#I guess it happens when you're always alone and ill in the head...

[xxs4d-b4st4rdxx]

I do sometimes wonder if fate is real...

I always grapple with it, always convincing myself that it does not. If I do say it's real that means self will not really a thing, choice is an illusion. The path is already set soon as I was born.

A thing that is hard to think about, and It's worse when you see things always connecting thing pointing you in a direction no matter whether you know what discretion is or not.

What do you truly do if fate points in a direction that is unknown, that's quite scary in my opinion but yet intriguing?

It's like most people say curiosity killed the cat. Though that's only half the saying. The full is curiosity killed the cat ...but satisfaction brought it back. But yet that is a lie too with the first half being older and the second being added much later by someone else. So... Which is true, which may it be. Maybe it's both or is both wrong...

That the thing, do I trust what I don't know or stay where I do know. With many things you can never go back, that is something we can never do, though many will argue. I think that scares most people going to the unknown knowing what they call the past they had home wanting it back. That is that thing you can't do is go back home, once you leave there's no way back.

I'm starting to realize that, but that does mean that you can't make a new one that changes, that doesn't fate is a thing. The path we call fate is just a calling to somewhere new, may it be just maybe the place to live or the end. Though I don't think there's really an ending, but, that's another story all together.

But if it's either or would you think it is better to know where the direction leads or to stay where you are chained by your own making.

I don't know... I'm just a queer 19-year-old guy almost a year out of high school with no job not discretion in life trying to make art that I could be proud enough to sell live with their mom timing away on their laptop siting in bed using their table as a TV watching The first season of Doctor Who 9n four in the morning in their messy ass room and a shit house in a town that considered a city for some odd reason surrounded by farmland in the America.

I'm a nobody, simply. Why would I know anything. Why would anyone know they're not wrong to chose to stay. I don't think anyone will ever know because we are all different with different wants and needs and well paths. Only you will know when you take that chance, and you are the only one who can do so. If some says they know what is at the end of other's paths, they're lying. Maybe they regret what choice they have done and want to force others to choose differently, even if it is wrong.

That is the problem I don't know what I see is true if it is some, or it's just me. Nobody knows.

No one...

[brynn-lear]

a/n: I won't be writing a oneshot about this since I already have a yan!capitano fic series I'm committing to, but I might randomly post about this idea more every now and then lol. tagging this AU as #the captain and his duchess

Yandere noble!Capitano who couldn't stop asking Fem Tutor!Darling to spar with him. With the weight of his inheritance, █████ must strive to be as great— if not greater— of a Captain like his father, the Duke.

But before he gained his infamous strength, you were his beloved mentor. You were a prodigy in swordsmanship with high confidence to boot. Hence, you gleefully accepted the Duke's request to tutor his eldest son. Coming from a minor noble household with only a title to uphold and not much else to boast, it's only natural to grasp unto that opportunity. It just so happened you've been clearing off competitions, and the duke has a good eye. Your parents, bless their souls, wouldn't dissuade you from your decision. Pride meant nothing when there's not even food scraps on the table. With a heart that still bleeds for the misfortune of those around you, you set off on horseback alone.

Whoever it was you were expecting to teach, it certainly wasn't a terrified noble hiding behind a helmet. Young █████ was not to blame. He carries the same dignified moral compass as his house, but he was ill-prepared to talk to people other than his family and servants. In fact, you couldn't get a word out of him as soon as you're done assessing his skill level with a first match.

Much to be desired, but the foundation is there.

... Perhaps you were too harsh with your phrasing.

"Young master," you shook your head, knocking on his door. "I couldn't teach you if you scamper about- hiding like meek prey in the closest room you'd burrow yourself in."

█████ didn't made a sound. You sighed. Truthfully, you wondered if you had done something to offend. It couldn't possibly be due to fear of authority. You're 21 and he's 19, not to mention that he is to be future sovereign Duke of Snezhnaya while you're not even reserved a seat in the council.

"F-Forgive him, Lady (Y/n)!" Elena squeaked. "He's not usually like this. I believe this is because..."

You raised an eyebrow. "Because...?"

The maid hurriedly shook her head, heat crawling up her neck. "N-No, I mustn't say. As a servant, I would step out of line."

"I'm pretty good at keeping secrets, you know?" You grinned. Skillfully, you placed a hand on the wall, leaning closer as if cornering her. You tucked the few stray strands of her hair behind her ear. "I'm not from this House, I wouldn't scold you for a little bit of sin."

She looked extremely offended. Suppose you should've expected that much from the most honorable Harbinger House's staff.

"I'm inclined to believe that this young maid's hypothesis requires no detective to solve."

You both looked to the direction of the voice. It was Prince Zandik, cousin to █████ and heir to the throne. Though to both of you, you are his most favorite gladiator and he is your best sponsor.

"Greetings, Zandik. You appear just about anywhere, huh? Are you sure you're not pulling my leg about the secret twin rumors?"

"Not one for tact, as always. But that's just how I like you, Lady (Y/n)."

Elena looked at you incredulously, wondering just where on earth did you find the audacity to refer to the Prince without proper decorum. Zandik doesn't seem sensitive to your lack of sensibility. You and Zandik have been friends since childhood was never a secret, but those who would recently find this resurfacing fact never fail to act surprised.

"I'd ask you why you're here, but the answer would be dull and overly verbose." You feigned a yawn, which made Zandik chuckle. "So, instead, why don't you tell me what you know about this █████ situation? Does he fear women?"

Zandik schooled his expression, but you can almost just about hear him say that's your best guess?

"█████ has never been one for sublime subtlety." Zandik rolled his eyes. "He admires you greatly, couldn't you tell?"

"Me? And greatly?" You scoffed. "Please, he'd outpace me with just a few lessons.

Zandik laughed. You both knew that to be true, but the future isn't quite as close to that prediction.

"Since the day I discreetly snatched him from his quarters to observe one of your sparring sessions, he has maintained a keen interest in tracking your career." The Prince remarked. "Do you recall the first bouquet of roses you've received?"

"I wasn't meant to be the recipient, do not reopen old wounds." You cringed. It was an unfortunate mistake from the messenger.

"Forgive me, I meant the second bouquet you received." He crossed his arms. "One from a secret admirer who curtly explained how he couldn't bear to see the sadness from your face and made it his honorable responsibility to buy you a larger bouquet."

You blinked.

"N-No way. I'm pretty sure that's from, um, my father."

"Buy you the most expensive bouquet in Snezhnaya? With what money?"

... A cruel but fair point.

"He even dons the same headwear as you do— the helmet he would rarely take off, did you not find it identical to your own?"

You paused.

... Wait a second.

"Well, I shall remove myself from this conversation. I have dull and overly verbose matters to attend to."

"Zandik, halt!"

[eatmeandbirthmeagain]

HEY GWORL GUESS WHO IT IS 💫. I'M BORED ASF DOING REVISION SO IMMA GIVE YOU A FIC PROMPT 😊😊

Okay so Baldwin doesn't realise this but he has severe separation anxiety from you, and one day you go away to visit a sick relative and he's so lonely all day and he's just mooching about the library and the stables etc etc. When you come back in the evening you realise just how much he missed you and you feel bad about leaving him and you both fall asleep curled up together 💗 (Also you don't HAVE to do this but when they're cuddling at the end of the day Baldwin's golden hair has to be out and you're running your fingers through it when you're reassuring him)

I KNOW YOU'RE SUPER BUSY SO PLZ IGNORE THIS IF YOU HAVE TO DW 🙏🙏

♡ Beautiful Boy - King Baldwin x Reader ♡

♡ Fluff ♡

A/N: Hello Maddy!! Thank you so much for the request girl this is so cute 😭. Havent heard from you for a while, I hope youre doing well 🩷! As always, this is based on the film Kingdom Of Heaven, not the real historical figures. Enjoy!

PS: F/n = Fathers name. I use that term in this oneshot 😅

TW: Leprosy, Separation Anxiety

It had been a few years since the marriage between the king of Jerusalem and the daughter of Lord f/n.

In the time the two had been married, there was rarely a day they spent apart. Every moment of each day was spent together, whether it be in conversation or comfortable silence.

Baldwin, who before his wedding was used to a life of solitude, welcomed the company with open arms. He loved having not just a wife, but a companion who he could share each and every one of his deepest thoughts with.

After so many years of being alone, he was finally whole. He adored being around y/n and she adored being around him. They were perfect for eachother.

But it was not until one day that the young king realized just how much the absence of his wife affected him. He knew that he missed her when she was gone, even if it was for only a few minutes. But he was not aware that her absence could possibly destress him until y/n’s father fell ill.

It was necessary that she went to see him, despite Baldwin not being able to attend by order of his physicians.

“I will be back before sundown” y/n told him with a smile as she mounted her horse.

“I promise you”

“Very well, just please be safe,” the young king replied.

Baldwin found himself fighting back tears as she rode off into the desert, leaving him to watch her disappear into the horizon. He thought about what to do while she was gone.

It was a slow day in the kingdom, not a whole lot to do. Usually on days like this, he and the queen would sit in their shared chambers, playing chess, reading together or just talking about anything.

But not today.

First, Baldwin headed for the library. He ascended the stairs, stopping a few times to catch his breath on account of the mask that restricted his breathing more than it already was.

Cursing under his breath, he finally made it to the library. Baldwin walked silently through the rows and rows of books, wishing that his wife was there to look with him.

Once or twice, he even caught himself calling out her name to come and see an interesting paper he found, only to be met with silence. With a heavy sigh, Baldwin began to descend the stairs once again after finding no cure to his loneliness amongst the books.

He went to the stables, the courtyard, even the kitchen before returning to his chambers after a few hours.

Taking a seat at his desk, the young king felt tears well in his eyes. He felt so alone without her. So anxious and strangely vulnerable. What was happening to him? A man should not rely so heavily on his wife for such things, but he did.

Baldwin pondered this for a while and just when he felt as if he would finally cry, the chamber doors opened and y/n entered the room with a smile.

“Hello darling, how was your day?” she asked cheerfully, putting her bag down.

Baldwin rushed to his wife, wrapping his arms around her neck and pulling her into a tight hug.

“Oh- you missed me did you?” she chuckled, startled by his sudden affection.

Baldwin did not reply, just hugged her tighter and squeezed his eyes shut. Y/n returned the hug, rubbing her husband's back gently. She reached up and pulled his veil off to reveal silky blonde curls before running her hand through them, scratching him behind the ear and over the scalp.

Baldwin groaned softly at the feeling of her hands working away the growing migraine in his head.

“It's getting late, why don't we get some rest hm?” y/n said softly, the young king only nodded in reply. 

------------------------

Baldwin did not let go of his wife a single time as they were getting ready for bed. He was either holding her hand or resting his chin on her shoulder, so y/n never got more than a foot away before he was back by her side.

It was amongst this and his greeting that made y/n realize he had missed her much more than she believed he would. Baldwin had always been somewhat clingy but this hurt her heart. He was so deeply attached to her that it made her never wanted to leave his side again.

Once in bed, Baldwin was very quick to snuggle into his wife.

“You missed me today huh?” y/n said gently, running her fingers through his hair.

Baldwin nodded.

“I missed you too, my love. But I am back now, and I will always come back. No matter how long I'm gone”.

The young king looked up at his wife and smiled. She loved seeing his smile without the mask. He had the cutest little smile and his bright blue eyes always glowed when he looked at her.

Y/n kissed her husband's forehead, pushing a golden curl away from his eye. She cupped his mottled face in her hand. In return, Baldwin nuzzled his cheek into her palm, looking up at her with a dreamy smile.

“You're so beautiful Baldwin” she whispered. “My beautiful boy” 

“I love you y/n” the young king said, the dreamy smile never once leaving his face.

“I love you too Baldwin. And I always will”.

Y/n held her husband close to her that night as he dozed off to sleep in her arms. She waited until he was fast asleep before closing her eyes, just to ensure that he was alright.

Before long, both the young king and queen were sleeping peacefully, curled up together in each other's embrace.

Exactly where they wanted to be.

[sweatandwoe]

super late, but my fave scene of yours is in Secret Ingredient ch 16. is it still hurt/comfort if Silco is helping Reader with hypothermia and not an injury? lol

Fun fact I was gonna do that scene with Silco getting sick and needing someone to take care of him, but decided to do Reader instead (cause cuddle or die is more fun)

but here's a lil scene if that universe happened, but maybe a bit more fluffy

-

Your hand presses to his forehead, and then you're giving him a tiny smile. "You're sick."

"I am not." He says, voice thick. Whatever was caught in his throat was catching on his words too. "I'm fine."

"Uh-huh."

His good eye twitches in response.

Your hand pulls away, and you can see how he slumps a bit more into his chair. Putting up a front while you were close, you guess, turning to him. "I think I'll make some soup today."

His lips purse together, looking very ready to deny any illness lingering in him. Long fingers drum across the desk, and he gives you a glance as he turns in his chair, one long leg crossing over the other. He grabs a few sheets of paper, gazing over them. "What about stew?"

It's hard not to smile, but you do your best. Letting your lips twitch. "I don't have ten hours, but I suppose I could still make some."

He doesn't say thank you, but that was expected at this point. You'll leave without another word, only seeing how the corner of his mouth twitches before the door closes.

-

"I know you're upset-"

"I'm not upset." His voice is hoarse from coughing, and sniffling. The fever had gotten worse now, and he was on forced bed rest by Singed. Jinx had given him Flamethrower, which rested kindly in the crook of his arm. "I'm being disrespected in my own establishment."

"You're being cared for." Your hands smooth over the ends of his blanket. It reminded you of the children being forced to stay in bed when they were too ill. "They simply want you to return to your best quickly."

"Do they?" There's a sniff accompanying that, and you watch as his head falls back against the pillows. The one red eye is always open wide, and now staring at the ceiling. The teal one is half-closed, a small glimpse into how tired he was. "Or do they just want to be rid of me?"

"I think if anyone wanted to be rid of you right now, it would be quite easier than putting you to bed." You press your hand to his forehead again. Still burning. "Let me go get you some water-"

You turned to leave, but fingers are quick to grasp your wrist. His mismatched gaze staring up at you, and the Eye of Zaun would never plead, but the look he was giving could be considered similar to it. His words are slow and he sounds so exhausted."Don't go."

So, you settle at first on the edge of the bed. Moving to brush the loose hairs out of his face as he lays back in the bed, his fingers still lightly around your wrist. Perhaps he feared someone else seeing him this vulnerable, or he just needed someone to be near him in case he spoke his final words.

Either way, he felt safe around you and that gave an oddly satisfyingly warm feeling.

"Silco?"

His breathing is even, and his good eye is closed. The other eye faces downwards, shifting in the socket as he dreams. Even with the chaos of one eye, he looks so oddly peaceful in his sleep. The lines in his face cleared, his body fully relaxed and he snored so very lightly.

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to his forehead like you would with Jinx, and find yourself trapped by the hand on your wrist, unable to pull away.

At least that's what you'll tell yourself, when you wake up tomorrow, with his face buried in your hair and his arms loosely around your middle. Snoring softly in your ear still, his breathing matching the rhythm of your heart.

You close your eyes again, settling your hands on top of his own. Perhaps you both needed this; a reminder that you both weren't alone. anymore.

The reminder only grew tenfold, when Jinx would enter the room shortly after you untangled yourself from his embrace. And Silco would grumble about breakfast, but eat the toast his daughter would feed to him while you went and got some new reports from Sevika.

But you think you catch him smile at you, a small tiny one when you return into his bedroom and begin to gush the gossip to both of them. At a second look, it was gone.

His pinky brushes against your own as Jinx launched into her own tale of what she got up to the day before while he was sick. And you have your own small tiny smile, as your pinkies overlap. Locking together.

No, you think, listening to your small family as father and daughter speak to one another.

We aren't alone.

[gars-jasons-gf]

Gar Logan Head Cannons in a Relationship with Reader PT. 2

(gif isn’t mine)

Alright, Gar would definitely love cuddling with you like you cannot convince me otherwise. Going to sleep. You're both cuddling. Lying on the couch watching tv. Cuddling. Heck bored. Cuddling. Pretty much my point is you two cuddle all the time. But how?

Well he prefers him being the big spoon, as it feels like he's protecting you. He'll have his arms around you and you'll most likely be holding his arm. His elbow will probably be around your stomach area and his hand would be somewhere on your chest -shoulder area.

But, if you two are watching tv. He will lay between your legs whether he's looking at the ceiling or his face is nuzzled in your stomach you better be scratching or massaging his scalp. Otherwise he'll grab your hand and place it onto his head and insist you give him attention.

Also, he can be very needy when it comes to attention. He practically lives off your attention. Whether that be talking, hugging, cuddling, kisses, training. Anything to have your attention. It's almost as if you stop giving him attention he'll die, which he will.

Now let's talk about you giving him the silent treatment. At first he'll act cool about it and act as if he doesn't care, but about 30 minutes in he'll start overthinking, then about an hour in he'll start talking to you to see if you'll tell him why your acting like this. Not long after that he'll start following you around like a lost puppy trotting behind you. Once you give in and you both talk about what's happened, be prepared for the next day. He'll cling onto you like a Koala. Holding hands, hugs, kisses, resting his head on your shoulder you won't be doing anything alone.

Alright how about kisses you ask me. Well, they can be either one of two ways short and sweet or long and passionate. I think you can guess the difference between the two and when they're used. You'll usually give him a short and sweet kiss when walking past him in the hallways or when you're going somewhere. The longer and more passionate ones are more done when you're both alone... in a room... together, usually when no one's in the tower. Or they're when you two are making out but that's really it.

So what if you are a fairly physically affectionate person. Of course no matter what he's not very used to the touch of another person but he's always going to embrace it and enjoy it. Even him being physically affectionate to you, he's new to it and is sometimes scared your going to think he's way too clingy.

Legit i can't be bothered to check the first part but I can't remember if I added it so imma add it here.

He is very protective of you. Like he's not so much as jealous just protective. He's like a guard dog and doesn't want anything to happen to you. He's watching you like a hawk. (haha get it, okay ill shut up now) He's always behind you or has an arm around you. You are going out on a girls day. He'll be a girl for the day. You being harassed by someone when he's a few meters away. He'll show his fangs and his eyes will go green. If that doesn't work you be he'll walk over to you, wrap an arm around you and stare this man down like no tomorrow.

So pretty much you're a lucky person and have a great bf material bf. He's a keeper

idk how many more of these I have but pt 3??????

[comfort-questing]

17. touch averse/ "leave me alone."

guess who did the Wriothesley story quest and has Feelings.

-

"Your Grace?"

His hands ached as he unclenched them from the bedcovers, his jaw tight and the taste of blood in his mouth from a bitten lip. How long he'd managed to sleep before the night terrors caught him, he didn't know; all hours were the same down here, beneath the weight of the water and above the tilted cap screwed over disaster.

Had he woken anyone? His throat was dry, from thirst only he hoped. He feared it was from screaming, though.

Again the knock, small and muffled, down the twisting stair. "Your Grace, may I come in?"

It was Sigewinne, of course. Always Sigewinne, at the rightest and the wrongest moments. With any luck, she wouldn't have a health drink with her.

Wriothesley staggered upright out of the bed, grabbing his coat to bundle around him against the ever-present chill of the Fortress. The floor was icy beneath his bare feet, and he winced, fumbling for his slippers wherever he had thrown them. By the time he managed his boots, Sigewinne might have decided to shoot the door latch.

He would turn on the light, he would put a record on, he'd find some tea and chase away the shadows. He would remind himself that he was the Duke of Meropide and not a ragged waif anymore, to need a hug and a head pat to chase away nightmares. All this he told himself, his knees shaky as he climbed down the stairs.

True to expectation it was the little Melusine outside his doorstep, as he pushed one door open a crack; her face was folded in worry, hands tucked together in front of her, the nighttime lights of the Fortress crosshatching her form.

"Your Grace, one of the guards mentioned you seemed - distressed."

"I'm all right, Sigewinne. I - need to go back to sleep, that's all."

"You were crying out." Sigewinne swayed back and forth where she stood, the frills of her jacket flaring out. "That doesn't seem all right, sir."

The cut inside his lip stung as he licked it. "Please don't trouble yourself - "

Her calculating gaze swept up and down his form, face pensive. "Are you ill? You don't seem ill, but your heartbeat is abnormally fast and I can see you're exhibiting other panic symptoms - "

No matter how slowly he tried to breathe, he couldn't seem to fool her. She knew; she had always known. But this was his battle to fight, and an old familiar one. "I said I'm fine. Go back to the infirmary, Sigewinne."

"If you want me to get someone else - one of the guards - "

Sigewinne stepped forward, trying to squeeze through the half-open door. She put out a hand to touch his, soothing and soft on the back of his scarred knuckles.

"Leave me alone!"

The words burst out of his throat before he knew he'd said them, startling back with a force that dissolved the last of his careful facade of calm. He was trembling in every limb, his knees threatening to give way underneath him. Distantly, he recognized that this was going to take more than tea and a song to fix; he hadn't had an episode like this for a long time, had thought he was past that...

Miserably, he watched as Sigewinne shut the door behind her, stopping just short of where he stood leaning against the office wall.

"I won't touch you, Your Grace, but I want you to breathe with me, all right?"

To sink down to the floor now would be too much of a match with all the rest of the memories now tearing at him - the kind of thing a scared child would do, hungry and longing for a comfort that he now loathed the very thought of. He clenched his teeth and willed himself to stay upright as he followed Sigewinne's exaggerated breaths.

Sigewinne's voice was quietly even. "I'm going to open and close my hands, can you open and close yours too?"

He could. He did.

"You don't have to be alone when these things happen," Sigewinne murmured. "Anyone can have nightmares, or be afraid. There's nothing shameful about it. It's part of being human. Your minds are as complicated as your bodies, and I don't understand all of your feelings and thoughts... but just like your bodies have scars that take time to heal, your minds are the same, and there's no more weakness about it than it's weak to take to bed when you're ill..."

He didn't remember the last time he'd let himself go to bed with an illness, either. Maybe Sigewinne needed a new metaphor. But listening to her steady voice and clenching and unclenching his fists had helped slow the racing of his heartbeat, and ease the clutch of panic around his ribs. The round-walled office had begun to seem real around him once more, all brass and gold and echos, the thrumming of the Fortress's machinery never quite beyond hearing. Slowly, Wriothesley straightened up, pushing his shoulders back.

"I think - I think I'll make myself some tea," he said, stiffly, around the lump in his throat. "Do you want some, too?"

"Of course!" said Sigewinne, her voice brightening up. "I think that would be perfect, Your Grace."

-

White tea with Bulle fruit, steeped as long as the little hourglass told, with two lumps of sugar, for him; Sigewinne wanted four, and salt as well, but there was no accounting for Melusine tastes after all. The record had almost finished its scratchy song, a hollow mimic no doubt of the musician who had once composed it. Wriothesley sighed, and found himself yawning.

He was safe. He wasn't alone anymore, or helpless. Whatever darkness awaited him in his dreams, they were dreams and nothing more, and he would survive them as he had survived everything else before.

And in the morning there would be more matters to tend to, and his Fortress to handle, and new inmates to welcome and old ones to counsel, and more contraband to search and papers to process - so he had better finish the tea soon, and get back to sleep, so that he would be ready to do his best in justice and in mercy both.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Okay my first prompt for Victor!

➣ breaking down mid-hug because they needed this so much

Idk how this can be in not ooc I'm sorry but hear me out!! He said he doesn't like physical touch but I hc it's because he never got enough as a kid so he's unused to it, and people NEED touch fundamentally. So he must be so touch starved. So once he finally gets a warm loving hug from someone he cares about it's just so overwhelming.

Anyways if this is too ooc for you that's totally okay to not write this one, I will have more ofc!

I love this! He's definitely OOC, but since you gave me permission I'm going to run with it. Hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings: hints at child neglect/abandonment (Victor's parents), spoilers for Vicious and Vengeful, I made some things up about everyone

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Victor doesn't remember the last time he was hugged. He has no memory of his parents hugging or touching him, aside from the occasional hair ruffle before they left for what seemed like forever. Eventually, he stopped waiting for his parents to come back and found new ways of being comforted. His expensive nannies were too busy sitting alone as they read his parents' books or forcing him to study to show him any human affection or comfort. So, it has been years since Victor was hugged or touched without ill intent. Now, he convinces himself and others that he doesn't like touch, although he barely remembers what it was like.

Sydney watches Victor with furrowed brows as he runs his hand up and down his forearm. Mitch enters the room and pats her back on his way to the kitchen, but he only nods at Victor. It's a hard life that Sydney has found herself in; basic human needs must be met, whether on the run from EON or simply tracking down possible leads on what really happened to Eli. Touch is one of those needs.

"Victor, what was your life like? Before everything?" Sydney asks.

Mitch glances up from his drink, looking between Sydney and Victor before shaking his head. Sydney thinks it might be a warning but elects to ignore it.

"Everything meaning powers or Eli?" Victor clarifies, dragging a black marker across yesterday's Merit newspaper.

"All of it."

"Well," Victor begins, pausing as he scans the page for a word or letter, "not much different. My parents weren't around, they were always away writing a book or promoting a book. Interestingly enough, half of their parenting books were written while they were in the Mediterranean and I was at the house with a nanny. I never fit in anyway, so I guess being alone as a kid just prepared me for the rest of my life."

"What were the nannies like?"

"Over-payed and essentially worthless."

Victor begins dragging the marker again as Sydney looks at Mitch. He walks to her side and lays a hand on her shoulder.

"It's not very often that anyone gets the life they deserve, especially when it's up to others," Mitch says quietly.

"Why do you ask? Thinking about Serena again?" Victor asks.

"Yes, but I was just thinking about how different things are. Like, Serena used to hug me three times before bed. Once for my mom, then my dad, and then one from Serena. It was weird at first not to get hugs," Sydney explains.

Mitch's hand squeezes her shoulder twice before he turns away, letting Dol take his place as he climbs into the chair beside Sydney.

"Some researchers think you need four hugs a day just for survival. Personally, I think that is entirely dependent on the person. Some of us just don't like to be touched," Victor says, finally looking up at Sydney and Dol. "And what are dogs for?"

Sydney nods, wrapping an arm around Dol's neck as she lays back with him. Victor needs a hug, but it would probably hurt everyone involved if he did get one.

✯✯✯✯✯

"I don't know what you're talking about," Victor says, unflinching as a knife is pressed to his neck. "There's no kid with me. I'm just traveling before I start my new job."

"And what job might that be?" the man asks.

"Head of surgery. I'm a neurosurgeon. Not a dad, not a kidnapper, just a doctor. That's all I will ever be."

The knife falls away as Victor takes his chance to overload the man's central nervous system with pain, not even registering the small slice made by the sudden removal of the knife.

Victor exits the dirty warehouse, blinking in the bright sun before he hears Sydney yell his name. He's been gone for two days and has no idea how they found him with nothing but a missing trench coat to go on.

"What happened?" Sydney demands, panting as she slows to a stop, her warm breath fogging in the cold winter air.

"EON had some questions, but I got answers," Victor answers with a shrug.

"No, you're bleeding."

Victor raises his hand to his neck, following Sydney's pointer finger. He pulls his fingers away, shrugging at the sight of the blood.

"You scared me," Sydney says under her breath.

"I won't let anything happen to you, you know that."

"But you'll let something happen to yourself in order to keep that promise! I need you, Victor."

"No, you don't, Sydney."

Sydney watches Victor's arms move up slightly and seizes her opportunity. She slips her arms under his, pulling herself to his chest in a tight hug. Their warmth joins and makes the cold more bearable, even as Victor freezes. He doesn't move as his skin tingles and burns where Sydney's arms lay over his clothes. The symptoms of touch starvation are a list that Victor knows well, but while part of him wants to pry her off and tell her not to do that again, another part whispers that he needs this, that he needs Sydney, too.

Victor's arms raise slowly, moving around Sydney's back before dropping his head. She tightens her grip on him, and he closes his eyes. Mitch turns a corner, and when he sees them hugging, his eyes grow wide, and he stops to watch what happens next.

Victor shakes slightly in Sydney's hold, and she knows he needs a hug even more than she did.

"Thank you," he whispers, his head tilted toward hers.

"We need it," Sydney answers quietly.

Victor keeps his eyes closed as emotions he hasn't experienced in years threaten to reveal themselves. He can enjoy a hug or two without looking too soft or like an easy target, he decides. But crying and showing just how much he is falling apart would ruin that resolve.

"It's okay to need a hug, Vic," Sydney says, pulling him from his internal battle. "Sometimes Dol's hugs just aren't the same."

Victor nods, his skin less tingly and warmer now that he's getting used to the contact.

"You were right," Victor concedes, his eyes watery as he sniffs. "But it's cold," he deflects (lies), "so we should get going."

Sydney squeezes him once more, her own version of a promise to make up for all the hugs they've missed out on. Victor blinks several times before ensuring his facial expression is blended between unreadable and impassive. He steps back at the same time as Sydney, their arms falling to their sides as the cold seeps through their coats again.

"Ready to go?" Mitch calls, stepping into view.

"Yep. Dol needs food while we're out," Sydney answers, skipping toward the car.

When Victor reaches Mitch, he sees the playful glint in his eyes.

"Is it my turn for a hug?" Mitch teases.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Victor responds. "Let's see if I ever recover from that one. Then we can talk."

"You mean, 'then we can hug.'"

Victor sighs, shaking his head as his hands clench into fists by his sides. Sydney was right; Victor does need hugs, even if they overwhelm him to the point he can't think straight. Mitch, however, might crush him if given the chance.

As if Mitch reads his mind, he says, "I promise to be gentle. You'd be a little too easy to kill with a strong grip."

"I'd like to see you try," Victor retorts.

Mitch smiles just as Victor realizes it sounds like an invitation. He rushes to the car and tells Sydney to trade seats and sit by Mitch. The appeal of touch is growing on Victor, but not at the risk of broken ribs.

[mythologyfolklore]

Death is now a welcome guest

(A/N: This is a Hanahaki fanfic, but the disease is called Huā Késòu ("flower cough"), because Chinese. Here there be lots of angst and no happy ending. Title is a line from "Dido's Lament" in Henry Purcell's opera Dido and Aeneas.)

.

Sūn Wùhuàn folds his hands in his lap, as a figure approaches through the garden.

On the table in front of him are two sets of porcelain and a pot of tea for himself and his guest.

He has expected him, of course, nothing will surprise him. But then again, this visitor is almost as familiar to this place as his own disciples.

As soon as the newcomer has joined him in the gazebo and greetings have been exchanged, the white monkey demon says: “You're here for your medicine.”

The other person – a tall, very handsome man with long black hair and a third eye on his forehead – nods affirmatively. “Yes. I hope I wasn't bothering you.”

“Don't be silly, you're always welcome here. Besides, you couldn't show up unexpectedly, if you tried. Not with me.”

From the folds of his ice blue robe, he produces a vial with a pink liquid.

“You know the drill by now.”

“Of course.”

“Good. Now, why not make yourself comfortable and have some tea?”

The man smiles gratefully and sits down, as the white monkey pours him a cup of tea.

“I've had to take it more and more often lately”, the man tells him. “I think my condition is getting worse.”

“Yes, I can hear flowers growing in your lungs.”

“Gross.”

“Well, imagine what that's like for me, who has to hear it! But yes, your illness is indeed progressing. Has something happened lately?”

“I reconciled with your eldest brother.”

The Six-Eared Macaque tilts his head. “Oh?”

The other's smile grows into something between happiness and woe. “I happened to encounter him during my last travel.”

“With Nézhā.”

“Obviously. You know he sticks to me like a leech.” He says this, while rolling his eyes, but the macaque can see the fondness in those black ireses. His guest may feign annoyance, but clearly he loves little Nézhā like his own son.

“So, when are you going to officially adopt lotus boy, hm?”, he teases.

The other sighs: “When my illness is gone.”

Wùhuàn frowns. “My friend, I have told you-”

“I know, I know!”, the man snaps back. “I just … I can't. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah. Nézhā and I encountered your brother during our travel in the mortal world. In Europe to be exact – still don't understand, why Nézhā wanted to go there – he saw and recognised us, we chatted and caught up …” His face softens a little. “… He asked to speak to me alone, so we met, when Nézhā was asleep. I apologised to him for every wrong I did to him and he … he gave me a bouquet of hydrangeas.”

Hydrangeas. The flowers of apology and forgiveness.

Suddenly the man has a coughing fit and chokes up a few blood-stained blossoms.

He and the Six-Eared Macaque both freeze.

Gladiolus, the flower of strength, integrity and personal growth.

Which just so happens to be the favourite flower of Sūn Wùkōng.

Wùhuàn understands and his frown deepens. “They're for him.”

“… Yes.”

“They always were.”

“…”

“I guess that explains, why you don't want to confess.”

“…”

“Huā Késòu is one of the few diseases that can kill a god. You have to tell him.”

“Where is the point? He will never love me.”

There is so much resignation and hopelessness in these words, that the macaque's ears droop.

“If you don't tell him, you will die. But if you do-”

“I will still die. Except then I will have humiliated myself by laying my heart bare.”

“And what about Nézhā? Are you this determined to put your pride before him? To die and leave him alone? You're the only father figure he's ever had and he loves you dearly. Would you really be willing to break his little heart like that? You're not that selfish. I know you're not.”

The other's face crumbles and Wùhuàn takes his hand.

“I know it's hard, Èrláng. But for Nézhā's sake, consider it.”

.

That night Èrláng Shén doesn't go to bed.

Instead he sits at his desk, drafting bridges.

He quit his job as a warrior god mortal decades ago to focus purely on his job as an engineer. And damn, the mortals really need an engineering god these days, holy shit, the bridges in China are a mess! Fucking corruption …

(Èrláng may not be willing to swear out loud, but that won't stop him from doing it in his mind)

To quell the increasing aggravation, he glances at the vase full of hydrangeas on his desk.

Indeed the sight charms a smile onto his face.

But then he chokes and goes into a full-on coughing fit, that lasts for way too long.

In the end he's crouched on all fours beside his desk, wheezing for breath.

With a sneer he regards the bloody blossoms scattered in front of him.

Love truly is a curse.

.

“Èrláng, what's wrong?”, asks Nézhā, after they have finished their training for the day.

The engineering god frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You're out of breath quicker than usual.”

Sometimes, he hates this god's observation skills as much as he loves them.

“I'm fine”, he lies. “Just a bit out of shape.”

Nézhā frowns. “We train every day. How can you be out of shape?”

Yep. He hates them.

Suddenly the child cries: “Oh! Are you feeling under the weather? Do you have the Celestial pox? Maybe you should take a break-”

“Nézhā, if I had the pox, there would be blisters all over my face.”

Nézhā laughs sheepishly, clearly having forgotten about that.

“Oh. But still, you should take a break. Maybe see the old man. It could be serious. Take a break for the day, drink lots of herbal tea and be sure to eat enough. I want you to be okay.”

Èrláng can't help but smile. “Well, if it makes you happy, I will do as you say. But you should be taking a break too”, he says and ruffles Nézhā's hair. “You have been working so hard. It's not right, that I should be relaxing, while you're toiling away. Why don't you go on a holiday with me?”

Nézhā beams at him, like it's his birthday, the Lantern Festival and New Year combined.

“You're the best, da- Èrláng!”, he hastily amends and Èrláng laughs.

He doesn't give a damn, what Lĭ Jìng says, Nézhā is the sweetest kid ever – even if he's a tad too fond of setting things on fire – and has to be protected at all cost.

.

A few worldly days later, Èrláng and Nézhā are getting ready to depart from Èrláng's earthly home on Plum Mountain and head for Beijing, because the former has some business, before they go on their second world trip.

Nézhā honestly doesn't understand, why the demigod he not so secretly views as his dad even has a mortal day job, after all it's not like he needs money. But Èrláng seems to be content with that job, so the Third Lotus Prince isn't going to rain on his parade. Especially not now that he seems to be more melancholy than he has been in a millennium.

The three-eyed god is helping Nézhā to put on his coat (why? He doesn't need help, he's over 3000 years old!), when Xiàotiān Quăn comes running with a letter in his snout.

The dog places the letter at his master's feet and it's picked up by Èrláng.

“No sender. Weird”, Èrláng mutters and opens the envelope.

“Should you open that? For what it's worth, it might be a letter bomb or something”, Nézhā says unsurely.

Èrláng gives him a deadpan look. “Nézhā, everyone in this house is immortal and immune to mortal diseases. A murder attempt will do jack.”

“Still …”

From there the man ignores him, fishes out the letter and reads it.

As soon as he's finished, his right eye twitches.

“You've gotta be kidding me.”

The twelve-year-old tilts his head. “What's wrong?”

Èrláng scowls: “Our favourite monkey menace wants to come over in an hour. Why the heck is he assuming that I've got no plans for today, like all I do is hang out at home with nothing to do!”

Nézhā shrugs: “Just call him up and tell him we were just about to leave the house and won't be here for the next weeks.”

The older god takes the advice (huh. That' a new one), stomps over to the phone and dials the Great Sage's number.

After a few seconds Nézhā can faintly hear the voice of the Great Sage answer: “Y'ello?”

Èrláng almost immediately lays into him: “Good morning, Great Sage. I've got your letter and I'm calling to inform you, that if you come over in an hour, you will not find me here! Nézhā and I are just about to leave the house and we won't be back for another couple of weeks! Not to mention I've got business to do! What gave you the idea, that you can announce your arrival on such short term and expect me to be home, like I've got nothing else to do?! You wouldn't like it either, if I just showed up at your mountain with only an hour's notice!”

“Whoa! Take it easy, Little Sage! And what business are you talking about? Because I happen to know, that you quit your mortal job a month ago under the pretense that you're suffering from tuberculosis! Tuberculosis! Seriously?! That's what you came up with?! Why?!”

Wait, what?!

“That's none of your business!”, Èrláng snaps into the phone. “And just for the record, I never claimed it was work related! Now if you will excuse me, Nézhā and I going a trip abroad!”

Èrláng is just about to hang up, when Sūn Wùkōng snaps back: “Oh no, you're not hanging up on me! I have questions and if you're not going to be at Plum Mountain in an hour, I will come over immediately and accompany you wherever you two are travelling, until I get my answers, do you hear me?! Also, does Nézhā know that you quit the job you allegedly love so much, because of a made-up lung ailment?!”

Before Èrláng can answer, Nézhā snatches the speaker from his hands. “Well, I do know now, because in case you didn't realise, you're on speaker! And just for the record, you've got some nerve to intrude on our quality time! I don't care, if you have questions and want answers! They can wait until we're back in China! But you just ruined the morning for both of us, because we're in a hurry to get to Beijing for dad's business and you're wasting our time, as if we're got nothing better to do than prioritise your whims over everything else, little brother!”

“I never said that, kid. I just have concerns-”

“Well, your concerns can wait too! Dad and I are leaving! Bye!”

And with that, he hangs up and slams the phone back onto the charger.

Seriously, as much as he loves his younger sworn brother, he's not going to have any of his nonsense, especially today.

When he turns to face Èrláng, the adult is gawking at him and his three eyes are sparkling, like he's about to cry.

Nézhā frowns. “What? Something on my face?”

“… You called me dad.”

The child deity blushes. “Uhhh …”

“You called me dad twice. In front of a witness.”

Èrláng is grinning from ear to ear, as if he just received the best present in the world.

“Yeah. So what if I did”, grumbles Nézhā and blushes harder.

Next he knows he's trapped in a warm embrace.

Èrláng is hugging him.

At first, Nézhā's eyes widen. Then he relaxes and hugs back.

This is nice, Èrláng gives wonderful hugs … wait …

Suddenly, the Lotus Prince feels his blood run cold.

There is a barely audible rattle in the older god's breathing.

.

Sūn Wùkōng feels his eye twitch, when his “older” brother just hijacks the phone call and hangs up on him.

He really just wanted a few questions answered in a face to face conversation, how was he supposed to know that Èrláng wouldn't be home today?

Oh well, no matter.

Nézhā has asked him not to intrude on his quality time with the guy he claimed was totally not his dad (riiight).

Sure, he supposes he can do that. He's a Buddha after all. What's a few months.

Yet Wùkōng feels anxious about doing so.

Something's wrong, he just knows it.

Why has Èrláng quit his job over that pretense?

There would have been so many other reasons. He could have just said something along the lines of “low job satisfaction” or “done with the corruption” or whatever.

But tuberculosis? Really? Gods don't even get TB! That doesn't make any sense!

Unless … he actually has a lung ailment.

Èrláng is a terrible liar, always has been.

Something fishy is going on.

Wùkōng swears, as soon as Three-eyes and Lotus Boy come home, he will needle them like no tomorrow!

.

Èrláng still has no idea why Nézhā likes touring about Europe and the Americas so much.

But oh well.

Nothing wrong with seeing the world with your kind of adopted kid, when you have a terminal lung disease.

Not that he's going to tell Nézhā, that the reason he indulges him in this is because he wants to spend as much time with him as possible. He will never tell him, how badly he just wants to smile and laugh with this boy, that all he really wants now is to have at least a few happy memories with Nézhā and for the latter to have happy memories with him.

Èrláng knows he doesn't have much time left. His Huā Késòu is getting worse and once they come back to China he'll have to visit the Six-Eared Macaque again and get more medicine.

Medicine that can only soothe the scratching in his throat and delay the inevitable.

Sooner or later he will have to explain the situation to Nézhā, but he knows that faced with this, the child will be devastated and that's a thought Èrláng can't bear.

Without the boy, Èrláng would accept dying. The man he loves will never love him back and why would he, when Èrláng has done nothing to deserve his heart. Besides … he has been tired of life for a long time. At this point, death is almost welcome.

But Nézhā has suffered so much and losing his new father figure will only cause him more pain.

This just isn't fair.

This is what Èrláng thinks, as he and Nézhā are standing on the viewing platform of the Eiffeltower (this structure used to impress the engineering god, but today he's just annoyed, do the French really think a paint job can hide how decrepit this thing is?).

For now though, he wants the- no, his child to smile.

So he gets out his phone and turns on the camera function.

“Nézhā!”

The Lotus Prince makes a startled noise, as Èrláng pulls him close and into the frame of the camera.

“What are you doing?”

“Smile for the picture!”

Nézhā still looks a bit confused, but does as told and smiles toothily into the camera.

Èrláng puts on his best million dollar smile and took the photo.

Then he checks it out in the gallery.

Perfect.

The three-eyed god nods in satisfaction.

“Let's make more of these! Let's capture the good moments of this trip!”, he suggests.

For a second, Nézhā looks surprised, before smiling and giving him a hug.

From here, as they photograph themselves in every picturesque location they encounter on their world journey, Èrláng goes out of his way to seem as carefree as possible.

And one night, when the boy is busy playing mobile games on his phone, the engineering god goes to an open-late shop and has the photos printed out.

After all … he wants Nézhā to later see these pictures and remember those moments fondly.

.

Of course Nézhā is enjoying the time with Èrláng.

He's savouring every moment they get to smile and laugh together.

At the same time, however, he's getting more and more worried about the older god.

He's pretty sure Èrláng doesn't realise, just how much Nézhā has noticed during the months they have spent travelling the world.

How Èrláng seems to be out of breath more often.

How he has to take breaks during walks for the first time ever.

How he takes his binder off more often, which Nézhā knows he hates having to do.

That undeterminable sadness in eyes, even when he smiles for the camera.

The increasingly frequent periods of lethargy.

How he goes out of his way to pretend that nothing is wrong.

How he will lock himself inside a bathroom for extended amounts of time, while Nézhā has to stand outside and listen to the sounds of retching and coughing and sometimes even muffled weeping.

Nézhā has never felt so helpless, not even when he was abused by his sperm donour and had no one to turn to, or when he had no other choice but to commit suicide to save his loved ones.

But something tells him that cutting his own throat won't help at all this time. It won't cure whatever ailment his dad has, only break his heart.

Obviously that's the last thing the Lotus Prince wants.

Throughout the entire trip, Nézhā feigns obliviousness and does his best to seem light-hearted, knowing that once Èrláng notices how much he worries, he'll feel guilty and sad.

But the uncertainty is driving Nézhā insane.

The boy has a hunch, that the truth must be horrible, but anything is better than being stuck in this limbo of ignorance, helplessness and worry.

If only Èrláng would tell him what's wrong.

.

“How pretty!”, marvels Nézhā. “It's been so long, since my last visit to Nepal! Uhhh, dad, are you okay?”

“… No”, Èrláng gloomily admits. “I can't stop thinking about the earthquake that wreaked havoc here nine years ago and I'm sad.”

He doesn't mean to be a buzzkill, but it's true. When he heard about the earthquake, he was reminded of the Sichuan Earthquake of 2008, which still haunts him. Sixteen years just aren't enough to heal the trauma of feeling the earth tremble violently under your feet and seeing buildings collapse left and right, while you were minding your own business. And Èrláng can't even fathom what it felt like for the mortals living in his province!

Nézhā seems to understand and wordlessly gives him a hug.

They spend the rest of the day just wandering around, until in the late evening Nézhā decides they're gonna do the rest of the sightseeing for the day by flying above the area.

As it turns out, he is just looking for a summit, where they can watch the sunset.

The sunset is beautiful up here, but Èrláng is almost too busy gasping for breath to be able to appreciate it – oh, how he longs for the days, when breathing wasn't an issue, because he was an immortal god!

Sadly, the younger deity notices. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I'm fine”, Èrláng lies.

Nézhā, who so far has been watching the sunset, now turns back to him with a frown on his face. “Dad.”

Uh-oh. That tone. Èrláng is overcome with a sense of foreboding.

“Has anyone ever told you, what a terrible liar you are?”

… Fuck.

“Nézhā …”, he begins, but gets interrupted.

“Don't you 'Nézhā' me!”, the boy snaps, “You think I haven't noticed?! You think I haven't heard you coughing your lungs out in the bathroom? The rattling and wheezing, when you breathe? How you can't do anything anymore, without gasping for air?! And don't even get me started on how weird you're acting all of the sudden! Until some time ago, you seemed to be getting better mentally and now you're back to faking smiles and locking yourself away to cry in private! And why do you suddenly insist to record everything we do together, like this might be the last time we're together? You've never done that to remotely this extend before! I don't know what's up with you, but this isn't right! You keep telling me you're fine, but you're so obviously not and it's driving me nuts! This ignorance isn't bliss, it's fucking torture! Why can't you tell me, what's wrong???”

Èrláng is silent, as he regards the child god in front of him.

His heart cracks at seeing him so distressed and he knows that the truth will hurt even more, but he also knows it's high time to fess up.

“I was planning to tell you when we're back home”, Èrláng confesses. “But you're right. An explanation is overdue. Sit with me and I'll tell you the truth.”

Nézhā settles down beside him and leans on his shoulder.

“When I quit my earthly job I lied about having tuberculosis, but I didn't lie, when I said I had a lung ailment”, he starts.

He takes a bloodied paper tissue from his pocket and unfolds it.

Nézhā gasps, when he sees the blood-stained gladiolus blossom. The horror in his eyes tells Èrláng, that the- no, his child understands. Good.

“I don't need to explain to you how Huā Késòu works, I assume?”

Nézhā shakes his head, which is probably reeling from this new information.

“The only real cure for it is for me to profess my feelings and have them requited. But that's not a viable option for me.”

The Third Lotus Prince stares at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?! Why not???”

“There is no point in telling them. They will never love me either way.”

The boy jumped to his feet. “How can you be so sure? How can you be so sure of his answer before even trying?!”

“Nézhā, please listen-”

“No! How dumb do you think I am?! How many people do we know who like gladiolus flowers the most?! That's right! Only one! You wanna know what I think?! You're just scared! You can't tell Wùkōng the truth, because you're too scared to look him in the eye and hear his answer! You're a coward!”

Èrláng scowls: “Watch your mouth, young man-”

“You watch your mouth and listen to me! For once in your life, you will fucking listen to me! You're dying! You're dying, don't you understand?! And there is only one chance to prevent that and you refuse to take it! How can you be so accepting of your own death with no regard for all the people who love you?!?”

“Well, maybe I don't deserve being alive!” Èrláng regrets these words as soon as they leave his mouth, but it's too late.

The boy's face is blank as he stares at the older god in silence, but his pink eyes are filled with heartbreak and betrayal.

The engineering god scrambles to apologise: “N-Nézhā, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-”

“Shut up.”

“Just let me explain-”

“I SAID SHUT UP! I HAVE TO WATCH YOU DIE!!! YOUR BROTHERS HAVE TO WATCH YOU DIE, YOUR FRIENDS, YOUR DOG, EVERYONE WHO CARES ABOUT YOU HAS TO WATCH YOU DIE!!! HAS TO GRIEVE FOR YOU WHEN YOU'RE GONE! DON'T YOU CARE AT ALL?!? YOU THINK I'LL BE FINE WITHOUT YOU, WELL, WHAT IF I WON'T BE?!? WHAT IF I TURN INTO A MAD GOD, BECAUSE AFTER THOUSANDS OF YEARS I FINALLY HAD A FATHER FIGURE WHO GAVE A SHIT ABOUT ME, ONLY FOR HIM TO DIE, BECAUSE HE DIDN'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HIMSELF?!? I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE YOU FOREVER, AND NOW YOU'RE LEAVING ME BEHIND! HOW DO YOU THINK THAT MAKES ME FEEL?!? AM I A FUCKING JOKE TO YOU???”

All three of Èrláng's eyes grow wide as saucers. He jumps to his feet and has to fight a dizzy spell from getting up so fast, but he needs to calm the boy down!

“No, Nézhā, no! I would never think of you like that! You mean the world to me, I don't want to hurt you-”

“WELL, YOU ARE HURTING ME!!!”, Nézhā shrieked. “ALL I WANT IS FOR YOU TO BE HAPPY! I'VE BEEN TRYING SO HARD! I'VE BEEN TRYING SO HARD TO MAKE YOU WANT TO LIVE! I'VE BEEN TRYING SO HARD TO MAKE YOU SMILE AND LAUGH WITH JOY! BUT YOU STILL WANT TO DIE!!! WHY?!? WHY IS EVERYTHING I DO NOT ENOUGH?!? WHAT AM I DOING WRONG?!”

Èrláng's heart breaks into a million pieces.

“Nézhā, you've done nothing wrong”, he starts gently, “this is all on me, but- WAIT!”

But the boy has already summoned his flaming wheels and takes to the sky, before Èrláng can stop him.

.

“Nézhā! NÉZHĀ!!! Oh no …”

Èrláng decides to pursue the rapidly receding younger god. The night is approaching fast, he can't let Nézhā fly around by himself in such a mental state, he can't! With that in mind, he summons his cloud and gives chase.

But no matter how fast he flies, the- no, his child doesn't seem to come any closer.

I can't catch up to him … why can't I catch up to him?! Why am I so slow?!?

Èrláng doesn't know, how long this seemingly fruitless chase goes on, but before long the moon and the stars are the only guiding lights.

At some point he gets a dizzy spell – that's nothing new, it's just a consequence of his breathing difficulties and the thinner mountain air.

What is new, however, is the sudden feeling of heaviness. It feels as if his body suddenly weights as much as the mountain he just passed.

And then his cloud dissolves beneath him.

He falls.

It takes a few seconds for his brain to register.

Then comes the terror.

Any attempt to catch himself with magic is fruitless. He just continues to plummet hundreds of metres from the sky to certain death.

And though he's not really scared of death anymore, he can't help but think: No! I can't go out like this! I can't! Not like this!

As the ground approaches fast, Èrláng's horror inexplicably turns into grief and tears fall from his eyes to be carried away by the wind. A sob escapes him. This isn't fair. This isn't fair! He has been prepared for a death slow enough that he can say goodbye to everyone, but now it looks like he will die suddenly and without warning and he will never see them again! And Nézhā … oh poor, dear child, he's going to be devastated! He's going to think this was his fault!

“DAD!!!”, a terrified voice screams from the distance, he barely hears it over the roaring of the wind. From the corner of his vision, he sees the familiar glowing pink aura and fiery wheels coming towards him, tearing through the air at rapid speed.

But it's no use.

He's too close to the ground now and Nézhā won't reach him in time.

All he can do now is close his eyes and send a silent prayer to Nézhā.

I'm so sorry. Please forgive me …

The same voice cries out again, this time filled with anguish: “NO!!! DAD! NO!!!”

What happens next is a bit of a blur.

First there is a loud boom and a flash, like something's breaking the sound barrier.

Next, someone who isn't Nézhā catches him just a few seconds before he hits the ground.

His saviour doesn't speak at first, opting to safely place him onto the snow first.

It's too dark for his normal eyes, so Èrláng opens his third eye to better make out his rescuer. But the two glowing red eyes and golden pupils glowering back at him make his heart sink.

“… Great Sage?!”

Right then, Nézhā drops down right by Èrláng's side, crouches down, takes him into his arms and starts crying hysterically.

“I'm sorry!”, he wails, “I'm sorry! I'm sorry! It's all my fault! If I hadn't run away …”

Èrláng sighs and rests his chin on the boy's shoulder. He's just as shaken as Nézhā after very nearly falling to his death, and ashamed of himself for having to be saved by the Monkey King of all beings.

But in the child's arms, Èrláng grows calm.

“Hey. Hey, easy there, little lotus”, he coos, “It's not your fault, it's mine. If I hadn't said what I said, you wouldn't have run away. I'm sorry too. I don't know why I said those things.”

Nézhā just cries some more.

“Ahem! Excuse you, I'm still here too!”

The Great Sage Equal to Heaven is sitting there with folded arms and a done-with-this-bullshit expression on his face.

“Alright, let me get this straight; you two had a nasty fight, Nézhā ran away, you pursued and then you – who's been immortal and able to fly for over 4000 years – suddenly fell from the sky like a meteorite.” The macaque's tone is flat.

Èrláng blushed with shame. “Yeah … that's pretty much it.”

“I see~ Well, in this case I would like to know~ WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?! OR MORE IMPORTANTLY, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!?”, Sūn Wùkōng roars, making Èrláng flinch. The Monkey King sees this and lowers the volume: “You stupid fuck! You're a dead man and you're trying to fly in that state?!”

Èrláng's shameful blush is replaced by shocked pallor. “How do you-?”

“I asked Lăozi! You didn't think you claiming to have a lung ailment wouldn't make me suspicious, did you?! I just went and asked the old man, if gods can get lung ailments, and guess what he fucking told me! Huā Késòu! Are you fucking shitting me?! You're suffering from a fatal disease and you didn't tell me?! You tried to ride a somersault cloud in this state?!? Did you forget the part where that disease takes your immortality and the weightlessness that comes with it?!”

“To my defence, this morning it worked just fine, so I didn't expect to lose it in midair just a few hours later”, the older god admits sheepishly.

The Monkey King facepalms. “Ugh, you're impossible! Who the fuck are your flowers even for?!”

Before Èrláng can answer, he chokes on something and has a violent coughing fit.

No! No! Not now! Not here! Not in front of him! No, please, no!

But it's already too late.

Soon the white snow around him is tainted with blood and blood-stained flowers. And they just keep coming, because he just keeps coughing and coughing without reprief. Panic seizes him and he desperately gasps for air, but the flowers are clogging his wind pipe.

I can't breathe!

A sudden wave of comfort washes over him, calms his mind and soothes his body. The coughing and the panic attack come to an end and finally Èrláng can catch some of that sweet, sweet oxygen.

But it seems what just happened has taken quite a lot out of him – or maybe it's just the thin mountain air – because he faints anyway.

.

He wakes up in his own bed. When he looks around, he finds Sūn Wùkōng sitting by his bedside with a grave expression and Nézhā sitting on the other side with his face buried in the blanket.

“Hey”, Èrláng says softly.

“Hey”, the Monkey King replies. “Good to have you back. How are you feeling?”

“Bit better for now”, he mumbles. “How long was I out?”

“Nine hours. Enough time to take you two home, call my brother, because we were worried you wouldn't wake up again, then call all your brothers and your friends. I know you want to be able to say goodbye”, Sūn Wùkōng tells him. “Also, sorry for taking off your binder without your permission, but you need all the air you can get now. Don't worry, I didn't gawk at your chest like a creep. I really just wanted you to be able to breathe better.”

Èrláng smiles lopsidedly. “The last thing I'm worried about is you of all people stealing glances at my body.”

“I'm just saying, damn! Establishing that shit is important to me! I've seen the looks people give you! They're so disgusting, I wanna snatch their eyes out!”

“Such a gentlemonkey.”

The Monkey King rolls his eyes. Then his face becomes serious again. “Your brothers ought to be here soon. But before they arrive, there's something you and I need to talk about.”

He pulls something from his pocket; two bloodied gladiolus flowers and carefully places them on the blanket. Then he turns to the boy: “Kid, you might want to leave the room. I don't think you want to hear this.”

“No, I do”, Nézhā insists. “I want to hear him say it! I want him to finally tell the truth!”

Èrláng can't find it in his heart to glare at the boy, as he normally would.

Instead he sighs: “Saying it out loud won't change anything and I'll prove it.”

He takes the Monkey King's left hand with his right one and, for the first time in his life, confesses his heart.

“I love you, Sūn Wùkōng. With all my heart and soul, I adore you. You make me feel like myself again, after having to wear a mask for so long. With you, I'm not Èrláng Shén, nor the True Monarch, I'm just Yáng Jiăn and it feels so enlivening. Your boundless energy and love of life fascinates me. There is so much pain between us and yet, being with you feels like a weight has been taken off my shoulders and by the time we part, I feel light and at peace for a while. I'm in love with your laugh, the twinkle in your beautiful eyes, your cleverness, your brutal honesty towards me, our invigorating spars, and your dedication to those you care about. You are so willing to shower people with your love of life and your affection and sometimes I find myself wishing I could bask in your warmth and be as special to you as you are to me. But I've known from the start, it was never meant to be.”

By the end of his confession his shortness of breath is worse from talking so much at once, but other than that he feels nothing different. Isn't talking about your feelings supposed to make you feel lighter or something? Hah! What a bunch of baloney!

A touch on his fingers draws his attention back to the macaque by his side. The younger being clasps Èrláng's hand in both of his tiny monkey hands and gently caresses his long, thin fingers.

Wùkōng's face is sorrowful, as he speaks the words Èrláng has always anticipated but never wanted to hear: “Yáng Jiăn, I'm truly sorry. You are special to me. But I don't feel the same.”

At these words, Nézhā suddenly jumps up and starts to shriek and wail in abysmal despair, as if he's not the Third Lotus Prince, but a keening ghost.

Èrláng's heart breaks, not for himself, but for his child whose last hope of saving him has been dashed.

Still he has to lay down the law, when Nézhā starts cursing Sūn Wùkōng and showering the poor monkey with profanities and reproach.

“Nézhā, that is enough”, Èrláng says as sternly as his state allows. “Don't put this all on him. It's not his fault, that he doesn't love me, nor would I ever expect him to. Not only have I wronged him greatly in the past, he's aromantic asexual. Love cannot and should not be forced. Why don't you go into the kitchen and make some tea? I'm thirsty and these flowers are hurting my throat.”

Nézhā deflates, gives Èrláng a heartbroken look, runs from the room crying and leaves the two men alone together.

Sadly, Èrláng looks at the door for a minute, before turning to Wùkōng: “Please don't hold it against him. My child is heartbroken. It will take a while for him to get a clear head again.”

“I understand”, the Monkey King assures him. “I know grief.”

Èrláng bites his lip, then asks: “Wùkōng, may I make one last request?”

“Whatever you want”, is the reply, to his relief.

“Please, take care of Nézhā, when I'm gone. I know he's older than you, but he will need someone to be there for him. He means so much to me, the thought of him being all alone …”

He weeps.

The Monkey King moves closer to his head and wipes Èrláng's tears with his thumbs.

Èrláng melts under the tenderness and can't help but lean into these little hands.

“Put your mind at ease, Little Sage”, the macaque coos. “I will do everything I can to stand by Nézhā and be there for him. You have my word.”

The sigh of relief Èrláng releases triggers another coughing fit. But the Great Sage cradles his head in his arms and sends another wave of comfort through him. Èrláng feels his respiratory system relax along with the rest of his body and breathing becomes a little easier.

“Thank you”, he whispers.

The Monkey King smiles. “Anything for you. I meant what I said earlier, you know? You are special to me. It's a shame that this accursed disease doesn't consider queerplatonic feelings as valid. I truly wish I could save you from death, but as it is, all I can do is help ease your passing a little. Do you want me to stay?”

Èrláng leans further into the hands cradling his head and smiles, finally feeling completely calm.

“I'd like that very much.”

.

When Nézhā comes back with a cup of tea, Èrláng's sworn brothers and his dog are with him.

The six men look distraught and Xiàotiān whines and curls up on Èrláng's pillow next to his head.

The dog's licking tongue wakes Èrláng from his nap and upon seeing his faithful companion and friends, he smiles.

Just a few minutes after the group, Cháng'é arrives and immediately bursts into tears at the sight of her dying best friend. The last to arrive are the Six-Eared Macaque and Guānyīn, both looking like they're trying to be strong while crying on the inside.

Wùkōng can feel the sheer happiness radiating from Èrláng, can feel how loved the dying man feels.

Nézhā seemingly can't stop crying. He cries, when he sits on the other side of his father. He cries, when he helps Èrláng drink his last cup of tea. And he cries, as he curls down beside the older god.

Èrláng uses his last bit of strength to stroke the child god's head with his free hand in comfort.

Eventually, he smiles at everyone one last time, whispers “I love you all so much” and then falls asleep for the final time.

Sūn Wùkōng listens to how the intakes of breath are growing shallower and counts them.

One … two … three … four … five … six … seven … eight … nine … ten … eleven …

Then Èrláng Shén draws his last breath.

[writeblrgarden]

PLANT GROWERS - MEET THE WINNERS - ETLU

Meet Etlu, who got second place in our grow a plant event in november! Etlu goes by she/they, and you can find them at @etlu-yume. She has been writing for about 20 years, primarily fantasy or urban fantasy, and lately has been dipping their toes into slice-of-life.

Tell us something interesting about yourself!

"Interesting" is a tricky thing because it's so subjective! Like some people would say being able to speak/read/write another language is interesting, and others would just expect it, right? I guess in some ways I could be considered a quadruple threat - in addition to writing, I also am an artist, study languages, and played and performed with music groups on local and international stages.

Tell us about the WIP you'd like to talk about today.

Fangs with Benefits (not what I did for NaNo - but that's self indulgent and stays between me and the dust on my hard drive). Fangs with Benefits follows the story of a set of siblings, Sherry and Gael. After the pair are banned from donating blood, they are forced to move to the big smoke in order to chase medical treatment for a family illness. After a chance meeting, the pair discover the secret supernatural underground of their new home. Full of supernatural creatures, Sherry decides that there's a solution to their frustration with red tape at the hospital; Vampires. After all. It would be of mutual benefit to both parties. And so chaos ensues.

Describe your writing process. Do you like to plan everything or are you more spontaneous?

I'm a bit all over the place. I tend to do best when I have a game plan, something to refer back to (more often than not somehow it takes scenic routes between written points; go figure). However sometimes, particularly when later scenes will not leave me alone, I will just go ahead and write them out in a separate document. Once they're out of my head and down on paper, it usually becomes much easier to go back to where I had left off and keep going. That said, it's a work in progress and always changing. What worked last year may not work for me this year, and so on and so forth. I'm just hoping I can try and establish a better year-round writing habit in 2024 <3

What have you found to be the most challenging and/or rewarding about writing?

If you'd asked me this question prior to last November, I would have struggled. Maybe I would've said "a blank page/new chapter" is the most challenging thing (and, really, it still is). But. I think the most rewarding thing about writing comes in two parts; 1.) One is when you're writing for others or an audience. I can't really speak too much on this, since I've been super shy with my work and haven't posted much if any online for general consumption. But to the few people I do share with, seeing their reactions to the story progressing, screaming about characters or events. I know there's been times where those reactions have been the difference between opening up the document and writing a few more words that day, or giving it a miss. 2.) Two is when you're writing for yourself, using your writing to help process things that have happened or that you're struggling with. It may not make things 100% better, it may not change the situation at all. But somehow there's also a weird healing power to it, too.

Below the read more is more of our conversation with Etlu

What inspires you to write?

This is a hard question! I'm actually trying to work this out myself. I started to fall out of love with writing a while ago, and I'm still looking for my way back. I'm sure I'll get there, I just don't know how long it will take, or what form it will take. But I'll get there. <3

Share some advice for other writers.

Hmm. One of the classics is "you can edit a bad page, but you can't edit a blank one", which is very true. But I'm not sure that's the kind of advice I'd want to give other writers - or myself for that matter. Bad days happen - be kind to yourself. If you're working towards a goal, keep believing in yourself. Don't give up. You can achieve amazing things! (Said from 2018's cloud of cough medicine zombie fog and pulling like 30K out of nowhere in the last 2 days of November.) Also it sounds weird but don't start from a fresh document. Even if you're finishing a chapter off, just start the next one. I'm super bad at taking this advice myself, but it's easier to re-read a few lines and make tweaks before moving forwards than it is to sit there face to face with a blank page at the start of a session.

What do consider your writing strength?

I'm probably best at workshopping or bouncing ideas, and then never writing them. Does that count? haha. On a serious note I think perhaps my strengths with writing is my structural pacing. (Not plot pacing. I've already picked up some rushed chapters in the last 3 months)

What has been the nicest compliment you've received or what has been the toughest criticism you've received?

Actually today I had a message from a friend, just a simple spotify link to a song. They followed it up with comments that they had been ruminating about events of the last couple of chapters when it started playing, and it made everything hurt even more. It's been a week since they read it - to hear that my silly little story is something that they're still thinking about this long after reading it, that combined with music it brings out more emotion. It's the little things like that, that remind me what it's all about.

What do you love the most about writing?

I'm still trying to work this out. But it falls somewhere between research, the friendly banter with other writers while everyone procrastinates, and the way that your words and the way you write will be so very different to the next writer, that everyone has their own style.

[krikeymate]

okay same person who asked for dredge au (ill never reveal myself >:))

what are sam and tara running from? is it their mother? or was sam like “tara the sea. it calls to me. YHE SEA TARA. CAN U HEAR IT.” and tara was like “mmm ok 🙄 ill come w u i GUESS” and does sidney try to help them when they find her? is she like “stay away from the collector” but sam feels an undeniable pull towards him??? so many questions, so little time

Frodo voice: All right, then. Keep your secrets. This is like the exact opposite of a secret admirer situation. I'm the one admiring and you're the secret.

The grass is green, the sky is blue, and Christina Carpenter is a terrible person. Just some of life's constants.

Sam's been away for a couple of months, working in the mainland and sending money back home for her family (for her sister). She gets back into town - along the coast she calls home - and heads straight for the tavern. She's going to need a drink before dealing with her mother. She stays cloaked, not interested in dealing with any nosy townsfolk wanting to know where she's been and what she's up to lately, or anyone looking for a rematch (she had left in a hurry, the aftermath of several bloody fistfights).

She's not the type interested in overhearing, but her mother's name catches her ears, and she tunes in automatically. What she hears makes her blood boil. Her mother's in debt, it seems, to the Bailey's who own the dockyard. She's had her debt wiped clean, it seems. She did so by selling her sister, it seems.

"Young Master Ritchie is pleased," says one to the other. Oh she's sure he is, he's always liked them young and innocent, and he had always spent their time together eyeing her little sister. What happens to them after he gets bored doesn't bear mentioning. Money makes any charges or bodies disappear, it seems.

They're collecting her in the morning, she hears. They can certainly try, she thinks, downing her drink and leaving the tavern. She hurries home to her sister locked in her room. Their time is short however, it seems Ritchie has come to collect early, the "don't make this any harder than it has to be, Samantha. I know you're there." tells her exactly where the fault lies. She wasn't careful enough. They sneak out the back with nothing but the clothes they wear.

The path out of town is blocked now, guarded by men in the colour of the Bailey crest, and Sam isn't willing to risk traversing the cliffs at night. That leaves the docks. It's the last place they'll look for them, at least, she thinks. They sneak aboard an aging fishing trawler near ready to depart, captained by a man who looks like he's seen better days, and half a crew. They won't kick them out if they find them, Sam knows. They reek of desperation. She holds her sister close as they hide inside an empty crate and the boat begins to rock.

~

So Sidney's all alone out there on that island, unable to leave. The beast will know the moment the book leaves the shore, and if she leaves the book behind, then she'll no longer be safe from the curse. No, she's to stay on the island. It provides all she needs, and the book keeps it hidden from those who would do her harm. Well, all alone until the sisters pick up a stray dog on a nearby island, then Sidney gets a canine companion.

Sidney does her best to help the girls in whatever way she can, by sharing information, by warning them away from The Collector. She doesn't know for certain, but she has her suspicions. The curse of the beast prevents her from speaking his name, his story.

Sam is drawn to him. His eyes are always hidden behind shaded glasses, and there's some part of her that knows why. There's something wrong with him. He's touched by the sea in a way all the stories warn you about. But then again, aren't they all. It seems all they meet these days have lost a part of themselves to the sea. The more artefacts they find, the more manic he becomes. Sam bans Tara from coming ashore after the second. She fears for her around this man. But not for herself, no, there's something inside of her that knows this man cannot hurt her.

[starligtgalaxy]

Chapter 04: Jealous, Jealous Boy

(Y/n) walk through the curtains to the backstage.

"(Y/n)!" Multiple voices greet her, few of the people approach her. A guy with dark hair and golden eyes holds her in a headlock while ruffling her hair.

"Come on, Jintong! I just brushed it" (Y/n) complains, trying to push his hand away. Getting a chuckle from her co-worker.

He lets go as a girl walks to them. "Leave the poor girl alone. Anyways (Y/n)," she turns to the (h/c)nette, holding up a phone.

"Zhan just called in, she said she can't be here today, due to being ill." She says "so guess what"

(Y/n) sighs in defeat "Please don't tell me that I have to cover for her...again" she mutters, almost begging.

"You already know the answer for that. You know the whole play from the back off your hand, I know you can do it" Yunü tries to reasures, but it mostly falls flat.

"I'll do it, I will be there after I done doing my tasks." (Y/n) says, before grabbing a nearby broom and walks off. 'Why is it always her, is she doing this on purpose?'

*＊✿❀○❀✿＊*

"A play? I thought we are gonna to watch a movie at the cinema" Mk whines, crossing his arms.

"Oh come on, Mk. It's a play about Monkey King anyway, so stop complaining" Mei replays, slightly scowling.

"What can I get you two?" The older man behind the counter chimes, a friendly smile on his face.

"Some gummies and some iced tea" Mei orders, she turns to Mk. Silently asking him what he wants.

"Soda..." Mk mumbles, pouting like a child.The man chuckles, pulling the gummies out of a box. "You remind me of my niece. She gets whiney when something happened that she doesn't like"

"Well Mk, guess you're getting a new friend" Mei says, a big grin on her face. Mk glaring at her.

"Well she's about your age and she is gonna perform over a few minutes. You two should get going or you'll miss it" The man finishes, putting the iced tea and Soda on the counter infront of them.

"Right" Mei slaps some cash on the counter, grabbing the gummies and drinks. She walks to the theatre room, dragging the manchild behind her.

They sit down in a middle row, there wasn't a lot of people. Mei looks at her friend to find him still pouting, she sighs "Are you salty that you got bullied by that spider person?"

"What!? no- why would I be bothered by some stupid spiders!" Mk yells, waving his arms.

Mei shakes her head, giving up trying to reason with the boy.

The show starts, someone dressed as Monkey King jump on stage. Swinging the DIY staff around, he knocks nearby props down.

A figure resembling the Jade Emporer steps onto the stage, he points to the 'monkey'. Two Celestial guards appear behind Sun Wukong and grab him, taking him out of sight.

The curtains quickly closes and opens. 'Monkey king' was underneath a cartboard cut out of my mountain, looking pretty bored.

A minute goes by, nothing happens. The actor turns his head to look behind stage with a confused expression.

A light on the right side of the stage turns. Onto the stage walks a girl wearing all white, holding a small vase with a flower in it.

Mk's eyes widen at her appearance.

Her soft (h/l) (h/c) hair, her shining (e/c) that could be mistaken for diamonds. Her flawless skin and those pretty li-

"Earth to Mk" Mei whispers, waving her hand infront of him, snapping Mk out of his little daze.

"What, huh?"

"You were spacing out. You good man?" Mei raises an eyebrow.

"Yup, totally!"

--------------

I had to cut 290 words cause of the limit. My apologies if Mk and/or Mei are OOC (out of character)

I'll soon be introducing a foe from the spiderman francise.

I'm surprised that chapter 2 blew up

Anyways have a nice day/night <3

[ofallplaceswhythis]

tcoptp thoughts pt.10

im skipping im skipping im skipping im skipping im-

Chasity..... i am trying so hard and i may be biased but.....

....omg, thats why - its all connecting. holyyyyy fuckk

So nice that tomny and tonya decided to send him his very own guitar for his birthday!! theyre such good friends [delusion :( ]

Sirius and Remus' friendship is so overlooked in this fandom its so sweet there is a reason they are friends to lovers guys

james's hatred towards antlers and remus's face covered in chocolate need to be drawn where is the fanart

SHIT THE SEX TAPE?????? WTHHH

LILY TOLD JAMES SHE LOVED HIM?!?!?! gosh the gossip - and they're fictional

Y'know what snape, you are just a coward who hides behind words in order to get his way, and you have no real friends because, guess what, YOU'RE A DISGUSTING PERSON. And literally nobody cares about you and you will die alone with my knife in your stomach regretting every single action in your entire pitiful existence as I watch the life leave your eyes and constantly remind you that the only reason you had survived this long was because you were such a disgusting person that nobody could get near you without projectile vomiting on your head, which may be the reason why your hair is so greasy. You are meaningless like a mosquito and you will perish not only physically but from memory as well because as soon as you are dead literally no one will care about you. You are that boy that rips apart insect limbs from their bodies and you will meet your demise. No matter what your backstory is that does not justify the abuse you caused and thus you will suffer the consequences. You will die by a poison coated blade and be it whoever it is there will always be the sound of laughter and fireworks that will soon follow after your corpse is disposed of. The only way you will be able to survive is if we bury you alive with worms eating your body and your screams reverberating of the cold, concrete walls, knowing that you will never be found again. The world will become a better place as soon as you are gone from it.

aww they're all so cute <3333 ily lily

REMUS HAS A CRUSH ON SIRIUS PINING'S COMING FUCK

And with that, the first half of the fanfic comes to a close. [👏👏] [ literally had to pace for a few minutes]

ily wolfstar but i just feel so bad for marlene. Im sorry girl :(

And immediatly starting with angst. fucking amazing [WHY TOM]

'where we're going? it aint home' and why dont i just FALL ON MY SPEAR LIKE A ROMAN WHOSE OBSESSED WITH SACRIFICING THEMSELF. UGH. WHYYYYYYYYY

Them not picking up the phone when Tonya leaves but picking up the phone after Remus does is just - holy fuck

ughh remus why do you have to say stuff like that

Remus's queer panic is honestly a mood

no wait whats happening. ...did they just break up...?

why get into a car accident when you can just read Tonya's letter?

tell me a story is really starting to sound like tell me a secret and i am not ready to handle that kind of mentality at this time

sirius are you hearing urself 'ill never leave you' typa shit

ok the mutual pining is about to commence and i am not ready

[awaybacktothen]

Today is the last day of my 20s. I've wasted the first eight years on depression and anxiety, and long covid stole the last two and my life as a whole from me. My queue finally ran out a month or two ago after two years, since it's not like I was actually to be able on here, after being here all day every day for ten years. So I guess this is it.

I am utterly and completely exhausted every second of every day, in pain all over my body every second of every day. I don't remember what it's like to feel any sort of rest anymore. I can't move my head a millimeter without feeling dizzy and. My body feels heavy, so heavy, even though I'd actually lost 25kg and I'm not overweight for the first time since high school. I live in a dark room full time and I spend half the day with white noise on cause I can't tolerate the sounds my parents make just living their life in their own apartment, cooking, cleaning etc

I'm deteriorating with every month and there's no way for me to know when the day comes that I'm fully bedridden, fully unable to tolerate any light or sound, fully unable to stand on my feet.

I've watched one movie and two tv show seasons in the last two years as I'm no longer able to watch things, to handle the light and movement, to easily process what I'm seeing and hearing. The last thing I watched was about a year ago and by then I was already struggling to follow the plot, properly process what I was seeing and hearing.

I just can't believe everybody gets to live their life as if nothing ever happened and I'm left severely disabled and will never get to live anything remotely similar to a normal life. I left the house once this year. Everybody's just living, at the very least watching shows and playing games and I can't even do that. I will never go to on a vacation or to a concert or to theatre again and that breaks my heart into a million pieces

Pride month is on, such fun, I'll spend it in bed, alone, for the rest of my life. Hey anybody know of anyone who wants to date me while I can't leave the house and I can't move my limbs much? No? Long covid made me lose every close friend, any chance at having a job, dating, living without assistance. I will now forever be living with my parents, unable to even take care of my room or myself.

I always thought I would one day be on social media a lot less and watch fewer shows and movies because I finally got a life. It never even crossed my mind that I would stop doing all that stuff because any life I had would be taken away from me by an illness.

You just never know if something's gonna happen out of nowhere and ruin your life forever, with no way of things ever getting better, with no way of getting better. You're always hearing about people's lives being ruined by severe illness or accidents. You never expect it to happen to you. I had a 'cold' and now I have brain and heart damage among dozen other things and will never get to do anything besides sit in my room too exhausted and too braindead to do anything. My life is one cruel fucking joke. Do you know what it's like to live knowing this is what your life is always going to be like? Do you know what it's like to mourn your life while still being alive? It's torture.

I cherish every friendship I made on here and I'm incredibly sad I'm not able to continue them. I miss you all. I'll probably pop up here once or twice a year for eurovision or tonys or something (although I don't know a single thing about the nominations this year, not even their names) if I'm at all able to

❤️

[ms-erin-kallus]

I've Killed a Million Petty Souls, but I Couldn't Kill You

Chapter 10

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44541196/chapters/112035802

Once again, a big shout out to @justanothersadperson93 for the beta reading! You're a real one!

The waiting area was small and far too brightly lit for what was necessary. Kallus sat uncomfortably in one of the generic plastic chairs typical of office settings, alone with only his thoughts as he waited with an impatience that grew exponentially with every passing second. There were better things to do with his time than some yearly Imperial mandated physical that was completely useless, at least outwardly.

A person’s physical ailments were almost always overlooked irrespective of what they were; a body was a body to the Empire, regardless of what shape it was in. There were always plenty of menial job positions that needed filling. Mostly because the Empire plowed through stormtroopers like they were a never ending commodity.

Those with severe mental illness were almost encouraged to join both the Imperial navy and, specifically, ISB. It made no sense while also making perfect sense. They were easier to manipulate, especially when medication was involved.

Aliens were barred despite ability or promise. Not specifically on paper, but absolutely in practice.

It was one of the things the rebels did effectively right.

“Agent 021,” a woman barked out into the silent room for no reason other than the fact that she could.

It was impossible to stifle his exacerbated sigh as he stood and made his way to the door where the woman waited for him disgruntled. Apparently he wasn’t the only one that didn’t want to be there.

“State your name,” she said almost robotically as she led him down a long hallway.

“Alexsandr Kallus.”

She looked at the chart and then at him, “spell your first name.”

When she realized that it wasn’t a misspelling he heard her scoff, “okay, then, pretentious.”

Another sigh and Kallus was led into a dark, empty, interrogation like room, <em>I hate this part,</em> he thought as he waited for the unnecessary embarrassment that he swore was just a mental torture tactic to help weed out ‘the weak’.

“State your name,” another voice ordered before he complied. “Designation number?”

“021” he almost snapped at the modulated voice behind the two way mirror. Annoyance was beginning to become an understatement and they hadn’t even started the worst part.

A door to his side whirred open and Kallus closed his eyes as he looked up at the ceiling and shook his head.

Seriously?

A girl, barely twenty he would guess, came into the room with a cart that carried a small monitor and mess of cords just in front of an older man with a clipboard. 

“I’ll need you to undress,” she told him shakily. “Completely.”

Kallus complied and he could feel the girl’s nervousness and discomfort radiate from where she stood well behind him. It was done purposefully. Every year ‘patients’ were prepped by the opposite sex. Every year they stayed the same age as said patient grew older. It was humiliating by design. 

Another reaction for their records.

With his clothes in a neatly folded pile beside, him the medical ‘professional’ hidden safely behind the mirror ordered again, arms out to your sides. Kallus complied and a red laser scanned him slowly and completely from head to toe.

“Turn around.”

The same happened behind him.

Full biometric scan.

If he were to fully defect, he would be barred from any mission that required him in person. There would be no hiding from the Empire. Ever. They made sure of it.

“Turn to face the mirror,” the voice barked as the girl anxiously wheeled the cart up to him and fumbled with a small bag of leads. 

“Have you done this before,” he asked.

“No,” she whispered shakily.

“Take a breath,” he told her quietly enough to not be heard without looking down at her. “They’re watching you too.”

The package in her hand crumpled but he heard her do as suggested before her trembling fingers finally pushed a small sticker onto his skin just below his left rib cage. 

It took her a long while, but once she had him hooked up to the monitor she almost ran from the room. 

Poor girl.

The old man that had stayed hidden in a far corner took his cue as she left and made a slow, almost predatory circle around him as he scribbled down his information. “Lift your arms,” he ordered as he examined Kallus’ crotch far too long for it to be deemed ‘ethical’ to say the least. 

A battery of questions about how he had been feeling physically came from behind the mirror as the old man circled him again.

Disgusted he wanted to yell at them but an outburst would only get him more time with the psychiatrist that would humiliate him next. 

They wanted controllable machines and that’s what he had always given them.

“Finished,” the voice told the old man before he set his clipboard down and began to unhook the leads from his cold skin. The old man again took enough time for Kallus to realize his lack of ‘promptness’ probably wasn’t a part of the process and a wave of revulsion washed over him.

If you hit him, it will probably kill the old pervert, he thought to himself as he fought the urge to not end up in the brig for violence that would, again, only get him more time with the next doctor. Not worth the paperwork.

Kallus was beyond mortified, which was their intent. It was literally unnecessary, to anyone with a modicum of a conscience at the very least, and made him wonder what would happen to a civilian under arrest, or even just mere suspicion. If they would do it to him…

The old man sighed, “I guess you can get dressed now,” he told Kallus as he looked him up and down one last time before he begrudgingly turned and pushed the cart out of the room. 

Kallus used his hands to cover himself until he knew he was gone.

An obvious mistake, but he didn’t care.

The rebels would never, he wondered, but ultimately knew.

The memory of a nervous woman trapped on a fancy yacht, one that was intimidated by a hostile man with the same intentions, suddenly played through his mind.

You're not any better.

~

A few minutes later, Kallus was dressed and lying on an uncomfortable couch type piece of furniture that was far too short to accommodate his height as he waited for what would somehow be far more uncomfortable than his ‘physical’.

The lying position was meant to make the patient feel secure and; thus, in practice, make them open up more. At least that was what they were told because ‘vulnerable’ wasn’t remotely close to how he actually felt. If ‘calming’ really was what they were going for then they had failed spectacularly.

Intended comfort wasn’t what he was feeling. Scenario after scenario ran rampant through his field combat trained mind; he sat up.

“Lie down,” the middle aged woman that walked in and sat down silently in front of him snapped. It was unlikely that she would cause a physical altercation with him, at least he didn’t think, but she wouldn’t, however, tell him to lay back down again as a second warning; lest he want said altercation.

There were few things that Imperial medical staffers loved more than restraining subjectively combative patients.

“Designation number?” she asked without looking up from the device in her hands as he slowly slumped back to lying with a glare.

“021.”

Without an introduction of her own she asked, “are you having any symptoms of depression?”

Only all of the time.

“No.”

“Anxiety? Panic attacks?” she asked apathetically.

You have no idea.

“No,” he answered acerbically. 

“Feelings of hurting yourself or others?” She ignored his tone.

You’re pushing that already.

“No.”

What felt like an hour, but was actually ten minutes according to the clock above her, came a question he had never been asked in a session before.

“Tell me about your parents.”

Why?

He knew that she noticed his reaction because she began to type furiously on her datapad.

“Why? That has never come up prior,” he told her with more nervousness than he intended.

Fuck.

She huffed loudly as if she was tired of being asked the same question by every other patient, ”new protocol. Answer the question.”

“What exactly do you want to know,” he asked as he tried desperately to use every bit of his training to keep his growing dread in check. It was barely working and he was afraid that he would quickly lose control.

The woman was silent for a moment, “what do you <em>think</em> I should know?”

“I’ve got nothing to tell, it was a quiet, normal childhood,” he lied. 

A deafening silence roared through the room and he knew that she could wait him out. 

He joked about transferring Rhoan to interrogations, but this woman could probably break the best of them, without really trying.

It’s probably where she came from, he realized before he sighed and resigned himself to where the session was going to go. Regardless of how hard he tried.

Another mark on your file.

“Start with your father,” she told him when she knew that she had bested him.

“He was a dick,” Kallus snapped before he could stop himself. “I mean,” he cleared his throat quietly, “he could’ve been a little better to people.”

The doctor ignored the recovery statement, “I see here that he was also military, looks like… highly ranked in the navy. Is he why you joined?”

Didn’t give me a damn choice. Kallus was more than sure the man would’ve hunted him down for sport had he tried to run away from him. Very healthy relationship.

“Yes.”

“Willfully?” she prodded. 

Kallus scoffed unintentionally and the woman pounced.

“Tell me why you joined the military,” she asked and he knew it was a baited question.

“At first, no, I hadn’t planned on a military career. But once I was put into military school, it was the only op-,” he started, “direction, I could go in.”

“Option?” she redirected.

Fuck.

“Are they not synonymous?” he asked carefully.

Her eyes narrowed; she knew which battles to pick. She was good.

“I suppose.” More typing. “What about your mother?” she went on.

Kallus suddenly went numb. It was the only thing he could bare to feel when he was forced to go to the place where he kept her hidden from daily cognition. It was meant to be a simple defense mechanism, but it was far more effective than it should’ve been.

Silence. 

“Well?” the doctor asked with cruel disregard. 

Oh, I don’t know? I survived, she didn’t and my horrid father blamed me every chance he got until he died himself.

“I didn’t know her. She died in childbirth.”

“And how does that make you feel?” she asked as she scrolled through what he knew were notes that she had already read.

It had always pained him that he never got the chance to meet her. His father refused to bring her up, <em>ever,</em> and her side of the family wasn’t allowed anywhere near him. Years later he found out that an aunt had petitioned the court for custody on the grounds of mistreatment but had been denied.

That tended to happen when a person fought someone with the type of connections he had. Connections were the only thing that could stop their money.

“I see,” she mumbled to herself. “Then who raised you?”

The only person that has ever actually loved me.

“I had a governess until I was four. Then another until I went to boarding school,” he told her as simply as he could, knowing that she was treading into memories that he had spent his entire life repressing and for good reason.

“And you got along with them well?” she asked as she looked right at him.

“Yes, both,” he lied. It was really only the first one. 

‘You deserve to be loved,’ her voice screamed at him for the first time in years.

Fresh pain tore through him as the vision of her being dragged away suddenly haunted his mind once more.

“What happened to the first one?” she asked casually as his temper began to flare up at her even more.

“She was fired,” he warned.

His father let him spend his formative years believing that it was his fault. Had I not taken her cookies, she never would’ve chased me.

His agitation went purposefully ignored, “why?”

We were just playing.

“I don’t remember, I was too young, I assume,” he lied again.

‘Get out! I’ll be damned if that boy is coddled!’ he heard his father shout.

The therapist typed for a suspiciously long time. “It says here that you were delayed in speech until four. Do you know why?”

I was terrified of him.

“Again, I don’t know.”

The doctor looked him up and down and conceded, “I see.”

You see my fist across your face?

“So, your father was military, probably gone more than he was there, your mother died before you could form a relationship, and you were raised by strangers. Is this all correct?”

Fuck. You.

“Yes,” Kallus agreed as simply as he could manage. The discomfort caused by the man from the previous testing was becoming a far more pleasant encounter the further she went into his past.

“And now?” she asked.

“What about now?” he replied suspiciously.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she warned with a hint of irritation.

“I don’t have time to dwell on the past.”

The doctor scrolled more.

“Do you have any close acquaintances? Friends, so to say. Within the Empire or personally?”

Kallus had to look at the ceiling and dig his nails into the leather of the sofa to keep himself from literally killing her.

Jovan.

His first real friend in the academy, the one he betrayed because of the blind allegiance that he had let the Empire program into him. Terrified was an understatement when he thought about what might have happened to the man for doing exactly what the Empire was doing, just off the books.

I don’t deserve friends.

“I keep mostly to myself. Don’t really have time for a personal life with my position. It only gets in the way.”

The therapist didn’t move.

He dared not even think of her.

Pushing him away saved Rhoan’s life.

“The Empire comes first. Relationships hinder my full attention from completing my objective of keeping order,” he added hoping that it was enough to sway her.

It obviously was not.

“I don’t have time to dwell on unnecessary things,” he added cautiously.

“I’ll make some then. Tell me about Onderon,” she asked him with an ease that disgusted him and a disregard that infuriated him.

“I know the report is in there and that you read it,” he growled.

If she can somehow drag it out of me, I’m finished.

“Yes, I did. But I need to know how it has affected you in your own words, being in a combat role and all,” she informed him sardonically over the rim of her glasses.

“That was a long time ago,” he almost whispered as an old tightness in his chest that he was far too familiar with began to spread.

“Yes, but you watched every one of your men be killed while you were incapacitated,” she reminded him against his will.

The sound of an explosion suddenly erupted in his ears.

“I need to know how that affected you,” she asked knowingly picking fresh one of myriad scabs that pockmarked his memory.

‘Help! Someone stop him! Please!’ voices shouted through the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“How do you think it did, exactly? I doubt you’ve ever seen combat,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “You would never understand.”

“Make me,” she instructed without looking up at him.

One of his hands unconsciously tightened into a fist that he couldn’t relax and so he was forced to quickly move his other hand to conspicuously to cover it from her view.

“There was an explosion-,”

“Start before that. What were you doing before it happened?” she pushed with a complete disregard for the fact that he obviously didn’t want to relive the worst day of his life, especially with a stranger that didn’t give a damn about his mental well being even though it was her literal job to do so.

Kallus had to use every tactic he had ever learned to steady himself. His childhood was bad enough, but this…

“We went on patrol first thing in the morning-”

“First thing?” She cut him off. “You did absolutely nothing before? Just got up and went?”

It was the biggest regret of his life up to that point.

We skipped chow. They were hungry and preoccupied.

“Yes. There was a scout report. We had to go out immediately,” Kallus informed her matter of factly.

‘Anyone got a ration bar? I’m starving!’ a voice called out loudly, giving away their position.

“I understand,” she said without emotion.

I swear on the stars, he seethed through barely controlled breath.

She knew, “and you blame yourself?”

“Obviously,” he snapped before he could stop himself. “I watched them die, completely incapacitated and defenseless because of it, one by one because they were tired, hungry, and miserable.” 

They didn’t stand a chance, he thought as he saw his own huddled body as it sat catatonically in the airlock of a ship he had flown out into random space.

Alone and with intent.

He couldn’t stop himself; she had finally crossed his line. He knew better, but proceeded regardless.

“We had been stuck in that fucking jungle with zero reinforcement or supply drops for days,” he snarled as he shot up. “There was a reason that the citizenry stayed behind those damn walls!”

Alexsandr Kallus suddenly realized that Bahryn wasn’t an isolated event.

“That was years ago. I don’t see the relevance today,” he told her with restraint.

She was either oblivious too, or simply just didn’t care that she was forcing him toward a traumatic response, or it was her intention. “It was your very first mission. That obviously had to have an impact on further assignments.” 

No shit. It still does.

“I did the mandated therapy. It’s fine now.”

Why me?

There were twenty other men in his platoon. The one that he was in charge of. The one he was supposed to bring back to camp unharmed. 

But he didn’t.

If he ever expected anyone to die, it was <em>him,</em> and it was why he considered desertion for almost a year afterward. The next assignment he was given, far too soon, gave him panic attacks daily. They were going to die too; he knew it was just a matter of time before he got them killed as well,

unless he kept everything in complete order. As long as he could control the situation nothing could go wrong. At least that’s how he learned to cope with it.

The doctor set the datapad in her lap and leaned toward him. “You compartmentalize well, agent. All of these events have their own perfect little segment of your memory. A short term means at self preservation that has gone on for too long.”

“And how do you know that exactly,” he seethed, ready to fight physically regardless that she was a woman and smaller than he.

“Anyone else would’ve broken long ago.”

[strawberry-lemonade-kisses]

first, last, and POV please 💖

oooooooo. I'm working on two pieces simultaneously so ill do one from each.

First - The first two sentences of my current project.

2 Kids was not what you had in mind when you turned 30. Let alone 2 kids who were half your age. But here you were watching as they pushed each other over while carrying the groceries into the house.

Last - The last two sentences of your current project.

She looked up at you through the cases, shocking green eyes staring right at you with the brightest smile. You were convinced she was the physical embodiment of a sunny summer day in a flower field.

POV - Something that already happened, retold from another character's perspective.

So From This fic

"Of course, I would never ruin such good food" Turning before he could receive another warning about being nice Tengen headed down to Kyojuro's recent cavern.

"Kyojuro? Bud?" knocking to announce himself Tengen entered Kyojuro's room. Kyojuro was sitting on his futon, his kimono slipping from his shoulder, revealing the myriad of scars he had attained from the ears with the corps. Years that are finally over. "Hey, I bring breakfast with me" Speaking with the lightest voice possible Tengen set down the tray of food next to the bedding. "I was updated on everything that's going on. You know I always thought you were a better husband than that?" The lack of response or even acknowledgment spurred Tengen to continue. "I mean, I lost my hand, I lost my fucking eyesight, but I still get up every day and spend time with my girls, I was in the same war and smile even though it hurts. We aren't the only ones hurting. But you're Hurting your wife more, shit you're hurting your daughter." Kyojuro didn't even look at Tengen as he crouched beside the futon. Balancing himself carefully. "I'm going to add you to the list of shit Rengoku fathers if you keep acting like this. Neglecting your family to wallow in self-pity is an ugly look. Guess I should ask if you want alcohol, Shinjuro?" Kyojuro's head snapped towards Tengen at that admission.

"Don't you dare say that?'

"What? That you're treating your family the same way your father does under the guise of grief?"

"Shut up" Kyojuro was getting angry, slowly rising from his position on the floor to meet Tengens height, even when crouched.

"OH, so you don't think ignoring your wife and daughter is bad? well, damn Shinjuro guess I'll just leave you to it and pray to god your wife and daughter don't hate you huh?" Kyojuro was standing faster than Tengen had seen him move since his injury years ago.

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

Hey man, please log off. Go take a break. If you're invoking your last will and testament over an argument, something has gone horribly wrong.

No, I only said that because it is the truth if you don't know anything about me

Hi my name is Alanshee and I have a shit ton of chronic illness, I'm an Ambulatory Wheelchair User

Elhers Danlos Hypermobile Type

Long Covid

Dysautonomia

Absence Seizures

To name a few, over the last year I have lost close to 30 lbs and grow sicker by the day, I'm most likely going to pass young. I've come to accept this,

I did legitimately choose Diisdoodles to take care of the Borg Siblings, I may be upset at that Monday, but I have security in the fact that they'd have a possible home with their creator gone.

I never posted anything other than that post with the art and Photos, I guess that warrants me getting slandered hard-core,

I wish they'd show me where I've harassed them over the last year, cause after the last Summer it was silent, when all three Yasur, Though.she.be.little and Diisdoodles blocked me, they still have me blocked. This was my last message to Yasur in fact

You can ask my partners I do need clarification @kaipaya , I also switch accounts due to a Tumblr glitch that happens with messages.

I was 100% looking for Clarification.

Go and look at the others post because right now emotionally I won't say what I'm thinking because I'll be accused of something else

I was raised with narcissistic parent I was taught over explaining and defending yourself is how you got out of trouble well look at the trouble I'm in.

Now nobody getting my tone right nobody even caring about the damage they've done just laughing at me like they've always done since I was 13 years old sitting outside the popular girl's house because I had no way home yet she had invited me over as a joke,

No matter how much I explain it and say I know that there is no excuse everybody says no you're lying. Like they know my own head my own thoughts,

Cause God damn I didn't think art and a photo would warrant this much anger and aggression

There's so much about Diisdoodles personal details I could tell but again I won't

But just like the Salem witch trials there will be no justice on this they'll believe the more popular creator while I'm left to be crushed underneath the 400 lb stone and they take off with a project that I have been working on for 7 years,

Like I said I vented in a public server so what they're talking about in that first message is only part of what they sent that Monday

I guess I don't have permission to vent in a server a public server no less because to them that's talking behind their back even though they have every vent channel in their own servers banned fun fact because they can't handle venting,

I never once asked for people to respond to those vents, yet I received that on Monday after they asked to separate I did everything I was supposed to I left them alone and they turn around with that,