evan gives his bare ass one good slap in retaliation.

“What have they done to you to make you so fucking impatient.”

“They don’t dally around with foreplay, that’s what.”

Evan rolls his eyes, feeling around Barty’s ass until he finds that puckering hole.

Barty whines louder than before as Evan’s index finger drags along the sensitive skin.

“Fuck me, whore.”

“Shut up, slut.” Evan grips hard on Barty’s neck, and deeply enjoys feeling the way Barty’s gasps around it, trying desperately to get something, with such little luck.

Evan reaches out toward the bag Barty brought in with him, scrambling around inside it until he finds the little bottle of cheap lube.

He squirts the clear gel on the plump of Barty’s ass before smearing it onto his fingers.

“Have you been good, pretty?” He feels as Barty desperately tries to nod, or speak, or anything, and revels in how little he manages. “That’s right, you haven’t, shame that. But I suppose, since I’m so nice, I’ll give you a treat anyways.”

He gives no other warnings before shoving three fingers into Barty’s ass, confident enough in the other’s innate ability to be stretched at all times.

Barty cries, though its choked and scratchy sounding.

Evan soothes him by nuzzling in his hair, though they both know its more patronizing than anything else.

He pumps his fingers in and out, splaying they out at random intervals before calling it a day. Evan scoops more lube off Barty’s ass before stroking his cock, setting up the angle, and shoving in all the way at once.

Barty thinks he might really cry at that.

Evan makes quick work of configuring the angles, setting the pace rough and quick, finding his now-free hand loss in Barty’s hair, tugging and petting.

Barty moans and grunts and groans, though all sound decrepit and pitiful from behind Evan’s large hand.

Evan’s pace is relentless, setting them up for a quick end regardless of anything Barty does. And as they always seem to do at the end, Barty cums first, fast and hard and all-consuming, right before Evan follows, quieter and more deliberate as he fills Barty’s hole.

“Ugh, now I have to sit in your car with cum in my ass.”

“Sucks to suck, cuntface.”

[burntheworldtwice]

Movies To Watch When You're Alone on Thanksgiving Part I of Who the Hell Cares

Though this is not my first holiday or even my first Thanksgiving alone, for some reason the deafening solitude is hitting a little harder than usual. My parents are together. My brothers with their families. My friends thousands of miles away. My fiancé with her friends and family. And me. Surrounded by three small old dogs and an empty house... and fridge. So as only I know how I embark on finding the best movies to soothe my soul and hopefully distract me from my anxiety. Onward.

It is 12:30pm and I have watched two movies so far. Two of my favorites. Tried and true for lonely days Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009) and Stuck in Love (2012) are sure to entertain and distract in the best of ways. But lets break it down.

First off. Is there ever really a bad time for a good Wes Anderson flick? One of my favorite elements of Wes Anderson is the consistency of which the films are produced. Though some could criticize that employing the same troupe of actors time and again would lead to a certain boredom surrounding performances. Maybe you get tired of the symmetry repetitively exercised visually. When I'm alone my anxiety sky rockets. I think about what everyone is doing without me. All the fun I'm missing out on yet again. Is anybody even thinking about me? My mind moves too fast for meditation. But the familiar cadence of the actors lines, the constant symmetry, and wholesome stories soothe my worried thoughts like ASMR. Some find the sound of whispering and fucking with the teeth of a comb soothing, I find certain movies to be my ASMR. Therefore my top suggestion for honestly any lonely day is a good Wes Anderson flick. The characters will keep you company, the stories will warm you, and for two hours you will forget that you were ever alone.

Fantastic Mr. Fox (2009) Wes Anderson

Stuck In Love (2012) Josh Boone

On the completely other end of the spectrum is Josh Boone's emotional drama Stuck in Love. Now anyone who knows me would be surprised that I would pick a sappy movie like Stuck in Love as one of the best movies for being alone. The whole movie is about love and connection and family when my wheelhouse is horror, crimes, thrillers, violence. On a daily basis I fill my days with the darkest and most fucked up movies I can find, but, those who actually know me know that I love a good sap fest. I watched the Kissing Booth multiple times a week for months and I don't even fuck with Joey King like that. Anyway back to my point. The movie centers around a dysfunctional family made up mostly of writers. The mother Erica, played by Jennifer Connelly, cheated and left her husband, Greg Kinnear, three years prior. Their 19yr old daughter, Lily Collins, resents her mother for hurting her father and copes with the failures of their marriage through pessimism, cynicism, and promiscuity. On the other hand the high-school aged son, Nat Wolff, is overly sensitive. A hopeless romantic with dreams of being the next Steven King. While yes, the cast is star studded. The Hollywood production value is barely muffled by the soft indie cinematography. Yet every time I watch this at different points in my life I find myself relating to different characters along the way. If I feel I can relate to each characters experiences across the board whether an unsatisfied housewife, disenchanted daughter, or stoner outcast I can remind myself that other people feel exactly like me. So many in fact that books and movies are made just about us. In that sense though I am watching another family celebrate while I'm alone its almost as if they're right here with me. Reminding me that dysfunction, loneliness, and darkness are only temporary. This on one day out of 365. It really is just a blip.

[punkpandapatrixk]

🦂Biggest Fight You & Destined Person Could Have—Timeless Tarot Pick A Card

One day, Time came to Yang and Yin (on separate occasions) and asked them if they hadn’t tired of their legendarily longwinded dance. Time had been watching them for aeons after all. Yang and Yin each pondered the question, and finally said: they wished to return to the gentle embrace of Eternity’s Love.

In all honesty, they had been yearning towards unity for quite some time. Alas, the two Lovers were clueless as to how they could reconcile once and for all. Yang and Yin had painted so many chapters of tragedy that they had now forgotten what harmony looked like.

Time felt so much sympathy for Yang and Yin and told them they had indeed been learning all there was to know of creation and annihilation. On top of that, Gaia’s very own chaotic polarities had tremendously helped them understand God’s loneliness—Its own Divine Omniscience—and thus, Its desire for a Love Companion.

As a thanks for their service, Time promised Yang and Yin he would speak to Destiny and ask her assistance in orchestrating a reunion for the two of them. He mildly warned them of one peculiar habit of Destiny's though: she was kind of into violent orchestra...

[Back to Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

Pile 1 – Ego Battles

what the fight is about – Knight of Pentacles Rx

The biggest fight you could ever have with your Destined Person revolves around your earthly existence. Really, it’s about practical things, in a manner of speaking. Life plans and goals; vision and mission; and what legacy you wish to leave behind, either for the world or just your children. This may also include issues with the bigger family, like your in-laws and all that stuff.

For the most part, this fight is an ego battle. So, a lot of misunderstandings, wrong perceptions, misinterpretations of meaning, taking words out of context; stuff like that. Depending on your maturity level, this fight might as well turn real ugly; but for the most part, this is the kind of fight that bruises the ego more than actually hurts feelings.

Both of you are stubborn and somewhat fixed in your ways, and that’s mostly what the fight is all about: you can’t find a common ground for your seemingly differing ambitions. Or in some cases, it’s just the differing methods you can’t seem to agree with. This is the kind of fight that involves a lot of shouting (maybe even throwing things!) and ends up with a lot of tears (both alone and when confiding in friends and family).

why you’re triggered – 9 of Wands Rx

Within the context of this particular fight, you feel like you’ve worked so hard, contributed a lot, but your Destined Person hasn’t shown enough appreciation/acknowledgement. That frustrates you to no end, but for some reason, you could never communicate it. And so, a lot of your repressed emotions just exploded one day and you started arguing… maybe even shouting in distress…

This was shocking to your Destined Person, to say the least. They never knew you felt that way. Your trigger is likely something you’ve never told them before. Perhaps something from childhood, or even your early professional years, where you have felt like your efforts were met with zero notice. Or in some cases, that you were taken advantage of by fucking bozos for your amazing work ethics.

At any rate, this frustration becomes a projection you throw at your significant other. Actually, you only wish to be understood for all of the contribution you’ve made, but your method of communicating this is broken because you’ve felt wronged. Because, you feel like you’ve sacrificed a lot in silence a.k.a putting up with a lot without complaining.

why they’re triggered – 4 of Pentacles Rx

Similarly, this is also a person who feels like they’ve given so much of themselves. They always give extra effort and within their relationship with you, they feel like they’ve doted on you and lavished you with a lot of good things. Honestly, their affection is really abundant in terms of material gifts. As well as what they do in the bedroom, to be honest LMAO

And yet! Here they are feeling wronged because you haven’t shared of yourself as much as they have! At least they think so. They think, although you’ve been together for a while, you’re still guarded. In a strange way, they feel hurt by your keeping things to yourself because it seems like you don’t trust them enough. They’ve wanted you to be open and vulnerable with them.

So, finally when this fight happens and you start to blame them for things, they feel you’re being unfair. Because they never knew these things that are your personal triggers. You never told them. They were clueless. And now you’re being ridiculous. Strong ego battles, and tears can’t be avoided at this rate…

How You’re Both Transformed After🔻🧡

-No romance is perfect, but because this is after all your Destined Person, try not to worry so much about having this fight. This reading might as well be just a heads up. But most importantly, whatever happens, you’ll only grow together.-

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 2 - Immature Minds

what the fight is about – 8 of Swords

First of all, the biggest fight you could ever have with your Destined Person is all caused by an inability to see clearly. Maybe this happens after you’ve been together for some time, maybe this happens at the beginning, too; at any rate, each of you feels trapped in the relationship. Like, you can’t grow as an individual because you’re too attached to each other.

For most of you, this indeed may happen after some time has passed. Because you love each other so much, after a while, you sorta realise that your worldview has become limited because you’ve come to only know a world which you share with your significant other. -Think Marshall and Lily from HIMYM.- And yet, it seems like there’s still so much out there you’re curious about.

The energy of this pile is rather awkward than violent. You may not necessarily argue or shout at each other, but suddenly there is coldness between you. It feels awkward because you can’t convey with words what you envision for yourself for the sake of your expansion as an individual. Because you fear having that kind of communication may cause misunderstandings.

Generally, it’s just painfully uncomfortable and you both overthink and struggle within yourselves instead of having a real communication to clear the air.

why you’re triggered – 4 of Wands

You’re in a comfortable relationship. A lot of things are safe and predictable. You have routines and your Destined Person is genuinely a lovely person to come home to. But something is still missing. Suddenly, you’re all grown up and you want to explore the world. But not like travelling with them. You really want to be independent.

It’s not like you want to break up or anything, you love and care about your Destined Person; you’re just seriously concerned about your own personal growth. You want to know who you are outside of this relationship. What are my potentials? You just haven’t explored all of your possibilities.

And so, there’s a possibility you might take a break from the relationship for a while. You know, soul searching and stuff. It might hurt; it might get uncomfortable; but if it’s any consolation, this is your Destined Person—who’s to say you aren’t likely to get back together after you’ve truly understood who you are without them?

why they’re triggered – Page of Wands

On the other hand, your Destined Person is someone who’s very ready to take things to the next level. They’re also comfortable; but, they’re sure. So when you come forward with either a concern or a proposition related to this yearning for independence, the most likely scenario is that they’re ultra shocked. In fact, they could also feel really disappointed.

They’re now wondering if you also want the same things as them and this may jeopardise the relationship. They could be torn between options, really. This is something that’s super saddening to them, but on the other hand also frustrating. For most of you, I’m seeing they’re not taking this with a light heart. Although you could also be the immature one here, them not being understanding of your concern is also their immaturity.

Peeps who have chosen this pile are probably really young when this relationship takes place. Come on, many people today are still babies even at the age of 31. So don’t fret too much, you both are just being given lessons by the Universe in regards to spiritual maturity. It’s all gonna be rainbows at the end~ Like Marshall and Lily!

How You’re Both Transformed After🔻❤️

-No romance is perfect, but because this is after all your Destined Person, try not to worry so much about having this fight. This reading might as well be just a heads up. But most importantly, whatever happens, you’ll only grow together.-

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Pile 3 – Total Cleansing of Spiritual Debris

what the fight is about – Knight of Cups

Okay, there’s something mega cosmic going on here, but ngl, this is the kind of fight that gets really… seriously, really… ugly on the inside, but then ends really cute. I’ll elaborate. But get ready.

First of all, the both of you could have significant Neptune (Pisces) influences or 12th House placements. You both are such passionate lovers, and sensitive and empathetic, and there’s simply so much feeling involved. The way you care and connect with each other is so cosmic, so extraterrestrial, so higher dimensional, and so to some extent, delusional.

Hopeless romanticism, I guess. But that’s really because you’re connected on a Soul level. In fact, your relationship is utterly beautiful you actually never argue or fight. You are harmonious because your energies match and mirror each other. But that’s also the downfall, once you enter a fight… the ratio of ugly matches the ratio of beauty… I guess that’s how physics works? And so, I’m trying to also say, this fight could as well be your first ever.

why you’re triggered – 5 of Wands

Whatever your role in society may be, I’m seeing that your relationship is one easily observable by the public. A lot of people know about your relationship and they’re watching your every move. Creepy, I know… Are you famous, fam? At any rate, you kinda can’t avoid gossip, slander, and jealous bitches.

Do NOT get discouraged, but I’m seeing many evil eyes wanting to ruin your harmonious relationship. Classic scenarios of girls or boys flirting with your significant other even in the presence of you! Rude, much; but they’re that desperate. One way or another, this gets on your nerves, eventually enough.

If by this time you still bear a lot of fears/insecurities/low self-esteem from past disappointing experiences, I’m seeing you could get real defensive towards your Destined Person. Like, suddenly, all of the traumas are coming back and you want to run away from the possibility of getting hurt (or abandoned) by the one person you love the most, and then you become passive-aggressive and real confusing.

If by this time you’ve become much stronger mentally and spiritually, this fight instead becomes a glue that sticks you closer together. It becomes just a silly misunderstanding and you’re just arguing childishly for a brief period.

why they’re triggered – 7 of Wands Rx

Hmm… let me tell you this, but don’t get angry at your Destined Person… Stupidly enough, your Destined Person kinda isn’t aware of all the evil eyes going on. -Seriously, how can they be like this??- It’s like, they’re just so happy to be with you and focused on you that they can’t even have eyes for anything else, let alone anybody else. They’re devoted to only you.

But they’re kinda, again, stupid in that they’re so social and polite and kind with everybody that they fail to keep serious boundaries. And you, feel seriously disrespected. When you accuse them of being flirty with other people, they also seriously get SO hurt. They feel like all this time they’ve thought of only you, how could you ever doubt them like that? And then their own traumas resurface and they get real angry, defensive about their behaviour. A lot of finger pointing at this point…

‘You’re surrounded by girls!’ ‘Well, you also have a lot of guy friends!’ ‘No, I don’t!’ yada yada yada…

How You’re Both Transformed After🔻💜

-No romance is perfect, but because this is after all your Destined Person, try not to worry so much about having this fight. This reading might as well be just a heads up. But most importantly, whatever happens, you’ll only grow together.-

Access full reading + cards on Patreon🌸

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Feel free to support me on Patreon if you love this kind of content🍑I create stories and tarot readings that calm the mind & heal from within🍒

[Back to Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

[cosmicwriterof21stcentury]

Forge the fire that burnt the city down,love, love, only love

Most of the time

I was on a verge of madness

An Incurable syndrome of some sorts

When I found myself crying often at little things

Or when I'd find myself being my own worst critic

I don't know how to let people go

Or let this frustration out

I never learnt how to manage my emotions

So it came out in the most Illogical ways

The lost motivation everytime I'd try to make something

All the crumpled papers in the corner of my room

They speak my truth.

And even more than that I found myself lying wide awake in bed in hopes that it would occur to someone how I really felt

Writing and drawing was only an attempt to reach out

I was mostly afraid of being lonely

And so it did, It draped me in its arms like a never leaving sickness

The one that made my bones crack under the weight of never being understood

I lie alot, specially when I say that I'm happy

And on days when I smile the widest , I feel ever so lonely

I don't know if you read this that you'll understand but I believe it's only human nature to seek validation, I haven't accomplished much in life except for a thing here and there ,not enough to make myself proud .

I am also the person who doesn't know what love tastes like except the crumbs of it that I learnt to lick off the tables,despite being told I've the most unique perspective of life,but won't a victim become the predator when it's been victimized his whole life?

I've been called many things - Narcissist, Irritable, Annoying,A Burden,good for nothing,a Failure and that's when I started to separate myself from the others. They couldn't see the facade of my sadness,My Clinging Younger Self that deafened me to demand justice? What justice? Where's the justice? I lived with her long enough to realise she isn't the one to be reasoned with,so I suffocated her and I killed her.

The ever so lovely faces,the enchanting smiles,the wicked souls and the lost sheeps.

I liked to think I'm better than them,better off them,better of them,better in a way that could only validate my Loneliness.

And when I look at other people's relationship with their mothers and fathers, I feel this Heinous Anger and possibly - Jealousy.

I don't hate my parents,oh no , I don't . That's a crime. It's a sin. Blood is thicker than water.

But sometimes I wish they would notice me,see me or just acknowledge my presence.

I want to feel vulnerable without thinking that it's an abomination to myself.

I've been cruel to my mother, my father's been cruel to my mother but sometimes I see her in my dreams, an image of her burning, she tells me to lick off her bones clean and love her,love her,love her,love her.

Eventually, I learnt it the hard way,but it's true,war isn't about the one's who won but the one who's left.

I often wish I could sew my hands to that of my friends hands , so we don't drift away,but in the loudest of rooms with their laughter I feel it echoing in the emptiness of the room.

I like classical music, the ones with instruments mostly,that of violins and cello and I daydream of being a hero which I can never be. A hero that saves everyone but themselves. A hero that can only be reborn with a purpose,which I do not have.

I don't remember anything from my childhood except a few memories which make me believe that I'm cracked in some places and my being is spilled out from those cracks ,but I only have two hands, so I let them go and Iook at my hands and I barely recognise who I am anymore.

I've lost my sense of self atleast a thousand times, if I could compare, I'm that drawer in the house with objects that don't belong there or maybe a crayon mixed up with other old crayons and I'm barely picked on, I suppose the colour I'm made of is likely the most unwanted of them all.

I get alot of remarks on who I am,what I was,what I would and what I should be.

I like to think that I'm not the first ,and I'll not be the last.

And when I look at my mother ,in my head,I hear a voice shouting do you see me? Do you love me? Have you ever loved me? Do you have this sadness inside you too? And in those moments I forget that ,my mother, she's been a daughter too, a wife,a Sophisticated,an elegant woman raised by a daughter like her while a daughter in her raised her own daughter.

I believe it's a system, a corrupted,a rigged one and on top of that ,A System that only rejects Emotions and is a home to the cultivation of starving each other of love and teaching each other the ways to make skin,hairs,hands and face soft. Hands , only if they weren't so cold to touch,they could've mistaken you were infact dead.

I don't know much about my childhood,let alone theirs but I like to think maybe I'll understand them when I get older,so I keep my mouth shut, I swallow my desires ,I burn my tongue and I speak, only the words that could please the ears of their lost gaze.

And I feel lonely,so lonely,with all these people around me, I feel suffocated.

They all call me their friend but they barely know how I feel, wouldn't it be as good as half dead?

But then I laugh it off, afraid they'll laugh at me. A roof on my head,food in mouth,a mouth sewn close and a lovely household. I hate it I hate it I hate it I hate it-

I miss my father alot but he barely calls me to even ask how I am , so I pretend that it doesn't really matter how does it feel ? Is it cold in the town? Doesn't it get lonely to be the shadow of a father who wasn't even there? A father gone by the afternoon, returned ,fed,sat and he left.

I like to think that they'll love me one day, but will i be the same?

I often reason with myself if I'm not worthy of love,so I get mean when I'm nervous,like a bad dog.

I learnt somewhere how you only recognize love when it's how you perceive love, but deep down I see the spilled empty pages of my diary in my room and I explode, famish, scatter and discard my heart on an origami crane.

I learnt a lot of things , mostly skills that required hand work in hopes that if they couldn't feel my pain , atleast they could see it? How do you glamorize someone's pain without vomitting blood? How to appreciate the death of a person who's never been born? How do you reason me with my ability to see beauty in twisted things when all you feed me is agony and pain?

So I dismiss it,my thoughts,my emotions, nowadays I like to sleep,so that when I cannot turn them off. I dissociate from the world.

It would only matter if you think it does,how can one love a broken,twisted thing with a lost limb and a burnt tongue? Unworthy of love,your foolish desires,eat the burning coal and love them back,love them back ,love them back,even if it hurts. It's supposed to hurt. It wouldn't get better, only you get resilient.

-the end-

-tamanna.

[antisocial-thing]

💧°Rain pt. 1°💧

°

It started raining. A calm sensation washed over her troubled mind. Rain was the only thing that accompanied her since humanity had fallen. The only thing that hadn't left her. At least not yet.

She'd grown accustomed to the wet feeling on her face and clothes quite quickly. The sound of water droplets eased her nerves. She'd learned to treat it as her friend and welcome it with a smile. Not that she knew how to do that. She'd never had a real friend aside from her father. A faint memory made its way into the back of her mind. A memory of him telling her no one was worthy of her friendship just yet. That she was too special.

Well, that didn't apply to her anymore. She'd become like everyone else. A survivor. A survivor trying to stay alive. Although the reason for that still remains unknown. Why was she still kicking when she had done so many cruel things?

It had been years since the outbreak, however, the sense of hope she knew that was not true clung to her, tearing her apart piece by piece every day. It was destroying her, and she'd unable to do anything with it. She was too much of a coward.

Yet, the rain never left. Of course, it stopped sometimes but it always came back like a boomerang. Maybe she'd gone insane to think about it in that way, to appreciate it so strongly. And mostly - to be so happy about it. Loneliness got to everyone, after all, didn't it? As long as something kept her sane - she wasn't complaining.

°

Sweat was slowly dripping down her forehead, making its way into her eyes, blurring her vision. She had to brush the hair covering her face back to see the way more clearly. She’d been running for God knows how long. There just seemed to be getting more and more of them.

She could see a gas station in the distance. If she managed to lose them, she could hide in there and rest for a minute. Besides, she had a chance to find something essential. She’d been short on water for a while now. The boiling hot weather didn't help at all. She missed the rain.

She caught sight of a tree she could be able to climb easily. That was her chance. Walkers were too slow to notice her sudden disappearance. For them it was like one second, she’d gone into thin air. Bunch of dumbasses. She waited patiently until the last one decided to leave her alone and continue searching for a fresh meal.

A loud sound came unexpectedly from the station that made her squint her eyes and watch the place. It was probably one of the undead.

Oh boy, was she wrong.

“Hey, hey, we won’t hurt you, it’s okay,” coming here turned out to be a mistake. Now she had to deal with this situation. Goddammit.

Two people. A dark-skinned woman and a white guy. Both with weapons, fortunately, not pointed at her. They were blocking the only exit. They had her cornered.

Panic clouded over her mind. She couldn't escape. She swiftly pointed her knife, hidden in a pocket, at them, trying to scare them off what she knew was foolish. She would just anger them further. She stopped thinking logically – the only thing that mattered was survival.

Pull yourself together!

“Wow, there’s no need for that,” the man put away his gun and motioned for his female companion to do the same. She hesitantly complied.

“Are you alone?” he asked, trying to gain her trust. Not a chance in hell he'd succeed. “We need to know.”

“If you’re alone, we have a place, we could help you. It’s not an environment for a kid to be in alone,” Michonne tried to convince her, knowing how it felt like to not trust anyone. She’d been just the same back at the prison.

“It’s none of your business.”

“We have food, houses, and a few meters of a fence. We can take care of you,” he saw it in her eyes. The faint glimpse of hope. It’d been fighting with surviving the cruel world for a long time without rest. She seemed extremely tired. “You can leave anytime you want - we won’t hold you against your will.”

“I won’t give up my weapons,” she quickly demanded, panicking slightly. Subconsciously she reached her gun hidden in her jeans.

“You won’t need to use them. We provide safety for our people,” he smiled softly, trusting his own voice. They could actually help and let her become a part of their community.

°

"Is all this necessary?" the chair in front of the camera felt uncomfortably stiff. Her voice was raspy and also stiff since she didn't have a single ounce of trust for the people standing behind the said camera. Besides she hadn't talked to anyone for months. They were watching her as if she was an animal trapped in a cage. Which was exactly how she felt at that moment.

A man and a woman. Rick and Carol - that was if the names they'd given her were true. She highly doubted it. The woman didn't look dangerous, however, the man seemed like he'd seen things no human ever should. It made him a threat. A threat that must be carefully observed in case anything went sideways during this conversation.

There were four windows and one large door behind her. That was her advantage. If something went wrong, she could just run out the door and go forward to the gate. On her way there she'd seen a few useful branches, she'd be able to use to climb up the wall and escape. Unless something stood in her way, it would be an easy task. They wouldn't get her in time. Nobody would.

"Everybody who wants to join this community goes through the same process", Rick quickly replied like he'd done this a thousand times. Maybe he had. She clearly saw he’d grown tired of it.

"Who says I want to be here?"  

"You can leave anytime you want. We're doing this because you agreed to give our place a chance", she couldn't give in to the false sense of safety Carol tried so hard to feed her. She thought the girl wouldn't notice because she was a woman. She would not fall for these tricks. These days trusting someone was a huge mistake. A mistake she couldn't afford. It might cost her everything.

"Okay, I think we can start. Would you like to tell us something about yourself, or should we ask you the necessary questions?" the silence lingering in the room was enough for an answer for the gray-haired woman.

"How many walkers have you killed?" the harsh question immediately stopped her hazy mind from overthinking again. Before she could even process Rick's words, the answer left her mind uncontrollably.

"I lost count," she didn't like a bit the looks they both gave her. The pity in their eyes. The glance that said no girl her age should experience this. She didn't want it. She didn't want anything from them. And yet, she was here.

"How many people have you killed?" this one was asked with a hint of hesitation in his voice. She wasn't surprised at all. They just wanted to know if she was a murderer. She'd want to know that as a precaution too.

"A few" she was pretty sure that was not the answer they expected. Carol's eyes widened as if she couldn't imagine the small girl killing anybody.

"Why?" Rick's reaction was another story. He saw her as a threat too. At least they had the same opinion about each other now. They both calculated one another with the same cold and scrutinizing gaze.

"Otherwise, I would have been beaten up, mutilated, raped, dismembered, and sure as hell killed," she looked him in the eye as she said those horrible words, the bare truth no one wanted to hear, her raw southern accent making a sudden appearance. "Was my answer satisfying enough, officer?"

She tried not to think about the times she'd met other people. Other bad people. People without humanity. The only thing that made them different from animals was gone and never coming back. The world was now a place of predators and prey, nothing else.

“The last thing – we need to know your name,” Carol cleared her throat in an awkward attempt to end the conversation and clear the atmosphere.

“It’s Blair Cross.”

It didn't matter anymore. The videotape ended here. Something new started inside the walls of Alexandria.

°

[20cm]

long letter (varying degrees of vulnerability and embarrassment) to someone(s), but probably mostly to myself, because ive felt absent and like a ghost for so long im not even sure where i should start

the concept of writing this feels incredibly silly for many reasons, including but not limited to the fact that ive already started it twice and felt dumb about how im wording everything. its not a unique experience and i find comfort in knowing that theres connection in how people feel emotions. but im also aware that if i never actually talk about it frankly without deflection or downplaying it that no ones going to know. and maybe some of you dont need to know, or dont want to.

you can stop reading this if you want then, genuinely this is selfishly for me needing to feel understood, because right now im not even sure i understand. this is just my little blog with people who follow me who dont know me, and those who do know me.

this letter is for the latter because im not sure how to say it to individuals and make it sound real, and sincere, and like im not just making up excuses for things maybe no one is looking for explanations for in the first place. but i feel each gap of time without saying Something to someone like a deep personal failure. like its my failure that a gap cannot be bridged because someone reached out and the shell of the person theyre talking to doesnt reach back. i struggle with feeling real, i dont blame anyone for leaving the ball in my court, im just sorry that its still sitting there. its not your fault

im sorry for being gone. both physically (digitally?) and mentally...im probably going to continue to be gone a lot. these periods of mental absence come and go but fact of the matter is that theyre becoming more frequent, or maybe just lasting longer

theyre hard to. work around. get over. which sounds like an excuse but im incapable of giving them at this point. its laughable how much im aware that maybe i dont owe the internet my time, but all my friends are online now, and its become increasingly hard to come to terms with how to balance where this intersects

i dont know how to feel healthily removed when the life i live outside my silly little phone+computer is painfully limited by a hundred factors, most of which i do not control, and the loneliness is suffocating

im also unsure how to not feel like im a whining child about all this. or how to not downplay my own feelings when i wouldn't dream of downplaying anothers, because im aware theres worse issues and also that its ok to struggle.

the feeling like ive failed every friend ive ever made haunts me like nothing else and its something im reminded of daily

knowing that one of the base responsibilities in a relationship with any human being is being present, but i have long periods of time where i cannot do that feels like a base failure at the most deep level. i cant and don't expect people to wait around forever. i will go months without being able to hold any real conversation with someone. i just dont want anyone to ever feel less cared for because of it, i think of everyone fondly

i think its also funny that logically i know friendships and acquaintances dont always last forever and that's okay. people are in each others lives for the times they need them and can keep each other. and you can always come back together if its wanted, but sometimes theres a lifespan and its fleeting, and you need to be okay with leaving people behind, and being left behind yourself

i think im just always used to my friendships having timers on them. when friendships last longer than a year those people become like extensions of my heart. i want everyone im friends with even for short times to feel warm and loved, because i know that life finds ways to bring people together and apart when it whims

i think im used to living like im on a timer in general. i dont expect things to last. im never under any assumption something will stay static. life is change. change is guaranteed. change isn't something to be afraid of

but it does scare me. intensely. i know that sometimes i let things go because the fight feels pointless. i know thats not always conducive to keeping relationships itself. i try anyway. im not sure it matters, but i want people to know that i Try. i feel that tug to Keep and Try so intensely

the problem is when i dont feel real, its hard to try. its hard to feel permanent. its hard to feel like anything matters. i get so used to floating as a defense mechanism that ive somewhat lost the ability to hold onto anything. everything feels like its running through my fingers. i tell myself itll all work out eventually

and it sometimes does. i have many lovely people in my life that are patient with me, and care in their own ways, and it makes me feel incredibly grateful and incredibly unworthy. everyone whos ever been patient with me when i disappear on and off for a few months deserves far better than i can give. im aware its not always about giving, but i feel like that by failing one of the core tenets of Being There most of the time im already asking for too much. i just hope that being there when i can is enough.

its harder to feel like any of these fears and issues are worth talking about when theyve plagued me for years. when ive tried to work on and patch the shortcomings and be Better for those i care about when it feels like i keep getting damaged in ways that set me back and make it harder to get back up

its hard to constantly explain myself as just going "through it" again. another week, month, couple months. especially when i know i could blame a lot of it on the last 2 years but that doesnt feel fair anymore. i know it's also my fault

so im sorry. genuinely and wholeheartedly. i know that i hurt people when im not present, when i stop answering and im barely there. i know its potentially uncomfortable for others. or who just worry. im also aware that theres people who probably havent given this a second thought, because theres also a possibility im making Up people who are mad at me out of my own self-loathing. i have no idea, because i know its also incredibly selfish to think im more than a passing thought when someone sees my name in a contacts list or online, but thats very unfortunately not how the brain works huh. im covering my bases at least

i want people to know im trying, that i care deeply, that im sorry, deeper. its hard to give proof of this. its also time i feel silly for having typed 38 paragraphs to post online like im doing a one on one therapy session with my little keyboard. its cathartic to say it out loud though. i spend too much time trying to be quiet. it feels like a waste if everyones time to put words to an experience that is not new to me over and over.

i am not always a perfect friend despite wanting to be desperately. i cant be there sometimes, and its funny (how many times will i say this) that once again im aware that theres no such thing. and trying is all anyone asks, and people will have plenty of friends who serve different social needs they have

absolutely mental to me that it Somehow feels life or death though. it feels ... dramatic to be so worked up about it, for years and years. or why Right Now is the breaking point in which i voice my very dramatic little fears

i dont know anymore, frankly. im trying to be real. im trying to be present. trying to remember what it feels like to feel looser and happier, instead of tightly wound and stuffed with cotton

i have post traumatic stress disorder, the months of september through february are already incredibly difficult for me. the month of march felt like i got my hopes up for nothing and the month of april feels like trying to come up for air

i feel guilty, lonely, and incredibly pathetic. its sad in hindsight and looking inward im aware its not all my fault, and its also not permanent

change is, as always, the only guarantee in life

but it means for the last half a year ive felt incredibly.....inhuman. a shell of someone. i don't know how to explain this to others without it feeling like an excuse. i dont want others to feel burdened by knowing they might have to sacrifice any comfort by being friends with me. its their choice to, its not like there's a single person on earth that doesnt come with baggage, but i feel guilty nonetheless. its hard to get over that sometimes. it used to be easier. it'll get easier again

i don't know what the point of this was. in genuinely do not expect anyone to have read any of this, im posting it and putting it into the wind.

but it felt like i needed to out it somewhere, remind myself that i always try. late last month i felt like giving up for the first time in a long while. needed to remind myself that i try. thats who i am. i keep moving. change is guaranteed. nothing is static, for better or worse

i am more than my illnesses and disabilities and i am worth patience and care, etcetera. if anyone needs me ill be trying to deal with my manic episode and little hallucinations

sorry if i disappear again. thank you for reading if you did. maybe writing this means ill feel better soon

[the-rainbow-lesbian]

OK so thanks for permission lmao

I'm just kinda so pissed, like I'm so convinced everyone hates lesbians like non lesbians piss me off so bad. I'm like mostly closeted except to a few of my friends and its so annoying to talk about my problems with regards to me being a lesbian to them because of how they react. It's either ignored, like they completely dismiss what I'm saying and move on or they act like they know better than I do about these issues. And they act uncomfortable whenever I mention anything, once I mentioned it to my friend how ignored I felt and she said maybe my friend felt overwhelmed with what I was saying, like what?? She might feel overwhelmed but it's 1000x worse for me. I've cried in front of these ppl with my issues regarding how I'm treated due to being a lesbian and the things I hear and they say 'oh well I wouldn't understand cuz I'm straight' like what do u mean u don't understand, I'm literally TELLING you. And obvi its bad with my family as well cuz I'm in a muslim household. Like the shit they say is wild,they lose their shit if we even say the word lesbian. I wish I knew more lesbians 😮‍💨. Ik I need to drop them friends I'm just waiting to get other friends so ik I can go to ppl. I feel so incredibly lonely and just, I wish ppl knew what I felt like, it's so weird how they dismiss homophobia so easily. My bi friends are even worse somehow, they've told me to not get crushes on them and that they can't find themselves marrying women like I thought I could relate to them once they came out but it's lonelier than ever. Just..the future seems so bleak fr, like ik my mum will disown me if I ever told her so I don't plan on it but ik I won't be ever able to move out without like everything going to shits. And even ppl I should be able to go to for support, I can't cuz of the woke homophobia. And tbh I've been tryna focus more on myself and other lesbians recently than like osa women cuz even when I actively care for them and their issues they never seem to care back. Tho i do feel guilty about it sometimes but ik i shouldnt. Anyways yh sorry if this was sm lol but umm yh. Have a nice day 😊

I am really sorry for everything you’re going through gosh I relate so much and I understand specially with having a muslim family. I hope you stay safe and things get better ♥️

[choptop-sawyer]

Hi again 😎💫 im here to dig at ur brain again bcs i. M. Aaa sorry i just love ur stuff but. I have this kinda rly specific storyline type hc area and I'd love to hear any hcs you might get from it if its at all jr thing. But um I keep sometimes thinking back to the idea of kinda, vaguely growing up in the same area as the Sawyers, being childhood friends (and being stupid 2gether, running arount the countryside, ditching school & playing in corn fields) -

But then having to leave in your late teens to school / whatever (I mean 😎 my sappy ass also thinks abt mutual pining w Bobby but you know...... nearly unrelated.......)

Then, later on (Bobbys now Chop Top, Nubbins is..... dead I guess but also >:( maybe not, the family is up to being a mess etc) returning to town to take a break from work or whatever. N meeting up w the family again, i mean, oblivious to the bullshit they get up to but.... yk

This is a bit rambly i should probs have waited to sleep but I can't get the thought of returning to the Sawyer door wearing Bobbys tie dye sweatshirt that hr borrowed u years ago and all the impact of being a former family member bc u were also kind of an outsider or whatever but also the drama of leaving so uwu sksjd

This got so long. All i wanted to ask is: sawyer family headcanons for a childhood friend returning to town after being away for years. Rip.

THANK YOU FOR SENDING THIS god I love the image too of just standing in the doorway,, you're not home, you've changed a little bit, but you still fit into some of the old aspects you know so well they fit you and cover you.

Actually this is great because that fic that I swear exists has pretty much the same premise but!!! I can make this one less tragic than that one. 😎

(This is mostly Chop Top n you centric please don't mind)

Also this timeline is all fucky. I think that as soon as Chop came home from Vietnam the Sawyers had basically uprooted themselves and were living in North Texas because of the... Hardesty incident. But like can we pretend that that never happened they r still there in Newt? Just for this. (Hope you like it!)

Chop Top's Childhood Friend Returns

You don't think you would have turned out the way you did without the Sawyers.

They were the main element of your childhood, a mystery that you had to be a part of. A mystery, because they were closed off. Mistrustful. The sickness of small towns carried to the extreme, because they were mostly alone. The loneliness made them more miserable, the misery made them more isolated. A cycle, a legacy.

So it was a a miracle that you were even allowed to be apart of some of it, but you attribute that miracle to Bobby.

He seemed to think you were as much of mystery as what you thought the Sawyers were. Two kids looking through a small window into another world. But he liked that. He liked that you were something different, something new. From beyond that small world of loneliness that lived in the house.

You learned quickly that he had a desire for anything beyond that world. So he'd invite you out with him, when you were kids, to run free in the tall grass, when you got older, to drive with him to places unknown. He had a knack for finding these odd places, and he always brought you along with the music cranked up loud on the radio.

Bobby told you many times that he wanted to see the world. He had this lust for life that went beyond the restlessness of the young. He also said that he wanted to bring you along with him when he saw the world. You didn't ever mention how that always made your heart skip a beat when he said that.

Maybe you should have. But the past is the past and you can't change that.

You knew the other Sawyers too, but Bobby tended to avoid them sometimes. But occasionally, you got to hang out with them.

Nubbins was an enigma. You didn't think Nubbins was his real name. But that's the only one you heard from him, but the name situation was the least confusing thing. He was the most open person you knew. And yet you couldn't understand him, and decided at some point that you wouldn't ever. But he was fun. His energy was infectious, if he was filled with joy, you couldn't help but laugh with him too. That was Nubbins, so absent of any purposeful deceit that he was almost a mirror, you saw yourself around him, sometimes it was uncomfortable, but other times it was fun.

Bubba was the opposite. He seemed to be legitimately wary of you. Bobby once told you that Bubba didn't like to leave the house, ever. He stayed and did the chores. You wondered if he minded, being stuck with all the chores but Bobby said he didn't. It was comforting for him. Always having something set to do. You only saw him once. Nubbins had made him tag along when he needed him to hang some things from a tree. Bones from indeterminate animals, a clock with a nail through it. You don't think Nubbins actually needed Bubba to reach the branches (he climbed pretty well) but he just wanted his little brother to see his work. Bubba didn't make eye contact with you the entire time. He was wholly focused on his task of helping Nubbins. But he was gentle when he helped his brother, careful, and for that you liked him.

Drayton was... well. He was the one Bobby argued with the most. He was his brother, but with how much age between the two, it was almost hard to believe sometimes. Drayton was the one that everybody in Newt knew the most. People liked him well enough, but they said he was odd behind his back. He knew that. You don't think he trusted anything outside the insular world he and his family had existed in for years, and was at odds with Bobby because he didn't get why Bobby wanted anything to do with the world outside.

Oftentimes you would see Bobby after he and Drayton got into it. He'd be fuming, but he'd smile when he saw you. You'd leave with him whenever he came to you. These adventures were the most fun you had when you were there.

The other times you'd go off were when he'd convince you to skip school. Bobby never went himself. He didn't get the idea of all those kids sitting in classrooms for hours, doing nothing but writing and listening. Why do that when you can find things out for yourself? Get into some trouble? In his mind, he was saving you from a very boring thing.

You two knew the area around Newt well. The fields and the flat expanses were the best kind of playground. Your dreams were still set in them. A kind of sunshine filled melancholy.

Bobby told you things in the grass. His dreams yes, but his own thoughts. On music, on late night radio, on movies, on you. He perhaps thought of you as wonderful as voices on the radio, stars on the screen. He never told you that though. But your name was never far from his mouth when Bobby talked about the things he loved.

You and him loved each other as much as two kids who didn't know how to could. He was always on your mind now, with not much tangible objects to remember him with. A photograph taken by Nubbins, your faces blurred because you were laughing. A button, the pin on the back bent. A sweatshirt, which he tie dyed himself, and gave to you one night. The colors were faded. You never did get to return it.

The years away did nothing to lessen thoughts of him. No, they just blurred all together now, and the stream of the sunshine filled melancholy was almost endless. You needed a break. There was only one place you could think of that could help you with that.

So you came back. All things led back to this place eventually. Newt was dying, or dead. Didn't you see somewhere that when a ship went down, it took everything with it? You didn't want to stay for long. But you had to see all of them, you had to know that they were all not these strange figures you had dreamt up.

You went right to the house. You'd never actually been allowed inside, Bobby just always said something along the lines of 'Grandma and Grandpa are napping upstairs' or 'there's a mess' (never mind that he could care less usually about messes.) But you figured he had had a good reason. Maybe he was embarrassed.

When you knocked on the door, your heart was pounding. And that was all. Nothing happened, no indication that anyone was there. You waited, the sweatshirt was too hot but you didn't want to take it off.

Maybe you should come back another time. You were just about to turn around and leave when the door burst open, almost whacking you in the face. And there (you couldn't believe your eyes you couldn't this was a dream) he was.

Bobby had a hammer raised over his head, grinning, he was poised to swing it down, but then he saw you and he felt as if he was in a dream too.

It's been so long. He thought he made you up, a dream to carry him through misery, and you looked the part, even as you stood before him on the doorway. The light of the setting sun shone behind you, heat waves shimmered in the dusk, and you... you.

Facing each other, you stood, just staring. Over head the sky grew colorful, in the fields the grass whispered in the wind. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. Bobby dropped the hammer and grabbed for your face, and he held it, fingers digging in so tight it hurt.

"H-hey you." He said, and fell to his knees, releasing your face. You numbly touched the marks his fingers left. Bobby still looked like a man who had seen a ghost.

You called his name, and his eyes looked lost, like he hadn't heard it in a long time. He looked up at you, and you could really get a good look at him. His face was leaner, he looked sickly and wiry, but his eyes were just as you remembered. You sank down to the porch to sit with him.

"Fuck... FUCK I didn't... I- I thought ya'd forgotten all about me... uh.. uhm. Fuck! I mean, r-really! Turnin' up out of the blue like you're some kinda... ghost or whatever... WHOA man... like, ya here to return m-my, my sweatshirt? You're wearin' it, you can keep it! You look better in it anyway... heh, fuck." He rambled on and on, hands tensing and twitching as if they were moving to touch you again, just to reaffirm your existence. Did he know how glad you were to see him? Did he know that you hadn't felt right for the longest time being away?

You forgot all about the sweatshirt, the hammer he had raised with a sadistic grin. You reached out and held one of his twitching hands, and he stilled and stopped talking. There was a peace now.

It didn't seem possible for your heart to feel this full. But it was. And by god, if this wasn't the best decision you made in your life to visit your old hometown, if only just for this moment.

Bobby stood, with your hand still in his, pulling you up. He smiled at you, and you knew you still loved him, and in your deepest heart, you knew he loved you too.

But this time around, maybe you and him could love each other right.

[bokettochild]

Fic request! Legend and Ravio being best buds and being there for each other? Or like just them getting along. Platonic cuddling? I love them both.

Slight self projection on this one, but oh well!

I really like writing the dynamic for these two! But i would like to clarify that I write it as being strictly platonic.

Yes, Ravio does kiss Legend on occasion. But Ravio is a toucher, and that's just how he loves! For him, that's normal, that's something you do to those you love, not just in couples :)

Legend isn't great about physical touch, mostly because he's unaccustomed to it. He loves it, he just doesn't know how to ask for it or receive it most of the time.

And with that cleared up, on to the fic!!!

Mr. Hero was acting weird again.

His family had come back to visit again, and while many of them were wrapped in bandages and sporting some rather nasty wound, Mr. Hero seemed to be relatively well off from the fight. He wasn’t untouched, this was Mr. Hero after all, but he wasn’t as poorly as some of the others, which is why it was so odd for Ravio to find him curled up on the couch in their living room when he’d thought that everyone had gone to visit the local village.

They’d talked about it over breakfast. They’d arrived yesterday and hadn’t had time to restock in a while. The worse injuries were a broken arm on Mr. Smithy’s part, and that in no way hampered them from being able to do a run to the village, and it seemed many of Mr. Hero’s family saw visiting towns and villages as something of a treat.

They had been so eager over breakfast, talking over each other while Mr. Hero had rolled his eyes and pushed Tune- Wind back into his seat, scolding the champion for chewing with his mouth open and generally just correcting table manners and keeping people under control during the meal. Typical Mr. Hero, fussing over everything being right but pretending not to care, Ravio wouldn’t be surprised if the next time he sees them all they all eat like they’re in a castle, Mr. Hero’s just the kind of person to subtly train them all to behave lest they be faces with his flashing indigo gaze.

But he really would have thought, what with how everyone had chattered, that Mr. Hero would be with them all, leading them through the village and haggling with shopkeepers on the prices of potions and food. Yet here he sits, curled on their couch with that bulky quilt he likes so much thrown over his shoulders. Mr. Hero hasn’t bothered to fix his hair or tuck it under his cap, and it tumbles down his shoulders in a messy tangle as the Hylian stares unseeing at the far wall.

Ravio pauses in the entryway to the living room, his cup of cider still on one hand, and the book he’d been hoping to read in the other, heart torn over walking back into the kitchen and asking why Mr. Hero isn’t with his family. The slight shudder that runs across Mr. Hero's shoulders is all he needs as an answer and it’s without a second thought that the merchant strides across the room to settle on the couch beside his housemate, eyes bright and smile disarming as he looks over to Mr. Hero.

Dull violet meets his own green as Mr. Hero pauses and sighs, gaze shifting back down to the ground.

Oh. Oh, this is bad.

No snark, no dismissal, no ‘Ravio, I’m not in the mood’. Mr. Hero is at a stage where he is simply accepting things, and that’s never good!

“Why the long face?” He prods gently, settling himself on the couch as Mr. Hero moves slightly to accommodate him.

Okay, that’s even worse. Mr. Hero is being accommodating.

Oh Lolia, is he dying?

“Enervated.” Mr. Hero drawls, and Ravio is now officially freaking out. The big words have come out, the big words that he doesn’t know the definition of. His gaze trails back over to his book.

Most people don’t consider reading a thesaurus a past-time, and Ravio never would have considered it before moving in with Mr. Hero, but if he wants to understand the hero than he needs to know all the words that will crop up in his vocabulary anytime he is especially tired or bored.”

“E-enerv-”

“Tired.” Mr. Hero clarifies, shifting in place and drawing the blanket tighter around is shoulders.

Sharp green eyes watch his movements. It’s autumn and a slight chill has pervaded the air, but there really isn’t any need for the heavy blanket in this weather. Maybe a shawl or afghan of some sort, but the thickest and heaviest blanket in the entire house? That’s just plain overkill!

“Just tired?” He doesn’t even bother pretending to respect Mr. Hero’s space as he reaches out to rest his hand on his housemate’s forehead, gently shifting to touch the vet’s cheek. Rather than shake him off, Mr. Hero gently leans into the touch, eyes fluttering closed gently as a breath whistle from his lips. Ravio frowns as he pulls back.

Mr. Hero is warm, but not unhealthily so, and it can probably be blamed on the heavy quilt he’s got throw over his shoulders.

The merchant quirks a brow. “Are you cold?”

Mr. Hero’s face twitches oddly, eyes darting up to meet Ravio’s before drifting back down; blank and tired in a way they often are after a long day. But today has not been a long day, he reminds himself, and Mr. Hero must have been in here since finishing dishes with him this morning.

“Yes.” Mr. Hero murmurs softly, more at the folds of his blanket then at Ravio. “But not...outside?”

And that is... that is confusing.

“I don’t understand.” He half wishes for his hood and robe, but he’d only just finished cleaning and he hasn’t put them on again, so he plucks instead at the edge of his scarf, similar to what Mr. Captain Hero Sir does when he’s anxious.

Mr. Hero huffs a breath. “I wouldn’t expect you to. Glad you don’t.”

He doesn’t like the blankness of Mr. Hero's face or the heaviness of his words. “Can you explain it to me?”

If there’s one thing that brings light into his friend’s eyes, it’s teaching. Mr. Hero loves to share his knowledge, and Ravio has sat contentedly through a dozen lectures on bee-keeping and orchard work or weapons care and traveling precautions and any number of other things. All he ever needs is a cup of cider and a warm nook to bundle himself away while Mr. Hero talks. Goodness knows he chatters quite a bit himself; Mr. Hero deserves to have an audience on occasion too, and he always has such interesting things to say that Ravio never minds listening.

But Mr. Hero’s eyes don’t light up with that glint of passion and his fingers don’t tap with barely contained energy. Quite the opposite. He curls in closer around himself, eyes clouded as he breaths heavily. “It’s like there’s somethin’ ‘side you that’s cold an’ empty. Like you swallowed ice or somethin’ cold like an’ it won’t melt. You can be toasty warm on the outside and it ne’er goes away, it’s jist-” The pink-haired Hylian’s ears flick as his nose twitches with pent up irritation. “It’s like you’re empty and no matter how much you eat or sleep or keep busy, it ne’er goes away.”

Understanding dawns with a heavy heart and tears pricking in his eyes. “I think that's called loneliness, Mr. Hero.”

Mr. Hero’s eyes glisten as he turns away. “’m not lonely. There’s eight people on my tail on the day to day an’ I can’t lose ‘em even if I tried.”

The tight ball Mr. Hero is curled into could be defensive or self-comforting, and he can’t tell which, but Mr. Hero's grip on his blanket laden shoulders is too tight to be anything short of strained.

“Being with people doesn’t mean you aren’t lonely.” Ravio’s voice comes softer than he means it too.

Mr. Hero once complained that his own voice was trapped in the stage of squeaking and breaking, but Ravio’s could drop low ‘till it was nothing but a deep vibration. He’s teased Mr. Hero about it more than once, but he finds that it’s also effective at making the other boy calm. Mr. Hero loosens so now, eyes still blank as Ravio stares at them, hoping that they’ll turn to meet his gaze. “You can feel lonely in the middle of a full kingdom.”

He knows. He remembers hiding in his big room in the castle and wishing that it wasn’t so cold and empty and that someone would look at him and see something other than a cowardly advisor. He'd wanted someone to look at him and see a friend, or a brother or a loved one. He’d wanted to matter and be safe in the warmth that was a real home.

Mr. Hero gave him that. Mr. Hero’s house, with its big apple tree and buzzing bees, it’s pokey little kitchen and creaky staircase, the blasted rocker and the freaky masks on the wall, all of it makes this house a home that is so distinctly Mr. Hero's, yet somehow also his own.

He can see it in the knitting needles stashed in their basket by the couch. In the mugs that he’s left empty on bookshelves and table tops. He sees himself in the drawing of the curtains to let in sunlight, and the organization of the items on the shelves and the wall.

This is their home, something that is both of them, and it’s always felt warm and fulfilling to him.

He’d never realized that Mr. Hero might not feel the same...

It’s on impulse, and the fact that Mr. Hero doesn’t push him away speaks volumes, but Ravio scoots forwards and pulls the veteran hero over to rest against his chest, his arms wrapping tight around his friend as heavy breaths escape from them both.

“Is this better?” He whispers softly against the pink that curls beneath his chin and the fluttering breath of Mr. Hero.

There’s only a faint grunt from the hero in his arms, non-committal, but Mr. Hero isn’t complaining or pushing him away, so he doesn’t let him go either. Never mind that he’s almost pulled his friend on top of him, Mr. Hero needs a hug, and Lolia danggit! Ravio is going to give him the best one he’s capable of!

Mr. Hero’s breath evens out as he adjusts a few times, shifting but never pulling away, and Ravio takes that as a cue to make himself comfortable.

Short, pale fingers trail up to weave through curling pink locks that are still unbrushed from the night before. It’s silky under his touch, a testament to his friend’s alternate form, and he takes no small amount of pleasure in winding his fingers through it and gently tugging out the tangles. Mr. Hero only sighs under his ministrations.

“It’s okay to ask for hugs you know.” He teases softly, almost disappointed that he can’t see how his housemate blushes and stiffens, but Mr. Hero's ears give him away, red as they are, and a smile tugs across his face when he sees it. “I'm sure Mr. Chosen Hero would love to hug you, he seems like that kind of person. And Mr. Smithy always seems fond of that sort of thing. Why, even-”

“Shup.” Mr. Hero huffs, and Ravio grins as his eyes fall down to where his friend’s arms have wrapped around his waist, a messy head of pink lying against his chest and the full weight of hero and blanket pressing down on him.

He doesn’t respond, but he does go back to running his hands through Mr. Hero’s hair.

A tune comes to mind as he sits there, and he lets the melody drift through the room as he absently strokes Mr. Hero’s long pink hair, the book in his hands capturing his attention until soft squeaking snores begin to sound from the hero on his chest.

No one’s there to see the kiss he presses to the mess of petal pink, and when the others return from their trip, neither of the two bunnies is awake to say anything at all.

The heroes stop in the doorway, surprise and fondness taking over their faces at the sight of both of their hosts stretched out over the couch, Legend lying over the top of Ravio, one of the merchant’s hands still resting on Legend’s head while the other hangs down towards the floor, barely grasping the book he'd been reading (Wind makes a comment about reading a thesaurus being strange, but no one really questions it too much). Legend’s arms are still wrapped tight around Ravio’s waist, his cheek pressed against the merchant's chest as squeaking snores escape through parted lips.

They’ve never seen the veteran so peaceful, Time muses as he removed the book from Ravio’s hand and tucks the quilt tighter around the two, noting with surprise it’s weight. Neither hero nor merchant wake, although Ravio does shift in his sleep at the disturbance, but the two are out cold.

There’s the snap of a shutter and a faint coo as he looks up, single blue eye meeting Wild’s own, the champion smiling sheepishly from behind the slate, the image on the screen of him knelt beside the two boys, tucking them in on the couch. Time smiles at his cub. “I want a copy of that picture, you hear?”

“Yes sir.” The champion whispers in return.

[mieohmy]

𝖶𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝖨 𝖲𝖺𝗐 𝖸𝗈𝗎 | 𝖧𝗎𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝖱𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗎𝗇

PAIRING: huang renjun x temp blind! reader

GENRE: angst (with a happy ending), fluff, humor, strangers-to-lovers, shared dreams! au, soulmate! au, college au

WC: 7.6k

NOTES: reader is temporarily blind, cursing, mentions of a car accident, trauma, slight anxiety and depression, mentions of injuries/hospitals

SUMMARY: dreams are your place where you feel alive -feel like yourself. the only place you can still see. which means you don’t want to share them. not with this random guy who keeps appearing in them, and especially not since he seems so real -almost like he actually exists in the real world outside of your dreams, but that couldn’t be possible... right?

oof this is late- anyways, it’s this beautiful soul’s birthday today <3 

hbd to our fairy renjunnie ! 

Three months. Three months stuck in that space.  

And all because of a reckless driver. Like they all say, it happened so fast. A single glance of the road. It seemed clear, the pedestrian sign flashing even. 

Then was the rush of a car engine coming closer. 

You suppose it was also your fault. Whoever it was that caused a notification to ping on your phone. It was an almost natural instinct to take it out and check.

But you were never able to find out. 

One of the scariest things in the world is to wake up and wonder why the world is an empty canvas. 

Why you have so many questions that can’t be answered.  

Why you can’t see the spring anymore.

The doctors said it was temporary. Some kind of head trauma from the accident caused whatever nerves to swell in your eyes. 

And that’s why you could no longer see the day. or night. anything. 

“It’ll eventually return to normal, and you’ll be able to see again. Just give it time.”

So why has it been three months and nothing except dark moving shadows and pain?

“I’m sorry, we’re not sure how long it’s gonna last. Let’s just wait and see.”

But how much time did you have to give? 

You were sent home in the end. The other injuries were much more minor, and you were just prolonging your stay. 

Only because you wanted to know. You wanted to know it would all go away. That it would be okay.

You just so desperately wanted to see once more.

They only gave you ambiguous answers. Answers that only made the scratchy and uncomfortable sensation inside you grow bigger. 

And here you were now. Four months after the incident and barely living on your own. Sight not improving in the slightest bit.

You lived separately from your parents, far away because of college. They helped you with all the hospital and stupid complicated health stuff, but there wasn’t much else they could do. There was no choice for them but to work hard and earn money instead of assisting you since bills were shit expensive.

You assured them it was fine, you would learn how to deal with everything. 

Friends were a different issue. The thing was, you didn’t have very many considering you just moved to a new school, but the few you did were kind and understanding. 

Except you never told them about the incident. Maybe because you were in denial. Maybe cause you were ashamed of yourself for ignoring them and cutting them out of your life. Because they got to see and experience everything they wanted while you were stuck behind.

And then you were truly alone. Alone with the faint light and shadows you were still sort of able to see. 

Siri basically became your best friend. You never realized how helpful it could be. Just ask, and it would tell you everything you needed to know.

To be honest, there wasn’t much to do. You weren’t able to attend your classes for the time being, and there wasn’t much you could to do without seeing. 

It was hard to adjust to life without your sight. There were a lot of things you couldn’t do without your sight. A lot of things were knocked over. A lot of bruises on your body from bumping into obstacles. That’s probably why you barely went out, only ever leaving your place for necessary resources to live.

This is not permanent. It’ll all go away soon.

You constantly told yourself that, repeating it in the morning. At night before you went to bed. But deep inside, you knew the real reason for everything. The denial, stubbornness.

The answer was clear. 

Fear. 

The fear of a permanent life without being able to fully experience the world. 

The fear of what your life would become without having the chance to achieve all your dreams and goals. 

You knew you should be grateful. For being able to see from birth until now.  You survived your accident with mostly minor injuries. Occasionally, you would get intense migraines- one where you could barely move- but you truly didn’t want to go back to that place to get it checked. You didn’t even want to leave your home.

At least you could still move and function properly for the most part. 

But it didn’t mean it still didn’t hurt. 

There was one thing. When your eyes closed for the day- when everything was okay. 

Because there was no need to feel any emotions asleep. 

But also because of the dreams. Mainly because of the dreams.

It wasn’t every day. You would absolutely love to dream every night, but if you did, then something must not be right. 

The power to dream and be able to recall everything in the world before you lost it all would be your one wish if anyone asked. 

Sure, you could just close your eyes and remember whatever you wanted, but it wasn’t the same. 

Dreams were like a story. A story you wanted to read. And you could only do it because of your memories. 

Thank the universe for memories. Ones that allowed you to still remember and see again in dreams. 

They were the one thing connecting you to the real world. 

The weird thing is, sometimes you would dream and be able to choose what you wanted to say and do. It was just like playing a fun game where you could do whatever you wished.

But it didn’t always happen. it only occurred on occasion. Why? You had no clue. 

But even so, you’ve never had a stranger appear in one of your dreams before.

ꔫ

You couldn’t recall everything that happened in last night’s dream, but when you woke up, a strange face was the only image stuck in your brain. 

You’re sure you’ve never seen him before. 

Can brains make up random faces? Or maybe you just made up a fictional character because of loneliness? 

Either way, he’s the only thing you can clearly remember.

Your eyes flick open, and it’s the same nothingness.

But his face lingers. Pretty and delicate eyes. Brown hair that flutters in the wind and a gentle smile that sucks you in. 

Who are you? 

Whoever this person was, you hope to dream about him again. 

ꔫ

And he does show up a few weeks later. Or has it been a month? You were really losing track of the days, especially now more than ever.

This time, the image of him is stronger in your head, burning into your skull. 

And you curse yourself for not remembering any more than his face. 

You rack your brain, trying your best to just think. 

Why do some people forget their dreams immediately when they wake up? When it feels like you’re just in one, but your mind starts up again for the day, and the dream vanishes just like that?  

You so desperately want to know. 

You can faintly remember images of a grassy meadow? Flowers? You don't recall any field that you’ve been to, but maybe it’s just somewhere you’ve forgotten about... Perhaps your mind just made your dream to be located there. 

As you get up for the day, you still wish to dream about him. A dream where you can fully control yourself and find this imaginary character you created in your head. Whoever he is.

ꔫ

And the world grants you that one wish. 

It’s been a while since you last dreamed. But of course, you never forgot him. 

The setting sun is the first thing that catches your attention. 

Immediately, you smile, standing up and brushing yourself off. 

The place is faintly familiar, a beach. You know which one. The one your parents used to take you when you were little. 

It looks exactly the same as you remember, but this was the first time you’ve ever dreamed about this specific place before. 

Then sounds of footsteps approaching make you look up.

It’s him.

The fictional character somehow procured from basically nowhere. 

What’s strange is that you didn’t even notice how the two of you were now sitting by the shore, watching the waves flow in and out. 

What’s even stranger is that you don’t question it, and neither does he. 

But you do take the chance to look at him, admiring his face.

“What’s your name?”

He looks startled like he never expected you to speak.

“Oh. Uh, R-Renjun.”

“Renjun,” you pronounce. The name feels unfamiliar on your tongue. 

Now how did your mind come up with a unique name like that?

You shrug, letting the dream continue on its own. 

But wait, you realize, if you were able to ask and think your own thoughts not according to the dream’s... that means you can control this-

Your eyes snap open. You can see nothing. And feel an oncoming headache.

Damn it.

ꔫ

You want to know why you’re so curious about this ‘character’. Why you want to see him over and over again without ever getting bored.

It’s just a dream. Or, several dreams that he’s appeared in by now. 

That could be it, you suppose.

You usually didn’t have about the same person, or in your case, the same ‘character’ appear in your dream three times in a row. 

But for some reason, you appreciated having your own imaginary friend in your dreams. 

 He wasn’t a real person. He wasn’t someone you had to watch out for. You could act however you wanted to him and he probably wouldn’t care. 

Wait-no, you correct yourself. He has a name. A name that seems so far but so close at the same time. 

Renjun. 

You go to sleep chanting his name in your head over and over again. 

ꔫ

“Wait... Renjun!” 

A satisfied grin appears on your face from having remembered his name. 

You stroll along the forest path, an unfamiliar one that you don’t particularly remember ever going to, but you shrug it off and continue towards him.

It’s been a while since you’ve last seen him, not having dreamed for a while. 

His eyes widen, taking you in. “Whoa. You’re here again?” 

You frown. “Um... yes? It’s nice to see you.”

Renjun nods hesitantly. “You too, uh....”

“Y/n!” you beam. You’re not sure why you’re so happy to see him, but any company is still company, so no complaining.

Since you figured you were able to control yourself in this dream, might as well take the opportunity. 

If your brain was able to give him a name and a *cough* pretty *cough* face, he must have a personality. And what better than to get to know ‘renjun’ while you still had dreams about him?

“Do you want to walk together?”

He shrugs. 

And since it’s your dream, right? you start on the path, knowing he’s gonna follow you anyways.

You reach an opening overlooking some city. It’s unfamiliar, but the sight is too pretty you don’t think much of it.

You can’t take your eyes away, the view one you’ve never seen before. One that wasn’t from your memories, and it almost blinds you. Especially since you haven’t been able to experience anything new in a while because of... everything at the moment. 

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.

“It is,” Renjun agrees. 

Why is it so natural for you to sit next to him, get along with him?

“I haven’t been able to go out like this for a while, so it’s a lot to take in at once.”

He glances at you.

“Really? Why?”

Suddenly the air feels tightening. 

“Um. Health stuff. I guess.”

Renjun nods. “That’s understandable. But going out might be good for you. It’s nice to get a little fresh air every once in a while.”

His words hit differently. It rings inside of you, making you sit up. 

“You’re right, Renjun. I should go out more.” Your voice is quiet but smooth. 

Suddenly, he laughs. It’s a beautiful sound flowing out in a beautiful place. 

“I say that, but honestly, I’m also holed up inside all day. I need to go out more too.”

You don’t get what he means by that- why does it matter to a non-existent person how often they go outside?- but the feeling of just being here is incredible. You can’t waste your time in this dream pondering on pointless thoughts. 

“You should take advantage of it. You never know what could happen one day. Never take things for granted.” You finish, voice suddenly serious.

He looks surprised. “Oh. I suppose you’re right. Thanks, y/n.” 

Instead of responding, you sit back on the ground, looking at the dream -but still beautiful- sky.

Your hand pats around for a second before landing on its target. Your fingers wrap around renjun's, pulling him back so he plops down next to you with a grunt. 

“Geez, could’ve given a warning.”

“There’s no need for warnings here,” you sigh. 

Sure, the clouds aren’t real, but you’ll take any chance to see something you can’t in reality anymore. 

“Y/n,” he starts.

And when you turn to look at him, his face is a lot closer than you thought.

There’s a pause. 

The last things you remember are his long fluttering eyelashes and alluring brown eyes- ones that look so realistic and strangely familiar? 

That morning, you wake up with the scent of the woods still lingering in the air and a little more ease in your heart.

ꔫ

Over the next couple of months, Renjun keeps appearing. And you’re completely fine, even delighted with that. 

Now you’re always excited to go to bed, hoping each night that you’ll dream about him. 

Even as the days get hotter and your a/c is definitely getting overused, you find yourself thinking about him and imagining if he was next to you. 

You had to keep reminding yourself that Renjun wasn’t real. No matter how much you wished he was. 

But you still considered Renjun your friend. Technically, your only friend.

And each time you met in your dreams, you felt happier and more content. You felt alive next to him, your heart that always beat faster around him only confirming it. 

Sometimes you’d spot Renjun in a place from your memories, and sometimes he would appear in a completely unfamiliar area to you. 

You didn’t care enough to think twice. A new place with new sights was a highlight to your encounters. 

And today, it was no different. A colorful park. You know you’ve never been here before, but it feels like you’ve seen it somewhere..... perhaps somewhere online? 

Ever since the second time you met him, you noticed a theme with the unknown places you sometimes ended up in. 

Mostly in nature, surrounded by fresh air and plentiful green. You were confused, but I mean, who cares? They were beautiful, peaceful. Places that made you forget everything. 

You find Renjun sitting down at a nearby bench, messing with his hands.

“Hi.”

He looks up, attempting to smile, but it falls short. “Hello, y/n.”

That’s interesting. Renjun always seemed happy to see you. At this point, you can tell when he’s acting strange or not.

You decide to play along. “What’s up?”

“Oh. It’s nothing. Just really stressed about upcoming school stuff.” You cock an eyebrow, amused. This isn’t the first time you’ve felt weird when he says something like that.

“You know, for being an imaginary character, you sure act like a real person.”

“What did you just say?” Renjun stands up.

You follow, getting up and looking at him, confused. “What?”

“What the hell do you mean by imaginary?”

“Imaginary? You don’t exist -like you’re not real?”

“No way.”

Your eyebrows raise. Why was he getting so defensive over this?

“I’m not an imaginary character- you are.”

A scoff escapes your lips. What the fuck?

���Stop talking nonsense.” Even though you’re trying to stand your ground, you can’t help but reevaluate everything. You look at him, panicked but still staring straight into his eyes as if to say, stop the joking right now.

Renjun only stares at you, fighting back with a headstrong expression. “I’m not. So you should stop too.”

You place your hand on his arm, inhaling.

Renjun tries to pull away, bewildered, but you keep your grip.

His arm feels warm, veins partially showing through. Almost like a real.....no way. But there’s even a faint scar on his wrist. Your brain couldn’t possibly be so meticulous as to add such details to a fictional person.

Your eyes flick to Renjun, studying him, memorizing everything you can about him.

Your breathing is heavy as you step closer to him, almost in a daze. “If you’re not just an imaginary person I created in my dreams,” you whisper, watching as he swallows and his adam’s apple bobs up and down-

“Then who are you?”

But before he can say anything, the world fades to black. 

You wake up with an immense urge to scream in frustration but also hide away to just think everything over.

You lay in bed for what feels like hours. Contemplating. Panicking. 

This was a joke, wasn’t it? 

He’s lying. 

Just a dream? 

But this time, you can’t say that it was “just a dream..”

Your hand punches the bed in defeat.  

You don’t understand. How are you able to see another living and breathing human in your dreams? 

All the things and places you were able to dream about were because of your memories. But Renjun... Renjun was a complete stranger. 

So how are you able to see him perfectly fine?

You think back to all the previous times you met him. 

If he truly was real, then he must’ve been dreaming too? Since he believed you weren’t real either? 

And all the unrecognizable places you saw -they must exist in real life? 

That means.... you and Renjun must be sharing dreams.

There were a lot of questions. All that were making your brain pound. 

More importantly, how the fuck are you even able to share dreams with another person? 

ꔫ

You spend every night praying that you’ll fall asleep and see Renjun again. 

Renjun? Is that even his real name?

Oh my god, you don’t know anything about him. 

But for some reason, it isn’t hard for you to wrap your head around the fact that he exists. 

His reaction seemed so real -he couldn’t possibly be faking right? 

You smack your head on the pillow. Many times. Repeating, “Go to sleep. Dream. Go to sleep,” over and over again. 

Until eventually, you do. 

And when you find yourself at your old middle school- gross- you immediately start. 

Getting up, you navigate throughout the old place. Everywhere’s blurry and hazy though, you suppose it’s because you haven’t been here in a while and forgot.  

Where is he? You know he has to be here somewhere. 

You spot his familiar silhouette. Target acquired. 

He must’ve felt your presence too, since he turns around to face you. 

You’re about to say his name, but then you remember the whole ‘he’s actually a real person thing’ and then you can only splutter out an accusing “you!” with an accompanying point of a finger. 

“Me?” His eyes widen. “No-you’re not supposed to be a real person. So who are you?”

“I’m y/n.” You repeat yourself again with more force. 

“This is my dream, and you’re in it. Look,” you gesture around. “This is my old school. If I wasn’t real, could we be here at a place like this?”

Renjun falters, and you exhale. “I’m not joking. I swear. My name is y/l/n y/n.”

He holds his hands out. “B-but how? How can you-?”

You shake your head wearily. “I don’t know. I don’t even know you!” 

He sighs in defeat. “My name is Renjun. Huang Renjun. And I promise I’m not joking either. I truly thought you were just a figment of my imagination.” 

You nod, fidgeting before holding out a hand. “Well then, I believe you. Nice to meet you,” you look into his glittering eyes, “Huang Renjun.” 

When his hand touches yours, you feel a rush of emotions. 

You think he does too, judging by his tightening grip on yours. 

He quickly takes his hand away, making you frown. “And just to prove it, you know the forest we were at once?”

You nod, recalling the pretty leaves. You haven’t seen leaves in a while.....

“It’s near my city in the real world. And that mountain too.”

Then it hits you. You glance up at Renjun, surprised. 

“No way. I know where you’re talking about. You live like, a couple of hours away from me.” 

“Wait, really? Where do you-“

You sit up, feeling the familiar sensation of a blanket around your legs. 

And then let out a loud screech of frustration - while also internally apologizing to your neighbors.

ꔫ

When you meet Renjun in the next dream, you pick off where you left off, and move into telling each other about your actual lives.

“You study plants? That explains why we’re always near grass in your dreams.”

“Hey!”

“I’m joking. It’s really nice. I like it more than you may think..”

“Seriously,” you look up from your position on his lap, “savor it while you can.”

He nods dutifully. To others, it may seem annoying or strange that you’re constantly telling him to enjoy when he still has the time, but Renjun appreciates it. 

It’s always a nice reminder.

He assumes something must’ve happened to you before, but nevertheless, he doesn’t pry. 

“What about you? What are you studying?”

Suddenly, you can’t look at him. You're unable to tell him that you don’t even attend school anymore. 

“Um, I’m still deciding... it’s hard, you know?”

“I get it. Comfortably take your time. You don’t have to rush, do what you want.”

Your heart warms. 

“Can you cook?”

“Eh.”

“What about roller skating?”

“I’m a pro.”

“Bet I could beat you.” 

“Oh yeah? Just wait, one day we’ll go together in person, and I’ll kill you at it.” 

“What about aliens?”

Your eyebrows raise. “What about aliens?”

“What- what do you think of them?”

“Oh. Aliens are cool.” 

“Do you think they’re real?

“Sure. I mean, if we’re able to share dreams like this, then why can’t aliens exist too?”

You miss the growing smile on renjun’s face. 

“.... is this what you really look like in real life?”

“What- yes! Why would I look like someone else in my dream?”

“I dunno, you’re a lot more handsome than most guys I can remember..” you trail off, hoping he doesn’t catch the rest of the sentence. He does. 

That goes on for a while, asking each other random questions. But while you’re still here in the dream, you should take advantage of it. 

Standing up, you brush yourself off. 

“Huh, what’s up y/n?”

“The sky.”

Renjun scowls. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.”

And then you sprint off, yelling, “first one to the tree gets bragging rights!!”

Renjun falls halfway, and you have to help him and his dramatic ass. 

ꔫ

When Renjun brings up the prospect of possibly meeting each other in real life, you’re both really excited at first. 

But then it hits you. That’s right. You’re kinda blind at the moment. 

You never once told him about your... sight problems, probably because you first thought he wasn’t even a real person, and it never seemed important. 

As Renjun sits there, excitedly listing off ways to find each other that actually while you’re awake, you can only absentmindedly nod, a storm brewing inside you. 

It makes your insides churn. Should you tell him? 

You hated lying, but there was that growing insecurity rising up. 

What if he finds out everything and doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore?

What if Renjun doesn’t want to be your friend? 

What if... 

He leaves you?

“Y/n???” He waves a hand in front of you. 

You blink. “Yes?”

“I was just talking about how it’ll take around 3 hours to take the subway to your city or, yours to mine. When we both have a free day, we should meet up!”

He looks so excited and cute, but you still cringe. When was the last time you took the subway? 

You nod uneasily. Renjun must notice your expression because he turns concerned, “Are you alright?”

You hastily smile. “Fine. Just really stressed about upcoming school stuff,” you joke. 

That answer must be good enough because he drops the subject. 

What have you gotten yourself into?

ꔫ

And for the first time, you’re scared to dream. 

Scared to see Renjun. 

Stress and anxiety gnaw at your head, swirling thoughts constantly floating in and out. 

Renjun won’t like you anymore. 

He doesn’t want to be with a liar.

And after he excitedly mentions that he obtained an internship near your city in the spring, your guilt and frustration grow more.

Since that one conversation, you’ve been having more and more headaches, most likely because of the lack of sleep from stress.

Renjun’s probably sleeping peacefully hours away from you as you stay up, plagued with concerns.

You shake your head, wanting to get rid of bad thoughts so the pain doesn’t overtake your brain again. 

Think of happy things. Happy memories when you were young and carefree. 

Like.... the one water park you went to with your friends years ago. That was a good memory.

You rack your brain.

Wait a second -what did it look like again?

ꔫ

As the air turns colder, you have to bust out the old heater that hasn’t been used in years-the dust floating in the air lingered for days. 

Overtaking your breathing, your brain. 

Just like your thoughts. 

You’re still constantly worrying about Renjun.  Because of Renjun.

And yourself. 

You and Renjun. 

Renjun and you. 

All those thoughts weren’t good for you. Why you may ask?

More thoughts lead to overthinking. 

Overthinking leads to stress. 

Stress causes the agonizing headaches. 

And those headaches are the bane of your existence.

Because it makes you unable to recall. 

The headaches weren’t a big deal at first. After the car accident, the doctors said your brain seemed clear for the most part. 

But obviously- it wasn’t- since you were here now with daily migraines- the pain multiplied from anxiety. 

And that caused your memory loss.

It was simple things at first, just like what you ate for the day and where you put your stuff. (It was already difficult since you couldn’t see, and the forgetful memory was making it so much worse) 

And then it was the more important recollections. 

Like what your parents' birthdays were. Your favorite restaurant. What schools you attended.

You don’t want to admit that the only thing left perfectly clear in your brain is yours truly, Huang Renjun. 

This isn’t happening. 

Pigs can’t fly and.... you can’t remember. 

Why? Every time you try to think of something, your brain pounds like crazy.

You really don’t want to believe it’s an effect of the accident. And the stress. 

You don’t want to think about it at all. 

But sadly, you were still human and had to sleep. 

Which meant eventually dreaming sooner or later...

“Y/n!” 

Wait. What?

“What’s going on?”

No. What’s happening?

“I know people don’t dream that often, but three months and nothing from you? I went to bed, happy at the thought that we might meet again, but it’s like you’re purposely not sleeping and avoiding me or something-!” 

There’s no way you heard everything he just said, even his irritated tone that you’ve never heard before didn’t faze you. 

Due to the fact that everything except Renjun himself was a blur.

Basically- you couldn’t see shit. 

Your heart rate begins to pick up. You swirl around, squinting and rubbing your eyes like crazy. 

Why? Why is this happening? Why can’t you see the dream world around you?

But you know the reason- it’s quite obvious. 

Since your memory disappeared just like that. And without your memories, everything has crumbled to nothing. 

Ironically, you forgot about Renjun who was still standing there, perfectly fine.  

“Y/n? What wrong?”

He snaps a finger in front of you, and you barely react.

“No, nothing’s wrong.” Your voice has been reduced to a whisper.

“Listen-I-why are you lying? I thought we were friends. I thought we trusted each other enough to talk honestly.”

It’s too much. Renjun’s growing anger plus everything you’re experiencing at the moment is overwhelming. 

“Just stop-!” You screech, arms held out in front to protect yourself from everything. 

He freezes. 

And you collapse on the ground, hands shaking as you look around. Look for anything you can clearly see. 

There’s nothing.

The worst pain ever runs through your brain- the feeling to curl up in a ball and stop everything is strong. 

“Y/n- please. Please talk to me.”

He leans in front of you. 

“I- see-“ you splutter, collecting your thoughts.

Your mouth forms the words but immediately comes to a halt.

He doesn’t know. 

You stare at him, helpless. Your eyes flicking all over the place, pupils dilated. 

Renjun does the only thing he can think of at the moment. 

He places his lips on yours, and your eyes automatically close. 

Your heart steadies, adrenaline slowly fading. 

He just feels... right. 

And then his hand brings your body closer to his, making- 

You sit up in bed, breathing heavily. 

All you can think is, 

what a dream. 

And as much as you still feel the ghost of his soft lips on yours, you can’t get over the fact that everything else was blurry. 

You could only see faint lights and shadows. 

You couldn’t remember. 

ꔫ

No. 

What does the sky look like again? 

No.

Why can’t you remember the day anymore?

You spend days- weeks maybe even- trying to recall as much as possible. And spend less time attempting to sleep for the chance that you’ll have to see Renjun again. 

Your mind is in shambles. One part of you is yearning to see him -find Renjun in the dreams again and explain everything. 

But the other part is scared. Extremely terrified at his reaction. His feelings. 

Will he still- you dare to say- like you? 

I mean, that kiss had to mean something, right? 

Right?

You smack the nearest object in exasperation.

I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. 

Can everything just stop? 

Your poor pillow has been punched into oblivion by now. 

Either way, you fall into what could be considered a slump. 

A slump in life. 

The uncomfortable sensation grows bigger and bigger each day since the only thing you can do is stay at home and dwell on the fact that your life is basically over now.

There's no recovery in sight -ha- of your future. 

Each night is spent exerting your aching brain to recall. 

The only thing that comes back is Huang Renjun.

But once again, you’re only human. A human that occasionally passes out from the lack of sleep.

Renjun would be nagging at you. Your heart automatically drops at the thought of him. How long has it been since you last seen him?

More importantly- how long has it been since you last properly slept? 

You can’t even see yourself but you know the eye bags you’re carrying are bigger and brighter than your future. 

You call out for Siri. 

“It’s currently 3:21 AM.“ 

You sigh, so desperately wanting to chuck your phone across the room even though you know finding where you threw it would take hours. 

Pathetic. 

And then you figured you must’ve fallen asleep. 

Because you open your eyes. And at first, it just seems like another day of barely making it through life, but no- this is different. 

You’re not in your bed. You’re on a blank, hard surface.  

You realize where you are right as a familiar voice calls out your name. 

The fear that courses through you is a feeling to laugh at.

“What the fuck, y/n.”

There’s no way you’re getting out of this. 

“What’s going on? I just wanna know why. You ghost me for months without saying anything. I deserve an explanation.” Renjun’s fists are clenched at his side, anger barely seeping through. 

You sigh wearily, partly from him and partly from the fact that you still can’t see anything else except his face. 

“I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been going through stuff, okay?” You hope your tone is enough to tell him that you don’t want to talk about this anymore.

But it isn’t. 

“What things? You can tell me, y/n. I thought we were close enough for that. I thought we trusted each other.”

As much as your heart clenches at his words, it isn’t enough to suppress the frustration building inside you. 

“This isn’t about trust, Renjun. It doesn’t matter if I trust you or not. What does it have to do with me telling you about my life? It’s my privacy.”

His eyes burn into yours. 

“So you don’t trust me?”

“What- of course, I do! Why are you so stuck up on that?”

“Cause I care about you,” he groans, running his hands through his hair. “I care about you- a lot- but clearly, you don’t seem to return the feelings!” 

“What? What makes you think that!?” 

“Because you act like this!” He forcefully gestures. “Because you push me away without any explanation and don’t show any sign of your feelings! Don’t seem affected like I am when I haven’t seen you in months and miss you, okay?”

You pinch your nose bridge, annoyed. “Well, I’m different. If you cared about me that much, wouldn’t you have noticed?”

You know your words mean nothing. They’re just randomly produced from the deepest, darkest insecurities that are pent up inside and need to escape. 

“What’s so different about you? As far as I’ve known and seen you, you’re just another human like me-“

“-Because I can’t see fucking anything, okay?” You yell, forcing yourself to take a breath. 

“I’ve been blind for what seems like forever, and at first it was all okay, but now I can’t remember anything except you, which means I can’t see shit. Is that a good enough answer for you?”

You feel your body trembling, barely able to look at him. 

A good silence lasts for a couple of minutes. 

You turn around, anywhere away so you don’t have to look at his face anymore- since he’s stupidly the only thing you can even see. 

You don’t know what to feel. Perhaps relief for finally saying it? Exhaustion from keeping everything pent up and finally letting it all out? 

Then you recognize the sensation. 

You’re waking up. 

You think Renjun calls your name at the exact moment. But it’s too late. You’re already gone at that point. 

And now you don’t know what to do. 

ꔫ

After that, you get the best sleep in your life.  There’s surprisingly no more stress about lying to Renjun, you already spilled everything. 

On the other hand, there is his whole response. But you bury those worries deep inside. 

Maybe it’s for the better, you think. After the fight, you couldn’t the guilt go. The angered lies that slipped from your lips won’t leave. 

Renjun doesn’t deserve someone like you. 

But for once, you decide to go out. To get some needed fresh air like someone once advised you to, and also because you’re running out of food to eat. 

Before you leave, you grab the sunglasses on the counter and put them on. Most people would just think you’re avoiding the spring sun, which is exactly what you wanted.

You didn’t want them to see your blank stare and then realize that you had lost your sight. It was simply more comfortable for you and others. 

It was always a challenge to go out. Strange how normal people would never think twice before closing the door behind them and entering the outside world, but it became something you had to prepare yourself for. 

Taking a deep breath, you close the door behind you and navigate as best as you can to the nearby cafe. 

Sure, you barely left your place, but it didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy a refreshing drink outside every once in a while. 

Two people bump into your side, and you barely spare them a second, continuing on. 

An apology is given, but you brush it off, hiding your face and quickly continuing on. 

That’s strange. One of the voices sounded really familiar, but it was too quick, and you barely heard the voice enough to pinpoint it. 

It happened all the time- if not always- running into another person. But this time, it was different. After touching the stranger's shoulder by accident, it felt like a flame burst inside of you. Intense enough to make your head spin a little and set your body alight. 

And the sun wasn’t making it better. 

Gosh, why is the sun so bright today? 

You brush it off, opening the door to the cafe and taking your sunglasses off to be polite and not seem weird or suspicious. 

You squint at the board, cautiously walking to the register and ordering. 

After they confirm your order, you find a nice spot alone in the corner. 

It’s not too busy or slow today, you note. But soon boredom overcomes you, and eventually, you find yourself staring at the entrance door whenever someone new enters for no reason in particular. 

The entrance bell rings, and your eyes subconsciously flick to see who it is. 

Wait. 

No fucking way. 

It can’t be. 

Huang Renjun?

 in your city?

Entering the same cafe you were currently at? 

You suddenly remember. One dream, a long time ago when he excitedly rambled on about that internship he got. Located where you lived. That’s right, he said it was in the springtime. And here he was now. 

A string of curses run through your brain, your heart beginning to pick up its pace in panic. 

You debate just leaving.��But your order..... oh god, what if he sees you? 

Will he recognize you? Stupid, obviously Renjun would recognize you. 

What if he comes up to you? 

Shit, you have no clue what to do. 

Maybe if you just look away and hide your face when he passes, then he won’t see you. 

You look down, pretending to be occupied with your shirt and shuddering when you hear his voice get closer.

You let out a tiny sigh of relief when he passes with someone else, you suppose a friend. But it’s not over. 

“Order for y/n!”

You unleash more curses internally. Of course, they had to call your name. Of fucking course. 

You desperately hope Renjun isn’t paying attention.  

Exhaling, you try to act as normal as possible walking up to get your drink. But before you even make it there, you can feel eyes on you. It burns the back of your head. 

You scream into your mouth, teeth gritting to barely muffle the sound. 

It’s okay, just pretend you can’t see him -you already yelled at him confessing that you were blind anyway, so maybe he thinks that you can’t see him. 

It’s fine. 

Act normal. 

You obtain your order and take one step carefully at a time. 

Oh no. 

Oh no- he’s coming towards you. You can just barely see in your peripheral view Renjun approaching and getting closer. 

“Y/n.” 

You try not to stiffen at his voice. Just act like you’re blind and can’t see him. 

Turning around, you pretend to act blank. “Yes? Who’s talking to me?”

“Y/n,” Renjun says more insistently. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you. Who are you?”

And then his hand reaches out to yours.

You panic, swatting it away. 

You hear renjun's breath hitch. “Wait- how did you do that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Y-you,” he stutters, “you blocked my hand. B-but how? I don’t-“

You frown. “Cause I saw it?”

Your hand raises up to cover your mouth. 

You saw his hand. 

You can see. 

What- when did this happen? 

How did this happen?

Why didn’t you notice? 

There are so many things swirling in your mind, but Renjun calls your name again. 

You look back at him, truly look at him, and suddenly it’s like all the puzzle pieces fit together. 

He’s breathtaking. It’s so different seeing him in person and not in your dreams. If anything, you’re jealous of how much prettier he seems in real life. 

You’re not sure how long you stare at each other. Seeing those eyes that once captivated your soul right in front of you. 

“The last time I saw you was in my dream,” you breathe, “but it feels like the first time I’m meeting you.” 

Renjun doesn’t say anything, and abruptly you find yourself in his arms. 

You don’t care that you’re hugging in the middle of a public place, it just feels so right. 

You bury your face in his shoulder, unable to speak.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you. I was just so afraid at what you'd say, and I just liked you too much and I’m sorry-“

Renjun pulls back, staring at you like he hasn’t seen anything more magnificent before. 

“It doesn’t matter. You can tell me everything you want now.” 

ꔫ

“I’m happy to report that the swelling in your optic nerves has gone down. It’s like a miracle occurred,” the doctor remarks.

Luckily, renjun’s internship lasted for a couple weeks, and you were able to spend as much time as possible with him. The only time you weren’t next to his side was when he was working or you were at the doctor's to check up on your condition. 

There was no more blankness. There were no more headaches. It’s like Renjun brought a breath of fresh air into your life. It’s almost like he was meant for you. 

You simply smile and laugh at the doctor as you think, 

Yes, a miracle did happen. One where I met the person who seemed only like a dream and learned the most important lesson in my life. 

That dreams really can come true.

Bonus : 

“Renjun, you’re going the wrong way.”

“Well excuse me for not having ever been to this place before.”

“Okay, you’re excused.”

Renjun rolls his eyes, and you grin cheekily before taking his hand. 

“C’mon, we still have to get to the top.” 

“Did you get the blankets?”

“Yep.”

“And the snacks?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got your favorite.” 

It’s been so long since you came here. Your favorite spot to stargaze. The one you went to all the time before the accident. The one you were going to when the car accident happened. 

But this time it was different. You had Renjun next to you. 

After ten minutes of hiking and Renjun complaining, you finally make it to the top of the secluded hill, the night sky seeming so close and yet so far. 

Renjun takes everything in with a breath. “Wow. I can see why you love this place.”

You feel a rush of emotions. How long has it been since you were able to come here and see the stars? 

You two set up the blankets and sit back, embracing the sight. 

He sits down on the blanket, and you automatically lie down next to him, placing your head in his lap. 

“Doesn’t this remind of you that one dream where we saw your city from above?”

Renjun grins. “I remember that. I still thought that you were just a fake simulation or whatever. And now look, we’re together in real life.”

You hum thoughtfully. 

“Thank you, Renjun.”

He looks down at you. “For what?”

Suddenly you can’t look him in the eye. “For everything. For being my friend and never leaving,” you gulp, nervous. 

“I... I love you.” 

Renjun jerks a little, eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

You breathe in, out. “I love you, huang renjun.”

He starts laughing for some reason, leaning down to kiss your forehead. 

“I love you too.”

After that, you enjoy the peaceful silence and the buzz of the insects. 

“...don’t you think this would be a hotspot for aliens to come to? This field is so vast and secluded -if I were an alien, I would come here a lot.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. But I guess I would too.”

Renjun suddenly looks at you with an accusing glare. And you catch on, smacking his side. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

He feigns ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Okay sure. You totally weren’t gonna say something about how I could be an extraterrestrial creature from another planet since I come here so often.” 

“Well-”

You stuff food in his mouth to shut him up. 

He chews for a minute or two before talking again. 

“.... what if we get abducted by them?”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I’ve been here so many times, and nothing happened to me.”

“Maybe that’s because you are a-“

“Oh my gosh. Just stop. And trust me, if I were one, you would already be abducted with that face,” you joke.

You look up from your spot on his lap, staring up at the twinkling lights in the dark sky. 

“It doesn't matter, I’m not scared.”

Renjun looks down at you with a curious smile. “Why?” 

“Because everything got a little better when I saw you.” 

And the stars seem to agree, twinkling in the background when your lips reach up to meet his.

You had so many questions that couldn’t be answered. 

But maybe it would all be okay.  

Because you could suddenly see the spring again.

a/n: if you made it to the end, thank you for reading :) 

also i tried my best to research as much as i could on all related topics to this work yadaddaa but if there are errors and inaccuracies, i apologize! 

taglist: @elcie-chxn @dearseungie​ 

unable to tag: @flower-lise  

[hoe-doroki]

passing the night stars

banner by @dymphnasprose​

warning: reader has social anxiety

pairing: shinsou x reader (platonic or romantic)

genre: hurt/comfort

wc: 3.2k

summary: The party was neon and you needed darkness.

a/n: this is a gift for my SiL’s birthday today! To any astronomy nerds: I tried and I’m sorry.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

There was something to be said about distance.

It was a buffer, quieting every voice, external and internal, until the only one left was that of the crickets singing over the lo-fi spilling out of the house behind you. You’d stepped away from the party long enough ago that the playlist had started over many songs back—you had no clue how many anymore. The distance turned the music’s thrumming into a quiet melody, the lyrics just as indistinguishable up close as here in the backyard, sitting on patio furniture that rocked lopsidedly in the grass.

Any filter would do, though. Anything that could soften the world just a little around its loud, coarse edges. The ice in your peach-flavored hurricane melting so that the drink was a little less saccharine. The rum casting a film over your mood, keeping your loneliness from dropping you into total dolor. The slight late-night breeze blowing the smoke from the fire pit away from you so that the acrid smell was stronger on the hood of your black sweatshirt than the air. It all muddled your emotions, numbing the buzzing overwhelm of the party to an anxious hum. The party had been neon, and out here you had a bit more darkness.

Without these buffers absorbing some of the furor, you might have escaped the party hours ago. Snuck out while the thing was still in full thrall, before social anxiety could hiss over your bones. Got out while you were ahead. Instead, you’d lasted as long as you could before out to the backyard with the near-dead fire, wracked with guilt at the prospect of leaving without saying goodbye, while too nervous to actually draw the attention to yourself necessary to actually say goodbye.

That wasn’t to say you hadn’t held up for a good while, though. You’d hung out with your friends when the fire had just gotten started and then when the party had moved indoors for drinking games and edibles. You’d hovered on the border as your friends grew more interested in dancing in drunken delay to the somniferous lo-fi beat than conversation. Then the itching had started in your brain, and before you knew it, you were out here, social battery drained dry, waiting for an indefinite future in which you could find the energy to escape.

You shivered as footsteps swiped through the grass, crickets chirping at the intruder.

“Did I surprise you?” Shinsou asked, his voice deep from booze or smoke or both. Or, maybe he was just tired, you figured, as the harsh light of the fire sharpened the bags under his eyes into dark creases.

“Breeze,” you mumbled, goosebumps rising on your wrists, standing the fine hairs on end. Only a few licks of heat from the pit were touching your knees, leaving the rest of you cold in your threadbare sweatshirt as the fire shrank smaller and smaller.

Shinsou had a blanket in his arms, ratty and certainly stolen from the back of the living room couch. He blinked at you for a second before he asked, “Can I join you?”

His voice was deadpan. Between the two of you, there was no real vocal inflection to speak of. Still, you shrugged one shoulder and said, “Sure.”

You stiffened when, instead of choosing one of the many other patio chairs or foldable camping chairs forming a friendly circle around the fire, he joined you on your bench, tossing a bit of blanket over your knees. You hardly realized you were staring at him until he said, “You’re cold, right?”

“Oh, yeah, a little,” you said, tucking your knees up to your chin and curling the scrap of blanket around your arms.

The blanket was raggedy in your hands, pilled on the hem, but warm from being indoors with all the dancing bodies. Plus, clinging onto it, running your thumb over the uneven texture gave you something to focus on instead of Shinsou’s body so close to yours.

Your senses were tingling, raw at having someone nearby again. It was too soon—you still didn’t have anything to say, no defense for why you’d dropped off from the party without a word.

But, on the other hand, being alone wasn’t fixing you either. Parts of your brain were still coiled taut as compression springs, and while they weren’t getting any tighter, they weren’t quite loosening yet either. It was rest, not recovery.

Abruptly—was it abrupt, or were you that zoned out?—Shinsou touched the back of his hand to yours, nearly making you flinch as he furrowed his brows at you. “How long have you been out here?” he asked, shifting towards you and pushing more of the blanket into your lap.

“Oh, um—” maybe a half an hour, maybe more, “—not that long.”

For that flash of contact, his skin had been hot against yours, so you could only imagine how cold your hands had felt to him. Your icy drink was probably mostly to blame, but you were also suddenly aware of how your shoulders were hunched nearly to your ears, your arms clenched to your sides like your chest might warm them. You piled the blanket a little more over your knees and one shoulder, only the hand holding your drink poking out.

“Hard being on the fringes,” he mused as he took a sip from a can. Possibly seltzer, probably beer.

You mirrored, tasting your own drink. It was really mostly water by now, though you were sure it was still painting your tongue orange.

Shinsou’s situation wasn’t much different than yours. Everyone in that house was old classmates. Shinsou was too, but he’d come late. Not too late to be friends, but late enough that it mattered. You were even later—not a classmate, but a post-high school roommate. You’d both landed on the side of Kaminari’s friend group, but neither of you were the core of it. The heart of it. That, for reasons you couldn’t quite understand, was Bakugou.

For some reason, you and Shinsou had never talked about this before.

“Hard being in a group big enough for there to be a fringe.”

Because, of course, it wasn’t just the Bakusquad here today. The majority of the old 3-A was here, those who weren’t on duty or suffering with early morning duty tomorrow. Enough people to certainly cause a ruckus and maybe a noise complaint that even pro heroes wouldn’t get out of.

“Touché”

The two of you fell into silence, and you couldn’t help but wonder exactly what had drawn Shinsou from the party. Even if he didn’t feel he was the most popular guy in the room, you’d seen the way he had the ability to talk to everyone. You weren’t sure if it was a product of his quirk or what, but he was able to start a conversation with everyone he met. He didn’t seem shy or anxious in the least.

Then again, that was just what he presented. You knew from that what you put forth in public wasn’t necessarily in line with what you were feeling.

It was hard to be the introvert around a group like yours. Worse—it was noticeable. This wasn’t the first time you’d stumbled away from a party, mind half gone not on alcohol or weed but on the sudden assault of attention, loud voices, and talk of hero work. Being one of the only non-heroes in the room was exhausting, and maybe that’s why you’d had to escape. Or maybe there never was a reason, good or otherwise, and you were just here because of your stupid self.

“Clear night,” Shinsou commented, “Don’t get to see much of the stars in the city.”

You looked up, a bright spot in the center of your vision from where you’d been staring into the fire. Almost everyone in your group lived in the city, not too far from each other, depending on your definition of the word. But those with quirks better suited outside the city, like Tsuyu and Koda, had moved out of town post graduation, granting the rest of you access to a night in the suburbs like this.

The truth was, you hardly looked up at the sky in the city. Tourists were always looking up, eyes glinting off the skyscrapers and billboards. But natives were always looking down, too aware of the fact that other natives didn’t always clean up after their dogs and, with so little grass, the sidewalk often needed a close eye kept to it.

But here, it was pretty. Not the smog-stained brown you were used to, but deep blue and twinkling with infinite pinpricks.

“Mm,” you hummed, taking another sip of your watery drink. “You’re right.”

“There’s Cassiopeia,” he said, pointing just over the tree line.

You followed his finger, unsure quite of what you were looking at. The stars hardly looked like clusters to you, especially on a night like this where you could see so many. It was more a broad network of them, either all connected or all individual. All the stars or just a star.

“You know constellations?” you asked, ears latching onto something that finally wasn’t hero related. Truth be told, you probably knew less about stars than you did about hero work but it was less alienating. You could lean into it.

“Some,” he offered. “Cassiopeia is a basic one.”

“Where is it?”

Shinsou glanced at you, leaning in closer so that his finger could match your gaze. You shoulders knocked and you could feel his wild hair against your own. His finger traced down and up, down and up in a cockeyed W. “Cassiopeia, mother of Andromeda.”

“She’s a woman?”

It was any wonder that ancient people had looked into the night sky and seen things like rams and bulls, creating a whole woman out of a few diagonal lines. Still, you listened to Shinsou, his low voice rumbling into your tired bones as he began.

“A beautiful woman,” he answered. “In Greek myth, she thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her boastfulness made Poseidon angry, so he created a sea monster that Andromeda was sacrificed to. Andromeda was left to await her fate when Perseus, who had just killed Medusa, used Medusa’s head to turn the sea monster to stone. After saving Andromeda, the two of them got married, and when they died, they both became constellations alongside Cassiopeia.”

Shinsou’s voice was husky and even as he told the story. The cadences were easy drops, landing you softly before he started up again with his next thought. It was a voice you could be rocked by, a voice you could be held by.

“Do you know where they are too?”

“Just below,” Shinsou said. “Probably come up just in time for the sun to make them invisible.”

“That’s too bad,” you said, curling deeper into the blanket, curling so that on shoulder leaned more onto the bench than the other. You head was almost resting on Shinsou’s shoulder and you could feel his warmth radiating in the cold night. “How do you know all this?”

Shinsou was quiet for a second and your nerves spiked again. You hadn’t even felt them relax, but suddenly your anxiety was scratching again, wondering if you’d misspoke. Or maybe you’d whispered it and he just hadn’t heard you? Before you could decide whether to say it again or apologize, though, he let out a sigh that jostled the blanket.

“Jack of all trades, master of none,” he said by way of explanation.

You cocked your head. Perhaps it was just a good hobby for an insomniac, but you were unsure about the evasiveness. “Did you have to learn a lot for general studies? Or to get in to U.A.?”

“…Yeah.”

You could only imagine. U.A. was an incredibly competitive school for heroes, but that was a specialized course. For general studies you didn’t need to have the physical prowess or the other particular skills that came with heroics, but you had to be an ace in school. It was no small feat to get into general studies, especially while you were trying to pursue something else. You were satisfied with that, ready to let it go and return to the near silence of the crickets and the fire popping, when Shinsou suddenly continued.

“When it looked like my plans to become a hero wouldn’t pan out,” Shinsou began, his words slow, tired, “my parents encouraged me into any and all other interests. None stuck.”

“Oh,” you said quietly, the personal admission taking you aback.

For all the times you’d seen Shinsou talk effortlessly with people in a room, you weren’t sure how personal or vulnerable you’d ever seen him. He seemed comfortable enough probing other people, but this was new. It made the space between you suddenly seem private—so different from the party you’d escaped from. You could still hear the ambient noises of a couple dozen people in there having a good time, but it was suddenly a world away.

“I’m sorry, Shinsou,” you said, brows furrowing as you glanced his eyes, still gazing up at the stars. His parents had probably thought they were being supportive, but it wasn’t the support he’d desired.

“It is what it is,” he said. “It worked out in the end.”

There was the smallest smile on his face at that, barely betraying what must have been true joy at having a dream slip through his fingers only to fly back to him. And he’d earned every bit of it, even if he wanted to keep it to himself.

“So now,” you began softly, “you just have a lot of little things that you can offer people. The little things you could have been. That’s not so bad, right?”

��No, it’s not so bad,” he agreed. “I always liked that story.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Japanese astronomy varies so much from region to region and is usually about more functional things. Harvest, seasons. But these other myths about people with no chance of being heroes becoming ones anyway…”

He trailed off, but the sentiment was there. Trapped in the things he’d done to try and leave heroism behind were little vestiges. The inescapable fact that he was meant to be a hero and would be one anyway, even if the world told him he was a villain, doomed for failure.

The stories had been true.

“Are you feeling better now?” he asked, surprising you.

“Feeling better?”

“You’d been out here for over an hour,” Shinsou stated. “Your eyes were glassy and distant and you were freezing and you didn’t seem to notice.”

“Oh,” you intoned. You hadn’t realized it had been that long. You were sure it had only been half that time.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

“No, I’m fine,” you said truthfully. “I’m fine now.”

The anxiety from earlier that had been buzzing through you had kept you awake, all while thoroughly draining you. You’d hardly realized just how much until now, with your body not just feeling settled but heavy. The stress had run straight through you, and now you bore the fatigue.

Shinsou glanced down at you out of the corner of his eye. His brows raised and it lifted his whole face, making the dark circles under his eyes just a little less stark. “You look exhausted.”

“You always look exhausted,” you retorted, your first little grin curving along your lips.

In his surprise, Shinsou smiled too. “I know that. Here.”

Shinsou took your forgotten drink from your hand and set it down, then patted his shoulder.

“You should rest for a little while.”

Your eyes met his, searching for anything that looked like obligation or impatience. But there was none. Just a surprising amount of openness and a pretty shade of purple.

“Do you have more myths?”

Shinsou smiled and, once again, his gaze went up to the stars. As he started another tale, you snuggled onto his shoulder, the rest of your body drawing closer to his as well. He didn’t wait long to begin speaking, talking in more detail than he had before. There was no reason to be concerned that he might be boring you, or that you didn’t want to hear it. Really, these stories, these stars that had brought him even the tiniest speck of light were just what you needed too.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, and you weren’t sure when you woke up. But when you blinked your eyes awake, the first thing you noticed was that Cassiopeia hadn’t moved far. The second was the feeling of Shinsou’s head tilted against yours, his breath like gentle waves under you.

You shifted, signaling that you were awake, and Shinsou did too, his head lifting from yours. At some point, his arm had wrapped around you, encasing you in his warmth. He didn’t move it, not yet, as your body creaked and you forced yourself to sit up.

“How long?” you murmured, voice barely raspy with sleep.

“Not that long,” Shinsou answered, echoing your reply from earlier.

He didn’t look at his phone or a watch, and hadn’t since he’d come out, so you wondered if he had any clue. Or if it simply hadn’t felt long. Somehow, the idea that his time spent with you hadn’t felt long was a comfort, a relief.

“How are you feeling?”

You checked in, feeling that grogginess that always came in the wake of an intense mental episode. Your brain struggling to catch up and survey the backlash from its earlier antics. That would go away. It always did. “I’m good.”

Shinsou continued to look at you, switching between each eye, double checking your expression for any lie. But he must not have found any, for he leaned back into the bench and relaxed, that tiny ghost of a smile back on his face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said, gazing out again. “You out here alone before? It had been…well, we were…I wanted to check on you.”

For the first time, Shinsou looked almost a little shy, and you couldn’t help but smile, touched. You put a hand on the shoulder that had just taken your weight and brought his gaze back to you. “Thank you.”

There actually was one thing you knew about stars. You’d heard that every light year a star was away from you was a year into the past you were seeing its light. Looking at the stars was looking millions of years into the past. Despite the fact that these selfsame stars connected you to humans around the world today and those of old, that filter of distance and time rendered them ancient, if not already gone.

But as you looked at Shinsou, their soft, silvery starlight illuminating one side while the last dancing coals of the fire glowed on the other, you were sure that this was the opposite. This wasn’t old or past or known to anyone but the two of you. This wasn’t the stars or even the stories inspired by them.

This was just beginning.

[svnflowervol666]

Ma Petite Chérie: Christmas Then (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Read more from this little universe, Ma Petite Chérie, in my masterlist!

Word Count: 6k

Summary: It’s the happiest time of the year, but it couldn’t be more miserable for Harry and Y/N.

Author’s Note: Reupload because it wasn’t working in the tags! Here is the first of two Christmas bits for Harry, Y/N and Tallulah! I’ve told you all that I planned on writing about Harry and Y/N breaking up early on in their relationship, so I decided to add a little Christmas spirit into the mix in honor of the season. I promise, the next part isn’t this sad. I always feel like I’m not that great at writing angst, mostly because it hurts my heart too much, but I hope I did this story enough justice. Feedback is greatly appreciated, it helps to keep me going and to write things that you guys actually want to read. Any who, enjoy! The next part will be up by the end of the month. Take care and TPWK.

Harry had never thought that a night out with his colleagues would cost him his world. It was supposed to be a celebration of another successful year at his job, nothing more. It was supposed to be dinner, a few rounds of whiskey with his team, and an early night back to the two girls he loved the most who waited impatiently for his return. It wasn’t supposed to be a trip to the club, where the bass in the speakers replaced Harry’s own heartbeat and made his mind temporarily forget where his priorities lied. He thought that he’d only be there long enough to not seem like an uptight asshole that didn’t care to have any fun, but alas. Harry can be quite the pushover, and quickly slipped into that inedbriated state that often persuades you to do things you know you shouldn’t.

Harry had certainly thought wrong.

Y/N, on the other hand, was only supposed to be gone long enough to clear her head. Steam was practically billowing out of her at lightspeed the night this all happened. It would later be referred to as “The-Incident-That-We-Don’t-Speak-About-Because-It’s-Painful-Too-Even-Think-About” in the future, but right now, it consumed her. Every little detail of that night and the argument that followed haunted her like a reoccurring bad dream that she couldn’t shake. The way he smelled like cigarettes from keeping his coworkers company on the club’s smoking patio, the way his eyes were glassy from one (or two) ((or three)) too many shots of tequila, the way he yelled at her. She had assured him that all she needed was time to think, and then she’d be back to talk. At the time, she had told him that she quite frankly didn’t want to even be in the same postal code as him, so she left. All that was in the duffle bag she packed in four minutes flat was her toothbrush, face wash, and enough clothes to get her through the weekend while she cooled off at her friend’s apartment.

She didn’t plan on being gone for sixteen days.

A lot had occurred to her in her time away from Harry. One, was that this was the first time they had fought. Ever. She’d always wondered if her time with Harry would ever stop feeling like a fairytale that only existed in novels and storybooks. Everything about the two of them was picture-perfect from its conception, and had somehow only gotten sweeter as the years had passed. She firmly believed that they weren’t like everybody else, those that put on a charade around others, but were unbearably miserable in private. She had started to think that maybe it was supernatural, the way that they fit together so perfectly that she thought no one else on the planet could make her feel the way Harry does, perfectly complete and peaceful. But it was turning out to be as simple as the age-old saying, life is not always rainbows and butterflies.

Two, was this really what Y/N wanted? She didn’t give it a second thought when it came to Harry having a child, quickly stepping into the role of being someone important in Tallulah’s life. And Harry let her, too. As cautious as he is about who he involves his daughter with, it was almost scary the way he let her in and allowed her to love and care for her. Yes, scary. Scary, because children are permanent and they are hard work and they include making sacrifices that sometimes don’t seem fair. So, Y/N had been asking herself if this was where she saw herself staying, as she had too big of a heart to become such an important character in Tallulah’s life to decide somewhere down the line that she suddenly didn’t want to be tied down anymore. It wasn’t fair to the poor girl, just a measly four years old, to have to go through losing someone that had promised to love her forever. Twice.

Deep down, she knew that this, Harry’s modest yet still lavish home with a pastel yellow door and vegetable garden out back that was often littered with dolls and abandoned sun hats from the cutest little thing that Y/N had ever seen, was where she wanted to be. But this brought her to the third thing she had pondered whilst she rotted on her friend’s uncomfortable sofa at 2 a.m. as she’d waited for her melatonin supplements to enter her system and send her off into a subdued state.

Could she ever forgive him for what he said?

//

It was just one week before Christmas. Harry texted her at least once everyday, Y/N only replying to the ones when he’d asked her if she was ready to talk, to which she’d tell him that she wasn’t, and that she promised she’d tell him when she was. Part of her stayed away from him for so long because she feared that somehow, deep down, the right thing to do was to stay away forever, and that was certainly going to be the worst day of her life. It would be for the better, Y/N thinks, if that is the case, but she’s trying very hard not to think about that being the endgame for her and Harry. Hence the inner turmoil that’s consuming Y/N’s body whole.

Sarah had promised her that Harry wasn’t coming. They sided with her on this one, she’d said, thus rescinding his invitation to her and Mitch’s annual holiday party. It felt somewhat wrong to be going to see Harry’s friends without him, especially given the fact that they’d more or less been split up for the past two weeks. But as much as they were Harry’s friends, they were also hers too. Harry really knew how to pick the ones he held closest - they were good people. He knows how to chose them because Harry is also a good person and Y/N knows this, and that makes it all the more painful when she pulls into the car park designated for guests of the condominium where Mitch and Sarah lived.

They’d seemed a bit off when they welcomed her into the sizey flat with the small, wrapped gift she’d brought for their exchange, but Y/N dismisses their seemingly rehearsed greetings as pity. Although the last thing she wants is to talk about Harry, she finds their condolences and overall presence soothing. She hadn’t seen much aside from her friend that she’d been staying with and her overweight, powder white cat these days, so human interracton in any capacity was refreshing.

Until it wasn’t.

The longer she stood in the circle of the others that came to the party, mindlessly nodding along to whatever was being said but not actually paying any attention, the longer she was left to sit with her thoughts. She remembers the three other times she’d come to Mitch and Sarah’s for this exact party, and how warm and loved she felt. Right now, all she feels is the cold radiating off of the sliding glass door that she’s leaning on and loneliness. To Y/N, it almost felt like everyone in the room knew what had happened to her and Harry. Like they were trying too hard to be cordial with her because they saw her as the girl that Harry yelled terrible things at and did terrible things too. It was overbearing and she had to get out before she exploded.

Finding aid in the very sliding glass door that chilled her to the bone, she wandered out on the patio to get away from the noise that was so loud yet so quiet at the same time. Tiny snowflakes coated the railing and the outdoor furniture, enough to illuminate her surroundings in an almost purple glow despite the time of night. If Tallulah were here, she’d convince Y/N to catch them on her tongue with her. Any other time, a thought like that would have made her smile, but right now it just made her sad. She wasn’t wearing a coat, yet she couldn’t find herself to care in this moment.

She wanted Harry. She wanted Harry there with her, whispering in her ear that Josie is full of herself and will say anything to get people’s attention and that he thinks they should ditch the party early so they can “warm each other up” at home. Despite the ache in her bones that wished for him, she couldn’t stop thinking about the last time she saw him.

~

“You’re lying.”

“Wha’ are you talkin’ about, Y/N?” he was swaying back and forth where he stood, clearly too drunk to keep his balance.

He almost sounded annoyed, but it was moreso because she’d interrupted his treck to the bedroom where his warm bed was waiting for him to ail his drunkenness and less because of her prodding.

“Clara was there, Harry. At the club. The one you forgot to tell me you were going to? She saw you. Talking to her. Any of that ring a bell?”

She made sure not to raise her voice in fear of waking up the toddler that had fallen asleep on the sofa waiting for her dad to come home so she could show him the ornaments she’d made with Y/N while he was gone, but he hadn’t come home when he’d promised her. Y/N wasn’t trying to fight, just get some answers. Yet here Harry stood, in their bathroom, lying to her face.

“Okay. So she was there ‘n we talked. We work for the same people. You’re not tellin’ me your mad that I talked t’ her about work, are yeh? Talked t’ her about work at a work party?”

“I’m not stupid, Harry. Stop doing that.”

Harry huffed in annoyance, as if her mere presence was beginning to cause his disdain.

“Then stop actin’ like it was somethin’ that it wasn’t. Swear t’ you. She came up to me, asked how Lulah had been, we talked about work for a second, and that was it. Fuck, even told her about you for christ’s sake.”

“I couldn’t care less that you talked to her, Harry. It’s the fact that you didn’t tell me you’d be out later than you said, went to a club, talked to her, the girl that broke your fucking heart, and I found out from a friend. And when I asked you about it, you lied. Do you see how fucking bad that looks?”

“Why don’t yeh ask Clara what she saw, hmm? Since you’re so keen on taking her word for it. She’s gonna tell you that nothing. Happened. I’m truly sorry I didn’t tell yeh I’d be out late. Didn’t think I’d be gone that long and just got carried away.”

Y/N was fighting tears now. He was talking in circles, unwilling to see her side and acknowledge that he’d done wrong.

“That’s what you’ve been saying for the past month, Harry. You’re always getting carried away with work and leaving me to take care of her. I can’t tell you how many times Tallulah’s asked why you’re always missing dinner and why you don’t go take her to her ice skating lessons or help her wash her hair anymore. She misses you. So do I. And then you go and do this. I know you’re busy this time of year but I also know you’re doing more than you’re being asked of, so don’t pull that shit with me. Would it kill you to come home every now and then and at least eat some pasta with your fucking daughter?”

Harry’s brows were furrowed together, eyes dark and half-shut in what was the beginning of a drunken rage. For a split second, Y/N saw a flicker of sadness within the deep green of his irises, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

“Yeh say that like she’s a burden. ‘S that it? You’re mad that you have t’ babysit?”

“Harry,” Y/N warned him.

He was treading territory that would be hard to back away from once he took the first step.

“What? If it was that big of a fuckin’ deal, you could have told me that you don’t like keeping after her.”

“Jesus, it’s not!”

She was yelling now, unable to keep her emotions from getting the best of her. She looked after Tallulah like she was the one that had given birth to the four year old that slept peacefully on the couch, cuddling her stuffed elephant in place of her father.

“You know that I love her and that I’d do anything for her, but it’s different when you leave me alone with her all of the time. She needs you, Har. More than she needs me, and you’re acting like your job is more important than her. You have to be there for her, Harry.”

A nasty scoff left Harry’s chest that would haunt Y/N forever. She’d never forget what he said next.

“Right. Thanks for the parenting tip. Last time I checked you weren’t her fucking mu-”

~

“Yeh gonna freeze t’ death out here, ya know?”

The same voice that plagued her head pulled her out of reliving the events that landed her here, on a snow-covered patio, just as the first of what she knew were going to be many tears rolled down her face.

Y/N whipped her head around, frowning when she realized that Sarah and Mitch had lied to her and that they definitely had invited both of them to the Christmas party.

“Should have known those two were up to something,” was all she replied, quickly swiping the single, stray tear that stung her cheek as it touched the cold air.

“Jesus, you’re shivering. Here,” Harry began shrugging off his coat, ready to offer it to Y/N to keep her from catching pnuemonia.

She hadn’t realized just how cold she was. Her lips felt like they were going to crack at any moment, and she was almost certain it would take upwards of an hour for her to feel her toes again.

“Harry-” Y/N started, her voice sounding soft and defeated.

“Please don’t be stupid, Y/N. You’re gonna get sick.”

He spoke to her in the way that he would Tallulah when she refused to let him brush her hair after a bath, sternly insisting that she’d wake up with painful knots in her head if she didn’t let him run a comb through it. There was something comforting about it, but also something so incredibly sad about it all at the same time.

Reluctantly and without looking him directly in the eyes, she took the long, fur-lined coat from his hands, almost flinching when she accidentally touched pinkies with him. The coat was well-loved, ridden with his scent and most likely permanently stained with a little bit of spit up from when Tallulah was a baby. It smelled like home, Y/N thought.

There was a long pause between them, neither knowing what to say or where to even start. Y/N found herself missing Harry even more now that he was standing right next to her, brawny arms leaning against the frozen railing.

“How’s Lulah?” she asked, able to find her voice amongst the anxiety prodding every inch of her body.

Harry nodded as if to say she was alright, then cleared his throat.

“Good. Misses you.”

He wanted to tell her that he missed her, too. A whole fucking lot. But he was trying to prolong having that conversation in fear that it wouldn’t end the way he’d planned it in his head and she’d walk away from him forever.

“She asks about you every day. ‘Bout when you’re comin’ home. Said she doesn’t like how quiet it is without your music playing in the kitchen.”

She was crying now. Fat, wet, silent tears in the opposite of Harry’s direction so he couldn’t see. She missed hearing Tallulah’s raspy voice asking her question after question about where eggs come from and why anyone would dare take away someone’s babies the way farmers do with mummy chickens.

“I know you’re not ready to talk,” Harry began.

“But do yeh think you could at least come home? It doesn’t feel right without you there.”

Y/N did what she could could manage the tears streaming down her face like a waterfall, hoping Harry would think her face was just cold as she aggressively rubbed her cheeks with her fists.

She was ready to give in, seeing him in person immediately shattering any bit of strength to stay away from him that she had left. Maybe she’d find some clarity if she stopped sleeping on a pull-out sofa that did absolutely nothing for her already-bad back and went back to where she’d lived for over a year with the two people she felt like she’d spent a lifetime loving.

Slowly, her eyes went to meet his. She saw how tired he looked, for lack of a better word. Even though it was dark, the light from the snow accentuated the deep circles under his eyes. His hair looked like it hadnt been washed in days, the way it used to look when Tallulah was a baby that cried at all hours of the night. His posture was, to be quite honest, shittier than it normally was. Y/N knows it hasn’t been that long since she’d been gone, but she could almost swear he looked skinnier than the last time she’d seen him, given that the hollows of his cheeks looked concave and scrawny.

Just as she parted her surely-blue lips, ready to tell him everything she’d wanted to tell him for the past two weeks, the ringing of Harry’s cell phone caused them both to jump.

“Fuck,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“’M sorry. It’s mum. She’s got Lulah. Give me just one second.”

His eyes were pleading, almost like he was silently begging her not to run off if that’s what she was thinking of doing. Y/N’s ears perked up at the mention of his mother. She wondered if she knew about any of this. Surely she did, as Harry tends to confide in her for just about everything.

She was trying not to be nosy, but it appeared that Anne was speaking quite loudly, so it was a bit hard for her not to. She couldn’t make out exactly what she was saying, but she did hear one word. It was clear as day, and she knew immediately that something was wrong.

Raspberries.

Y/N’s head whipped around in Harry’s direction, and she saw the way his face was void of all color and his chest had started to heave.

“That’s never happened before. Did you give her the antihistamine?....What’s she sayin’?....Jesus Christ, mum. You have to calm down. Just go ahead and take her. I’ll meet yeh there. They’ll probably just have t’ give her a shot or somethin’....Mum, it’s alright. You didn’t know. Just get her in the car, please. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Harry clicked his phone off and shoved it in his back pocket, a sense of urgency taking over him.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ve got t-”

“What happened?”

Y/N was just as worried as Harry was, feeling sick to her stomach that something clearly awful had happened to her.

“Mum’s watching Rosie, too. Lulah got into the bag Gem packed for her and ate somethin’ with raspberries in it. Said her throat feels scratchy, which is-”

“That’s not normal,” Y/N stated, being keenly aware of how Tallulah only ever tends to break out in a slight rash every time she eats the bright pink fruit.

“Yeah,” Harry replied.

“Y/N, I have t’ go. But I really want to talk t’ you. You don’t have t’ say anything back. Just hear me out, yeah? Please don’t disappear on me again.”

She wasn’t listening to him, only worried about the little girl with too many allergies and a keen interest in anything sweet.

“Can I go with you?”

Her voice was quiet, as if she were afraid of Harry telling her that she wasn’t allowed to see his daughter. She knew it was his decision and that she had to respect it, but all she wanted to do was hold her tiny body in her arms and tell her how much she missed her and that she was going to be alright.

Harry stuttered a bit, clearly not expecting her to ask him such a thing. Part of him was happy that she was willingly offering to be near him, but he supposes it’s only got to do with her worry for his daughter.

“I, erm, uh, yeah. Of course. Let’s go. Mum’s taking her t’ the hospital over by her house.”

He ushered her back into the warm apartment and back out the front door towards his car. They couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge the stares thrown their way.

//

The car ride was quiet. Harry had left the radio off during his drive to Mitch and Sarah’s, too busy rehearsing what he was going to say to Y/N if she actually let him talk to her. Y/N sat with her knees to her chest, but opted not to turn away from him. That was a good sign, Harry thought. The heat was on, but Y/N was still freezing. She supposes Harry was right about her getting sick.

“Could you drive a little faster?” Y/N asked after some time, fiddling with the cuff of her jeans.

“No,” Harry retorted.

“It’s snowing, Y/N. Don’t need all three of us t’ end up in the hospital.”

She had half the nerve to roll her eyes at him, but she knew he was right.

“Hey,” Harry called out to her.

He started to reach over the center console for her hand out of habit, but felt his heart sink into his stomach when he remembered the state of their relationship and slowly retracted it. He thought she didn’t notice, but she did.

“She’s gonna be fine. Mum said she wasn’t even crying. Probably just needs a few shots t’ make the swelling go down.”

Y/N nodded instead of responding, sinking further into the seat but keeping her eyes on the snowy road ahead of her.

Silence took over again as they trecked through the snow towards Tallulah, with tension so thick it felt suffocating. From the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of Tallulah’s winter gloves tucked into one of the cup holders and she wanted to cry again.

But instead of doing that, she laid her palm face-up on the console, waiting for Harry’s eyes to catch them. When they did, he hesitated, flickering between her hand and her face. She still wasn’t looking directly at him, but he knew she knew he was looking at her.

He tested her first, lying his hand next to hers, but not touching. She didn’t pull her hand away, and he swears when he looked down, he saw her hand inch towards his as if she were coaxing him. Harry thinks this might be the last time he gets to touch her if she decides that she can’t forgive him for what he said, so he goes for it.

He laces his fingers with hers, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief take over his head and his heart when he finally got to feel her skin against his after what felt like centuries. She doesn’t wrap her fingers around his like he did to hers, her hand still lying limp against the arm rest, but he’s okay with that.

It isn’t until they’re pulling into the hospital that Y/N gives Harry’s hand a squeeze.

They were getting there. At least Harry hoped.

//

Y/N is physically unable to keep herself from smiling when she hears Tallulah practically squeal her name the second she steps into the room she’d been given. Her voice was deeper than usual, most definitely due to the accident that landed her here in the first place. Tallulah all but jumped out of her bed to greet her with a hug, which Y/N accepted without a second thought as she wrapped her arms around the small girl and sat with her on the bed, most likely staining Harry’s coat with the emollient cream they’d coated her rash with at the hospital. As if that coat could take any more beatings.

Harry watched from the corner, feeling somewhat out of place for whatever reason. He knew he owed Y/N an apology for what he said to her that night, and at that moment he felt like he owed Tallulah one, too. How could he say those things to her? How could he let his arrogance get the best of him and ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to him?

Anne briefed him while Tallulah had her mini-reunion with Y/N, letting him know they’d given her a few shots and could go home as soon as the swelling in her throat had gone down. She wouldn’t stop apologizing to Harry for causing her grandbaby harm, but Harry assured her for the twentieth time that accidents happen and that it certainly could have been worse. Anne soon sensed the tension between Harry and who she hoped would be her daughter-in-law one day, and told Harry she’d better get going because she’d left Rosie with the neighbor. Her eyes urged Harry to fix this shit at all costs because she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and Harry was not one to disobey his mother.

“Are you coming home?” Harry heard Tallulah ask Y/N.

He locked eyes with her for a split-second.

“Yeah,” Y/N sighed.

Harry felt his heart jump as he was now paying extra attention to the woman holding his daughter like she was the most precious thing on earth.

“Gotta make sure you get tucked into bed alright.”

And then it sunk.

“Will you be there when I wake up?” Tallulah asked with eerily familiar green eyes peering up at Y/N from her lap.

This time it was her heart that sunk.

“I....don’t know, Lulah. We’ll see,” she whispered, feeling tears pool in her eyes once again.

Y/N hid her face in Tallulah’s hair, for fear that Harry would see her.

“How’s Carrot, hmm? ‘S he doing good?” Y/N blurts out in diversion, hoping Tallulah would be more interested in talking about the fish Y/N had won her at a carnival a few years ago than where she stood with her and Harry.

Tallulah talked her ear off, filling her in on everything she’d missed while she was gone. She tells Y/N that their kale plant in the garden was huge now, seemingly sprouting overnight. She also tells Y/N that Rosie can walk now, or at least can wobble a few steps before falling down on her bum.

Harry watches as Y/N pretends like everything Tallulah is telling her is the most interesting news she’s ever heard. That’s what parents do, and that’s exactly what Harry had shouted at Y/N that she wasn’t. He had fucked up in the worst way and only fate could tell him whether or not he’d be able to fix it.

It was Harry’s turn to cry now, pretending to rub exhaustion out of his eyes rather than tears. Much like earlier when he’d instinctively reached for her hand, he’d hoped she didn’t see it.

She did.

//

Y/N kept her promise to Tallulah and tucked her into bed after she was discharged and sent home with a steroid pack and rash cream. She willed away the wave of nausea she felt walking into the house she’d shared with Harry after all of this time, telling herself that she just needed to make sure Tallulah knew she was at least there to tuck her in. She took turns with Harry, each of them running their fingers through her curls and telling her to have sweet dreams and that they hoped she felt better in the morning. Tallulah insisted that she was fine and wanted to stay up and talk to Y/N about what she thought Santa was doing right now and if he was going to bring her the glittery nail polish that she’d asked him for, but the sleepiness in her eyes told a different story.

“Do you want me t’ call Sarah and have her take you back to your car?” Harry asked when they returned to the living room where they’d entered.

“Figured we ought to have that talk,” she said, unable to meet his eyes for the umpteenth time that night.

“Yeah,” Harry replied in a tone that almost sounds like relief.

“We can definitely do that.”

The pair find their way to the couch, sitting faced towards each other, but not touching. It’s awkward and it makes Y/N want to fall apart because this is her Harry and she’s in her own home, yet it didn’t quite feel it.

“You hurt my feelings,” is all she says, picking at a loose thread on the sofa.

“I know I did,” Harry began.

“I can’t take any of that back, but I want you t’ know how sorry I am, Y/N. None of that shit was true. I should have told you I was gonna be out late. Shouldn’t have even gone out with them, t’ be honest. I couldn’t even tell yeh why I lied when you asked if I saw her there. Just didn’t want you t’ get the wrong idea, I guess.”

“Harry, I already told you that I didn’t care that you-”

“I know yeh did,” Harry interjected, “But I want you t’ know that I’d never even think about doing something like that t’ you. You’re quite literally the best thing that’s ever happened t’ me. Sometimes I don’t even think you’re real. I wouldn’t have made it without you. Neither would Lulah. And that...”

He pauses, trying not to burst into tears right in front of her. Y/N sees his jaw tensing, something Tallulah does when she’s attempting to calm herself down after throwing a fit. She isn’t sure why, but she begins to feel at ease the longer he talks. Maybe it’s just hearing the sound of his voice after so long or maybe it’s because he’s telling her what she’s been wanting to hear, what she was once afraid that she’d never be able to.

“That shit I said about you not being Lulah’s mum. That’s a load. I know you know that. You are her mum, whether she knows that or not. I’m sure she does... I know she does. You’ve been there for everything. You never complain when it gets hard. Yeh could’ve been doing anything else besides helping my sorry ass take care of her, but you didn’t. ‘M not sure if I’m doin’ a good job of convincing you to stay, wouldn’t blame you if yeh didn’t want to, but I really hope that you do. If you don’t, I still want yeh t’ know that you’re her mum. You’ve done things for her that she doesn’t even realize. She loves you so much, Y/N. And so do I. You’re the love of my life. Always will be. I don’t think there’s anybody else out there that makes me feel the way you do. You’re it for me and I need you t’ know that.”

He’s blubbering now, not caring that she sees the salty streaks subconsciously flowing from his dark and gloomy eyes. He felt it coming. She was going to leave. She was going to finish packing tonight and walk out of his life and he wouldn’t get to spend the rest of his life showing her how much he loved her.

That’s when he feels a hand on his shoulder. It’s light, but it’s meant to be comforting.

“Can it be my turn now?” her voice laced with tears as well.

Clearly it was a night for crying.

Harry nods, because that’s all he can do.

“I was frustrated, that night. I don’t think I should have made as big of deal out of you staying out so la-”

“No. You should have. I was being an ars-”

“Harry,” she pleads, “Let me finish, please.”

He lets out a shaky, “Okay,” and she continues.

“It’s not a big deal when you go out with your friends. You’ve just been so....absent lately and that was what set me off. When Clara called me that night it was just so, embarrassing I guess? I didn’t know what to say to her, and it obviously didn’t look good. But I know you wouldn’t do that to me. You’re a good person and a good dad, Harry. I hope you know that, even if you don’t feel like it right now. And the Lulah thing...that hurt. A lot. I know you’re stubborn and hate admitting that you’re wrong, so I’m going to let that speak for itself, but I’ve never once regretted anything that I’ve done with you two. I knew it would be different being with you, but I’ve never thought of any of this as a sacrifice or a burden. You guys make me so happy. I don’t think you’ll ever understand how much of a privilege this has felt like to me, to be able to watch her grow up and be a part of it. She is the most magical thing that’s ever happened to me. And so are you.”

Harry’s staring at her, still crying, sillhouette lit up by the lights on the Christmas tree behind her that’s decorated with the ornaments she made with his daughter on that dreadful night. He doesn’t want to hurt Lulah’s feelings, but he makes a mental note to throw them away the second he’s able to so he doesn’t have to think about this ever again.

“I love you, Harry. Please don’t ever lie to me again. Even if it’s about how many minutes you are away from the grocery store. I can’t take it. And I can’t stand to feel so far away from you like this. It’s....gross. And I hate it.”

He perks up at what she’s just said, wondering if she’s saying what he thinks she’s saying.

“You’re staying?” he sounds hoarse and both him and Y/N know he’ll wake up in the morning with a headache from how much he’d been crying.

“Don’t think I have it in me to leave, bubs.”

There’s the slightest hint of a smile on her lips, and Harry’s pulling her into his chest. She holds him as he weeps silently into her neck. The cloud of sadness that had held her captive like a nightmare rushed out of her body so quickly that she couldn’t quite process it. All she felt now were Harry’s arms holding her close and his blubbering into her hair about how he was sorry over and over again.

“I know you are,” Y/N cooed, scratching his scalp in the way that she knew calmed him down.

“‘M gonna keep sayin’ it until you believe me,” he whimpered.

“I do believe you, Harry. I promise. We’re gonna be alright.”

That seemed to steady him a bit as he collected himself. He still held her as his shaking breaths began to even out. He wouldn’t dream of letting her go ever again.

“We’re gonna be alright,” Harry repeated to her, his voice almost inaudible had Y/N not been as close to him as she possibly could have been.

She pulls back to brush the stray curls from his forehead, where she pressed her lips gently to his temple as if he was so delicate that he might shatter if she used anymore force.

This time it was Y/N that saw his face surrounded by the multi-colored lights strung around the fir tree they’d picked from the farm just days before they thought their world was ending. He was beautiful, from the crown of his hair to the tips of his toes, inside and out, she thought. Maybe he didn’t feel like it at the moment, but Y/N made a promise to herself that she’d spend the rest of her life proving to him that he was.

[haztory]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

--nanami kento x gn!reader; hurt, comfort, minor character death, established relationship, death from a disease

--summary: Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on. He's no stranger to it nor the quiet that follows it. But when it plagues you like this, he finds himself at a loss.

a/n: I don’t know where this came from. it just happened. have I mentioned I'm a huge nanami simp as well? something about capable men just gets to me hehe. anyways, enjoy!

i listened to ‘clouds’ by luke faulkner while writing this

(w.c. 2302)

Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on.

It’s not one he has to particularly enjoy, but it would be advantageous in the resting of his conscious to make peace with it. Rather than let death ruin the few hours of sleep he can manage a night, it’s significantly easier to never let it weigh too heavily on his mind, never let its stay linger for more than necessary in the space of his thoughts. His occupation demands a certain air of nonchalance from him, requires the detached, almost stoic acknowledgment of the situation. Eventually, familiarity will settle in the depth of his recollection and death becomes something one needn’t blink twice towards. 

It’s not an aspect of the job he likes, per se, but it’s significantly better than the alternative. This seemingly apathetic conception of human life is unfortunately an evil requirement. Instead of festering over the lives he didn’t save, he can focus on the ones he has yet to protect. His slate may be tainted with copious amounts of red— inky, dark, bleeding red; the kind that looks black as it accumulates— but in true Kento fashion, he’ll wipe it clean. Gently, with a clean rag and with slow, circular motions, he’ll wash away the evidence of his failures with as much respect as he can, regardless of how exhausted he may be and how much easier it would be to just run his body, suit, and knife through the stream of water.

The victims may no longer be of this earth, but their last physical embodiment lay wickedly upon his person, his weapon, and his soul. Where he couldn’t save them, the least he can do is lay their last parts to rest with as much kindness as one can muster: with a slow wipe and a silent prayer. 

Death is part of the process, but, if one allows it, it can also be the fuel towards excellence. A drive that settles in after the brief misfortune, kickstarting the desire for improvement; A need to do and be better. To work harder and save more people. But that’s all it must be. No residual guilt, no lasting regret, only fuel. That’s what Nanami Kento learns early on.

What he learns rather recently, though, is that death is much different when it’s inevitable. 

When there is no amount of slashing, no amount of fighting, no amount of improved skills that can prevent it. Even worse, when you know it’s coming and preparation can do very little in settling the grief. 

Death is part of the process, but how can one rationalize it when it doesn’t come from the immediate life or death situation he so often faces? When it doesn’t come from the hands of maniacal cursed spirits or the wickedness of greedy men, but instead, from the unforgiving nature of nature itself? How does one reconcile the inevitability of death when it happens to someone so young?

Cancer. 

She was only eleven.

Death is part of the process, Kento used to think, but as he stands amongst the sea of black on this fitting day of grey, he can’t help but notice how incredibly unfair this all is. Her mother stands a few feet away, silent as they scatter her ashes by the river she used to play in as a child. She stands flanked on either side by loved ones, and yet, the abysmal look on her face betrays any ideal that she may be comforted by the closeness of others; Hardly even cognizant of the fact that they’re there. He’s seen that look before, once on himself.  

It’s the face of vicissitude, the kind that casts someone past the rocks of sadness and out onto the sea of loneliness and despair. A place that no one can follow.

Spouses are called some variation of widow, children are called orphans. What does one call a parent who’s lost their child? No doubt the lack of a label only helps to contribute to the loneliness of it all. Suspended in pain without even the decency of a customary societal title attached to one’s name. Left with nothing but the echoing emptiness of a broken heart.

Grief personified. A hollow shell of a being. Just another person who lost someone they loved. Nothing more, nothing less.

Kento is used to death, but this? This has heartache weighing heavier on his shoulders than he’s used to, forcing his impeccably straight posture forward with a sag of tragedy. The silence of the fellow attendees forces him to maintain some morsel of composure, in fear of disturbing the serene devastation of it all that’s composed so fragilely. So delicate that even a sigh will break the glass of still anguish. As her ashes are scattered to the river and the priest begins the common prayer, the image of her weak smile in her last moments plays vividly behind Kento’s tinted glasses. He can hardly swallow the lump that tightens his throat.

He can hardly imagine how her mother feels. Can hardly imagine how you feel. She was your niece after all.

His eyes trail towards your figure. Standing to the right of your sister, dressed in the customary black, and hand held tightly in hers in solidarity of the magnitude of the loss. Kento didn’t mind standing towards the back, away from the bubble of intimacy that surrounded the two of you. It would’ve felt like an invasion of the sanctity of family to stand anywhere near. A foreigner, he’s always attributed himself to be whenever accompanied with your family— not out of their refusal to accommodate him, but rather his own voluntary maintenance of separation from their sphere of loving connection that was more or less absent from his own life— and any meager effort to share sentiments of sorrow would feel, more or less, inauthentic. At least at this moment.

So he waits, towards the back of the gathering. A far enough distance to ascertain his separation from the immediate family, but close enough to where, should you require him at any point, you need only turn around to seek him out. And he will come to you, as fast as his legs may go, regardless of the people that may be in the way. For his hand has been twitching this entire time with the need to physically comfort you and his eyes continuously dart back to your figure in watchful consideration.

The priest ends his prayer and the last of the ashes are sent off and silence once more encompasses the gathering. The aching kind, the one that wants to be disturbed so badly, but remains untouchable. The kind of agonizing mute that has surrounded his life since you received the fateful phone call a few days before.

Kento is no stranger to quiet. It’s his preferred method of life, not the kind of person to find delight in unnecessary, boastful noise, nor the kind to entertain it often. But this is the kind of quiet he finds greats distaste in. Especially since it’s deprived him of his favorite kind of din— yours.

The life that is so intricately intertwined with yours has held virtually no recognizable clamor in four days. No low chatter from the television, no raucous laughter induced from one of your social media apps, no prolonged discussion of each other’s days or interesting points of conversation. Only silence has filled every gap and crevice as you two packed bags and made arrangements to head to your hometown in preparation for the funeral. Lamenting silence filled the space as you sat side by side on the train towards your destination. Mournful silence encompassing the home of your sister upon your mutual entry into the area. Silence so thick yet so delicate, so long and so void that any attempt to dismantle it feels boilingly uncomfortable.

He doesn’t like the wall it has unintentionally placed between you two, wanting nothing more than to tear it down with his bare hands and have you back within the safety of his arms. But he knows better. 

Death is part of the process, and he must let grief run its course. He’ll just remain in the shadows as a beam of support, intent to provide the space and time you need, but always keeping a trained eye on you.

That’s what love is, he supposes. It’s an odd thing to think, especially as solemness surrounds him as it does now. The drag of sadness competing with the surge of love that overwhelms his veins. It’s burning, and intense, and while his is mostly in consideration of you (as most things in his life nowadays are), it’s peculiarly indicative of the moment. Poetic, almost. 

Bleeding affection borders this ceremony of gathered friends and family in a proper send-off, love encapsulated in the silent tears trailing down faces and memorialized in the air of stagnance. Pouring in every direction as they all gaze sadly at the traveling ashes of the young girl down the steady waters of the river.

It’s grief, yes, but also love, for what is grief but love with nowhere to go?

The ride home is like all the other days, incredibly hushed. Inaudible. He can barely hear your breaths. He wonders, and not for the first time, if when he dies, this is how you will grieve. In this tragic quiet, moving with such stillness that was he not watching, he wouldn’t know you moved at all. A vacant soul wandering just to survive. Jujutsu sorcerers unfairly make their peace with dying early on in their tenure, and maybe he’s committed you to a life of tragedy by involving himself so intimately with you. 

When he dies, and he will— this life that he has chosen spares him no luxuries, not even false beliefs— he will condemn you to a brutal reality that he could have spared you from were he not so selfish. He hates seeing you like this. Hates it with every fiber of his being.

Death is a part of the process. He understands that. He just wishes it wasn’t so collateral. A prolonged state of your affliction that resulted from his hand would surely be a more painful fate than any gruesome death.

Your parent’s home is warm, in sharp contrast to the events of the day. And while they stayed with your sister, Kento insisted you return to your place of stay to wash and change if only to give you a moment alone; So he can check on you in the sanctity of privacy, grant you a brief respite from the unrelenting tide of sorrow, cherish you in these sparing instances that he can never take for granted. 

You bathe alone, he gives you that. He makes tea the way your mother taught him how, even though you quite like the way he makes it and has it set on the table upon your return. Dressed in comfier attire and seated blankly at the table, he settles in beside you. His shoulder touching yours hoping to convey in this minute action that he’s here. 

He doesn’t need the words to say it. Just his presence. 

His hand too, as you settle your own silently in the space of his large one, gripping tightly onto the rough skin. He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, bringing it to his lips as he placed two long kisses on its surface. You’ve made eye contact all day but this is the first time you’ve really looked at each other. 

Where he can see the pain swimming in the pools of your irises behind the film of unshed tears and you can see the unrestrained sympathy and worry in his. 

“She was eleven,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder.

He doesn’t say anything. There’s not much he can say, only press his lips harder to the back of your hand.

It’s the only moment you’ve had alone together since arriving, and while he was so desperate before to hear something, anything come from your mouth, he finds that the inactivity the fills space once more is rather appropriate. One that he doesn’t want to disturb. Not when there isn’t anything he can say that can heal this wound, nothing he can do except love and care for you when you’re too weak to do it yourself. 

He places a hand behind your head, tilting you forward as he places his lips upon your forehead and smoothing the stray hairs that have displaced themselves from your formal hairdo. Fingers travel down the back of your neck and rub gentle circles on your shoulder, healing any aches with his touch. 

“Drink,” he murmurs against your temple, and you do. A sign of progress that he relishes in. He’s more than eager to see the slow trek back to a state of normalcy, but he knows it’ll be different from here on out. There’s a hole in your heart and it will take a while to heal. 

But he’ll be there. For as long as he can, whenever he can. Because that’s what love is.

Death is part of the process, but he finds it’s infinitely more manageable with you. He knows you feel the same way when at the end of the day as you lay side by side in the guest room of your parents’ home, you take comfort in the safety of his arms and finally, fill the air with something other than the prolonged silence and let him comfort you. 

Death is part of the process, and he knows the inevitability of his own part in it. But in this moment with you, he’ll let himself indulge selfishly in your noise. It’s his favorite sound, after all. 

end notes: come shoot me a message! i love hearing from yall.