#and they're used to me forgetting to do self care and putting off taking pain meds until things get really bad and stuff like that)

[thethingything]

so we have the highest fever we've had in over a year (I've just taken some meds for it) and our skin is really sensitive and painful and we've been coughing so hard we keep nearly throwing up and our joints hurt so fucking badly, but our fatigue is still at like, the baseline level it's usually at when we're not ill which is fucking wild and very confusing.

I'm not really sure what the hell is going on with that because we also didn't start feeling feverish or get the skin and joint pain until maybe 2 hours ago and before that we didn't feel more ill than normal other than the really bad cough even though we've had the cough since yesterday afternoon.

I've been doing a lot better than usual at resting and taking meds when I need to and stuff like that though which is probably helping and we're planning on probably just laying down and not doing much for the rest of the night

[sissylittlefeather]

Let's Forget About the Stars: Chapter 2

A/N: Another chapter for Elvis and Dove! I'm really loving writing a happy couple 😂. Those of you who know me know I usually torture my characters for at least a decade before I let them be happy, but not this time! Also, just a quick note about the nickname: that is a real endearment in Mvskoke, but I spelled it phonetically instead of in the right alphabet. Anyway, I hope you guys love them!

Need to catch up? Masterlist HERE.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, this gets a little sexy, erection, reference to masturbation, fingering, dry humping, orgasms, ejaculation, also racism and period-appropriate use of the word "Indian"

Word count: ~2.7k

He kisses her again as the sun rises on them. And he's right. This is only the beginning.

******

Elvis and Dove spend the next few weeks in a haze of young love. They have to be careful about where they go and when because his fans seem to always find them, but for the most part they make a way. They spend as much time together as possible and at the end of each night he kisses her in his car outside of the ladies boarding house she has a room in. Every kiss builds in intensity and they struggle to stop themselves from taking it further. His hands roam over her body, squeezing her hips and even venturing to her breasts. She kisses his neck and nibbles his earlobes and they both moan and whimper so much it sounds like they're in pain. And they are every time they have to stop.

Elvis is convinced she's the woman he wants for his first time, but still he wants to wait. He's not sure what exactly he's waiting for, but he knows it's too soon now.

Dove is dying to give herself to him but she lives in constant fear that the second she does he'll lose interest. So instead, she gently pushes his hands away and he moves them to a more acceptable place and tells her goodnight, breathing heavily and dreaming of the day he'll be able to touch her however he wants.

Every time she makes it to her room, she collapses on the bed, her body buzzing and pulsing on the edge of something she can't identify. Elvis is left in the drivers seat with a raging erection, trying to calm himself down before he has to get out of the car. Several times he rushes straight to his bedroom to lay on his bed and pump himself to a release, quietly moaning her name as he makes a mess on his hand. He's running out of self control, but he doesn't want to ruin what he has with Dove. She matters too much.

One night they're finding it particularly difficult to stop. They've said goodnight no less than four times, but they're still glued together, his hand slowly creeping up her thigh under her skirt, his dick so hard it hurts. She whimpers and backs away.

"Elvis, wait." He pulls his hand back and flexes it, groaning. "We have to stop."

His breath is hot against her as he tries to calm down. He kisses her shoulder and exhales deeply.

"I know, Dovey, I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Maybe we just... should?" Her heart skips when she says it. But she's started to wonder how much longer she can make him wait.

"No... no I want to wait until..." For the first time it dawns on him. He knows what he's waiting for. "You need to meet my parents."

"What?" The conversation took a turn she did not expect. In his mind, though, he can't do what he wants to do, ask her what he wants to ask her, until she's met his parents.

"You need to meet Mama and Daddy. Come to dinner tomorrow night."

"O-okay." The prospect is a daunting one for her. She's not sure what they expect of his girlfriends, but she's guessing it's not her. Hopefully, they're not too off-put by her background. "Elvis?"

He kisses her neck gently, trying not to start anything again, but desperate to feel her.

"Yes, Dovey?" She whimpers as he moves down to her collarbone.

"Is it gonna be a problem... that I'm... not white?" He backs up and looks at her sternly.

"No. My mama's people have Cherokee somewhere way back. But if it is, they'll hear from me about it." She nods nervously and he takes her face in his hands. "They'll love you. You have nothing to worry about."

He kisses her deeply and passionately and she presses her body against his. The heat comes back and before they know it they're both breathless and running their hands everywhere again.

"I need to get out of this car."

"Yes you do." He kisses her again.

"I really really do." More kissing.

"Mhmm." She pulls away from him slowly, peeling her body off of his, laughing softly.

"I'll see you tomorrow., Jumbee." She rubs her nose on his. He blinks and laughs.

"What did you call me?"

"Oh! I'm sorry. It's a term of endearment in my language. Like sweetie or honey. It's what my mom calls my dad. I'm sorry, I won't-"

"No, I love it." He nuzzles his nose on hers and then kisses her again.

Reluctantly, she pulls away and slides across the seat to the door, pushing it open to walk up to her front porch. Before she does, though, she leans down to the window.

"Goodnight, Jumbee." He smiles softly.

"G'night, Dovey." She turns and skips up to the front door and he watches. Then he leans his head back against the seat, touching himself gently and whimpering. This is definitely a night that he'll be sneaking into his room for some alone time.

******

The next night, Elvis pulls up to Graceland with Dove on his front seat. Up until now, she hasn't seen where he lives.

"Woah." Her mouth drops and he laughs.

"I forget how impressive it is if you've never seen it."

"This is beautiful. You didn't tell me you lived in a place like this." He can tell the house makes her nervous.

"We didn't always. This is new. Come on."

"Jumbee, I don't know." He turns to her on the front seat and puts his hand on her cheek.

"Dovey, baby, it's gonna be fine. You trust me?" She looks into his eyes and nods. He kisses her softly and then pushes his forehead into hers. "Come on."

He gets out of the car and runs around to the passenger side to let her out. She stands up out of the car and he puts his hand on the small of her back to lead her inside. In the foyer, she smiles awkwardly as he proudly introduces her to his parents.

"Mama, Daddy, this is Dove Morningstar."

"It's nice to meet you both." Gladys and Vernon smile and shake her hand genially. Gladys speaks first.

"Dove. That's an interesting name."

"Oh, it's actually a nickname. My real name is Eleanor, but they've called me Dove since I was a kid."

"Well, it's lovely."

"Thank you, ma'am." Vernon finally speaks up.

"And Morningstar. You're Indian?"

"Yes, sir. Seminole."

"Hmm." He grunts and Dove can't tell if he's disapproves or if he's just quiet. Elvis steps in.

"Dovey is a singer. You should hear her. She sings better than me." He puts his arm around her waist and pulls her close to him. Gladys smiles at the two of them, glad to see her boy so happy.

"I'd love to hear you sometime, honey. Maybe after dinner we can gather 'round the piano." Dove nods, smiling a little more naturally now. "Speaking of dinner, it's ready. Let's go sit."

Gladys turns and they follow her into the dining room. The rest of the evening passes in polite conversation. Elvis excitedly tells the story of how they met, leaving out all the kissing that happened on the rooftop. Dove answers questions about her family and her upbringing and listens attentively to the stories that the Presleys share. Overall, things go very well.

After dinner, they gather around the piano singing together. Gladys is indeed impressed by Dove's voice and her knowledge of gospel songs. Eventually, Dove sits on the bench next to Elvis and puts her hands on the keys. Elvis didn't even know she played, but he watches her in awe as she gently presses the keys, singing a hymn in her Native language. When she finishes, he leans over and kisses her softly, unable to stop himself.

"That was beautiful, Dovey."

"Thanks, Jumbee." She whispers it but they're close enough that Gladys catches her nickname for him.

"That's sweet. What's it mean?" Dove looks up at her but before she can answer, Elvis cuts in.

"It's an endearment in her language. She used it for me and it just kinda stuck." He smiles proudly again and Vernon sighs discontentedly.

"Son, can I talk with you for a moment?"

"Sure, Daddy." He gestures and Elvis follows him into the corner. Dove plays another song on the piano and Gladys sings along. At the end, she stops her.

"Honey, how do you know all these gospel songs?"

"Oh. My daddy is a preacher."

"An Indian preacher?"

"Yes ma'am." Gladys beams. She's proud of her son for finding such a good girl. "Play another one, baby."

Dove goes into another song and the ladies harmonize while the men talk.

"You're not serious about this girl, Elvis." Elvis looks at him in shock.

"I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You know you have an image to uphold now."

"Yeah, and? I know the Colonel wants me single, but I can't stay that way forever."

"It's not just that, son. This kind of... interracial relationship... it's not gonna be good."

"Interracial relationship?!"

"She's not white, son."

"And you think that's a problem?"

"I think it just might be more trouble than she's worth." Elvis raises his voice and catches the attention of both women.

"You listen to me, Daddy. I don't care what you or anybody else has to say about it. She is worth it and I am serious about her."

"Now, son, there's no need-"

"No, there is a need! I love her and nothing you say is going to change it!" He stops and looks around the silent room. Dove has stopped playing the piano. She whispers to herself.

"He loves me?" Gladys responds quietly.

"That's what I heard." She puts her hands on Dove's shoulders protectively, glaring at Vernon. Elvis crosses the room and stands her up to face him.

"Yes. I love you, Dovey and I don't care who knows it." A warm smile spreads across her face.

"I love you too, Elvis." He leans down and kisses her a little more passionately than he should in front of his parents.

"Come on, Vernon. Let's get to bed and leave these two young people to each other." Gladys goes to usher him out of the room.

"Goodnight, Mama." Elvis says it without taking his eyes off of Dove.

"You two don't stay up too late."

"Yes ma'am."

"It was lovely to meet you, Dove."

"You too, Mrs. Presley." She knows it's probably rude, but she can't look away from Elvis. Gladys smiles again and walks from the room with Vernon in tow. Once his parents are gone, Elvis pulls Dove into a deep kiss, pressing his body against hers. He whispers against her lips.

"Come up to my room." He turns and takes her hand, leading her up the stairs. Once they get to his room, Dove swallows nervously. "Dovey, it's okay. Tonight's not the night."

She smiles and he pulls her into another kiss. The kiss heats up and he walks her backwards to the bed. He lays down with her, running his hand across her stomach and down to her hip. She throws her leg over him and rolls her hips into his. He pulls back, breathing heavily.

"Okay, slow down."

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay, baby. I know it's hard to stop." A lightbulb goes off for him and he smiles. "Honey, what if we... did something... but not... that..."

"Like what?" He smiles slyly.

"Do you trust me?"

"Always, Jumbee." He moves his hand down to her knee, trying to stop himself from trembling. His hand slides slowly up her thigh to her hip under her skirt. Then, he walks his fingers over to her center. She whimpers.

"Elvis, what are you doing?"

"Just let me touch you. I promise we won't go any further." She nods. He fumbles a little but eventually gets his fingers under the edge of her panties, moving them down to the place where she didn't even know she was aching for him.

"Oh..." She moans softly as his finger finds her center and moves around the edges of her entrance. "Tell me if it hurts or doesn't feel good..."

She whimpers again as he carefully slides one finger inside her.

"Oh, God." He looks at her carefully.

"Good?"

"Yes..." He starts to move his finger in and out and she moans. He smiles and then leans in, kissing her neck gently. He's talked to the guys enough to know what to do next. His thumb makes its way carefully to her sensitive bud, making circles. Her back arches and she whimpers.

"Is that good, baby?" She makes a noise somewhere between a moan and a grunt and he smiles again. He seems to be on the right track.

Dove is overwhelmed with the sensation of his hand on her. Something is building inside her and though she doesn't know what it is, she wants it to continue to completion. In efforts to reach whatever the goal is, she grinds into him, inadvertently rubbing against his cock, which is already hard just with what he's doing. He whines and rubs himself against her again. His mouth moves back up to hers and he kisses her deeply, rolling into her a little harder. She feels his hardness against her hip and it turns her on even more as she grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him in close to her.

"Oh, Elvis, don't stop!" He pumps his finger into her harder and harder as he grinds against her over and over. The friction is pushing his foreskin back and forth over his dick and he feels the pressure building.

"Mmm... Dove, baby, it feels so good."

"Yes! Yes!" He moves his thumb faster over her clit, nibbling on her earlobe and rubbing against her hip passionately. The heat between them grows as the intensity of their actions increases. His fingers move deftly against her as his hips do the same. They both feel like they're about to burst with desire and love for each other. And then they do.

"God, yes, baby, fuck!"

"Elvis!" She moans his name loudly as she climaxes hard against his hand, pulsing around his finger just as he ruts against her one last time, shuddering and whimpering, filling his pants with ropes of cum. She rides out the high of her orgasm completely oblivious to the fact that he's doing the exact same thing. He realizes what happened, though and pulls away quickly.

"Wait? Where are you going?"

"I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry."

"What? Why?" She looks down at his crotch and notices the wet spot on his pants. "What happened?"

"I-I-I I finished..."

"Oh..." She giggles and he rolls his eyes, embarrassed. He tries to move away from her again and she grabs him. "No, it's okay Jumbee. That was really... it's okay..."

He looks up at her shyly.

"You really don't mind?"

"No, baby. I'm glad it was good for you too."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." She leans into him and kisses him deeply. He wraps her in his arms.

"I love you, Dovey. So much."

"I love you too, Jumbee." He nuzzles into the side of her face and kisses her cheek.

"You wanna stay? I can hold you all night." She considers what it would mean for her to stay all night with him. Then she looks into his eyes. He is her future. Why would she ever leave?

"Yes, please." A genuine smile spreads across his face and he jumps out of bed, going to his drawers. He grabs a set of pajamas and brings it over to the bed.

"You take the top and I'll take the bottoms. Then we can snuggle up and sleep all night just you and me." He pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear and kisses her cheek.

They both change into the set of pajamas and then crawl into bed. He cuddles up behind her and buries his face in her hair.

"I'm so glad I met you."

"Me too, Jumbee. Me too."

They drift off to sleep together, Elvis's mind racing with plans of how and when to ask and visions of her in a white dress walking down the aisle towards him.

******

Until next time!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

Right off the bat, this is a self-reported survey, so when stigma goes down, the willingness to admit you use a substance goes up. It's not necessarily more people using, just more people admitting it. Who's a daily coffee-user? Wow, look at all those hands. We don't care about that, do we? You get a headache when you don't get your caffeine? Well, you're addicted, congratulations. Get your ass to rehab, which'll take about three days in your case. Then you'll get right back on that sweet bean juice, won'tcha? Typical.

But we don't care about that. You won't lose touch with reality and have caffeine psychosis! Uh. Well... That's different.

*sigh* We've known this about psychedelics for a long time and the overemphasis is really frustrating. Any medicine that can help you can also hurt you, and we sell things OTC that can do permanent damage or kill you. If you have risk factors, generally speaking, we'll tell you not to take that stuff (unless we forget) and it's your responsibility to not chug ibuprofen with a stomach ulcer, or give aspirin to a child, or take even slightly too much acetaminophen, or drink the Panera lemonade, or whatever. If you're at risk of psychosis, generally speaking, psychedelics are not for you.

But if they're not for you, you've probably figured that out, and you're not taking them every damn day! I would be much less worried about psychosis in habitual users than new users.

I'm one of these "near daily" users, so I speak from experience when I say: If you're using pot every day and you want to get high YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG. I have a tolerance, and I like that just fine, because I'm using it to sleep. (It's really annoying when I get near the bottom of the tincture bottle and I hafta get up and eat a bag of Cheetos after I already brushed my damn teeth, lemme tell ya.) I have chronic pain and a lot of health issues and sleep-related trauma, and THC and CBD is the only thing I've found that will get me 7ish hours of rest without leaving me oogy all day the next day. And I have to take regular breaks because it stops working otherwise! Cannabis itself tells me when to stop taking it and I listen!

I guarantee, if you're using every day, you're either very new to it and you will eventually taper off, or you have some kind of chronic (haha) issue that marijuana addresses. Some issues can be better addressed by removing the stressors from your life, or actually treating whatever else is going on, but if that's not an option at the moment, there are much worse ways to self-medicate. I would say alcohol is one of 'em, so good for you if you dropped beer and switched to pot!

This literal weed should've been legal a long time ago. Not at the level of codeine or ketamine, just legal, but that's not on the table. We're screaming and shitting about a reclassification that won't even stop the feds from putting brown people in prison. This would be a gift to medical researchers and pharmaceutical companies if it goes through, but I don't care as much about them. I'm saving the champagne for when we stop incarcerating regular folks for needing some help to exist on this shitty planet.

[lunarsilkscreen]

Mind-Altering Chemical

Alcohol, Marijuana, and Opium are ALL mind-altering chemicals. We call them recreational because of the way it alters your mind. Beer gives you a buzz or gets you drunk (depending on how much she goes fast you drink it. Marijuana gets you high or wasted, also depending on how many edibles you consume. Opium works similarly to Marijuana. We just don't like it because we're racist, and I'll be damned if China is gonna get rich off my dumb ass. (Support small business--Smoke local)

I don't smoke. Because it makes me want a pack of Reds or Djarum Cloves. BTW: Nicotine is also a mind-altering chemical as is coffee.

Nicotine and Caffeine don't count when we're talking about mind-altering chemicals, because they don't have the hard-hitting effects like beer and MJ do in those larger doses.

I know people that can sip a single beer over a day and call that a buzz. But we all know that doesn't count.

"How have you used Opium if you're both racist and don't smoke?" Well, I was prescribed Vicodin when my wisdom teeth were removed. AND IF YOU DIDN'T KNOW. Vicodin is an opioid.

I hated that BTW, I had that and motrin to take for the pain, and all I did was play Paper Mario off the Wii store, poorly, for an entire week. It was all I could do, I was too high for anything else.

But I did get to finish "Thousand Year door" so there's that.

If you're wondering: fentanyl is a locally (as in US) produced synthetic opioid prescribed to people who Vicodin, Percocet, or other don't work. (all opioids) and by don't work: I mean don't work for what they're prescribed for. Usually to old people, but profit margins started creating opportunities to put fentanyl into everything. (Something that could be corrected by making weaker drugs Legal, instead of using fentanyl for everything.)

I'm talking about this because there's a difference between *those things* and other drugs prescribed for mental health issues, such as depression and anxiety.

(F* Wellbutrin.)

Which can also be prescribed for other conditions such as nerve-ending damage, arthritis, and pain. (Which suggests that anxiety and depression can be caused by pain receptors, when you don't actually feel pain.)

You don't typically get high or drunk on prescription anxiety meds, but they allow for you to function, and to deal with your day to day when you're otherwise checked-out.

Hey, hey. This is important, because people do something called self-medication. This isn't like addiction, where you're chasing that high, or drunk state, or "just trying to forget".

Because people self-medicate with Tylenol, Motrin, Tums, and all sorts of things in your "over-the-counter" aisle. Which by the way, costs $100 If you stock up on all of them for the month. (So much for Medicare).

Before smoking indoors was banned, nearly everybody smoked. Not just because it was the cool thing to do, but because nicotine actually has several benefits: including, focus, anti-anxiety, and energy (as well as weight loss).

Same with coffee. It's why [coffee and cigarettes] were considered necessary items up until the 21st century.

I wouldn't be surprised if this wave of autism and ADHD has to do with the efforts of just detoxing from both cigarettes and coffee. Because until now, until it was admitted that it was an actual thing; that's just what you did in order to function.

That's what you did to appear and act normal. Because it worked.

This is gonna get into a chicken-egg thing where "well how do we know they didn't *cause* ADHD and autism". Because if that was true then motrin and water caused your broken leg.

I'm just gonna conclude here:

Look, old people are gonna die soon anyway, we should at least listen to them, when they take drugs either recreationally or because they're in pain from the ravages of old age.

They should be taken care of, so that we can get their input and feedback on what actually works for conditions, what doesn't, and that can pave the way for medicinal breakthroughs that can actually improve health going forward.

That's an investment for the future, and respect for the past.

[firespirited]

My teen and early adult 'fixation' on suicide was vaster than i'd thought (hate to call it a special interest even if that's really the correct term). I kind of blocked it out as necessary learning that wasn't worth thinking about ever again the moment it truly hit me that dad could self sabotage but never hurt himself that directly - this wasn't like all the cases where people didn't think the person they cared about wasn't that unwell, I wasn't going to be blind sided after all - ... I immediately moved on and tried to forget every last bit. Deliberately avoided all related topics aside from euthanasia in the already terminal, the pros and cons from an advocacy standpoint.

Those of you who've been following for a while know i can infodump at the drop of a hat about how auto-erotic asphyxiation is really hard to differentiate from regular suicide (along with strongly worded "no breath play" screeds), about "no guns if you have mental health issues" being inaccurate and insufficient enough because escalating disputes often don't get a mental health diagnosis.

I was able to recognize intrusive thoughts of self violence and even repeated phrases as non-suicidal in 2021 and stop being so scared (which helped it ease off actually) so I guess it wasn't for naught.

But uh yeah, there's a huge folder in my brain about martyrdom: the personal, the collective, the societal. celebrated or unnoticed. religious or heroic. misguided ableism and ageism. this one is personal on multiple levels not just the ableism stuff, the martyr stuff I was raised to sort of wish for and folks i knew in the mindset. kept getting dinged by media not world events so I started using doesthedogdie and watching after a full season had aired.

(another folder: technically not suicide but also very much slow suicide tempting death and the will to 'not be'. This one gets triggered regularly. It's part of the reason I'm vocal about eating disorder content and patterns of behaviour like calorie counting, 'clean' eating... it's not because I have a problem with food or my weight but I know the death rates and know the various spirals and they're haunting.)

The past few days I've posted a couple of uncharacteristically glib sounding things. I'm okay and it's not out of character, it's just a piece of me that rarely appears and approaches very dark subject matter with near scientific detachment in the wording and a lot of unspoken resigned sadness that doesn't come across in text and i probably couldn't put into words if i dared to: a pain that's more suffocating numbness than spiky.

The way the subject matter takes over my brain as high priority despite fighting it (and of course life's doing its usual chaos LOL) mean that i haven't been as present as wanted. I see new mental patterns to break and am going to work on it. 💚 Stay safe everyone.

[incarnateirony]

Mm, one thing I am not looking forward to with the other GM, as much as I love him as a typist, is the inevitable backhanded BTS measure of trying to override 900 pages of story by wandering in and declaring something, and I fully expect that to happen. He is Very Proud Of Playing God, and when he realized that the way he set up Becoming God off of another character's work was being undone by the very campaign he asked me to run, because that's why he used the character's work to do it, it became WELL ACTUALLY--HE DID IT HIMSELF BEFORE THAT. AND SOMETHING ETERNAL ANNOYING LA MULANA DUNGEON.

And like, bro. You are literally not going to be able to bitch the players into hailing Lord Rando As The Supreme when they witnessed the beginning of existence and FUCK ALL, YOU WEREN'T THERE, you were just some dude in the way to get there a few times. Yeah, the moral is, as Kion said, they are all their own lords, and we together, all for one, and one as the All, creation is what we make of it. That was always the goddamn point of the device he implied made his dude god. And like. Nobody cares about your guy, guy.

It's a delivery thing he still hasn't understood, you can't just wander in and throw things and demand people care, as per the whole idea of his past "hints" that he wants people to break down to extremes as if they are by default expected to know how god "should" act and care deeply about his state, and like, fuck all no he was being an annoying douche the whole time the like. 3 times he showed up being the opposite of helpful.

Randomly declaring things once a month to assert power is not even GM attitude, it's just obnoxious player attitude. They just spent 3 months rearranging creation itself in SPITE of your dude to make the world in the image of their own dreams and learn how to build better things when they get back to ~reality, they have climbed the world trees, stood at the edge of the void, they have faced life, and death, and cosmic soup, and whatever the fuck. Why the fuck will they want to find him for any other reason than to beat his ass?

Like right now everyone's saying their tearful goodbyes to a character they helped mold over these months, and teach each other together, and hope they might meet again, or at least be allowed to not forget what happened and who they knew and what they did together. Nobody cares if your dude comes in squawking IM GOD. No the fuck you aren't, you're a pain in the ass with no establishment that keeps cropping up at bad times doing stupid shit that hampers them. They're god, or at worst, their dead friend is god, because on him the world will turn, forever, self born by his own design for everything. You're. A guy who pushed a button then tried to change the backstory three times.

Neither plots nor people work like that dude.

And he gets real proud like, LOOK HOW MUCH JALIM LEARNED FROM ZENTO while even making the bad guy blink at, how the fuck did you take it like that. ok whatever easier for me I guess. And like. Character growth is great and all, but at best that's still a player path sticking on a GM badge and calling itself god. I don't know if I'd agree with the growth since the last act he did could have severely fucked the heroes in another arrangement. Luckily they moved too fast for god's fuckup to backfire on them. But the whole "I say a speech I think sounds good, pound my chest and fuck off to the wind after making everyone's lives around me hell but swearing up and down I helped" is a player brain, not a GM.

There was even a time like, he shook a defeated enemy awake not realizing what he was doing because he hadn't paid attention to the plot for real for shit (which I understand now he didn't the first time either), and like, no your dead friend is this monster they just put down. I kept trying to deflect you doing it but you insisted and it woke up so all the heroes responded and heard your argument and realized you fucking woke Death back up. Like. Six hours after they had defeated him, no less. "Well he destroyed the pillar that had to be done" bro it was already destroyed, River destroyed it in the fight, it reconstituted as the reflection of his presence when you forced it back up. You're patting yourself on the back for making a problem then fixing it. I'm not letting you take that from the heroes or the one that actually destroyed it. That's just spinning your wheels to try to reinforce your godness.

The irony is, he swears he gets this, plays his weird version of the collective, vaguely cites the theology, but then insists on trying to come in, alone, and change everything. When literally the ending is no, you are all your own lords, the soul is supreme and in this moment, we are One. Facing the call to destruction or search for emptiness, the conflict of how everything came from the nothing. It literally required EXTENSIVE planning IC and OOC both, players coordinating deeply against seemingly impossible odds. You have said many times your character refuses to enter the city because of XYZ excuse. You insisted on trying to do this alone, against the plot morals, which is why it went bad every time, because you weren't listening or paying attention. So there's just. Twenty levels of irony.

"Well my job keeps me busy and I can't read all-" Shhh. sh sh sh stop right there. No. Almost every player has a job. One has three jobs. They manage to connect, coordinate, read along, or ask questions when they get lost, they work with everybody. So if you got the time to build the world's most retarded La Mulana knockoff to send people through, you had the time to read. The matter is, you didn't care and you thought you knew better. Now this would make an excellent narrative about demiurges/pankrators like Chuck if it was on purpose but instead you're making it a commentary on humanity because the point is sailing over your head and you keep trying to retroact him into things he literally Does Not Fit.

The whole. Oh my character was just a griffin that died and got found by a god to become powerful but a slave and met Kion and became friends and Hit The Button To Save Him In Error And Became God except SURPRISE now I"m saying it was something different vs

Developed campaign that existed before this one and before the dude hit the button on a multiplanar journey across the cosmos and ancient memory showing that the person who created The Button and the city built on his pure willpower was, in fact, always created and trained for this role (and its opposite), he fits every bill on the mythology you try to use, you don't. You played some dude that kept falling in holes to become a bigger god and are trying to claim yourself the All and Void both. And yeah the moral is the soul is always an oxymoron like that but so is everyone's. You didn't come from the void, you weren't self born, you are not The Great Dragon or The Great Teacher, you are not the Workman, or the Master Builder, you are none of the things, but saying I Am All sounds hella neat and powerful, but you're not grokking what you're even trying to fucking present while kicking in the door with a funny song to melt down five planes because YOU WEREN'T LISTENING.

Like, this be mine, and the campaign is a success because everyone, the players, AS the collective shaped it correctly. He pays lipservice to the ideas but throws out randos doing nonsense actions and calls it the collective, or insists he is The One or The All while simultaneously refusing to join the others, and so on and it's like. bro. give it up. you said you wanted the campaign, you were clearly aware of at least the base potential implied in Xorv, you don't just cling to a godtitle. And no don't say it's for GM purposes if you're only NOW thinking up a knockoff dungeon with no real form, history or purpose that will at best be highly obnoxious. Just admit you had no plan. You had 3 months while I ran this to come up with more than "my current favorite game to clone is--"

[a-student-out-of-time]

As an opponent of switch theory, I will try to answer the points that you present. 1. Firstly, the fact that Teruko prosopagnosia is mentioned in chapter 2 does not mean that it will play an important role in chapter 2, that if the author thought if Teruko prosopagnosia was mentioned in the chapter where this aspect is used, it would be very obvious, so they placed this mention on one chapter earlier in the hope that the reader might slightly forget, thus making the mystery harder for himself. and by the way, THE OTHERS DON'T HAVE prosopagnosia THEY WOULD NOTICE IF J SOMETHING IS WRONG AND HOW THE THEORY of conspiracy failed, how do you explain it?

2. To show that Teruko still feels pain for Min's death and that although she can pretend that she doesn't care, she will feel pain for people's deaths.

3. Isn't the CG where Arei epicly opens the door, the hair isn't the same length? artistic approach.

4. Why weren't we shown the wigs during the investigation? Maybe because they are not involved in the murder at all? during the search for the body of Arei Teruko, she would have noticed that something was missing here and the investigation returned in time, but if this did not happen, then they are unlikely to be connected with the crime. and what if wigs play a part in chapter 3 where teruko prosopagnosia comes into play.

One of the reasons why I don't like this theory is that it's not Arei's character to follow what plan is not clear, seeing as Eden the person she worries going through a difficult time thinking she's dead. Did Arei continue to pretend to be J after seeing this? NO it's not the character of Arei, it's not only an OOC theory for Arei but a theory of a completely waste character J that hasn't even started going through the character path.

//First of all, thank you for taking the time to offering some counter-arguments. It's nice to have someone addressing the points I've made.

//But I still don't see these as particularly strong ones for a few reasons. And by a few, I mean I've gone into a lot of detail as to why:

1A. It doesn't matter because, as I've talked about before, the only people who actually examined Arei's body were Teruko (the person who can't differentiate faces) and Arturo (who we've learned had reasons to half-ass the investigation, if not kill her himself). Not to mention they didn't exactly do a good job investigating her actual death regardless of those details, and what they found was very surface-level. Nobody would've found out it's not her because nobody would've known to check if that wasn't her body.

1B. The idea that they're placing that detail a chapter early, where it isn't going to be relevant, feels very wasteful to me. Yes, they did place setup in the prologue and chapter one, but those were small moments and would've come off as just comedy if you weren't paying attention. Xander's super strength was relevant to Chapter 1, after all; it proved vital in decoding the murder plan. Veronika asking probing questions about the details of Teruko's prosopagnosia is very different from Teruko not remembering Charles until Hu mentions his hair color and outfit. DR chapters are often each self-contained stories, and the details we get are always relevant to the case, no matter how small, and potentially the cases that come later. There's been no DR game that includes character details that don't become relevant at all until the next chapter. Putting in details that won't have payoff until later, unless we're talking about contributing to a larger narrative, doesn't happen here. That's not just a DR thing, that's a basic good writing thing; let the information we get in the middle of a story be relevant to that story, not just serve as setup for a different one.

2A. If it were as simple as that, why not just include a brief flashback to Min. Xander has gotten plenty of mention this chapter, such as when Teruko was playing with cacti and very clearly roleplaying a scenario where she defeats him and begs for forgiveness. That's definitely a sign she misses Xander. But if Teruko was referencing Min there, she would've said Min and Min would've appeared. Instead, the screen went black and we got no mention of what she was reminded of. I'm actually not fully convinced it was Min because...

2B. Something I haven't really discussed in detail here is the scene with Charles and Whit in the computer lab, where they're doing some hacking. Teruko asks about Charles' brother, the one he doesn't even remember, and Charles proceeds to ask her if she knows what Childhood Amnesia is. That also got no follow-up, as Teruko was hungry. I'm starting to think Teruko wasn't reminded of Min, but someone else from her past, which I'm certain is going to be VERY important given the nature of her motive secret.

3. Yes, but she was actually herself in that CG. I'm not talking about when she confronted Arturo, because that was very clearly Arei. I'm talking about the corpse found in the playground, whose hair is clearly longer than it's supposed to be. That was before the window of time where the two of them could've switched places, and thus the body found. And as I've said before, you can't just assign artistic license because Xander's look wasn't subject to that.

4. Again, the idea that things are only here for setup in Chapter 3 is unsubstantiated. This floor was created for Chapter 2, thus the things here- like with every other DR game- are going to be relevant to Chapter 2. Not only that, but we saw the wigs on three separate occasions in this chapter: when they first entered and got new clothes, when Teruko asked Rose about her secret, and when J tried to get Teruko to help her get away from Arturo. After that, the one time they went back there- when they were looking for Arei- it didn't pan over to show the wigs again, and that was the last time we saw inside the dressing room. That doesn't strike you as suspicious? Furthermore, why can't the wigs be relevant here and now, rather than later?

//To be honest, it sounds more like you're specifically trying to discredit my theory rather than offer a solid alternative. You can't just look at this and say "Well, none of it is guaranteed to be relevant now." Why not? What makes you so sure it isn't?

//You also can't just say "No, you're wrong" in a debate without some kind of solid basis for why I'm wrong. Otherwise, it comes across as you disagreeing on the grounds of "I don't like what you're saying."

//I'm not trying to be petty, I'm just offering my stance on debates. You need to work on your counter-arguments, though I really do appreciate you taking the time to offer them.

//And I can understand the disagreement, I honestly can. It's a crazy theory and I don't even expect to be right about everything, and I totally get why you'd see this as nonsensical and that it would come at the cost of another character who's comparatively gotten much less development. But let me offer you an alternative to your final point of disagreement.

//Arei said several times in the flashbacks that Eden is someone she needs to protect. We don't know what exactly happened on her end of things, before or after she confronted David, or how all the other moving parts of this chapter fit together. We don't even know how the murder actually happened yet.

//With that in mind, we can't make the assumption that, if Arei is really disguised as J, that there would be zero risk of her exposing herself. As I've said before, that would be an easy way for David and/or the Blackened of this case to pin the crime on her, because all she'd really be able to defend herself with are hearsay on her part.

//And given that she knows David's, Arturo's and one more person's secrets, would it really be a stretch to say that she could convince J to help her? That maybe the two of them worked together to try and protect the others? Especially since J, knowing that Arturo pulled a knife on Eden, seems like the kind of person who'd want to take action.

//I never suggested the story sacrificed J so Arei could live. I'm suggesting that, much like we saw with Arei in the flashbacks, plenty of things could've gone on behind that scenes that show the two of them were major players in what went on. The flashbacks with Arei and Eden were phenomenal, so the very same could be true with J.

//That feels more interesting to me than "J gets stalked and harassed by Arturo for a chapter, and then gets to dunk on him in the trial." Yes, I'll be sad if she's actually gone, but what matters is how it actually happened and the circumstances that lead up to it.

//Again, we've gotten basically no details on the murder itself as of yet. Nothing that suggests things couldn't have played out like this, or, like with David, there isn't more going on here than appears from the surface. We can't say anything is ooc for anyone, because we don't know the full story here.

//When we actually start getting into the meat of this chapter's murder plot, how it happened and who was involved, as well as the last secrets, then we can start to analyze the strengths and weaknesses of my theory.

//If my theory is wrong, then it's wrong. But if I'm right, this could be an amazing trial that would rely on those themes of rebuilding trust. Especially if, like I said, Arei's goal was to help protect Eden, and unmasking herself now would threaten that goal. And for Teruko, it means having to actually put genuine trust in someone and hope they're not lying.

//Before we start considering what is or isn't setup for the next mystery, we should try and solve this one first with the tools we've got our disposal.

[polarbearqueen3527]

I posted 1,189 times in 2022

117 posts created (10%)

1,072 posts reblogged (90%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@pencil-case-watches

@dragonwolf3416

@amongus-pussy

@neohood

@annikathewitch

I tagged 72 of my posts in 2022

#jumblr - 4 posts

#tumblr milestone - 2 posts

#yeah - 2 posts

#politics - 2 posts

#tw abortion - 2 posts

#3000 posts - 1 post

#this is my gender - 1 post

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#i'm mutuals with someone else who also regularly says noted!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

To start this post, a disclaimer: I'm not qualified to talk about this. This doesn't mean I can't, or that I'm automatically wrong, but it does mean you should not put me up on a pedestal. This also isn't to say I have no experience. This post is a combination of ideas from my observations of sped / other programs for kids with disabilities, as someone who sits right on the border of needing that help. It's also based on ideas from temple grandins book "Animals in translation", from the anthology "what every autistic girl wishes her parents knew" written by autistic women, and a few other books by autistic authors. With all that out of the way, let's get started.

One thing I've noticed is that people working with people with disabilities who don't communicate verbally in a fluent manner, either by talking or by using sign language or a talker, is that they tend to forget they're working with people. They don't nesscesarily forget that the person they're working with is human and should be treated with appropriate respect, but they tend to forget that, even if they can't express their thoughts and feelings, they may still have them. I've never seen someone ask what's bothering someone in shutdown or meltdown, and, as someone who does get those, that's absolutely a question that should be asked. When someone goes into shutdown, what I tend to see is people pushing them to start acting "normal" again. They don't process that a shutdown or meltdown IS normal for them. A shutdown or meltdown is someone taking the time to self regulate. Stopping people from doing that is like stopping someone who is too hot from taking off a jacket. It's harmful. If added up again and again through repetition, it can be abusive and traumatic. Imagine that instead of someone going into shutdown, you have a baby that's crying. (Please note that I'm not saying disabled people are like babies) you could shout at it, or physically hold it's mouth closed. But everyone knows that's abusive. What you do is try to figure out what's wrong, and fix it. The same goes for so many other situations, and that should include people with disabilities. Don't force them to act like neurotypical people, and don't assume that the way they emote is the same. For instance, when I'm in pain, I don't cry. It's not that I'm holding back, pain just doesn't make me feel like crying. A disabled person may well know what's wrong, even if they're not sure how to communicate it. Reach out to them, and help them do it. If you have to physically restrain them, you're probably doing it wrong.

7 notes - Posted February 16, 2022

#4

Special really weird love languages:

Yelling at someone for binding unsafely

Leading someone so that they can close their eyes at a party with flashing lights that don't work well for them

Sharing your favorite stims

Taking care of someone's emotional state

Cooking people their favorite cookies

Simping about your partners to people

Talking about your own somewhat different special intrests/ hyperfixations and they talk about theirs

Telling them when you discover a piece of media you think they'll really like

8 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

#3

So I got a long sponsored post (missed the sponsored part and the blog url) and I was like huh what is this post looks like a story that's cool

Looks like letters to a character called yisarael maybe it's from jumblr

Saw the url looks kinda christian hmm

And then this line and I knew oh so christian

(screenshot reads grant me a place in the marrow of your bones)

Like how do I know this is Christian? Idk, but my friends agree

9 notes - Posted May 7, 2022

#2

This post is about accommodating people with food allergies, and written by somebody with allergies of a variety of severities.

First, know that:

Not all allergies are life-threateningly severe.

Every single allergic reaction is different: not just depending on the person and/or the allergen, either.

Not all food sensitivities are allergies.

Allergies are different from gluten intolerance, lactose intolerance, and celiac disease.

Allergies do not just affect children - some people grow out of their allergies, some don't.

Allergies are not just to the "major" allergens (peanuts, treenuts, sesame, dairy, eggs, wheat, milk, soy, shellfish and latex)

Some people are fine as long as they don't eat large quantities of whatever they're allergic to, and some people shouldn't even be in the same room as their allergens.

Contamination (allergens accidentally getting on things) can be in foods and drinks, on objects or hands, or airborne.

Not everyone with allergies needs or carries an epi-pen or benadryl.

An allergic reaction can be mild enough that only the person having it notices. Just because you can't tell someone is having an allergic reaction doesn't mean it's not unpleasant for them.

Some people have to worry about cross contamination. Some don't.

Never try to test if someone is faking an allergy. Best case scenario they no longer trust you, worst case scenario you're now a murderer.

Listen to people about what they say they need.

If you decide not to alter a recipe so someone can eat it because you don't want to, you're being an asshole.

If you cook for anyone you don't know well, make sure you at the very least know what major allergens are in the food.

When someone says they'd rather not risk contamination and won't eat the thing you made, it isn't because they don't trust you not to do your best. It's because they'd much rather have a 100% chance of nothing happening than try your food and have a small chance of having a very unpleasant day.

Some people are ok if there are trace amounts of allergens. Some aren't.

Not all allergies are anaphylactic.

Please reblog, but don't feel obligated.

13 notes - Posted April 10, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Hey, everyone, what's a literary device you enjoy writing with?

I'll go first, I'm a big fan of repitition.

43 notes - Posted October 13, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[notsuch]

Anyway it makes perfect sense for Junker Queen to go through the effort of makeup, piercings, and personal presentation grooming, the same way Howl wears golden grills, Junkrat as clearly ornamented his bombs and Roadhog has tattoos.

When life is violence and pain, people by a large seek out beauty and ornamentation. Junkers are clearly no longer just a bunch of army vets sitting around desperate, they're a stabilising society. Maybe it's just barely, maybe it's on the edge of burning rubble of their suffering, maybe the rest of the world wishes they would fade away and forget. But they are. Theyre in fact clearly three generations deep now. That means families, communities, trade connections, development of group presentation to identify themselves. It follows the same rules as any other group of humans. Ornamentation is one of the first things we learn to do from the time we are hunters in the PALAEOLITHIC. The more we live hand in hand with violence, the more we seek it out. When the world will not be kind, we seek that kindness for ourselves, to ourselves, but also as a statement to the rest of the world.

Junkers both have to show their strength physically like a lions mane to ward off the threats of each other, raiders, scavs and whatever the fuck a feral omnic is, and having enough excess to decorate oneself tends to speak to skill and ability to procure it. It's politic as much as its self healing. Its far more direct and immediate, but it's the businessmans rolex. In fact I'd argue it matters more to them to wear and do these things than a millionaire cares about his Rolls Royce. Especially for a person who is about to take the throne. They are a community, and maybe its fucked to hell and back, but they have an identity and they are expressing with what they have available to them.

It's just probably a war crime or something, since they all wear omnic dead body parts.

Odessa isn't smart, dont get me wrong, I don't think she's aware that she's part of a new emerging cultural group, but she's cunning. She's ruthlessly cunning. Motherfucker was thrown into the desert with her family and out of 5-6 kids, was the ONLY one to walk out again that we have seen so far. Then she fought her way through the scrapyard for what was clearly a decent length of time, whilst keeping her mouth shut long enough to get that place fighting Howl. She then spent 50% of that fight doing knife diplomacy so hard with clear and obvious intentions that she needed too, and appealed in words and actions to Meri and Geiger to stage the shortest and most efficient coup you've ever seen Howl didn't even realise it until way too late. It might be the slow watch and predation of a crocodile under the water waiting to take the bite, but she is watching and learning.

And defining that she'll be a strong and commanding Queen who knows how to present herself? Yeah. She's probably looked at how other people do it that to get respect and command and went THAT LOOKS COOL, THEY LOOK TOUGH, ILL DO THAT. Because we do all care what our leaders look like, and she'd want to put her best foot forward. Especially when that foot is walking a tight rope of people now trying to challenge, fight and kill her constantly to get the throne themselves. Appearing put together and displaying like that? Already is taking care of 20% of those fights before they even started.

Also PSA from an Aussie to all non Aussies: it's physically impossible to make us wear shirts. We hate it. I know you're like BUT WHY DOESNT SHE HAVE A WHOLE SHIRT. because no one does. Literally no one. Restaurants in hot areas have to desperately put up signs that say YOU GOTTA HAVE A SHIRT AND SHOES ON. The most accurate thing about Roadhog, Junkrat and Junker Queen is that they only have one full outfit spread out between three people. The way everyone wears shorts and nothing else isn't a apocalypse omnic war crises shortage supply of clothes it's that we never had them to begin with.

[trickinabucket]

Feelings dump (but in a self reflective, positive way; there is mention of suicide tho)

I wanna put this here jic its something i wanna talk to my therapist abt.

This morning I just couldnt stop crying bc i just can't stop thinking of myself as a burden.

That if I had some grave illness I'd immediately ask to be put out of my misery. Whether the misery would come from the illness itself or something else wouldn't matter.

[sad rant]

And that led me down a path of guilt and anger. And wondering if I would even bother telling anyone about the decision. Something about it either being manipulation (for people I loved), or useless and painful for everyone (for my family, that I've completely given up on.)

And how I dont know what to tell my mother that wouldnt make me feel like I'm gonna make her think I'm guilt tripping her. But really wanting to tell her that I meant it when I said I was sorry about how I messed up college and everything I ever did to piss her off, and she still kept driving like she didnt care if she killed us both and I just felt rejected again. And that I stopped telling her things because I knew she would think I was too young to be depressed. And that I felt scared all the time and I didn't know why. I didn't want her to think I was being annoying if I asked for something twice, including the times I was actively asking for comfort or taking her for her word when she told me to wait my turn. That I wouldn't be forgotten. And that even the times I cried in front of her and felt like a child when she told me to stop trying to get attention, I cried more times when she was out of earshot, and considered many times hiding in the closet when I did it so that I wouldn't get caught. And I didn't mean this in any way to tell her she failed, but instead, tell her why I acted the way I did, and even if she really wanted another chance (and that truly would have been the last time she made that mistake), I just couldnt keep giving her chances anymore, because my heart just couldn't take the rejection anymore. It hurt so fucking much and I just wanted to forget.

[/sad rant]

And all of that, and I stopped crying. I stopped thinking about that, and really thought about me crying in a different scope. From one thing I said. That I tried not to cry around her and make her angry, and to just suck it up that I was hurting and had no word for it. That I was just severely backed up. And for years, I would cry and be angry at myself for doing it, because it was over, and far away, and it couldn't hurt me anymore. And I felt like I'd been crying for years and just sick of it.

I would hide when I cried. I would try not to cry, when I was a kid and had the fear and uncertainty. Now it just feels like I cry all the time, and of course it would when I used to stop myself from doing it. I feel small and helpless as a child when I cry, because that kid who existed back then gets to cry now. And just telling her to suck it up was just doing the same thing my mother was doing to me. No one should be ashamed to cry in front of their mother, or to show they're in distress and worry about whether it's the time or place to "get" to feel distressed.

We get to cry, because the threat is gone, and that's what we were programmed to do. I shouldn't feel annoyed at her and uneasy because of her, because no one's coming to make her shut up Or Else They'll Hear Me. I have a mouth and I can scream. So can she.

Even with Ed around, I'm free to, and sometimes I can even ask them to hold me if it's too much.

The headaches are a pain, but I need to drink more water anyway.

[deepwatercomic]

Updates from the Desk of actual Sorrows

first off, I'd like to thank everyone who responded to my polls. It really did help and I did get some great suggestions from other users. It really feels strange to feel like I have to apologize for being MIA on a blog and website I don't think anyone (besides my husband) reads. Honestly life gets in the way sometimes. And we can't all be on the all the time. We're human, we need rest.

My paternal Grandmother died. She was a wonderful, faithful woman who loved her family fiercely and was a faithful Catholic who died peacefully in her sleep on the feast of Mary's Solemnity- which I think she would have found incredibly fitting. It was a long haul with heart failure and just, well, old age. But I will always remember the blue house dresses she wore, the way her massive cross, scapular and medals would click together when I would hug her, the way the Jasmine and lemon trees in her backyard would smell. She would try to tell jokes, but would start giggling before she could even get through the first sentence, and no one could understand what she was trying to say- but her laughter was so infectious that we couldn't help but laugh along. I do hope that with the march of time I don't forget her French-Canadian accent when she would end every phone call or general conversation with "I'll pray for you." And she meant it. I like think Grandma had a direct phone line to the holy trinity, and was frequently discussing matters with Mother Mary. But she did miss my Grandpa very, very, much. And its my sincere hope is that he was there to hold her hand and lead her into the afterlife.

I sincerely want to thank my Aunts, Uncle and cousins for taking such good care of her so she could spend her last days at home with loved ones. You couldn't ask for better or more adoring care.

To make matters more complicated my dear cat, Loki, has a malignant tumor on his face. It was written off as a sinus issue during his yearly wellness exam, and developed into a horrible abscesses (yes multiple) only a few months later. Thanks to a different vet and a lot of pain meds we have a few more weeks with him. He perked right up as soon as we put him on a schedule of gabapentin! Its like having him back to his (mostly) old self for a little while- Its just a matter of when, not if. Which SUCKS, it absolutely fucking SUCKS to have to make the decision of euthanasia. He was supposed to die in his sleep at twenty after gorging himself on all the tuna and goat cheese his tiny heart desired. But, my little trickster familiar will be at home with us when he goes and that is really, the best outcome in a situation like this.

So its right now after major surgery, with family death, pet sickness that I'm still going to school to complete my Bachelors. (I swear, if I don't do things on hard mode- apparently they're just not worth doing AT ALL.) I mean, obviously Deep Water has been pushed to the back burner- and its frankly, this uncomfortable place for it to be (for me at least). Its a story I had hoped would be done about a year ago. I have other projects that I want to move on to. I would just hate to push through it right now and then look back and hate the end result, realize I could do better. Because it is my story, and it is worth telling. This isn't a group project that has deadline or grade. So I'm going to take a few weeks off here, make sure I'm caught up on my school work and try to aim at posting near the end of May.

I hope to see you then. Until then, have a picture of my Familiar happily sleeping while we were watching Golden Girls in better times. And tell a joke that you can't finish because you're laughing to hard in honor of my grandmother.

[youthoughtiwasserious]

Because of my disabilities, both physical and mental, I have a love-hate relationship with trips.

I'm taking a very short road trip (2.5h one-way) to a friend's house for the Labor Day weekend. We'll be staying for 2 nights, then leave sometime early on Monday.

Packing for extended trips always stresses me out because of all the items I need to bring with me (and remember to bring). I don't need much in the way of clothing or toiletries, but meds and safe foods are a must for me. I have EDS, POTS, PCOS, IBS, OAB, & reactive airways dysfunction syndrome. All of these conditions can (and often do) act up at any point, so I always need to pack a bunch of shit to cover my bases.

Here's an idea as to what meds/medical items I packed for this short trip:

2 inhalers (steroid & rescue)

Medicated cough drops

Regular cough drops

SeaBands (luckily I don't get motion sickness on car rides -knock on wood- but I have them with me just in case)

Ginger lozenges (these are AMAZING for nausea, which I get pretty often & I hate bc I have emetophobia)

Extra strength antacids (for nausea or indigestion [a lot of foods bother me, unfortunately])

Charcoal pills (for when I ate something that REALLY bothered me & the lozenges don't work. Used cautiously & only as a last resort so it doesn't fuck with my medication)

Magnesium (for when I lean more toward IBS-C & for anxiety/POTS)

Small vial of salt (for POTS/rapid rehydration)

Electrolyte drink mixes (also for POTS)

Extra strength Tylenol (both regular & menstrual versions)

Antihistamines (sometimes these help with joint/muscle pain related to MCAS)

Compression socks (for pain & blood circulation)

Compression gloves (for pain)

Bengay or IcyHot

Urination device (for if my OAB acts up & there isn't a rest stop for a while)

Extra underwear & wipes (self-explanatory)

Towels (self-explanatory)

Big-ass water bottle (I get dehydrated v easily)

Safe snacks such as mixed nuts, Nature Valley protein bars, & peanut butter snack packs)

And I tried to pack LIGHT. But due to having COVID ~3 weeks ago, it's causing a flare-up for my lung condition, so I've had to be more aggressive with my treatment until I go for another pulmonary function test in October. It also must have messed up my already messed up hormones because it caused me to have a period for six weeks. The dizziness, headaches, and nausea that came along with losing blood for so long was not fun whatsoever. Now I'm just trying to be extra prepared for trips where I know I'm going to be expending a lot of energy & where I won't have access to my full "sick kit."

I also end up feeling embarrassed about needing to take care of myself when I'm not feeling well because I'm the only person in my friend group that's disabled. And they often forget that because, well, I don't ""look disabled."" I also don't like to bring it up too much because I feel like a killjoy, or like I'm holding them back. Often they're v chill about it when I do bring it up, which I'm super grateful for, but I can tell that sometimes they're thinking, "Really? You can't handle even this?" Which is...not great.

Anyway, remembering to pack all this shit, on top of all the other items that need to be packed, SUCKS. It gets so overwhelming for my executive dysfunction (bc ofc I have ADHD, too). I try to put lists together for each category so that I don't have to rely solely on memory as I'm packing, and it helps with not forgetting anything when it's time to pack up and go home. It's still a tad stressful to see so many items on my lists, but at least checking them off as I pack them is pretty quick.

Another thing that sucks when getting ready for a trip is time blindness always screws me over when I'm getting ready. Regardless of how early I get up or how many timers I set, I ALWAYS manage to take too long getting ready & then I leave for my trip way later than I wanted to. Luckily we hit the road only like 10 minutes later than we wanted, so it wasn't too much of a delay, but man that race against the clock always adds an element of stress that I could do without.

A saving grace for this trip so far has been my earbuds. I have the Anker Soundcore A40s I think & they are phenomenal (not sponsored I promise). I get overstimulated by sound pretty easily, and that includes the wind whipping around the car on the highway, or my life partner's psychedelic rock playing on the radio at a low volume (but still "too loud" for me). My solution this trip has been to put in my earbuds & turn on noise cancellation with no music playing. Oh my goodness I have felt so fucking chill since doing that. It no joke dims out the sound by like half - even with no music playing. Also they don't dig into my ears after a while like my 1st gen Galaxy Buds do, so I could wear these for hours. I'm honestly going to do this for my trip to Cancun 2 months from now bc holy shit this feels like a cheat code for me.

Honestly, I like trips. I'm not a fan of planes, but I'll get on one if it means I get to visit my friends and family in another state, or go to another country. I work in an office, so being on the road and feeling the sun warm my skin as I passively drink in the scenery that surrounds me is such a welcomed change of pace. Using the car ride as an excuse to ramble on about silly or deep things with my tripmate(s), belt at the top of our lungs to a musical soundtrack, or sort through my many scattered thoughts to my steering wheel, is something that I will never take for granted. Being able to escape, even just for a little while, the monotony of everyday life is what makes traveling worth it for me.

I often don't get the chance to see family, friends, or new places. Due to my disabilities and the chronic fatigue that comes with them, life experiences are not as frequent as I would love for them to be. So when the rare chance comes my way - assuming I'm not nursing a migraine, vertigo, or stomach issues - I jump on that shit.

I was not feeling this trip when I first got up this morning. I was dreading the packing, the drive, the symptom management, the planning of what foods I could eat at the restaurant my friends want to visit, & also I've been dealing with some pretty hefty social anxiety and rejection sensitivity lately so I've been avoiding social interactions. But the first part of the day ended up being okay, plus the trip has been smooth so far since we got on the road -knock on wood again-, so I'm a little more hopeful about the actual visit going well. Fingers crossed it's more fun and positive than I'm expecting.

[bleufrost]

hey! I saw you were taking requests , I was wondering how Loki would help his partner suffering through chronic pain? I suffer with fibromyalgia and Loki is a massive comfort character , thank you so much ❤️

Immeasurable | Loki x reader

a/n: hey sweetheart! ok, so i was doing some research and spoke to my friend who also has fibromayalgia, and this ended up being a little angstier than i intended. I hope that's ok, but please let me know if you want something that's just fluff all the way through and ill be more than happy to write that for you 🖤

warnings: a bit of angst/self doubt, melted ice cream

The whole night was spent in pain. You'd wake up, try in vain to rub away some of the discomfort, try to go back to sleep, and then repeat. By the time morning hit, you were still exhausted and it felt like there was nothing that would change that. 

Deciding it best to stay in your room, you politely ask F.R.I.D.A.Y to let Tony know you would be out again today. He knew about the pain that often plagued you, and he knew that there was very little you could do about it. It wasn't your fault, and the treatments you normally used could only ease it slightly. You were in this one for the long haul, but hopefully this particularly bad feeling would ease soon. 

Gathering with the team to eat was never one of the most coveted moments of the day for Loki. Oftentimes he much preferred to skip it. The one thing that always called him to the table though, was you. So when he arrived this morning to find your seat empty, he immediately began to worry. 

When Tony spoke, alarms went off in his head. 

"Alright team, today is gonna be another training day. Gotta keep sharp for any more...visitors." Tony gives him a somewhat-playful look and continues. 

"We're doing another group exercise today. Since we're all here, I'm going to start teaming you all up!" All here? Clearly not everyone is here, so why was he acting as though someone very valuable wasn't missing entirely? 

He claps his hands together and rubs them in excitement. 

"Capsicle, I'm putting you with Point Break-"

"Stark, I believe you've miscounted." The team looks around, but ultimately decides to ignore him. Tony chuckles at the interruption, a small sign of anxiety flashing before his face that quickly vanishes. 

"Nope! Definitely did not." He returns to giving out teams, but Loki was now even more concerned and ready to argue.

"It seems a cruel joke to ignore the absence of a member of the team you claim to care so deeply for." Loki tries to sound unconcerned. He desperately plays at nonchalance and wants everyone to believe that he's only bringing you up to make Tony's life harder. 

They see right through it though. The two of you were nearly inseparable. Even trying to appear like he didn't care about where you were was...laughable.

"Alright, Reindeer Games, you clearly want a partner. You're with our dearly missed little teammate. It's not gonna be glamorous, but you're right. They're on the team and everyone needs to participate. " Tony grabs a water and a pint of ice cream from the freezer, tossing them to Loki and shrugging. 

"What..?" How could they be partners if one of the duo wasn't here? 

"Go on upstairs. I'm sure you're needed." Loki nods, still confused but more than eager to see you. Right as he reaches the doorway, Tony shouts one last thing at him. 

"Hey, no funny business!"  

You had wanted to get up and grab a drink for the last thirty minutes. Tony was great, but remembering some important things just wasn't on his list of strengths. 

So, when you hear a knock at the door, you're desperately hoping it's the forgetful billionaire who owns the damn building. 

"You can come in!" Loki opens the door slowly, a little nervous. For what, he's not sure. 

When you see him, your heart drops. In your eyes, you were never as strong as the other members of your team, never quite as fast or resilient. Loki had never looked down upon you though. He never made you feel less than the rest. Giving him a reason to do so...that hurt you. 

"What are you doing here?" The words come out strained, a new blossoming of pain joining the dull ache that already existed in your muscles. 

Loki notices immediately and moves forward, just enough to let you know that he's there, but not enough to make you feel trapped. 

"You're hurt? Who hurt you?" You try not to let anything show, to be strong and not ruin the image you hope he has in his head of you. But you can't. 

"I'm okay." Once again, the words barely make it out. Loki steps forward again, face marred with a look of hurt and confusion.

"I am not blind." 

You know you can't hide it. For as strong as you try to be, this was just something you couldn't always toughen up and push away. Deep down, you know that no one could. It was nothing to be ashamed of, and yet here you were, still scared of letting one of the only people who knew pain as well as you did in. 

Looking back to Loki, you recognize the concern. There's no judgement or signs of cruelty. He just wants to know what's happening to you. Finally, you decide to tell him. Just...in a second.

Right now, something a little more pressing rises to your attention. You were still incredibly thirsty, and the effort to stay awake all morning had you feeling exhausted and dehydrated. Looking to the bottle, you point sheepishly. 

"Can I have that?"

Loki watches you carefully, but gives you the water immediately. He places a little pint of ice cream on the nightstand before leaning down to get even closer to you.

With shaky hands, you bring it up to drink. His own palm rests against your raised one in an attempt to steady your shaking form. The fact that he didn't take it from you to hold it himself meant so much. You could do it, you just needed a little help. 

"Tell me what's hurting you...please." His eyes plead with you, and although he would never force you to say or do anything, you know in that moment that you can't keep this to yourself any longer. Not from him. You place the bottle down and sigh.

Recognizing that you're preparing to share something difficult with him, Loki lifts his hand to gently stroke your cheek. You instantly lean into his palm.

"Okay. But first, can you please hold me?" Your eyes are watery as you speak, beginning to let down the facade. He’s going to know soon. There's no point in hiding. 

Loki doesn't even respond. On any given day, he'd do absolutely anything you asked of him without question. On days when you clearly weren't okay...well he was willing to go above and beyond if it meant providing you with any comfort he could. 

He climbs on to bed, gently wrapping his arms around you. You can tell he's afraid of hurting you. It warms your heart, but it also stings. 

You're not fragile. You're not some weak little kid. Still, the feeling of him against you is too comforting to deny. 

"Sometimes…" not wanting to lie, you revise your statement.

"Most times, I experience a lot of pain in my body. It changes every once in a while, but it never really goes away." Loki's eyes appear confused, guarded in a way that tells you he's unsure of how to respond. You give him a moment, and he finally decides he needs more information. 

"Why?" His eyes scan your body, searching for any sign of injury. Anything that could be causing the obvious pain you're experiencing. 

"It could be a mix of things. Genetics, stress, bad luck?" You shrug and try to smile a little, hoping that the last one could lighten the mood. It didn't. 

"How do we stop it from hurting you? What can I do to help?" He looks so eager, as though you could tell him that you needed all of the infinity stones and twenty planets in order to take just the smallest amount of hurt away and he'd happily do it. The intensity with which he looks at you tells you that it isn't far off, if off at all. 

You shake your head. He rises a little, just enough to lock eyes with you and attempt to tell you just how much he wanted to stop you from experiencing any discomfort. It couldn't be stopped though. You knew that. 

"Please let me help." His fingers come up to stroke your cheek again, looking for any further contact he could get with you. It makes it hurt even more when you have to crush his hopes.

"There's nothing you can do, Loki. There's no cure or quick fix. I have to live with it." 

It's like he barely hears you, rejecting your response before you can even really give it.

"No. No, there must be something we can do." He's so adamant about it, and as much as you appreciate his dedication, you've been through this before. Too many times to count. 

"There’s not!" It's hardly a yell, more a frustrated little cry than anything. You didn't mean to get upset, but everything just felt like too much and you needed it to stop. Still, you regret losing your temper immediately. 

Prepared to apologize, you look at Loki with tears in your eyes. What you see in him translates a million things to you, but one stands out more than any other: he wasn't looking for an apology. He didn't even seem to think one was necessary. Instead, he looks upset with himself. 

"Why didn't you tell me about this sooner?" The question is valid. You both had shared so much with each other...this one just seemed to never have the right time. That's what you tell yourself anyways. What you end up telling Loki...well, it's the truth.

"I didn't want you to think I was weak. Everyone else already knows and I see the way they look at me. They think I'm some glass doll ready to shatter at any moment. I'm not!" Tears slip past your eyes and you can feel the beginnings of a new type of pain. Your heart hurt intensely now, having never shared those thoughts with anyone before.

Loki hugs you to him, kissing your forehead and holding you close. 

"You're right. You're not made of glass. I need you to know that not one of those people looks down upon you. I've spent time with each of them, mostly unwillingly, but they all think the world of you." You shake your head. He couldn't be telling the truth, right? 

"Furthermore, I want to apologize." 

You pull back, questioning Loki.

"I told you, it isn't anyone's fault. You don't have to be sorry." 

"No, as much as I hate that you're in pain, that's not what I mean. I want to apologize for making you think, even for a second, that you had to hide this from me. That you thought something like this would make me see you as less than you truly are. Your strength is immeasurable, and knowing that you remain so courageous and ready to help others when you experience this so often…well, how could I not be in awe of you?" 

Kissing your forehead again, Loki settles down beside you. He lets you absorb his words, feeling the stiffness in your body alleviate slightly as you lay against him. 

You didn't know what you expected when you finally told Loki. Honestly, you weren't entirely sure you ever planned to. This, though, was more understanding than you ever imagined. 

"Thank you." Looking up, you can see the tiny smile form on his lips.

"For what, darling?" His fingers brush against your shoulder, hoping that the continued stimulus would take your mind off the consistent negative feeling at least a little. 

"For understanding. And for being here." Your own fingers play with his shirt, feeling the soft material and taking comfort in his existence beside you. 

"Thank you for allowing me to." Loki leans down, careful not to make any jarring movements. Kissing you gently, he smiles as you giggle against him. 

"Now what's so funny, little one?" Your head shakes in embarrassment, but you still look over his shoulder as much as possible, trying to get a glimpse of the nightstand. 

"You're going to think I'm crazy, but I saw you bring in ice cream and I've kind of been thinking about it a little this whole time." When he looks at you, shocked and more than a little taken off guard, you laugh even more. 

"I find your dedication to it both very confusing and wildly impressive." He joins you in laughing, his joyful chuckle vibrating through his chest and making you smile in content. 

Suddenly, your body grows tired again. A deep wave of fatigue hits you and you don't try to hide how it affects you. You don't have to, not with Loki. Not anymore. 

Loki immediately grabs the container from the table. He opens it, brows scrunching as he takes in the goopy, melted mess. 

You watch in fascination as his hand turns a deep blue, frosting the ice cream once more. He was pretty damn great. 

"There. Not quite the same as it was, but hopefully good enough." Taking it from his hands and placing a bit in your mouth, you smile. 

"It's perfect." Loki kisses you, humming happily. 

"That you are." He licks his lips and nods his head in approval. "That tastes quite good." 

You take another spoonful and give it to him, happily sharing one of your favorite treats while you both settle in to talk and watch something. 

Hours later, you're still struggling to sleep. Loki watches as the sun sets, covering the room in a vast darkness. He hates the way your body tenses against him, the way he can't just take every last piece of hurt away from you. In that moment, he remembers all the times that he had felt pained in life. Decades flash before his eyes, until finally he lands on a memory from his youth, and he gets an idea. 

Lifting his hand, Loki brings little fireworks to life. The colors dance across his fingertips, and when your eyes open after a particularly uncomfortable wave, you can't pull them away. 

He watches, enchanted by the way the sparks of light reach your eyes. While your focus remains on the beauty his magic creates, his mind is only filled with how breathtaking you are. 

It doesn't stop the pain, but it definitely does make going through it a little easier. 

That's how it goes from then on. Most days you feel okay enough to keep fighting, but on the days that you don't, he's there. The treat may change from ice cream, to cookies, and one day a huge stack of candy that Loki seems far too giddy to try. Sometimes you watch movies, other times he reads to you instead. A lot of things change about the way you two learn to live with your pain, but one thing stays the same. You never have to go through it alone again. 

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 4

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello’s masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 2877

Additional note: This is the final chapter. There'll be an epilogue, but you'll have to wait a bit because there are a lot of challenges I've signed up for and I'm way behind schedule.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

Devastated and angry at the world. That's how Ivar is feeling.

Holed up in his room since the night before, and despite Lagertha incessant requests, he doesn’t plan to come out, not now at least. Come to think of it, he might as well decide never to leave his room again.

He can't stand the idea of facing his brothers. He doesn't want to have to tell them about his failure. He doesn't want to endure Ubbe's pity and condescendence. He doesn't want to see the look of triumph on Sigurd's face. The thought makes his stomach lurch while at the same time a murderous urge creeps into his mind. No, he definitely can't see his brothers.

Surprisingly, and unlike Lagertha, his brothers have left him alone, as if sensing that entering his room would be as moving into a minefield. Only Hvitserk had taken a chance earlier, cautiously poking his head through the door. His disapproving look obvious when his eyes had taken in the scene before him, Ivar's belongings scattered on the floor, some of them smashed into pieces.

"I got you a chocolate muffin from the kitchen, baby bro," he had explained, putting it on a nearby shelf, and it had almost brought a smile to Ivar's face. To Hvitserk, there's no predicament that can't be improved with comfort food.

"Look, Ivar," scratching his neck, Hvitserk had then said, "I don't know what happened and I don't want to pressure you. You tell me when you're ready, if you are. But I'm here, okay? Whatever the time of day or night, you don't have to be alone if you don't want to. If I'm upstairs, just call me, okay?" With these words, he was gone, the door closed.

Ivar can't get the events of the previous evening out of his mind. Like a waking nightmare, they are playing over and over in his head: how he had freaked out when he heard the beeps; the confused and then so disappointed look you had given him when he sputtered his need to leave; finally, his shameful escape into the night.

What could he have done? What should he have done?

He does know the answer. He should have been more cautious. He should have checked the time, asked for your number and just walked away.

On the other hand, what difference would it have made? He would still have no future with you, right? He would still be a cripple, and you would still be... you... perfect... too good for him.

So yeah, he had run away like a coward. He lets out a bitter chuckle to himself. Run away? Who is he kidding? He hadn't run away, that would have been too easy. Cripples don't run away. Without his cane – why the fuck did he leave it behind?? – he had pathetically limped away, stumbling, his feet sinking into the sand. He had still been on the beach when the battery had died. He had had no other choice but to crawl like a worm the rest of the way, silently praying to the gods that the darkness of the night would prevent you from seeing him like this.

Tears of despair run down his cheeks for the umpteenth time. He's used to feeling humiliated, but feeling humiliated and heartbroken simultaneously is really too much to take. He feels like he's dying from the inside over and over again, cursing himself for wanting to attend the party, for wanting to see you again. He should never have let his walls down, he should never have dared to hope. What was he thinking? He may have walked, and even danced with you, but at the end of the day, he still is a pitiable cripple with stupid, crooked legs, in love with a girl way out of his league.

If he's being honest, that's what hurts the most. He now realizes how delusional he had been. Holding on to a dead dream for years, he had not forseen the painful yet unavoidable reality check. And now, it's like he's been hit by a train. Because there's no denying it, dreaming of a life with you is no longer an option, not after last night. And even though it's almost unbearable, he knows now he has to let go of you, of the idea of you and him being together. As much as this mere thought is devastating, he has no other choice. He has to stop fooling himself, for his own sanity, if nothing else.

Giving a guttural cry, much like that of a wounded animal, Ivar doesn't hear when the front doorbell rings. Not that he would have reacted even if he had heard it, too busy wallowing in self-pity.

***

"Thank you for having us here on such short notice, my dear." Your uncle states joyfully, his eyes sparkling, as Lagertha greets him with a handshake and a tight-lipped smile. Even though you don't know why, it's obvious that she's not his biggest fan.

Your uncle, who doesn't seem to notice – or doesn't care, you're not sure – keeps giving her a beaming smile. "My niece here," he turns his head toward you for a short moment, "has a weird request. She met a boy yesterday, during the party. He lost something and my sweet Y/N has been adamant since this morning that she wants to find him and personally return it to him. We were wondering," he turns his gaze in the direction of the couch, "if it could be one of your wards."

There are indeed three young men, half sprawled on the couch, who get up as one when Lagertha gives them a stern look. If you vaguely remember having seen them before, a single glance is enough for you to know that the one you're looking for is not among them.

You're on the verge of saying so but your uncle doesn't give you a chance to. "See boys," he unceremoniously grabs the cane you're holding behind your back, "here is the lost item. A cane! Fairly uncommon, if you ask me. Anyway... Does this... thing belong to any of you?"

Since you know it doesn't, you're surprised when two of the guys both take a step forward. "Actually, it's mine," they say in unison, each of them only then becoming aware that the other is speaking.

Dumbstruck, you look at one then the other successively. They've got a lot of nerve! You know they're lying, and you would have known it even if these two idiots hadn't spoken at the same time. They just look nothing like your handsome stranger – if he's a stranger.

"Sigurd, you know it's mine!"

"Don't play dumb, you never use a cane, Ubbe! Whereas me, I do sometimes. Everyone knows artists tend to be eccentric, right?"

The blondest one – Sigurd if you heard right – points his finger at a guitar leaning against the wall and then winks at you, "I'm a musician, you know?" You don't even have time to roll your eyes as the other one – Ubbe? – yells, his nostrils flaring.

"Shut up Sig, you're so full of shit! You know I've got a sprained ankle!"

"A sprained ankle, no kidding? Who did a ten-kilometer run today, huh? It's not me! So, you are the one going to shut up, you fucking douchebag!"

It's almost funny to watch them arguing back and forth. If you weren't so pissed off, you'd laugh. But right now, you're mostly mad at them. Their blatant lies make your blood boil with anger.

Are they really thinking you're a complete idiot? That you can be fooled so easily? Who do they think they are? Who do they think you are? Some stupid chick ready to fall for their good looks? If they think that, they're kidding themselves.

"You're the fucking douchebag, Sig!! Don’t forget I'm the oldest!"

"And what's the difference, huh? You can't have all the girls, Ubbe! Keep fucking Margrethe and just let me be! Stop being a controlling asshole!"

"STOP!!!! BOTH OF YOU!!!"

Lagertha's shout is deafening and if looks could kill, these two morons would be lying dead on the floor right here, right now.

"Y/N, my dear," Lagertha gives you an apologetic smile, "I'm so sorry for that. I swear they usually know how to behave, better than that at least. Guess they don't know how to handle your striking beauty. Now sweetheart, tell me, is one of these two knuckleheads the one you were with last night?"

The silence that falls on the room after her question is so complete that you could hear a pin drop. Acutely aware that all eyes are on you, you shyly lower your gaze, shaking your head slightly, as you clasp your hands over your belly. You eventually speak, your eyes meeting Lagertha's, and you can see she knows what you're going to say. "No, the guy I was with last night is not one of them."

"How can you be so sure?" Sigurd's voice is soft and tentative now, and Ubbe adds, seemingly for once in agreement with his younger brother, "yeah, how can you? It was pretty dark after all."

You give them a smile. "How can I be so sure? You mean beside the fact that you obviously don't need a cane? Neither of you?" The third brother, who still hasn't opened his mouth, chuckles, giving you a thumbs up. "Look, I appreciate your interest, I really do, but neither of you are the one I am looking for. Therefore," you look at your uncle, "we should leave, don't you think?" Checking the time on your watch, you shrug. "What about the Eyvindsson family? Didn't you tell me about three brothers? We may have time to go and see them tonight if we hurry."

Your uncle nods, handing you back the cane. "You're right, Y/N, we should leave." Taking two steps forward, he grabs Lagertha's hand. "Sorry dear, we will waste no more of your time."

You're about to thank her when one of the boys clears his throat. "Ahem..."

Turning your head, you're surprised to see the third brother, the silent one, raising his hand. "I think I might know who this cane belongs to." Frowning, he glances at his brothers. "And you both know it too."

"Shut up, Hvitserk!" Sigurd spits, clenching his hands into fists. "Don't bring the fucking cripple into the conversation."

"Sigurd! Keep your mouth shut!" Lagertha glares at him for several long seconds then her face softens as she looks at Hvitserk, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What are you trying to say, Hvitserk? Do you think this cane belongs to your baby brother?"

Hvitserk nods. "I know it does, actually."

"Come on, Hvit, you're talking nonsense. It cannot be, it just cannot. That guy was standing. It wasn't our brother. Our brother wasn't there last night." Ubbe stubbornly insists, but Hvitserk just shakes his head.

"Of course, he was. I saw him. And don't bullshit me, Ubbe, you saw him too. With Y/N." Hvitserk states. That's when you realize that your palms are sweating and your pulse is racing.

Hvitserk keeps going, now speaking to his guardian. "I know what I saw, Lagertha. It was him. I don't know how, but he was standing, Ubbe is right. He was even walking. It may sound weird but I swear, it was him."

Lagertha nods. "I believe you, Hvitserk." A beaming smile spreads across her lips and she tilts her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Floki had something to do with such a miracle. Go get your brother, Hvitserk, please."

Your heart leaps at these words, you're barely able to contain your excitement and as you let out a nervous chuckle, you cannot help but jump for joy. Needless to say, Ubbe and Sigurd seem much less enthusiastic than you.

***

Reluctantly following his brother, Ivar mutters under his breath, "you're pissing me off, Hvit. I'm fucking not in the mood for whatever you have in mind."

Hvitserk pays him no mind though, a small smile dancing on his lips. "Trust me, baby bro, you'll be in the mood."

Ivar wants to protest, or maybe just turn around and wheel back to his room but all at once the sound of your voice reaches his ears and he stops, frozen in place, his eyes wide open. He may have stopped breathing.

Patting his shoulder reassuringly, Hvitserk whispers, "It's Y/N, baby bro, but I have a feeling you already know. She's here for you, she was looking for you, Ivar. Go..." before giving a single push to his brother's wheelchair, his right hand on the backrest.

Ivar honestly doesn't know how he manages to wheel himself into the living room. What he does know, however, is that you're suddenly standing right in front of him. The heart stopping smile you flash him blows all the air out of his lungs, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, and the outside world – Lagertha, his brothers, Harald – ceases to exist.

A little voice tells him he should be feeling self-conscious with his hair all messy and wearing worn sweatpants, but he can't bring himself to care, not when you kneel in front of him with stars in your eyes.

"Here you are, finally," you breathe, gently placing a hand on his knee. Ivar didn't know until now that one could die of happiness, but that's exactly what he's feeling and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Swallowing, he blinks several times. When he speaks, his voice trembles, his bottom lip quivering. "Hello Y/N, you were... looking for... for me?" He has trouble getting the words out, his nervous fingers fidgeting on his lap.

Grabbing both his hands in yours, you nod, your thumbs stroking his knuckles tenderly. "I was, yes, and for a very long time."

Shyly lowering his head, Ivar, almost feeling dizzy, can't wrap his head around your words. They're just too good to be true. "But... why?"

"Why?" You giggle, your laughing eyes lighting up your face, and he's positive, you're even more beautiful like this. "Isn't it obvious? I want to know more about you, what's your favorite color, what you eat for breakfast, where you see yourself in ten years. I just want to spend time with you, Ivar."

'Ivar' You've just said his name and it's like the sweetest music to his ears. He can't believe it. Wow. "You... You recognized me?" There's so much hope and joy in his voice, he cringes.

You shrug, your smile never leaving your lips. "I wasn't sure at first. You've changed a lot." Your hand cups his cheek. The sensation on his skin is so overwhelming he has to hold back the tears threatening to gush. Yet, he can't help but think you're speaking about his legs.

He grits his teeth. "Yeah... Standing tall can change a man."

"No! no, no, no," you retort without missing a beat, "That's not what I meant. In my memory you still looked like you did when we were ten, but look at you now, all grown up! Your hair was so short back then." Reaching out, you brush a strand of hair back and tuck it behind his ear before letting your fingers run slowly down and up his bulging biceps, your hand finally lingering on his forearm, "Plus, you clearly work out a lot. So, yeah, I thought it was you, but I wasn't sure. When we were dancing last night, I thought I'd ask you right after, but then you left and... well... I didn't have a chance..."

Ivar wraps his fingers around yours, a frown creasing his forehead. "About that, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have left like–"

You shush him, holding a finger to his lips. "It doesn't matter, Ivar. You don't have to explain. All that matters is that I found you." Standing up, you lean forward and gently kiss his cheek and he feels like he's floating. Intertwining his fingers with yours, you whisper in his ear, "I reckon we got some lost time to make up, you and me. Can we go stargazing now?"

Hearing this makes Ivar's insides turn to jelly. Barely able to think, he is on cloud nine and wishes with all his heart never to come back down to earth again. But despite the daze, despite the fog in his head, despite the blinding happiness, he knows one thing: no matter how many stars he sees, you'll be the brightest one.

"Yes, Y/N, you're right," bringing your hand to his mouth, he gives it a kiss, "let's go stargazing."

And as he leaves the room, you walking alongside him with your hand on his shoulder, his heart filled with joy and wonder, he doesn't miss the thumbs up Hvitserk gives him, nor the scowl on Ubbe's and Sigurd's faces.

For a fleeting second, he thinks he should – he could – taunt them. They deserve to be laughed at, don't they? But then, he realizes he doesn't have time for that. The time for happiness has come, and it's far more important.

Giving you a beaming smile, Ivar inhales deeply before releasing a sigh of satisfaction. Yeah. Happiness. Happiness sounds good.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar’s taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

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[dreamiesdotcom]

february spring | h.rj

genre: hanahaki!au, angst, fluff

trigger warning: character death

summary: You wonder what he'll do when he realizes you no longer cough petals, but flowers in full bloom — that inside you is a full blown spring, within a body that exists in winter.

word count: 2.7k

The thing about flowers is that they suck.

Today again you wake up coughing petals and blood, feeling like wanting to burn the world and then your damned feelings — but no, you think, you'd rather not have life at all if you're not in love with him. You'd choose him again and again if asked.

That's the stupid thing about it. You're so willing to hurt and to be hurt for love that made flowers grow inside you.

Your mom is crying at the foot of your bed, praying for it all to be gone; the petals, the blood, the disease you have to fight because you fell for the wrong person. Your dad turned around to face the wall, tears in his eyes. He wants you to be better. He needs you to be better, and he needs to be strong so you could fight.

It's useless, anyway.

"This could end in three ways," you remember your doctor saying. "Either he loves you back, you take the surgery, or you die."

And you know what that means? That no amount of strength, of happiness, will keep you alive. It's impossible for him to love you back. You're dying. There's flowers growing inside you and you're dying — dying in the most beautiful way; dying of love.

Of stupid love, but you disregard that.

"Mom," you call. "I don't want the surgery."

"You want to die?" She asks with a laugh, "You want to die for a boy who doesn't even know of your love?"

"Y/N," your dad calls, a warning.

"Please don't make me go through it," you close your eyes. "I don't want to forget him. I don't want to forget love."

Because it's all I have, you wanted to say. Love is the one thing worth having, and you can't imagine yourself after the surgery; you'll get your emotions removed alongside the flowers in both your lungs and heart. You can't imagine that.

It's not even about him anymore. It's—

"Mom, please," you beg, "I don't... I don't want to live in a world where I wouldn't be able to live and love. I don't want to live not loving you and dad."

Because what is a human without love, emotions? An empty vessel. A withering rose. Something to stare at emptily as slowly, they begin to die.

Tears well in your mother's eyes, shaking her head, repeating the same words again and again — "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him" — but you made up your mind. You're dying, but before that you're gonna live —

you're gonna live, and this time not for him anymore; for yourself. For yourself too.

Even though life with this disease is limited to this hospital, the window and the rooftop, it is life still — this sickness made you cherish all the little things you'll lose when your body loses warmth. On some days you play with the kids, young hearts running around not really understanding their situations.

You put a smile on your face after everytime you throw up — you hide away somewhere no one would see, you hide yourself. You want to live. If you want to live, there's no need to be pitied.

At night, before you need to go to your room, you go to the rooftop and meet with a friend; Huang Renjun, same case. His heart longs for the stars, the moon, and a boy who is and will always be happier with someone else.

Tonight again, you stargaze.

"Imagine what we'll be if we weren't like this," he wonders out loud, "You'd still be annoying."

You kick his foot lightly, making him laugh, "See? You're sick and annoying. If you weren't sick, you'd be even more annoying!"

You turn to face him, and a fond smile is on his face, "You'd be beautiful still, even more without the tiredness in your eyes."

"And you'd still be handsome, Renjun," you find yourself saying, "You'd still love books and poetry, and stars..."

"But your smile wouldn't be so sad," he continues, pointing to Sirius, tracing the entire constellation as if the stars are right before his fingertips. "Your smile would be open and honest, not just something to comfort me."

You smile wistfully. He rolls around to pin you down, his hands on your wrists, a smile of his own on his face. It's something silly, kind of cheeky — typical Renjun.

"You're my only friend, Y/N," he confesses. "And I hate him. I hate the boy who made you sick."

Tears start to fall from his eyes, leaving him shaking. His arms still pin you to the ground, his tears falling on your face. He sobs. He sobs and sobs and my god, he still looks beautiful — Sirius rests on the space where his neck and shoulders meet. Galaxies are in his eyes.

He looked beautiful, so beautiful that you didn't have the heart to tell him that it's him. There's no other boy but him.

###

I wonder when he'll notice...

February cold engulfs you in its hold, making you shiver. Renjun walks beside you. It's a silent trip to the rooftop, snow falling in beautiful flakes. He takes notice in your silence.

I wonder when he'll ask if I love him...

"Are you okay?" Renjun asks, shoulder brushing against yours.

You smile at him, "I'm fine. I'm just a little cold."

Time is running out...

"Renjun," you call out his name, "Do you think you could ever fall in love with me?"

He looks at you as if you said something absurd. He laughed, he laughed until he coughed blood and petals — you stop in panic, rubbing his back.

"I think the cold is doing us no good," you say. "Let's head inside."

Was it really that impossible for you to fall in love with me?

"No, no, I'm fine." He wipes the blood off his lips, "See?"

Scary as it seems, the petals have become usual visitors for patient with Hanahaki. It doesn't even bother Renjun anymore at this point.

He'll have the surgery and get better — just a little more, he said, let me feel this love for a little more, because after the surgery I know I never will love again.

The petals don't shake him anymore. There's a cure, after all. A cure you keep denying yourself.

"Alright, let's go."

You resume walking, looking straight ahead. The sun is setting as a white sunset.

You wonder what he'll do when he realizes you no longer cough petals, but flowers in full bloom — that inside you is a full blown spring, within a body that exists in winter.

###

"Happy Birthday to you~ happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, happy birthday..."

You look at Renjun's room, meeting gazes with Lee Jeno. You smile and look away.

Renjun has told you the story of three best friends.

Jaemin and Jeno are his regular visitors. Whenever they come, there's a spark in Renjun's eyes — the glint of sadness, the look of yearning for love like theirs. You know. You pass by his door everytime.

You know, too, that he's still in love with Na Jaemin.

Whenever they come by, they bring him flowers — you laugh, because Renjun has enough of those blooming inside him. They bring him food to eat, bring him gifts, but there's no love for him in that space. Jaemin and Jeno's love are solely for each other, and Renjun wants that selfishness too; he wants Jaemin's love all to himself. It's what planted those seeds.

Whenever they come, Renjun wallows in envy and self pity and sadness, sadness because it breaks his heart that seeing them both so happy hurts him. Whenever they come, you battle yourself to not yell at them and make them leave and tell them they're not of any help, not helping him feel better — Renjun's life is just as limited as yours. He has counted seconds and all they do is make him realize what a fool he was to fall for someone he'll never have.

Whenever they leave, they leave a hole in his heart — it only grows bigger and bigger with every visit, with every goodbye. Renjun must be a fool.

But he'll have it, the surgery. He wants to live that much, that even though it will be impossible for him to feel love, he'll still search for happiness.

And that's how you know it.

You're dying.

In silence, you break down and whisper your greetings: Happy birthday, Renjun.

###

Renjun sits across you, holding the flowers Na Jaemin has given him. He plucks them once — he loves me. The sun is hidden away by the clouds, and his gaze that once were on you flutters across the room, back to where Jaemin stands. He plucks another petal — he loves me not.

Jaemin looks back to your direction, and waves. You're sure it made Renjun's heart flutter.

"You're the infamous Y/N," Jaemin grins. "I hope we can be good friends."

"Before I die, that is," you joke, earning a smack from Renjun. The stem of the flower hits the back of your head.

He loves me.

"Jaemin, where's Jeno?" Renjun asks, curious. There's no sight of honey haired boy and it's a strange sight, but you know deep inside he is pleased.

He loves me not.

"He's busy today."

"As he is every day?"

"C'mon, Renjun," Jaemin laughs. "It's not like he never gives me time."

Renjun shakes his head anyway. He releases a big sigh, calming himself down — deep inside he knows he can love Jaemin better. A pained look flashes in your eyes.

Renjun taps your thigh in concern.

He loves me.

"I need to go, 'jun," Jaemin says, taking his belongings with him. He runs straight to the door, but before that he turns around and waves.

When Jaemin leaves the room, Renjun looks like he just fell in love. Again.

A bitter smile draws on your face.

He loves me not.

###

The day of Renjun's surgery came quicker than expected. The explanation was simple; he can never feel love again, but he will survive. He will be alive and that's what matters.

It's a sad thought, living without love. But Renjun would rather not love than not live at all.

"It's tomorrow," he said. "You should take care."

You don't meet his gaze.

"I'm tired, Renjun," you whisper, clutching his shirt to pull him impossibly closer.

A smile draws on his face, a beautiful sight to look at.

He asks, "Tired of what?"

And you've been tired of a lot of things. You tried not being so, but you can't help but fail miserably — lately everything's just been too much. Most of them, though; thoughts like this, like the truth that spills from your mouth.

"Of the flowers growing inside me," you say wistfully, "I'm tired of it and I hate it. I hate it so much."

"Y/N..."

"And I'm tired of you too, of you looking at me with those eyes," you turn to face Renjun who sits with his head hung low. You let a chuckle escape your lips, "Those eyes that look at me as if you could love me had you not met Jaemin."

Renjun couldn't say a word.

You feel yourself withering away as more flowers bloom inside you.

###

Renjun left right after he recovered from the surgery, the nurses said. You stay in your bed all those time, not bidding him goodbye at all. You throw up more flowers than usual, more blood.

All the promises you made about living life before you die is gone. All you can think about is how difficult it is to breathe, how hard it is to live.

"Mom," you call, hoping for ease, "I want to give up."

But she smiles with tears in her eyes, she smiles. You see, she had the most beautiful smile in the world. Her eyes are brimming with unshed tears and her lips stretched in a pitiful expression, "No, darling," she begs. "Stay awake. Stay awake for me."

You smile back.

"It hurts to breathe."

"It will be okay," at least she prays. "It's gonna be okay. Go through with the surgery."

You shake your head, declining still. Time is running out. Your father hugs you tight, the first time in years, a kiss pressed on your temple. Your mother holds your hand.

I don't want to, you repeat again and again.

Your father holds your hand — "We'll do what you want."

And there's a protest at the tip of your mother's tongue, but it melts away at the sight of tears falling from your eyes.

"Okay, sweetie," she says. "We'll do what you want."

Your doctor comes in a hurry minutes after. He's panting, a red flush on his face — he seems mad. "How long has it been?"

"Doctor..."

"You didn't tell us you were coughing out whole flowers."

Your mother's cries start to get louder. Full flowers meant the last stage: the closest to death. At this point it's a game between life and death and the dangers in between. You smile.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, "But I'm not going through the surgery, doctor."

They look at you with eyes of pity, saddened that it has come to this. Your doctor nods. Your mother shakes in your father's hold. You laugh, "Why are you all crying?"

"Stupid child," your mother says. "Stupid Y/N."

You laugh harder, tears falling from your eyes. "I love you, mom," you say. "Can you hold my hand tighter? I'm scared."

From outside your door, Renjun clamps his hand over his mouth; he feels like throwing up. He originally planned to say one last goodbye, but instead, he gets this... this. Whatever the hell this mess is.

You're dying, all because you're in love with him.

All because he couldn't love you back.

###

The time comes quicker than expected.

You look at your body, watching from your soul — this must be what it is like to be have your soul wandering. You breathe in sharply, breathe out. You look at all the tubes connected to your body.

You go through the wall, moving to hug your parents. Your mother must've felt you, for her sobs grew louder and she called your name.

Suddenly, someone storms in.

"Doctor, it seems like you have an emergency patient," the nurse intervenes.

"Who's the patient?"

"Huang Renjun."

Your feel your heart drop — who knew you could still feel such things? But Renjun, didn't he...

"Renjun? Didn't he have a successful surgery?"

"Yes," the nurse looks down in shame, "But it seems there's remains of flowers in his lungs. He's now coughing out flowers in full-bloom."

The doctor rushes out of the room, saying excuses to your parents. You watch your own body breathe its last breath.

The nurse looks down, "Y/L/N Y/N, time of death, 10:48 a.m."

You wander around the hospital, going to where your feet take you. You soon find yourself in the emergency room, watching Renjun almost pass out from coughing flowers.

"Renjun," you call — the ghost of you, your soul. The one Renjun sees.

He looks in panic, knowing why he's seeing you; he's ready to die. What he's not ready for is to see you as a soul, dead and eternally young.

He blinks once, twice, hoping you don't disappear. It's not all truthful words, but he says it — "I love you."

Outside the room, Renjun's parents wonder to themselves — who is he talking to? What is he mumbling? His parents can't help but cry, worried at every flutter of his eyes.

"They say... when people are almost dying, their closest family visit them to take them to paradise." Jaemin says with a bitter smile, "I heard... Y/N passed. He might be seeing her."

A slap sounds in the room.

"My son is not dying!" Renjun's mother says. Jaemin nods, tears falling from his eyes.

"Are you scared?" you ask, head tilted, hands brushing strands of his hair away from his face.

"Yes," Renjun confesses.

"I'll hold your hand."

"Until it's over?"

You smile, "You're one of my greatest friend, after all."

Renjun never expected to die. Then, at the same time, he never expected the tiny sliver of love he feels for you — love for a friend, for a dear one. Renjun found a real best friend within you.

So, he holds your hands and comes with you.

"Doctor? Doctor, what's happening— my son!" His mother calls as he watches his eyelids close, "Renjun... My little boy..."

One last smile, one last cough of his favorite flower — Renjun is at peace. He closes his eyes and remains his age forever.

"Huang Renjun, time of death, 10:52 a.m."

[lvlyhao]

『lifetimes; H.R』

one-shot; huang renjun

A/N: it’s been a hot minute since i posted the teaser but welp it’s finally here :] this has got to be one of my favourite things i’ve ever written so please give it some love!!

𝓖𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮𝓼: not a lot of it but fluff (♡), angst (❆), fantasy (✯), author’s favourite (ツ)

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: some mentions of death but nothing too explicit

word count: 2.8K

pairing: huang renjun x reader

disclaimer: the characters in the story below do not reflect real people or present real facts. this is purely fictional, and you may not copy, change, translate or repost my work in any way. all rights reserved © cherry-hyejin 2021.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

With chocolate eyes that dazzle golden under the light, he scouts the forest. The canopy is thick above his head and shudders every few seconds when some creature hurriedly passes by. The trees' branches sway in the breeze, and he can almost hear their rumbling under the chirping birds. The ever-so-green grass is dank under his boots, and he can still smell the rain that ended just a couple minutes ago. The Sun, though, seems to have no recollection of that. He is as argent as always, here in the Violet Woods. The place is dazzling, alive, and crisp; far too different from his own home, but also far less foreign. 

Graceful fingers reach for the periwinkle flowers just left from the tallest red oak, kissing their soft petals as he wonders where they are. Renjun is positive he's at the right place, and this is the right time. Noon, by the bush of forget-me-nots. He could only hope they hadn't misremembered this week's chosen spot. Knowing them, it's perfectly possible. Maybe he should head to the muttering roses, where they had met last week, and wait there instead...

Laboured breaths and feathery footsteps sound from behind him a second later, and he doesn't have to turn around to know it's them.

"You're late", he states, fierce gaze still burning in the flowers.

Renjun doesn't expect an apology, not really, but the mellow hand they lay on his shoulder is just as startling. Still kneeling, he twirls to face them at once, and he doesn't miss the dim look of urgency that paints their features.

"Y/N? What happened? Are you okay?"

They don't answer him. Instead, their lips curl into a small smile that Renjun supposes is meant to calm his nerves. It doesn't work very well, or well at all, and he stands up to his full height, holding their hand in his.

Both of their hearts beat loudly, wildly attempting to escape their ribcages. However, neither of them shies away from the proximity. Renjun and Y/N idly stand together for a second, basking in each other's warmth when they speak for the first time today.

"Father knows about you."

If the incoming information is anything short of shocking, he doesn't let it show. His keen, fox-like traits remain the same as he searches their eyes for something else—fear, rage, or any other emotion. Something that would tell him what to do now. 

Nodding slowly, he gently squeezes their fingers, waiting for them to continue. 

The way Renjun looks at them is enough to make Y/N's throat tighten in concern. From the palace, all the way over here, they've been trying to conceal it, but they no longer can. 

It's freezing cold, even against the strings of sunlight that filter through the trees. Its' grip is vicious, instilling into their body a form of despair they had never felt before. It is the dawning realization that their little world is shattering, and there's little they can do to save it.

"...And he calls you a filthy mortal."

Somehow, Renjun finds it in him to snort. Out of all the things he thought they would say, that was certainly not one of them, but it makes him happy. After all those months, they still manage to catch him off-guard. Will they ever stop doing that?

"Aren't you elves so kind?" he laughs, lifting his other hand to gently flick at their pointy ears.

Y/N simply huffs, dodging his fingers and escaping from his hold to pace around the trees.

Watching them in silence, Renjun thinks their race truly is something else. Elegant, breathtaking, stunning, unmatched, perfect. Sharp edges give way to soft curves that make him question the existence of all deities. Should he turn his face in shame? Should he go down on his knees and beg for forgiveness over sins he didn't commit? Should he declare them as his one redemption and worship them until his breath forever ceases?

Sighing dreamily, he thinks he, too, would be an arrogant bastard if he looked anything like an elf.

"Don't put that on us, Renjun. You, humans, have a terrible tendency to destroy and foul the space you occupy" Y/N turns to him. 

Placing their hands on their hips, they know they're falling into the usual routine: bickering about historical events between the two races until one gives up. That's how their rendezvous always begins, and they wouldn't have it any other way, but today something hovers in the air between them.

Doubts.

Renjun can't keep himself from speaking.

"He will banish you some time, Y/N. You know we can't keep this up forever."

He's right, and they know. Had it not been for the strands of sunshine dancing across their frame, they would have shivered. The thought of getting banished from their realm is terrifying. Y/N is still incredibly young for an elf—just over their 75 years—but they've lived enough to know how it goes for elves who get exiled. 

For an elf, banishment isn't being outlawed from your homeland. That is most indisputably sad, and Y/N would cry about it for some time, missing nature's presence from her forests. Although that's not the part of the exile that frightens them: it's the loss of immortality, their lifelines cut too short from straying from their hearths.

Death is no friend of the elves, as everybody knows. The mere idea of perishing from disease or poison is strange to their minds, if not altogether catastrophic. It's not normal, as it is not natural. It's almost reason enough to stop Y/N from making her offer, but the pink haze in their eyes wouldn't allow them to.

"Run away with me then", they mutter, slowly closing the distance between them and the boy once again. Something in Renjun's eyes shifts, and his pink lips part to speak, but not yet. 

"Protect me from the dangers of mortality. We could go south to the Cristalline Planes, Injun", Y/N stops in front of him. "Or, maybe even head west, since I know you've always wanted to see Wistful Shores."

Hope shines bright in their complexion, burning with such richness it nearly turns into despair. What they're doing is not asking—they're pleading, and Renjun nearly collapses to the ground at the honeyed tone in their voice. However, the glow of their fingers, smoothly tracing the shapes of his light robes, grounds him. Their touch is as delicate as the breeze, and it takes all of his self-control not to say "yes" right away.

"And let you give up on eternal life for me? That is possibly the most foolish decision I have ever heard of", he says, stoping their movements to lace his fingers between theirs.  

For a moment, everything around the two of them stills and fades into silence. The woods are quieter than ever before, and even the tree's lullaby comes to a halt. Nothing exists out of their eyes, embedded deep into the others'. 

His might just be Y/N's favourite thing in the whole entire world. The vibrant, sunny brown of his orbs reminds them of the goodness still left in mortals. They shimmer, sparkle and flicker with every bit of emotion Renjun feels, for they are too honest not to. It would be nothing short of a crime if they ever lied about his heart.

Y/N's are what he would describe as literal gateways. To where? Well, that, he will always argue. Some nights, when the stars are out, he could swear the entire universe is right there, before him. On other occasions, when what surrounds them are the glistening streaks of dawn, Renjun sees magic in its purest form. He could spend all of his life staring at them and still feel like there's too much left to explore.

"I don't think this foolish decision is yours to make, then", they decide, lightly squeezing his hands and glancing down to the ground. "I would rather live one more hour with you than one hundred lifetimes on my own."

There is a sharp intake in his breath as if a blade had buried itself deep in his stomach. It pains him just the same, he realizes. Hearing them say that and knowing they speak the truth brings tears to his eyes because he knows this is the point where he has to stop them. Stop them from wondering about the "what if's" and from asking that of him. Gods know if they ask again, he won't have the strength to decline.

"I, on the other hand, would like for you to live a very long, happy, fulfilling life," he remarks, hoping the shaking in his voice is not too evident. "And for that to happen, you can't be that much of an idiot, okay? Don't give that away for some human prince, Y/N."

"And what if that human prince is all I care about? What if he is my entire existence, and my one reason to sleep through the nights is to dream about him? What then, Renjun?" they challenge. 

It's rare to see elves speaking in any way that is not moderate, light, but the fire in their voice is nothing like he's ever seen. It's the same anger that fuels them to pull him closer, resting their palms on his warm cheeks and wiping away the tears he didn't know have fallen. 

"Then you must tell me what does that make me. What is this between us?" Renjun mutters, eyes closing with soft flutters. Guilt claws at his chest for not immediately putting an end to it but savouring the moment, feeling himself fall a bit deeper for the elf as each second ticks by.

"Love", Y/N simply states, sighing when his hands come together to hold the small of their back. "It's love."

"A part of me wishes you had not said that", he leans into their touch. "Had you said 'nothing' and stopped torturing me, my heart would have been broken, but I would have been fine. How can I be, now, when all you've just done makes me cherish you more?" he chuckles bitterly.

He knows what they're about to say, and he can't stand to hear it, so he continues talking, eyes indolently opening to scan their features.

"Things are different for us, Y/N. While you don't have to worry about succeeding the throne, that is my fate. To be a good ruler for my people when my own father dies. I can't leave them behind", Renjun breathes, hating the way their hopeful look melts into denial.

"You have a brother, you know? Leave him to rule. We've both seen what it's like to wear the crown, Injun", they grimace. 

It is true. Being part of the royal family means you grow used to many horrible sights and dark secrets. He can't help but wonder what it will be like to live all of that and not have you to keep him sane.

Shaking his head to dissolve querying thoughts, Renjun attempts to focus on something else that is not them. It's dangerous to be that close, feeling their own ragged breaths fawning over his face. He is just one touch away from all he has ever wanted, but one touch away is still forbidden. In that one touch lies his downfall.

As if hearing his prayers, the wind blows stronger, running through his silken, dark locks and messing up Y/N's. It backfires, though. The urge he has to resist now is to run his hands through their hair, pushing away all of the wild strands that frame their face, and he curses. Nothing could ever make this any less difficult for him.

"If Chenle ever becomes king, I pity the people that will live under his hand."��

He smiles, and Y/N realizes he must be attempting to make a joke. They wish they could laugh, but the conclusion behind his words hangs in the air. He won't change his mind, will he?

A sob leaves their body as suddenly as the tears come. Their vision turns misty, and the cold awareness that hits them is too much to manage. Wordlessly, Y/N falls to their knees, hugging their own body in attempts to calm the heartbreaking cries pouring from their lips. The pleasant spring evening turns cold and unforgiving, and the elf loses their bearings for a second, only to realize Renjun has dropped to the ground in front of them.

Neither of them dares to open their eyes when two bodies become one, and the only thing they know is each other. Fingers grasp at robes, armour and leather, and rough sobs blend together in utter heartbreak. Renjun pulls them so close he's not sure which limbs are his or whose tears he's tasting, but it hardly matters. This is where they end.

How much time they spend lost in each other's embraces is unclear. Neither Y/N nor Renjun knows, and they don't want to. Acknowledging time is dangerous here because it means accepting this moment won't last forever, and that is something they can't—won't do. It won't be so until they let it, right?

Wrong, and they know it. The Sun is going down.

When sobs have turned into whimpers and clutches have turned into caresses, Y/N takes the courage to pull away and look at him.

The prince's eyes are red and puffy, much like theirs, they imagine. His pale cheeks are stained with dry tears, and his pretty lips still tremble from the deep breaths. He doesn't meet their gaze until they call his name.

"Renjun", they call once more, admiring the blue hour lights shifting across his dashing features. "I—" Y/N gasps, and he's suddenly terrified of what they'll say. "I think maybe... maybe we should no longer meet. I can't bear to look at you and know you're not mine to take."

Just like that, his fears were confirmed. In his mind, he knows this is how it was supposed to go all along. This is for the best, he reminds himself, even if right now it feels like having your soul ripped to shreds.

"Don't say it like that, Y/N. I've always been, and I'll always be yours", he flashes a watery smile. "Perhaps just... in another lifetime."

The pain becomes too much to handle, and all they can do is close the space between them again. Their last and first kiss is salty, from the tears they both still shed and bittersweet, from the goodbye it speaks.

How poetic, they think, to say goodbye right by a bush of forget-me-nots. I'll surely never forget him.

"Go now", Y/N whispers as they part, "before I kiss you again and never let you go."

A heartbroken chuckle leaves his lips while he touches his forehead against theirs. 

"Remember me, Y/N", he begs, slowly dragging them to their feet. "Remember me like this, young and well, learning what the flowers you mark our spots with look like. Always see me like this: grateful and completely in love with you."

"How could I not, my prince?"

And in truth, how could they not?

To say Y/N never forgot about Renjun is a misunderstanding. They never forgot about him, and they never stopped thinking about him either. His are every emotion they've felt. Every split of every second in every day of their life was and is dedicated to him. His smile is all they see when they close their eyes, and his laughter sounds right by their side whenever they visit the forget-me-not fields. He lived in all of the things surrounding them, and even in the name of that corner right by the tallest red oak: Prince's Lair.

Likewise, his very soul was bound to Y/N from the day they met to the day he died, still in reverence of how much devotion it is possible to feel for someone. He grew older and eventually found a family, yes, and he even went to war. His eyes held visions he would never wish for anyone to see, but they were still his first thought in the morning and the last one in the night when he allowed himself to weep for their lost future. He got to see the most distant borders of many kingdoms, and he got to meet people in all of them. Yet, no creature on this Earth ever compared to Y/N—his Y/N.

Even at the tender age of 18, Renjun was wise. 

Aeons of praying upon the stars never changed their fortune, but maybe there is something else to their fates.

Y/N never stopped loving Renjun, and Renjun loved them until his days were over, but their paths never crossed again.

Perhaps in another lifetime.