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chanluster · 4 years

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aaa hello again this is paris au loving anon with another long message 😂💕 I read your reply and I’m glad Im able to make your week like Paris is so so good!✨ I actually stumbled on your fic while searching for Chan fics (I’m a baby Stay 😂 I just got into them recently and Chan melts my heart 🥺)

I read the FWB au first which I also love very very much. I really love how you write Chan and his relationship with y/n. The story had the perfect mix of everything 😭 I found it super cute how they have a number rating system and that’s how they communicate through it 😂 I found the first part where they talked about Hyunjin the funniest bc of how it was written like amg Hyunjin— 😂😂😂 and the confusion and realizing of feelings the roller coaster ride 💕 op you really took my Chan loving heart for a spin 🥺

I think your writing is so versatile. I have yet to read your other fics but I’m still processing the emptions Paris gave me. Maybe bc you took the same actor playing the lead role but you gave him a different breath of life; you reinvented him and I’m here for that! 😭💖 You wrote the same Chan but his soul is different in a very good way. It’s like the same face, the same name, but the soul is different yet I fell for him anyway 🧎🏻 he’s mysteriously charming and the relationship has such a deep past I can’t help but wonder what happened to them and came up with many possible theories (my main one is that maybe Chan is just a figment of the imagination. A ghost from a love that is still being grieved after y/n has her fall from grace like she woke up from being distracted from that grief but whether Chan is real or not is a mystery— like idk Im like “is Chan alive?” 😂😂😂) like the feeling of that longing because Chan was a safe haven; the sunshine in the dark abyss but not knowing if it’s just a dream or not—I felt that while reading 😭 I’ll wait patiently for any updates or even for crumbs 🥺 take all the time you need to write because your writing is super worth the wait and even if you decide not to continue it, I’m still super happy you shared that story 💖💖💖 tysm! It’s such a great work of art I sing praises 💕 (also cupid/psyche is my fave so 😌💗💗)

if reincarnation au was a thing but through fics then this is a good example of it. Soulmate reincarnation au with Chan but it’s through reading different fics 😂 also I hope you dont mind if I make fanart of it soon 🥺💖 Paris!Chan has been slipping in my dreams lately 😂 - 🗼 anon (ah shall use this symbol if it hasnt been taken yet 😂)

OH MY GOFODNSJAKS?!?!?’fkkswkkw

:£/&/&:&/&/@/@@::@:@@:@: IM :&:&/@2@/9@//@@/ HOLD ON HOLD ON LEMME MAKE A CUT SO OTHER PEOPLE DONT GET ANNOYED BY MY RAMBLING BELOW

OMG DARLING FIRST OF ALL, THANK YOY SO MUCH??? THIS ENTIRE MESSAGE LITERALLY MADE ME TEAR UP IN THE CAR MY MUM GOT ANLITTLE WAS LIKE ??? 🙄🙄🙄 here she goes again 💀💀 BUT THIS ASK IS SO THOUGHT OUT, SO GENUINE AND I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SA Y?’cnv. LIKE YOUVE REALLY SNATCHED MY WORDS AND I THANK YOU FOR IT 😭😭😭

thank you for reading 10/10 too omg 😭😭😭 I admit that was very self indulgent because Chan 😍😍😍🙏🙏🙏I completely understand how he took your heart this man is the love of my life he asks me one thing it is done I am his humble ragdoll 🧎‍♀️and HELP I really put SLANDER on hyunjins name as if I sent those bullying claims ✋💀 but I’m really glad u enjoyed reading it !!

honestly it makes me so happy that you understood the mysticism behind Paris! I like writing stupid shit but this particular project was so deep to my heart because I pulled THRU W the research, the details, every single little tidbit so it’s accurate to the times, and the construction of chans character was defo quite hard so knowing you understood him so perfectly just 🥺🥺🥺❤️❤️❤️❤️AND THE THEORIES SCREAM IM LOVING IT SO MUCH !!! truthfully I defo would have pursued that path but I won’t make it too complicated that I can give to you😼thank you so much for waiting so patiently I understand that I haven’t been good at all W the Paris updates 😭😭 after hyunjin Bridgerton au and the collab I will defo start redrafting because I have planned it all but I just need to write 💔💔 also not you calling my writing versatile PLEA S S E E E MY HEART IS DOINF SUPER EDM SHIT RN MIROH IS IN SHAMBLES 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️💨💨❤️❤️❤️❤️(and same here the story of Cupid and psyche is beautiful and I am a STAN!!)

DARLING ???? I WOULDNT MIND ???? AT ALL SVREAM??!;!,!,& PLEASEE PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHEN YOU CREATE THIS FANART I WOULD LOVE TO SEE THE RESULTS 🥺🥺🥺🥺 oh my god the way I’m so excited YOUVE GOT ME SO UNFER UR CONTROL ALREADY !!!! omg I love u sm anon thank you thank you thank you !!!

#asks #🗼 anon #this wasn’t taken dw 😼😼#BUT ANYWAY #YOU HAVE LITERALLY #MADE MT ENTIRE MONTH #AND I HAVE EXAMS THIS MONTH SO IMAGINE UR IMPACT #I DONT THINK INCAN THANK YOU ENOUGH FOR ANMESSAGE THIS HEARTFELT ABOUT A STORY I NESRLY DISCARDED #IT MEANS THE WORLD #IT TRULY TRULY DOES #PLEASE KNOW THAT THIS FEEDBACK WILL STAY WITH ME FOR A LONG TIME 🥺🥺🥺🥺#I LOVE YOU SO MUCH 😭😭😭❤️❤️❤️

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bigbrotherlouis · 4 years

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have there been players saying they were culture shocked or something? i never thought about it like that before, your post is interesting!

anon, you definitely did not ask for a long post on the nuance of transition but unfortunately, i’ve got the double edged sword of both lived experience and a literal dissertation on the topic so you’re gonna get one. under the cut, in reference to this post

to my knowledge, no one has explicitly talked about it in any interviews (besides like maybe offhand comments about adjusting?) but there is no way that they haven’t experience culture shock. like i’ve done the transition from eastern europe to the united states, i’ve known so many people who have done the same, and there’s literally no way russian/czech/austrian/german/whatever players don’t. the culture is too different. i also have it on good authority that there’s a decent amount of culture shock moving from canada to the states and vice versa, so it’s honestly probably more of an issue than we think. (if we’re being technical, you’re going to experience culture shock with any move out of a regional area, but the further the difference in culture, the worse it’s going to be. canadian players might have culture shock moving from like toronto to edmonton ((cough cough connor mcdavid)) or american players moving from idk minnesota to florida but it’s not necessarily going to be as obvious or as hard to manage as like siberia to san jose)

honestly part of the problem is that people in power don’t think about culture shock! it’s not necessarily something that’s common in conversation until you’re the one moving to a different culture, and then it’s all you can talk about. another part of the problem is that a lot of the work being done around the subject is actually done for third culture kids (like me) and international students, which is probably not a place authority figures in athletics are directing a lot of thought towards. which, to be blunt, is a grave oversight and really fucking rich considering that a decent percentage of players could technically be classified as third culture kids after they come over to play hockey in junior north american leagues. leon draisaitl, gabe landeskog, andrei svechnikov all come to mind as definite possibilities, and a case can be made for any player who lived in a different country for juniors but it gets a little weaker with that american/canadian divide. but regardless of like classification, you’re still throwing eighteen year old boys with brains that are not fully developed and are not known for their emotional competence into a completely foreign country to play a violent sport, and all you do is suggest a roommate who speaks the same language to help??? like what the fuck??? genuinely how-- i don’t even have words to express how horrifying this is to me and the fact that there hasn’t been more issues come to light makes me intensely suspicious.

i think it’s worth saying that my problem really isn’t with the billet system and there’s some worth re:language acquisition in just fuckin’ throwing people into the deep end, but in terms of mental health, ability to cope, and general just...adjustment, it’s a really bad situation waiting to happen. moving is an intensely stressful experience on its own, moving countries even more so, and it can be incredibly isolating. i think the team mentality can help lessen some of that, but it is EXHAUSTING constantly trying to understand the cultural touchstones to fit in. it is EXHAUSTING to be constantly explaining yourself. that doesn’t go away with team bonding. it doesn’t ever really go away, honestly, and not comprehending what’s happening is distressing. no wonder there are so many stories of all the russians, all the swedes, all the finns, whatever sticking together across the league-- they’re able to relax their subconscious that’s trying to fit in. it’s a lot more than just being able to speak a shared fluent language, though that certainly is a big part of identity and culture shock too.

anyway i just think as a coach or team owner, it would be extremely prudent to care about the holistic health of my players, physical emotional and mental, even just to be assured that they’re playing at their top level. i realise this isn’t the case, but recognizing the culture shock my players are going through is like basic level care, in my opinion. i also know teenagers are not particularly inclined to pay attention in seminars, but including something on transition during orientation would not be difficult, and it could give players important tools for dealing with grief, loss, moving, and adaptation.

for the record, i am almost always thinking about this topic, like genuinely, because it’s something i am passionate about but that post was made because of these snippets from a podcast. particularly, the part where they talk about how NAK seems spacey in post-game interviews, which they attribute to him being not so comfortable in english. which, like, yeah? and also it’s hard to speak a second language always, but especially when you’re tired?? @ nhl invest in translators for your team and invest in cultural experts to support your international players please i am begging you i will come and do it for free if you pay flights + accommodation just treat players better

okay that’s all for tonight bc i gotta sleep but i will not stop talking about this

#personal issues #long post #hockey #i need a tag for this shit #culture shock #idk #sorry anon for the length #i have work in a few hours i need to sleeeeep #Anonymous

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maareyas · 4 years

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Au silver backstory time :] Repost bc tumblr drafts erased the last version. also this is part 1. NOW WITH ADDED BACKGROUND LORE AND ANGST!

edit: i forgot to link to the original pic

First! Some background on the state of the future! unlike 06, this silver's future isn't covered in flames and ash. rather, its empty and lifeless. endless, barren wastelands with only little plant life and the scattered ruins of cities/other structures left of a previously vibrant world. this future is the direct result of the metal virus, abt 300 years later (instead of 200 like in canon). everything that was infected during sonic's present had already disintegrated. things that were infected much later still remain, though. this is why, while most of the world has been cleared of the virus, there are still some areas that DO have it. and why most plantlife on the planet went poof.

There were survivors of the original outbreak who were able to avoid the virus. So there’s still people in the future world. Borrowing from evan stanley’s concepts for the Silver Age saga of the archie comics, moving settlements like Onyx City exist. These cities are indifferent/hostile to outsiders who want in though. As a result, everyone outside these settlements are nomadic, travelling alone or in small groups at most. Resources are scarce, after all.

Now onto silver’s actual backstory. Silv has been alone his whole life. I do not vibe with the idea of giving canon charas blood relatives for some reason, so the circumstance of his birth are a mystery lol. Silver drifts from place to place, trying to survive and trying to uncover what happened in the past. He’s a sort of archeologist! He explores ruins of the past world and pieces together history from the things he can find in faded books and partially corrupted computers. He doesn’t know much, only that the world was lively 300 years ago. He wonders what happened that made everything so desolate.

Silver has met and befriended other nomads before. Given the situation though, becoming an actual companion is a no-no. At most, he runs into them one or two times and never sees them again. Groups tend to be more hostile to outsiders like him since he might try to join them. More people = more mouths to feed, and possibly, the collapse of the existing internal structure.

So yeah, silver is a VERY lonely boy. But not to worry, its time for…….Found Family Trope.

On one of his Ruins ExplorationsTM Silver runs into prof. Von schlemmer and the Bits, who were doing the same. They decide to team up on their search. They talk about their shared interest in uncovering the past, as well as their life (well. Schlemmer does anyway. Silver didn’t have much of his life to take about). Schlemmer talks about how he was kicked out of Onyx City for reasons I haven’t decided yet. Probably something to do with being too curious about the past? Idk. He now lives in a makeshift mobile lab he made himself. So ye basically the whole ruins exploring thing become a bonding moment

Schlemmer then asks if silver would like to become his assistant or smth. Silver, of course, having been alone for so long, is beyond overjoyed at the idea of having a home and a friend. Ecstatic, he accepts schlemmer’s offer. So Found Family stuff happens. Schlemmer just sorta. Becomes Silver’s dad. His weird science dad. They go around exploring ruins, uncovering stuff about the past, and doing general father-son Mad Science. Schlemmer also makes a personal Bit for silver! Since I’m bad with names its name is Sil-bit until I can think of something else

Eventually, they gather enough information to pinpoint a general timeframe for when things went to hell and led to the future being ruined. They have a plan to change past events, and Schlemmer has already built the time machine, but is reluctant to use it. Now that the chance is here, he’s begun to second-guess the idea for several reasons: 1.) the time machine isn’t exactly fully tested. 2.) Changing history is a risky idea even by his standards. Silver convinces him to go through with the plan, however, and even volunteers to be the one to travel back in time.

So they do that. Silver and Sil-bit timetravel to Sonic’s present. But since they aren’t sure exactly what event was the catalyst for the Bad Future, silver goes back and forth between time periods during every major event (maybe changing this event worked?). Schlemmer is intact in all instances, if not a bit disoriented memory-wise due to the timeline changes.

Once the metal virus hits, silver puts two and two together and realizes this is the catalyst event for the ruined future. So! They deal with it, Silver is relieved. He travels to the future again, more hopeful this time.

When he gets there, EVERYTHING is different. There are cities! There’s plants! There’s people! There’s LIFE! He tries to look for Von Schlemmer in this new future…

But he doesn’t find him. The timeline changed was so drastic this time, the old Schlemmer he knew isn’t there anymore. Instead, he finds New Future! Von Schlemmer who has no knowledge of silver or the previous timeline. Silver is devastated by this, but they knew that this was a possibility. So, he tries to make a new life for himself in this new future, despite his grief.

But then he starts glitching out. As if his atoms are trying to tear themselves apart. This part is kinda vague but, probably with New! Schlemmer’s help, Silver realizes that he erased himself from the timeline.

Silver doesn’t know what to do, so he timetravels back to Sonic’s present, still glitching out. Compared to when he was in the future however, he’s glitching out less.

lucky for him, sonic just happened to be passing by when he gets spat out the time portal or whatever. Sonic carries him to help, so silver can focus on using his psychokinesis to calm down his atoms. not a ship thing, i just want to see friends being Soft

#ideas #rey rambles #thats gonna be the new tag for these #its Sad Silver hours!!!

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fistsoflightning · 5 years

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unending character meme // zaya qestir

RULES: repost, don’t reblog! tag, and good luck!

TAGGED BY: tagged in spirit by @to-the-voiceless

TAGGING: any and all who want to do it but haven’t actually been tagged by anyone!

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Zaya Qestir

NICKNAME: none, really.

AGE: 29 by the end of Stormblood. 30-ish by the end of SHB? Haven’t figured out the time distortion thing.

BIRTHDAY: 17th of the 4th Umbral Moon (8/17)

ETHNIC GROUP: Au’ra; Xaelan

NATIONALITY: Nomad? From the Azim Steppe’s Reunion, if that helps.

LANGUAGE / S: Eorzean Sign Language, Xaelan (crude/unpracticed); understands most languages through use of the Echo

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Bisexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Demiromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: dating Thancred Waters??? unsure of status during post-SHB but getting there.

HOME TOWN /AREA: Reunion, Azim Steppe

CURRENT HOME: A shared room in the Rising Stones or a shared house in the Mist; depends on where they are at the time of night.

PROFESSION: jeweler, weaver, gladiator of the coliseum, bard teacher (appointed reluctantly by Sanson after many a problem with Guydelot’s schedule), adventurer and warrior of light

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Straight and somewhat below shoulder length. Most of their hair is black, but slowly changes to blue and white at the tips.

EYES: Dark blue; navy color? Light blue limbal rings that glow in the dark, too.

FACE: Sharp jawline accented by their scales, often covered with some royal blue facepaint similar to Arenvald’s own.

LIPS: Often chapped, but otherwise normal.

COMPLEXION: Ashen brown? Hard to describe bc of weird lighting everywhere they go.

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: There’s a lot, and I might make a scar map at some point??? Major ones happen to be their legs and their left arm; the legs from Ifrit and the arm from Elidibus in Zenos’s body in 4.5

TATTOOS: None, no matter how much people think the facepaint is one.

HEIGHT: Taller than the average Au’ra, about 5’4

WEIGHT: about 135 pounds

BUILD: Muscular, especially due to their main fighting style requiring muscle literally everywhere. Fistfighting for money is no small feat.

FEATURES: Their scales are an odd color (think black and blue borealis dice, but as scales), and their horns definitely look a bit… ragged. Watching them fight will give the odd realization that lightning sparks in cobalt blue come off of them sometimes.

ALLERGIES: Some undetermined fish allergy. Higiri fed them some assorted sushi once and never did again, so the Scions (and themselves) have no clue what fish they need to avoid.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Tied into a loose ponytail at the back. Sanson often comments how they share a hairstyle, but it’s simply from need of clear vision when moving around for monk skills and attacks.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Stoic as all hell. Not used to making full-on facial expressions outside of conversation, so normally looks bored.

USUAL CLOTHING: Tabards, cyclas, or generally something with flowy fabric that doesn’t restrain movement all that much. Metal boots and gauntlets/knuckles are also common, but not always.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR / S: being the last one standing, change, losing their younger siblings/younger friends, spiders, breaking a promise with their mother.

ASPIRATION / S: To have a proper adventure, and to inspire others to live their fullest lives.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Devoted, comforting, slightly protective, carefree

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Easily angered, impulsive, emotional, stubborn

MBTI: ISFP-T (Adventurer)

ZODIAC: Leo, apparently? Sort of fits, if you look at it closely.

TEMPERAMENT: Some crazy blend between phlegmatic and choleric? Generally carefree and easygoing with friends and willing to spend a lot of patience on them, but unrelenting and downright frightening in serious situations, especially when involving Garlemald.

SOUL TYPE / S: Server/Caregiver

ANIMALS: Birds and dogs.

VICE HABIT / S: Drinking, although the Echo does prevent it from having any effect whatsoever, so its more of a taste thing? Tends to sleep a lot when stressed, and often spends their leftover money on gemstones for their shared collection.

FAITH: Polytheistic; the Twelve and Nhaama are gods they generally believe in.

GHOSTS?: Yes, mainly because they’ve seen one.

AFTERLIFE?: Yes.

REINCARNATION?: Probably, with how they’re sure they’ve seen someone who was supposed to be dead before

ALIENS?: before becoming Warrior of Light, it would be no, but with the revelation of Elidibus on the moon and Midgardsormr and OMEGA‌‌ (ALIEN‌ ROBOT????) they aren’t so sure anymore.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Does not care enough even though they are staunch friends with Nanamo. Didn’t care enough to try and challenge Oktai for the seat of Qestiri Khatun, certainly doesn’t care enough to take a political stance in Eorzea.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Barely any; just enough to read letters written in Eorzean and faintly Ishgardian (courtesy of Alphinaud and Haurchefant).

FAMILY.

FATHER: there was one, once, but he’d rather he be forgotten in pursuit of a happier future. Zaya remembers him as Baatar, but they don’t remember if that was actually his name.

MOTHERS: Erhi, Odgerel.

SIBLINGS: Oktai (older brother), Taban (older sister), Sarnai (sister), Delger and Tuya (fraternal twins)

EXTENDED FAMILY: any of the Scions (former or current) or their fellow Warriors of Light, if we’re talking found family. House Fortemps, Aymeric, Estinien, Sanson, Guydelot, Sidurgu, Rielle, and all of the Qestiri tribe are up there too, but you know, that’s kind of a lot of gifts to be sending around during Starlight. (zaya totally sends them all gifts anyways.)

NAME MEANING /S: Zaya means fate in Mongolian, which all of the other Xaelan names seem to be based on. Their previous name, Dzoldzaya, meant light of fate.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: Recorded history on the Azim Steppe is easily lost, but if asking around the different tribes, one could learn about a rather prominent Qestiri warrior whose image is painted in some of the caverns nearby where much of important, unforgettable Xaelan history is recorded by the Gharl, swathed in blue cloth. In the days of Amaurot, there was one standout Amaurotine who shared a love for lightning and birds…

FAVORITES.

BOOK: They don’t know enough Eorzean to read a full book, not even a children’s book. The Echo doesn’t help with reading. Urianger has read a book of myths and legends that turned out to be true to them, however, and that has been their favorite for a while. They’ve been considering asking him to read more for them, but that’s been placed on hold after the events of the First and following Mt. Gulg.

DEITY: Nhaama, or Rhalgr, if talking to someone who thinks ‘what’s a Nhaama’ when they mention her.

HOLIDAY: Starlight Celebration. Something about the festive mood always makes them happy.

MONTH: August (4th Umbral Moon)

SEASON: Summer

PLACE: On the Source, Reunion in the Azim Steppe just because interacting with other tribes is rather fun. On the First, Il Mheg all the way!

WEATHER: Clear nights where they can trace the constellations, but it isn’t too cold to need a blanket.

SOUND / S: Excited chatter, harp, singing, small hammers clinking against metal.

SCENT /S: Rain, fresh wood, the air in Gridania, light perfume, Syhrwyda’s food.

TASTE /S: Snurbleberry, honey, most Doman seafood, buuz.

FEEL /S: Soft and smooth fabrics, cold metal, the grip of someone’s hand around theirs, wind blowing through their hair on a warm day.

ANIMAL /S: Yol, chocobo (birds!).

NUMBER: 17, for their nameday and the first year they spent in Eorzea

COLORS: Cobalt blue and indigo, pale gold, soot black.

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Extremely good when working with cloth or metal; even more so when tinkering little trinkets. Interestingly enough, very good at playing flute and harp without much practice. Expert at pulling a person’s true emotions out with simply body language.

BAD AT: Sneaking around/stealth. Do not, under any circumstance, give them a job involving secrecy or stealth unless you want it to fail. Speaking/reading is also pretty horrible, due to how they were raised. Also bad at taking change or lies well.

TURN-ONS: Loyalty, bravery despite all odds, kindness and love even when it would be easier to be otherwise, being able to understand other beliefs, and a love of freedom or new experiences

TURN OFFS: Lying to their face knowingly, extreme greed, lack of self-worth, anger for no good reason

HOBBIES: making music with Guydelot and Sanson, attempting to keep a journal, idle tinkering, dancing, gardening

TROPES: Good is Not Soft, Hope Bringer, Magnetic Hero, Omniglot, The Power of Friendship, The Quiet One, Silent Snarker, Dark is Not Evil, Five Stages of Grief, Horrifying Hero, Magic Music, Warrior Poet, Dance Battler, Warrior Monk, Determinator, Pintsized Powerhouse, Pragmatic Hero (don’t let me stay on TV‌tropes pls)

QUOTES: have a snippet of some writing?

Scrawled onto a piece of paper underneath his arm in Thancred’s handwriting and marked with Zaya’s name reads, “Your words, no matter how I react, do not change how I love you all.”

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1: Honestly, I think there would be two movies that could include Zaya; some comedy musical revolving around Zaya’s bard lifestyle while placing their active lifestyle in the background (called “A Bard Knock Life” bc i think puns are cool) or an action drama framed around Zaya and the Scions living some sort of high fantasy/DND type adventure bc I love that stuff called “The Unbroken Thread”. (THAT‌ QUEST‌ NAME STILL GETS‌ ME)

Q2: What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2: Something featuring a flute, probably. I got attached to Zaya playing the flute being a former flute player myself. (I only wish the oboe performance sound bank clicked with me a little more…)

Q3: Why did you start writing this character?

A3: Originally, Zaya wasn’t meant to exist. I was literally planning on just creating A’dewah, Syhrwyda, and maybe Lumelle and Elwin in different roles. Then the Au’ra came out; I‌ used my free Fantasia from the sub rewards just to be an Au’ra (I was a miqo’te before; shh, i was still babu who liked cats) and suddenly Zaya started being formed as Menphina Jewel. Before I knew it, that Menphina Jewel grew a whole backstory and a new name and new friends (Azim Steppe arc of Stormblood MSQ? Final nail in the coffin.) that slowly took over the previous two Warriors as the focus of my attention. I wasn’t even supposed to keep playing FFXIV‌ past HW, dude. I had like a million other things to be doing at the time, but here I am, lying in my grave 3 years later still attached.

Q4: What first attracted you to this character?

A4: They’re (mostly) mute. I really wanted to explore what it’s like to not be able to talk and only converse in body language, but then I discovered that might be a problem, so my interest in sign language collided with Zaya’s backstory. It also helps me work out a personality without them sounding/looking too much like what I think is Basic Story ProtagTM like I tend to do on accident (see A’dewah and Valdis’s dialogue sometimes.)

Q5: Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5: They can’t really speak. Funny how the thing I like most is also the thing I hate most. It’s very frustrating when I want them to convey something and then they can’t without using actual words and a voice because I haven’t got a clue on how to convey that through body language. How in the world do you convey ‘I feel like I’m doing arcanist calculations when you speak’ in nonverbal language??? I have no damn idea and every attempt looks like I meant something else.

Q6: What do you have in common with your muse?

A6: The snark, man. I have friends constantly commenting on how I’ve made a burn without me realizing I’ve done so, and it’s hilarious. The love for music also carried over big time, especially after discovering how fun the bard NPCs were to write and how they’d fit into Zaya’s relationship web. (they’re totally the more comedic side, but I love Guydelot and Sanson anyways.)

Q7: How does your muse feel about you?

A7: No clue, dude. Maybe thinks I’m boring? I don’t tend to want to drastically change things or look for new adventures; the biggest leap I’ve taken in two years is probably changing to a reed instrument from flute, and even then I don’t have to change key when‌ I read music, so it’s not that big a deal.

Q8: What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with?

A8: Urianger and Lyse, maybe? I like the exploration of repairing relationships after something that might have ended another, weaker bond. It’s also kinda fun trying to see how Zaya would react; they’re a lot more rash than I am in real life, and that’s honestly saying something. Alisaie and Alphinaud, however, are the most fun just because I know what I’m doing when I write them, and it’s funny to see how Zaya reacts (or has a lack of reaction) to their dynamic. Guydelot and Sanson fall into another category of ‘dear god I simultaneously love and hate these two’, while Thancred, Y’shtola, Urianger, Syhrwyda, Duscha, and Ryne fall into some sort of strong found family vibes that just get me everytime I think about it

Q9: What gives you inspiration to write your muse?

A9:…Doing job quests or side story quests or even MSQ I haven’t caught up on yet. Watch as I slowly rewrite as many MSQ‌ and job quest scenes as I can in any of my Warrior of Light’s viewpoints. (currently chiseling away at some backstory/before they were Warriors stories after reading too deep into the race/subrace text and lore keep an eye out LOL-)

Q10: How long did this take you to complete?

A10: A day or two; don’t remember when I began. It was probably when I was procrastinating on homework, though. I didn’t post it until a week later whoops.

#ffxiv #ffxiv character meme #zaya qestir #whee i wrote a bit much #oh well #zaya cm #tales from the blue

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dragvn · 5 years

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❧ that girl’s got whiskey kisses in her bloodstream and she wields them like a knife ❧

❝ She was a wild, wicked slip of a girl. She burned too brightly for this world. ❞ MARÍA GABRIELA DE FARÍA? No, that’s actually AURORA BLACK. Only NINETEEN years old, this GRYFFINDOR alumni works as a MAGIZOOLOGIST (XXXXX FOCUS) and is sided with THE ORDER OF THE PHOENIX. SHE identifies as A CIS-WOMAN and is a HALFBLOOD who is known to be TEMPESTUOUS, BRAZEN, and RECKLESS but also PASSIONATE, EMPATHETIC, and UNFLINCHING. { JANE, TWENTY-TWO, NZT, SHE/HER }

hello this is rory and she is,,, a gryffindor™

her pinterest is HERE

first things first, she’s a twin. that’s the absolute first thing rory wants you to know about her. she’s an individual too, sure, but she came to this earth with leo and she cannot fathom the idea of ever having to be without. he’s her best friend, her brother, her other half, and she wants nothing but the best for him

incest tw (to do with the blacks, not rory) // sirius is not, biologically, a black. walburga and orion, likely due to their family’s inbreeding and their being related, struggled to conceive but were under immense pressure to provide an heir. they ended up passing off the baby of another pureblood family (a good one, of course —- not that they would ever deign to sully their name with the spawn of some blood traitor filth, merlin forbid) as their own: sirius orion black. it was a two-fold sort of situation for sirius —- when he began rebelling and finally ran away, walburga privately blamed his lack of biological connection on why he went astray, and possibly even in the last few years before it, shouting the truth at him at some point because she can’t imagine a worse insult than not being a black / is so furious that she wants him to know he is Not a Black, Not Good Enough to be like them anymore. if he did know, in some ways, it was a blessing, because he was able to say “i’m Nothing like them, literally” but also a space for Insecurity (given that he has a very complicated relationship in ootp with black family stuff, like he Hates it but he gets self-deprecating at points --- and ootp isn’t canon here, but his attitude and emotions still exist). ------ anyway, that’s just spitballing, saz and i haven’t settled yet on whether he knows (honestly, as much as i can imagine walburga shouting that at him as an insult, it’s also something that i’m not sure how much sirius would believe / if she’d ever actually shout it, bc it’s her private shame that would reveal --- but the point is, he’s not biologically related and she privately would have blamed that for his estrangement & it’s a complicated situation) // end tw

rory and leo were born out of a one-night stand between sirius & mary macdonald, someone he used to know --- reconnection and shared grief and alcohol led to a one-night thing. neither of them were prepared to be parents --- neither of them wanted to be parents. as it was, mary didn’t even want to be in the wizarding world at all. all it had ever done was take from her, and she needed space to grieve and to find out who she was outside of all that loss. and so after the twins were born, they stayed with sirius, and mary left. sirius wasn’t equipped to be a parent either, but at least he had a support system in place --- harry, the weasleys, andromeda, the order --- everyone invested in him & trying to help raise the twins

they grew up with the potters. with all the order & cohorts who used to know harry and co., really, but the potters are the main crowd. sirius black is her father, always, even if he is not necessarily the best one ( maybe in another life, but this man spent twelve years in azkaban and lost so many people he loved —- he loves his children, that is never in doubt, but sometimes he is more friend than father ), and she would never think of anyone else as her father --- but it cannot be denied that harry and ginny are parental figures, are better at discipline and responsibility and instilling values into them than sirius. she is sirius black’s daughter to her bones, but the hands of all those who helped raise her can be seen too

parental death tw // sirius passes in their fifth year. rory Does Not Take It Well // end tw

alcohol, violence tw // there’s more fights than usual. she’s always been impulsive, running on soul and spirit and sheer emotion, but now there’s a sharper edge to it, a more desperate streak in the seeking of a distraction. she drinks. she fucks. she’s always been tactile, always been flirty, never afraid of promiscuity —- and that doesn’t change in light of this, it just has a new motivation. she’s not looking for a distraction, exactly. she’s just desperately looking for any way to hold onto the feelings she had before, of fun and frivolity and being young, being free. she makes some choices she wouldn’t have under other circumstances, but they are her choices. she holds onto that. even if some days she cannot believe that’s what she did, she doesn’t regret them, exactly —- she wouldn’t repeat them again, she thinks, a year on and handling it a bit better, but they’re hers. // end tw

hogwarts... she loves her friends, but she’s not always great at classes. absolutely abysmal at potions and herbology, dropped them as quickly as she could. care of magical creatures is her only true passion, though she’s excellent at charms and pretty decent at dada & transfiguration, though she has to work harder at the last one. the rest of her subjects go less well, with some fairly atrocious grades in all her OWLs except those subjects and astronomy, which she has a complicated relationship with in her head, given her father’s family’s situation with stars. that’s always how she thinks of them. as her father’s family. it’s separate to what she knows of the blacks now —- herself & leo & teddy, her father & andromeda, even the malfoys. the blacks of old are a cold, unforgiving bunch, and they would hate her. that’s fine, rory thinks. she would hate them too —- and the blacks she knows, her family, built as it is of the last remnants of the estranged blacks, featuring friends and war-time comrades? they love her. and that is something to hold onto always.

she becomes a magizoologist when she leaves hogwarts. begins training, anyway. luna lovegood-scamander is her mentor, and rory loves her. they have different focuses, different fascinations—-rory’s got a dangerous streak a mile wide, courtesy of her father, and she loves the things that feel like freedom. xxxxx creatures —- dragons, manticores, any of them, all of them, they are what she fights for especially, but she loves all creatures. there’s a special space in her heart for them. and she’s happy. she misses her father desperately, and it’s bizarre not seeing her twin every day anymore, but he’s at the flat with so many of their friends, and when she’s around, she’s pretty much always there, and it feels like coming home.

death tw // then harry dies. kingsley dies, minerva dies, harry dies, and rory’s world is quaking again. she’s in this weird space of hope and bitterness right now. she’s had a tendency to... not exactly believe the best in people, she’s still sirius’ daughter, but she believes everyone is worth saving, and everyone has good in them. and now with everything that’s happened, she’s got anger in her too because it kind of feels like a slap in the face. like she believes this world is worth saving but it has the audacity to throw blows like that? she lost her father, and now she’s lost harry too. and she’s not even entirely sure to what extent she’s allowed to feel that grief somedays —- it’s not like they’re his kids, after all —- but that’s when her thoughts are getting too much for her. usually, all she knows are her feelings, and she knows that’s enough. she loves her father but... lbr sirius has some issues with his emotional maturity/how to process emotions (which like... his family and then Azkaban, it’s no wonder) and then the potters are so good at it and she’s ended up with this immense capacity like her father but it’s a lot of empathy, much more like harry, and she feels and acts on her emotions primarily (like potters in general) but she’s, uh, not great at understanding them/processing. she needs to talk things through to really get things straight in her head when it comes to her own emotions. but she’s good at instinctive and instinctual handling of emotions, she just gets caught out a bit when she tries to think about them. so it’s a lot, it always it is, but when she doesn’t get too in her own head, she can sit in it. and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. but there’s resolve there too. she’s always been built of fire and laughter and empathy streaming from her in droves, even sharp as she can be from her father, and now it’s building itself into a dagger, a weapon, a danger. // end tw

tidbits bc this just got fuckin long and also kinda weird

aurora’s always been someone who prefers... not the background exactly bc that makes her sound like a wallflower but she’s happy not to be the brightest star. i think she’s warm and confident in a different way to her brother —- like if leo and james were doing something shenanigan-y in the centre of the common room during a party or something, she’s always ready to get involved and play her part but she doesn’t feel like she’s missing out if she’s sitting on the arm of the couch and drinking and watching and keeping a running commentary going

h8s all the lads. god. has totally pushed cas into a fountain before

would absolutely risk her life to save someone, even someone she hates and would totally not thank her for it and might even take advantage of it (like... those pesky lads!), and it’s a Terrible Thing in some ways (self-preservation ways) (also just... tactically speaking in war time) (leo is right to be like ?!?! at her for it)

maybe positive development for her looks like killing someone, we don’t know

her middle name marlena is after marlene, who was friends with both her parents, and leo’s is harry —- sirius wanted to save harry’s parents’ names for his use for his kids and, honestly, wanted to remember others who were in the fight too

quips when duelling smh

technically lives in a shitty bedsit but honestly spends most of her time when she’s in london at fulham flat

u know harry and ron to draco during the end of dh? when harry saves draco and then ron punches him in the face for being a lil asshole? rory is Both. she’ll save u but also break ur nose. duality of (wo)man

character tropes: undying loyalty ; action girl ; the heart ; the determinator ; chaotic good ; ethical slut // character parallels: brienne of tarth (asoiaf) ; daisy johnson (aos) ; sandrilene fa toren (the circle of magic) ; according to charactour, korra (tlok), leia (sw) & rey (sw), though honestly she’s a lot messier than any of them. verging on hawkguy!hawkeye levels of being a mess of a person, except unlike him, she’d never cheat on somebody lmao

#iidyintro #FINALLY #it's nearly 3:30 am imma try go 2 bed

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3x3racha · 6 years

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Stray Kids Reaction: Their s/o passing away

A/N: Thanks for requesting! I love angst too. Sorry I made them long and it was kind of hard to find gifs to go with the reactions. Also, I recommend listening to ‘Another Me’ by Min Chae to set the mood, or just watch ‘Black’ it’s such an angsty kdrama that I haven’t been able to get out of my head for months. Anyways, hope you like it!

~Admin Yeong ☾

Chan: Once he got news that you died his eyes would tear up. “What?” He’d take a deep breath trying to calm himself down. He starts to choke up. “Oh god,” he said in full realization, he’d excuse himself. He tries so hard to act and look strong, but he can’t hide his crying. Especially at night, he cries harder. The times he’s staying up late for work and you’d normally scold him for it, now left him waiting for that text. The text he’d never receive again would break him down once more. He’d try to release his grieving by making music as an outlet. He’d start to overwork himself further to try to find something to feel the void in his chest. The boys try to help him and although he appreciates it, he wants to remain strong for them. He wants to be a great leader and set a good example.

“I’m fine guys. Really. I’m o- I’m okay. I will be at least, for Y/n.”

Woojin: Upon hearing that you passed away, he’d be in denial at first. He slowly shakes his head, not wanting to believe what he’s hearing. His breath becomes heavier as it feels like there’s a weight pressing down on his lungs. His hands begin to shake and tears slip out. He’d try to get his mind focused on other things, by singing and playing guitar but everything reminded him of you. All the good times you had, even the bad but any memory he had of you he cherished bc you were the light of his life. Now that the light had burned out, he was left in darkness. No one expected that your death would hold such a dark cloud over his head, unable to get rid of. The boys did everything to help him through this. Woojin would try his hardest to move forward, knowing that’s what you would want for him.

“E-everywhere I look, I see a part of y/n. I can’t help it. It’s tearing me apart.”

Lee Know (Minho): As he hears what happened, his breath becomes hitched as his lips start quivering, his eyes darting around the room. He quickly becomes overwhelmed and nauseous. He quickly leaves the room, locking himself in the nearest room of isolation. He sobs loudly while throwing pillows out of anger. It takes forever for the members to get him to open the door. Once he does, Jisung comes in and hugs him as Minho cries about how unfair it is. He breaks down, practically groveling to his knees. He tries to carry on, but he’s constantly pulled back by the memories of you. He starts to internalize all his feelings and tries to put on this facade that he’s okay. But he still can’t bring himself to smile, he couldn’t even fake it.

“Why them? Y/n didn’t deserve this! Why couldn’t it’d been me?”

Changbin: He’s skeptical at first when he hears what happened. Thinking that there’s been a mistake. It couldn’t possibly be his Y/n, right? His eyes fill with tears and rage not wanting to believe any of this. He’s hurt and super bitter about the situation. He backs out of the room needing a minute to process everything. He clenches his jaw as tears start streaming down his face. He tries so hard to stop them but ends up choking on his cries. He grips his phone pressing the home button as the screen illuminates with the lockscreen of you two. His grip tightens before he throws the phone across the room. This causes Felix to go knock on his door to check on him. Felix walks in and sees Changbin on his knees sobbing. Felix comforts him and becomes Changbin’s anchor to help him through all of this. Felix tries to keep him cheerful afterward but everyone notices how depressed and emotionless he’s now become.

“You’re wrong! They-they can’t be dead! They can’t die!”

Hyunjin: When they were explaining your death, Hyunjin stares at the floor hoping no one saw the tears dropping onto the ground. Seungmin asks him if he’s okay and Hyunjin quickly nods, still staring at the ground, before storming off to the bathroom. He slams the door and quickly turns on the faucet and shower, hoping that the sound of water running drowns out the sound of his cries. He throws his back against the wall before sinking down, sitting on the floor as he sobs trying to figure out how this could’ve happened. He feels betrayed by your death, he doesn’t blame you, he just thinks the whole situation is unfair. The boys would try to comfort him and he’d try to reassure them that he’s fine. He tries to cover up his pain and act like everything’s okay but he goes through moments where he can’t hold back his tears any longer. He still tries to wipe them away like it’s nothing, but it’s honestly affecting his mental state so much.

“Why’d you have to go, y/n? What do I do now?! I need you!”

Han (Jisung): He starts crying hard and he gets this pain in his stomach due to grief. Your death takes a toll on both his mental and physical state. He tries to keep his breakdown to a minimal which doesn’t work and he collapses to the floor trying to breathe. He can’t calm down enough to steady his breathing. The boys try to help him and comfort him but it’s almost like he’s in a trace. It’s like the world had stopped, he can’t see anything around him, and all he hears is white noise. He’s only focused on the fact that you’re dead and gone. He feels like he’s drowning and his head is going to explode. Once he calms down a little bit more from his panic attack, he still couldn’t focus on anything else. He’d really detach himself from the group, the members try their best to help him. Jisung tries to act okay for them, but every night he reflects and sobs. He feels like he lost apart of him when you died.

“No. No. Please. Please tell me this is a joke. It can’t be true. I will lose my mind if they’re dead!”

Felix: He can’t help the tears that are falling as he tries to swallow his heartache. He’d try to speak but nothing would come out. He’d start crying harder the more it sunk in. He’d go hug one of the boys and cry into them. Our bright sunshine boy is thrown into a dark place where he can’t come out of. He cries for weeks, mourning your absence. He tries to get over it and move on, but when his mind drifts and he spaces out, he can’t help but think of you. He has random breakdowns about it and he feels as if he’s lost who he is and can’t seem to grasp onto any happiness for longer than a second. Every time he laughs, he goes to look at you but you’re not there. He lost the one he loved most, the one he’d always laugh with. Now the cold reality would hit him every time he’d want to share a joke with you.

“I can’t take this! Y/n was my everything. They meant the world to me and now they’re gone. How do I even go on?”

Seungmin: When he was told that you had passed away, he starts breathing heavy as he tries to talk himself through this. He tries to be calm and rational but how could he when your death wasn’t even rational and he couldn’t understand why it had to happen. He’d take a few minutes to himself as he quietly wept. His grieving is released in smaller doses in a longer time stamp. His biggest sobs could be heard as he looked back at old photos of you two. He creates a bad habit of crying himself to sleep, holding a Polaroid of you. He realizes the late night talks with you about the future and all the promises you made could never be fulfilled. They could never happen now that you're dead and it tore him apart. It wasn’t supposed to end like this, not in this way. He’d fake a smile and wave the boys on telling them he’s doing great when he’s really not. They know he’s not. They could hear him sob every night, quietly whispering to you hoping you’d hear him somehow.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened to you. To us. I wish you were here. I could really use you right now. I need you in my life. Come back.”

I.N (Jeongin): He doesn’t know what to do or how to deal with any of this. At first, he wants to believe that it’s just a joke. When he realizes that it’s not, he starts hyperventilating and panicking. When a member tries to hug and comfort him he pushes them away more harshly than he intended. He frantically locks himself in his room tears building up in his eyes as his hands tighten into fists. His sobs are a mixture of sadness and angst. He’s so confused on how this could happen, especially to the love of his young life. He’d push everyone away, not intentionally he just couldn’t handle anything anymore. He didn’t know how to deal with this. This mood would go on for weeks. His grieving is released sporadically and impulsively. He throws small angry tantrums and then cries into his pillow for a couple hours. The boys would have to approach him with caution when it came to comfort. It had to be when Jeongin was ready. They couldn’t rush him into it. Once he gives in he starts getting back to normal. But if he’s having a bad day, thoughts of you would flood his mind since you always helped him. It’s times like this where he would go back to his angry grieving state again.

“W-what? Hyung, no. How am I supposed to take this?! Y-y/n is gone! Forever. I-I don’t know if I can handle this...”

Send your requests here!

~Admin Yeong ☾

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voidwaren · 7 years

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Untitled bc spoilerzzz

I haven’t published the all parts of Whale Song that come before this scene yet, but I’m going to share it anyway since it’s finished and Whale Song pt. 3 is still in production. Spoilers for said unpublished parts will exist below the cut, so hold off on this one if you’d rather not know yet.

So this takes place after the first kiss I wrote. By now, Chloe’s learned of Warren’s time loop. That’s about all the information you really need to know, honestly.

Per usual, the content of this is subject to change should I end up adding more to what comes before it, but anything that goes on Tumblr here is more preview than final product. Anyway, enjoy! (As always, previous warnings still apply, because I can never be too careful.)

When Warren gets a frantic text from Max to meet her at the outlook near Chloe’s house, he doesn’t think twice about following it. He doesn’t think to ask her what’s going on and doesn’t think to ask if he should bring someone of authority along in case some serious shit was going down. Doesn’t think to do much more than send her a text in response asking her if she’s okay, to which she only pleads for him to hurry. It scares him to the core, causing him to frantically evacuate his dorm room and scramble to his car, and he tentatively breaks the speed limit a couple of times during the short ride to Chloe’s place.

He really wishes he had thought to ask what the hell was going on, however, because before he can even reach the road that Chloe’s house sits on, he’s stopped by a police officer standing in the middle of the road and told to detour. Instead of meekly following orders like he might have in another lifetime, he turns down the road he’s pointed to and pulls to the side a few feet in, throwing himself out of the car just in time to see Max hustling up to him with a panicked look on her face. Behind her, a group of people mingle with a handful of cops on the opposite side of the road he was just on, and all three of the police cars that block the way have their lights going. Warren shifts forward on his feet, eyes allured onto the scene in an attempt to glean more information, but he has no idea what’s going on.

“What the hell?” Warren asks the scene more than he asks Max, who’s reached him and immediately gabbed onto him. He glances down at her for a bare second before looking back to the sight, trying to figure out who the people the cops were talking to were.

“Warren,” Max calls urgently, her hand tightly clasped around his elbow, and Warren tears his confused gaze away from the cluster of people and flashing lights. “They found her,” Max tells him before he has the chance to say anything, and he looks back to the congregation sharply. Found her? Found who? When he looks at Max again, his confusion is still clear on his face, and Max looks pale as a ghost. “They found Rachel’s body,” she clarifies for him slowly, so quiet that Warren is given the opportunity to think he didn’t hear her right. But he knows he did.

Cold, dizzying grief hits him in the chest, and Warren’s arms break out in goosebumps beneath the sleeves of his shirt. His reaction startles him, because he’d never known Rachel. He’d never met her, never knew anything but her name and what she looked like from her missing person’s poster. But she’d played a massive part in the near half-year of his life that he’d lost, and something in him aches for her.

“What?” he chokes once he’s able to pull away from his astonishment. “Where?”

“The junkyard.” Max turns and scrutinizes the cluster of people. There’s no doubt they have something to do with the recovery of Rachel’s body, but they weren’t all cops. Warren didn’t know what they were doing. She looks at him again, and Warren notices her bottom lip is chapped, like she’d been busy worrying it. “Chloe already knows.”

Warren’s eyebrows shoot up. If Chloe already knew, then it was likely she wasn’t taking it well. And if she was taking it like she did the first time Rachel had been declared dead over her previous stance of missing despite there being a lack of a body, then the fact Max was here with him and not with Chloe made exactly zero sense to him. Something was going on here.

“Where is she?” Warren asks.

“I don’t know, she’s not answering her phone. I don’t know where she could have gone.” Max’s grip, still on Warren’s elbow, tightens. Understanding starts to grow in Warren’s consciousness. “I don’t know what else to do. I need—Warren, please, I need your car. I need to look for her.”

Max looks so distraught that Warren feels guilty she even thinks that he’d be capable of telling her no in the first place. How could he ever?

“Here,” he says without hesitation, fishing his car keys out of his jacket pocket and holding them out for her. “Go. I’ll take the bus back to Blackwell. Keep me updated, okay?”

“God, thank you, Warren.” Max’s arms are tight around him in a hug he leans into, savoring it despite knowing he didn’t feel the same way about her as he used to. Warren watches grimly her as she jogs away from him and throws herself into his old car. The engine revs to life, and then she’s gone.

Then, just as his eyes stray back to the curve of the beach he’d become so familiar with in recent months, it all hits him at once, and he stops breathing.

Because Rachel’s body has been found. The news of its discovery has had a chance to go around—long enough for Chloe to go missing and for Max to fail at immediately finding her. Likely because of her connection with Madsen, but … it didn’t seem probable to Warren that he’d outright told her. He was a jerk, but he couldn’t have been that cruel, not when it was obvious he meant well for the people he cared about, Chloe included.

Which means Chloe may have found out another way. Through a connection, maybe.

No one had more connections than Nathan, and, with such a strong correlation to the case surrounding Rachel’s disappearance, no one was more likely to be given the inside information faster than Nathan.

And, Warren now realizes, he hadn’t heard from Nathan all day.

Shit.

Warren rips his phone out of his back pocket and dials Nathan’s number, but it does nothing but ring and go to voicemail. He tries a text, but knows with building anxiety that Nathan wasn’t going to answer that, either.

He has to get back to the dorms. Now. Nathan might not be there—but he had to try.

Warren checks the time, but his mental schedule tells him the bus isn’t expected around for another nineteen minutes. He can’t wait that long. He’s better off traveling back to Blackwell on foot, regardless of the distance. He could nab the bus on its way there if it passed him.

He needs get back to Blackwell. He needs to make sure Nathan hasn’t—

Warren turns on his heel and takes off at a run. He’d deal with the consequences of his unnatural exercise later, because running was the only option his panic allowed him. He couldn’t have walked if he tried.

Warren’s in stitches when he finally reaches the campus, but he pushes on, clutching his sides like it would do anything for the stabbing pains in them. His legs feel like lead and his head feels like it’s full of buzzing bees, but he couldn’t take a breather. Not now. Not yet.

When he reaches Nathan’s door, though, he stumbles over his attempt to knock and his knuckles thump quietly against the wood. He tries again, twice when no one answers, but still to no avail. Either Nathan isn’t in there, or he’s just not answering the door.

“Nathan?” Warren calls, because something’s telling him not to walk away just yet. “Nathan!”

There’s a long beat of silence, mostly consisting of Warren trying to slow his breathing with his forehead pressed against the door, and then the door knob starts turning. Warren jumps away.

Victoria’s at the door when it opens, and she scrapes her eyes over Warren silently. She looks tired; her eyes are red around the edges and purple just underneath, and the usually-perfectly-pressed points of her collar are crumpled and stained on one edge. She doesn’t say anything to him, and Warren only looks back at her with his lips pressed in a line, his eyes wordlessly begging her to let him in. For a moment, she’s nothing but a dragon guarding the gates of treasure. But then she relents.

She sighs and steps aside, back into the room, and Warren stumbles in over his feet as he hurriedly tries to enter before she can change her mind.

What Warren finds inside doesn’t surprise him, yet still shocks him into stopping two steps over the threshold.

Nathan’s room is a wreck.

There are papers strewn everywhere, torn and crunched and mutilated until they were nothing but confetti. There are movies on the floor from where they’d spilled off their shelf, piled like a nest around a black phone Warren almost doesn’t notice in the dark of the room. One of the movies lies open in its casing, telling Warren that something likely hit it hard before it fell. Beer bottles sit neatly in a cluster at the foot of Nathan’s bed, and shards of glass the same color make a pile next to them. Files spilling of photos coat the floor haphazardly, and Warren belatedly realizes he’s stepping on one. Once he moves his foot, his eyes are back to the scene before him.

Pictures, the creepy ones Warren always found himself staring at when he was zoning out while waiting for Nathan to put his bong away, are missing from the walls, and Warren spots a hint of florescent orange just beneath the couch before his eyes center on the figure occupying it.

Nathan’s the figure on the couch, lying on his back with his arm across his eyes. His knuckles are red and pink, obvious even in the darkness of the room, but that seems to be the extend of bodily harm that Warren can see. Nathan doesn’t respond to Warren’s presence, and Warren wonders if he might be asleep before deciding that was a stupid question. Of course he wasn’t.

Unsure of what it was he was even doing now that he’d gained entry and confirmed Nathan hadn’t done any irreversible damage—at least, not to himself—Warren looks at Victoria helplessly, but she only stands there with her arms crossed and her cold, hard eyes watching Warren unwaveringly. She’d never warmed to Warren like Max had done to Nathan. It was why Warren was never at things involving Nathan’s circle, despite Nathan sometimes being at the ones that involved Warren’s circle. Nathan’s friends, apart from Hayden, had never accepted Warren’s presence as a constant in Nathan’s life.

That fact had never bothered him until this very moment.

“What happened?” Warren asks when Victoria remains stonily silent, and is subsequently horrified when his voice is no stronger than a rasp that breaks over the second word. Instead of answering, Victoria’s slim blonde eyebrow raises, and Warren feels his face heat up under the scrutiny.

“I did,” a voice answers, catching Warren by surprise. Nathan’s got his head turned toward him when Warren looks over, and he looks like he’d taken a hiking trip through Hell. Warren doesn’t think he’s ever seen Nathan so pale, so ragged, not even before the loops had started and Nathan had been at his very worst.

Nathan pulls himself up into a sitting position, scrubbing his hands over the hollows of his cheeks, then up to his eyes. Beside Warren, Victoria takes a step towards Nathan, but then stops, her arms crossed tight across her chest like she was physically holding herself back. When Nathan looks up again, his eyes are on Warren first, but they flick to Victoria after a moment.

“You can go, Vic,” Nathan tells her.

“Nathan,” she starts immediately, but is cut off when Nathan shakes his head.

“Just go, Victoria.”

Victoria’s hands ball into fists, and Warren doesn’t miss the hurt expression she flashes beneath her hard exterior. Nathan seems to notice it, too, because he continues in a softer voice, “I’ll text you. You don’t need to be here. You need to sleep and do your girly pampering crap. You look like shit.”

It still sounds harsh to Warren’s ears, but there must be something to it that registers with Victoria, because Victoria’s shoulders slump after a beat, and then her eyes roll and she scoffs quietly. “Wonder who’s fault that is,” she mutters. She looks at Warren tiredly. “His phone’s on his bed, turned off. I’m speed dial four. Don’t forget it.”

The silent threat is obvious: if you don’t contact me the second something happens, you’re a dead man walking.

Warren fights a wince and nods at her. She didn’t trust him with Nathan, but Warren doesn’t think she trusts anyone with him but herself. He didn’t take it personally.

The door shuts quietly behind her when she leaves, and then it’s just Warren and Nathan in the silent dark. Warren looks to Nathan to find him already looking back.

Warren breaks the silence first. “Max told me. I would have come by earlier if I had known.”

Nathan turns his head so he faces the ceiling again and doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Warren says quietly, and the silence spreads between them once more. Warren shifts on his feet, unwilling to break it again when he had nothing to offer, but aware he couldn’t just consider this encounter done with and depart. He couldn’t leave until he knew Nathan would be alright.

No, that wasn’t right. He couldn’t leave until he knew Nathan was alright. Because, until he was, there was always the span of time that still existed where he wasn’t, and Warren couldn’t leave him to that on his own.

Because Nathan wouldn’t if it were Warren in his position.

Maybe he would have if he had been the stranger he’d been so many times before, but this Nathan—the one who allowed Warren into his room even when he wasn’t at his most stable, the one who kept an eye on Warren even when Warren was too distracted to notice in the moment, the one who would defend him and stand with him if Warren really needed it—would. Without a doubt, Warren knows this Nathan would.

And this Nathan was the only one who mattered anymore. The other Nathans were gone.

Without breaking the quiet, Warren digs his phone out of his pocket, ignores the low battery warning, and shuts the ringer off, then kicks his shoes off to the side and sits down on the ground before the couch with his back to Nathan. He’s positioned by his pelvis in a way that allowed him the ability to both see Nathan’s face in full if he wanted, but also turn away and give Nathan privacy if necessary.

Nathan watches him the entire time, only looking more and more exhausted as Warren moves through the actions. Warren can hear his fingers fiddling with something, probably from his pocket, from just behind Warren’s head once he’s seated, and for a moment the want to stop him flashes in his mind.

Something always had to be moving when it came to Nathan. Maybe it made everything else easier to deal with, the fact he could control something as everything happened around him, but movement was to Nathan as obscure references were to Warren: it’s just part of who they were. Most of the time, the repetitive motions sparked some sort of anxiety in Warren and he would stop Nathan from jiggling his leg or clicking his pen or doing whatever he was doing absentmindedly as he worked or talked (and he’d move onto another motion, but the change reset the feeling in Warren, so it worked out for a while), but he couldn’t bring himself to do it this time. So, he forces himself to ignore it.

Nathan sighs, a soft noise that pulls Warren from falling into his thoughts as he was becoming more and more prone to doing, and Warren glances up to meet Nathan’s red-rimmed eyes. Nathan’s eyes search him tiredly, but they have that look in them that Warren has come to associate with the wars Nathan sometimes had in his own head. Warren knew the best thing to do was to wait it out and let Nathan decide when to say anything, but, apparently, Nathan didn’t want to follow the usual rules this time.

“It makes it real,” Nathan whispers suddenly, surprising Warren. He’d come looking for Nathan on instinct, more to be there to make sure he wasn’t harmed more than to actually talk about anything. Nathan wasn’t a talker—not in this sense. This, what he was doing now, was unexpected. “There wasn’t a body before,” Nathan continues slowly, and Warren’s attention on him is rapt. “There wasn’t anything, only pictures, only Jefferson’s—” Nathan cuts himself off, then goes abruptly silent. Warren puts the pieces together himself, unable to bring himself to push Nathan into explaining more.

There had always been a chance what Jefferson said hadn’t been true. That Rachel had actually gotten away and been in hiding, gone for the time being but always with a chance that she could one day resurface and prove Jefferson’s lie wrong.

But the discovery of her body solidified the fact that she was never coming back, and that Jefferson had been telling the truth the whole time. The fact that he wasn’t as much of a liar as they wanted him to be. That, sometimes, he told the truth, and the hard part was figuring out which of his words were real when you didn’t want to believe them at all.

Jefferson really had killed Rachel, and the bars and life sentence he’d received in return weren’t sufficient payment for what he’d taken from them.

Warren’s eyes meet Nathan’s again and he nods once in understanding. Somehow, it proves to be too much.

Nathan makes a noise of broken frustration and smothers his wordless voice in the palms of his hands. Something in Warren breaks in turn, and, without thinking of it, his hand lifts and curls behind him to pull the hem of Nathan’s shirt between his fingers. The gesture is so instinctually small—precise and executed in a way that would keep Nathan from automatically pushing him away or startling in his state—that Warren realizes, once the fabric’s securely in his grip, that maybe he was starting to understand the chaotic mystery that was Nathan Prescott after all.

The silence is easier when it falls again, and Warren keeps his gaze on Nathan until he pulls his hands from his face and returns the look Warren didn’t realize he was expressing, the color of his irises stark against the red of his eyes even in the dim lighting of the room. They don’t say anything to one another, but Nathan crosses his arms loosely over his torso, and the brush of his fingers against Warren’s curled ones is a form of acceptance in Warren’s attempt at comfort that Warren didn’t know he was looking for until hit had been given to him.

His heart thumps hard in his chest in response—a specific feeling he hadn’t felt since that day he’d woken up to find the storm surely passed, and he has to blink to himself in a mixture of confusion and surprise for a moment over it. Nathan has both his eyebrows raised in question when Warren manages to look at him again, but Warren only shakes his head quickly. Of course, that does nothing to ease Nathan’s curiosity, but Warren doesn’t really care. He wouldn’t be able to explain whatever the thumping thing was if he tried.

Warren leans his head back against the couch and averts his gaze to the ceiling, and, after a beat, Nathan follows suit. They stay like that for a good while, Warren thinks, because before long his ass starts to go numb from sitting in one position on the hard floor and his neck feels like it’s starting to kink. Finally, he lifts his head up and sighs.

“What time is it?” Nathan asks, and Warren looks first to the clock Nathan keeps on the wall, only to realize it isn’t there. When he pulls his phone out to check that way, however, he’s greeted with a half dozen missed calls and more missed texts from Max.

“Shit,” Warren hisses softly, opening the text thread for Max. Nathan moves behind him, sitting up, and peers at the phone in Warren’s grip. The texts are all Warren asking him where the hell he is, which is completely unlike Max, even when she’s in a panic.

“Price,” is all Nathan says, his breath ghosting along the back of Warren’s neck, and, for the first time, Warren can hear the hurt in Nathan’s voice when he says her name. Not hurt for himself, but for Chloe.

“I have to call her back. Crap.” Warren scrambles to his feet, already pulling up Max’s number to do so. Nathan looks up at Warren from his position on the couch. “Just—shit, I don’t have—I’ll be right back. My charger isn’t in here and I’m running out of juice. I’ll—I’ll be right—”

“Just go, Graham,” Nathan cuts in. “I’ll be okay for the five damn seconds you’ll be gone.”

Warren looks at him for a beat, his phone clasped tightly in his grip, and then nods and turns to leave the room without bothering with his shoes.

He’s barely thrown the door open and made it over the threshold when Chloe appears out of nowhere and grabs him, pivoting him away and up against his own door with the dull thud of flesh on wood. Warren knows he’d yelped, but it had been in surprise, not pain. Chloe might have just slammed him up against a door, but she’d done so without actually hurting him.

“Chloe—” Warren starts in surprise, and immediately the pressure she’d been using to anchor him against the door goes away. She stills holds him by his arms, her chest heaving as if she’d run to Blackwell, but he could break away if he’d really wanted to.

Almost immediately following the noise of Warren’s collision with the door, Nathan appears in his doorway, hands gripping the doorframe like he’s going to tear it off and his stance telling Warren he’d been ready to take down whomever had ambushed Warren before he’d even made it to his own room. He doesn’t relax as soon as he notices it’s Chloe—but he doesn’t push further out the door, nor does he say a word. He waits, like Max does just beyond Chloe’s shoulder, and Warren is left to Chloe’s devices on his own.

Chloe’s face is a mess of color—red eyes and splotchy cheeks from crying, dirt smeared along the corner of her jaw and a bruise purpling just beneath it, strands of blue hair stuck by the adhering effect of her tears. The sight makes Warren’s heart ache, even as Chloe clutches onto Warren’s shoulders like she’s going to collapse without him to hold her up.

“Tell me Graham,” she rasps, her voice hard as steel beneath the tarnish of her raw throat, “tell me you couldn’t save her, no matter what you did. Tell me she was dead from the start. Tell me you didn’t just let her die.”

Warren considers her bloodshot eyes, the blue of her irises so starkly contrasted against the red that Nathan’s eyes momentarily flash in Warren’s mind, a resemblance he’d seen too many times to count, and then he raises his hand to cover one of hers. Her nails dig into his shirt in response, but he doesn’t waver. This was the truth, and this he could manage. “There was nothing I could do,” he tells her slowly. “Nothing, Chloe. I—reset after she’d already been gone. I’m sorry.”

Chloe’s eyes bore into Warren’s unblinkingly. Then, something manifests in her expression, and she nods once, curtly, and releases Warren. Max rushes forward, grabbing Chloe’s arm, but Chloe shakes her head and turns to leave without another word. Max watches her pass, then spins on her heel and follows. Warren’s left to watch them leave together, and not once do either of them look back. The moment they’re out the door, Warren presses his face into his hands and takes a shaky but deep breath.

“Were you lying?” Nathan’s voice comes from beside him. Warren drops his hands to find he hadn’t moved from his doorway.

“Of course I wasn’t,” Warren replies quietly. He looks at Nathan like he can’t believe he was questioning him, too. “Do you really think I’d have just let Jefferson have her if I could have stopped it?”

Nathan blinks, but he doesn’t even give himself a moment consider the idea. “No,” he says immediately, which relaxes something in Warren. “No, I don’t.”

And, with that, Warren realizes that Nathan trusts him just as much as Warren trusts Nathan for the first time. Enough to accept, without hesitation, that Warren would have done anything to save who he could.

It was a lot of trust. Warren thinks he should feel something like relief or happiness at earning something from Nathan Prescott, but all he feels is undeserving of it, because, while it was absolutely true, something about it just felt untruthful.

He wouldn’t have let Rachel die if he could have saved her—but what if her death had caused the end of it? What if Kate’s had? Or Nathan’s himself?

Would Warren have let them die just to keep time from forever repeating itself?

No, he asserts to himself firmly. I wouldn’t have. Death wasn’t worth it.

But … was it?

He had no way of knowing just how true that was. He can only hope he wouldn’t have traded a life for freedom, even at the most desperate of times.

All he can do now is make sure Nathan’s trust is never misplaced.

That much he’s pretty sure he can do.

#whale song #warren is strange #I don't really want to tag this yet since it's spoilery #life is strange

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redinkofshame · 8 years

Note

FOR U HAVE TO FIX WAT U DID: “Stop asking me to put out the inferno that you lit inside of me.”

Alright, so, some context on this for everyone: last night, as I’m in bed, @tel-abelas-mofo here messages me to ask if I’m going to bed soon. I ignore the fact that I’m already in bed, because I’m having a hard time sleeping anyway, though I do tell her she should be in bed. She says she wants someone to be irresponsible with, though.Well, I’m glad to oblige! I share the story I was just telling myself in my head as I tried to sleep, because I have so many AUs I know I can’t possibly write them all, so who cares about spoilers, right?

Edit: This is a 1950s AU.But, normally, I’m a happy ending girl. This fic? It’s an exception. A painful, painful exception. And it takes me until 3am to freaking tell it, bc mobile, so we’re both just crying in the middle of the gd night when we could have been sleeping and happy instead.. So this prompt is a fix-it fic for the fic that hurt us. The one that doesn’t exist outside my head and only two people know about. A fix-it fic for my own damn unwritten fic.Enjoy. @dadrunkwriting

He clung to her in thedoorway, desperate, pleading. His hands framed her face, an inch in front ofhis own. Her eyes were bright, shining with tears that feel freely in a facelined with exhaustion and grief; he knew he looked just the same. Her handsgripped his wrists, holding on but holding back. He swears he can feel herwedding band digging into him. The matching band is worn by another.

“Please,” he wasbegging her. “There must be something I can say, some promise I can make, tohave you choose me over him. I will do anything for you, ma vhenan, I swear it.”

But she shakes herhead, again and again. Her voice is thick, raspy, broken. “I chose him before Iever met you, my love. You were thechoice I should never have made.”

It is unfair. He neverhad a chance; if he had known her back then…

“Please, don’t do this, if only—” he begins, but she denies himagain.

“I can’t. I’m sorry.In another world—”

“Why not this one?” heinsists.

Her only answer was tokiss him. It is their final kiss, and it is an awful thing, sloppy and shakyand breathless and wet with tears.

“I’ll never forgetyou,” she promises.

He can’t let her go,he won’t, but she pulls his hands slowlyoff of her and darts out the door. He watches, numb, as she pulls her collar upagainst the chill for the walk home, as she sobs into a handkerchief, and soonshe is around the bend, out of sight, out of his life. He imagines he can stillhear the click of her heels over the sound of the rain, the sound of his worldbeing lost, of his heart being ripped away from him.

“Allergies, again, Mr. Solas?”

Wynne’s kind voice broke him out of his memories, and henodded to the librarian working under him.

“It hardly seems to matter what time of year it is,” he liedeasily. He sniffed as he pulled out his handkerchief, and it is only half forshow. He dabbed at his running eyes by rote, and old familiar habit by now.

Everything he does is by rote, it seems. The last severalyears he has lived only out of habit. He goes through the paces, vaguelypursuing ambitions he could recall having when he was a younger man. When hehad heart. Now, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to care where his life ledhim.

“Oh, is that the latest ‘In Another World’?” Wynne asked.

A proud smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, despitehimself. “Yes,” he answered, running a thumb over her name on the cover: JANEA. LAVELLAN

She’d done it, had finally pursued publication on her own.Soon after they’d parted, it seemed. She’d been prolific ever since, publishingtwo or more novels a year, and gaining a very large readership.

He couldn’t help but notice that she published under hermaiden name.

“Did you read the acknowledgments at the end?” Wynne asked.

His brows knit together. “No, I’ve only just finished thefinal chapter.” It was what set off his remembrance. “Why?”

Not that he needed reason to read the notes that Jane leftat the end of her novels—her About the Author section was sacrosanct, holdingshared glimpses of her life, stories of her twins entering high school or her family’sstruggles with their new dog. Teasing hints of what it would be like to stillknow her.

“I haven’t read it yet, I’m still several book behind in theseries” Wynne was explaining, “but I hear it’s quite scandalous in this one.”

Distracted, Solas made some automatic response, a nod, maybea smile. He disappeared into the back room of the library, his office, to readin private.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

As many of you know, Ilike to express my gratitude for those who help me turn my silly ideas intopaper and ink. From my editor at Tethras Publishers, to the research librarianswho spend hours explaining why I’m wrong, to my readers who make it allworthwhile: Thank you. Your dedication makes this happen.

But there is onereader in particular whom I’ve neglected. At least, I dearly hope he is one ofmy readers.

Because, you see,every book I finished has been for him. He is my Muse; every love story I’ve writtenhas been with the hope that someday he might read the words, and he would knowhow I wished our story had ended.

The memory of himfuels me, as though adding logs to an endless bonfire. I write, hoping eachsentence will help to douse the flames, that I might get some rest andreprieve. I am tired, yet I write, breathing the emotions his memory still fansinto me into my characters in turn.

I think that,somewhere out there, he must wish for my happiness. His memory haunts me, tellsme to accept the bed that I have made, to move on.

To his ghost, I say:Stop asking me to put out the inferno that you lit inside me. This is no bed inwhich I lay, but a pyre, and it will surely consume me.

That ours was not ahappy end was my doing. I alone made the choice to break both our hearts.

But oh, my Muse, I waswrong. I allowed my head to make a choice that belonged to my heart.

I know not whetherthis plea will ever reach you, or only ashes. Are you out there? Have youforgiven me?

Most likely I willhear nothing in response to this call. Perhaps you will reply with a kindletter, and a photograph of your happy family. Would I be strong enough to behappy for you, I wonder?

I’ve looked for youand found only cinders, and I cannot bear it a moment more, because if there iseven the smallest flicker of a chance that I would not have to wait for anotherworld to see you again… I would tell younow what I should have told you so many years before:

Youare my choice.

~~~~~

Solas was beside himself, frantic, terrified of the painfulhope the burned in his chest until he choked. It couldn’t be real, not afterall this time. Is it possible she meant another, one who came after him?

His fears tormented him as he called the switchboard operator,the publisher, and every second on hold was a torture.

Finally his call connected, and he explained inelegantly thathe was calling about the note in Lavellan’s latest novel, that he needed tocontact her. The man, Varric, asked for his name to make sure it was actuallyhim and not a hoax. Solas gave it feely, but he was scared of the man’sresponse. What if that somehow wasn’t the name they were looking for?

“You’re Solas? No shit?” Solas winced as the man laughedloudly into the receiver. “You’ve made me a wealthy man, Solas! I have a lot ofbets to call in; I knew it was a long shot, but I just couldn’t bet against ourgirl Jane.

“Now, some day you’ll have to tell me how you got anadvanced copy of that book—it’s not set to hit the shelves for a few days yet—butfirst answer me this: What are you intentions with Jane?”

“I… Excuse me?”

Varric’s voice became serious, almost threatening. “Look,the woman has been through a lot. I told her that I’d help you contact her nomatter what, but—well, that was a lie. You see, I consider the woman to be afriend of mine, and she doesn’t need any more hardship. So if you’re alreadymarried, or planning to hurt her, or looking for a woman to mooch off of—”

“No! I assure you, I…”

“You what?”

What could he say? This was unexpected, sudden, he had noway of knowing what Jane truly wanted from him.

“I chose her long ago. I would give her only what she wouldhave of me.”

Varric chuckled. “Ican work with that. Are you ready? Grab a pen. I can’t give you her address–security reasons you understand–but I can tell you what her phone number is.”He told Solas the information to reach Jane’s phone, but then added, “Though,you won’t be able to reach her this time of day.”

“Oh, alright. Do you know what time—”

“Yep, this time of day she’s busy working. She has a dayjob, after all.”

“Right, I—”

“She’s a librarian. In fact, I think you know the place, don’tyou? I believe you used to work there. Together. At the library. And, since youcan’t call…”

A breath escaped Solas, a small, broken laugh. “Yes, I thinkI understand you, Mr. Tethras. It’s a long drive… Will you tell her?”

“Now, where’s the fun in that? It’s a much better story thisway. Good luck, Chuckles.”

“I thank you, Mr. Tethras.”

~~~~~

Solas had been right—it was a long drive. Plenty long enoughto think and re-think, to worry, to wonder. This was foolish, he should havecalled. This all seemed so surreal; he’d gone mad, surely, this couldn’t betrue. Oh, but to see her again was worth the risk…

It had been early morning when he left his own library in arush, but he managed to get to hers before closing, every mile closer to hertown, to familiar sights, weighing heavy and anxious in his gut. The parkinglot was empty. He got out of his car, and only then thought to worry about howhe must look.

Hopefully not haggard, after spending the day speeding downthe highway. Older than when she’d seen him last, of course. His suit was in some disrepair; he’d let many things go unheeded in his time alone.

None of that mattered. He entered Skyhold Library. Herlibrary, once his, once where they worked together.

His eyes were drawn to her shape immediately. She wastowards the back, picking up a stack of books.

She looked up, saw him standing, but he couldn’t tell if sheknew him. He slowly removed his hat, out of habit.

She set the books back down.

“Solas?” Her voice was timid, but the library was empty,silent, and he heard her perfectly. His feet suddenly remembered their purpose,rushing forward with large steps as she said, “Oh damn that Varric, he couldhave warned me. I…”

Her voice choked up as tears formed in her eyes, herbeautiful eyes, and she took a few tentative steps towards him, but he wasalready to her. He was uncertain where to stop, but she reached for him, restingher hand along his face as if to check that he was really there.

He tried to say her name, but no noise came from him. Hecovered her hand with his, gripping her tight, and she felt real, so real.Their faces only a tense breath apart, he ran his thumb over her knuckles, andcouldn’t help but notice that she wore no ring. They stared at each other, eachquestioning silently, as his other hand skimmed her wet cheek. He wondered, onlyvaguely, when he had dropped his hat.

To the Void with words.

His hand wrapped behind her neck as he kissed her, hisheart, his lost love. She melted into him instantly, wrapping her arm aroundhim as he tried not to devour her, but he couldn’t help but be intense, ragged,as she easily bent backwards over his arm.

When, breathless, he allowed them space to breath, tried toremember that he was a gentlemen, her hands still pulled him to her. “Oh, mymuse… You saw it, then. My letter. Do you forgive me? You would allow me tochange my mind?”

“Ma vhenan… My heart made its choice long ago. It has beenyou, always you, every day that we were together, every day that we’ve beenapart.” He smiled, shakily. “I have had no choice in the matter. It is not asubject for debate.”

She laughed, and he wipes away the tears that spilled fromher eyes. “I’m yours, Solas. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it much, much sooner.”

“That would have been preferable, I admit.”

She laughed, pushing against him playfully. He made up forthe jest by kissing her again, softly this time, treasuring the feel of her.

When her eyes flickered open again, she said, “We have a lotof catching up to do.”

#this is so long #this is all i've done today #i woke up still sad #and sat to write #but writing is hard #and this long damn thing represents my entire day #uuhh what to name this #solas #solavellan #jane a lavellan #apparently #she's named after jane austen #because i needed a name #another 50s au #prompted #dwc #tel-abelas-mofo

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sanctimoniousscrawlings · 6 years

Text

Journal Entry #2

Or Cognitive Dissonance in Perception of Personality: An essay of negativity

I see myself in an extremely negative light. I know it’s unfair to myself but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’m basically scum. I see myself as a selfish failure of a manchild with extreme anger issues and a severe lack of motivation. The thing is, all of those things are correct, but so is the opposite viewpoint. I went to (one of) my best friend’s (we’ll call her S) birthday party about a month ago and there were nine of us. After a while of sitting in a circle and playing some tabletop games, my friend’s boyfriend (A) made the observation that we were sitting in a pattern where the most similar personalities were sitting in triangular formations. My triangle was my friend, another girl (R), and myself- which according to A was the triangle of kindness. I, being entirely too self-absorbed and fairly high on the spectrum, responded with, “Me, kind? Where?” because I genuinely don’t perceive myself as being very kind (and definitely not nice like S and R are). He was quick to remind me that they’d been borrowing my car for a month-and-a-half and that when I found out they had no vehicles (one was stolen, the other completely broke down and was basically totaled) I immediately offered to lend them mine. (Ironically this screwed me and my grandparents over because it was our only vehicle with four-wheel drive and we ended up snowed in for a week.) So maybe I’m not always selfish- but I do selfish things so often that I feel it’s a core trait of mine. I’m constantly “borrowing” money from my grandparents- that I still live with at nearly 27 years old. Borrowing is in quotes because it’s always with the pretense that I’ll pay them back when I can (and sometimes I do) but also with the shared knowledge that I probably won’t be able to any time soon. My grandmother waves me off when I’m upset that she offers to take care of something for me because she “knows I’m good for it/knows where I live” and because I help her do things she wouldn’t be able to handle on her own like taking care of my grandfather who has been acting like he’s completely incapable of doing anything (ex: we have to serve him everything he eats if we’re home bc he’s ‘too weak’ to get up and do it himself, but if we leave him alone or turn our backs for a second his diabetic ass will race to the kitchen and eat stuff he’s not supposed to have. This man makes and scarfs down triple decker sandwiches faster than 625/Reuben.) which he is not, for the most part. He’s disabled, but he isn’t anywhere near as disabled as he acts. I see myself as a failure for the same reason I see myself as selfish. On top of that, I have little to no impulse control. If something I should be doing is in the way of something I want to be doing I will 9/10 times completely pass what I should be doing over. I don’t have a strong will when it comes to taking care of myself/my life/etc., but I’m extremely willful when I see something I want. I will do the impossible to make it happen especially if someone tells me not to or that I can’t. For fuck’s sake, My grandmother’s suv got stuck in the snow when she was trying to back into place and I got out and lifted the front end/pushed the car back so it wasn’t stuck- which brings me to my next point: anger. I am fueled by an immense rage at all times. I jokingly say that everything I do, I do out of spite but it’s not exactly distant from the truth. The angrier I am, the more driven I become and I get mad easily. My grandmother worries for me because I am extremely similar in personality to her- the second someone tells her she can’t do something she goes out and does it because fuck you, that’s why. I told her she shouldn’t go outside with all this snow because she’d likely get very sick and might get pneumonia. Unbeknownst to me, she immediately walks the trash down to the bins at the end of the driveway- at the other end of our 5-acre property- because she thought I was saying that as a joke at her expense. The next day she’s coughing and sneezing and miserable and admits she went out. I had to explain that not only is she too elderly to be doing things like that (the phrase she originally found offensive when I warned her the first time) but she’s grieving and depressed because her sister had literally just died a couple days before and that grief/depression weakens your immune system. Like, no, lady. You’re seventy and dealing with not only the death of your sister but the fairly recent death of your aunt. Your immune system isn’t gonna exist for a minute and you will die if you go within 500 feet of a preschool, let alone trudge through a quarter mile of snow. You don’t even own snow boots or a heavy jacket. I’m getting way off topic there. Anyways. I got pissed because I signaled my grandmother that I was ready to start pushing her SUV, which was stuck in the snow and she a) spent a minute adjusting stuff while I was pushing after giving the signal instead of immediately hitting the gas and b)let off the gas when she saw how red I was turning because she thought it was from the strain (the only strain was on patience). I got madder when I started putting groceries away because there is ALWAYS shit (by which I mean the laundry basket) blocking the freezer door from opening all the way and stuff also fell out of the freezer when I opened it, and the door to the laundry room had stuff blocking it from opening all the way and I started throwing stuff because WHY DOES NOTHING EVER COOPERATE? Honestly, I’m still salty about it but more of a vaguely jaded salty than an “I need to break stuff because I’m irate and all cognitive function flies out the window when I’m this mad” kind of salty. I’m basically the hulk but I turn red and stay the same size. I ended up guilting myself for hours after mistreating my cat because I was in a particularly venomous mood from being in so much pain. Her only crime was being in my way and almost tripping me several times when I was trying to feed her so I started flicking water at her whenever she would come near me. It was cruel and I still feel really bad about it- especially since it’s basically how my mother treated me when I was a child (ironically when she was going through the same tooth pain I am now) and it was one of my mother’s traits that made me always say I’d never be like her. It’s also only little things that ever do that to me, though. When something happens that should by all logic tip me over the edge, I become cold and calculating. This is with all forms of stress, too. Grandfather fell on a vase because he didn’t drink his juice before getting out of bed and his blood sugar was low? There’s blood everywhere and my grandmother is running around like a chicken with its head lopped off? I got this. Abusive and controlling (to my little primo) aunt calls to tell my grandparents they aren’t allowed to see my cousin anymore? I was so irritatingly calm and matter-of-fact about telling her exactly what I thought of her my grandmother could hear her shrieking through the phone on the other side of the house and had to stop herself from cracking up when she saw how pleased with myself for making a grown woman (I was 15) throw such a tantrum. Girl my boyfriend cheated on me with tells me so- and that they’re dating now? She was more frightened at how quickly the rage visible in my face evaporated than anything, which was a mistake on her part. But why can’t I do that with the little things? Why can’t I reason with myself? Is it because I can’t plot any more satisfying revenge for the inanimate objects that get in my way than to yeet them into another dimension? Because there’s no vengeance to be had on something that should prove to only be a minor irritation? It’s the same with pain. If someone purposely causes me pain, I’ll crush them without emotion, but something like a toothache I can’t do anything about (because I was snowed in) turns me into a monster (in fairness I wanted to take a sledgehammer to my face the entire time). Is it because I’ve trained myself not to be helpless- but when things are too minor for me to go into eye-of-the-storm mode (for lack of better description) I panic and feel helpless and lash out? I hear jokes like “hell hath no fury like a minorly inconvenienced gay man” and I also hear that people with severe trauma/mental illnesses/etc handle huge problems immensely well compared to others, but can’t deal with the little things- but like, why? I get that I’m a manic depressive gay guy and had an exceptionally shitty childhood but why can’t I handle the little things. I know, logically, that they don’t matter, but what do I do when that logic goes out the window? How do I drag myself back to reality when I’m throwing a block of frozen shredded cheese at the ground because it won’t. Stay. Put. And how do I motivate myself to actively make the changes to make myself better? Because right now I am a lazy fuck slumming it in a pile of dirty clothing and half-empty water bottles, between mountains of books and other unknown items like a hoarder because I still haven’t fucking cleaned my room. At all. To my credit, I have done some cleaning in my grandmother’s office. Not much, but some.

A different best friend of mine has always liked to joke that I am a creature of contradictions because I have always had opposing personality traits- always shifting from one extreme to another and never in the middle. Is it normal to have such divergent personality traits? Is it because I am bipolar?

#journal #mine #tw: a bunch of awful stuff #personal

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