#(yes i am aware there are far worse things going on in the world and yes i am still going to complain about my frustrations)

[lynne-monstr]

I thought the worst part of going home for thanksgiving was going to be listening to my parents terrible political opinions but no. it was twisting my ankle even worse than I did over the summer and undoing nearly a year of physical therapy :(

[blushweddinggowns]

 “So let me get this straight. You met a hot guy, conned him into a date with you, lied about who you were to get into his pants and still failed. Then kept going, bought a new phone and rented a fake apartment, fell in love him, continued this elaborate ruse for four months, and now you want me to figure out a way for you to get out of it?”

“...yes?”

“Oh my fucking god,” Chrissy nearly screeched into his ear, “That is what you have been doing? Have you lost your damn mind?!”

“Obviously, yes!” Eddie yelled right back, feeling fraught as hell. He was pacing back and forth, a cigarette in hand as he spoke, “I never planned on ending up here!”

“Really? Because this whole shit show seemed to need a lot of planning. Is this really what happens when I leave you unsupervised? I am never letting you out of the house again.”

Eddie was well aware he deserved the ribbing. He deserved much worse, but that didn’t change the fact that he was desperate, “Chris, I’m serious. I need help.”

“Eddie, I love you but come on. You need a plane ticket and an apology muffin basket and to move on. This guy doesn’t even know you.”

“It’s not like that,” Eddie said as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, “It’s-okay. I’m still me with him. It’s like…I’m acting like who I would have been if I was never famous. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“Have you tried delusional? Also, can I get a picture of this guy? How hot can one dude be to drive you-”

“I’m serious,” Eddie interupted, irritation coloring his voice, “I told him everything. The shit about my parents, Wayne, the drugs, you, everything.”

“You realize that everything would include your real name right? And again, a picture for the love of god would really help put this in perspective-”

“You know what I mean,” Eddie sighed. She still wasn’t getting it, “I’m in love with him. Like Chris, he was made for me. And if I had just stuck to tattooing instead of doing the music shit then I’m pretty sure he’d think the same of me.”

He could hear a small intake of breath on her end, her voice coming out a bit more concerned than before, “Eds, are you serious?”

“Dead. I… I think he’s the one,” No, that was another lie. Eddie took a deep breathe before admitting the truth, “He is the one. And… I don’t want to lose him. I can’t lose him.”

“Honey, it’s an infatuation. A really, really strong one, but still-”

“Chrissy. Listen to me. I want to marry him. Do you understand me now?”

If that didn’t get through to her nothing else would. Because Chrissy Cunningham had spent hours upon hours of listening to Eddie complain about the institution of marriage since fucking highschool. How it was all a farce, just some bullshit people pulled for tax reasons and patriarchal idealism. And now here he was, fucking day dreaming about the perfect happily ever after with the love of his life. 

“Oh Jesus,” Chrissy groaned, the sineritcy Eddie was looking for finally creeping into her voice, “Sweetie, I’m so sorry… but I think you might have fucked yourself too big on this one.”

“Isn’t there something I can do?” Eddie pleaded into the phone, like Chrissy actually had all the power in the world to fix this, “What if I just lead a double life? Couldn’t that work?” 

He had seen a movie about that once or twice. It was a thing. Or if it wasn’t then he could make it one.

But Chrissy didn’t seem too convinced, “Eddie, honey, you’re describing the plot of Hannah Montana like it can actually be a solution. Do you realize how insane that is? Do you not get how far you’ve fallen?”

from the next chapter of this fic

[sukunasdumbestchef]

way how i see you.

True form!Sukuna x Blind!Fem!reader

꒰You are the one and only wife of the King of Curses, but you don't just have this peculiarity… you are also blind. And painting is your way of painting and trying to represent what you see, even if it's just a little.꒱

Fluff, but cheesy.

BAD ENGLISJ SORRY😭

It was actually a secret… blindness. No one suspected…not even the King, Sukuna Ryomen. You hid it so well.

For obvious reasons, your life changed drastically after your vision got worse, the world around you lost its colors and beauty every day. Your world became just silhouettes moving around, almost colorless and blurred. But, you were aware of some things, just by looking at the silhouettes, you know how to differentiate an animal from a human, or if someone uses hair accessories. You weren't completely blind, but you were blind enough to be considered blind and have difficulties.

Uraume was the first to suspect, they were going to your room to hand over your newly cleaned kimonos. Uraume pushed the door open with an elbow. It was at the same time that you were combing your hair, your room lacked a little light, the candles had run out at the moment. You placed the comb where you thought the table was, but the comb ended up falling. You crouched down, trying to look for the lost comb on the floor, as the comb was clearly next to you. But they did not talked, nor did they mention this to the king.

Sukuna became suspicious when you two were at the table. In an attempt to get the chopsticks, you put your hand in a completely far place. It wasn't your fault, the chopsticks were the same color as the table! You tried again, nervous and hoping your husband wasn't looking at you. You went wrong again, you swallowed hard. You only realized where the chopsticks were when you turned your head drastically.

"…" Sukuna obviously noticed this. So the dots connected in his cruel head: Didn't she see where they were? Maybe… it makes sense, this woman is "strict" with how Uraume serves her food, she asks that the rice be placed in a light-colored bowl, if possible, in a light yellow bowl… and things like that...

"Wife. Are you blind?" Sukuna asked, without further ado. You felt your heart lock… could it be now? The truth?

"Sukuna…I, yes I am blind, please my king forgive me for keeping it a secret!" You soon explained yourself, standing up and crouching in respect. You thought he was angry, but he was surprised. He realized that you were not a silly woman, you are a very smart woman, no one suspected that you were blind… not even the king!

And that's how your life changed, Sukuna didn't even ask and you already explained your condition. You explained that you weren't completely blind, but you made her life difficult. Sukuna, like a husband who doesn't say 'I love you' but would burn the world for you, did everything he could to help you, Uraume helped you more.

You were an artist too, you painted several pictures. First, Sukuna thought they were cute and that was it. However, upon discovering your lack of vision, he began to see your paintings differently… it was you representing the world… through your eyes, how you imagine the colors, from the memory of when you could still see the colors…

Sukuna was stuck, looking at his painting where you had made him. He remembers saying in the past how different their brands were, but now he understands. "I'm more surprised, woman, you actually almost managed to draw my marks… Did you do what you imagined they would look like?" Sukuna asked, you next to him nodded.

"I could see the spots on your wrist, they stand out against your skin. The ones on your face are harder to see…" you explained. Sukuna took you in his arms, you were confused because you didn't expect this all of a sudden. "Sukuna?"

"Um, give me your finger." He took her index finger. Her heart warmed as she felt him trace his marks with his finger. You got closer to his face, getting a better look.

"Wait… you have a mini eye underneath? I thought you only had 3 eyes…" Sukuna smiles.

"It's small." Sukuna replied, getting her down from his arm.

"Oh, Kuna! I need to paint you again!" She said, looking at him with a cute smile. Sukuna saw her pull out a painting, and sit at her desk. Sukuna sat right next to her, very close to her. "Kuna… this tone looks strange, does this pink look like your hair?"

"Yes? I don't understand anything about this color thing… I don't care." You sighed, but started painting. You approached him very closely, to see his features up close. He gives you a peck, "You're so close." He complained, you laughed.

He pulled you onto his lap, so it was easier for you to see him. He felt her soft hand contouring his sharp features. Analyzing, Sukuna held her closer. It was such a rare moment, so warm…

But Sukuna closed his eyes in pain when she accidentally stuck her finger in his eyes. "Stupid, woman. Do you want to make me like you, you bastard?"

"I didn't think it was funny Sukuna, it was by accident…"

"Whatever, get it over with. My ass is going to hurt if I sit here for so long."

"HUSH!"

I have a version of this same theme with a longer story and angsty in the middle… do you want me to post it?

long story version

[mylight-png]

I refuse to be told to "move on" from October 7th. I simply refuse.

You know the thing about trauma? You don't really get the choice to move on. You may be living in the future, but at least a part of your mind is trapped in that horrible moment. Sometimes that part of you can never escape.

Right now, as I'm writing this, I am sitting at my desk in my room. But right now, as I am writing this a part, huge part, of me is still in that airport. That part of me is still staring at my phone, trying to catch its breath but failing. That part of me is still watching in shock as the death count rises, the videos of Hamas's atrocities are broadcasted everywhere I see, the celebration of my people being massacred is burning my eyes. My ears are hearing the wailing sirens from when I was last in Israel. My hands are still feeling the shaking of the walls as the Iron Dome intercepts attempts upon the lives of my family and me. My heart is hurting for each life lost and each family left broken.

My body is here, in January 10th. My mind is not. My mind, and the mind of nearly every Jew is still stuck in October 7th.

Do not think we chose this. If I could choose indifference, if I could choose apathy, if I could choose ignorance, I wouldn't feel so constantly triggered and in pain.

But nobody gets to choose trauma.

This wasn't a unique trauma, a first-time event. Pogroms are nothing new to us, genocides and attempts at such against us aren't anything new, hateful libel and lies are near-constants.

That's part of what made October 7th so much worse.

I grew up hearing about how my great-grandfather lost his entire family to the Holocaust, how my ancestors survived pogroms, how my parents faced systemic antisemitism in the USSR.

We all grew up hearing our parents and grandparents tell us about antisemitism.

And do not think we were ignorant of it. I was well aware that the world is not even close to shedding its deeply ingrained antisemitism.

I was aware of it when I wrote a speech about discussion of modern antisemitism and being told it was "well-written but controversial". I was aware of it when my teacher said I was responding "emotionally, not academically" to an author claiming antisemitism and the Holocaust weren't "that bad".

I was aware of it when a synagogue near me got shot up, a synagogue I've been to. I was aware of it because I had no other choice.

But it had always felt like it was "winding down" from what my parents had told me. Yes what my teacher did was bad but at least he didn't explicitly single me out for being a Jew and intentionally fail me. Yes the feedback for my speech was hurtful but it wasn't like I was being violently censored. Yes the shooting was awful but it wasn't a full-blown pogrom.

I'm not saying my logic was correct. Far from it. But that's how it felt before October 7th.

When October 7th happened I saw that nothing was "winding down" as I had previously thought. People were still just as keen to gleefully cheer on the killing of Jews as they had been. The world is just as slow to act when Jews are being forcibly held and tortured and killed. Blood libel and ideas of the "doctor's plot" are alive and well.

Oct 7th triggered old trauma, Oct 7th was traumatic in its own right, and for most of us, Oct 7th proved that antisemitism isn't going anywhere. It isn't winding down or getting better.

And that kind of pain? That kind of trauma? That sticks with you.

You wouldn't tell any other person to get over their trauma. So what makes it ok to say it to traumatized Jews as we are still processing the largest massacre of Jews since the Holocaust?

That behavior is horrible and inexcusable.

Trauma is trauma, you don't get to decide who does or doesn't have the right to be traumatized. You don't get to decide how people discuss their trauma.

[olderthannetfic]

Can I poke the bear for a moment and get angry? Because I'm seeing "posting as activism" more and more in fandom spaces, and tonight I saw a post that made me lose it.

There is a post about (current events) going around that says, "full offense, but in this time, your own comfort doesn't fucking matter, you should be uncomfortable about things that are happening, and I hope you can fucking live with yourselves if you are quiet. It takes five seconds to retweet or reblog, fuck your aesthetic, fuck your anything aesthetic."

And my god. How dare they.

Yes, there is severely fucked up shit happening. Yes, people should be aware that people are being killed. Yes, there are people who are just shrugging about it and pissing off. But how does reblogging a post certify someone as Good or Bad? How does this person know that someone hasn't already helped out meaningfully in some way, or is still helping out, but on other websites? How does this person know that someone isn't barely holding on by the skin of their teeth, and they would have a mental breakdown if they got closer to any more stressful things?

I know a multitude of people, including myself, who have recently either needed to call lines, check into facilities, move back in with their parents, or go on medication because of how insane things have become in their own lives. How does this person not understand that blogging; being on tumblr; engaging in fandom, having a small space that someone can control in its entirety, is a reprieve for people who are already at their wit's end outside of that space? And that's okay.

(We are not doing the relative privation shit in this house. I refuse to entertain that.)

Ironically, by insisting that people participate in sharing posts when they're already stressed and exhausted, that's a surefire way to make their problems worse, and potentially prevent them from acting helpfully in the future because suddenly, their exhaustion turns into full-blown burnout. That's how it works. Professionals tell you to dial things back if you are too overwhelmed. There is a reason for that. There is a limit to how much people can mentally process and handle. Compassion fatigue exists. For a lot of us, we are already at our limit. We need space to relax, and not have arbitrary obligations thrown on us. That is not our fault, it is not a character flaw, it does not mean we are bad people. And just because horrific things are happening elsewhere, it does not mean we can, or should, stop taking care of ourselves first. Yes, it feels shitty to think, "you know what, I can't reblog this". You bet your ass that I and my friends feel guilty about not being able to engage as much as we think we should, but that is how it goes. I can put my head underwater for a bit. But I cannot keep my head underwater forever. I will drown.

Not to mention the obvious part: guilt-tripping people to the extent of implying they are somehow contributing to genocide, just because they won't reblog a post, and implying they should not be able to live with themselves if they do that, is beyond revolting.

I am angry, and I am not sorry.

--

So many of those kinds of posts—and they turn up during every set of horrific real world events—sound like people who are in a country far away from the events, diaspora at most but probably just randos, venting their impotent rage because it's the only way they can feel productive in a situation where nothing they can do is productive.

[sebastianswallows]

Hello! Could I offer you a prompt? I often see fics about Ominis experiencing sight for the first time, but how about Slytherin!MC being the one afflicted with a temporary blindness, and now having to rely on Ominis for guidance, 'seeing' the world from his perspective? Maybe as a result of some unruly student's potion experiment? Thank you for your time and work!

Hello, nonny!

Thank you so much for an Ominis prompt! I love to write about this sweetest boy. And sorry this took so long, my dear 💚

Oh my though, I guess I don't read fics with him often enough, because I haven't noticed that many where he experiences sight. Not sure how I'd feel about those, because it... takes away from his character, sort of. I don't know.

Anyway! I have a fluffy little fic for you 😘 Hope you enjoy it!

I wrote it that it was all Garreth's fault, because of course.

— PAIRING: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

— WARNINGS: none

— WORDCOUNT: 3.8k

She cursed Garreth all the way to the Hospital Wing. The classroom was left in deathly silence after the Gryffindoor’s latest experiment had literally exploded in her face. Professor Sharp seemed… worried, but not very shocked. Clearly, things like that had happened before — especially since Garreth had started studying at Hogwarts. For his part, the boy seemed horribly contrite, or so he sounded as he fretted over her. She suspected at least half of his regret was due to the inevitably harsh detention he had to look forward to — perhaps something even worse, if the damage to her eyes proved permanent.

As she made her way through the castle, leaning on Sebastian and Natty — who both insisted to go with her, the sweethearts — she could think of nothing else. She couldn’t see anything. The last thing she had seen was Garreth’s smouldering cauldron where he was pointing out the way a particular piece of snail shell was melting, and then a great big flash of green, then blackness. She had thought for a moment that she’d fainted, but then she realised her eyes were open. By the time they reached the Nurse, her heart was still pounding at such a frantic rate she thought she was going to be sick.

“Well, she’s blind alright,” said Nurse Blainey after performing a few charms.

“What did you think? That I was lying?!”

“I will wring Garreth’s scrawny little nec—”

“Watch your tongue, Mr Sallow.”

“Can you fix it?” asked Natty in the most politely-frustrated voice she’d ever heard.

There followed a long discussion about what had caused it, which required them to bring Professor Sharp there — who, to his shame, hadn’t exactly been aware of what his students were doing — then Garreth — who also wasn’t sure what had happened with his potion, but he could at least list the ingredients he’d used.

All the while, she waited there in silence, hearing voices all around, footsteps echoing close and far, and tense, worried conversations. The Nurse had placed her in one of the beds in the corner while they decided what to do with her. Natty and Sebastian stayed by her side, quarrelling over what potions they could brew to cure her until she had to tell them to shut up.

By the time classes were done for the day, the Nurse had reached the conclusion that Garreth’s failed experiment, while exceedingly dangerous, would not affect her sight for long. Only a few weeks.

“A few weeks?!”

“Yes, two or three. Four if you’re unlucky.” She could hear the woman shrug.

“What am I supposed to do for three weeks? How can I study? How—”

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re not our only blind student. I’m sure Mr Gaunt can be of some help to you during this time.”

She recoiled at hearing it. “I don’t want to be a burden to—”

“Nonsense,” said Sebastian from somewhere behind her. “Ominis would do it happily!”

“I would,” said the boy. A pause followed as everyone else realised he’d entered the room. From the sound of it, he was standing a few feet in front of her.

The Nurse was happy with this arrangement, which meant fewer responsibilities for her. Professor Sharp breathed a sigh of relief, after which he promised to write to her parents and inform them. Sebastian and Natty, meanwhile, were disgustingly supportive, trying all the while to cheer her up. She shunned all of them, and would only go back to the Common Room with Ominis.

“Do you wish to have dinner first?” he asked quietly as they walked out of the Hospital Wing arm in arm.

“I’m not hungry,” she mumbled. “…Wait, are you?”

Ominis chuckled. “Could send Sebastian out to the kitchens to bring us something… He would do it. Careful, stairs.”

They went down step-by-step, and all through the castle, and after what felt like too long they finally made it to the Slytherin Common Room. She knew she was slowing them down, and Ominis didn’t deny it, but he was supportive the whole way — and not in that fretful, exaggerated, compensatory way Sebastian and Natty were, and not in the anxious manner of Garreth…

If Ominis was worried about her condition, he didn’t show it. As cool and calm as the lake, as sturdy as the rock Hogwarts was built on, he was by her side from the first moment.

The first order of business, while Sebastian fetched them a late dinner, was for her to learn the echolocation spell Ominis used to walk around.

“No, don’t hold it pointing down,” he said as he guided her hand. “Straight forward is better.”

“But what if I stumble onto something?”

“The spell will detect it in time.”

“Well I’m not feeling anything yet…”

“Just… try to cast it harder.”

“Cast it harder? You’re terrible at teaching spells. I want Sebastian back.”

“Yes, well, Sebastian can’t cast it,” mumbled Ominis.

“What can’t I cast?” asked the boy as he dashed into the Common Room.

She could already smell ham and cheese and the salty-sweet aroma of cold sausages. Two plates clinked as Sebastian placed them on the table by the fireplace, where she and Ominis were standing.

“My echolocation spell.”

“Ah yes, can’t cast that,” he said, followed by the soft floof of him plopping on the sofa.

They didn’t make much progress on that first night. His wand was far more accustomed to performing it than hers — but the promise of being able to learn it helped her sleep that night, after an hour or so of crying in fear and anger.

Waking up the next day was disorienting. She felt herself wake, she felt her eyes open, but not seeing anything seemed so… unreal. She nearly panicked all over again. Being in the dungeons, there was no sunlight to feel on her skin to let her know whether it was even morning, but then she heard the other girls shuffling around the room.

Imelda led her to the washroom, and later helped her dress — and for once, she didn’t have a snarky thing to say.

“Must be quite a nightmare,” the girl commented in what she perhaps imagined to be a sympathetic tone. “Can’t imagine flying in this state…”

“Yes, well, thanks Imelda, neither can I…”

She was relieved to hear Ominis’ voice again when she came downstairs.

“Over here!”

“How did you know it was me?” she asked, arms stretched in front of her in what she was sure must’ve been comical.

“You have a distinctive magical echo.”

“Do I…?”

“And Sebastian told me.”

“Morning,” the boy grinned from behind his friend.

Still, Ominis must certainly have been good at detecting where she was, because she felt his hand cup hers within seconds.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“Just followed the sound of your voice,” he smiled.

“It all sounds the same to me…”

“You might think it does now, but eventually you’ll find it’s easy to tell distance by sound… The whole castle has very good acoustics for this sort of thing, in fact.”

“You make it seem so easy,” she smiled, her eyes tearing up at the sheer scope of all she had to learn to just survive the next few weeks.

“I promise you’ll find it easy too,” said Ominis, placing his warm hand on top of hers as she held his arm. “Open fields, now that can be an issue. But inside, here? You’ll get used to it in no time.”

Sebastian followed them for breakfast, but walked at a bit of a distance, letting Ominis explain things. Going to the Great Hall was a bit faster today than going to the dungeons had been the day before. She walked a bit more confidently already…

Breakfast was spent learning more about judging distance by sound.

“Here, now you try,” said Ominis, handing her a jug of pumpkin juice and an empty glass.

He’d just demonstrated how easily she could guess when a cup was close to filling by the sound the liquid made as it was poured — from a deep sound to a high one. She filled it just the right amount.

“That’s very good!”

“Really?” she grinned.

Feeling around the plate with the cutlery was done easily enough, but finding out what each pile of food held relied more on her sense of smell…

“Ah, I… wouldn’t recommend that.”

“What did I just pick up in my spoon?”

“What does it smell like to you?” asked Ominis with a little smile.

“Mashed potatoes…?”

“Well, I just hope you like parsnip porridge.”

And getting food onto her plate presented another difficulty… A few sausages rolled away before she gave up and picked them up with her hands rather than the fork, her knife kept slipping and clanging loudly on the plate whenever she cut into something, and her fingers landed in mustard sauce more than once.

After a little trial and error and a bit more cursing, she finally managed to get something she really liked. She moaned with pleasure, but it was cut short by Sebastian’s giggling.

“Whot?” she asked with her mouth full.

“Nothing,” he said with an obvious smile.

“What did you take?” asked Ominis curiously.

“It’s a seed cake,” she said defensively. “Just a little syrupy, that’s all.”

Sebastian laughed into his fist.

“What?”

“Nothing!” he said again. “Just… always thought you hated spotted dick.”

“Ewww!”

By the time breakfast was over, she was more angry than upset. Ominis considered it an improvement — at least she wasn’t on the verge of crying anymore. He supported her elbow with his hand as they walked out together. When the sounds of students passing by got louder, he felt her clinging to him more.

“Don’t be nervous…”

“Oh,” she said, her hand relaxing, “sorry.”

“It’s not just that,” he chuckled. “I could hear your breathing pick up, and your footsteps too, as if you were stomping on the ground.”

“It’s that obvious?!”

“It is,” he nodded. “For instance, how do you think I feel now?”

She sighed, feeling completely at sea as they walked together to class, in a direction she couldn’t tell, surrounded by noisy students — and Ominis was testing her.

“I don’t know… Calm, I suppose.”

“Why is that?”

“Your voice is low, and your arm is steady, and… and I can hear you smiling when you speak.”

“That’s quite good,” he chuckled.

What Ominis didn’t say was that he also felt worried about her, and worried about how useful he could be in these following weeks, how good of a guide or a teacher… He thought that it was obvious from his clipped tone and his lingering silences, but was glad to be proven wrong.

The first class of the day was, predictably, horrible. They had Charms, and the girl could scarcely follow the instructions on wand movements, had no idea whether the egg she was given had been shrunken and enlarged according to instructions, and was left feeling around for it awkwardly in order to tell where it was.

“How do you even know where to point your wand?” she sighed frustratedly.

“That’s where the echolocation spell will come in useful,” said Ominis from beside her. “It’s not just the direction, but the depth as well, how far something is from you.”

“We have to practice that more,” she grumbled, waving her wand uselessly. “Undercroft, after class.”

They ended up spending every break in their schedule that day in their secret room, with Ominis placing random obstacles in front of her while she tried and tried and… finally succeeded in making her wand cast the spell. It was just before they had to go to dinner.

“I did it!”

“Not bad,” said the boy — and she could hear his voice approaching, could hear his steps resounding in tighter and tighter echoes. “The cast is still pretty weak though…” She could tell he had his hand in front of her wand, judging the strength of the pulse for himself.

“It’s such a strange sensation… I can feel the shape of your hand in mine, through the wand, but it’s…”

“It’s a bit blurred, isn’t it?” he smiled.

“Yes, as if… as if through a fog.”

“Well, I’ve never seen fog,” Ominis chuckled, “but I’ll take your word for it.”

They went to dinner together and this time she walked on her own, holding her own wand in front. She grinned at being able to sense Ominis’ own echolocation spell, like rings on the face of a lake meeting each other.

“Can you feel people’s features with this spell?” she asked quietly as they entered the Great Hall.

“Not particularly… The size of someone, perhaps, but it is not so fine as to tell you what somebody looks like.”

“Can you tell the difference between, for instance, Sebastian and Garreth?”

“Naturally,” he laughed. “Garreth smells of toxic fumes. Sebastian smells of Confringo.”

Although that dinner was still speckled with splashes of sauce and spilt pumpkin juice, each meal got easier as the week progressed. Her echolocation spell, as well, got stronger. She wasn’t exactly confident enough to run through Hogwarts’ halls, but she found it easier to avoid running into people — and not get bumped into either, as her hearing became better at picking up all motions around her.

Attending class was easier too. She soon learned how to take notes on her own, although she wasn’t sure when she’d get the chance to read them. Ominis taught her a neat trick of holding onto the inkwell and use her fingers to precisely dip her quill in it. To tell whether she’d taken enough ink, she could test it on her finger first and see if the tip felt wet.

“You’re sure you don’t want a self-writing quill?” he asked.

“I want it,” she said, but first I want to do this on my own.

Ominis smiled. “And keep track of the parchment too. Find something as a placeholder for where you left off. Don’t want to write on top of what you’ve already written.”

With his guidance, she mastered a fairly simple system of holding onto the parchment with one hand, finger poised on her last line, and then cupping the inkwell with the other before dipping her quill.

What she still had trouble with well into the second week was spellcasting.

“How… just… how?” she hissed, smacking her wand up and down during a particularly troublesome Transfigurations class.

She heard a subtle laugh, and knew that it was Ominis. “Having trouble?”

“How am I expected to transform this damned ferret into a feather duster when the damned thing keeps moving?!”

Ominis had mastered the spell quickly, she thought, as she could hear no more animal squeaks from his side. About half the class had finished, judging by the mix of sounds from satisfied students and ferret trills.

She felt a warmth approach her from the side. Ominis took gentle hold of her wrist.

“Here,” he said, “maintain the location spell, and do the motions of the transfiguration spell from your wrist.”

She tried it a few times, his hand constantly around her wrist.

“Listen to where the animal is too, don’t lose track of him in case he runs away.”

She grit her teeth and frowned, ready to give up, but with Ominis’s help, she finally managed to do it just before the class was done.

“Bloody annoying,” she sighed, dropping her wand to the desk and wiping her sweaty palm on her robes. “Thank you, Ominis,” she mumbled. “Doubt I could’ve done it without you…”

“You could have,” she heard him smile. “Just would’ve taken you longer.”

To help calm her nerves, the boy suggested they go for a walk around the lake.

They walked and walked until the sun set. They could feel it as the air cooled all around them, as the evening grew loud with nightbirds, as the grounds became silent with all the other students gone inside the castle…

It felt strange to walk beside Ominis like that, without a word, without a touch, only the quiet sound of his footsteps in the grass. The water of the lake lapped on the shore beside them in lazy little waves, stirred perhaps by the creatures underneath or the light breeze. It set her senses on fire to feel how different it was to have that large, cold body of water on one side, and the warm shape of Ominis on the other — because she could feel it, could feel every detail. Even the wet earth underfoot and the grass, the dead leaves and dry branches, they all had a scent of their own that filled her mind more than the mere image of them ever could. Although she missed her sight very much, she could not deny that she felt more connected to everything around her in this way…

Her hand reached out and took Ominis’s arm — his right one, where he held his wand. Not even needing to ask, he switched it to the other hand and held her palm in his.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, but from his tone, she could tell he wasn’t worried.

“No,” she said. “Just wanted to feel your hand.”

“Well, there it is,” he chuckled. “Bit clammy… Sorry about that. Always gets that way when I hold my wand too long.”

“Mine too,” she smiled.

Their fingers interlinked as they kept their slow walk around the edge of the Black Lake. A thought kept swirling in her head, and she was torn between giving voice to it or keeping it to herself. She didn’t know if Ominis could tell, but —

“What’s on your mind?”

— of course he could.

“How did you know?”

“I swear I can hear you thinking sometimes. It’s the same with Sebastian.”

She laughed, but said nothing.

“So?” he asked again. “What is it?”

Her hand tightened slightly around his. “I was wondering if you might seem to the touch the same way you look. The face, I mean, and all that…”

“Ah,” he said, his tone teetering somewhere between amused and nervous, “you want to try to… ‘see me’ with your hands?”

“Could I?” she asked, her face turning slightly toward him as if she could better detect how he was reacting to all of this.

“Only if I could do the same,” said Ominis with a tight smile.

They reached as far around the lake as the grounds permitted and sat together on one large, smooth rock. Beneath them, they could hear the lapping of the water, quiet and gentle, and owls hooting far off in the woods. It felt almost as if she were floating on air, cross-legged, far from the ground, with nothing surrounding her but the cool night.

They tucked their wands in their pockets and fiddled their thumbs, both too timid to start.

“Well, you asked,” said Ominis after a prolonged nibbling of his lips, “so you go first.”

“Alright,” she sighed, her mouth pulled up into a nervous smile.

She stretched her hands before her gently and was almost startled when they reached his chest. His school uniform was much like hers, a little rough, but well tended to. Moving upwards, she reached his neck, and quickly skipped it until she felt the smooth line of his jaw with both her hands. For no reason at all, her eyes closed. Perhaps it felt more peaceful that way…

His chin was delicate and pointed, leading up in soft angles to his ears. Moving inward, her thumbs traced his high cheekbones, his temples, his arched brows, then dipped delicately over his eyes — his were closed as well. She smiled as she tickled the surface of her fingers with his long lashes.

“Well?” asked Ominis. “Is there a resemblance?”

“I think so,” she smiled. “You look the way you feel.”

“Oddly poetic of you,” he chuckled.

Her hands slid slowly down his face, framing his slightly long nose, falling then to his lips, soft and full. She gasped at feeling them, noting things she never realised before: how delicate they were, how defined, and slightly dry… She traced down to his chin again when she felt them part.

“Yes, I suppose that’s you,” she joked. Her giggles filled the tense air around them. She could feel him smile against her fingertips.

“My turn now,” said Ominis.

She squeezed her hands in her lap as she waited, and then the boy surprised her by cupping her face and slowly bringing them together, covering her like a mask.

He felt her from chin to forehead, taking in the full plains of her features, before he began to touch them each in part. He brushed her eyebrows upward, traced the shape of her eyes, ran his finger delicately down her nose to the tip, and brushed his thumb against her lips while his other hand caressed a broad path from her forehead to her jaw. She felt very thoroughly known after this…

They walked back to the castle in silence, hand-in-hand. As they did, she noticed in herself a feeling of… peace, of not caring anymore that she couldn’t see. She missed the colours of everything around, of course, the beams of light, the peaceful glow of the Slytherin dorms, the star-filled sky at night, but she didn’t feel like she lacked anything anymore.

That made it all the more shocking when, three and a half weeks into her blindness, she began to see vague shapes of light. Ominis’ thin face bloomed into a smile when she told him. She could see it in spite of the cloudiness of her vision.

She still used the echolocation spell to get around, and breakfast became easier, but the blending of shapes and colours so overwhelmed her senses that often she would close her eyes when she wished to concentrate.

It was probably for the best, as she fell behind on her coursework and had never gotten to practice reading Braille with Ominis. Her notes, she now could tell, were atrocious, and her fingers were horribly stained even now.

As the days passed, her vision gradually improved, and by the end of the fourth week, she was almost back to normal. Her eyes teared, unused to all the details.

“Come now, no need to cry over it,” said Ominis with an awkward laugh. They were returning from another visit to the Hospital Wing, where the Nurse had checked her progress.

“I’m not crying,” she sniffled. “How could you tell, anyway?”

“You mean aside from your voice being all choked up and your breathing irregular? Just a lucky guess.”

“I’m just feeling… too much, I think.”

Ominis took her hand in his. “I know,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll miss it too.”

And she didn’t need to ask what he meant.

[yanderes-galore]

Could you do Romantic Miraak (Skyrim) please, with the Last Dragonborn S/O? Thank you!

Yes I can! World needs more Miraak content

Based on the tags on this post

Yandere! Miraak with Last Dragonborn! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Unbalanced power dynamic, Manipulation, Violence, Possessive behavior, Sadism, Forced relationship, Stalking, Kidnapping, Mind control.

It's fated you two meet each other.

The First Dragonborn must encounter and face The Last.

Miraak is extremely arrogant and may have a superiority complex when it comes to you.

He becomes aware of you and originally just wishes to have you killed.

However, when you persist and manage to visit him in Apocrypha, he's impressed if not annoyed.

When he finally meets you and strikes you to your hands and knees, something in him stirs.

Miraak most likely hasn't had romantic relations as a Dragon Priest.

Far as I know he's had no spouse or children.

He's only been obsessed with power, to the point of even making a deal with a Daedric Prince.

However... seeing you, a Dragonborn, powerless at his feet?

He certainly gets ideas.

By the time Miraak reluctantly lets you go after boasting about his strength, he gets to thinking.

Maybe you're meant to be his.

Perhaps you're meant to duel at first, to see who is the stronger warrior.

Miraak may not need/want to kill you once he thinks about you more.

If he defeats you... you're at his mercy.

When he's able to leave this realm, he'll take you with him.

That way the land can be ruled by two Dragonborn.

He'll just be the stronger one.

Miraak no doubt keeps an eye on you until your next fateful encounter.

He watches you grow stronger and only ever gets more eager at the idea of fighting you.

He wants you to be a strong and worthy opponent.

Yet he doesn't plan on letting you win when you eventually meet again.

Miraak with a Dragonborn! Darling feels like it would work.

Between you there would be a fight for dominance and power.

I feel up until he meets you again things remain the same, except the change is he's stalking you from the realm.

That or he senses your strength increasing which only fuels his eagerness to challenge you.

Miraak would be the type to believe meeting you is fate.

As it most likely is.

Due to his arrogance he'd also want to show The Last Dragonborn their place.

He wants to be stronger than you... to show you that you listen to him.

Plus, you'd be the only one worthy of him.

If he's to pick anyone to have a union with, it's you.

After all, you're both Dragonborn.

Do you really think any spouse should satisfy you as a Dragonborn?

No... let him show you what he means.

No one else can have such an opportunity other than him.

By the time you crawl your way back to the peak of Apocrypha for your final battle, Miraak has made up his mind and is ready.

Your battle will be legendary... with blade clashing, shouts echoing, and dragons roaring.

Unfortunately, in this universe, it ends in your failure.

By the time your health is a sliver, Miraak restrains you to prevent your spells.

You're disarmed and once again rendered harmless on your hands and knees.

Miraak can't help but laugh once he has you where he wants you.

You fear he'll kill you.

However, Miraak has something worse in mind.

"I don't have to kill you, Last Dragonborn."

You stare at him weakly, he adores it.

"Take this as an act of mercy... I wish to make a deal."

Miraak steps closer before gripping your chin and angling your gaze up at his mask.

"I propose a union between Dragonborn. Two strong warriors, the first and the last."

He sees the fear in your face and revels in it.

"Oh... don't act like you really have a choice. You're weak... it was foolish to think you could change anything."

With a shout he commands you to your feet.

For some reason... you can't resist him.

"Although... I am very happy we met. You will make a good partner, dear."

The First Dragonborn beckons you closer, making you forced to follow.

You've lost... this is your bad ending.

Perhaps Hermaeus Mora planned you to meet all along... but did he mean it like this?

"In this realm you'll be mine... there's no point in fighting it. We'll be perfect, even when we get out of it, I still claim you as mine in union, Last Dragonborn."

[icanseethefuture333]

A reading on

Marilyn Monroe

Channeled messages:

"I prefer to be called Norma."

"Being Marilyn was devastating for me."

"I was enriched with the pleasures and joys of the world, but I could only be Marilyn, not Norma."

"I created an identity to escape my sufferings, but only to be faced with more."

"I miss my friends dearly."

"My beloved ___ (she doesn't wish to state who)."

"It's just a dress. She (Kim 💀) did me a favor by ripping that old thing."

"I appreciate others caring for my memory, but they can honor me differently (she's saying don't be weird fr)."

"I have plenty of other dresses that are far more beautiful."

"I actually didn't care for dressing up that much, I preferred to dressed casually and comfortably!"

"At first I was hurt by the movies they made about me, now I just laugh, they are obsessed with me, it's ridiculous."

"Oh, yes... *grins* (I asked is she at peace now that she's passed)."

"I am finally a happy old lady with wrinkles! I'm glad!"

Marilyn's past life lessons

Norma was a master manifestor. She had a powerful subconscious mind and was able to visualize her desires into her reality. Norma wanted change and she got it. Creating a new reality for herself as "Marilyn Monroe", when she previously used to be "Norma Jean". "If I could go back I would have healed first before focusing on pursuing my dream." By manifesting her dream as an actor, this also expanded her consciousness to a higher level. Norma was highly intelligent and spiritual. When she made it to the top, she had regrets regarding her past, her choices, and her loved ones. "I abandoned someone dear to me and I miss them so much, my heart aches for my babies." I think out of everything Norma regrets was her miscarriages or inability to be pregnant full term, she very much so wanted to be a mother but it just never happened. Despite this not being her fault, she feels to a point it was. "I had to mourn the loss of my children and the person I loved the most, I was not well." Her health decreased greatly in her acting career (mentally and physically). "I was being treated worse than a dog. Everyone only liked me to laugh at me, to fantasize about me. At least a dog had a place to go home to, what did I have left? Nothing." Towards the end of her life, she took it upon herself to take many risks and challenges. "I was going to get my freedom whether other people liked it or not. I am in control of my life, no one else." There is some sort of building that's significant or needs to be addressed, but I am unsure of what that place is or what it means 🧐. The events leading up to her death 😳...

I'm just gonna leave this here for interpretation 🙋🏽‍♀️

Marilyn's passing - what is her goal for the afterlife?

Norma does have plans to reincarnate. "I want to be reunited with my children." For her next life, her life lessons will be to learn how to trust others, discover what makes her happy, and to be more disciplined. "I can say I have done things I have shouldn't and I am terribly sorry for. I want to make it up to the people I care about if they will let me." Norma will live a more simpler life and as a way to give her a break from her past life's suffering, the universe could provide her with a happy and healthy family, or she will have to take the steps to get that wish fulfillment, but I do believe it will be possible. She will have to take responsibility for her actions, do something that is a good cause for others, and be empathetic to those surrounding her. I believe in Norma's next life she could work with children, perhaps a teacher? Or participate in a cause that helps with children. If she is unable to have a full term pregnancy, she could resort to adopting kids or being a foster mother. Norma will be more accepting of the challenges that come with this next lifetime and is already aware or prepared for it. "The past is the past and I am ready for my future."

[ellalalala]

Let It Through

Tags: Il Dottore/OC, Il Dottore x Female Original Character, half-assed hurt/comfort, pre-relationship, slightly iffy dynamic, suicidal thoughts

A/N: No, I've never written for my OC and yes, only 3 people in total know her name. I'll dedicate a separate post to her eventually but for now I wanted to put this out because I needed Dottore to do The Thing (be somewhat nice) for personal reasons. Not proofread. Title comes from this song.

"Why are you here?"

Eir sat on the windowsill when Dottore approached, her eyes glued to the snowstorm outside Zapolyarny palace. The sky was pitch black and there was hardly anything of note to witness - not in the snowy wastelands of Snezhnaya - not like in Sumeru.

"Where else would I go?"

Dottore exhaled softly. "You are not my prisoner. Quit acting like one."

How could she, when it felt as if this was exactly what she had been reduced to? Now her life had lost its meaning, now she had been stripped of everything that defined her. There was nothing left.

Eir pulled her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them to make herself appear smaller. She had no interest in talking to him - but to her dismay, Dottore didn't share that sentiment.

He sat on the opposite side of the windowsill and asked, "what ails you so?"

Everything. My existence - lonely and miserable, the past, the present, you.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill, but Eir could never say them aloud. It hurt less when the truth was concealed from the rest of the world; when the reality of things was known to none but herself. Were she to express what she felt now, Eir would be overtaken by sorrow far worse than any curse inflicted upon her by Celestia.

Besides, Dottore would never understand. They were fundamentally different people - he did not share her pain nor had he seen what she saw so long ago. It was easier, Eir realized, to stay quiet and unassuming.

"Trivial matters," she murmured, "nothing of importance to you."

"You speak with little conviction." Dottore remarked. Irritating man. Could he not leave her alone? Eir peeked at him from the corner of her eye and found him without his tailcoat. The sleeves of his blue dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows and he appeared as relaxed as could be, but that intricate mask of his remained fixed to his face. Whatever could be so despicable, Eir wondered, what could you possibly hide?

"Perhaps that's what you want to believe."

"I am not in the habit of deluding myself with wishful fantasies. You stubbornly refuse to tell me the truth. Why is that?"

Eir spat, "why would I tell it to you?"

"Unless you have other options, I don't see why you wouldn't."

"I would sooner seek solace from the Regrator than I would from you."

Dottore gritted his teeth. "You-"

"Look," Eir breathed, frustration bubbling in her chest. "I am in no mood to bicker with you. If you have nothing good to say, let me be alone; I could use the silence."

All was quiet. Eir's eyes remained trained on the view outside the window as she desperately ignored the wild beating of her heart. She could imagine the angry scowl on his face; for Dottore despised rejection, especially from those he deemed beneath him. Surely, even with her privileges, Eir could not get away with this...

But Eir's thoughts were interrupted by the feel of a gentle palm on her knee, the sound of Dottore shifting until he sat unbearably close.

"I cannot fault you for being distrustful of me, however you must understand that I will not harm you in any way. If there is something that troubles you, tell me so this instant; I only wish to help."

Eir regarded him with a surprised glance. As her frustration melted into longing, she considered giving in, allowing the truth to pour from her mouth until there was nothing left to say.

But she would be crossing the line. There would be no coming back if she told him - Dottore must have been aware of that, too. And yet... Eir could continue to push him away for as long as she desired but he would keep coming back to her anyway; trying to defy fate was a losing game.

Eir looked at his gloved hand on her knee, the beak-shaped mask he refused to discard and thought, just this once. Just once and never again. So she said:

"I'm tired of always losing: my family, my nation, my friends. Everything I love is always taken from me. The only person who could understand my feelings," she inhaled shakily, "left me without a second thought. Now I have nothing but the grief I have carried for five hundred years and I don't know what to do with it. I'm tired... I no longer yearn for the past but for the eternal slumber which I was robbed of."

Her lips trembled as she spoke, and ignoring Dottore's gaze, she continued, "I don't know what else is left. I miss being young; I miss having hope. I was so good once, do you know? I was a good alchemist, a good student. Now I am half human, half monster, with nothing to show for myself but all the pain Celestia gave me."

She touched the rough scars on her cheek as if by instinct. Memories of scorching sands and sharp claws tearing through her skin clouded Eir's mind.

"Is this what I was born for?" She asked softly. "Is this all I'll ever be?"

Now her secrets had been laid bare for Dottore to use as he wished. He would think her weak. He wouldn't understand the depth of her despair - how it had fused with the blood in her veins until Eir couldn't tell who she was without it.

The weight on her knee was no more. Eir looked at Dottore to find him taking the mask off his face with careful hands. Before long, she was met with a pair of bright ruby eyes, furrowed brows, and-

"Let your scars be proof of what you have endured but never allow them to dictate what you are." He spoke solemnly. Eir's breath hitched as she gazed at him, wide-eyed, as his words slowly sank in.

All she could see were his scars. He has them, too. That's what he has been hiding all along. Why? What happened to him? What has he endured?

There was a long, ragged scar that fell across the bridge of his nose. Another thinner scar on his forehead, which reached his hairline and disappeared there, between the long cyan strands of hair that framed his face. A faded scar on his cheekbone, one more on his temple - they were littered on the upper half of his face as if someone had deliberately wounded him.

Eir would have touched them, if she could.

"You cannot give up; not until every last leaf on the Irminsul tree has been burned and the wretched island in the sky has been brought down to earth. You," Dottore fixed her with a stare so grave that Eir was rendered breathless, "cannot give up. Do you understand?"

"I know," she whispered. It didn't take much thinking to understand what Dottore tried to convey with this dramatic display: I have lived through terrible things, too, but look at what I have done with myself. If I could, so can you.

Did it look so simple to him? Did he truly assume that she hadn't tried before, again and again? This was all the proof she needed: Dottore would never fully grasp what Eir felt. Irminsul, Celestia- these things hardly mattered to her. She did not care if the palace burned with her in it. Her life, Teyvat itself - things that had become inconsequential with the agonizingly slow passage of time.

"You will find meaning again," said Dottore, and somehow, these were the most comforting words she heard all night. Eir blinked rapidly so as to not make a complete fool of herself - Tsaritsa knows she could never live this down.

Dottore took her left hand in his - the one painted midnight blue and adorned with bright purple veins. She could not feel his touch there; but when he tilted his head down to press a tender kiss to her knuckles, Eir swore that her skin felt like it was on fire.

He looked at her once more, with eyes like the trishiraite that she had studied so long ago. In those eyes swirled sincerity, understanding, a promise of something that was still out of Eir's reach.

For now, this would have to suffice.

[chaifootsteps]

On the subject of “bad studios”… sorry this is a little long …

I wanna preface by saying I’m not trying to make excuses for studios nor am I trying to discredit or blame any victims of workplace neglect/abuse who have spoken out.

All that said I’ve seen a continuous trend that I feel I need to voice. And it’s mainly around two areas: 1. Folks not being aware of how a studio is being run and instead reacting to their personal perceptions, and 2. Workers expecting “too much” from a small studio.

In a perfect world, everyone would have all the access and money they need to treat their workers with complete and absolute stability and comfort. But we don’t live in that world.

For 1, especially if workers or critics do not have industry experience they can only react to their personal perceptions of events or assumptions. And we have a LOT of young green artists entering right now. Best comparison I can think is if a studio hires you as a contractor and then later you go on to say “they won’t even pay my medical bills and that’s wrong” it’s not “wrong”, that’s quite frankly the norm for contract work.

Does it suck that that’s the norm? Yes. Have the employers committed neglect by not including health insurance in contract work? No.

For 2, small studios have to cut a lot of corners due to their size and even if they don’t they simply cannot function like a big studio, they don’t have the resources to. This can result in a lot of poor choices in attempts to make up for that, and general workplace drama and stress, especially if they are trying to function like a big studio w/o the resources to do so. But if you as a worker know what to expect going in (that it’s not going to be a perfect experience at a small studio and chances are you can’t bank on it for genuine financial support) you’re more likely to avoid that drama/stress or at least be prepared for it.

All that said there’s definitely exceptions to these rules especially when a studio/higher ups at the studio are unprofessional and/or inexperienced. There’s simply a threshold that needs to be kept in mind of “is this to be expected” and “is there a pattern of problems.”

In a case like Glitch, we have some details coming out, so we can put our guard up and keep an eye out to see if worse details come out and a pattern forms.

In a case like Spindlehorse, we’ve had more than enough people speak up about working there that’s been a continual pattern. They could’ve been excused from some things their first few years getting their footing—but it’s been far too long and they should know better by now rather than continuing with obvious foundation issues.

In a case like Lackadaisy, we haven’t really seen any folks speak up about poor working conditions, but we have seen leaders who are very transparent, professional, and humble about the mistakes they’ve made/weaknesses they have and what they’re doing about them to improve.

Just wanted to share all that.

I think one very important thing people don't keep in mind is that not all indie studios are created equal. You've got productions like Far-Fetched and Monkey Wrench where every last cent the creators can possibly spare is going into it, and there's an expectation that pay is probably going to be low. There's Lackadaisy, which is a lot better off but still not exactly rolling in it, but extremely committed to doing right by its employees.

Then there's Spindlehorse and Glitch, which can absolutely afford to pay and treat their employees better, they just don't want to.

[moonsorchid]

Rewatching ep.29 of Love Between Fairy and Devil

Part 1 - I tried to include my comments in one post, but again so many things happen in this episode

(spoilers ahead)

So we learn that DFQC didn’t drink the elixir that would prevent him from feeling Xiao Lanhua’s pain while she was in the cave. And we also get this wonderful speech: “Since we are to be husband and wife, we must stay together until death do us part for better or worse. Even though I cannot bear this trial for her, how can I let her suffer alone?”

At this point, they haven’t said “I love you” (as far as I remember, correct me please if I am wrong), they have barely shared any intimate moments, yet their love for each other is so deep and beyond conventional relationship milestones, that they are willing to go through all this suffering.

Awe Xunfeng, now you make me feel bad for saying all those bad things for you. You have a heart, I may like you from now on.

He truly worries for her (I did not remember this at all) I am sorry, Xunfeng :(

Xiao Lanhua remembers their moments together (their first kiss in the prison, how DFQC was cooling the dew water for her, how he kissed her underwater, how he saved her from the immortals, riding the dragon, DFQC making petals flow around her, trying to get her pin, teaching him how to smile, kissing on the bridge, watching the sunrise together) to endure the torture. I am melting

Can I just say that I love Shangque? His devotion and kindness to DFQC are admirable

I loooooove this scene where they acknowledge her as their Queen

Ok, Xunfeng, I take it all back. I love you, now. So happy he accepted her as his Queen. *I have a goofy smile on my face*

Uff, such a powerful scene when DFQC enters the room - the signs of exhaustion obvious on his face and the way he walks – and approaches her. His touch is so tender, the way he looks at her so sweet. I am dying, I love them so much

They are back in the palace and everyone kneels in front of their Moon Queen. So proud of my babies!

Look how happy Shangque is!!! So cute!

And what a shock for Changheng to realize that the Goddess he was engaged to is in fact Orchid.

How fast did I watch this the first time that I don’t remember her saying this? Poor Danyin :( I love her character development.

Ok, so Ronghao claims that the Moon tribe was the one that killed the 3000 heavenly soldiers. And the Emperor is like yes, I believe the prisoner, without investigating further, and I am going to start a war without any second thoughts.

Pausing to appreciate his calmness and beauty.

Um, excuse me, Ronghao, but you just started a war

Do you know how much I love sweet puppy dragon? He just gave Jieli a key to all his savings. I mean he is the purest, most innocent person in the world. He knows her, he knows what she’s like and yet he opens his heart (and his savings) to her, fully aware she might steal them and never look back. Because he wants to see the good in people. The cynical part of me thinks he is naive, but another part of me believes he is precious.

Haha Jieli is already thinking about opening a store with him. They are so cute together!

I mean look at how happy he is! 

See you in part 2 (hopefully soon, because I miss them already)

Also, you can use my post as a drinking game for the words "love" and "cute" :D

[random-autie-fangirl]

Hey, Do you have any Chara headcanons?

So technically I already have a reblogged post of Chara headcanons. Right here, within the tags. (99+) Chara neutralist squad on Tumblr

However, I most certainly have not run out of things to talk about and so...

I now present Chara Dreemurr headcanons 2: Electric Boogaloo

1. Yes, so as I said before, they have been spotted reading the dictionary cover to cover multiple times and reads english grammar books for fun. It is like they have to use one word literally nobody understands at least once a day or they will figuratively die. And of course, they would be the one to say figuratively every single time they use a metaphor or hyperbole or turn of phrase and they would get genuinely annoyed with anyone who says literally when they don't literally mean literally. Chara is the kind of kid who if someone says "can I", they will say "I don't know, can you?" like an english teacher because it's supposed to be "may I" for allowances. And, Azzy, it's supposed to be "Chara and I" not "me and Chara" ...no-one cares.

2. Something vocabulary related is that Chara absolutely, categorically refuses to swear! Apparently, contradictory to popular belief given that they're an "edgy" character, they think they are far too intelligent, high-class and mature for such gauche and vulgar words (did I mention they're a loser yet?), you see, and they would definitely consider using words that mean almost nothing to be a grave insult to their extensive vocabulary.

This doesn't mean they don't have certain stock phrases they use as exclamations or insults, though, of course. "asshole" or "bitch" becomes "you complete and utter ingrate", "what the fuck/hell?" becomes "What on this good earth/What in the Angel's name?" and "fuck you" becomes "may the angel smite you dead" or "may you burn in hell forevermore" (except that since Chara Dreemurr has proved themselves able to dish out much, much worse insults than "may the angel..." (stuff like "you look horrible, why are you even alive" for example) this might just be more annoyance than genuine hatred.)

So basically, while a normal person might say "Ow! Fuck!" when they stub their toe on something, Chara "Sesquipedalian loquaciousness" Dreemurr starts up an anime villain speech at nothing in particular while Asriel giggles and possibly records in the background. (Because of Asriel's apparent love for anime, he'd probably find his sibling's way of speaking to be the coolest thing ever as well as thinking it makes Chara some sort of uber-genius (note: it does not))

3. Okay so, since they tend to fixate on being impeccable in every way, even for the smallest of things, they can get embarrassed very easily and...very dramatically. Not finding the best word for every situation (particularly if they end up saying something wrong), not getting a perfect score on the test, anyone (who isn't the Dreemurrs) seeing them when their appearance is anything less than completely spotless.

They shall freeze and go completely blood red, they shall squeal and run off to their room. They will lie face down, not making a sound, and stay there for...hours. They will not respond, they will not be consoled. They have recently learnt they're not literally the best at everything ever and no, nothing will ever be okay again.

...They'll be back to normal within a day, though, boastful and eager to impress as ever. I think at some point they do learn that maybe not being perfect isn't the end of the world...eventually. Anyway, heard someone saying that hell exists for Flowey and it is minor inconveniences and that is true but hell also exists for Chara and it is minor embarrassments.

(Yes, I am aware this is very exaggerated, it's just more fun that way)

They have an equally dramatic, though positive, reaction to praise and compliments. Giddily skipping around and smiling ear to ear for hours, they tend to preen and straighten up, and it turns out they were lying and can cry, (a lot) just not out of sadness or fear. Though, they do get somewhat good at downplaying how much they care in front of acquaintances or strangers (even if they are nice and polite about it). Technically, only the Dreemurrs are allowed to know that Chara feels emotions.

(Also they have the same reaction to realising they are in fact the prophesied angel in the murder run, despite not being a praiseworthy accomplishment in any way, they're just happy to be, well...special. They always knew the prophecy was about them! Of course they were the angel, they're the best person in the world after all, finally they have the title they always deserved! Oh dear...)

[oleworm]

on that post you've made - it almost like the burger place scenes are from the lens of Benson's eyes. Everything is taken to the extreme. The young couple aren't just inoffensive lovers who can't get their hands of each other, they are these inappropriate and sinister sex-crazed bullies, Kris isn't just some random jerk - there is a heavy innuendo (if not an explicit theme) to his abuse, the thirst for power and control. The girl is wearing those stereotypical "sexy" clothes (which would be inoffensive and totally fine in any other setting, but contribute to the overexposure of the moment), is all over her man and acts like his cheerleader in violence - a caricature of sorts, too. The manager is all about sex, hiding it behind propriety of a light suit. All while sex is heavily implied to be something negative in B's view - he borderline says so himself. But it's everywhere in that place, unavoidable. You can't even ignore it, stick to your routine and shut down the outside world - because it would be forced upon you by one of them through violence. The boundaries and consent are not very well respected there, to say the least.

All of this stuff happens in like, 5 min - to the point of being unrealistic and hyperbolic. The whole place has those heavy oppressing color of emergency yellow, they have burgers on their hats like targets, like they themselves are food, the secondary characters are so caricaturistic they feel like an explicit parody. It's all really surreal and bizarre, like inferno for someone with a trauma, lol. And then it all stops when the camera floats out of that place and into the wild - suddenly, people are friendly and nice, the lights are bright, the colours are normal and pretty with limited yellow highlights (thinking about the candies in the glass jar at the school's office - the colour of the sweater B wears as he is standing right next to them). It's like, when you have trauma, if something triggers your memory, normal things grow extreme, become overwhelming, a drop of red paint feels like dying, etc - then the panic ends and the world is normal again. But it's a movie so everything is taken to the extreme for drama.

You’re completely on point when you talk about these characters as caricatures, or caricaturistic. It felt that way to me too. They did not look like they were intended to look like real people to me. Jess’s loud and exaggerated screams, the gallons sprayed of blood a nod to slasher horror, which makes sense when you think that the studio that funded this film mostly makes horror movies. Then the film takes a different turn, focusing on the more mundane and real-life horrors.

It's not difficult to become disturbed when you’re faced with constant reminders of the traumatic events that shaped your life for the worse. And maybe I didn’t express myself very clearly, but that is exactly what I felt too—that Benson was focusing on these things because they are the ones that stand out to him, and that the filmmakers were intentionally bringing these elements to the fore. If you met someone like Chris in real life, you’d probably think he was an asshole. Keep to yourself, report him if he went too far. But that’s another thing that adds to the comparison of Benson’s past with his current setting. Hardy is aware of the hostile dynamics at play and doesn’t care, so if anyone actually thought to say something about it, they wouldn’t have anyone to turn to. If the boss is in on it, what do you do? Who do you tell? Does that remind you of anything?

I don’t know if I am reading too much into it. But yes, the way it was filmed, also, made me think of when a stimulus brings back a memory. It takes you out of yourself and at the same time turns you inward. When Benson walks out to his car, he is not only walking toward the gun and towards death but also walking away from the scene that so disturbed him. I think that though he might have decided that now he was really going to do it he also needed to physically remove himself from the situation because it overwhelmed him.

There’s this short clip that I liked, right after Benson and Randy take the bodies to the freezer. They’re mopping and sponging the blood off the floor, off the walls, and if it were not for the red you would think that it’s a normal workday. They’ve closed for the day but they’re heading home soon. They’re working side by side, wordlessly, in a way that I imagine them doing in better moments. But at the same time, I imagine that they’re thinking “I can’t believe I did that,” or “I can’t believe that happened.” And trying to ground themselves and keep it together.

I love what you say about the colour yellow. It makes me sick! I love it. I feel like this film took out my appendix. I need to rewatch some scenes, but now I am getting sleepy. Will answer that part (and your other messages) tomorrow.

[beewolfwrites]

An Iron Box - Solace

Another instalment of An Iron Box! I admit, the bed scene in this is one of my favourite moments, even if it’s so small. 

If you notice any errors, please do let me know! I’ve proofed this after drinking too many glasses of wine so words are no longer my forte. 

AO3 link is here.

_______________________________________________________

It was uncanny that they could sleep so soundly. 

Although I was lying in my bed upstairs in Kuina’s uncle’s furniture store, I could still hear the crackle of the flames in my ears. The Beach had been the one place I wanted to break away from, but seeing it almost burned to the ground was disturbing, even to me. 

We had lit the store with candles and lanterns, however this floor had remained neglected. And now, as I stared up at the wooden slant of the ceiling, I felt that familiar pressure weighted like an anchor on my chest. The blue of night had poured through the window and curled around the room, drenching everything in a wash of moonlight. The bed was cold, the pillow stiff. The other two were fast asleep, their steady breathing rising and falling like tides. 

My eyes traced the eyes of the wooden beams above, a distraction from the conversation I had overheard earlier in the evening, as I had been standing outside our “living room”. 

‘And what about you and Chishiya, hm? I’m guessing you two are besties now.’ 

‘Something like that, I suppose.’ 

What were we? Certainly not something as crass as “besties”, or whatever Kuina had called it. I wasn’t in love with her. No. I would know if that was the case, surely. But how could I define it? This fine string that connected us. 

She was the only thing warm in this world - like a candle in a window, perhaps. I couldn’t find the right words for it, aside from the words she had shared with me long ago. A train whistle. Yes, hers was the only voice that tore through the darkness, and whatever these feelings were, I could neither explain nor control them. All I knew was that she needed to be closer. I needed her to ease this weight.  

A soft gasp interrupted the night. There was a creak, as (name) tossed and turned in the bed beside mine. With a barely audible cry, her eyes shot open, staring fixedly at something on the ceiling which I couldn’t see. She blinked several times until her face slowly relaxed. 

Nightmares?

I should have known. She was naive and emotional, and these games would eventually come back to haunt her. Rolling over, she smushed her face into her pillow in an obvious attempt at avoiding looking at the ceiling. 

Then her eyes lifted, and she looked at me.

Her hair was a mess, and her pillow had left an imprint against her cheek. But there was a softness in her gaze. A want. I knew exactly what she was going to do when she pulled back her sheets, dropping her feet lightly on the floorboards. I felt a cold shiver of air as she slipped under my covers and crawled into the space beside me. 

Although she had left plenty of room between us, I could feel her calm presence just out of reach. She didn’t speak, but it was obvious what she wanted from me. It was what she had always wanted. 

Solace. 

A shiver caressed the back of my neck as her warm fingertips brushed my open palm. Testing the waters, I allowed my fingers to lightly touch hers. 

What am I even doing… 

I must have remained like that for at least half an hour, quietly watching her face as she drifted off into a slumber. How selfish of her. Here she was, using my presence to soothe her own nightmares, while I lay awake unable to relax now that she was beside me, so close but still so far away. 

I couldn’t have slept any worse. Throughout the night, she eventually moved, rolling over until her back was facing me. I took the opportunity to break away, crawling back to the familiarity of my own space. However, even though I slept lightly, I was still highly aware of her body curled up less than three feet away. 

And when the dawn finally rose over the city, I realised that there was no point remaining in this bed any longer. She had claimed it for herself, stretched out across the mattress with her face buried into my pillow. She could have it for now. I had more pressing matters to deal with. 

I extracted myself from the bed, careful not to rouse her. Judging from the empty bed and the faint shuffling downstairs, Kuina must have woken up in the early hours of the morning after I had drifted off. Knowing her, she would quiz me on this… this sleeping arrangement the moment I went downstairs. 

Shuffling into the store bathroom, I discovered a bottle of water that Kuina had placed by the sink the night before. Whilst we lacked bare essentials like toothpaste and soap, I was still able to wash my face. I was covered in soot and my hair smelled like a bonfire, but there was little I could do about it without water. Nor could I change into clean clothes. Most of my existing clothes had burned, my belongings along with them. 

But not everything. 

The scrap of paper that I had found on the tagger’s body. 

I had almost forgotten about it, but luckily I had kept it safe the pocket of my shorts ever since the Tag game. I hadn’t dared to leave in my room at the Beach just in case it fell into the wrong hands. And now, reaching into my pocket and unfolding the corners, I held up the paper up to the bathroom mirror, staring into the entanglement of lines and seeing my own reflection through that mysterious pinprick right in the centre. 

A map. 

That was the only possibility. But a map of what? Although it had hardy been a priority over the last few weeks, I had been mulling it over in the back of my mind. I had a theory or two, but nothing conclusive…yet. 

As I went downstairs, I bumped straight into Kuina, who had been arranging the furniture into a more homely structure and tearing off the price tags. 

‘Oh my god, you’re awake!’ She set down the dining chair she was holding and gripped my shoulders, eyes wide. ‘You have to tell me what happened! When I woke up you two were like a burrito. It was so cute, I only wish I had my phone so I could have taken a picture.’

‘Nothing happened.’  

‘Are you sure about that? Because it looked kind of like you were cuddling.’ 

‘Nothing happened,’ I repeated firmly, shaking out of her firm grip and walking over to the store entrance. 

She stood there, puzzled for a moment. Then she followed after me. ‘Wait, where are you going now? I didn’t mean to upset you, though you were really cute.’ 

The thought of being “cute” was abhorrent to me. I shut down the idea immediately. ‘There’s something I want to check,’ I told her, pulling my hood over my head. ‘I’ll be back soon.’ 

Before she could protest, I left the furniture store quietly and entered into the desolate concrete of Tokyo in search of the nearest subway station. The air still held a crisp chill, but the dawn spilled out onto the cracks and crevices of the streets. It had been a while since I was able to freely explore the city without having a group of crazed gunmen running around after me. 

It took a little searching, but I finally came across the familiar grimy steps of a subway station. The entrance descended into pitch blackness, but luckily there was no need to bother venturing inside. What I required was displayed right here in front of me on the information board; a large map of Tokyo’s main subway lines, threading and interweaving into a messy knot. Standing several feet back from the map on the board, I held up the square piece of paper. 

So I was right. 

It aligned almost perfectly. 

The hand drawn version was a scribble, of course, but the general shape was the same. The punched hole in the page had to be one of the stations, but given its location on the map, I could narrow down the possibilities quite easily. All that was left was to explore the depths of the subway. 

What will I find there?

What, indeed. 

If it was true that there were dealers to each and every game, then perhaps this would lead me to a base, of sorts. After all, the tagger had to be working for them, no? Or was the tagger a dealer herself, and just like the two girls in the Witch Hunt, she had been forced to participate. Did all dealers have to participate in the games they controlled? That was one possibility. But there were so many more. I had to admit, I was rather looking forward to making my discovery. 

However, now was not the right time. The sun was already high in the sky, and I had someone waiting for me back at my own den. 

_________________________________________________

‘What about when you helped me onto the top floor in the Tag game?’ 

Despite everything that had happened between us, I had forgotten just how annoying she could be. From the moment we set foot inside this mini-mart, she had launched a surprise attack; a barrage of questions to work out exactly when I had stopped manipulating her for my own gain. I could understand why she wanted to know, but if she wasn’t careful, she would only end up hurting herself. 

Hovering at my side, she picked up a can of soup, scanning the picture on the label to translate the flavour. I took it from her and placed it in my own basket. If I allowed her to lug a heavy basket around she would only complain later. 

‘That was only because I thought you’d be useful,’ I said. 

‘And when you pulled me out of the safe room, when the tagger started shooting at us?’ 

I shook my head. Of course not. At the time, I had only intended to keep her around for the sake of either using her as a shield, or as a part of my plan. She followed me into the toiletry aisle, and I picked out a tube of toothpaste while she selected a men’s razor. As she moved to drop it in her basket, I swiped it and put it in my own. 

As if I need you to shop for me. 

She hid her surprise well. ‘Then how about the time when that militant guy with the gun was bothering me at the bar?’ 

‘That wasn’t real either,’ I replied. ‘I saw an opportunity and took it.’ 

She was becoming more and more disheartened by the answers I was giving. What did she expect? If she wanted honesty, I would happily oblige. 

Although, I’m not sure I enjoy being on such thin ice.

When her hand gravitated towards a bar of soap on the top shelf, I intercepted, taking the soap. Perhaps if all I could offer her was an empty basket, it would soften the blows. 

She sighed, thinking harder this time. ‘The deal we made, when you came with me so I could get my own clothes?’ 

I remembered it so clearly, that darkness in Shinjuku Gyoen. Sitting in the roots of the trees with her body pressed against my own, startled by how alive she was, and being faced by the coldness of that vast ocean. Even now, my skin still tingled where I had felt her breath skim the surface of my skin. However, that had nothing to do with the deal we made. 

I shook my head. 

‘And what about Niragi?’ she mumbled. Her fingers tightened around the handle of her basket. ‘When he did what he did? The things you left in my room.’ 

Ah…

Even now, despite how they had healed, I could still envision the faint outline of those bruises. It twisted something in me. A certain revulsion? Perhaps. The mental image of Niragi crouched over her, forcing her down until she cried, touching her under her clothes with his face buried in the junction of her neck… It was distasteful. 

I looked her in the eye, ready with the truth. ‘That was real.’ 

And of course, she blushed with the innocence of a schoolgirl and tried to hide her face in the shelves. Idiot. I had already seen. I placed my hand on her head, laughing lightly at her silly reaction before walking away. 

I wandered around the mini-mart, filling my basket with necessities; first aid supplies, canned foods, dry noodles, toiletries, bottles of water. When our baskets were full - or at least, when mine was - we started off back to our temporary hideout. However, as we walked through Shibuya City, bypassing small stores and eateries, I sensed (name) slowing down. 

She tapped me on the forearm. ‘Hey. Do you mind if I stop by somewhere?’ 

It made no difference to me. ‘Do what you want.’

She didn’t move at first, but swayed her half-empty basket awkwardly. ‘You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want. I’d only be a few minutes.’ 

Unless she was dragging me into a lingerie store or a teddy bear workshop, I really didn’t care where she wanted to go. ‘I’ll come,’ I said. 

With a begrudging huff, she led me down several twists, turns and alleyways until we came across a scruffy apartment block. Inside, there were two broken elevators and a dirty set of stairs. She began to climb, and I followed her up several floors, watching as she peered around at the numbers on the doors. 

Let me guess… you were living here. 

As far as I knew, she had been a tourist. So it begged the question as to what she was doing in a place like this. She shuffled down a narrow hallway before stopping in front of a door. And just when I assumed she would pull out a secret key, she chose instead to surprise me by throwing her side at the door in a pathetic attempt to break it down. 

And naturally, when that didn’t work, she decided to batter it to death with her foot, slamming it into the wood over and over until there was a splintering crack and the door gave way. 

A little dramatic, but I suppose it was necessary. 

Whilst I wasn’t exactly impressed by the state of the apartment, I was curious as to what exactly tied her here. Ducking through the doorway, I entered an open plan living room and kitchen. The place was thick with dust. A visible layer coated the ground and shelves, and motes swirled in the light streaming through the windows. In the middle of the living room, a coffee table had been moved aside and a suitcase lay open on the floor. Several bottles of stagnant water, some half-empty, lay beside it. 

There was nothing especially remarkable about the apartment. In fact, it was uncomfortable and stuffy. But I was intrigued. This was a part of her life in the Borderlands that I had not been a part of. The woman who lived here was a shadow of the woman standing beside me now. She gestured to a half-open door in the corner of the room. Inside was a bathroom. 

‘That was where I was, when it happened.’ She placed her basket on the floor, and I followed suit. ‘It feels strange,’ she added, ‘being here with you. It’s like I’ve come straight back to where I started.’ 

This must have been where she was hiding when we had met, all those weeks ago. ‘It’s been a long time since our first game,’ I agreed quietly. 

She went silent, thinking deeply about something. Perhaps trying to come to a decision. 

‘You know,’ she said at last, ‘if we ever get to leave this place, I think I want to stay in Japan. Maybe I can find you and Kuina in the real world.’

Part of me had expected this, but I couldn’t quite decide whether there would be space for her in that world of mine - in the darkened wallpaper of my life. But as she crouched down by the suitcase, sliding clothes into her basket with a strange determination, the answer came to me strong and clear. 

‘The University of Tokyo Hospital.’ 

She lifted her head. ‘Hm?’ 

‘I’m a medical student,’ I said. ‘I do my clinical rotations at the university hospital.’ 

Her face cracked into a grin. ‘So that’s how you knew how to treat injuries! How come you never said anything before?’ 

Because surely it was obvious. 

‘Because the less people know, the better.’ 

She nodded slowly, mulling it over as she folded a pair of jeans and put them into the basket. ‘What made you want to be a doctor, though? I thought you didn’t care about helping people.’

I don’t. 

Every memory I had of my father - his shoulders sloped over a desk - should have been tinged with bitterness… perhaps some rebellion, or even mixed feelings of love and hatred. But they weren’t. I felt nothing. I couldn’t possibly hate a man who I didn’t truly know. But she didn’t need to know this. And so, I dismissed the matter. 

‘Another time,’ I said. 

‘Fine, fine. I can wait.’ She smiled it off, although a flicker of curiosity remained. 

I joined her in scanning the apartment for goods, however aside from one or two bottled drinks, there wasn’t much that we could find, let alone carry. She emerged from the bathroom with even more toiletries than we needed, but there was nothing more for us here. For either of us. 

Except that curiosity of hers. 

The more I thought about my past, the more I realised she was part of a different world. For her to know how I truly felt, this emptiness festering within every crevice of my life, it was a disturbing thought. 

And as we left the apartment, heading back to where Kuina was waiting for us, I noted the small spring in her step, that happy-go-lucky smile that made her look like a fool. It seemed a shame to mar that smile. 

Just how close can I allow you to get?

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

july 7, 2021 4:00 p.m. grant's house

[shannon] do you want to talk to them?

[grant] i don’t know. i mean, i would never talk to my mom, but...

[grant] people can change.

[shannon] grant...

[grant] i'm not good at being cold. some very sad and pitiful part of myself is hopeful that people aren’t as terrible as they seem to be.

[shannon] grant, they’re never going to love you. they’re never going to respect you. they’re never going to appreciate you for who you are.

[shannon] they didn’t bother when you needed authority figures to put dinner on the table or give you a lift to school in the mornings or pay any attention to you and your hobbies. so why would they do it now? why now when you need nothing from them?

[shannon] i'm no shrink or psychic or anything, but i feel it in my bones that they want to file you away so they can close out this tab in life and feel better about what they did to you. they don’t want to fix the problem. and if they did, i think they would have done it a long, long time ago, probably when you cut them out.

[shannon] and i'm so sorry. i'm genuinely really so sorry. your entire life, they’ve dangled, i don’t know, affection in front of you like a carrot on a stick and make it seem like you can catch it, but i don’t think you can.

[shannon] i know you want them to have a lightbulb moment and suddenly love you like they were supposed to, but...

[shannon] they’re going to fool you into trusting them because you’re a far better person than they could ever hope to be and then they’ll pull the rug out from underneath you.

[shannon] everyone always does.

[shannon] your own ex-fiancee, a decent girl, took advantage of you. what would stop the people who are a million times worse from doing it again? and unlike with her, you can predict it with them.

[grant] you’re right.

[grant] god, i literally feel insane. i'm not so stupid that i'm not skeptical of them reaching out, but i wish...

[shannon] ah now, you’re not insane. really, you’re very sane. the only way to survive in the world when you’ve seen the worst of it is to hope there’s good out there. it’s an admirable outlook. most people would be a lot more bitter than you in your position.

[grant] but i'm too nice.

[shannon] no, i'd not say that. it’s not about niceness but about boundaries. don’t be less nice, just...you know, put up a few more walls. and it’s not like it’s your fault that you are bad at that. it’s probably an attachment thing, right? your family is supposed to love you and when they don’t, i mean, you’re either going to turn out as someone who rejects or chases affection.

[grant] or both, if you’re me.

[shannon] yes. or both.

[shannon] i think you lean towards chasing but ironically, you are great at pushing people away when the mood strikes you to do it.

[grant] you don’t say.

[shannon] sure, i've never seen you ignore people so successfully that everyone thinks you’re dead.

[grant] i have gotten better about not doing that, in my defense.

[shannon] you have! still, the evidence of that behavior is around. you only talk to two people from your childhood that aren’t the family because you cut everyone else off.

[grant] i know. and i feel bad about it. i was just very embarrassed about talking to people at the height of my mental health crisis back in college. i didn’t want anyone to know.

[shannon] uhhh, they all already know, josie. everyone gossips.

[shannon] sorry! that sounded really mean, i didn’t mean it in a mean way, like.

[grant] you’re not wrong, though. i am perfectly aware that everyone whispers about me back home.

[shannon] you know who doesn’t gossip? the family in ireland and the towns they live in! no one cares about your personal business. you’ll be a free man while you’re there on holiday.

[shannon] well, actually, they are mad gossips and they do care about your personal business, but the atlantic ocean and general familial tact has protected them from knowing what you don’t want them to know, so it’ll be about other stuff! tolerable topics!

[stillafanofsonic]

Came bcs of that short fic of Eclipse killing Shadow without meaning to and

Ok but what if Eclipse was trying to do better before hand and asked Sonic about it? And Sonic tried to give him advice? And before Sonic knew it Rouge calls him telling him Eclipse killed shadow ?

What if Eclipse was close, so close to that redemption and now Can never reach it bcs he acted impulsively one time ?

Anon I am vibrating. I had to tweak this a bit to fit the continuity we already created (Eclipse has only been on Earth a few weeks, he hasn't had time or space to bond with anyone)

-

Sonic couldn't believe it.

Last week, he had ran into a strange person. A type of Mobian he had never met before. Even odder, the guy seemed deeply upset, almost unraveling at the seams.

When Sonic asked him, he mentioned over and over that he was Shadow's brother. Except that Shadow hated him. Truth be told, Sonic had a hard time believing it. This guy wasn't even a hedgehog. Except for the red markings, he looked nothing alike. And Shadow had never mentioned anything about a brother before.

None the less, Sonic couldn't just stand by and watch two siblings who were struggling, he had to help!

So while they only talked for a few minutes, he tried to give this guy the best advice that he could. How Shadow wasn't the best at conversation or explaining himself, and that he needed some extra space sometimes. But to not give up, Shadow would come around.

It wasn't until after that guy and his little creatures left, Sonic realized he hadn't even asked his name. Ah well, he'd probably see that guy again. Especially if he was Shadow's brother.

He was different, but so far, he seemed okay. Like he needed help. And Sonic was great at that, hopefully his advice worked.

And then he got a phone call.

"Rouge?" Sonic asked. "What's wrong?" He could barely understand her, she was yelling and crying and gasping for breath, all at the same time. "Rouge?"

"Shadow's dead!" Rouge said, her voice breaking in grief, "that fucker killed him!"

Sonic stopped, suddenly becoming aware of his own breathing, of how bright the sun was. How nothing else seemed to matter. He must have heard wrong. Shadow couldn't be killed, it wasn't possible. "What?"

Rouge took several sharp quick breathes before she answered, "Shadow's dead. Eclipse killed him."

"Who?"

"His brother."

The world started spinning and Sonic had to sit down sharply, "His..."

"That lizard thing," she spat. "He went after the Master Emerald a few weeks ago and Shadow defeated him then, I don't know why he couldn't do it now-"

Sonic swallowed and his voice turned unnaturally calm, sharp and deadly, completely different from how he normally sounded. "I'll find him. He won't hide from me."

He had given that guy, Eclipse, he had given him a chance. Had tried to befriend him. Tried to help him out. Eclipse hadn't been suffering, he had been plotting, wanting to kill Shadow. Even worse, he had taken advantage of Sonic's help.

That had been his mistake.

Eclipse was about to have their full wrath brought down upon his head.

Sonic turned around. He had no idea where Eclipse might be hiding, where he might go next. But Sonic was the fastest thing alive, he'd find him. Even if it took weeks, he had speed when searching on his side

"Can you and Omega go look for him?" Shadow asked Rouge.

"Yes," she said, trying to pull herself together. "We'll find him."

"We will. And bring him to justice," Sonic said.

Shadow deserved that much.

"Ready or not," Sonic mumbled to himself, getting ready to run. "Here I come Eclipse."