#and im trying to avoid burning out/hitting art block at the same time

[dilfpassing]

Hey, question <:Oc abt commissions: would it be okey to ask for a Dragonborn?

Yes, I've done a few dragonborns before :] My queue is very long at the moment though, so it might be a month or more before I can begin any new ones I take on T _ T

[edelwoodsouls]

the light behind your eyes

The Magnus Archives, JonMartin, pre-relationship

You'll never go through with it, he said. Watching the blood drip, maybe he doesn't know Jon as well as he thought.

Word Count: 2464

Ao3

inspiration

(this art and this show apparently single-handedly cured my months-long writers block, i only started the show like a month ago, holy shit im in love)

--

The Institute's halls are darker than they used to be.

He's not sure when it happened, really. Just a few short years ago, he could have called this basement home. It didn't matter that he was sleeping there, that his real home was writhing with worms - that wasn't what gave it that comfort, that warmth. But the knowledge that someone was always there, the camaredie of close-quarters living and near death experience...

He misses it. He misses Tim, with his awful sense of humour. Sasha's laugh. Even Melanie's angry tirades about whatever was pissing her off that week.

He misses keeping Jon company over slowly cooling cups of tea late into the night - not talking, not acknowledging each other, simply existing quietly in the same space, an assurance that he wasn't alone-

He laughs out loud at the thought, the sound echoing like a gunshot down the hollow corridor, because isn't that the point? He's miserable, he's lonely, so it must be working. It'll all be worth it.

But still. The corridors feel cold and empty. Even though he knows Melanie is around somewhere, probably using the pages of some ancient research tome as cigarette paper, and Daisy has been haunting the spaces between the stacks for the last few weeks. And Jon, of course, most likely recording another statement and pretending it satisfies that primal itch in his soul that screams for fresh trauma.

It feels more like a haunted, ghostly archive than the home of several nearly-human disasters who should really be banding together for emotional support.

In these moments, with the others sequestered away in their own problems, Martin likes to wander the halls himself. It's so hard to leave the office without making human contact usually, but over the last few months he's come to sense the pathways of the others, how best to avoid their company. Almost like a sixth sense, or - ironically- a third eye. He takes the chances when he can, stretching his legs, letting himself get lost in the ghosts of better memories.

He's not sure if it's voluntary, or a method of making himself feel more Lonely.

It's the early hours of the morning now, not that he can tell without windows. He hasn't seen sunlight in so long, he's sure his skin must be paler than the pages of a Leitner - even turning on the overhead lights makes him squint.

His footsteps echo off the brick. It must be raining outside, he thinks, because there's an odd, sharp smell in the air, damp and cloying. He almost wants to run outside, feel it on his skin. Maybe it could wash away his - his Loneliness? His attachments? Which would he prefer to lose more at this point?

He can't deny the power that slipping through the cracks, going unnoticed but noticing everything, makes him feel.

His feet guide him thoughtlessly, in tracks he's paced a hundred thousand times before. Through the stacks of old statements, still barely organised from Gertrude's original mess - fifty years is a hell of a lot of statements to manage, after all, especially when the mess is deliberate. Past Tim's old desk - it's Daisy's now, technically, but Martin's never really been one for change.

Of course, his feet always lead him to Jon's door.

He hates to admit how many times he's sneaked up to the small porthole window in the door, peeking in to check in on the archivist. He's seen Jon recording statement after statement, seen him staring absently into stone-cold coffee for hours, seen the absent-minded scratching of  burn scars, the many times he's been straight up passed out on top of a mound of files. Only sheer will-power has kept the door firmly between them.

He'll only sneak a quick look, Martin tells himself now, tugging absently at his shirt sleeve. Just to check that the archivist is still alive and breathing - not that anything else is possible now, he supposes.

His thoughts are interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of Jon groaning, a low, agonised noise that sounds forced out involuntarily, through gritted teeth. Martin's heart stutters. For a moment, his feet still. Then he's speeding the rest of the way down the hall and, before he can think better of it, throwing open the door.

Martin freezes. Hand gripped white-knuckled around the door handle, to keep himself standing upright, to keep himself grounded so he doesn't throw up at the sight before him.

That scent is thicker in the air the moment he opens the door, and he realises with a plunging horror that it isn't raining outside, that the stench now shoving its way down his nostrils is metallic and all-too familiar.

Jon is sat at his desk, as he always is, slumped over it, head held in his hands like he's about to fall asleep on the pile of blood-soaked papers below. But it isn't fatigue dragging at him now. It's the steady stream, the waterfall of crimson forcing its way past his palms, curling past his fingers in almost mesmorising, intricate patterns, dripping audibly onto the statements below.

Spread before him among the papers are an assortment of tools. A kitchen knife, a letter opener, a screwdriver - is that a blowtorch? With a sick sense of humour, Martin notices the corkscrew he had kept so closely for protection during the Filth's first attack, now sticky with blood, clutched limply in between Jon's fingers.

His voice cracks as a strangled noise emerges froom his throat in place of words. He swallows down the bile, resisting the urge to clamp a hand over his nose. "Jon?"

Silence stretches deafeningly across the table. Jon doesn't even react to the sound, though his limbs are shaking with a brittle tension.

The corkscrew slips slickly from between the archivist's fingers, clattering on the table like a gun going off, and yet the silence rings louder still. There's an awful static in the air, like when Jon uses his abilities, except now it doesn't seem to stop, doesn't seem to end, just reverberates in his head to the point of pain. Like the very air is crying out silently in pain.

A small sound emerges from behind Jon's hand. He still hasn't moved, hasn't looked up, but Martin would recognise that dry chuckle, tinged with disbelief, any day. It's a sound that's brought him no small amount of delight to hear over the years, even when that disbelief was more indignant and exasperated at Martin's incompetence, because it meant that he had Jon's attention - had, in some way, broken through that stiff upper lip that Jon had once been adamant on presenting.

Now it sends a horrified shiver down his spine. There's no pain in that laugh, just a resignation.

"Martin." The word is spoken so softly he almost doesn't hear it - a whisper, a prayer; a drowning man accepting his fate.

Panic rears, finally, inside Martin's chest like a suddenly startled animal. "Jon, Jon are you okay-" Stupid, stupid, of course he's not bloody okay, but what else can he say, with Jon sitting so calmly as he bleeds out onto his desk? "I'll- uh- hang on a sec, I don't have my phone with me, I'll call the ambulance, oh god-"

You won't go through with it, Martin had said, in a voice as cold as he could make it, as detached and unwelcoming as he could bear. You're a coward, looking for an excuse.

Hit Jon where it hurts the most, cut off any emotional connection keeping them tethered. It's the only way, he told himself, ignoring the sick satisfaction he got from finally scaring Jon the way Jon had often scared him.

He'd really thought he was right, but apparently he doesn't know Jon as much as he thought he did. Or maybe it's his fault, he drove him to this. Who and what has Jon got left, without Martin? Abandoned by those he loves, treated as expendable by Basira, blamed for things he can hardly control by Melanie and Tim, left alone to face that wide, unrelenting eye that pulled their strings.

Jon is far more Lonely than Martin has ever managed to be, and he isn't even trying.

The words continue to fall from his mouth in a panicked babble. "Do you have your phone with you, Jon? Jon? Or did we reconnect the landline after the last attack? I know the hospital ignores calls from the Magnus Institute when possible, but surely they can do something, it's gonna be okay-"

"Martin." Jon lets one of his hands shift slightly, and a trickle of red bursts forth onto the pages. "I guess-" there's that endearing, terrifying laugh again- "I suppose its for the best, that you didn't agree to come with me."

"What?"

"Would've made this a bit awkward, if you'd said yes."

And finally Jon raises his head, and Martin is horrifyingly unsurprised when deep brown irises meet his own. Blood still drips from the nearly-healed whites of his eyes, spilling over like tears. He can see the tissue knitting back together before his eyes, until the only evidence that anything awful ever happened is the drained pallor of Jon's skin, and the sticky wash of half dried blood spread around him like a pool. He's clearly been at this for a while, judging by the dry patches, and the variety of tools at his disposal.

Martin can't take his eyes off the sight. "I..." The words vanish on his tongue like so much smoke.

It's almost worse, he thinks, that Jon is healing so quickly. That the one avenue of escape offered to the rest of them is closed to him forever by the very thing he's attempting to flee. He hadn't regret saying no to Jon, shutting him down, not with the very existence of the human race hanging in the balance - and he still doesn't. It's the mental image of him hidden away in his office, unnoticed, hacking away at his own face for hours without anyone so much as wondering where he was, noticing his cries of pain, that makes him sick with guilt.

"No need for an ambulance, Martin," Jon's face tugs into an awful almost-smile. "I'll be right as rain any second now. But if you happen to have some painkillers, I wouldn't be opposed. Bit of a headache, you see."

Despite himself, Martin lets out a disbelieving laugh of his own. How the hell did they get here? He even misses the long hours of investigation, the haunting paranoia. Even that was better than this resigned certainty of tragedy. None of them are planning to survive this, and if they do? Where the hell can they even go from here?

His feet carry him over the threshold into the office, and he can almost feel the Lonely loosening its clutches, just a little. He offers a hand out, surprised at how steady it remains in front of him. "Come on, Jon."

Oh, how that soft, shocked expression on Jon's face makes his heart break. The fingers that clasp around his feel like burning, an electricity leaping across his skin. When was the last time he touched another person, skin to skin?

It takes a long time to clean up the blood. Martin wishes it could take just a little longer, every touch rekindling an unnameable something in his heart. Sat in the bathroom, Jon is quiet, retreating into himself. His newly healed eyes are vacant. Martin sponges away the crust from Jon's sickly skin, brushes it from his hair, and Jon simply yields to his touch like a doll.

They find a fresh change of clothes in his locker, but judging by the stale air released from the compartment Martin is pretty sure Jon hasn't changed clothes in a long time. When was the last time he took a shower? Brushed his hair? Hell, Martin can't remember the last time he saw Jon eat. Does he even need to eat anymore?

He throws the bloodstained clothes away, and leads Jon back to his office. The statements on the desk are barely legible beneath the crimson, but as he goes to throw them away, too, Jon's hand catches his wrist, the first voluntary movement in almost an hour.

"Jon?"

"I...need those."

"They're unreadable."

"Not to me."

Worrying his lip, Martin silently hands them back, watching as Jon smooths them out carefully on one of the only clean patches of desk. As if he can feel the gaze on him, Jon looks up, finally meeting his eyes once again. God, that softness in his stare is an arrow in Martin's heart. He's painfully aware that he's viewing Jon without any of his walls up, stripped bare, at his lowest. Once he might've considered it an honour that Jon trusted him this much - wanted nothing more, really - but now he just wishes Jon would get angry at him again. It would make this so much easier.

Martin swallows, throat suddenly a desert. "I have to go."

Jon doesn't look surprised, or even hurt, just nods, gaze never leaving his. It occurs to him that the last time they spoke, Jon probably thought it was the last time he would be able to lay eyes on him.

Silence yawns across the room.

"Talk to someone?" It comes out more of a desperate plea than he would've liked. "Daisy, or Basira, or Melanie-" he knows even as he lists them that only Daisy would be willing to bear Jon's company at this point, and she's hardly in any better a place mentally.

"Okay, well..." Words can hardly be adequate enough in this sort of situation. "Don't, uh, don't get too Lonely, Jon?" The archivist's expression sharpens at that. "Before you can't come back from it."

A second of hesitation. Jon nods slightly, jerkily, as if he hadn't even considered the possibilty. "As long as you remember, I'm always here, Martin. I- I trust you, but if you need an anchor... I can be your rib."

"How romantic," Martin snorts drily, before he can think better of it. A flutter of panic ignites in his chest, but Jon just nods, and the flutter becomes something more like hope.

It's not an assurance that everything will be okay. They both know the impending disaster rushing towards them at full speed as they themselves hurtle towards it.

But it's a promise. A thin, invisible cord, anchoring the two of them together.

Today, whatever fresh hell this is, they can take the punches and commit the sacrifices until they're bled dry.

But tomorrow - what if. If there is a tomorrow, any semblance of future? They can take on the world, together.

He leaves the door ajar when he slips back into the corridor.

[xxstyleart]

Chapter 18; Siege and Storm

Heyyooooo, so I’ve adapted a few parts in a particular scene of chapter 18 with Mal, Alina and the Darkling! I’ve been trying to read fanfics and it’s inspired to write my own so here ya go!! *Disclaimer: I’ve adapted the existing scene with a few things I envisioned. Most of the content is original to Leigh. I’ve simply added a few different elements into the scene and developed it the way I thought would create a deeper scene. Also, my content will be written in between double asterisks. Anything outside of that was written by Leigh. & the ‘[...]’ indicate there are additional lines from the book I’ve not included in my post but that I’ve skipped in order to make this post more fluid and concise with my adaptations. Hope that made sense. Enjoy!!!!

(Art credit: nanfe1789)

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He nodded, scuffed the toe of his boot along the floor. “I miss you,” he said quietly. Soft words but they sent a painful, welcome tremor through me. Had part of me doubted it? He’d been gone so often.

I touched his hand. “I miss you too.” [...] He let out a long breath. “Saints, I hate this place.” I blinked, startled by the vehemence in his voice. “You do?” “I hate the parties. I hate the people. I hate everything about it.” “I thought... you seemed... not happy exactly, but--” “I don’t belong here, Alina. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.” That I didn’t believe. Mal fits in everywhere. “Nikolai says everyone adores you.”

“They’re amused by me,” Mal said. “That’s not the same thing.” He turned my hand over, tracing the scar that ran the length of my palm. “Do you know I actually miss being on the run? Even that filthy little boarding house in Cofton and working in the warehouse. At least then I felt like I was doing something, not just wasting time and gathering gossip.”

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling suddenly defensive. “You take every chance you get to be away. You don’t have to accept every invitation.”

He stared at me. “I stay away to protect you, Alina.” “From what?” I asked incredulously. He stood up, pacing restlessly across the room. “What do you think people asked me on the royal hunt? The first thing? They wanted to know about me and you.” He turned on me, and when he spoke his voice was cruel, mocking “Is it true that you’re tumbling the Sun Summoner? [...] I stay away to put distance between us, to stop the rumors. I probably shouldn’t even be in here now.”

I circled my knees with my arms, drawing them more tightly to my chest. My cheeks were burning. “Why didn’t you say something?” **Quiet anger rumbled in my chest. How could he not know what was in my heart? How did he not understand that I could not give a care as to what anyone else had to say? I needed him and that’s all that mattered, not what others were speculating about my--sex life.**

“What could I say? And when? I barely see you anymore.” “I thought you wanted to go.” “I wanted you to ask me to stay.”

My throat felt tight. I opened my mouth, ready to tell him that he wasn’t being fair, that I couldn’t have known. But was that the truth? Maybe I had really believe Mal was happier away from the Little Palace. Or maybe I’d just told myself that because it was easier with him gone, because it meant one less person watching and wanting something from me. **Another burden I wouldn’t have to bear. Another disappointment I would avoid. So then, why was there such an aching in my chest as he stood there, staring at me expectantly? What more did he want? Was I not enough? Was I too much?**

He raised his hands as if to plead his case, then dropped them helplessly. “I feel you slipping away from me, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

**His eyes bore into mine with a deep sadness I hadn’t let myself look at for too long these past few weeks. It stung. Maybe because he was right. Maybe because I feared all of this would become too much for him and he’d decide to finally leave for good. Maybe because it was easier to let go first rather than to be left behind like crumbs on a table... Or maybe because it reminded me of the sadness that was growing in my own heart every time he left, because despite his previous declaration in wanting to protect me, I’d felt him slipping away and I hadn’t known what to do about it.** Tears pricked my eyes. “We’ll find a way,” I said. “We’ll make more time--”

“It’s not just that. Ever since you put on that second amplifier, you’ve been different.” My hand strayed to the fetter. “When you split the dome, the way you talk about the firebird... I heard you speaking to Zoya the other day. She was scared, Alina. And you liked it.”

“Maybe I did,” I said, my anger rising. It felt so much better than the guilt or shame. **Times have changed. I’ve changed. I'm not the weak little orphan from Keramzin anymore. I may not be strong, but I am more now. Different. I had to be because of this power, because of all the people depending on it. Why couldn’t he see that?** “So what? You have no idea what she’s like, what this place has been like for me. The fear, the responsibility--”

“I know that. I know and I can see the toll it’s taking. But you chose this. You have a purpose. I don’t even know what I’m doing here anymore.” [...]

**The rage boiled inside, heat rose to my cheeks and ears. “Coward,” I spat as viciously as I could. Surprise swims in his eyes as he registers my verbal attack. Despite the outburst, a door inside me slams shuts. “I chose nothing.” I say coldly. He stiffens at my change of tone. “I did not choose to be born with this power. I did not choose to wage this war. I did not choose to go after the stag,” I twisted the knife.

A mix of hurt, desperation and fear contorts his face. I know he remembers. It was his idea to go after the stag--to get it before the Darkling could so I could be used against the Darkling in time, just as everyone here was planning on doing. He shakes his head in denial.** [...] “You came here for Ravka. For the firebird. To lead the Second Army.” He tapped the sun over his heart. “I came here for you. You’re my flag. You’re my nation. But that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. Do you realize this is the first time we’ve really been alone in weeks?” **Brief shock overcame me.**

The knowledge of that settled over us. The room seemed unnaturally quiet. Mal took a single tentative step toward me. Then he closed the space between us in two long strides. One hand slid around my waist, the other cupped my face. Gently, he tilted my mouth up to his. “Come back to me,” he said softly. **The tenderness in his voice pulled at my heart and thaws it. The door that slammed shut creaked open just a bit. This. This was what I yearned for--what I’ve been missing. Him. His love, his affection. No pride and no barriers to stand in our way. My body relaxed in response.** He drew me to him, but as his lips met mine, something flickered in the corner of my eye.

The Darkling was standing behind Mal. I stiffened. Mal pulled back. “What?” he said. “Nothing. I just...” I trailed off **as fear choked me. I didn’t know what to say.** The Darkling was still there. “Tell him you see me when he takes you in his arms,” **he taunts. His voice was too raw. Too real. It shattered me.** I squeezed my eyes shut. Mal dropped his hands and stepped away from me, his fingers curling into fists. “I guess that’s all I needed to know.” **Panic rose in my chest.** “Mal--” “You should have stopped me. All that time I was standing there, going on like a fool. If you didn’t want me, you should have just said so.” “Don’t feel too bad, tracker,” said the Darkling. **Each word sounded like shattering glass and it was hard for me to not cringe anymore than I already had.** “All men can be made fools.” “That’s not it--” I protested. “Is it Nikolai?” “What? No!” “Another otazt’sya, Alina?” the Darkling mocked. Mal shook his head in disgust. “I let him push me away. The meetings, the council sessions, the dinners. I let him edge me out. Just waiting, hoping that you’d miss me enough to tell them all to go to hell.” I swallowed, trying to block out the vision of the Darkling’s cold smile. **He knows. He knows I won’t say anything more. I’ll let Mal believe this lie rather than tell him what I truly see. He knows I’m too afraid to face that truth.**

[...] “Mal--” **Faltering before I truly begin. He’s slipping. I need to say something. Anything. But what? What can I say to make him stay? Pain strikes me as I realized there wasn’t a better option than nothing.** [...] “I don’t want to hear about [...] Ravka or the amplifiers or any of it.” He slashed his hand through the air. “I’m done.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the door.

“Wait!” I rushed after him and reached for his arm. **Desperation clung to me. I wanted to feel the warmth of his skin on mine. I hoped for it to drive away this coldness I felt inside.**

He turned around so fast, I almost careened into him. “Don’t, Alina.”

**My heart broke. He was already pushing me away. I can see that the distance was much more than the few inches between us.** “You don’t understand--” I said, **faltering again. How could I put it into words he wouldn’t judge me for? How could I think of him so often after all that he’s done? Why do I keep seeing the Darkling? Mal would be disgusted of me.**

“You flinched. Tell me you didn’t.” “It wasn’t because of you!” **I just wished he’d believe me.** Mal laughed harshly. “I know you haven’t had much experience. But I’ve kissed enough girls to know what that means. Don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” The words hit me like a slap. He slammed the door behind him.

I stood there, staring at the closed doors. I reached out and touched the bone handle. **I know you haven’t had much experience. But I’ve kissed enough girls to know what that means. His words ring in my head, cutting through me like a double-edged knife.** You can fix this, I told myself. You can make this right. But I just stood there, frozen. [..] I bite down hard on my lip to silence the sob that shook my chest. That’s good, I thought as the tears spilled over. That way the servants won’t hear. An ache had started between my ribs, a hard, bright shard of pain that lodged beneath my sternum, pressing tight against my heart.

**I turned and leaned against the door, gasping for breath while trying not to let the sobs erupt. I see him fully now, standing exactly where he was behind Mal, just before the bed. The moonlight shone against his tall silhouette and illuminated his broad shoulders, his strong arms. I can see his perfect face, a smile no longer on his lips. He had the mercy to not look smug. Instead, his face was stony and cold but there was something dark swirling in his eyes that I couldn’t make out. I pinned him in place with a look, offering nothing but anger, hatred, and resentment.

I brought my hands to my face, my fingers curling and slightly tugging at my roots. Angrily, I spoke, my voice becoming louder with each question. “Why do I keep seeing you? Why are you here? Why must you torture me like this?” I’m nearly begging him for answers. My hands slashed the air between us, frustrated. “Must you make me drive him away?” I can read his face clearly now. The problem with wanting is that it makes you weak.

He thaws and looks at me disgustingly lovingly. His eyes were soft as he wrapped his hands around one of mine then laid it over his heart. The other caressed my cheek. Gently, he answers,“Yes, I do because you must realize that in this world, there is only you and I. There is no one else like us: powerful. Your power is growing every day. As much as you love him, he could never love you without fearing you first. And as much as you want him to be there for you--to understand you, he simply can’t. He is otazt’sya. None of them will ever know you the way I do. None will understand the hunger for more power or the delight we feel when we use it. There is no one who will not fear you or judge you. Only I can understand you. Only I will not fear or judge you for what you are. You are Alina Starkov, my equal. We were made opposites, but are halves to the other. We were meant to be together.”

I try to yank my hand back from his chest, but I am frozen. I try again, but to no avail. His words shake me to my core. Knowingly, he says nothing and silently urges me on. How? How was he able to read me so well? How did he know so much about how I felt? Of all people, how could he know what I was going through when he wasn’t even here with me? Or real? Shame and resentment filled me. We wage a silent battle, looking into each other’s eyes, acutely aware of the other. We stayed like that for a long time, so long, my body relaxed and grew used to his presence.

I finally break the silence.“...Why won’t you just let me be?” My voice broke. He was only a figment of my mind playing tricks on me. He wasn’t real... so why did he look so real? Why did this feel so real? He was an itch that I couldn’t soothe. I keep scratching to try and ease the itching but it only makes things worse and now I’m bleeding.

“If I did that, you’d be alone.” His words felt like a bucket of cold water washing over me. Loneliness? Wasn’t that his fear? You don’t understand, my words to Mal echoed again. I’d meant he didn’t understand that I’d actually flinched from him because of the Darkling, not because I didn’t want him but had I meant something else too? Was what the Darkling was saying true? With this new found power of mine, was loneliness my fear now as well? My blood turned cold at that truth. Yes, it was... ‘Sankt Alina’, they’d whispered during prayers. They’d praised the Sun Summoner without cease but I saw the look in their eyes. Admiration was there on the surface but it was fear that had driven them--fear of me... of my power. I saw the way servants never stood too closely, the way they flinched at my every move. I saw the way peers did their best to dance around me with their words. People claimed to worship the Saint but I saw their pity. No one wants this kind of responsibility or this raw hunger for power in any life.

“Alone...” I whispered. “Is that what we are?” As soon as I let the words out, I felt it: alone. It kicked me in the gut and nearly choked the air from my lungs. Tears well in my eyes again and spilled over without cease. My body gives way to the weight in my heart and I sink to the floor. The harsh reality that no one would ever understand drowns me. The fear courses through like an unforgiving tsunami. Breathing became difficult. No one could ever understand me. No one except the Darkling.**

I didn’t hear the Darkling move; I only knew when he was beside me. His long fingers brushed the hair back from my neck and rested on the collar. When he kissed my cheek, his lips were cold, **and I welcomed it, begrudgingly. We were alone, together.**

[chocosweetbun]

ASOUE FIC 2.5K Words, Kitlafey

(I don’t write often, especially not fluff, so please forgive me =v=. Happy Valentine’s Day!!)

@huffleporg @madlovve and anyone else who enjoys this OT3!

(childhood friends/neighbors, there’s not enough au’s in this fandom that don’t follow canon, SLOW BURN god so slow- Theyre just friends for the first 2k words im so sorry)

Behind the school yard, a ways into the evergreen woods that stretch off into places no student ever dared to go, sits a strange sight. A patch a trees with branches low enough for the smallest of kids to climb, a clearing of light that cuts though tall soft grass and weeds, and a group of rocks that formed a throne fit for a forest king. No one ever saw it, no one ever went. It was the perfect spot for exactly 3 old friends to visit after years of absence, and yet they never did- at least, no one knew they did.

Kit Snicket was an adventurer. She fought off monsters under her bed, under her school desk, under- and over- teachers and other kids. You would think being 4’3 at age 10 would be a hindrance, but to her, and her wild red-brown hair that seemed to shift to blond in the sunlight, it was an advantage. She was popular to pick for every PE class, every recess, and every time someone needed defending on the playground. But that was only her at half power, for when she was with her two best friends, she was unstoppable. A wild-child in every sense of the word. Dewey Denouement didn’t exist. His brothers overshadowed him despite not meaning too and often the 11 year old was left in the back of the class to read whatever book he fancied that day. He wasn’t shy, but he had this quiet-politeness about him that made people think he faked his responses and conversations. Almost as though he just recited what he read somewhere. He just didn’t talk like a kid his age would, and it threw the others off. However, when he was with his two best friends his dazzling smile was present on his face no matter what. A calm boy who found where he belonged. Olaf (he dared tell no one his last name) was the kid everyone avoided. Due to unfortunate events and an odd placing birthday he was the oldest in his class at 13. Being 13 he had hit his “I hate everyone and everything” phase that all young teens go though, which meant he would often upset his younger classmates with harsh words and unpleasant actions passed off as pranks. His thin red-orange hair never seemed to be quite clean, his clothes were obviously expensive but never tidy, his fingers covered in small burns which he never would explain. The two classmates that would interact with him were the only reason he didn’t go insane being surrounded by people who refused to look his way. A strange teen who needed to let off smoke. Behind the school yard, a ways into the evergreen woods that stretched off into places no student ever dared to go, sat a strange sight. A patch a trees with branches low enough for the smallest of kids to climb, a clearing of light that cut though tall soft grass and weeds, and a group of rocks that formed a throne fit for a forest king. The group of friends found this when the schoolhouse’s kitchen caught fire and their class had to stand outside for the fire department to arrive. Olaf had snuck off, Kit behind him, and, when noticing his friends disappear into the trees, Dewey cocked a smile at the idea of a mini adventure and ran off to join them. “Holy shit- that’s a big snake-“ The eldest said, reaching out as though he was about to grab it. “What are you DOING?!” Kit pulled Olaf back with a surprising amount of strength. “It could kill you!” “Oh no it wouldn’t, I would kill it first before it even had the chance!” “Yeah right! Tell ‘em he would D I E Dewey!” “Ah-“ the middle child said, stuffing his book that he brought out to read in his backpack as the group walked further into the woods. ”That snake isn’t venomous so- He would probably be okay if it bit him-” “Dewey that didn’t help!” “Hey kit-kat mind letting go of me?” With that, Kit huffed as she pushed Olaf forward. “Fine but don’t go grabbing anything that Dewey doesn’t know the name of!” The child took hold of Dewey’s hand as she spoke- the innocent gesture was returned. “Fine fine- I won’t do anything pretty boy wouldn’t do.” And he continued the walk ahead. It wasn’t long before they found those trees, that clearing, and those rocks. They spent some time there playing- the faint sirens of firetrucks blaring in the distance telling them they were not missed- and as I’m sure you could imagine the three each found the best spot to be. Kit climbing the trees, Dewey lying in the grass, and Olaf perched on the rocks. They laughed, talked, threw leaves and grass, picked flowers (Dewey and Kit did- Olaf just watched) and overall had a good 30 minutes of time together before they heard the large red trucks drive away. “We should go back.” Dewey said. “Yeah, you’re right.” Kit replied, hopping down from a branch. Olaf came down from his throne and stood over the two, his face showing that he was deep in thought. “Are you guys doing anything after school tomorrow?” He said. ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ The next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, the group kept visiting the hidden place in the trees. August turned to September, then October, then November. When it got too cold to go walking the trio would visit Olaf’s empty house and attempt to build forts and bake holiday cookies. But on New Year’s Eve the three agreed to hop out of their bedroom windows, run though the snow with flashlights in their small hands, and meet in the forest where they would all climb up the biggest tree and watch the fireworks from the very top. They neglected to think about the ice on the branches, and after the 5th time Kit slipped and fell- they gave up. “I’m telling you I CAN DO IT-“ Kit struggled in the grasp of Olaf’s arms, who was desperately trying to keep her from breaking her own neck. “You’ll break your neck!” Dewey said, standing in front of the tree with his arms spread- as if that would block the young girl from wanting to climb. “When has Dew ever been wrong, huh? Gah- stop it!” “AHH-!” Kit shouted as Olaf tackled her to the ground. You may be thinking ‘That boy is double her size! Surely he hurt her-‘ and you would be completely wrong. Olaf was a thin, weak child, and Kit was more durable then one might think. He pinned her down in the snow, sitting with his legs across her stomach, as though she were a pillow under his knees. “Get off of me! Uuuugh!!!” And with that last sigh, she was defeated. Olaf then plopped back, legs still over Kit, to lie in the cold snow. Dewey soon joined them, using Olaf’s stomach as a headrest. As the sound of fireworks began on the horizon, the three were all thinking the very same thing. “I really could have got up that tree-“ “We can die if we stay in the snow-” “I’m happy you guys are here with me-“ Well, not exactly the same thing. “I’m happy too! I really love you guys!” Kit said, using her arms to make a torso-only snow angel. The snow was not nearly deep enough though, so her jacket got stained with mud. “I love you both too!” Dewey said, using a foot to kick around some dead twigs in the ground. “Like a couple of kids like you could know what love is.” Olaf scoffed, his teen drama act rearing its head. “I’m hardly a kid anymore! I’m 11 now!” “No, Kit, you’re still a kid.” “Well Dewey is almost 13 like you!” When the sound of the fireworks ended, the three prepared to part ways. Dewey brushed off the mud on Kit’s coat with his gloves and did his best to fix her hair while she bickered more with Olaf on how old someone must be to not be a ‘kid’ anymore. Kit says 11, Olaf says 13, and Dewey thinks to himself that whenever that age may be, they all would remain childish like this forever. ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ February 14th rushed though fast, and after school the three once again met up behind the schoolyard. Dewey brought handwritten letters detailing how important the other two were to him, Kit gave them handmade pottery that she had made in art class, and Olaf said “Happy Valentine’s Day” while giving them necklaces crudely made, the pendants being a small crow feather on each. He also wore one and said he had just happened to make extras. This evening was not spent separate, instead all three of them sat in the thawing grass, side by side by side. They were just finishing up a conversation on the best kind of chocolate when Dewey (who has been silently listening) asked a question. “What is it like to have a crush on someone?” “It means you want to get married, right?” Kit said, her childish innocence causing Olaf to snicker. “Nah, It means you want to make out with them.” Olaf leaned back on his hands, obviously trying to appear cool. “Ew-“ Kit scrunched up her nose “That’s gross, don’t people only do that on T.V.?” “No I don’t think so.” Dewey pulled his knees to his chest. “That’s just like…kissing and stuff- right?” “Yeah sure, basically.” “Have- you kissed anyone before Olaf?” Dewey asked with his usual soft tone, but a bit of nervousness peaked though his posture. On the other side of the taller boy, Kit’s eyes grew wide with curiosity. “Oh he probably has! Right? Was it gross?” Kit leaned in close to Olaf, pushing said boy closer to Dewey. The eldest stayed silent, opting to ignore his friend’s questions by standing straight up, causing Kit to crash into Dewey’s legs. “wal ha wahs meen” Which roughly translates too “Well that was mean” when said by a girl who is face first in a pair of knees. Olaf walked away as the other two were left sitting. “Was I too blunt…?” Dewey helped Kit lean back off his legs. “I think he’s just in one of his moods.” Rubbing her nose, she stood, reaching her hand out to help Dewey stand. He took hold without a second thought, and soon the both of them were caught up with Olaf. The three of them went back to talking as though nothing had ever even happened. The next day, in class, Olaf pulled Dewey aside. “Is it Kit?” The teen said. “Maybe, I’m not sure.” The short boy paused and tried for a moment to read Olaf’s expression. “Would you be upset if it was?” “Yes.” ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________

When Dewey turned 13, Olaf 14, they shared a moment behind one of the rocks during a game of ‘Hide from Kit so she doesn’t make you stick fight with her’. “Why did you-“ “Because I wanted too.” In the moment neither was really sure who said what, or who kissed who. Kit found them, and all three were forced to avoid getting beat with a stick-sword for nearly an hour. ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ When Kit turned 12 she told Olaf that she was in love with him. He asked her why she thought so when she was obviously closer to Dewey. She couldn’t answer- and argued that she was equally close with them both. “So why DO you think you love me and not him then?” He had asked. She begun to cry in frustration and left with a “Whatever- Forget it. I guess I don’t know my own feelings.” Olaf thought to himself that she was beginning her ‘I hate everyone and everything’ phase a little sooner than he expected. ________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ The kids were growing up, Dewey thought to himself, and he saw it in the way Kit hugged his arm whenever she was avoiding whatever harsh words Olaf said. He also saw it in how Olaf refused to let Dewey lean against him anymore. But as the three of them quietly walked to their normal place- he realized that they weren’t growing UP, but APART. The thought made him want to cry. That day Olaf told them that his parent’s were sending him to a boarding school, and that he was leaving right away. Dewey started crying, realizing that there was no way to salvage the relationship that was breaking- He started crying more when Kit let go of his arm, marched over to Olaf, and hugged him for the first time in a month of silence, arms linked around his neck. Dewey watched as Olaf hugged her in return, the image of her small form surrounded by his tall lanky one was out of place in the summer sky. “You can’t go-“ Dewey heard Kit say as he slowly walked over to the pair. “I can’t stay, I’ve tried-“ Dewey reached the couple and hesitated for a moment- watching the two of them embrace in their last ever meeting. He felt like he was intruding- but his urge to say goodbye to Olaf and comfort Kit was too overwhelming. He was not alone in this, for Kit and Olaf both pulled him into their hug before he had a chance to try and worm his way in himself. “I- I really love you guys-“ Kit’s words were laced with sorrow and the sound of cicadas.

“I love you both two-“ Dewey replied, dropping his book to the hard ground as he buried his face into Olaf’s chest and Kit’s hair. “I- I’m going to miss you.” Olaf said to them both. Neither of them brought up how that was the first nice thing Olaf had ever said to either of them in the years of knowing each other, unless you count the hundreds of tears that puddled up on the ground.

________________________________________________________________ ________________________________________________________________ A decade later and some change later, a young woman with red-brown hair stepped into the sunny spot on the soft grass and weeds, the feather necklace being blown by the wind. A young man with a dazzling smile was holding her hand, adorned with a ring, and he, too, modeled a similar necklace. However it was tied around his wrist for he had grown out of it. They wave to a figure appearing from behind the too-small to climb trees, the feathered neck-piece lengthened to fit his adult form. No one ever saw them, no one ever will. It was the perfect spot for exactly 3 old friends to visit after years of absence and talk about never forgotten feelings, muddy coats, growing families, and how to spend the rest of Valentine’s day. They didn’t go though with their plans, and instead rested together in the thawing grass until dusk.

[floralkittygambler]

Return of The Thing

Sort of. By thing, I mean me. But I love this movie and the meme. Ok, context for this post: - Where I’ve been - Why I left - Whats hip happening -  Where I’ve Been:

Long story short, I’ve had real life matters to deal with. Firstly, my entire household contracted COVID. Well, *almost*. We’ve been through constant testing, quarantine zones, and had the ambulance up numerous times. My parents and 2nd oldest sister were hit the hardest. My 3rd oldest sister was positive and asymptomatic. Now something none of us could predict that I would be completely COVID free despite my compromises. Despite that I was in close contact with them all, including the 2nd oldest who contracted it first and accidentally being coughed on a few times lol. I went through the exact same testing and yet nothing. No symptoms. No presence of COVID. And I took no precaution to isolate from my family as I presumed in our small house we’d all get it, so I was more preoccupied with caring for the sick. Ultimately, I’ve either gotten off scott free this time or there’s a chance I may actually either be highly resistant or even immune. Even then, I WILL be having the vaccine as and when my family are eligible. And we all still follow regulations set.  I’ve also had other real life obligations, much of it either mundane fixing up my living circumstances to more personal matters. Overall, I have been extremely preoccupied.

A mini update, the stray cat Big has been in our porch a lot more in recent times due to the snow as well as being even more affectionate. And Queefster passed away after a good life and a full tummy. Why I Left:

Aside from COVID, business, and my own health declining, I’ll be blunt. I left because of how disgustingly toxic most fandoms are nowadays, but Hazbin is one of the WORST for it. That includes harassment, death threats, mocking MI and triggering an ED. In fact, I’ve even seen others get rape and death threats. So yes, even if YOU are a decent fan, collectively most of you arent doing any favours. Even some critical blogs seem to be overtly catty in ways no one else seems to pick up on under this ‘look how blunt I am’ look and it’s just... You dont have to be a prick to have your say, to be honest and to disagree with the trending. That’s a few on and off of tumblr, and no one I follow anyways. 

In regards to my ‘sensitivities’ - two things: 1) Of course trauma is going to hurt, 2) Im fully aware of kids doing and receiving much of this, which hurts MORE. I have my own lil squids and Im worried of them eventually having to deal with this shit. And no, no one SHOULD have to put up with such rude and poor behaviour. Agree to disagree doesnt live in some people’s realities, but by God harassment and bullying seems ok if YOURE doing it or enticing it. That ISNT ok. Even if it seems like nothing to you it could kill another. I certainly will not take your shit. 

On huskerdust I STAND by my words. It’s fucking creepy and there is sexual harassment and obsession. And there are large triggers. I will not go into detail here because Ive done that dance before and I’ll be refining it again. YOU may like it, however it triggers my very real traumas as well as those in my bloodline. Be respectful and keep that shit away from me. And for goodness sake, parents PLEASE dont raise your children to behave as such online. And no, being anon isnt actually fully anonymous. Also to send hate and threats anon is not only traceable but also cowardice. Grow a pair and find a hobby. I avoid my traumas for the most part. I will not allow you to weaponise or diminish my own or others experiences for your fictional based gratification. Likewise, if it becomes canon, I’ll just make an AU where it is not. Simple. You can hate it but Im not your personal circus so go be toxic elsewhere. IF you like HD and follow me, honestly... Youre probably better to unfollow as I am deeply and passionately against it and stolitz, and valvox, and am very vocal on that. Dont mistake my traumas and discomfort as a personal attack - and dont personally attack me over it either. And before anyone claims homophobia, no. This is nothing to do with sexuality. You arent the victim. If you love these pairings with your soul to the point of a ‘stan’, then youre best off unfollowing because I really am too old for extremists and rabid fans more crazed than the infected in REC. Also I never used to hate angel but now... Fans behaviour is abhorrent and hes so over saturated that I honestly really dislike him now. Doesnt mean you have to hate him too, but just bloody respect that angel isnt loved by all, he can be triggering to some as well as toxically enabling [incl. past addicts], a vile homophobic gay stereotype and just overall a lack of knowledge and respect of sex workers as a whole. When you know a lot of the ins and outs and victims, it’s hard to overlook. I respect your triggering ships by avoiding that mess. Respect others.  The problem with Viv - and I will elaborate in the future - is that your audience is often a reflection of your work and it’s message/presentation. And most of the fandom Ive met are awful. Honestly, though lonesome I find more comfort keeping distant from fandoms because yall often extremely toxic and petty. Perhaps others have had better experiences than I however Im drawing a line in the sand. For MY sake. I’m annoyed with virtually anyone I sense great potential in that becomes wasted. Im angry at Viv because she can do so much better but is blocking HERSELF. This is from a creative and business mindset. When someone has potential that gets wasted - especially creatively - it burns me. Im just passionate on artistic fields. It doesnt mean I hate them. I hate the waste of full potential.

I’ll state things here people disagree with but encouraging harassment, hate or just being an overall cunt just aint on- It’s like people charade as being this fair being but its all bullshit. Self improve and sod off, I do NOT have time to parent you online. 

And obviously there are RL duties I must fulfil. Some in which I will need the publics assistance for if you can spare it. Overall, Im just... Fandoms behaviour generally disgusts me. Disappoints me. We SHOULD be better than this. It’s like listening to bloomin incels rant on fuckin chad or some bullshit pill theory instead of looking to improve themselves too. Honestly... I do mostly acknowledge my own flaws and faults and try to improve each day. It just feels fewer folk see that in themselves and do the same. And that’s coming from an old cunt whos far from fuckin perfect. Also, my fuckin laptop broke so I waited a week for a bloke nearby to fix it. What a fuckin lifesaver, he’s the real mvp!

Also Also, one of you did privately apologise and I appreciate that. I certainly hope we agree to disagree and continue to grow as people on our separate ways. Trust me, I dont forget small acts like this. Even the trauma that caused and the aftermath, please dont think I dont appreciate the apology. However you’re also entitled to know that the forgiveness and healing side may take longer for me due to various factors that occurred - much that few are aware of, including yourself especially. I wish you well and safety.

Hip Happenin Now:

Still busy but slowly visiting. I’ll reply and reblog soon, be patient please. Ive still many things to sort which take priority as well as other things. Im trying to get money n shit for a future and whatnot. Health issues are strong in the blood rn and Im spending extended time with both Big and the other pets to keep up harmony, especially now that Big is accepting slowly that our porch is a welcome shelter for him and he’s free to leave and stay whenever. Trust me, overloaded isnt even the word. Im prepping shit early this year and from now on. Also, my God Ive been dealing with more physical issues as well and had to play doctor. May even need medical interference but holy shit I could never see this coming. Still... It’s... An experience- If you could call it that. Staying more active and healthy. Cat’s nearly clawed my eye out in my sleep (to which I can only presume Billy got too close or hyper) but it’s fortunate placement so Im alright. Most of my body is in pain to the point of absolute normality at this rate. And I plan to make space for a better altar. Future of the Blog: 

Errr, it’s my fuckin space so it’s whatever I want really. Ill still have my Viv rants (ie, pros and cons of her work, HH/HB, other shit like that) however I just really dislike most the fandom at this point as well as the poor management and lack of professionalism and attitudes of staff. It’s just draggin me down and making me ill. I also want to showcase more of MY work (from redesigns to projects to some dumb 2am shit), cosplays, fashion, hobbies, spiritual practises - MY. SHIT. I feel like Ive strayed slightly. But I WILL be honest. And damn well will it upset people. And if it does and I’m genuinely ding something wrong/harmful - guide me patiently. Educate me. If it’s like this HD shit where Im not only allowed my opinions but justified on my traumas or mocking my disabilities or features, then just yeet yourself elsewhere. Also some of my gaming shit too. Getting to know folk who interact with my stuff and just... Create my space. For me. Something hopefully others can enjoy. Something that can function as a bit of an art portfolio as well. Critiques and whatnot.  But I will continually not stand for anyone’s shit or poor handling of serious matters. You will not cause me to doubt and invalidate my experiences like you have to others.  For now, Im tottering but slowly returning. For those who I previously and daily interacted with, I will get back to you. And Im sure you’re patient and understanding of my situation - it’s appreciated. But in terms of any fandom, more so if it’s known to be as hostile, I’d rather keep a healthy boundary between us. That’s for newer folk. Perhaps we may bond further and you’re welcome to try, however I do feel far safer not getting involved into other people’s shit any longer. I will put anon back on but any toxic shit will be reported as well as compiled so at least I have a reference on the actual toxic nature of fandoms. Likewise, Im slowly getting there but god theres a lot of fuckin work. So much that not even my closest friend has heard too much from me until recently. I’ll be returning to the grind for now as I have duties, as well as many demanding felines for my attention. Alongside some physical medical concerns which require additional care, I’ll be popping off now.  Im thankful for those who have checked in on me. I will reply shortly. Take care