#anyway I'm not sad he's dead but I do wonder about the person he would have been if he didn't feel like he had to hide

[robindrake93]

Before he died, my grandpa was telling people that I was a ghost writer.

He knew that I wrote constantly, watched me do it for decades, and he knew that I was somehow making money online with my writing.

What I was actually doing most of the time was writing fan fiction; something he did not know existed and since most of my fics are explicit, I didn't think he'd want to know. (although considering most of the books he read were steamy historical romances, he might not have cared too much)

I had also set up a patreon for original fiction, which I think I explained poorly when telling him about. "People pay me money to read what I write per chapter" was probably how I explained it. Which is accurate but that's not a model of reading that he's familiar with.

Given the circumstances and his limited knowledge, I'd say his guess was pretty good.

[scintillatingshortgirl19]

i'm struggling to even put into words how i feel about these two scenes.

i honestly wonder how much of house's facial expressions in these moments were hugh laurie's choice and maybe weren't necessarily scripted, because the episode doesn't really offer any kind of conclusion on how jealous and, more importantly, how deeply fucking sad house looks after realizing wilson has been talking to amber.

first off - this happens a lot in this show, but this is one of those huge instances of "oh, how differently this situation would look if one of these characters was a woman." if that were the case, this whole thing would really be quite simple. if house was a proper Opposite Sex Love Interest, him standing at the door hearing the proof that his unrequited crush isn't over his last girlfriend...well, that would make perfect sense. The level of hurt and jealousy house seems to feel about wilson still being in love with amber is. well. it's Something.

so anyway - house gets that genuinely hurt look at three separate points: #1 is when he realizes wilson is talking to amber (and this moment is especially fascinating bc house's main emotion should arguably be relief at the knowledge he hasn't been hallucinating...but that appears to be taking a backseat to his jealousy for a woman who isn't even alive anymore)

#2 is when wilson tells amber that he wasn't able to go for a run tonight because house is having issues. now, this speaks to the broader problem that - even though house knows wilson feeds off neediness - house is still worried about being a burden to wilson and that eventually wilson will not want him anymore.

Then #3 - when wilson says to house's face that talking to amber makes him feel better when he misses her, and house doesn't. This moment is so painful and interesting to me because house inviting wilson to confide in him feels like a pretty big step in terms of growth! So for wilson to say he'd rather talk to his dead girlfriend than house...well, judging by house's face, the remark cuts pretty deep. (disclaimer: ofc wilson is completely valid for talking to amber; it just also makes sense that house would be hurt by this, especially in the context of him already feeling like a burden and trying so hard to be a better person)

anyway idk where else to go with this . . . i just feel like the episode sort of started to delve into this issue and then never really went deep enough or concluded this aspect - hence my theory that house's level of hurt may not have been scripted and it was just hugh laurie choosing to Do That with his face.

[semiweirdshipper]

Slashers as dads. (Extending the addition).

So I've been thinking about other slashers that I could write as fathers. And this is just a little list of ones that I've chose and how I feel about them. Usually for the slasher dad drabbles, I like to include at least four slashers. Freddy, Michael, Bo, and Hannibal have been my primary picks so far- and I write them in canon-divergence so they're portrayed as good guys. Now...

Let's talk about who else is fit to be a dad.

Jason Voorhees

I feel like it goes without saying that Jason would be a remarkable father figure. He's strong, protective, compassionate, loves nature, is nice, ect... If we altered his universe a bit and turned him into a good guy, I think he'd be the best father figure yet! I'm already thinking about scenarios where he teaches a child reader how to swim and stuff.

Bubba Sawyer/Thomas Hewitt

So I struggle a bit with Bubba mainly because he can't talk and, frankly, I'm not even sure if he can write. Children take after their parents, and I'm not gonna write a child reader squealing and huffing like he does. That's why I have such a difficult time with deciding what I could do to make him a good father figure. And it's not just his inability to talk, it's also his intelligence and the condition he lives in. My father figures have to have suitable jobs and living conditions. I'm not sure what I could do to make his situation better, you know?

As for Thomas Hewitt? I've never seen a movie with him, so I don't know anything about him, his speech, intelligence or living conditions. I was hoping maybe someone would explain it to me, please?

Weirdo demon people like Pyramid Head, Pinhead, Pennywise and Chucky.

Now, I don't see any of these characters as fit to be a father figure. However, I do see them as fit to be a 'friend'. Let's say a child reader is feeling lonely, scared, sad or neglected, and one of these guys shows up to make them feel better, take them on an adventure, or so on and so forth. I think that it could be it's own special kind of drabble sequence- not necessarily father figures, but more like 'friendly monsters'.

Evan MacMillan

The one character that I turn into an overworked dad in a lot of my stories, lol. I think Evan would make a great father figure. With a little bit of canon-divergence, it'd be easy to give him a suitable home and job. As a father, he'd be one of the best.

Albert Wesker

With A LOT of canon-divergence (and extreme patience and determination on my end), I think I can turn prince blondy into a father figure. It's going to be rough and I'm going to alter his personality a lot, but I can make it happen. If given the chance, I know that Albert can be a great father figure too.

Karl Heisenberg

I need to ring my memory up on this guy, but from what I remember, he's decent. I've actually read stories where he adopts one of the main characters, so he already has some fatherly traits without even needing any altering. But obviously I'd give him some canon-divergence anyway. Not everything about Karl is perfect, but I can see him being a good father.

Writing Vincent or Lester as the father instead of Bo.

This idea would be easy to do since I already write Bo as the father figure in my primary drabbles, but I've often wondered what it would be like to change it up a bit. Either Vincent or Lester would make good father figures. It kind of just depends on future plot that is used.

I need a little bit more time to think of other Dead by Daylight characters who would make good fathers, because I'm actually struggling a bit with it. But other than that, thank you for taking the time to read my notes! I don't know what the future holds, but I'm hoping that one day, all these characters and ideas will be part of it.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Lived My Whole Life Before the First Light

Omg here we are. At the end. I'm sad, I've been having such a blast with you guys this week! But all good things... Anyway, this is a strange one, rambling and mournful but hopefully with some sweetness. I hope it makes you feel things, I hope it gives you something, I hope we part on this final day of Painland Week as friends and confidants 💛 Huge, huge thanks to the organisers of Painland Week for putting this magical event together! Special love on this day goes out to @mellxncollie , who has been creating amazing gifs all week and has made beautiful ones for this very fic. It's been so so wonderful to collab with you and everyone should go and look at these wonderful creations at ONCE. Warnings for canonical character death (sorry, Charles) and the stuff that comes with it (i.e. refs to bullying/hatecrimes), non-graphic injury description, and just general mournful grief vibes all round. But hopeful ending bc let's face it, we all know how this played out! 7.3k, M-rated, available on Ao3. Thanks again, @painlandweek!

"Colour! What a deep and mysterious language. The language of dreams."

~ Paul Gauguin

Edwin Payne had always possessed a thirst for knowledge. As a child, he'd wished to learn just about everything there was to learn — every fact in every field. He'd been told, many times, that he could live to be a hundred years old, and still not have enough hours to do so.

Edwin had most certainly not lived to be a hundred. But he supposed that if you added his sixteen years of life to his seventy-three of death, he was getting rather close.

The dead years, however, had been far from conducive to study. Knowledge was hard to come by in Hell. Found either in burnt and bloodied books scavenged from individual damnations, or delivered in the form of cruel trials. He'd been taught a lesson or two in his time, but not on anything so polite and pedestrian as geometry. Edwin's key area of personal study in Hell had been one thing, and one thing only: how to escape from it.

It had taken seven decades, a slew of disembowelments and innumerable failed attempts, but at last he'd passed his final exam with merit. Or at least, a version of him had. But there wasn't much to be done for his original self, whose body lay mouldering on the dollhouse floor beneath a thousand savaged duplicates.

Best not to dwell on it.

He supposed he should have been upset about where the door to Hell spat him out. Not many people would be happy to return to the place where they'd met their untimely, violent demise. But to Edwin, after a small infinity in the blackest pit, stepping back into St. Hilarion's hallowed halls felt like greeting an old friend. Well, friend might be a tad generous. More of an acquaintance, or perhaps a second cousin one barely tolerated. Not a person one enjoyed spending time with, but nonetheless a familiar face.

For a day or so he'd wandered about in a bit of a daze, glancing over his shoulder for any sign he'd been followed from the depths. He'd drunk in every familiar feature, and puzzled over the unfamiliar ones. It was a small change in the grand scheme of things, but he suspected they'd replaced the drapes. They were a lighter grey now than they had been in his time. He wondered what colour they'd chosen — or for that matter, what colour they were in the first place. He'd never thought to ask.

Then on his second day of wandering, he'd stumbled across the old library. And that, for several weeks, had been that.

He'd probably had dreams about this, in his youth. Dreams of being left to his own devices, surrounded by books. All the information he could inhale, with no interruptions. Not even from the other boys. Their voices had startled him a few times, and he was always wary when a gaggle of them descended on the library. But he'd quickly realised that none of them could see him, and so long as he turned the pages quietly, he was free to continue his reading unmolested.

And he did so, continuously, for days. Not even boring old human restrictions like hunger, tiredness or eye strain could stop him now. He read everything he could get his hands on, brushed up on everything, filling in the gaps of the last decades. On the future that had been robbed from him, subsiding into history while his back was turned. He'd sat in his own shellshock when he read not only about how the so-called 'war to end all wars' had concluded, but also how little time had passed before the next one. He'd blushed and skimmed the pages pertaining to the nineteen-sixties free love movement. He'd gazed, thunderstruck, at the moon through the library window; wondering what the Earth must have looked like to the man they put up there.

All these years he'd been trapped in the gutters at the deepest depths of suffering, reaching up towards the light; all that time, humanity had been reaching, too. Up, up and up, all the way to the stars.

It became habit, after that, to gaze at the moon in between books and chapters. An opportunity to gather his thoughts on what he'd just read, to file away the facts, to jot down the most pertinent in his notebook. It was rather a meditative process.

Or at least it had been, until the night he'd seen something else beneath that moon. Something tragically earthbound amidst the gently illuminated greys of the grounds. A hunched and trembling shape against the trees, lurching by Edwin's window. A boy, on the run — his pursuers baying for blood like wolves at his heels.

They could put a man on the moon, but some things never changed.

It would be the first time Edwin had left the library since re-discovering it. Holding aloft the pilfered lantern he'd been using to read into the night, he trod carefully through the darkened corridors. The majority of staff and students were in dorms or common rooms by now, voices a soft patter, bleeding with the light under the doors. No one marked Edwin, or came to investigate the lantern floating past. Though some extinguished their own lights and hushed their voices, mistaking him for a warden. Edwin didn't wish to scare anyone, but he drew some comfort from it. He'd grown tired of being pounced upon in long, black, twisting hallways. How comforting for once to be the root of fear and not merely its captive.

Edwin had to search a little while, but he was already familiar with the best hiding places. It wasn't long before he was creeping up to the attic, minding his ghostly tread upon the stairs. He didn't wish to cause alarm, or send the boy deeper into hiding thinking his assailants had found him.

He crossed the threshold, and at once heard a shuddering intake of breath as the harsh white aura of his lantern bounced off the walls. He supposed there was no disguising the glow. He hung back a moment, conflicted. All he wanted was to offer some light and warmth, but perhaps a floating lantern would be a sight too much for the terrified boy. Well, it was too late for that, now. He stepped into the room proper, peering past the flare of his lantern to the source of the sound. A shivering bundle on the floor, tucked into a nook behind the shelves. Trying to be as small as possible and, by and large, succeeding.

Wide, hunted eyes stared into the light. A voice, low and wary, spoke.

"What do you want?"

It was then that Edwin realised the eyes weren't looking into the light. They were looking at him. He glanced behind himself, just to make sure, but he wasn't mistaken. "You can see me?"

It was also when he noticed something equally perplexing happening to the light. It had started to look... less white. No, in fact it no longer looked white at all, but it had not dimmed, and it bore no resemblance to any shade of grey Edwin had ever seen. It was... he didn't even have the language to describe it. If he had to choose a word, he could only say it looked warm. He'd never seen anything like it. Not in seventy years of Hell, nor in his life before. It simply defied description.

He tore his gaze from it. There were more pressing matters to attend to. "I... I thought this lantern might help," he said, still dumbfounded. He approached, with care — this boy was clearly a victim in this circumstance, but there was a defensive set to his jaw. A wild look in his eyes. A creature caught in a trap was as liable to bite a rescuer as an attacker. "You can simply extinguish it if those boys come up here."

The guarded expression cracked, vulnerability bleeding through. As Edwin drew closer, he noticed that the strange new quality of the light was reflected where it hit the boy. There were notes of something else beneath the pallid grey tones of his skin, something richer. Just as something beyond simple black glistened in his enormous eyes.

"You saw them?" the boy rasped.

"I did. I went to school here a long time ago." Edwin knelt before him, bringing the light closer to the lad’s face and marvelling, quietly, at the strange tones that sprang into sharp relief. Whoever this young man was, Edwin's very perception of the world appeared to be shifting in his presence. "We had bullies, too."

He looked so weak, curled up and trembling. He certainly wasn't weak, Edwin suspected that much. Peeking out from beneath the blanket were shoes and trousers of a kind he'd seen these modern boys wearing out on the sports pitch. The lad was no delicate flower, but at this moment, at the mercy of his wounds, he was helpless.

And if he could see Edwin... then his fate was already sealed.

Edwin looked at the boy levelly, at the fear in his strange eyes. He'd seen that fear upon countless faces these last seventy years, on the wretched souls crying out for respite from their torment. He'd worn a similar expression some decades ago, when a careless act of cruelty had damned him, too.

"Rest assured," he said, gently, offering the lantern. "I shan't hurt you."

He could see the moment the boy decided to believe him. His shoulders slumped, his breath escaped in a rattle of relief. He reached out from his blanket shell, and flashed a sliver of that curiously saturated skin at his shoulder. Against the stark white of the sleeveless vest he wore, the difference was now undeniable. Not grey, not white, but something altogether different. Like his eyes, like the metal at his throat and ear that glimmered in the lamplight. Tones Edwin had never seen before, couldn't even name.

It couldn't be...

"Cheers, mate," said the boy, shivering as he brought the lantern closer. "I'm freezing. Never been this cold in my life."

Swallowing, Edwin nodded. "It's the least I can do."

The boy's lips twitched in a feeble half-smile. "Yeah? You mean you can do more?"

Probably not as much as he'd like. But Edwin nodded again. "Of course."

The light shone upon the boy's face and the dark, waterlogged curls of his hair. Steeped in that impossible hue.

"Stick around a bit?" he asked, his voice very small indeed. "Bit lonely up here..."

Edwin had not come here with any plans to stick around. He'd wished to help, of course. But to say he was unaccustomed to dealing with people was a tremendous understatement. He'd planned to drop off the lantern, check the boy was alright, and slip away without a fuss.

But the boy was clearly not alright, half-alive and fading fast. And he'd seen Edwin, asked him in no uncertain terms to stay. Asked him with all the broken hope in his voice and all the impossible buried, blooming hues in his eyes. And if those colours meant what he had always been told…

Well. How could Edwin begrudge his own soulmate a last request?

"My name is Edwin," he said, as measured as he could manage. "Edwin Payne."

The boy grinned. It wobbled at the edges. "Charlie," he introduced himself. "Charles Rowland."

Edwin hummed. Charles. A pleasant name. Respectable. He thought it rather suited the young man. "A pleasure to meet you, Charles."

Charles chuckled, drawing the lantern closer to himself. "Pretty bloody brills to meet you, too, Edwin."

The colour — for it surely was a colour, Edwin knew of no other word or explanation — of the lantern seemed to pulse, then settle, stronger than before. It illuminated the feeble grin upon Charles' drawn face in hues as yet unnamed.

Edwin would have to find some names. Compare what he could see with what he'd been told, what he'd read. Identify what he could.

While he still had the chance.

"Best thing to happen to me all night," Charles mumbled. "You showing up."

Edwin wished to tell him things could only improve from here; but he knew it to be a lie.

~

"It is the color closest to light. In its utmost purity, it always implies the nature of brightness and has a cheerful, serene, gently stimulating character. Hence, experience teaches us that yellow makes a thoroughly warm and comforting impression."

~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

"Just didn't seem right. Letting that kid get beat on 'cause he's from Pakistan," said Charles.

His socks peeked out from the blanket, bright white in the lamplight. Interesting — a part of Edwin had always presumed that white would look vastly different with the rest of the spectrum unlocked. It didn't, but there was much less of it. The world was full of more off-whites in more hues than Edwin could've previously imagined. Charles' skin wasn't dissimilar. Pale-ish, but bearing pleasant warm under-and-overtones that made Edwin's look near-translucent by comparison.

"I mean, I'm half Indian," Charles continued. "Why am I so different?"

"That is a fair point," said Edwin, thoughtful, harkening back to some of the history books he'd skimmed of late. "They were the same country back when I was alive."

Fascinating how the times changed, new lines drawn in the sand. Fascinating, and frustrating. In the time Edwin had been gone wars had started and ended, entire countries had been ruptured, borders reshaped. And yet some of life's most persistent mysteries remained unanswered.

He'd not looked much into it, but it seemed little advancement had been made in understanding of the so-called 'soulmate' principle. It had been a frequent enough phenomenon to be common knowledge in Edwin's time, but no one ever had any real explanation for it. Plenty of spiritual explanations, of course. But it seemed no one could point to any tangible scientific reason why a person, upon hearing the voice of a certain other person, had the entire hidden colour spectrum revealed unto them. An entire dimension of the visible world remained inaccessible to the vast majority of the population, and still no one knew why, or even how. Clearly, there was still much research to be done on the subject.

And clearly, the notion of this mysterious person as a 'soulmate' was romantic drivel. Charles seemed a pleasant fellow, but he was a fellow. And two boys could hardly be soulmates, could they? No God-fearing Christian would embrace the concept if that were the case. So no, Charles couldn't possibly be his soulmate. Perhaps the phenomenon represented something else entirely. Like minds? Charles seemed an easy boy to get on with — and Edwin seldom got on with anybody. He even felt at ease sitting beside him on the hard attic floor, nearly touching. Perhaps Charles was simply his universe-appointed fastest friend; the one person in creation who could truly understand him.

Or maybe it was a cosmic fluke, a quirk of biology. Maybe it could have been absolutely anybody in the world.

Yes, that was probably it. Nothing deeper at play than that.

Still, it was a pity Charles would be dead before the night was out. Soulmate or not.

(Definitely not.)

"Right..." Charles mumbled. Followed by a frown. "Wait, what?"

"Hm?"

"What d'you mean 'when you were alive'?"

Edwin looked at him. Charles still seemed rather small, rather sorry. A chilly little lump, all curled in on himself, even now they were side by side and of a height with one another. He looked cold, sallow. Not even the warm hues of the light Edwin had tentatively designated yellow could hide it, cheerful though it may be.

"You ought to move around a bit," said Edwin, standing smoothly. "You must keep your circulation going."

It would do no good, of course. But who knew? Charles might be hardier than Edwin gave him credit for.

"Edwin," said Charles, all seriousness. "What d'you mean when you were alive?"

Edwin's brow twitched. He held out his hand. "Get up, and I shall tell you."

Charles took his hand — and startled. "Fuck — you're colder than me, mate!"

"And for good reason. Come, now. Two or three quick laps of the room. I'll hold the lantern."

~

"Red lips are not so red as the stained stones kissed by the English dead."

~ Wilfred Owen

Edwin had heard some truly hideous sounds in his time. Crunching bones, squelching organs, agonised screams. And yet somehow, the wheeze of Charles hacking up water from pulverised lungs was among the worst to date.

"Are you alright?" Edwin asked, hands clasped upon the table — lest he risk something overfamiliar like a pat on the back.

"I'm fine," Charles deflected, voice hoarse and unconvincing. "Just answer my question.

Charles was looking worse by the minute. The warm tones of his skin that Edwin had grown so fascinated by were receding under sallow grey. A new colour was blooming, in and around his eyes; in the puffy lids underneath, in the spiderwebbing veins across the whites.

This colour was not nearly so puzzling — the veins were a dead giveaway. Edwin had read more than enough crime literature to be able to identify the colour of blood.

So, this was the famous red. A bold colour, possibly quite charming in the right context; which this most assuredly was not. Edwin was no physician, but he'd read a number of medical textbooks. Charles bore all the hallmarks of a man bedevilled with internal bleeding. It was not a matter of whether he would die, but of what would kill him first; the cold, or the injuries.

He tore his gaze away. Anger, bitter and harsh, had him by the throat, had his fists clenching together until his gloves creaked. Who were those wretched boys, to lay hands upon Charles? To break him so? This boy who, insofar as Edwin could tell, hadn't a bad bone in his body? Whatever Charles was to him, soulmate or not (definitely, definitely not), he was his. He was supposed to be his, and soon he would be dead, and Edwin understood, now. Understood how people found themselves mired in Hell's fifth circle, swamped in wrath and rage. For no reason, no reason at all, those boys had taken Charles’ life without a care. Taken his life, and the colour from Edwin's eyes, all in one fell swoop. Soon both would be gone; and if Edwin ever found the hooligans responsible they'd have a formidable haunting on their hands.

"Nineteen thirteen, to..." he counted one, two, three, slowly. Collecting himself. "Nineteen sixteen."

"Bullshit." Charles cocked his head, a small smile of disbelief upon his lips. It was a charming expression, in its impertinence. "When did you go to school here for reals?"

"Nineteen thirteen to nineteen sixteen," Edwin repeated, slower. "I am dead, Charles."

Charles laughed. Edwin raised his eyebrows — and pretended not to be fascinated by the flash of not-red in Charles' mouth, his tongue and gums. What was the word for a light red, again? He was sure he'd read it somewhere...

The laughter died, and Charles' eyes went wider still. "...Oh."

There was more of that not-red than Edwin had thought, actually. The shells of Charles' ears, where the dawning light from the window glowed through translucent skin. He'd never considered that a person's ears might appear a different colour to the rest of them. How many secret tricks of the light had he been oblivious to all these years? How many more had he yet to discover? How many would he never get the chance to see for himself?

Just how much more could possibly be stolen from him?

"I... I dunno if this is, um, bad to ask, or what, but..." Charles swallowed. "How'd you die, mate?"

His lips, too, were redder than the rest of him; although that was fading, rapidly. Cooling at the edges. Edwin suspected that wasn't supposed to be the case.

"As I said," Edwin replied, sadly. "We had bullies, too."

~

"Then leaf subsides to leaf.

So Eden sank to grief,

So dawn goes down to day.

Nothing gold can stay."

~ Robert Frost

He had Charles move around again, though it was clear it would serve no purpose. He was delaying the inevitable. Charles was all but shutting down already; the occasional boost to his circulatory system was hardly going to bring him back from Death's door.

But perhaps Charles would beat the odds. Why not? He seemed a resilient fellow. Perhaps he would, indeed, outlast the night, see another day. Perhaps help would arrive. Perhaps Edwin could give him the push he needed to survive this if he only persisted.

Besides, he couldn't let Charles seize up and expire just yet. Charles had questions and damn it all, Edwin would answer them!

"Actually, you can move around any space however you like," Edwin explained. "It is not that you cannot touch things, you just cannot feel them."

A blessing in disguise, on occasion. Though Edwin had done his utmost to fill up this nook by the window with whatever musty blankets and futons he could salvage, he doubted the floor was comfortable. He himself sat with his knees tucked up to his chest, bracing for discomfort he couldn't feel. It was far from ideal. But he supposed that a hard floor was the least of Charles' problems.

Charles was rapidly declining. That cool tinge upon his lips was growing more prominent, his coughs harsher and more visceral-sounding. But here, at least, he seemed as snug as Edwin could make him. Swaddled like a babe, tucked up against the cluttered old shelves. Perhaps this was warm enough to get him through. It certainly seemed warm, with the yellow light burning merrily on.

It glowed not only off Charles' skin and his eyes, but a myriad small reflective surfaces strewn about the forgotten nook. Edwin was particularly taken with the shimmer of it off what appeared to be a dented instrument — possibly a tuba? — near Charles' head. Metals had always looked very similar to one another, in Edwin's grayscale vision. Now he could see the metal of the horn was a somewhat deeper shade than that of, say, the earring Charles wore. Finally, he could see first-hand the differences between the precious and non-precious metals. Alas, he had few of them to choose from, and little way of knowing which was which. He supposed it safe to assume that the instrument was brass, hence its orchestral designation.

But the metal Charles was wearing was his favourite so far. It had a little of the yellow about it, but richer, more lustrous. Edwin found himself quite transfixed by the way it fluttered and flickered in the light.

He was familiar with the saying all that glitters is not gold, of course. But for want of further evidence, gold seemed as good a guess as any.

"It's stupid, but... I think I'd miss kissing," said Charles. He looked right at Edwin, earring and eyes twinkling with the motion. He did have... handsome eyes. Edwin simply must figure out what colour they were. Of a similar hue but different tone to his hair, to the old wooden shelves at his back. "Do you miss kissing?"

"Mmm-mmmm," Edwin mumbled, with a small shake of his head. "No. Not as such."

How many people had Charles kissed, he wondered? Surely not an abundance, they were of a similar age. Had he kissed someone this month, this week? Today? Before his lips grew cold and chapped, when they were... oh, what was that word for a lighter red? Pink, yes, that was it.

Then again, perhaps he went about with painted lips in every day life. He already wore some sort of cosmetic on his eyes, after all, so maybe it wasn't a stretch for a modern young man. Imagine. A boy, staining the lips of his paramours with lipstick when he kissed them...

Goodness. The world really had moved on.

Edwin cleared his throat. "No," he repeated, firmly. "No, I don't miss kissing."

He supposed it was fine that Charles liked it, though. And maybe he'd get the chance to do it again. He just had to hold on a little longer, outlive the dawn chorus, until the teachers noticed his absence and sent people searching. Then he could keep on living, and kissing and whatever else he wished to do and Edwin...

Well, Charles probably wouldn't have much use for a ghost friend. But at least Edwin could keep the colours. Just a little while longer.

Charles chuckled. It was a bit of a sadder sound than the last time Edwin heard it. "Must've had some shit kisses in your life, mate."

Edwin smiled, tightly. "Something of that ilk."

"Shame we weren't mates," said Charles. "I'd've..."

"You'd have... what?"

A smattering of colour returned to Charles' face, then. It might've been a trick of the light, but Edwin could've sworn his cheeks warmed. "I'd've... well, I'd've found you someone to snog, wouldn't I?" he laughed, drawing his blanket closer around his chin. "Got some fit mates from my old school. And the birds proper fancy the brainy lads."

Edwin frowned. "The... birds?"

"Y'know. Lasses. Girls."

"Oh." For whatever reason, Edwin felt... disappointed. And not just at the apparently abysmal state of modern slang. "Yes. Girls."

He cocked his head, watching Charles carefully. He was a very good looking boy. And he wasn't Edwin's soulmate, couldn't be, but...

Edwin cleared his throat. "Charles?"

"Yeah?"

"Do I look..." He wavered. "...Unusual, at all? To you?"

Charles blinked. "Um. Well. Outfit's a bit retro." His eyes widened slightly, a dash of mortification. "Not being rude! I like it! It's... it's cool."

Edwin rolled his eyes. "I don't mean my outfit, I mean... have you noticed anything different about this room since I walked in?" he pressed.

"Well, yeah."

Edwin inhaled. "You have?"

"Yeah."

He leaned in closer. "What have you noticed exactly?"

Charles smiled weakly. "Well. It... feels a lot less lonely. With you here. Warmer, too." He chuckled. "Daft as that sounds. With you being dead, and all."

Edwin's fingers flexed on his knees — all he could do to stop himself hugging them, wretchedly, to his heart. "Yes," he agreed, dully. "Daft, indeed..."

~

"Green makes me think of silence, or maybe it’s loneliness. I get the feeling of a terribly distant star."

~ Kobo Abe

Edwin had only ever known one person ‘fortunate’ enough to meet her soulmate.

Aunt Florence had always been a bit of an odd duck. Flighty and fickle, a perpetual embarrassment to her brother — Edwin's father — whose job it had been to lend financial support to her spinster lifestyle. As she alleged it, she'd found her soulmate in the late eighteen seventies. For reasons undisclosed (to Edwin, at least) they had never married. Edwin had never had the pleasure of meeting her mysterious match.

She had always seemed very fascinated with the world around her, Aunt Florence. A trait she shared with Edwin; though while his interest lay in facts, hers lay in aesthetics. He’d seen her dedicate hours to the study of a singular rose petal in her garden. Edwin was told she could do quite beautiful things with oil paints, for those with eyes to see. They were passable, too, in black and white, but lacking dimension.

Once, when Edwin was about nine or so, Aunt Florence had taken his chin between her willowy fingers.

"What lovely eyes you have, my boy," she'd said, in a smoker's croak. Uncouth for a woman to smoke, particularly one of her social standing, but she'd never much cared what others thought of her. Her tobacco-stained nail had nipped his chin as she held him close. "Your mother's eyes. Sea green... You'll find yourself someone who can appreciate them, won't you?"

Edwin, of course, had had no idea what green was, and little desire to find out. Not if finding a so-called soulmate was the prerequisite condition. He was of an age where the fixation that grown-ups seemed to have on kissing one another was both vexing and perplexing to him. A phase of his life that, to be frank, he'd never entirely left behind. He'd extricated himself from Aunt Florence's talons as politely as possible, and given her a wide berth for the rest of her visit.

The next time he'd seen her, she had taken one look at his eyes, and burst into tears.

They all ended the same way, these soulmate stories. It was a law of nature. Death was not neat, or particularly fair. No matter how blissfully happy the pair, someone always had to leave first; and when they did, the colour left with them.

Some, at least, got time to enjoy it all. Before their love — and their colour — died away. A few decades, or years. Months, even.

Some, like Edwin, got far less. Hours, if that.

And some, like Charles Rowland, got no time at all.

~

"They're out of the dark's ragbag, these two

Moles dead in the pebbled rut,

Shapeless as flung gloves, a few feet apart —

Blue suede a dog or fox has chewed.

One, by himself, seemed pitiable enough,

Little victim unearthed by some large creature

From his orbit under the elm root.

The second carcass makes a duel of the affair:

Blind twins bitten by bad nature."

~ Sylvia Plath

"Shut up, mate. That is brills."

Edwin was inclined to agree. Especially now he could appreciate the full effect. He'd been aware, of course, that his form seemed to partially dissolve into a mirage when he passed through solid surfaces. He'd been unaware that the mirage seemed to possess a certain hue. Not unlike the hue beginning to bleed through the filthy window.

The pre-dawn light was different to the majority of the colours Edwin had identified so far. It was colder. Greyer. Pale and stark against the opaque black silhouette of the distant treeline (interesting, how the trees still seemed black in this light. He wondered if he'd get a chance to see this green he'd heard so much about before the night was over.) If Charles' face was warmed by the yellow lamplight, it was cooled at the edges by the seeping tones through the glass.

This, like the red and the blood, came with an easy reference point. Everybody knew that the sky was supposed to be blue.

Seemed Edwin finally had a word for the sickly tint of Charles' lips.

"Why don't you fall through the floor?" Charles asked, puzzled.

"There are many, many, so-called ghost rules," said Edwin, sagely. He had, after all, spent several weeks conducting his own personal study and compiling the rules himself. "I shan't waste your time listing them."

"Well, I only asked about the floor, didn't I?" said Charles, a teasing lilt to his lip. Honestly, the cheek of the man.

"Because I choose not to fall through the floor," Edwin replied, in utterly falsified exasperation. "Happy?"

Charles had a certain way of smiling; one that spread up from his grinning mouth and into his eyes. Despite the cold, miserable state of the rest of him they fairly shone with warmth, a merry humour. A knowing gleam that said 'look at us, in on the joke'.

Edwin had never been in on the joke, before.

Charles chuckled; and Edwin did likewise, helpless to the draw of it. The magnetic sound. It had his lips lifting of their own volition — even as his heart sank further and further into the floor.

The blue devils, that's what his father had called it. On those rare occasions when he acknowledged Mother's low mood, or found Edwin weeping silently upon his bed. "You've just got the blue devils, my boy. Chin up, now, and soldier on. You've better things to do than mope."

He could feel them, now, those blue devils upon his shoulder. Cold, heavy, and the colour of Charles' bloodless lips. Weighing Edwin down like stones in his pockets. He hadn't felt hot or cold in decades, but now he felt as Charles must have done with the chill lake pressing down upon him, filling his lungs. And unlike Charles, he wasn't sure he possessed the tenacity to break the surface before the bubbles stopped.

He'd fought his way from the pits of Hell itself, and yet this climb seemed more insurmountable by far. He was no longer fighting his way from the dark to the light. There was no light above the surface of this icy water, no light at all. The light was here, the entire spectrum of it; above was only grey, grey, grey, as far as the eye could see.

"Oi," said Charles. He looked so very tired; but still inquisitive to a fault. "What other cool stuff can you do, then?"

Edwin huffed. "I can travel through mirrors, if you must know."

Charles' blue lips parted, breath escaping on a wonderstruck wheeze. "Wicked."

He ought to be more careful with his breaths. He couldn't have had all that many left to draw.

~

"We love the sight of the brown and ruddy earth; it is the color of life, while a snow-covered plain is the face of death."

~ John Burroughs

Charles Rowland passed away in the small hours of the morning. Edwin didn't even need to look up from the page; he just watched the pinkish tint bleed from his own ghostly fingertips, and made a deduction.

Even before his passing, Edwin hadn't looked directly at Charles in some time. He hadn't been able to bring himself to. The colour in his ailing new friend had diminished all but completely, his skin a sallow patina, his lips a cracked grey slate.

Edwin had only come to know colour on this night, and already he could feel its absence like a hole in his heart. He understood, now, why Aunt Florence had dragged herself so mournfully through her twilight years. Going through the motions of existing. Colour, for Aunt Florence, had been life; without it, there was simply no point living.

Somehow, Edwin found his voice, and he read on. Because Edwin was no Aunt Florence, arty and flighty and prone to outpourings of passion. Edwin was his father's son; he soldiered on. No matter what.

But the ache in his chest persisted, despite his best efforts to quash it. There had been so much yet to see. He'd never witnessed the colour purple — an expensive hue of which he'd heard a great many appreciative things. He'd never seen a flower, any flower, in full bloom, or watched one of those famous sunsets.

In the end, he never even got to see what his aunt meant about his eyes. But he had no reflection anymore, so. Perhaps that one was always a lost cause.

On the topic of lost causes; there was someone else in this room with him, yet. Someone who'd lost far more than a fleeting glimpse of creation in technicolour.

""— I cease to believe,"" Edwin finished reading with a soft, forced chuckle. To no response. He looked up to find Charles standing tall, gaze turned to the window. It was the first time all night he'd been without his blanket; and the first time he'd borne not the slightest shiver.

Well. At least he would never be cold again.

"Not enjoying this one?" Edwin prompted, gently. "Carrados the blind detective was just becoming quite popular in my day."

When Charles turned around, of course Edwin already knew what he would find. Knew what his own eyes would fall upon when they followed Charles’ gaze.

But knowing did not prepare him for the reality. The cold, desaturated tableau of Charles Rowland's demise, illuminated like a crime scene in the stark white light of the lantern. How a person so vital, so vibrant as Charles should be without blood and colour defied all reason. And yet there he lay; bereft of hue, and of life.

Edwin swallowed, and closed the book gently upon Max Carrados. "When you could see me, I knew it was too late."

Charles was silent. For the first time all night. Silent as the grave.

"But I simply..." Edwin hesitated. "I did not want to scare you."

In the corner of Edwin's eye, the lantern guttered and died. Good. It didn't seem right; all that light upon Charles, and not a drop of warmth in it.

"Well. Glad you didn't say anything." Charles' voice was stronger, now. How different he sounded, without the rattle of lake water in his lungs.

Charles looked at his hands. As did Edwin. How strange they appeared, in the bleak grey of Edwin's impoverished eyes. How unsettlingly close to the pallor his skin had taken on in his death throes. And yet he wasn't pallid, not in the slightest. Standing tall, unchained from his ailing flesh, he was more wholly and healthily Charles than Edwin had yet seen him.

"Doesn't feel like I imagined. Being dead," said Charles, thoughtful. "Feels okay, doesn't it?"

In truth, there was nothing remotely 'okay' about this situation. Edwin felt... robbed. He felt robbed. Because he would never know the colour of Charles' skin when it wasn't frozen grey, or beaten black and blue. He'd never see this Charles, standing tall in the dawning sunlight, the way he was designed to be seen. The way he was chosen, by God or fate or an impossible quirk of biology to be seen, by Edwin. Only by Edwin. For he was Edwin's, no more could he deny it.

And Charles would never see Edwin. Not the way Edwin saw him. Because by the time they met, it was already too late. Because in a wretched twist of fate, Charles’ soulmate — his unfortunate, unorthodox soulmate — was dead in the ground before Charles was even born.

And Edwin had thought Hell to be cruel and unusual punishment.

"I sincerely wish we could have been friends for longer," said Edwin, dropping the magazine and standing from his seat on the old trunk. "But Death will come for you, now. You should go with her when she arrives."

He turned, and began his brisk march to the door. What's done is done; and Charles was, unmistakably, done. Done in and done for, done in just about every sense.

So Charles would be off, now. He'd be off, and Edwin would just have to carry him, too. In his head, with his facts and his torments and a thousand tiny heartbreaks. What was another one, in the grand scheme of things? What else was there to do in this fugitive afterlife but keep his chin up, and soldier on?

"Well I'm not ready, am I?” Charles called out. “I don't wanna go somewhere else, yet."

Edwin faltered. Turned. Charles was watching him.

"What if I stay here for a bit with you, instead?" said Charles, preposterously.

"Then you will always be running from her," was Edwin's quick, logical response. But Charles was still watching him with those... those damnably appealing eyes, and he felt the need to defend his case. "Also, I'm not good with other people. And I only just came back to this school after escaping Hell, so. I'm out of practice, to be perfectly frank. So. When the light comes. You stay, and I go."

He smiled, tightly, and turned once more. There. He'd avoided mentioning Hell all night, but it was done, now. No boy with a lick of sense would —

"Well, I'm aces with other people."

… He simply could not be serious.

"Pretty chuffed you got out of Hell, mate," Charles continued, maddeningly blasé. "That sounds hard. Nice job."

Edwin turned on him, incredulous. "That is not how you make decisions," he snapped, taking a challenging step towards Charles. "Just based on whatever you happen to be feeling in the moment!"

"It's how I lived my life."

Charles turned his head, looked down at his own body. Edwin couldn't bring himself to do likewise.

"Doesn't seem all that different now."

Charles looked at Edwin, unflinching. And what a different creature he was, free of cold and pain. Lithe but lax, eyes slightly narrowed in almost catlike contemplation of Edwin. He stood before a hellbound soul, near naked and freshly dead, and yet the easygoing slope of his narrow shoulders bore no strain.

He shrugged, nonchalant. White light glimmered from his dangling earring. "Looks like you're stuck with me.”

For a moment it was nigh on impossible to believe he hadn't seen it, too. Hadn't seen the spectrum unfold when Edwin said his name. Because how else could someone look at anyone, let alone Edwin, with such certainty? As if he'd never been more sure of anything or anyone in his tragically short life.

Breathtaking was not a word Edwin liked to use lightly. In fact, he preferred not to use it at all. Who had ever seen something so rare, so staggeringly beautiful they'd lost their breath? It was the sort of word Aunt Florence would have used; flowery and hyperbolic.

It seemed Edwin owed her yet another apology.

Light flared in the corner. Their eyes leapt to it. It was of no colour that Edwin could see and yet he could feel it, deep in his soul, he knew its shape and colour; blue. A kinder, softer blue than that of bloodless lips and dreary skies. The wild blue yonder that he was barred from forevermore; the one that awaited Charles Rowland with open arms.

Charles looked at Edwin.

Edwin looked at Charles.

Charles smiled, soul glowing lantern-bright in those dark, confident eyes. He didn't move, not towards the light or away from it, but he held out his hand. Planted like a tree, unbending, unbowed. His roots sunk deep into the loamy earth of life; his branches beckoning Edwin into their boughs.

Oh, thought Edwin, when he understood — didn't see, simply understood — the colour that had been gazing back at him all along. That's the word I was looking for.

~

Thirty years passed, fading into memory, and with them faded the sting. It was hard to mourn the loss of colour when one could scarcely remember what it looked like in the first place. Those fleeting hours blended and blurred amidst the grey years, lost to time; a single hand-tinted frame in a hundred miles of monochrome celluloid.

Though he tried to remember, Edwin struggled to visualise the yellow light that had bathed their faces; the gold that glinted at the cut of Charles' jaw. Pink lips, red veins, the blue stain of death. Such things were impossible to note down in a world of black ink and white pages, and his aide-mémoires soon failed him. The colours fluttered away into the past, scattered to the winds of memory like his mother's smile, his father's voice, Aunt Florence's smoky laughter and the roses she painted on the guest room walls.

But though he could not recall the exact shade of Charles' eyes, nor compare them to any other — not even his own — Edwin knew something about them. Just as he knew Death's light shone heavenly blue. And for once in Edwin's long and tormented afterlife, he felt truly fortunate. Because he'd been allowed to experience only a fraction of what the visible spectrum had to offer; colours he could count on less than two hands.

And yet somehow, by some stroke of luck, he'd seen the best one nonetheless.

~

"At breakfast that morning I had been struck by the lively dissonance of its colours. But that was no longer the point. I was not looking now at an unusual flower arrangement. I was seeing what Adam had seen on the morning of his creation - the miracle, moment by moment, of naked existence."

~ Aldous Huxley

~~

Thank you for coming on this journey with me, my darlings 💛 Love to hear your thoughts! Reminder to check out Olly's amazing gifs! This one took a little while to come together, bc in my first draft Edwin's feelings/progression were a bit all over the place. But I realised that all the sections of the attic scene (not including the very first one/my inserted flashback about Aunt Florence) could track along the five stages of grief quite nicely and that gave me a good framework to loosely follow, starting in his denial of the implications and ending in devastated acceptance of what he's lost. As to why he didn't like, *tell* Charles, well, what would you do? Be honest? If you were a dead Edwardian ghost boy and you found out your actual soulmate was not only another boy, but a doomed one? One who isn't even seeing what you're seeing. Maybe he thought Charles wouldn't believe him, or would take it badly. Maybe he thought telling him would sway him unfairly into staying when Edwin believed he should go. I think he will tell him, one day. And Charles is gonna be PISSED that he kept it from him so long xD For the quotes, I tried to stick to things Edwin could possibly have read, so pre-1989 things, as I like the idea of him using literature as a framework for understanding what he's seeing. It was really interesting writing about colour from the perspective of someone with no reference for it! Some of the quotes might have ended up anachronistic by a couple of years, tbh people are *shit* at sourcing their quotes and while I could source authors easy enough it was hard sometimes to isolate what specific book/anthology the piece came from, or what year it was published. If I'd have had more time I would have done more digging! Anyway, that's about all I got right now. I dunno when I'll be back, probably (hopefully) in a few weeks with the next chapter of Lonely Bones. In the meantime please, feel free to continue chatting with me in the comments, on my tumblr, come be a pal, I've had the time of my life with y'all this week and I'm not ready to get off this train just yet! Until next time! 💛

[llamaisllama777]

DAILY*/WEEKLY* LAES, TSAMS, EAPS REVIEW! 👏 👏 👏

Yesterday's episode were great I wonder what today's episodes will bring...

HE'S HERE!!! TAURUS IS HERE! EVERYONE PANIC! let's see how badly this ends....

Surprisingly well actually.

The music in this episode was also really good. I usually don't pay attention to the background music, but the music in this episode was really good it kinda reminded me of Walking Dead mixed with Last of Us. I'm not sure if that was the intent, but it works really well I feel for this situation.

Taurus is obviously menacing, but he's also oddly calm. Not what I expected from a destroyer of worlds. He says he's just here to observe Lunar and the others and decided if Lunar and probably the whole world should live.

I ain't gonna lie, I don't have hope for this world.

Taurus is gonna take one look at the whole place and decided everyone is better off dead. Which will probably lead to some kinda of Astrals civil war or Nexus showing up and whooping Taurus and the others Astrals behinds and Lunar having to step in and save the Astrals. But that's a pipe dream I guess. We'll have to wait and see.

I can. Nebula isn't a big fan of Taurus, and he clearly isn't a big fan of her. The way he talks to her, I get she's just the messager, but she's still a person. Taurus is gonna be observing everyone and his next stop his Sun and Moon, and I don't have high hopes for what he'll say or think of them. Him and the other Astrals know about Nexus and his little stunt with star power. Sun, Moon, you guys better have a good space lawyer. I know Earth plans to befriend Taurus and make things easier on Lunar, but I have a feeling Taurus isn't the friend making type.

Gemini did say Taurus would threaten Lunar's family to get a reaction out of him. Taurus, I swear to gosh! If you hurt any of them.

Also, I think it's a matter of time until Earth runs into Nebula again, and if she does, I hope she can convince Nebula to help them with EVERYTHING going on.

We'll have to wait and see.

Now, let's see what Sun and Moon are up to maybe they'll have a calmer episode today...

Nope. Just trauma and sadness.

Solar and New Moon reunite.

Probably not the way either of them wanted but here they are.

Okay, Nexus has just completely gone off the rocker!

"All it takes is one bad day" -Joker

Guess that saying was right for Nexus (Not really but still)

Solar tries to reason with Nexus and even says he can help him come back to the family, and Nexus just laughs! He starts spouting off all these lies about the family, like how Lunar never cared about him. He did! That Earth was just trying to fill the void cause her dad didn't love her. Earth still believed the creator loved her at that time, so that's a lie! And that Sun never cared and just took pity on Nexus. Nexus, you dense mother.... Nexus, you are just a terrible person. Knock off the oc act and get a life! Seeing as how you lost the one you had. I mean, you'll probably get yourself killed soon anyways so what's the point. But we probably should worry. Someone pointed out to me that Nexus could be a part of Rez's plan, and it's definitely looking like it. Maybe Dark Sun is Rez's master or at least is in league with Rez and his boss. I feel so bad for everyone here. (And I kinda feel bad for Nexus.... but not by a lot.) I more pity Nexus cause one day I hope he'll realize that he lost the BEST thing that ever happened to him and will never get it back and I hope he dies knowing that.

I more so feel bad for Sun and Solar.

Solar already had to kill his Moon once... and now he has to do it again. And Sun sounded so shocked and saddened when Solar suggested they kill Nexus. Nexus/New Moon was the Moon who actually showed he cared for sun. And he did at one point, but now he can't even say Sun's name without wanting to gag! Oof.

This is just sad all around.

And now they have Nexus, Taurus, and Creator after them.... LOVELY!

This is all going to boiling over and culminate in some crazy Infinity war level poo I hope.

And now, it's a less sad one but still equally as worrying.

Puppet and Solar reunite! Yay! At least one of his reunions went well today.

Puppet filled in Solar to everything that has happened. Gosh, that must have been fun. This is like the second time someone has had to explain to him what's been happening since he's been dead.

Solar gave Puppet some advice on what to do about Eclipse, and Sun gave her some advice on what to do about the other Sun and Moon. I hope their advice works. Puppet expressed at the very end of the episode her wish to leave this new dimension and return to the old one.... Puppet...

WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST STAY IN THE OTHER DIMENSION THEN?!

Puppet, you left that universe to protect everyone from Puppeteer. Now, I'm not sure what the deal with Puppeteer is now. He's been weakened cause Puppet herself has been weakened, but there is still the risk of him coming back. Are you really gonna take that chance, Puppet?

Also, Puppet, you uprooted your entire family's life to go here. You don't have that apartment anymore! You can't just decide to move to a whole other universe and bond to said universe only to decide to leave it after what 3 weeks?

Yes, I know Foxy chose to go with her, and he could have chosen not to but did, but still, you can't just decide to ditch when the going gets tough Puppet, you stick it out and ride the waves till it all calms. I hope everything works out for Puppet and Eclipse and hope Sun and Solar's advice to her works. Also, sorry if it seems like I hate Puppet's character, I don't. I love her character and this flaw of hers. I'm just being critical.

11/10 TAURUS HAS ARRIVED.

[auncyen]

SO WHEN I STARTED Sif having a bad King fight and then freezing (which lead to Isa and Mira being sad), I'd. kind of wondered where that left Loop, and that's like the one part I wanted to get to, even if I don't plan on writing past that.

Loop is...not doing that great. I'm still figuring out how exactly this conversation would go (Odile wasn't planned at first LOL) but yeah there's a lot of "UM":

You got better. You got to leave the infirmary, though they still wanted you to stay in the House itself for a bit, just in case something happened, rather than being all the way out in the clocktower. You didn't mind, because you felt you needed to be here.

Sif wasn't getting better. They were still frozen on the highest floor of the House. You started helping M'dame with the research she was doing in the library, including the secret library after Euphrasie entrusted her with the knowledge. She raised an eyebrow when you started skimming through tomes and summarizing the chapters aloud to judge if you should give it a closer look, put it back on the shelf, or put it in the 'maybe' pile--only tangentially relevant to healing Craft or Time Craft, but sometimes writers do go on illuminating tangents. "I, uh, used to be a huge nerd," you muttered, because it didn't feel like the time to hide your smarts when Siffrin needed a cure.

Odile looked surprised for a few seconds. "Interesting. I'd wondered."

"You'd…wondered?"

"You're the only man I've ever heard sound smarter with three drinks in him. I'm curious, but it's fine if you don't want to talk about it. We've business right now, anyway."

You did indeed have business. Unfortunately, it was a bust; none of the books you found had an insight into healing a powerful Time Craft curse that M'dame or Mira hadn't already considered. Mira looked increasingly tired and miserable by the day, and at the end of the week Bonbon came in the House to visit Sif and came down yelling because someone had left flowers at his frozen form and that wasn't right, it wasn't right, because Frin was going to unfreeze and be greeted by dead flowers and that would suck, and if someone had left them flowers the way you would at a grave that was even worse because Frin wasn't dead. Bonbon was very clearly more worked up at the idea of Sif being considered 'dead' than Sif waking up to see dead flowers, but you promised them that yeah! You'd tell everyone to wait to give Sif flowers until they were able to appreciate them again. Because of course Sif was going to be able to appreciate flowers again.

You didn't want to think about the other possibility any more than Bonnie did.

The four of you were all stuck in a painful limbo. The Housemaidens and townspeople didn't seem to know if they should treat you as heroes to be celebrated or glass vases ready to shatter, and as much as you tried to smile you felt increasingly brittle. It was kind of a relief when a new issue popped up: there was a stranger at the Favor Tree.

So, strangers usually weren't a problem. Most strangers are nice! Accepting the change that strangers may bring is a key part of the Change faith!

…Most strangers, even if they had different ways of dress and custom, still looked…well. People weren't sure if the stranger was even human? According to the scattered descriptions, they had a human-shaped body, but the skin was like the night sky stuck over the House when it was frozen, and on top of the body was not a head, but a spiky orb radiating light. Some people were scared the stranger might not be a person at all, but some new kind of Sadness left over from Vaugarde's ordeal, or even the King's creation, since…well, yeah. He'd pinned the night sky over the House while he was controlling it. And he'd had stars on his armor. And the night-sky stranger was lurking at the tree, hiding, which unnerved people once they noticed the new and unusual presence. One of the kids had gotten bold enough (he'd been dared) to approach the tree anyway, trying to call out the stranger to talk, and had gotten frightened by an inhuman voice snapping at him to go away. So. Even if this was a human stranger who'd done extreme Body Craft beyond what anyone in Dormont knew to be possible, they were a rude human stranger who'd decided to take over a town's Favor Tree.

…That was the best case scenario. At worst, they were something created by the King.

You decided that as an ex-Defender you were probably the most qualified to have a talk with the stranger and try to figure out who (or what) they were, why they'd taken over the Favor Tree, if there was an alternate arrangement you could work out… or to take them on if they proved hostile.

M'dame decided you were under no circumstances to do this alone, regardless of how well you'd been feeling lately, so she was accompanying you to the Tree. Which you had no complaints with! M'dame was good backup. You got to the base of the tree, standing under its crown. You didn't see anything yet, but the small handful of townspeople who'd seen the stranger had said they'd always ducked behind the tree or had already been hiding behind it, allowing only glimpses of them. They must have already hidden. "Hello, stranger?" you called. "I'm Isabeau, a Defender from Jouvente. Well…ex-Defender, but, um! My colleague and I would like to talk with you?"

"So now we're colleagues?" Odile murmured to you, smirking even as she scrutinized the tree ahead of you.

"Well!" You lower your voice, flustered. "That's how I was used to approaching people on the job."

"I'm teasing, Isabeau."

You know, you know. It still flustered you.

…Although the lack of response was quickly growing more concerning. "Stranger?" you called. "Are you there? Can you talk?"

Still nothing, except for the faint sound of grass being stepped on, like someone was shifting their weight. Odile huffed. "You go right around the tree, I'll go left--"

"Go away!"

You jumped at the voice. The kid's description really hadn't done it justice, mostly because it was inhuman, crackling in a way you'd never expect from a human throat. But after the brief shock, you moved to stop Odile from going around the tree. "M'dame, wait."

"What?"

"I think they're scared." The way the kid had described it, the voice had been threatening, but the kid had probably already been scared himself. Underneath the strange crackling, the intonation, the way the pitch had wavered… it sounded like the stranger was panicking. You didn't want to make that worse; you might force a confrontation where none was needed. "Listen," you said, raising your voice again. "You don't have to come out right now if you don't want to, but we still need to talk. Okay?"

"…Fine."

"First things first, are you all right?"

"That's your first concern?" The crackling voice was tight, almost sarcastic.

"Um, yeah?" It was now. "Look, people have been getting worried about you hiding out here, but… it's not like you've been trying to scare anyone, right? You've been keeping to yourself."

"I didn't mean to scare that kid. I haven't scared anyone else, unless people are scared of beautiful stars!"

So the stranger…didn't consider themself a person, but a star? Like in the sky?

"People are, in fact, a bit wary of strange stars after the King," Odile pointed out, which! 100% true!! But not something to point out right now!

The stranger immediately got upset, the crackling in their voice sharpening. "So, what, the King has a monopoly on stars now? Isn't he dead? It's not like you beat him with the power of friendship. Oh, King, I'm sure there's a reason you're doing this! We don't have to fight!" The stranger scoffed. "I know that didn't happen."

"The King is dead," Odile confirmed. "You didn't know?"

"You think I can just walk into town and ask questions looking like this?"

You and Odile looked at each other. Some of the tightness left Odile's posture. "They're acting scared," she said, and you knew from that word choice she hadn't ruled out yet the possibility that it was only an act. But she was willing to give the benefit of the doubt for now. "Isabeau, you're better at this, you talk to them."

…Well. Hm. They didn't seem all right, but they also hadn't answered straight when you asked about that. Maybe they weren't ready to talk about themself yet. "If you've got any other questions, we can try answering?" you offered. "I'm Isabeau, he/him, and M'dame Odile uses she/her."

"…They/them for me."

Odile arched an eyebrow. "But no name?"

"No, my turn for questions!" the strange voice said, but then it fell silent for a moment. Were they still scared, or struggling to think of any? You folded your arms and waited, not wanting to rush them. "You're…two of the Saviors. Is, um, the Housemaiden--Housemaiden Mirabelle okay?"

The question made Odile frown. "Why do you ask?"

"It's a little strange that you came out here to talk to me without her, if you thought I might have anything to do with the King. Not that I do!" the voice said quickly. "Good riddance."

"Three-on-one would be pretty intimidating," you point out. That's exactly the reasoning you would have told Mira if she'd asked to come along, too… but the truth is, she didn't know you were out here. Even though her long quest was done, the stress hadn't disappeared, and Siffrin's condition wasn't helping anyone. You hadn't wanted to toss more on her plate. "We were hoping for a nice talk! Anyway, she's fine." Burnt out, but time would surely help.

Time, and Siffrin getting better.

"And the kid traveling with you? They're fine too?"

They knew about Bonnie? "They're fine too. We kept them away from the fighting."

"I know, but--" The voice stopped abruptly.

"You know?" That…was kind of odd, especially with how quickly they'd shut up, like they hadn't meant to let it slip. You'd reassured more than a couple people that Bonnie didn't actually fight with you, was only tagging along with your group because even if they weren't old enough to fight they were old enough to decide where they wanted to be and they'd made it very clear they'd chase after the group if they were left behind. So the star could have learned that secondhand, but that seemed unlikely if they were afraid to approach people with their appearance. Along with the slip, it made you wonder… "Did you, um. Did we meet you before the Body Craft? …Is that Body Craft?" You cringed a little. "Sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but--"

"It's okay. I, uh, I've been told how I look right now."

You immediately felt a pit open up in your stomach. They hadn't seen for themself how they looked? There was no way this could be Body Craft, then, at least not the way you knew it. No one in their right mind would Body Craft themselves without being able to track the process. But 'right now' implied there had been a Change. Odile had caught that too, her expression torn between wariness and alarm.

[meowmeowriley]

Don’t mind me while I scream incoherently about the latest chapter of WsDB because holy shit was it good!!!

Ghost is the biggest shit ever and I love that for him (he deserves those strawberry’s).

all the gifts from his family the skull jumper were really well thought out (Soaps gonna lose his shit when he finds out Ghost’s part Scottish) The Akubra!!!! and the Skull omfg the sweet and twisted fluffy feelings 😭 They’re both in love and neither of the dumb arses realise it yet (I bet everyone else does though)

Poor price though he’s so worried for is anti social son. Ghost: *going out of his way to show affection and share things about himself with the team* Price: *sweating* wondering if he needs to call an ambulance or a priest first

Were Prices photos an 09 reference? How old is that hat?! I forgot you mentioned that Gaz’s girlfriend would be a spider! She must cop so much shit all the time (good on Kyle for not letting anyone add to it) I have a couple questions about her but all ask them later. Soap is so excited about his big family and ghost is about to go ��hold my beer”. THE SPIRAL holy shit, like yes Ghost you do need therapy but that’s besides the point, your fucked up feelings are both weirdly sweet and reciprocated. Soap would 100% honour and respect every part of Ghost dead or alive they match each others freak. So your telling me that at the family show and tell Roach brought a photo of him with the rest of the 141 acting like idiots because they’re his family (your paying my physic bills because my heart just broke)

I love how Gaz and Roach are initially shocked by Ghost being trans but after it wears off they don’t actually care (meanwhile soap is in the background trying to do math) it’s just a thing like the sky is blue, the earth is round and Ghost is trans. The bigger shock is the whole rabbit situation, I can’t wait till soap finds out exactly what type of rabbit Ghost is. (Especially after what he just said lol) and Ghost’s last words for the chapter amounting to “I wouldn’t betray your trust but I have and will continue to fuck with you.

Sorry it's taken me a while to get back to this, but I wanted to give people a change to read it since this is a bit spoilery for chapter 3. ❤ Hopefully its been enough time, let's dive in!

Ghost being a little shit is one of my favorite parts of this fic, he deserves to be a menace.

Soap and his Akubra have been rotting my brain since it was first mentioned, and it will come up again. The man looks damn good in that hat.

Soap giving Ghost a fucking rabbit skull of all things, he's trying so hard to get into Ghost's good graces, and had no clue at the time how fucked up that action was 😂 next chapter will have our first taste of Soap's POV and his realization of the implications of his actions.

Price watching Ghost come out of his shell like 😰 lol the poor guy, he's never seen Ghost act like this and he's worried the man is losing it.

So Price's photos were a bit of a personal headcanon of mine, because Modern Warfare's Price isn't the first, only Price in the Call of Duty games. There was a Captain Price in Call of Duty and Call of Duty 2, who looks similar but his accent is way thicker and the timeline is set in WW2. There's also mention of a Johnathan Price in COD Black Ops. It's never explicitly stated (to my knowledge) that that man is one and the same as our Captain from MW. Anyway, I like to believe that the Price family has been sending their boys off to be Captains for generations.

Please ask about Gaz's spider GF, I love her, and want to talk about her!

Roach's family photos was fun and sad to write. Basically, by joining the military he severed ties with his old gang, who were all he had. So the 141 means everything to him. This will be important later. 😈

Ghost: I'm trans

Everyone: huh, okay, didn't know that. Woulda never guessed.

Ghost: also I'm a rabbit

Everyone: minds blown, chaos, worldview shattered

And lastly, as much as Ghost is fucking with and going to continue fucking with Soap, trust that I have all kinds of mental and emotional fuckery planned for you lot, my lovely readers. 😘

[apparentlytheproblem]

Hi! I love your writing and I’ve been literally binging through all the fics! I was kinda hoping for a fluff / angsty fred fic 👀

So we all know our beloved Fred dies and I’m kinda wanting to have a fic around that. It starts very warm and calm with possible memories before the war and how happy the two were waiting to get married, start a family etc. maybe a little moment in the morning of their house together waking up and it’s just stolen kisses and happiness 😩

Until the war begins and they both want to fight in it, very bittersweet moment of goodbye between them while Fred tells reader to be safe and how it’ll come back on both of them. During the war we know Fred gets killed and how it could be the reader protects a younger person during the war and that’s how they are killed too. The Weasley family not knowing they were dead until they saw her being placed down on a stretcher beside Fred. It’s just SAD and ya know ANGST. Anyway could be the two of them reuniting in the afterlife Idc!

But if this is too much don’t stress you’re amazing 😩

b i t t e r s w e e t

fandom- Harry Potter

pairing(s)- fred weasley

a/n: ahh i'm so happy you've been enjoying my writting, that makes my day. this brought back plenty of unhappy memories of a ten year old reading it for the first time, but what this really remiend's me of this is the line, "it's been a long day my friend, i'll tell you all about it when i see you again". i hope you don't mind as i hav'nt really written a proper fic on this and i'm willing to try again to reach your expectations, i wish this enlightens your day, and makes you smile a little brighter with love, tiya

requested- yes

warnings- unexperienced writer, not thoroughly edited

the five times fred weasley was effortlessley in love

sometimes being the funniest person in the room was tiring, but being the most handsome, charming and the funniest was just absolutely exhausting. Fred was the type to always brighten the mood. he was the vibe, but sometimes its difficult to always light the room and be that positive ray of sunshine all the time, for it did take effort but he'd give it his all. But when it came to you? it felt so effortless.

(1) on his knees

Fred Weasley has never gotten on his knees for anyone, he'd never belittle himself to begging and he would certainly never find himself in a position where he would have to bend down. and for a girl? pfft

but he did, oh he did, he did, he did.

he found himself on his knees tying you laces with so much adoration. and a thought went across his mind.

is being this in love even real?

(2) oh for a hello

mind you, you were minding your business and making your way to the next class when the hem of your skirt was pulled, spinning you to the proximity of Fred Weasley's handsome face. you were cornered to a wall with him leaning in as if he owned the world.

"hello"

(3) privellages

Fred was going of about god knows what and he was being quite annoying. he was upset about you doing some reckless things as if he did not partake in any such activities.

"Freddie". that had shut him up so well ah.

"can i call you that?" you pestered on, watching him immitate a fish. he turned himslef around and started smiling in hopes you wouldn't notice how flustered he's gotten. it was astounding how effortlesley happy you would make him and it drove him crazy.

"hmm"

imma marry this girl

(4) that not so little sensation

Weasley had somehow gotten into your dorm, and to be honest you didn't bother to wonder how. Beacause, when he had a will, he'd find a way, and if he could not find a way? he would pave with his own hands.

he springled and peppered your face with kisses and had his arm tightly around you as if you'd disapear if he let go.

what was that sensation he felt everytime he saw her smile and laugh? it was him being effortlesley in love

(5) die for you

it says you see what you have loved the most in your last, and he was happy it was them, cause its always been them. He felt all the stress, the anxiety and the worry leave him, it was just her, and who could be stressed after seeing that face. it was like a sponge absorbing anything and everything that made you worry.

it's been a long day, he'd tell her all about it when he saw her again

[nocturnalfandomartist]

💛 I Remember You 💛

Time Elapsed: 1 hour, 11 minutes

Program used: Ibis Paint X

(This doodle is me coping with the Tears of the Kingdom trailer and pretending they aren't about to be traumatized more).

BotW/ToTK will forever be my favorite version of Zelink. They've been through a whole lot together, and seeing them reunited at the end of BoTW is so sweet (especially in the context of the diaries outside of the English translation)! Such a shame everyone's probably dead. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted...

I cannot express enough how agonizing it has been to wait for more news on TotK! So when I saw a Nintendo Direct was coming up, I was unable to focus on anything else. I knew we were bound to get info, but I was NOT READY FOR THIS

Everything about that trailer was so well done, it makes the wait for May seem even longer! A few thoughts I had personally:

1. Ganondorf is pretty decent casting. I'm admittedly surprised he doesn't sound hoarse or anything considering he's a reanimated corpse, but it's still menacing!

2. I'm convinced Ganondorf and Zelda are going to take the forms/powers of Demise and Hylia at this point with all these parallels...

3. POSSIBLE MORE RUNES MAKE ME SO EXCITED! We thought Link getting a motorcycle gave us too much power... Now we have cars and mechanical gliders.

4. It doesn't seem Zelda is getting damseled! That makes me so happy. I figured she wouldn't be playable (unfortunately), but it at least seems she'll have a presence throughout the story! Perhaps a Skyward Sword situation where she must go on a journey of her own? Maybe in the form of flashbacks to the previous Zelda from 10,000 years ago? If it goes with a SS route, maybe that leaves room for a playable Zelda in post-game.

5. All the monsters look stronger than before, and there are even new ones! I tried to see if those dino bird things matched up with any classic enemies, but they didn't seem to be so. Either way, they're awesome!

6. I can't wait to explore where all the characters are after a potential time skip. Zelda especially! She got so much character in BotW, and I am going to love seeing more of it!

7. If Zelda doesn't end up becoming Hylia, I'm also wondering if the previous Zelda ends up being revealed to be the same one (same with Link) due to time travel shenanigans like in Skyward Sword.

8. If Zelda and Link don't kiss or address Zelda's feelings for him at least once I will be very sad (but I'll love the game anyway).

9. I hope to see the cycle broken here. That seems to be where this is leading! It would be great to watch Zelda and Link finish off Demise's curse once and for all and finally have the peace Hyrule has been fighting to have for eons.

10. Hopefully Link's diary won't be lost in translation this time! Adding those little details like that made BotW even better than it already was.

11. LINK THREW THE MASTER SWORD ASIDE TO CATCH ZELDA I CAN'T- But poor Fi. Hope she's doing okay with the whole Malice infestation thing. This is a stretch, but perhaps there will be a return of Ghirahim or his sword form. That'd be cool.

12. It looks like there's potential for more old-school dungeons! With the Divine Beasts seemingly inactive, Link may have to travel through monster-ridden ruins to drive them out of Hyrule.

13. I'm excited to see details on the time between BotW and TotK, like how Zelda got her hair cut! It'll be nice to see which NPCs changed and which haven't (Beedle is probably the same and will be the same even as all of existence crumbles around him).

14. Maybe the memory mechanic will be implemented again by Link recalling his past life 10,000 years ago?

Alright, sorry for the ramblings here. I'm too excited. I have lots more thoughts, but I'll share them in the future. May 12 can't come fast enough!

Reblogging is fine, but please don't post this anywhere else without linking the original post. Thanks!

[into-the-grey]

~I Can't Carry This Anymore - Original Version~

Noah x F!Reader fic

AGAIN, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. THIS ONE HAS SOME SENSITIVE TOPICS.

Warnings: discussions of school shooting, loss of life, injury, depression, anger, angst. Possibly more, but I'm not sure.

This was the story I wrote for an assignment a long time ago, the prompt was 'Plot Twist.' It lead me to write the other version of this which you'll find here. The alternate version contains some heavy topics as well, so please, be cautious with yourself if you want to read them.

I acknowledge the sensitive nature of some of the topics discussed in this duo of stories, and please don't think I'm glorifying them or encouraging them. If anything, I beg of you, if you don't think you can handle these triggers, or your mental state is fragile in any way, PLEASE give these ones a miss and go read something fluffy.

I know I'm probably being dramatic, it's probably not even that bad, but the internet is a different place than it was when I was 14 and I just don't want anyone to suffer because I'm an idiot that enjoys writing about heavy shit.

anyway...

Taglist: @wh0th3h3llisbucky @blend-in-with-the-madness

WC: 1.2k

Y/L/N = Your Last Name

A soft wind rustled through the trees that stood tall around me. Grass cushioned each step I took, the cool evening dew soaking through my socks. Stars peered down at the earth, and the moon hung above in a sea of lavender skies. Where I stood, there was no noise, no interruptions from the city at the bottom the hill. All the commotion from the traffic and bustling lives of business men and women didn't exist up here. Nothing existed here. Just stones, trees and markers of lives that had once been a part of the city below. Some of the graves had flowers laid on them, a gesture from the living to the dead to say they were still remembered.  I slowly meandered through the aisles of headstones, making my way to the edge of the cliff. I had promised him I would meet him here, like always. This was always our place, all through high school and college we would come up here and hide from the world.  We relished the quiet. In a city like ours, it's hard to find anywhere that wasn't a hub of chaos.  As I edged closer to the lot at the edge of the cliff, I could see his silhouette. He stood looking over the sea of lights beneath us. I didn't say anything, I just walked toward him, stopping by his side. A few strands of his dark hair hung over his eyes, floating about in the breeze. His hands were curled into the pockets of his jacket, and his glassy brown eyes stared down at the world.  ‘I wonder if they're all happy down there,’ He whispered. ‘No one is always happy, Noah,’ I said softly, ‘there's always someone who's sad.’ He shrugged and sat down on one of the small boulders that edged the cliff, markers that warned you of the sudden drop. I mimicked his movements, sitting on the boulder that I had claimed as my own so many years ago. ‘I wonder if anyone else still thinks about it,’ He mused. His pried his gaze away from the skyline and turned to meet mine. I pursed my lips, thinking about the incident. ‘I don't know... Their families would, their friends would... I definitely do... Part of me wishes everyone would forget, but part of me always wants to remember,’ I sighed, seeing his pained face. ‘It still hurts, doesn't it?’ I asked, knowing the look he gave me all too well. He grimaced, his face turning down and a hand finally retreating from his pocket and resting on his hip. I knew that the cold would aggravate the old wound.  ‘It hasn't stopped hurting since it happened,’ He sighed. I found myself nodding along with him, mirroring his movements. My arms crossed over my stomach, shielding myself from the cold. ‘It still makes me sick that they buried him here. Right next to the people he killed, the families he destroyed have to walk past the person who murdered their kids every time they want to see them...’ I grimaced, looking over my shoulder the garden of granite. Eight black speckled headstones sat together, the gold engraving on each one glinting in the fading light.

A ninth headstone laid in the same row as them, but it had been destroyed and the remains defaced. Some say that the father of the youngest victim had attacked his grave with a sledgehammer. Now it was cracked the whole way through and almost begging to fall apart.  I was jealous of whoever had destroyed it. I had wanted to do it myself. ‘It makes me sick that it even happened... No one was even cruel to him, everyone liked him... what the hell could make someone snap so badly that they want to gun down eight kids... eight of your friends...’ ‘Heaven knows,’ I said softly, shaking my head. ‘Fucking prick,’ Noah spat ‘I just don't get it, instead of asking for help, he bought a fucking gun... I just wish I could have shot him myself... Fucking coward.’  I shifted closer to him, our bodies close, but so far away from each other. I could feel the whisper of his warmth, but the breeze whisked it away from me. He would always be bitter about it, and so would I. It had changed everything. So many people had been hurt by it. It was so long ago, but the gunshots still rang in our mind as if they had only just been fired. My chest still felt as heavy as the day it happened. I would forever be numb because of it.  His eyes glinted at me in the fading light, the lavender sky had now turned a deeper shade of blue, stars starting to peek through the velvet of the atmosphere. ‘I'm sorry,’ he whispered. I could see his shoulders tensing. He pursed his lips tightly. I knew he was trying not to cry. ‘Don't be sorry, they were your friends too. He was your friend... You're allowed to hurt.’  ‘I just don't want it to hurt anymore... I'm sick of it,’ He choked, his face turning to the sky, looking up at the stars ‘What the hell am I supposed to do? They tell us it's supposed to get easier, but it gets harder every day.’ ‘I know,’ I sighed ‘I wish I knew what to say.’ I could see the tears slipping down his cheeks, the agony on his face. He missed them more than he could ever say. He felt survivors guilt, and the bullet wound in his hip would always remind him of how he lived when they died. How he couldn't save them. How because of the shot in his hip, he would always walk with a limp. How instead of just killing him, he was forced to watch his friends being slaughtered like cattle. The screams echoed in his mind every waking moment. He rose from his seat on the boulder, slowly walking over to his friends’ final resting places. His slow limp had gotten better with physiotherapy, but the uneven gait would always affect him. Today was a good day, he didn't need his cane today. I followed close behind, watching him stop at each grave and nod his head in respect.  After a moment, he reached the grave he always stopped at.  He carefully lowered himself onto the grass in front of the headstone, pulling something from his pocket. A small silver ring. Identical to the one on his own ring finger. I knew it well. He pushed his fingers through some of the soft soil, just in front of the headstone. He dug a very small hole and pressed a soft kiss to the ring before placing it into the dirt. He retrieved one last thing from his pocket, rolling the paper into a cylinder and sliding it into the same cavity he had just put the ring into. Gently he covered the hole back over and pushed himself back to his feet, resting a hand softly on the headstone. ‘I miss you, more than anything... and I will always love you,’ He whispered. ‘I love you too.’ My eyes watered as I watched him walk away. I wanted more than anything for him to hear me. To see me, just once. ‘Noah...’ I called softly. His head turned, looking back towards me for a moment, his eyes looking straight through me. ‘I'll see you tomorrow,’ I said softly. He just looked solemnly to the ground before turning back to his path and continuing back to his car.  I looked back to the headstone, the black granite sparkling under moon. The golden letters almost glowed in the darkness.

Y/N Y/L/N

1995 ~ 2012

If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever

[chromatic-lamina]

Oda packing the punches: Chapter 1086 spoilers

Okay, I'm not doing a long one like last week, but heaps to take in, and I adore the idea of all of the notorious, prestigious and sought after stowaways on the ships leaving the Marie Geoise shores.

The ones from the new world must do so with World Government (Marine) assistances, right?

And Tajine Kingdom (Bonney stowed away on their ship) and St. Aegis kingdom (Walpol and Vivi stowed away on theirs) were World Government member nations, and both rebelled. I wonder why.

My main reason for being here, though is:

this!!!!!! 👆

Look at our bow-legged bird, even in seraphim form. Crocodile's beauty is as glassy-eyed (sad-eyed, dead-eyed?) as Boa Hancock's and Mihawk's, and Moria's looking pretty good too.

So, the seraphim are being employed to basically destroy their makers (the original Hancock, Mihawk, etc.—not that we've seen a Mihawk/S-Mihawk fight yet). There has to be a Trafalgar Law one. Oda wouldn't pass up the opportunity, I think. Although, if it will convolute the story, that one might be left to us fan-fiction writers.

Lots of other stuff. Massive catch up, lore drops. The destruction of Lulusia seems to parallel Marshall Island Atoll nuclear tests or Maralinga in the centre of Australia, or so many others, and more linearly (time-wise) the U.S. government's nuclear testing in New Mexico before the ultimate bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Robin has apparently told the revs:

that the ancient weapons exist (as Ivankov lets us know above).

And more parallels here with the Einstein / Vegapunk thing, and what their research can be harnessed for, or what they might directly contribute to without and possibly with knowing the consequences.

Iva suspects that the attack has nothing to do with Vegapunk (although maybe I misread the panel—it seemed that Imu thought it was Vegapunk's work, but Imu might've been referring to the seraphim).

Iva suspects that Imu is

Imu of House Nerona (one of the original founders of the Celestial Dragons / Word Government / Mary Geoise), so, from the void century and granted eternal youth through the ope ope no mi, although the fruit is not mentioned by name. Whether the revs' don't know it's granted from a fruit, or whether they're playing coy, is not apparent. It seems the former.

As a founder, they (Imu) could possibly have knowledge of the ancient weapons.

So, as an aside, considering the original granter of the eternal fruit would have died as per their fruit's power (Lili?) then there must be more people around with eternal youth too, right?, because others would have consumed the fruit, and 800 years is a long time.

Anyway, briefly onto Lili; if she had the ope ope no mi, she could've shambled the poneglyphs the world over as a very awakened form of the fruit, and maybe granting Imu eternal youth is what caused her death. I don't think that's my idea. I probably read it somewhere, but I can't recall where.

For the above, I love that Robin's dropping massive intel into the Revolutionary Army's lap.

Seems that Sabo will be a D. too, from this statement below 👇 . I'd prefer he wasn't, but, whatever!

Sabo is definitely surrounded by them! And that 'checkered fate' line is used a lot. I know there are a few translations on it.

Lastly, and it's not only the last (like, for instance, Walpol won't tell Vivi about her Father, CPO are running around with pictures of Vivi and Sabo to folks in Mary Geoise, Sterry (Sabo's brother) doing a Sanji when sighting Vivi's picture, and Big News Morgans filling the reader in on how he managed to pick up Walpol and Vivi (we suppose)): BUT possibly one of the biggest pieces of news is:

that Saint Donquixote Mosgard will be executed due to protecting Shirahoshi 👆 , thereby running parallels with Homing, except that Mosgard was effective with his compassion, but will also pay with his life, as did Donquixote Rosinante (and his father). And

The person tasked with the execution is the former king of God Valley, and I know there's a lot of Rocks D. Xebec info about God Valley that's basically all over my head at present (will read up on it later, or read someone else's meta).

But as importantly, or maybe more importantly, is this guy's name: Saint Figarland Garling. Shanks, was stated by the Gorosei in Film Red (although I missed this section, or forgot it) as coming from the Figarland family (he was discovered in a box that the Roger Pirates stole during the God Valley Incident).

Ahahahah. I love all the influences though: Good Donquixotes, and then Donquixote Doflamingo. Entitled Figarlands, and then good Shanks, or maybe not... (I believe he's good, but Oda always turns the tables on me, and everything's grey, even when characters have positive aspects).

So, yeah—there's a ton of stuff. Go have a read or wait for the official, but the scans gave the elders their names, so I'll just drop that too, and a translators' note that was interesting:

Read below for their processes in naming:

Okay as said, I didn't cover everything, but ALSO, look at this gorgeous cover (Oda can't be ignorant that it's pride month)

I love the little frog. It's a reader's request: Chopper and a kitty crossing the reflection of a rainbow they see in a puddle. Cute! The reflections look great too.

Also, don't forget this guy:

[asteriasfallingstarsandtears]

What if WoL instead meets Emet for the first time in Eulmore? As a former Garlean resident she'd recognize the Emperor's face, but she also knows that there are doubles at this point on the First. The chances of the very old and very dead Emperor being on the First being incredibly slim in her mind.

And this person, whoever he was, was very much not an elderly man.

This HC also requires the Chais to not accept the WoL when they enter Eulmore, precipitating the need for another sponsor or needing an alternative means of staying for investigation purposes.

(wish I had a little gpose to go with this but sadly not)

“How strange, so very few take in the sight from up here.” She hadn't noticed anyone else here when she had come here.

She turned to apologise for disturbing him but when she met his gaze she found she couldn't speak. Something about him was familiar, even more familiar than G'raha felt. It was impossible that they would have met, though she would have said he looked like the late Emperor of Garlemald. She had met other look alikes since her arrival here, not exactly the same as those she had once known on the Source. It was possible there was a reflection of the Emperor here. She didn't even know what year it was here, it could be the equivalent of his youth now here.

She shook her head, trying to concentrate again. She was babbling to herself, trying to justify what she saw. It was simple, really.

She wasn't on the Source and no one here, save those very few from the Source, were their counterparts.

“Did anyone tell you it's quite rude to stare and not introduce yourself?” His brow raised and he crossed his arms, looking annoyed save for the twitch of his lips. For all his seeming annoyance, he seemed to be fighting off laughing.

She licked her lips, trying to breathe. “Forgive me, sir. I did not know this balcony was occupied, I will leave.”

“Must you? Merely make up for your rudeness.” He strode towards her, leaning easily on the rail beside her. “Your name, for a start, and an explanation of why you might be out here, sad and dressed thus. Is this not the happiest place in all of Norvrandt?”

She snorted. “Happy for some.”

“True, there are a number of rather unhappy people below.” His lips curled up in a smile. “Now, will you make me guess?”

There was no way for anyone to know her here, and despite his being a stranger, she felt at ease with him. Far more at ease than she had in a very long time. Not since Haurchefant’s death, anyway. “Mina.”

“Mina.” He repeated, looking amused. “Hardly a common name amongst your folk. I'm sure there is quite a story about it.”

“Nothing so exciting, save I wasn't raised amongst my kind.” She wasn't lying, she hadn't been. She knew what her name would have been, but it did not follow the Mystal traditions, so it wasn't worth repeating here. “As for why I'm out here, my would be patrons have rejected me. It was but a moment of weakness.”

Also not a lie. It was easier to tell a kernel of truth always.

“Ah, you are new to this fair city. No wonder you do not feel the joy and exaltation so many others here do.” He gave a dramatic wave of his arm and rolled his eyes. “And so, you find solace on…” He peered over the rail, seeing only the sea before them and the crystalized wall of Light. “Emptiness?”

“Perhaps the decadence inside was overwhelming.” She shrugged. “I'll have to return eventually, if only to enjoy what brief time I've left.”

“Hm, you'll give up so easily?” He leaned on the rail.

“Hardly.” She grinned. “I've options, I'm told. Something called the Honeybee?”

He scowled. “Surely not, not you. You would be unimpressed and bored of the seductions that happen there within hours. It's hardly a challenge.”

“Maybe I don't want a challenge, the world's tough, and an easy life sounds…” she had trouble keeping a straight face. She knew exactly what the Honeybee was. She would be bored. “Well, the world doesn't always give us what we want.”

He didn't say anything about that, only tapped his fingers distractedly. She was about to excuse herself, claim she wanted to see the city before her removal or find her father even. She didn't want to, she enjoyed their small exchange, but it was a distraction and she only had so much time.

“I could sponsor you.” She stared at him, mouth slightly open. They didn't know each other, there was no reason for him to. Unless he had taken her suggestion of the Honeybee as a sign she was receptive to other things. She wouldn't oppose it, he was nice enough looking, seemingly well toned for what must be a relatively sedentary lifestyle here and despite the exhausted black rings and other signs of middle age below his eyes, his face wasn't so bad. “I've need of a companion and it would give you some protection against the less savoury types of Eulmore.”

“And in exchange?” She asked. If she didn't like the terms, she could say no. If he refused to accept her answer, she didn't need weapons to defend herself, they only made things easier. What little time she had spent here had taught her that nothing was free, even the food supplement moel came with the understanding of obedience.

[gege-wondering-around]

Hello lovely person! I liked the question so much I am sending it back!

Do you have any favorite quotes? why do you like them?

And, if you feel like they are incomplete or missing a bit, how would you complete them and why?

As always, no pressure or rush and whatever you do manage today I hope you manage something for yourself!

Hi there @dontcallpanic, forgive me for taking so long to answer but i had to dig through my memory (which is filled with holes and poor, fading things) to get to the quotes...

So, let's get started!

and I have some little categories too!

From... tiktok trends (I know, sounds silly, but I do love them)

I know love/gentleness exist, cause I exist and I'm full of it

I mean, this makes me able to believe love (or anything good) exist. Among all the cruelty, brutality, pain and sorrow of this world, there's still hope cause I believe and I know I have it in me, I can carry (and I do carry) love, gentleness, care, affection and so much more and it reminds, at the end of the day, even if there's pain, there's still something good among all of it.

to be loved is to be changed

I firmly believe this cause I've seen it times and times over, in my relationships and in other's, I saw it happening and I was also one of the reason it happened (for my exes, loved them deeply and still care for them despite all). But. I've seen it in good and bad faith, I've seen my friend's ex go the miles to 'ruin her life' and manipulate her into get back together. Yet, he claimed it was always done because of love...

Love can change you, but you both have to be in love to make the change good (cause it will happen anyway, whatever you like it or not, you'll change)

I'll peel oranges for you - I peeled my oranges today

This is two pieces, 'before' and 'after'.

I love this so much cause cause the first one, is when love fill in the blanks for you, when you don't need to do something cause someone you love will take care of it for you. And they do it with such a tenderness, like it's some sort of privilege to 'peel oranges for you' because they get to do something for you and they know the gesture might be little, but it's surely appreciated.

the 'after' is the same when you break up. You have to learn how to 'peel the oranges' cause no one is there to do it for you. cause you like them peeled the way they did and you don't really want anyone to replace their gesture. so you learn, you learn how to 'peel the oranges.'

Jupiter was supposed to be a star, but failed...

Kinda sad, I admit. but let me 'complete it' before explaining it.

...yet it's fascinating

this reminds me of when you wanna be something, but you end up not fitting in yet it doesn't mean you failed completely. maybe you now know where to go, maybe you understood how wonderful you are without having to do anything different, and you just need to find your people.

failing doesn't mean being a failure. it means it's not for you (maybe) but you are still an amazing, fascinating person.

From... Tv shows/films

my mercy prevail over my wrath

The walking dead

it reminds me, any time someone do me wrong, to let it go and have mercy. to chose my battles wisely and the fool have it their way if it means i keep my peace. and if you have watched the show, it was the last string breaking, letting out everything and telling the world, 'I might've won to my people, but I've lost to myself.'

not all monsters do monstrous things

teen wolf

this just says it all. whatever is a monster, maybe it isn't...

From... books

we accept the love we think we deserve

the perks of being a wallflower

shutters my heart, cause it's so damn true. it talks to me deeply as I've always 'pointed low' (?)... I don't accept compliments, i believe the bas stuff people say about me, i don't believe I'm a good person cause I've been 'bad' to 2 people and all the other 20 means nothing... cause hate prevails over love, cause it's what i think i deserve, and the little love i let myself have is so small i starve on it...

From... says

o la va, o la spacca

it literally means, 'or it goes, or it breaks'

i say this all the time cause it's either a success or not (i say this every time i hand in a text in school) but i think about this any time i take any kind of risk.

or it goes, or it breaks... no other way

pace amen

I don't think I've heard anyone else say this as much as i do, maybe it's just something i made up but I'll still put it in.

it means, 'peace amen'.

anytime something doesn't go right, or it fails, or it doesn't even sail to begin with, i say this cause it doesn't really matter. it's futile to me cause i kinda knew it was a failure from the start.

my italian teacher 'hated' me because anytime i got a lower grate than my usual and she'd ask me about it, i always said pace amen, cause i didn't really care, i still passed but with a lower grade.

or when i didn't (and still don't) have any plans for the future for myself, and she'd try to make me see all the infinite possibilities and stuff i already knew i couldn't do it, and then she'd say "you can't think so lowly of yourself" or "you're gonna fail like this" I'd always say pace amen

cause to me, it doesn't really matter...

grades are never deserved. I've seen people cheat in all possible ways and never get caught, and even when i busted my ass studying, i somehow got a lower grade then them... so it doesn't matter

my future... well i don't care, for as long as I'm alive and at peace with myself, enjoying my time, i don't care about what job i end up doing.

to me, this 'pace amen' means be at peace with myself and the consequences of everything I do or say. to me, it's complete acceptance of my way of being...

From... 'the last days of Juda Iscariot' by Stephen Adly Guirgis

I wanna read this book (which is a theater play script) so bad! it's all so real, like this is how it was...

I'm not religious but religion fascinates me so much...

so...

this is all I've got from my scrappy memory so I hope it was somehow interesting and not boring!

thank you so much for ask @dontcallpanic, you're sich a ray of joy in my rainy days, always so joyful and amazing, you're truly wonderful! 🩵🫂

hope to hear more from you anytime you want, have a wonderful day and wish you amazing things 💗🫂

and please, forgive any typos...😅

[kerubimcrepin]

Episode 12 - The Great Glucid, Part 2

I don't know why, but this episode is very cute to me.

Kerubim being a baker is also just a bit emotionally charged to me, in a good way, — even if it is just a silly little episode.

It feels nice, that he engaged in a hobby that one wouldn't expect of him. This isn't exactly manly, monster-slaying adventurer stuff. And that's good! He should do things that make him happy and proud more!

It's also nice that he spent time with his mentor's grandchildren, considering Kerubim seems to adore kids. (Perhaps, that's one of the reasons he wants Joris to call him a grampy-cat, instead of a father? Because that was his first real experience with a functional family, as an orphan and a demigod?)

Very succulent and healthy energies all around, compared to his usual tales of violence and divorce and toxic friendships.

And, perhaps, at least in part, it's also nice because it's his cultural and familial heritage, as a person who grew up in Amakna?

It feels like we're exploring a part of Kerubim's identity that isn't something like "gambler, cheater, warrior, ORPHAN WITH A DEAD FAMILY who's only brother left HATES him, god's plaything, divorcee," and instead something more gentle, kinder, like "guy who likes babysitting," or "an Amaknean man in his natural environment (making baked goods)"

Like yes. He should be baking. Yugo, his fellow countryman, should also be baking. From both of their shows, we can see that Amaknean men are at their happiest when they're in the kitchen. So, chop-chop!

...We will see that despite trying really hard to hate one another, Atcham and Kerubim are... quite passionate about their family history and heritage. No wonder he became a baker.

*Wakfu: One More Gate is an unreliable source due to its plot being a dream, however, if it is based off things that really happened to Oropo during his youth, and considering the fact that, to my knowledge, the game's plot was changed into the dream thing during development, it would imply that the Crepin family has been selling things, especially weapons, for generations.

Yessss another dice moment.

Me @ fictional men I like.

He switches between holding two different weapons. BOOO tomato tomato tomato, how dare they have an animation error in their children's cartoon. (I'm joking.)

To reiterate, I really think we should talk more about Kerubim being good at baking and being really proud of it. (To the point of being a show-off, as he is with everything else he's good at.)

My headcanons of the day:

Kerubim is definitely the one who made the food in the beginning of the Julith movie.

I think Kerubim would learn how to make macarons without any machines involved, and give himself carpal tunnel and actual hand damage over it. Because he'd like the idea of being A Guy Who Can Make Macarons that much.

People in this house LOVE standing on tables and counters. Micromen. Manlets. Tinyguys.

On one hand,

On the other hand, he looks genuinely sad about what happened.

I suppose, considering this whole thinly-veiled-symbolism-for-addiction-played-for-funnies thing happened after this story, this might have been one of the last times Kerubim spent with his mentor while he was healthy.

And while it is only in my head, bc we here on this blog take this show way too fuckin' seriously: This guy might have been the first normal familial figure in his life, considering the whole Demigod/Orphan thing.

Aaand I just made myself sad.

Anyway, HURTING HIM.

[icharchivist]

more da4 stuff are coming out and i hadn't blocked the spoilers tag yet bc the warning was that there'll be more spoilers on the 19Th, but last article by IGN actually revealed two things i really wanted to see in game by myself and i'm so mad kdjfhdjkfhd

i blocked the tag now so at least i should be able to avoid more but boooo

but about those things bc i want to discuss them:

so far it was a theory that Lucanis was possessed by a demon but the latest video just confirmed it and i'm. so sad they did so.

but they also confirmed which type of demons which is a win for me bc i've been brainstorming it for a while.

Because the tarot card showed Pride Demon and it boggled my mind because Lucanis is NOT prideful. he's only arrogant to provoke his marks. And, on the other hand, he's not particularly wise. In fact he's the opposite of wise this man fucking tore open the Veil to get revenge and then went "idk it seemed like a plan, anyway yolo YOU told me to do that", this man behaves on instincts not on wisdom.

To me, if spirit was possessing Lucanis (which was strongly hinted at from his new powers, his skillsets, the fact he's believed dead and probably did actually die!), it should be a spirit of Justice/a demon of Vengeance, because Lucanis is DEADSET on vengeance even though it's not his job. He derails his job completely because he's motivated by vengeance for people who were wronged by Ambrose.

But then again we never truly saw what type of shape a Justice/Vengeance spirit would take, since we only met one possessing other people's body. It also felt wrong to me to have this again considering how close it would have been from the Anders/Justice plotline from daoa and da2 (with Justice first possessing a dead person and him being twisted to vengeance once he gets into Anders).

So my conclusion was Justice/Vengeance unless it's a new spirit we've never heard of that is adjacent to that.

WELL the latest video seems to reveal that Lucanis is possessed by a Demon of Spite.

Which. Well. Close enough????

But also it means Lucanis very likely died or almost died and was saved by a spirit of Spite (probably because Lucanis is waaaays too comfortable using spirits to start with but that's a post for another time i have so many thoughts about Lucanis, magic, and spirits) which is why he's alive. The screenshot i've seen implies that Lucanis is trying to keep Spite from being too active, trying not to trigger it, and i wonder if the stolen glances with Emmrich in particular is a set up to how Emmrich, used to gently handling spirits who bind themselves to corpses, would help him navigate this situation.

BUT the best part to me is that it means Lucanis SURVIVED OUT OF SPITE. THIS IS THE FUNNIEST THING YOU CAN SAY ABOUT YOUR CHARACTER HELLO. HE LITERALLY SURVIVED OUT OF SPITE.

I already love him so much it keeps adding i'll never be safe.

The other spoiler i've seen is that we're definitely seeing Felassan again and i'm so excited for that, but i wish I'd been surprised about it in game. He's a book-only character, from The Masked Empire, and there's only one line that refers to him in Trespasser ("His friend had to die. Because he thought they were people. A slow arrow breaks in the sad wolf's jaws."), but we know Felassan was someone important to Solas and that the end of TME still haunts him, so it was logical that in the Lighthouse/Crossroads, that will be filled with Solas' memories, we'll see more about Felassan, but i was worried they may ignore him all together because he IS a book only character, no matter how beloved he is. I'm relieved they're actually showing him, but MAN i can just imagine how i'd have screamed if i saw he was there in game. wasted.

Anyway now i blacklisted everything and i reread The Wigmaker's Job and The Wake the other day, and i have thoughts, i've written half a post about it and then got too lazy to do the rest, so stay up for that one i guess.

But ghhhh. So good.

[putyourcigaretteoutonmyback]

────────────────────────────

do i,

one person out of eight billion, on a planet that's bathing in a sea of stars and galaxies,

even matter ?

────────────────────────────

if i was gone it wouldn't affect the world all that much, maybe the people around me, but that's temporary. we all die anyways, don't we? people say life is short yet it feels so, so long despite how the days will pass me by. how ill sit in bed doing the same things, scrolling on this phone, recognizing I should get off, get up, go do something, yet still, I remain unmoved. in my bed. on my phone. and the next days the same, and the next, and the next. my days are all spent the same, what good does living do me, really.

one small person in a universe full of things that have far more potential then ill ever have or live up to. a quit exit would be taking pills, or jumping in the river only a quick drive from me, maybe drown myself in the pool.

ive planned it in my head, sort of anyways. i could sneak out in the middle of the night, walk hours just to find the bridge, to feel the cold railing before ive sunken beneath it. or i could take a ton of pills, though that's not guaranteed. neither of them are i suppose. its funny, really, how suicides something ill always think about. it's the only constant on my mind; even if im happy, out with my friends or family, it lingers. what if this is the last time i see them? the last time they see me. it gets worse when I'm sad. killing myself would take evey feeling ive ever felt away, and id be gone.

i wonder if death is peaceful, i wonder what happens once we die. everyone does, i think, yet it remains unanswered until it happens. tons of reasons to stay, but tons to leave. sometimes i think about how if i do have another life after this, ill never know since it won't actually be me, it won't be my second life because itll be someone completely different. theyll have a different name and face, a different conscience because they won't be me. ill be dead, and someone else will live their life.

when you put it like that, do second lives even exist? if it won't be someone with the same conscience, someone who won't know of your existence, then really, it's just someone else.

“ in my next life I want — ” not your next life, someone else's life. someone completely different. and sometimes, i wanna be something, i wanna be everything, but thatll never be possible. i cant live every life, study every animal whilst learning of every movie ever made. i cant read every book written or listen to all the music that was created on this planet, and that frustrates me.

alot.

i wanna be soft, gentle, but at the same time, i wanna be loud and confident. i wanna get better, to live without the need to criticize my every move, every feature on my body or every word i said, but at the same time, i wanna get sick, be the worst i can be. cut my skin every day, go weeks without food, stop showering, give up, all in the hopes someone notices. to simply let go, to see how it feels, to see if it's any better then trying to be good, to be kind, better then putting in the effort to get out of bed every day, to shower, to do laundry.

back to suicide, i guess. its a sin, isnt it. but is god real? so many things yet to be proven. if god were real, why would he waste time with such insignificant things such as humans, much less care about the sexuality of someone or what they choose to believe in. god is cruel, afterall. someone could spend their whole life being good whilst believing in a religion other than christianity, and guess what. to hell they go. someone who's suffering, who sees suicide as their only way out, to hell. the rapist of someone who committed because of them, they repent and suddenly their a saint. to heaven, of course. what makes someone a good person, really? is if how often they compliment others, is it whether or not they pick up the money someone dropped and return it to them? to be a good person must you believe in certain things, does your past define how good you are? what does it take to be defined as good.

life is unfair, really. you're born into a body, into a family, you're raised, taken care of, unless you arent. the people you're surrounded by as you grow completely dictate who you become, and you cant control that. the body you've got from your mom, the addiction gene from your father, the nose and face you hate from generations before, stuff you get stuck with. you can't change most things, sure, workout, starve, do as you please but that doesn't change the structure of your bones or the people who made you. plastic surgery is expensive, and youll be called fake anyways, so is it worth it? I wonder why it's so hard to like myself.

i really dislike my face, my body, my personality and my voice. the little comments people make, whether they intend to cause harm or to not. they linger within my mind, floating in a thousand other thoughts i have yet to think deeper about. i guess thats what im doing right now. i would be journaling this but my hands hurt, so now whoever sees this gets to decide if they wanna read this. thats probably why i made this account. to rant, to vent.

something i really can't imagine is being anything older then I am right now. being an adult, growing up, it seems so impossible but i know it's not because i see it all around me every day. maybe it's because since from a young age, i always thought id be dead. that id kill myself before the age i am now, before i ever got to be a parent or employee. i still think that, probably, because i still wanna kill myself and its still set in my mind. “ i wont be anything more then what i am right now. ”

maybe its true, maybe its not.

the question “ what do you wanna be when you grow up ” was always hard for me. i never knew, i mean, my childish dreams of being a youtuber were there but that's it. i have no idea who i am or who i wanna be. theres so many jobs, but only so much time to do them, so many careers require a certain course in school, which tends to be expensive. what if i choose something i end up hating? what if im stuck for the rest of my life and miserable. im scared of growing up, of making the wrong choice.

on that topic, sex. its scary, really scary. what if i lose it to the wrong person? of course, i could wait till marriage, but divorce is always a possibility so even then. who would i consider the right person? im not sure. itll probably hurt, what if they see me naked and change their mind? someone seeing me naked is scary. maybe ill just die a virgin, lame, but atleast i won't have to be vulnerable. what if I bleed and he says ew, what if it goes wrong, what if what if what if.

my mind is full of what ifs, always. what if the hangout I have planned goes wrong? what if I get made fun of? maybe I think too much.

thats probably it for now, read it or don't, I wish tumblr said how many words it had. maybe it does, not sure, anyways, bye.