#how am i responding to this anger? im trying to keep quiet and focus on something else

[hum-suffer]

Main phek dungi isko aur iski bairi ko kahi se behenchod

[theundyingrose]

Of Sun and Moon

In a infinite universe we only get to see one sun, a star that burns and gives us warmth and hope. Moons come avast but the most beautiful is the one you can reach, but most importantly the one that you can call your own.

"Moon, always shadowing the light and I being your lily. Tell me why I sprouted in your absence." She says gazing out into the stary night, her face faintly lit by the lantern a few feet away. Her beautiful pale skin, her eyes of purple lavender, her soft small lips painted a light red, her long hair red as a apple. All details beaming towards the moon, never losing focus. Every moment of the night spent like this for many days.

She sits hugging her knees and staring out from a dock on the ocean. A place so quiet and long abandoned, a place she considered home. The small crashing waves, the clanking of wood being pushed back and fourth, the only sounds so abundant but yet so calming. It is her place of rest, her place of peace, her place of getaway.

Hours pass, silence calms the night until its broken by footsteps. A man approaches and sits on the dock edge with her, looking up and smiling. "You truly never leave here huh, forever entranced by the moon. You were here the day we met and still return even now" he says trying to engage conversation with her. She looks over at him, his eyes beam a bright blue, his hair  short golden burning flames, his lips black matte. He wears white robes and wings to match, a jagged white halo above his flames, and a large hole in his chest where his heart should be.

She scoffs and returns to facing the stars

"I come here to be left alone, to be away from the world. You turned me into a monster and yet you keep coming back, why?" She asks

He sighs, opens his mouth to speak but hesitates for a few moments "the things I did hurt you yes, but you are no monster. In fact you are better now that I am gone are you not?"

She shakes her head and in a very angered tone responds "not a monster? NOT A MONSTER!?!? Im tearing myself apart because of you, you lit a fire in my heart then ripped it out leaving me feeling cold"

He rubs his chest and nods "okay fine, but you did return the favor"

She gives a sinister grin "you deserved it and you know it"

Time passes and when the sun should be rising it remains missing from the sky, moon still up high not a inch moved.

He stares confused, wondering if it'll ever come up.

She breaks the silence this time "I hate you, I hope you know that"

He chuckles "I can take the hint"

"Killing you brought me solace, the pain still lives on but the joy of you being gone along with your sun is a reminder of it all" she tells him

He looks down, dips his feet in the water and swings them splashing water around. "My death brought you peace with knowing I can never continue on to find happiness ever again didn't it? I loved you, you meant everything to me. Im just sorry that I felt what you did was never enough, you were right in the end. You deserved better lily" he says in a sad tone

She sighs deeply "after everything you did, no apology could ever soothe my soul. The pain, the abandonment, all of it. I lost a major part of myself because of you, I just want it back. I just want to take back my life and you gone" she then waves her hand and he disapates as ash into the wind. Moments later he walks back up and sits down again.

"No matter how much you want to get rid of me, you can't. I made you a promise, you hold onto it even though it pains you. As long as you do I will always be here and I won't go away" he tells her

She turns to him "I will always keep you as a memory, it reminds me of the fantasy I lived. Just like that boy icarus I flew too close to the sun, caught in the illusion of beauty while unaware I was losing my wings" she responds turning back away

He gets up and pulls a envelope out of his robe, placing it down next to her before turning around and getting ready to leave.

"There has to come a time when things end Lilith, I have to say goodbye. You have to let go, you killed me and can't find your own closure. Someday you'll look back and laugh and think of how you killed the sun in the name of love. I Sol died by your hand, my lily.....my Lilith. I did this not you, you can't blame yourself for I am the killer not you" he says before taking in a deep breath and walking forward, his footsteps slowly getting fainter and fainter till silent.

Few more hours pass then she picks up the envelope and opens it, a page containing a poem

Lilith of the sun, Lily of the moon

You gaze at the brightest star at night

Crying at its beautiful sight

Hoping to hold it in your arms

You are entranced by its wonderful charm

Even when its so far away

You want to be with it everyday

She sets the page down and cries, releasing her pain as the sun finally begins to rise. Its rays shining down on her skin and providing her warmth, wrapping around her and hugging her.

"Thank you, for everything in the end" she whispers

[maybe-its-micheal]

Like an Orange Spark...

/rp /dsmp

Ghostbur watched as Dream, Tommy, and Techno talked. He was sure he had just known what they were discussing, but now the context seemed to slip through his fingers... he was used to the feeling, though, and shrugged it off. He tried for a few minutes to pay attention, but kept forgetting what everyone was talking about, amd decided to do something else. He turned his back to them, and let his eyes wonder across the snowy landscape.

It was really was a lovely day, the leaves of the spruce trees swayed slightly in the chill breeze, leaving shadows dancing on the ground. A few small bushes peaked up over the snow, dotted with red berries, and the sun sat in the center of the cloudless sky. Ghostbur heard a slight rustle from a near by bush, and spotted a hint of blue from behind it.

"Listen, Techno, you owe me. Im calling in that fav-"

"Friend!" Ghostbur yelled, interrupting whatever it was Dream was on about.

Techno's expression, a mix between anger and concern, shifted to pity as he looked over at the ghost. It was odd seeing the man who he'd once fought alongside like this... he was a capable leader, and a dangerous enemy. But that was in another life...

Tommy was tense, and flinched as Dream snapped his head around to glare at Ghostbur. He grumbled something under his breath before turning back to Technoblade. "Look. I dont want to make this a big thing-" Techno put a hand up to interrupt as he gave Dream a serious look. He turned to Ghostbur, handing him a lead.

"Hey, Ghostbur. Me and Tommy need to talk to Dream, but I saw a patch of blue flowers on the other side of the village. How about you take Friend and see if you can find them?" He asked.

"Ok!" He responded excitedly. Blue was his favorite, he was always looking for more. "You guys have fun!"

He tied the lead to Friend and ran his grey fingers through the soft wool. He turned to go, hearing a few hushed sentences as he walked off.

"He shouldn't have to watch something like this," Technoblade whispered.

Dream scoffed. "Not like he'd remember anyway. But now that he's gone, I want Tommy to..."

And the voices trailed off. Wilbur decided to fill the quiet by talking to friend- that always cheered him up! "Today I've been spending lots of time with Technoblade!" he told the sheep. "We brewed a whole bunch of invisibility potions together, it was lovely. You know, I think they may be his favorite kind of potion, he kept going on about how much he wanted to share them with Tommy." He gave a slight chuckle, then stopped walking. He turned around to look back at the group. "Technoblade seems to really like Tommy. I cant imagine why..." he said with a jokey smile, eyes fixed on Tommy. He was a bit hunched over, still looking at the ground. Every so often he looked up, nervously glancing to Dream with big, glossy eyes, and then looking back down. Ghostbur frowned. "Maybe that was a bit mean to say. I was only joking," he clarified to Friend. "Tommy isn't all bad."

Ghostbur turned back around and kept walking. On his way to the village he got to thinking about Tommy... he could be really annoying, there's no denying that, but he also had a lot of good qualities. He remembered when they were first making L'manburg together; those were good times. Tommy had been very brave, then, and determined too. No matter how grim a situation looked he never seemed to be afraid of Dream, he just kept going. Maybe he was just a naive child, but in the end... the details were fuzzy, but Ghostbur was sure that in the end it was Tommy who did something to secure the future of their nation.

In the quiet he couldn't help but overhear some of the conversation taking place back over the hill. Their voices were getting louder, maybe they were all excited about something. A smile dawned on Ghostbur's face- maybe they'd sent him away because they're planning a surprise party! He stopped walking again, and did his best to listen.

"I am not handing him over to-" Techno's voice yelled.

"... control over... give it to me! Him. Give him to me!" Dream responded.

"You've done enough dam..."

"... never should have trusted..."

"I dont want to kill you."

It was hard to keep track of who was saying what, but it didn't sound much like party planning. Ghostbur went back to walking- he could see the wooden roofs of buildings in the distance, which meant he was getting close to the village.

In all the yelling he wondered why he couldn't hear Tommy's voice. Maybe he just hadn't listened hard enough- that was probably it. Being quiet is quite unlike Tommy, Wilbur thought.

"Come on, Techno... favor... my..."

"I dont want... can't betray him agai..."

"...Im sorry."

"Theseus."

Theseus... he wasn't sure why, but that name lit something up in the back of his mind. It was only there for a moment, like a flickering spark. A memory. Phil had told him and Techno about Theseus when they were kids... it was a bedtime story, he thought. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and shut his eyes, trying to focus on it, and see if he could get the spark to come back. Friend looked at him with a tilted head and bah'ed, as if to ask why they stopped walking.

"... can make a deal..."

"Hand him over... want..."

"I'll never fall for..."

"He's just a kid, Dream. He..."

Wilbur could see the spark in his mind- a little glowing dot of orange bouncing around in an infinite void of grey and blue darkness. Then, all at once, the spark lit up, erupting into a flame that filled his entire mind. Ghostbur jumped backwards with surprise, falling into the snow.

His mind took him back to another time; another life, when he was another person. The war was still going on, the first one with Tommy, Tubbo and Fundy. Eret had already betrayed them.

In his mind, he saw Wilbur- himself- no, Wilbur- standing on the banks of a lake back in Dream SMP territory. An oak path stretched over the water like a bridge, and Dream stood to one side, Tommy on the other. They both held a bow and a few arrows.

Fundy and Tubbo were there with him, and so were George and Sapnap. Everyone was deadly silent, except for Wilbur. He was counting, loud and clear, his voice echoing over the scene.

"...in it for me..."

"...give you... ever want..."

"Fine, its a deal."

"...I'm sorry, Tommy..."

"... Theseus... cliff... the person he took refuge f..."

"...faster."

"... seen it coming."

The talk was drowning out the memory... the firelight was flickering, and peices of the scene were covered with grey darkness and splotches of blue again. Ghostbur was desperate to hold on, he held his head in his hands and pushed his eyes shut tight. "No no no no no," he muttered to himself, hoping for it to stay just a few moments longer. Through the fading light he heard his past self reach the number 10 amd stop counting... Tommy and Dream turned around to face eachother.

"Please, Techno, I dont want to go," Ghostbur heard from back in reality. Tommy's voice was breaking through his memory... it was all falling apart.

"Come on, Tommy. Take off the armor, don't make me do this the hard way," Dream replied.

"I dont want to, Techno. Hes going to kill me, please!"

"I'm not going to kill you if you cooperate. Hurry up," Dream barked.

The memory was almost gone. There was no more Fundy, or Sapnap, or oak path. It was only water as a heap of bubbles disturbed the surface. When they cleared Ghostbur could see Tommy struggling in the water. He was about to reach the air again, but then-

An arrow plunged itself through Tommy's heart, killing him instantly, and it all came flooding back.

He was snapped back to present day, and running back to the three. Friend was left behind in the snow. Dream shot Tommy. That was the memory, how Tommy lost his second life. Dream shot him. "You BASTARD!' He shouted at the top of his lungs as he sprinted back the way he came. "You fucking BASTARD!"

Then the darkness started to come back... Ghostbur balled his hand into a fist. Dream let out a yell... and it all went grey.

Next thing he knew, he was seated with Technoblade in the house. He looked around. "Oooh! You're brewing! Are you making invisibility? Thats your favorite potion," he told the pig. Techno looked up.

"No, its... harming." He replied. "I thought- you know since you're undead it would work kind of like skeletons and zombies."

"Aww, it's for me? Thanks! But why would I need to heal?" He paused, feeling a bit cold. There was a draft- maybe a window was opened upstairs.

"Because-" Techno stopped and looked at the ghost. "Do you not remember?"

Ghostbur paused. "Hmmm... well I know Dream came to visit. And then... something about an arrow? No, that wasn't it... I guess I dont really remember. What happened?"

Technoblade sighed, and set the potion down. "Nothing big. Im just glad youre ok."

Ghostbur laughed, "well yeah! It's not like I could die again!" That draft was getting big- he looked down.

"Oh." He said. There was a massive hole in his yellow sweater, but the grey akin underneath was left unharmed. "How did..?"

"Dont worry about it. Phil is already working on making you a new one, too, by the way. It'll be blue."

Ghostbur gasped. "Oh my god!" He exclaimed with a smile, "thats my favorite color!"

Technoblade chuckled. "I know, Ghostbur. I know."

"I should tell Tommy," the ghost decided. "Where is he?"

Techno's face fell. "He... had to leave."

Ghostbur shrugged. "I don't remember that, when?"

"Just a few minutes ago... he went with Dream."

Ghostbur smiled pleasantly. "Thats nice, they really are such good friends."

"Yeah..." Technoblade replied. "Friends."

[starker-fluff]

Peter Pan #1

Mafia au.

TW: Kidnapping, Murder, Mentions, aftermath and some small displays of abuse, Violence, blood

And thus we begin the tale of the Peter Pan dubbed Spiderman.

(Peter Pan are people in the mafia who’s job it is to distract the kids whilst other deal with business)

——//——//——

A heavy metal for creaked open, scratching the floor as it opened. Pan squinted shielding his eyes as the bright light filtered into the room. The floor was concrete and the only padding he had was a dusty old blanket in the corner. This was is box, barren and cold. He never wanted to be here.

“Stop sulking. You’ve got a job to do.” A rusty male voice broke through the blinding light, his silhouette filling the door way. The shadow can forward pulling Pan forward onto his knees by a chain wrapped around his wrists and secured with a padlock. He said nothing just slowly got to his feet and followed the man through the badly lit halls. Outside of similar metal door the padlock was unlocked and his chains removed but a bag was slipped over his head. A large hand clamped around his wrists as the familiar scrapping of metal against concrete sounded as he was dragged by the arm.

He had never seen what was on the other side of this door. All he knew was that there was a van and people. There was quiet chatter about the lay out of the house and whispers that were obviously directed to him.

“The target is upstairs, daughter is downstairs.”

“Wife?”

“No woman could stand that guy..”

“One did, enough to have a kid with ‘im.”

“Ey look, it’s the pan boy.”

“There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t do to get my hands on a piece of meat like that..”

“I bet he goes a pretty shade of purple.”

“Boys. Focus. There is a skylight entrance. Come in through there to collect the prize.”

Pan couldn’t hear anymore before he thrown into the back of the van. Groaning as he scuffled onto his hands and knees before finding his way to one corner where he tugged his knees up to his chest to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. He learnt early to never try and escape or to try and take off the bag over his head.

“Alright. Front. Point. Centre. Back. Skylight. Understand? Let’s go.” He heard as the van dipped slightly as heavy footsteps filled the van. The crew was filtering into the van and soon it fell into silence as the engine roared to life. Soon Pan would have to do his job. A job he hated so much that he wish he never existed.

“If you do your job well tonight maybe I could let you out of your room for a night. I’m sure the boys would value your attention.” A sickening voice commented as a hand ran over his head, making Pan curled further into himself. He preferred the box.

——//——//——

The van finally came to a stop and the bag was ripped off his head. He watched as the group around him readied their guns and pulled on their masks.

“Brumlow, take Pan to the room. Once the target as been engaged go for the prize.” The leader ordered and soon Pan has been grabbed by the hair and was being dragged out of the van.

As his feet hit the pavement, he instinctively glanced up and had a wave of déjà vu wash over him. He had been here before but he just couldn’t place it.

“Ow!” Pan screeched our as he was tugged roughly by the hair.

“What did we say about speaking?!” A hand wrapped around his throat, threatening to crush his windpipe. When Pan didn’t respond Brumalow just smirked and grabbed his hair once again to drag him through the house and to a door with cute little drawings of horses and fairies. Pan made sure to look at all possible exits, he would never try to run but it was just a habit now.

“Keep the kid distracted. I’ll be back.” Brumalow said before opening the door and shoving Pan inside. Yet another wave of déjà vu washed over the boy as he was met with the child’s room. The bed on the left wall, drawings covering the walls and a desk tucked into the right far corner with a closet along the front wall.

Pan saw the glint of a sliver frame that sent his heart spiking. His feet moved without his permission and before he knew it he had crossed the room and was holding this framed picture of a black haired man with a young man on his back. It.. it looks..

“It looks like me...” Pan breathed in absolute disbelief. How did this kid have a picture of him and this oddly familiar stranger?

“Are you really here?” A gentle sleepy voice sounded from the other side of the room. Pan turned around and saw this black hair girl sitting up in her bed with hopeful eyes.

“Yeah.. I am.. Why do you have a picture of me?” Pan said shakily, afraid of the answer. The girl beamed happily and bounced out of bed, within a flash her arms were around Pan’s waist and hugging him tight.

“That’s you and Daddy, silly. Do you not remember? Daddy said you might not remember. That’s why we made an album to help you remember. We should go tell Daddy that you are back!” The girl had let go and was heading for the door just as a gun shot went off. Then another and another. There was crashing and banging. Everything started to click into place, it wasn’t déjà vu. It was his subconscious remembering his home. He had to protect this girl.

“Quickly under the desk. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. I’m here to protect you.” He cooed to the scared girl. She followed his directions as Pan situated himself between the door and his.. the girl.

The crashing and banging continued. Screams and yells sounded from upstairs but the door handle never turned. Pan brain went into overdrive trying his best to connect the dots. The sounds of footsteps on the roof above triggered something in his mind that gave Pan the whole picture.

Home. Target. Girl. Prize. Skylight. Brumalow. “I’ll be back”. Protect.

The sounds of a skylight window creaking open brought Pan out of his head. The boy grabbed the chair behind him, pulling it towards him and launching it up at the skylight just as Brumalow jumped through the open window.

“Fuck. What the hell Pan?!.” Brumalow grunted as he fell onto the floor, clutching at his side.

“Not my name.” He spoke without missing a beat. Brumalow’s eyes widen almost in fear. He slowly moved to grab the walker talkie.

“Pan’s gone Spider.” Brumalow said lowly and the the shooting ceased.

“PETER.”

That voice from upstairs flipped something in his mind. It was familiar and sent a spiral of emotions cascading into his mind. It was him. Pan was Peter. He was Peter. Pan isn’t him.

The shooting continued and Peter launched himself at Brumalow, tackling him to the ground and landing a punch to his face as Morgan screamed and sobbed in fear from underneath the desk.

“Fucking. Bastard!!” Brumalow overpowered him eventually. Tossing him off and pulling out a handgun that he quickly trained on the girl with a hand extended to Peter who was seething with anger. Brumalow pulled out a handgun and fired one shot at Peter, shitting him in the side.

“One more step and she di-“ Brumalow threatened but his voice stopped as Peter took a step forward. He pulled the trigger but nothing came out.

“Someone didn’t reload..” He lunged at the man once again. Pulling a knife from the sheath on Brumalow’s leg and pinning the man to the ground.

“Close your eyes and cover your ears, darling.” He spoke the to whimpering girl before he plunged the knife repeatedly into the disgusting man’s chest. Once Brumalow stopped moving, Peter shakily stood up and dropped the knife by his foot. He grabbed a sheet off the girl’s bed and covered the filth’s body before he collapsed with his back up against the desk.

“This is my home isn’t it?” He asked as he gently putting his hand near hers. She nodded and took his hand whilst crawling out from under the desk. Sitting herself in his lap and crying. He gently rubbed he back whilst cradelling her as the fight raged on overhead.

Suddenly it was quiet and there was a slow thump going down the stairs, whoever it was didn’t want to come down. They seemed hesitant. Now that everyhting seemed to slow down a unbearable pain radiated from his side. Glancing down he saw his shirt drenched in blood as it began to deep into the carpet beneath him.

“Help..” He called putting weakly, feeling light headed. Suddenly the foot steps quickened and the door flew open. It was the man from the picture.

“I’m Peter.” All he could do was start sobbing as he felt an overwhelming wave of love and safety crash into his head. The man in the door way joined his sobbing as he made his way over to the two, kneeling down beside them and pulling them into a hug.

“I’ve got you baby. We’ve got you. I’ll never let you go again.” The man whispered softly whilst stroking Peter’s hair, kissing his forehead. Peter felt his chest fill with warm and happiness as he was cradelled.

“D-Daddy. Papa was shot..” The young girl whimpered, trying to be helpful.

“What?!” The man leant back, glancing over Peter before his eyes settled on his side.

“Fuck fuck fuck. No. No. I just got you back. Hunny, go push the emergency button!” Before the man had even finished the little girl was on her feet and running out the door. The raven haired man pulled Peter into his lap, putting pressure on his side as the young man blinked lazily.

“Your name is Tony. I have a husban-.” Peter blinked out, head lolling to the side onto Tony’s chest as the pain became unbearable.

@starkly @itfeelssogoodmrstark

[bodytoflame-ao3]

born for this // three

new friends, and old friends

read from the beginning // AO3 Link

xvi //

“Come sit, we have to talk to you.” Annabeth sits her down at the dinner table, hating the way the panic sets into her face.

“Is this about the wall because I swear I can explain.”

“No,” she laughs, thoughts drifting to the foot-shaped hole behind the dresser in her room, “that’s okay. We just have something really important to talk to you about.”

“Are you two splitting up?” It’s the first thing that pops into her mind, even though as the words leave her lips, she knows they’re ridiculous.

“No.” Annabeth takes a deep breath. “Remember how we told you about the prophecies?”

Lyra nods. She’s heard every story they offered to tell over the years.

Annabeth sighs. Percy picks up; “There’s another we’ve known about for a while.” Almost ten years, keeping the secret from her, he feels awfully guilty.

“You’re not… leaving… right?” Lyra’s voice quivers, trying not to think too hard of what she’s heard from them about prophecies and what they entail; the quests and danger they bring.

“No… it’s—” Annabeth can’t finish her thought when all her mind wants to focus on is how much she sees herself in her daughter. It hurts to see her worry, in light of the fact she devoted herself to making sure Lyra would never experience the same things she did as a kid. And now, this .

“We think it might be about you.”

Her father’s words take a minute to sink in. “Oh.”

“And—” Annabeth adds, “—another legacy.”

Percy continues, trying to disperse some of the tension. “We don’t know what’s going to happen. All we know is that bad things happen if we interfere. So this is all you — and I know how scary that is — but we’ve got your back as much as we possibly can.”

Lyra is silent for a while. “You should’ve told me.” She doesn’t seem angry. It’s a statement of fact from her perspective.

“I know,” Annabeth sighs, taking her hand. “And I’m sorry.”

Percy rests his hand on Annabeth’s back, reassuring her. “We just wanted you to be safe.”

“I know.” She knows the stories. The prophecies, the quests, the battles. She doesn’t want to live like this — but she’ll do it if it means keeping her family intact. “Do I know them? The other demigod?”

“You were four the last time you saw her.”

“It was for your own safety,” Percy adds.

Lyra looks up at her father. “They’ve been coming a lot lately.”

“That’s why we’re telling you,” he says. “We’re taking you to Camp. You’ll be safe there.”

“What about school? There’s still two weeks left and I haven’t taken my finals.”

Annabeth has to try hard not to laugh; it’s another way she sees herself in her. “I called. You know, family emergencies happen. They were more than willing to accommodate. Whatever your grades were yesterday is where they’ll stay. You don’t have to worry about that.”

It’s only a little bit of relief among something so scary. She doesn’t sleep much that night.

xvii //

She’s been to Camp with her parents before, but it’s never felt like this. This feels more than temporary. They pack their bags too, and settle into a staff cabin, promising to be there for her if she needs them. Even if they can’t intervene directly, Annabeth is prepared to exploit every possible loophole, with Percy at her side. They won’t leave her.

Lyra settles into the Hermes cabin with relative ease, though sleep doesn’t come easily. It’s not as quiet as she would prefer, but it’s better than the deafening silence of the Poseidon cabin, or living with her mother’s side of the family — from family gatherings, she knows they’re a lot sometimes. And she doesn’t quite feel like a part of either of them. So this will have to do. In a way, she thinks, it’s almost poetic, and quite fitting: not quite human, not quite demigod, left to her own devices to forge an identity as something new. Or some bullshit like that.

When she finally feels the exhaustion drift over her, it’s overwhelming; like the entire weight of the day’s been dropped on her at once. In a way, it has. She’s here now, this is real. Not just the stories her parents told to her, or vague bursts of imagination from brief visits.

As hard as she tries, she can’t shake the feeling of anger in the pit of her stomach — exactly for what, she’s not sure. And she still can’t sleep.

xviii //

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

There’s not much Lyra can make out in the pale blue glow of the moon, other than the girl’s vague shade of olive skin, and light-colored wavy hair. “It’s okay,” she shrugs, ”Plenty of room aboard the pity train. Or, tree, I guess.”

“I didn’t think anyone else was here.”

“No, I mean, I’d be surprised too if I climbed a tree at—” she glances at her watch, “—two AM and actually saw another person. Let alone… in the same tree.” The other girl doesn’t respond. “Can’t sleep?” Lyra offers.

“Jet-lag,” she answers, simple enough. “Got in from California earlier. You?”

”Thinking about how I just ditched the last month of freshman year and all my new friends, pretty much cementing my status as a loner for the next few years, all for something that might not even be true,” she sighs, finally putting it into words (She could hope that it might not be true; even if she knows the prophecies never lie). “Spilling my guts to a girl whose name I don’t even know. The usual, I guess.”

That gets a chuckle out of the girl, extending her hand. “Calliope — Callie. My name,” she clarifies. “I’m missing graduation, if it makes you feel any better.”

Lyra shakes her hand. “Lyra.”

And two AM turns into three, then four.

xix //

Lyra spots her sitting on a bench after finally dragging herself out of bed at half past noon. Callie’s watching two girls practicing sparring with swords in the clearing; with many of the same techniques Lyra recognizes from her own training. “Did they teach you how to fight?” she asks, curious, sitting down next to her.

“Yeah. I trained with my brother, Homer. You?”

She nods. “I don’t have any siblings. Just Mom and Dad.”

Callie chuckles, “Yeah, but your parents are, like, legendary! Like... superheroes !” Her eyes widen. “What can you do ?”

“Um…” She takes a second to think. “I’m really good with patterns. Like, memory and stuff. Not words though.”

“None of us are. Dyslexia, right?”

“Right,” she laughs. It’s good to be around someone else who understands. “I’m pretty good with a sword, and I inherited my Dad’s water powers too, I guess.”

“Really? You leave the coolest one as an afterthought ?”

“It’s… I’m not that good at it!” She’s nowhere near as good as her father, and it isn’t like she’s ever known any different. It’s been a part of her life as far back as she can remember, splashing water out of the bathtub as a mischievous little kid.

“Still cool!”

“Alright, what can you do?” she asks, curious to know what kinds of powers she inherited, if her own are any signal.

“I can do a little bit with the weather — my dad taught me that — and electricity, like my brother… and I’ve always had my mom’s charmspeak.”

“What else can your brother do?”

“Well, I mean… he’s really good at fixing things, but not much. He knows how to work with electronics, but his actual powers aren’t like mine.”

“Oh. That sucks.”

“Nah, I don’t think it really bothers him. He thinks turning on lightbulbs is a cool enough party trick, and honestly? I don’t blame him. It sure would be easier.” She notices something behind Lyra, and points. “That’s him over there. Curly hair.”

Lyra’s mind sticks on her earlier revelation. “Charmspeak?”

“You’re not ready for this,” she grins, “It’s like, hypnotism. I’ve always been able to do it, even before I knew about it. I used to get my dad to give me extra dessert. Until my mom found out. She was pretty mad, but she told me how to control it. And like, she told me not to use it unless it was completely necessary, but I see her tell the landlord every once in a while that they’ve already paid, so I don’t think it hurts to ‘borrow’ a candy bar or two.”

Lyra laughs, “You’re kind of a badass.”

“ Someone has to be in this family, and it sure isn’t my brother.” She folds her arms, “Look at him. He’s like a puppy.”

He’s pretty short, relatively speaking, just a little bit taller than Lyra, even though he looks older. He reminds her a little bit of herself with his curly brown hair — although his is much neater, carefully sculpted and shaved at the sides, while her curls frame the side of her face around her ears without any real shape or definition. His skin is a light brown, slightly darker than his sister’s olive complexion, but she immediately sees the resemblance, next to Callie’s dirty blonde waves, and her eyes, the same warm amber color as his, but also speckled with flecks of hazel and green. He doesn’t look intimidating, as many of the other campers have; with a tennis racket in hand, he bounces a ball up and down without much ceremony, sitting peacefully on a bench.

“He seems nice,” Lyra determines, shrugging.

“Exactly! I’ve heard so many stories about how like, cool our parents were, and I… I wanna do that. Be someone important.”

“It’s going to be dangerous.”

“That’s exciting!”

“You don’t get it!” Lyra bites back the harsher words that threaten to come tumbling from her lips. You’re immature, and arrogant, and self-centered, and— They’re fleeting thoughts, and she’s not in the business of ruining the first new friendship she’s had since age 11. But the outrage still comes. “Our parents watched their friends die and couldn’t do anything about it!” Because it’s true — and she doesn’t want it to happen to her. 

That shuts Callie up pretty quickly.

xx //

“It’s been… almost a year,” Piper says.

“I know.” It was hard for either of them to get away too often, let alone find a time where their schedules lined up. That, combined with the fact that they lived on opposite sides of the country, meant she frequently went long periods of time without seeing her best friend. They talked, often enough, via IM, but it wasn’t the same.

“I missed you, babes,” she sighs, hugging Annabeth for all the times she’s wanted to in the past year. “How’s she doing?”

She knows Lyra isn’t okay. Not in the slightest. Annabeth can read that kid like a book, no matter how much she tries to cover it up. “Angry. But hiding it well — nothing I can’t see through. Yours?”

“Homer’s fine. Actually, I think he’s glad to be skipping school. Callie is… okay, I think.”

“That’s good.” It almost feels like they’re kids again, gossiping cross-legged in their bunk beds. Even so, it’s different, and they both know it.

“They’re talking like friends already.”

The tension returns — in the form of silence — until Annabeth breaks it: “They were.” And she regrets saying it the second the words tumble out of her mouth. They were, as much as toddlers could be, but that’s a sore subject, for both of them.

Piper glares at her, whether it’s anger or sadness is anyone’s guess.

“I know. I just wonder what… if they’d grown up together?”

“Me too.” It’s far behind them now, but she does — wonders what their lives might look like today if they grew up that close. She wonders if it would’ve made a difference; would’ve mattered.

xxi //

Lyra would recognize his shaggy hair anywhere. “Zeph?”

“Lyra. Hi.” He wraps her in a hug, so tight that she’s surprised she can still breathe.

But that doesn’t explain why he’s here, of all places, instead of on a farm in the middle of nowhere, Mississippi like he should be. “What are you—”

He smiles, shaking his head like it’s obvious, “Son of Demeter. You didn’t think I just really liked plants, did you?”

Guilty as charged. “I… I guess so,” she chuckles, head tilting as the gears turn in her mind. He immediately makes ten times more sense, not the enigma she always took him for. But also, nothing makes sense — because this is Zeph, her best friend since the sixth grade, and shouldn’t she have known? Better yet: “Wait— did you know?” It’s hard to imagine him like this, so connected to a life she thought was only hers through stories.

He raises an eyebrow, “Jackson-Chase? Yeah, I knew.” He sounds a little amused, but more than anything, relieved.

Lyra, not so much. It’s the second time today she’s been reminded of her parents’ legacies, and it’s starting to weigh on her. “Why did you never tell me?”

Zeph shrugs. “I didn’t know how much they wanted you to know. Wasn’t too keen on angering the literal heroes of Olympus.” He pauses, letting the words settle. “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head. “I’ve been hearing that a lot lately.” And I don’t want to hear it any more.

xxii //

“There is no way I’m letting you do this alone,” Homer says, entirely firm in his decision.

“I won’t be alone. She’s coming too.” Callie points to Lyra, who looks like a giant compared to the boy she’s talking to.

“ She ’s a kid.” He’s not fooled, despite her height — There’s no way he’s letting his little sister and some lanky teenage girl off into the world, let alone in such dangerous circumstances, alone. She can’t be more than a year older than her, and certainly no more mature. And she looks so innocent, with her mousy brown curls and folded arms — not strong enough to protect the both of them. Not alone .

Callie crosses her arms. “So are you. What’s the difference?”

He has to admit, she’s kind of right. But he’s older, damnit, and he’s not being a good big brother if he isn’t protecting her. “I’m coming with you, Callie. I can’t just sit here and do nothing!”

It’s not often that he yells; Callie knows that. “Mom and Dad won’t let you,” she says, quiet.

Homer sighs. “They already did.”

xxiii //

“Not gonna lie, I’m shit at archery.” Zeph shuffles, hands in the pockets of his cargo shorts, “But Astrid’s the best.”

“You say that like it’s surprising ,” Lyra laughs, “I know you have the hand-eye coordination of a toddler.”

“Okay. Unfair,” he points at her, looking immeasurably amused. “So who’s the girl you were talking to earlier?”

“That’s Callie. Her brother’s over there in the striped shirt.”

“The Grace kids?” he asks, almost a whisper.

“Yeah.” He raises an eyebrow, and Lyra rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t look at me like that!”

“Sorry, sorry ,” he sighs, “They’re just… they’re big too.”

It’s not that Lyra didn’t know her parents, and even Callie and Homer’s, were a big deal — but to see her best friend lose his mind over them just seemed so wrong. (And hell, even Callie had seemed shocked.) At this point, she’s surprised he didn’t short circuit the first time her Dad picked her up at his apartment. How did he survive that, anyways?

A tall blonde, hair pulled into a sleeked-back bun approaches them, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Ready to get started?”

xxiv //

“Hey.” Percy can feel Annabeth shaking. “She’s okay. She’s gonna be just fine.” He reassures her, though there’s still a thread of worry running through his mind that asks, What if I’m wrong?

“I know she’ll be okay. She’s your daughter,” Annabeth says, pulling herself close to him, and wrapping her legs around his; entwined.

“She’s yours too.”

“I know that.” She’s ours. And she’s got the same natural survival instincts. “But I’m worried about how this is going to affect her. You know how bad it got.” They still don’t talk about it all that often, and the memories rarely haunt them anymore. When they do, it’s the same as it’s always been, holding each other close until the dread and fear dissipates. But this, this is an entirely different can’t-sleep feeling.

Percy holds her hand loosely, running his thumb over her fingers, twisting the wedding band on her ring finger. “We turned out okay, didn’t we?”

She remembers the day he proposed to her in vivid color. It was the most normal of days, spent in her dorm room, sitting between his legs, furiously wrapping up her last final paper with minutes until the deadline. Percy watched silently, as he had been for hours, as she submitted it, relaxing into his arms, knowing she could finally breathe; that she’d made it through her first semester of college. 

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

Percy shrugged. “I like watching you work.”

For all the stress, for all the nights she wondered if she really was cut out for this, she had something to show for it. If she’s honest, those kinds of nights were the ones she lived for, because for once she wasn’t worrying about if she’d be alive tomorrow. So she sighed, relieved, the mess of emotions settling into her bones, only for him to stir them right back up.

“You know,” he echoed, laughing, hands wrapping around her body, “This might be really stupid, but I want to marry you.”

“Percy,” she sighed, turning her head to face him, and fully expecting it to be an off-handed comment, “I don’t think that’s stupid, but you better have something to show for it.” She expected him to laugh, a ‘maybe someday’ sitting on his lips.

But Percy had instead reached into the pocket of his jeans, fumbling with the silver moonstone ring he’d been carrying around with him for six weeks, and held it out to her. He’d never looked more serious. “I mean it.”

Annabeth shook her head, blinking her eyes to stop the tears from coming, and kissed him without a word. For all the “normal” things she craved, this was something better done their own way. She kissed him until she couldn’t breathe, until he was laughing, scooping her into his lap, hands tangled in her curls. “That’s a yes, by the way.”

If someone had told Annabeth a few years ago that she’d be engaged, let alone alive and happy at eighteen, she would’ve laughed in their face. Even if she managed to live that long, the possibility of someone loving her enough to want to spend the rest of their lives together seemed foreign.

The ceremony was small; they could count the number of guests on their hands. Their parents, friends, and Chiron, on the lake of Camp Half Blood, which just felt right to both of them. After she kissed Percy for the first time as a married couple, Annabeth looked towards Piper, seven months pregnant and bawling her eyes out in happiness, and started to wonder if her life might turn out as good as hers did. And she supposes, it did. They did.

[doyouevenshipbr0]

gruvia fic: a song of ice and water

chapter 1

author's note: NO ONE asked for this. deadass no one. basically this is a gruvia game of thr*nes AU. and this is just like a pilot episode so ill see how everyone responds to this, and see if i even still like the idea, and will possibly continue it. now, even if u have not watched game of thrones, u can still follow along to this. im just using the same world as game of thrones, and will explain the background. its basically a medieval AU but i dont know much ab medieval times, but what i do know ab, is game of thrones lol. so yea no promises with this fic as in if i will continue or not. but here we go! enjoy!!<333

*

Many years ago, the country of Westeros was divided into seven kingdoms. However, after the conquest of Aegon Dragneel, his dragons, and his dragon slayer magic, he conquered and unified the seven kingdoms, to which he presided rule over. Hundreds of years later, his family still remains the house that sits on the throne: The Dragneels. With current king, Zeref (or as many refer to him as "The Mad King"), the world has been thrown into chaos.

The current regions of Westeros are split into nine provinces. The North is ruled by house Fullbuster, Lord of Winterfell. The Iron Islands are ruled by house Redfox, Lord of Pyke. The Riverlands are ruled by house Lockser, Lord of Riverrun. The Westerlands are ruled by house Heartfelia, Lord of Casterly Rock. The Vale is ruled by house Marvel, Lord of the Eyrie. Dorne is ruled by house Dreyar, Lord of Sunspear. The Stormlands are ruled by house Scarlet, Lord of Storm's End. The Reach is ruled by house Strauss, Lord of Highgarden. And finally, The Crownlands are ruled by the king, which is Zeref of house Dragneel, who sits on the Iron Throne in the country's capital, King's Landing. The rest of house Drganeel resides on an island just off the shore of King's Landing called Dragonstone.

The nine provinces and many allies must now unite and overthrow their unjust, evil king.

*

"Excuse me?" Gray said through gritted teeth and felt his blood beginning to boil. He didn't want his mother to witness the outburst of anger that was to come, but it seemed that was what would happen.

"I'm sorry, son." Mika lowered her grey eyes and held a hand out to the table, putting it on top of Gray's.

"An arranged marriage?!" Gray shot up from his seat, banging his fists to the cold wood.

"Dear, calm down." Her voice remained smooth.

"How am I supposed to stay calm?! Father fights alongside all the other lords in rebellion, fighting a war against the bloody king, and you expect me to sit back and take a wife?!" Gray never yelled at his mother like this, but what she was asking of him was unthinkable.

"Gray, I know you're upset-" Mika stood and placed a hand on Gray's shoulder.

"Upset?! Mother how could you ask me to do this? I've been training my whole life for something like this. My magic is just as strong as Father's. I should be out on the field with him!" Gray felt tears began to sting his eyes.

He'd fought battles before, but something like this felt like his destiny. It was a full fledged war amongst all of Westeros. To just sit on the side and watch it all unfold would make a mockery of all he'd trained for. He and his father's ice magic combined would be unstoppable. All Gray ever wanted to do was fight to protect his people, his home, and his family. It was what made him feel alive, and it was being taken from him.

"Your father needs more men to fight. Lord Lockser of Riverrun is finally willing to give aid to our cause, but only under the condition that you marry his daughter." She tried her best to explain.

"I am the future Lord of Winterfell. I am to be Warden of The North. How can I claim these titles if I have nothing to show for it?! 'Lord Gray shuddered in fear in his castle with his wife as everyone bravely fought.' How am I supposed to live with that?" His anger was simmering to frustration.

"That is exactly what you are. The future Lord of Winterfell. And doing this is a service not only to our country, but our family as well. You're eighteen now, Gray. It's time you took a wife and continued the Fullbuster name." Mika put her hands against her son's cheeks.

"I have plenty of time for that, Mother."

"Not if you go and get yourself killed in this war!" She shook him a bit.

"But I-"

"No 'but's, Gray. Now, I'm sorry that you cannot marry for love, and that you cannot be by your father's side. I truly am. But this is your duty right now. This is the best thing you can do. You know there must always be a Fullbuster in Winterfell, dear. You must be Lord until your father returns. Being a lord includes marrying and having children." She took her hands off her son's face, and Gray sucked up his tears.

He sunk back into his seat at the table with a numb look on his face. He slowly reached for his cup of wine and chugged the rest that was in there.

"So I'm to marry Juvia Lockser?" Gray let out sugh after finishing his drink and finally looked back up to his mother.

"Yes." Mika nodded.

"Hmph." Gray poured himself another glass of wine. "I wish I could at least marry someone I'm already acquainted with. Lucy Heartfelia or Erza Scarlet. Even Mirajane Strauss. They're all beautiful and skilled in battle.

"As is Juvia. I know you've never met her, but I'm sure you've heard stories." Mika sat back down at the table.

"Stories?" Gray raised a brow.

"Juvia Lockser: The Rain Woman."

Gray choked on his drink. "Oh lord, that is her isn't it?" He remembered. Just as he said that, he heard ran begin to pitter outside the window of the castle.

"Indeed it is."

"That'll be just great." Gray rolled his eyes. "A wife who brings rain with her everywhere she goes. We'll never see a sunny day in Winterfell as long as she's here."

"Like we see any sun anyway." Mika gave a teasing look to her son.

"Suppose you're right." Gray sighed.

"Don't be so glum. I've heard stories that her blue hair actually controls the waves of the oceans and that she can flood out her enemies with just a flick of her wrist." Mika smiled warmly, trying her best to comfort Gray.

"Yes, and I've heard everyone in The Riverlands fears her." Gray muttered.

"That must make her a great warrior." Mika reached out again to Gray's hand, to which he didn't retract his.

"When do I might my scary, gloomy, warrior bride?" Gray said, slightly annoyed.

There was a knock on the door. It was Gray's adopted brother, Lyon. His family was a great house in the north that attempted to rebel against the Fullbusters and take their spot at Winterfell. However, they were unsuccessful. The entire family was killed except for their only som and heir, Lyon Vastia. He was just a boy when it all happened, just as Gray was. Silver Fullbuster decided to spare the boy and raise him as his own. In turn, Gray considered him as a brother.

"My Lord, My Lady," He entered the room. "Juvia Lockser has arrived."

"Thank you, Lyon." Mika nodded, and Lyon nodded back before exiting the room.

"She's here?!" Gray exclaimed.

"Yes, I was, well, putting off telling you, to say the least." Mika chuckled.

"Yeah, maybe! When was this deal made?!"

"About two months ago..." Mika said, sheepishly.

"Two months?! Mother-"

"Come, come, dear, we have to welcome your bride-to-be." She wrapped her arm in Gray's and began to walk them out the door.

The two made their way through the castle grounds, past all the servants and throught the stone towers. Lyon was with them, holding an umbrella over them to keep them dry.

There was a carriage at the gate of the castle. It was blue and red, the colors of Riverrun. One of the knights opened the carriage, and another held out an umbrella. A pale hand took it and stepped out of the carriage.

Her hair was a vibrant blue, just as all the stories said. The ends were curled tightly, hanging just above her shoulders. She wore a blue gown that puffed out a bit, and on top of it was a poncho. Once her deep eyes met Gray's, he felt a pang of emotion strike him. Her rich blue eyes- while firece- seemed so sad, and they were practically hidden by her long, heavy lashes. She wasn't at all what he pictured her to be.

Juvia steadily approached Gray. "Hello, My Lord." Her voice was quiet as she curtsied.

"My Lady." Gray nodded and took her hand, planting a light kiss on it, as was what was expected of him. A light blush grazed her cheeks, and she looked down.

"Hello, My Lady." Juvia turned to Mika and curtsied again.

"It's nice to meet you, Juvia." Mike gave her a soft smile, hoping to make her feel more welcome.

"Come, dear, let's get you settled in and ready for your welcome feast." Mika reached out to Juvia, wrapping an arm around her, and she sheepishly followed.

"I will see you tonight, My Lady." Gray gave Juvia another nod who blushed once again, averting her gaze.

Lyon and Gray watched her walk away with Mika.

"She doesn't seem as scary as everyone says." Gray shrugged.

"She's a young girl who was shipped off to a completely foreign land all on her own to marry a stranger. I'm sure she's the one who's scared." Lyon said.

"Yeah. I guess I do feel bad." Gray admitted.

"Well I certainly don't feel bad for you. She's absolutely gorgeous." Lyon gawked.

"Damn, Lyon, calm down. She is my wife after all." Gray teased. "And I'd much rather be on the battlefield than getting married. You know that."

"She's not your wife yet." Lyon focused his gaze on Juvia as she walked away, seeming to disregard Gray's joke and put all his focus on her.

"Well," Gray broke his stare. "Let's go get ready for this welcome feast, I suppose."

[thechocoboos]

hey do you guys remember that depression series i was gonna write? yeah, me neither. Anyways, here’s the next installment. sidenote: i wrote this a while ago so if im accidentally reposting it pls for the love of god let me know <3

Wordcount: 1778 Warnings: Depression Pairing: Prompto/Depressed!Reader

Nonexistence.

Your day had started out rough; you overslept by a good 2 hours and it hadn’t been an enjoyable sleep. Weird, unsettling stories plagued your dreams, leaving you reeling nad uncertain. Loud voices and the sounds of the construction outside your window had easily gotten on your nerves that day, and all you wanted was to lay down in the quiet and be alone for a bit.

Doing you work took too much effort, talking to other people was difficult, tedious, and only left you feeling worse than before. You tried to sleep, to close your eyes and fall into a nice cushion of nothingness, only to toss and turn in bed. You could still hear the voices outside your window, the construction and the thumping of the tenants above your apartment constantly hurting your head and fueling a pang of anger in your mind. You were sick of it all, sick of the noise and the endless list of things you had to do and would do anything to avoid.

You wanted silence, rest. You wanted to stop existing. You wanted the annoyance to go away, the rest of the world to shut up and disappear. Rather than continuing to face the world, you piled onto your couch under blankets and pillows, even dragging one pillow over your face to try and drown out the world.

And you laid there, trying not to exist, trying to pretend that under your little fort you could ignore your rising problems and the growing hole in the back of your mind.

The endless text messages you were getting made it difficult to focus on the nothing. You could see the screen lighting up with unseen messages--some from.your friends: Noctis, Gladio, Iris, even Ignis. However, most of them were from Prompto, your boyfriend. You knew he would be worried, you usually never went a full day without responded to his texts.

Still, you tried to ignore them, tried to shut your eyes and not see message after message--your phone was ringing, prompting you to open your eyes and glance at the screen as your heart starting thudding just a bit faster.

Prompto’s name flashed on the screen, his customized ringtone blaring through your living room. You loved him, but you didn't want to pick up the phone--to talk to even him right now. The ringtone seemed to get louder the longer your phone went unanswered, and with every second your brain screamed and your heart ached and your stomach felt nauseous and sick. Limply, you reached your hand out, hitting the decline button on the screen. It should have taken no effort, been an easy task, but in that moment your hand was so heavy and your mind so worn down that it was the hardest thing you had to do so far that day.

And then, it started ringing again. Rather than be forced to decline and keep doing so over and over again, you simply turned your phone off, letting it drop to the floor with a thump as your hand went limp again. This time, you managed to focus on the nothingness, to drown in the endless limp, empty feeling that was weighing heavy on your heart.

Elsewhere, Prompto was sitting at a cafe with his friends. He bit his lip, nervously looking at the decline calls and the messages you had yet to see. “They won’t answer,” He said aloud, glancing to his friends nervously.

“I mean, they’ve been pretty busy lately, maybe that’s why?” Noctis offered, shrugging as he took a sip of his soda.

“But they always answer by now…” Prompto said, his leg nervously bouncing up and down. He hadn’t even touched his spicy curry, too worried about your absence to enjoy his meal.

“I agree with Prompto, it’s not like Y/N to go this long without answering,” Ignis spoke, frowning at his own phone.

“Do you think everything’s okay? Am I just annoying them--sometimes they don’t always want to talk so I-”

Gladio cut Prompto’s nervous ranting off, “Please,” He scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Y/N’s head over heels for you. I don’t think you could annoy them even if you tried. The looks they give you are almost as lovestruck as the looks you give them,”

“Yeah, Gladio’s got a point,” Noctis said, leaning back with a smirk on his face.

Prompto was too nervous to response to the teasing. His mind was going 100 miles per hour, each thought concerning you. “Maybe I should stop by?” He asked, eyes wide and flickering from friend to friend. “They usually want me to call first but-”

“I mean, you did call,” Noct pointed out, shrugging again.

“Yeah-yeah, I did…” Prompto trailed off before he abruptly stood up. “I’m going over!” He stuffed his hand in his pockets, dropping enough money on the table to pay for his meal before he was gone, walking off at a brisk pace towards your apartment.

You didn’t answer your door when he knocked. You heard it, yes, but you weren’t going to answer regardless of who it was. Instead, you burrowed down further into your pile of blankets and pillows, pulling one pillow over your head like a shield.

Outside, Prompto was growing worried. He couldn’t be sure you were home, but something was nagging at his stomach. Frowning, he dug out his own keys, searching for the one that led into your apartment. You always told him it was for either emergencies or taking care of your pets and plants whenever you were away--and right now seemed like emergency enough.

He let himself into your apartment, surprised at how dark everything was. The lights were turned off, curtains drawn shut. It felt so….empty. Quietly shutting the door, Prompto stepped forward and flicked on the light. 

“Y/N?” He called, voice hesitant.

As soon as the lights flickered on, you buried your head deeper into the couch. The second you heard Prompto’s sweet voice calling your name, you felt your heart ache with longing and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and hug him. Still, you didn’t move.

“Y/N?” He was getting closer, his footsteps louder and voice warmer. He stopped. You knew he was probably staring down at the pile of blankets, confused. “Babe?” There was nothing but warm concern in his voice. His hand reached down, starting to move the pillow on your head away.

You yanked it back in place.

You heard a chuckle of soft laughter escape from his lips, “Babe? What’s up?” His voice was both amused and worried. “Did you try and make a fort without me?” He walked around the couch, kneeling down by the opening to your little pile and managing a warm smile.

Seeing his face was like feeling the sun for the first time in ten years. You felt warmth and love towards him, your heart aching and your eyes soft. “No,” You managed, voice scratchy. “I just… don't feel well,”

His smile disappeared, replaced by a worried frown. “You sick, babe?” He asked, his hand immediately reaching out to feel your forehead. You relished in the small touch, leaning your forehead against his hand and wishing it would last.

“Not like that,” You said, peering up at him.

Prompto started to understand. The dark lights, drawn curtains, your withdrawn nature…

“I just... Don’t want to exist right now “

Prompto’s heart broke at your words. He managed a small, comforting smile despite his aching heart. “That’s okay, babe,” He let his hand fall from your forehead, moving to gently caress your cheek. “Mind if we don’t exist together?” He asked, voice soft and understanding.

You hesitated before nodding, moving a little further into your cave of blankets as you lifted them a bit. He smiled, kicking off his boots and laying down next to you. It was a tight fit with most couches not being made for grown humans to lay side by side, but you were okay with that. You felt comforted by his warmth and his proximity, feeling better as he squished himself beside you.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling your huddled form to his chest. Closing your eyes, you rested your head against his shirt, comforted as he stroked your hair. He always seemed so tall whenever you two cuddled like this, with his chin resting on top of your head and his body stretched out next to your curled up form.

“Sometimes, I don’t want to exist, either,” Prompto said, his voice quiet. “And that’s okay,” He held you even closer, kissing the top of your head and rubbing circles into your back. “I always remember I have you, and Iggs, and Noct, and Gladio…” He smiled slightly, “And you have them, too, and me. And we all care about you, ya know?”

You felt your heart lifting slightly, not very much, but slightly nonetheless.

“And--and if you ever need anything or wanna talk--I’ll listen, okay?” Prompto held you even tighter. “Sometimes, things really suck, and it feels like they won’t get better, but I promise they do. And in the meantime, I’ll try and make life better until they do,”

Your managed a smile, your eyes tearing up a bit. He was always so sweet and comforting. He didn’t always know what to say, and sometimes he would say the wrong thing, but he cared--that much you knew.

“I know you will, Prom,” You managed, raising your head to look at him. “You always try, and I know I don’t always seem like it but--I really appreciate it, so, so much,” And you did. You knew your depression wouldn’t magically disappear--hell, even Prom knew that, but at least you knew he cared enough to stay by you through it.

Prompto smiled, his cornflower blue eyes so sweet as he gazed at you. “I love you, Prompto,” You told him, managing a smile.

“And I love you, too, Y/N,” He raised one nimble hand, brushing your hair aside. He leaned down, his lips brushing against yours for one small, warm moment before pulling away.

It was a small moment, but those small moments were the ones that made you glad to exist, even when you were trying not to. You couldn’t pretend that Prompto’s presence magically made your depression disappear for the day, but it did make cheer you up a little. And as you two lay on the couch, wrapped up in your own little world of nonexistence, you felt your unconditional love for that man reminding you of some of the good things in life, and for that, you loved him even more.

[xurkitips]

On Conveying Personality Through Chatroom-style Dialogue

A friend of mine shared screenshots of a roleplay he was having via a Discord server, wherein the style was chatroom/texting based. Each character would have a different style of typing completely unique to their person. Though unfamiliar with all of them, I could see what their personalities were like

Like real human beings, a character very much so has a “voice”. I mean that both in the literal sense, through their manner of speaking and what they say, but also through their self expression, interests, and actions. This carries over into the digital realm in ways we may not even notice. Text messages may not be verbal, no, but there are ways to show inflection.

There are many, many ways to show meaning through text. Here are some that I’ve picked up and utilized with my own characters:

Sentence structure

all lowercase sentences VS Grammatically correct

Lowercase gives off the feeling of someone familiar with others or willing to become familiar. It lacks the tension of formal writing, complete with its capitalization and proper periods ending sentences, and feels very casual and approachable. It may also be a sign of someone who doesn’t care much about perfection, a lazy person, or an easy going individual. Seems like a lot of internet regulars prefer this kind of typing style.

“im dying

‘deafening horrorcore rap’ ok i listen to literal noise and idk what this even is”

Using a properly capitalized and punctuated style is very formal, like one would see in a book, an official email, etc. It’s more serious and stern than lowercase is and may imply an older, more mature person typing...or maybe just someone trapped on their phone at the mercy of autocorrect. 

"I am always happy to see you, even if you are not feeling your best.“

“It's nice here.

Quiet.”

There’s a certain respectful steadiness to it as well. It can be calming to read at times.

Punctuation VS Lack of punctuation

End-stopped lines come with both a pause and a bit of a pointed and direct feeling. It strengthens both lowercase and grammatically correct styles, but in different ways. In conjunction with “proper” writing, it’s less noticeable, merely giving the reader a moment’s pause. In conjunction with lowercase, especially if the one typing isn’t keen on using periods, it can come off as stern, serious, passive-aggressive, or angry.

“whatever.

it's less excruciating than it would be without it.”

Removal of punctuation is a different story. Typically just shown with lowercase, it leaves it with that casual feeling intact, or like one’s sentences are more like quick thoughts or questions. Removing them from grammatically correct sentences does ease off some of the tension, implying someone with a more neutral-positive tone while still being more mature. 

“I’m not terribly good with conversation”

And then there’s the run-on sentences from those who type small novels per response. Usually complete with multiple and’s. It’s a sign of nervousness, enthusiasm, or oftentimes a younger character...

“actually i don't know much about it i just happened to see something online and it's apparently only manufactured overseas exclusively for this one particular shop and they made the original design and initial product i guess”

Oof.

Proper spelling (or lack thereof)

The better the spelling, the more the likelihood of the person being older, calmer, or neutral. There’s also a sense of being well educated or careful about one’s typing. Perhaps a confident air may exude from what they say, too.

“Can you come help me for a moment?”

Those who make a lot of mistakes will simply confuse words for other words, forget apostrophes, or type too fast to notice things missing or in the wrong location. Some just don’t really care enough or are too tired to deal with it. Too much focus and people know what they mean anyway. Probably.

“i laug hso hard hes come runin

he thougt i aws dyin”

It can also happen in very emotional situations, in bouts of laughter, crying, rage, or when one is drowsy, medicated, or sick. It tends to stand out when one’s style is suddenly very, very different and tips others off to something being wrong.

Younger characters, especially kids, also make spelling mistakes all the time depending on their age, whether due to sounding out words or just in a hurry to reply.

Short sentence fragments, single words, and lengthy paragraphs

Sometimes people with rapid-fire thoughts, who are excited, busy, stressed, or angry, will take to quick and short responses (sometimes of many fragments in a row). These show a similar feeling as do lines of poetry. Stacking small fragments on top of one another adds emphasis. The reader has to read them one by one rather than as a straight sentence. On its own, the word or fragment stands out and becomes more important.

"well

yeah thats

what i was tryina do

but i mean”

I’ve seen it used used for storytelling from one person to another in larger chunks of things, quick responses, for poetic value, and in irritation or passive-aggressiveness.

In full sentence conversations sent in short bursts, it’s also allowing the reader pause to read each comment without it feeling like a novella. Though it can also feel like someone is obnoxious, rambling on and on as the notifications keep coming, or has a lot to talk about and keeps thinking of more.

Then there are those who type rather large responses all at once instead of hitting the enter key with every sentence:

"Whoever did it was quite thorough; either the power in that area of the lab was cut while we were distracted or they tampered with the security cameras, because that footage is missing. But, we have some theories now. It had to have been someone with direct access to the laboratory. I hesitate to place blame on any of my coworkers...they're all my trusted companions and friends! And yet...”

It’s concise and a solid, complete story in one spot. Could be someone who loves to talk, could be someone who didn’t want a response before they were done talking. It’s also commonly seen by middle-aged texters who want to say everything they can all at once.

Exclamation points and Question marks

Simple one here. Question mark for a question or confusion, exclamation point for emphasis or an exclamation. But when a person adds multiple to a sentence it can convey more of the person’s feelings; 

“are you okay??”

Here is someone who is very concerned. Multiple question marks can imply things such as worry, stress, disbelief, and shock. There’s a sense of hurry and tension. Perhaps the person on the other end is frightened, easily afraid, or tends to have an overwhelming reaction to things.

“oh!!! it’s nice to see you!!!”

"! 

!!! 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Meanwhile, multiple exclamation points convey much more friendlier, happier tones. Often such things as surprise, excitement, happiness, friendliness. Users typing !! as a punctuation (like I tend to do) may do it as an assurance or to show how thrilled they are to talk. Occasionally !!!! is tacked onto an angry statement to be more of a shout, but I see it less and less.

Chatspeak and Internet habits

Shortenings of words have been a regular thing for ages. It’s easy, convenient, and gets the point across quickly. But the internet has taken it to a new extreme, where sentences can be almost entirely compromised of them.

“wtf r u talkin abt?? gdi man idk wuts even happening rn”

A character wanting to be quick to respond, always on the ball, always involved, may be more likely to utilize and understand chatspeak. They’re the social butterfly of the group. It’s also a sign of a long-time internet lurker who’s aware of what the lingo is, and how to use it. A complete lack thereof points toward either an older user or someone who’s unused to social media.

The more memes, the harder someone is trying to fit in. Or maybe they’re easily amused or just absorbed things from their friends without thinking about it. The comedian of the group is going to know the best ways to use them.

Smilies and Emojis

:D D: :DDD // :3 3: >:3 :3c // :o :O O:<

These kinds of smilies have always struck me as the most friendly. Whether used in devious ways or with genuinely heartwarming intentions, the playful, lightheartedness of the user really shines through these. 

"not a bad way to spend a lazy day :D”

“it's also my birthday :3″

It’s got just the right vibe to punctuate a sentence that’ll leave the reader feeling that the person likely means no harm or wants to be friendly, positive, or encouraging. I’ve met a lot of people that use these and turn out to be very kind or considerate people.

:), ;), ((((: and related

A long time positive, friendly smiley. 

"You said you've known them a long time? I think they would understand. :)”

And yet these days I tend to associate it with passive aggressive statements, plotting, slyness, devious behavior, or anger. Older users may be inclined to use :) as a means to show their emotional state, but newer users seem more inclined to do the opposite. The more parentheses there are, the more upset the person, it seems.

“man don’t u love it when the power’s out in the middle of the night it’s just (((: really great thanks (((((:”

Then the ;) smiley comes off more specifically flirty and a bit playful. Doesn’t seem to change much there.

“if i find a good chance 2 hook u up ill do my best ;)”

XD

The bane of my teenage existence. It’s a more old school sign of laughter, rarely seen in today’s world due to falling out of favor and becoming associated with, “LOL Rawr XD Tacos I’m So Randoom,” culture. But time to time you do see it. Mostly with sarcasm but sometimes with genuine intentions.

“xDddddDDD

It was a good joke. XD”

A character using it genuinely comes off more playful, and to me, personally, as an older person who’s genuinely unaware of the associations with the smiley itself trying to show how they laughed without using LOL. 

Letter/Character smilies

Y’know, things like .w. and ._. or owo, where the letters or symbols make a face. These are fairly popular, it seems. I don’t like using them myself, but know a few who do use them.

"I'm sorry that they can be mean qmq”

It’s a different feel from the others. There’s something soft to it, almost a gentleness. When these or Japanese characters are used, there’s more whimsy. It’s cute and almost a bit feminine. It may convey an open person or give the impression that said person is easier to talk to.

Though honestly I can’t see uwu and owo as anything but heavily sarcastic. I’ll be honest with you.

Emojis

The first rule of Xurkitips club is that we don’t talk about Emoji Movie. Just putting that out there riiight now.

Used sparingly by most for fun and for emphasis. Characters may use them to be lighthearted, aesthetically, joke, or to make a conversation more flavorful. The use of emojis may determine a character’s personality; I find that characters who use hand emojis like 👌 are rather laid back, those who use 🙃 do it passive aggressively, and we all know what kind of person uses 🍆.

Then there’s what in common terms known as, “The DudeBro”:

[MFKNSTARBOI]: the thing i never undstood about hair is why people buy shampoo like regular soap not good enough for you LMAO 😂😂😂

[gostones]: .

[BIGDICKTOYOTA69]: what the fuck man

[ahogekun]: do... you not use shampoo

[MFKNSTARBOI]: aaaah you guys got sucked into big shampoo as well 😔

[MFKNSTARBOI]: When it comes to horses 🐎  the stars in the sky ✨ or just man to man no bullshit advice 👬 IM youre guy 😤😂

I think this one speaks for itself.

[rkleedongminie]

When it rains... it pours...

tw self harm, panic disorder, self hate, child abuse mention, bullying, blood

tw child abuse self hate BACK DATED OCT 13TH  parents home - early morning 

he was skipping school and training for this. 

in retrospect, this was probably a huge mistake on his part. it’s been a month since he was last around either of his parents. two months since his father hit him, leaving him bruised for weeks. almost two months since his parents kicked him out. his mother giving him a look of pity as she told him it might be better for him not to come around. so he didn’t.

he didn’t go around. due to a mix of free for his father, and anger that his mother wouldn’t do anything for him. disappointment that she would kick him out rather than try and stop his husband. 

it’s quiet when he steps inside, he knows kyulkyung might be out on the town. and his father is supposed to be on a business trip. he always takes on this time of year, but it’s always alone. so his mother should be the only one home-- unless she’s at work. which, part of him is hoping she isn’t. part of him wants to see her. 

that part got its wish. 

“dongmin?” her soft voice, so similar to his own, comes floating from the end of the hallway by his bedroom where she just stepped out. they’re looking at each other. for the first time in almost too months. dongmin can feel all kinds of emotions floating around his head right now. 

confusion, hurt, anger, hope, love, fear

a heart beat passes and neither of them say anything. both of them waiting for the other to make a move. and dongmin doesn’t even know what he could say to her. doesn’t know what could be said from either of them to make up for the time lost. not just the last two months, but the last few years. all the time that she has ignored him, or yelled at him, or over looked his own feelings. 

“i...” she started, moving closer to him but pausing when he flinched away. a look mixed between hurt and understanding crossed her face. “i’ve been wanting to call you for a while, i just didn’t think you would want me too.” her tone help so much pain in it, and dongmin could tell she meant it. could tell she had really missed him, and that made his heart clench. he could still hear her voice the day she told him to get out. remember the lack of emotion, and how she hadn’t even hesitated. yet now she’s telling him this.

he can’t.. he can’t take this. 

without a word, he turns on his heel and leaves. 

tw panic disorder  BACKDATED OCT 18TH school building - Wednesday afternoon 

he had to leave the class. 

his thoughts were on a whirl wind right now, and have been since he left for school this morning. all he can think about is the debut casting. the boy group that sphere is going to have, the group he auditioned for with jaehyun and kibum.... the one that kibum made it onto. kibum is leaving. 

he’s so happy for his hyung. so proud of him for making it into the group. he knows that kibum deserves it and that he’s going to be really awesome in any group. sphere is super lucky to have him. so of course he supports this decision. kibum is leaving.

but it’s so weird to think that kibum isn’t going to be around anymore. he isn’t going to be there to eat lunch with. isn’t going to be there to make sure dongmin doesn’t stay late for training. isn’t going to read be forced to listen to dongmin whine about homework when he’s working during breaks. kibum is leaving me.

and he knows that this is just his mind making things hard for him. he’s aware that kibum isn’t leaving because of him... but... 

but what if he is. 

people lie. thats a thing people do often. his mother has lied all the time, to people he doesn’t know and to himself. she lied the last time they spoke. what else makes sense for that? she couldn’t be regretting kicking him out. taking the side of her husband ( because really, he can’t think of that man as a father anymore, not when he’s too fearful of the man ). people have been lying for ages. 

and it’s not like dongmin isn’t a problem child. 

he’s heard it before. people have told him that he’s annoying for crying, that he’s too heavy, that he a nerd for how much he studies. he’s been called all kinds of names, and so obviously... he just has to add burden to that. because why else would kibum leave? the sphere casting provides such a good cover. a good excuse. 

the thoughts just wont stop coming. and no matter how many times dongmin tells himself that it’s ridiculous, he can’t get them out of his head. his back presses against the cool walls of the empty classroom he took refuge in. sliding down until he was sitting on the floor with his head in his hands. silent sobs shaking his body.

he’s exhausted. emotionally, and physically. sure, he’s been telling everyone that he’s fine. he’s been putting up the front. but he hasn’t been okay since the incident with is father. he hasn’t felt like himself since then. he hates himself for this. hates how weak he is right now and that he just can’t get over it. why can’t he get over it? why is he so weak.. stop crying... stop crying.

the tears roll down his cheeks in quick succession, soaking his sleeves in the process. but no matter how many times he chants, the won’t stop. “please... i’m sorry..... i’ll be good.... i promise i’ll be good.... i’ll keep good grades... i’ll train extra hard....” his voice comes out in a broken and pained whisper, muffled in his sleeves. “please don’t leave me.... please don’t leave me alone.... im sorry.” he repeats it all over and over.. and over again. hoping that maybe something will come from it. crying until he has no more tears and is just dry sobbing into his arms. 

by the time he had himself under control again, his head was throbbing and the makeup he was using to cover his exhaustion had been rubbed off. but that’s nothing a quick stop in the bathroom can’t fix.

just have to reapply another mask. 

BACKDATED OCT 21TH  royal building - 2am 

he isn’t going home. 

it’s officially 2 hours into the first day of kibum not being a royal trainee. 

and he isn’t going home. 

tw self harm, blood  BACKDATED OCT 21TH royal building - mid afternoon 

he’s exhausted. 

even more so than he has been the last fee days. a mix of the fact he hasn’t slept yet, and that he hasn’t taken a break. no one can force him to stop either-- or... he doesn’t give them a chance to stop him. avoiding everyone as best he can, even jaehyun hyung. as much as it hurts him to avoid them ( and even though it seems like he doesn’t have to try with baekhyun, something that really hurts him ). 

he doesn’t need to see them and have them all make assumptions of his own health.

he’s fine. 

he’s fine. he’s fine. he’s fine. fine fine fine... 

during lunch, he slipped off to a bathroom, feeling his chest constricting when he dodged around jaehyun’s offer to eat together and darting away before the older male could say anything more. he can’t right now. he can’t stop moving, he can’t stop. 

the day has been going so very slowly, the first day without kibum hyung. the very thought about that makes his heart constrict painfully, and dongmin’s head is flooded with thoughts. mocking thoughts that cause tears to well in his eyes. he can’t focus on anything. 

it’s like he falls into automode. his body moving without his mind being aware of what he is doing. one moment he was all but running down the halls to an empty bathroom, the next he was silently crying on the tiled floor, clutching at his shoulder to stop the blood flow. the pain on his arm did enough to dull out the screaming in his mind.

enough so that he did it again.... and again.

he was careful with it, making sure it was just high enough that his sleeve would cover the marks at all times. he remembered hearing his parents say stuff about teenagers who harmed themselves. the negative image the had painted for dongmin. and he doesn’t want anyone else to know how far he has fallen. 

because he hasn’t.

he’s fine.

tw self harm mention, panic attack FORWARD SET NOV 1ST  home ( kibum’s apartment ) - 3:42 am

he woke up in a cold sweat. his breathing coming out in quick pants as he came down from the nightmare. eyes darting around the room as if his father would appear from the shadows. it took a moment, but he was able to get his heart rate down a little. reaching over to pick up his phone so he could check the time.

mistake. 

still open on his phone was the very cause of his nightmare. a innocent text message from his father. a simple sentence that set dongmin’s heart rate up once more, caused his breathing to pick up. a lump forming in his throat as he tried to keep back his tears. knowing he would wake up someone in the apartment if he was too loud. and thats the last thing he needed.

             [ message: you are expected to return home by the end of the month, or else ]

why. why why why. why is he messaging now? why does he want dongmin back in the house? so many questions he has that probably wont be answered. he couldn’t even bring himself to respond to the text. too afraid of what he might get back. there was no way he could move back in. no way at all. he can’t. he won’t.

it feels like something heavy is on his chest. his breathe coming in short bursts, as if he couldn’t get enough of it in his lungs. almost blindly, he gets out of bed and slides to the floor to find his backpack. his actions don’t even feel like his own.

like someone has taken control of his body and he’s only watching them from the sidelines. watching as the remove something from the pencil case in his backpack. feeling numb as his sleeve is rolled back, showing the still healing marks on his shoulder. 

feeling broken as more marks are added. 

at 4 am... when he is expected to be up soon to get ready for school.

dongmin silently cries. 

[promptistrashqueen]

A Royal Commission (7)

@fleetstreetfatality

Prompto can’t believe his luck when Noctis shows up for his next session an hour early. Not because he’s happy about it, though he really wants to be.

It’s been a shit day and Prompto was looking forward to seeing the Prince but he didn’t want Noctis to see this part of his life, not now...probably not ever honestly. He can’t do anything about the woman though so he just has to let the train wreck happen anyways.

He’s standing with his arms crossed, Charlie and Loqi hovering behind him, visible but quiet as his backup as the dark haired lady loses it.

“...on my baby girl! Desecration of the body won’t allow her to ascend when she passes and you’re the one who’s damned her! I will be seeing you in court for the intent to harm and spread of malicious and harmful material!”

Noctis, standing in the doorway goes from bewilderment to glaring anger when he figures out what the fuck is going on. Despite Prompto’s quick head shake he pushes past the woman and stands beside Prompto, brows furrowed and mouth twisting into an expression of distaste.

“The court won’t hear you, your daughter is an adult if she came in without you and maybe if you disagree with her decision to have art on her body, you should talk to her.”

He sees the way the woman recoils when she realizes who he is, but the shock is short lived.

“I see what this is. You’re going to protect him, even though he’s perpetuating evil in this city! I’ve always said you and that father of yours weren’t worthy of the crystal, that it should be someone pure who’s willing to rid the streets of filth like him.”

Prompto catches Noctis’ shoulder when he steps forward and it only fuels the woman as her nostrils flare.

“Disgusting, he’s befouled you hasn’t he? Not with his poisonous “art” either...You’re a sin-”

She doesn’t get any further, wherever her tirade is heading. Prompto’s had more than enough and so have the other two.

“Get out of my shop. Get out and don’t you dare come back. I have every right to call the police and I will not hesitate to do so if you don’t leave. Prince Noctis has nothing to do with this and if you wish to take us to court, that’s you. Now get. The. fuck. Out.”

Prompto’s not entirely certain what his expression looks like but it feels taut and rigid, his teeth clenched around his words and his eyes narrow. He hopes they’re still blue, but no one should ever, ever be allowed to insult Noctis.

The woman looks at the four of them, harrumphs, and turns on her heel.

“Fuck...I fuck…” Prompto’s hands are shaky with anger still as he runs them through his hair.

“Today’s been shit here, any better up there in the big time Noct?” Charlie breaks the tension with his calm voice and Noctis shrugs.

“Not really? We keep getting unannounced visits from Accordo and Niflheim and it’s making security crazy. That’s why I’m early, had to get out while I could.”

Prompto chuckles a little at that and sighs again, ignoring the way Loqi’s looking at him. He touches Noctis’ arm lightly and tips his head toward the back door, the Prince flashes him a smile and follows him back to his work room.

Noctis doesn’t waste time once they’re out of sight, he reaches and pulls Prompto against him. Prompto thinks about trying to resist for less than a second before he lets himself melt against Noctis’ warm body, hugging him back tightly. His fingers curl in the back of Noctis’ shirt and he huffs a breath that’s nearly a laugh.

“Long day?” Noctis asks conversationally, like he’s not saying it practically into Prompto’s hair. He rolls his eyes, not bothering to respond to that as he let’s the tension drain out of him.

“We can reschedule if you want the rest of the day off.”

Prompto does pull away at that, shaking his head and laughing a little, “Nah, working always helps me feel a little more put together, you know? Besides I might get beheaded if I make someone reschedule. I’ve got very important clients you know.”

He adds a little sniff, tilting his chin up and expecting Noctis to roll his eyes, but the Prince tilts his own head a little, his eyes a bit dark. He steps close, crowding Prompto toward the wall and making him swallow even though he feels a thrill as his heart jumps.

“More important than me?”

Noctis’ voice is pitched low and the joke is gone, leaving a playful sort of heat rolling off him. Prompto wants to be smooth and reply with some quip but his brain shorts out on him and all he manages is, “Maybe.”

He’s flushed though and his blue eyes are blown wide, he licks his bottom lip as Noctis steps closer, unaware how the swipe of his tongue makes the skin glisten. Noctis’ gaze focuses on the shine and he brings their mouths together, pressing Prompto against the wall.

Prompto spares a thought to the curtain but it’s mostly closed and Noctis’ mouth is warm and he lets his focus drop entirely to the Prince. His eyes slide shut and he cups Noctis’ face in one hand, sighing softly and allowing their tongues to meet. Noctis keeps the kiss soft and Prompto doesn’t rush it, letting the tide of warmth roll and break as the taste of the other man invades his senses.

If everytime they kiss is going to be like this Prompto’s pretty sure he’s going to need to hire someone to slap him or else he might start writing bad romance novels, because fuck, it’s good. Noctis tilts his head and licks further into his mouth and the thought sloughs off, leaving him groaning and pressing back against Noctis.

A harshly cleared throat forces them to part, though Noctis doesn’t bother to move back and Prompto can’t say he minds, though he is a little embarrassed. Loqi looks unimpressed as he fingers the curtain, unspoken remind to close the damn thing clear.

“If you’re not going to work on him, you might as well help close up so we can all get out of here sooner. Or I guess you could keep being lazy, since you’re the greatest and all.”

Prompto glares, because Loqi knows he’s being unfair with that last bit, “We’ll get to work then, leave the floors, it’s my turn to do them anyways.”

Loqi nods but doesn’t leave immediately, staring Prompto down for a long moment with a pinched sort of frown that leaves him grimacing.

Noctis watches him go and turns back to Prompto, raising an eyebrow as he takes a full step back, “Who spit in his stew?”

That startles a short laugh out of Prompto and he shakes his head, waving a hand, “ Who knows today? He’s right though, we’ve got work to do! Strip!”

Noctis rolls his eyes but shrugs out of his shirt, comfortable about it now, and takes his usual seat.

“Did you two ever-?”

It takes Prompto a moment but when he gets it he groans and slaps Noctis’ arm, “Technically? For a couple of months, but we didn’t work from the start and I think we only tried it because we have a uh...a shared past, sort of. I dunno? It was weird and the guy is an ass most the time. Now, no more questions I am arting!”

“Is that why it smells weird in here?”

“Noct?”

“Yeah?”

“Make that joke again I will ink a bag of dicks on you.”

When they’re finished it’s late, nearing one in the morning and Prompto’s dead on his feet. It’s good he doesn’t have anything until noon the next day because he can feel the burn behind his eyes as he finishes mopping the floor, Noctis slouching over the waiting couch with his shirt rucked up to let air on his back.

Prompto groans as he pops his back, wheeling the dirty water bucket away and resolving to dump it tomorrow since the floor is still too wet to cross and he doesn’t want to track more than absolutely necessary.

“Doing alright Noct?”

He gets a grunt in response, but he’ll take it. They did a lot of work around Noctis’ spine and upper half of his scar today, finishing some of the geometrics and starting on the detailed spirals that extended up his shoulders. Prompto tries not to feel worried that there’s only one real session left and maybe a touch up.

He double checks he has everything and hums a little as he straightens the flyers by the couch.

“Okay! We can leave now! Thanks for stayin’ Noct.”

“No prob.”

Noctis yawns widely and Prompto shakes his head, he wonders if anyone would believe him if he told them what a sleepyhead the Prince was...probably just his guards.

They head onto the street as Prompto locks the big glass door and presses a small kiss to Noctis’ lips.

“See you soon?”

“I’m taking you home, no arguing.”

Prompto glares at him even as he bounces a little because he really, really liked the car. Noctis seems to pick up on the mild excitement because he smirks, actually fucking smirks.

“C’mon dude.”

Prompto opts not to say a word as Noctis leads him to a car, not the Aston Martin (totally not to his dissappointment, nope) but to a nice, normal mid-sized sedan. He sighs a little and gets in, noting the way Noctis winces as he settles into the seat.

“I probably shouldn’t technically be letting you drive but...the streets are pretty dead so?”

Noctis shrugs and flashes him a grin, “Here they are, not near my place. Guess I’ll have to crash on your couch.”

Prompto tries not to let his mouth hang open, he really does, but he could catch a few flies anyways. He wasn’t going to let Noctis in for Astral’s sake!

“I mean, for my safety.”

Shit. Can’t argue with that he supposes.

“Fiiiine. Not the couch though, you can have the bed! I’ll take the couch, or something.”

Noctis laughs and shakes his head, pulling out, “We can fight about it when we get there. Im too tired to use my words. Directions?”

Prompto’s house is not in a bad part of town, it’s not in a particularly good part either. They park in his little used driveway and he’s especially glad it was a short drive when he notes Noctis’ steps a little less even than usual. Not that he hasn’t noticed the way the Prince favors one side a bit anyways, like he hasn’t realized that the scar is only part of the damage.

He shakes the thought and hurries to let Noctis into the tiny house. It’s enough space for him but he’s sure it’s probably the size of Noctis’ whole bedroom. There’s a small living room, tiny kitchen, single bedroom and a bathroom with a fair sized claw footed tub. It’s what put this place ahead of some of the others, well, that, and the pretty little backyard.

Noctis though doesn’t seem to mind the size, he smiles at the inside, happy colors and posters, Prompto’s drawings scattered around and more photographs pinned to every open surface.

“It’s pretty clean for someone not expecting guests.” Noctis wiggles his eyebrows and Prompto snorts.

“I hate to see what you think messy is dude, I really do.”

Noctis shrugs and whatever he was going to say is cut off by a large yawn and a grumbling noise as he rubs at his cheek.

“Right, uh...bedroom.”

Prompto shows Noctis his room, glad that the bed is made at least. Noctis smiles again at the stuffed chocobo sitting on the bed and Prompto thinks, when they’re more awake, he’ll tell Noctis about some of the shit that means something to him.

As it is, Noctis tugs off his shirt and is reaching for his pants when Prompto coughs, “Uh, let me grab a pillow and blanket and I’ll leave!”

Noctis blinks at him and then nods, still undoing his belt and Prompto hurries to grab what he needs as well as his sleep pants. He sets an extra set on the bed and moves to go back to the couch when Noctis, in only his boxers, catches him.

“Goodnight Prom.” He mutters, pressing a sleepy, sloppy kiss to Prompto’s lips and smiling tiredly.

“Night Noctis.” Prompto answers, watching him stumble to the bed and, in a perfected move, grab the blanket, flop down and burrito himself as a fluid motion.

Prompto’s impressed, but mostly because Noctis is practically snoring when he hits the lights and heads for his fortunately comfy couch.

[pensurfing]

Caitlin’s Three Things List

Okay, so moments (probably hours by the time I finish this) ago I wrote a goals list that I think is good for self-evaluation. (Keyword: This is what I think. results may vary depending on what you’re looking for.)

I’m going to hop to it and answer some of these that I laid out in hopes of having a better idea of what I want to accomplish. 

The Three Things Lists!

1) Three things that went well this year.

* Audience growth

So once upon a time, I grew a pretty decent following due to creating an Inktober Prompt list. My expectations: Maybe two of my friends would do this, maybe. And then one stranger that has followed me for a while. (There are a few followers I recognize their username because if I post something they always like it and for some reason that keeps me going.)

But because of this prompt, I was exposed to MANY new creators and illustrators that I now enjoy chatting with and following! Instagram had the biggest maintained growth. I’m excited to create for an audience that actually expects me to create and not just for friends who see my things “whenever they aren’t busy”. (Not to bash them or anything, just there are a lot where unless I tell them, they don’t see the posts I make.)

Another surge of growth in my audience was due to tabling at conventions this year. I was terrified to show my work let alone attempt to sell it to someone. Tabling at cons not only boosted my confidence but also quieted one of my ever going demons. “YoU sUcK aT dRaWiNg CaItLiN.” “How do you have a degree? oh right, you just barely passed.” I can’t say this is the case, there is an audience that genuinely enjoys my scribbles. So I am forever thankful to Atlanta Comic Con for giving me that chance. It honestly opened a few doors for me.

**Process

I’ve gotten more comfortable with showing my process. It can be messy, crisp, and illogical. But turns out the people who enjoy my content enjoy my scrambled thoughts. It’s something about not being alone in this sort of sense that calms the nerves.

So I can say with chest poked out that sharing process has gotten MUCH better. I can thank a self-help book I bought this year that was a FANTASTIC BUY. Austin Kleon has [two] (currently? If he has more then I’m buying it like people buy a name brand.) books that helped me see that it is GREAT to share not only the process but advice. “Show Your Work” is the book I’m talking about for now. Great tips, the outline is on the back of the book. So if you’re like me, I need to clearly see what I might be getting into, you might have a ball.

And finally, (not calling myself out on this but other) If you’re going to respond to people when they ask you “how do you___?” do not answer “Google it”. That is the rudest thing I’ve seen some of even my FAVORITE illustrators do; that response can burn in hell. PERIODT. (my one typo allowed.)

*** Art Style Exploration

For those who think college will help you establish an art style that you’ll enjoy or help nourish the one you currently have.... Let me save you over 80K.... No, the fuck it won’t.

That was the biggest thought I had going into art school. If anything, it confused me more and utterly destroyed what little confidence I had in my drawing style. After graduating, I had a huge swing from how I used to draw to how my art currently looks. I stopped trying to please the one professor who stood between me and my degree and started drawing to please my tastes. And guess what? That did something. And that something WORKED. I love what I draw now; I see why I chose this as my career path. I’m genuinely happy with how my pieces turn out versus in college just wanting to turn the damn thing in and hoping it isn’t an F.

2) Three things you could have handled better.

* The loss of a good paying client.

Now hear me out when I say this: A good paying client DOES NOT EQUAL a good client. Say that three times and then exhale.

Back earlier this year, I had the opportunity to work with a writer who gave me hell and back. And even that is an understatement. I dealt with her because in school you were taught “if they pay on time, finish the work and get the exposure.” 

I’m here to tell you my lesson learned: A good paying client DOES NOT EQUAL good exposure, good pay, a good client. 

I was doing the work of three for the price of one and a half. (And was always told I charged too much.) She tried abusing this power with friends of mine, with other illustrators. When things turned out bad, she tried saying it was my fault. She read my contract and then tried telling me I changed the wording, I purposely did this thing, another thing was my fault. I could go on with this story.

The part that I wish I handled better?

How I treated myself afterward. I’m so used to people telling me, “Cait, this is what you do wrong. This is how you fix it.” that I don’t consider my own feelings, and when I bring my feelings into the scenario they no longer matter. Because they tell me they don’t matter. In this case, I wish I had treated me better, because my feelings, my mental health, DOES matter.

**My Patience Getting Into Conventions.

Pretty self-explanatory. I got into one, finished one, and wanted to do eight more in a week. But this sort of thing just takes time and I need to accept that.

***My losses

I had to listen to a Little Mix song to actually learn this one. The context of the song is nowhere near the topic at hand. But a verse from Power feat Stomzy really packs a punch after this year: 

“ You look him in the eye and say, "I know I'm not a guy But see there's power in my losses and there's power in my wins" “

I had to look one of my demons in the face, and state something similar. My loses mean I’m trying. My loses piling shows I’m not willing to give up easily, and that is something that took a while to be content with.

3) Three things artistically you want to improve on.

*Composition

It’s not awful, but it can be better.

**Color

I told this BOLDLY if I might add while critiquing someone else’s portfolio; “Your color palette is boring. All your [things] look as if they are from the same universe, during the same time of day, with the same kind of mood. After three photos it’s bland, boring, and understood you have a preference.” 

Can you say damn Cait? The statement was, in fact, true, but I certainly could not talk. My color palette is mainly bright, pop, and happy. In order to tell a story, I KNOW it is best told with color. And I failed myself this year. But I sure won’t next year.

***My Damn Tag

Okay, alright. Why is it well-established artists have their tag figured out? Even some who’s art style is so recognizable (I’m looking HEAVILY at you Gabriel Piccolo.) we know it’s theirs, seem to have a tag that suits them and works for them. But more importantly, they put it in A VERY DECENT SPOT. SOMEONE SHARE THIS SCIENCE WITH ME? CAUSE APPARENTLY I DON’T GET IT.

4) Three things you want to focus on trying.

*More backgrounds.

As much as it pains me, I need to improve on backgrounds and perspective. When I do make backgrounds, I’m told I make great pieces. That I should look into becoming a background artist. And don’t get me wrong, I like them. But I don’t like them.

I feel as though I need to improve in that region so that way I don’t feel as though it’s a weakness of mine. My backgrounds are nice, but they aren’t nice to my standards.

**More designs

I love character designs, but let’s be real. If you were to scroll down my site or my Instagram page, or even this Tumblr archive, could you tell? 

I draw characters a lot sure, but none are designs. No process, no sheets, no turnarounds, none of that. So that’s a huge goal of mine for 2019.

***Scheduling posting

At one point I was pretty good at this. Live stream in Instagram and Twitter, cool. Videos on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. Cool. Everywhere gets a photo, everywhere gets a silly one-liner. Yay. I’m not leaving anything out.

Well by the end of this year that totally crumbled. 

SO I want to try getting better at that thing there. Because having attempted this at the end of the year was cool, but it still wasn’t enough apparently.

5) Three positive things to tell yourself.

* You are an inspiration. That’s all you wanted to be in life, you did it. I’m proud of you.

**You didn’t kill yourself like you tried to; you opened up about it for once and used that pint up anger creatively. That is very hard to do, trust. I’m proud of you.

***You moved on, matured, and let it go. Even when the goddess inside you told you these peasants didn’t deserve your light, your friendship, your greatness. I’m proud of you.

I’m just proud of me for not snapping when I had every right to; not everything deserves a reaction.

6) Three negative things you want to leave for 2018.

*Comparisons 

Oh boy. I am extremely guilty for this: I’ll compare myself to a well-known illustrator my age. I’ll compare myself to friends who are in the field having a blast and getting work; I’ll compare myself to friends who aren’t in the field and they struggle at getting work. I’ll compare myself to the kid I graduated high school with who is traveling the world, is able to eat, come home to his dog and relax because he doesn’t have tuition to pay. I’ll compare myself to these goddamn baby boomers who keep repeating “We didn’t have it hard, you’re just being stupid. Millennials aka our children deserve to starve. We’ll just put our faith in our grandchildren because screw the kids we raised and refuse to pay accordingly. $7 an hour worked in my day, they need to make it work now.” I’ll compare myself to fake people I created in my head and purposely made scenarios and wonder why I’m not like them, said creations I made because I was pretty low for ten minutes...

I just compare myself too much. To any damn body. It’s draining, obnoxious and most of all pointless. My new motto for next year is: “Unless it is helping you grow yourself, your brand, your spirituality, don’t do it.”

I’m not comparing my chapter two to someone’s chapter thirty-five. I’m not even comparing my chapter two to someone else’s chapter two. I need to stop doing that PERIOD! My journey is different, unique, and worth seeing through.

**Listening to negative others.

A couple of years ago, I lost a close friend around the time my aunt passed away. During this time I was hypersensitive to any and everything done or said; I also kept many walls up to hide my mourning. He caught the crossfire of all of that. I kept secrets from him I was too prideful of admitting and lashed out because of the emotional turmoil I kept suppressed. While in the midst of packing his things and leaving my life, he mentioned that I was a failure because I was unemployed and artistically speaking I hadn’t accomplished anything; that I would remain that way because that’s just the person I deserved to be. Now mind you, I graduated college that year; he was a flunk out. I changed my art style dramatically compared to when I started school to pass; he thought just posting crappy pictures of lukewarm sketches were equivalent. I started attempting trends and all he could do was copy. Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t to bash my old friend. If he were to come back into my life and move on like nothing had happened I’d do the same. (With some limitations.)

It’s just while typing out this scenario, of our four-year friendship I can’t think of one nice thing/compliment/gesture he has said to me. That’s my problem.

I can be praised, admired, and look highly upon for years straight. But my problem is I let others negative thinking and comments marinate with me for a long while. Too long of a while.

Another example is my mother’s friend. (My mom has many friends that do this shit, but this one stung more.) 

This friend always roots for me; treats me like a person, and encourages my artistic journey. I consider her family before my actual relatives. 

We went over for some barbeque the family was having and I was ready. Black Hallmark Cookouts, laughing, good food, good music, shit talking others teams. She asked me a harmless question of when was I going to quit my day job. Seemed like nothing at first, until the added gest of what she continued with. “All I’m saying is you can’t do [your day job] forever. That will get old. If the art thing doesn’t work out next year what’s plan b?”

I’m not a calm person (usually). Normal Caitlin would have cursed her out and mentioned how just because she chose a job to settle and be miserable at for most of her life doesn’t mean I have to follow suit. But again, of all the nice encouraging things she has done, said, and showed, for a while, I couldn’t think of it. 

So I pray I let go of this nasty behavior in 2018; it’s going to be hard but it is dire.

***Saying I’m Not Enough

Alright, now put the combination of the two above in a bowl and what do you get? A Caitlin who struggles in interviews and applying for jobs because I let comparisons and negative comments rule my thoughts. This stopped me from applying to jobs I would have been perfect for; internships that could have helped me; posting art online.

We (including me) have to stop thinking that in order to be an illustrator means we have to pass a certain threshold of struggle, success, and a huge number of followers. That isn’t the job description. NO JOB DESCRIPTION has ”must have at least 10K followers on Instagram or Twitter.” nOnE. 

So we (including me) need to stop treating ourselves this way. Period.

7) Three things you’re looking forward to in 2019.

*Going to move conventions.

**Adding pieces to my portfolio to try again at job hunting.

***Becoming content with the fact that my current situation isn’t my permanent situation. Unless I laze around and make it so.

Alright, so this was basically me calling myself out on my noise. Lashing out my demons and putting it in writing what I want to accomplish. I hope this inspires you to write yours, even if you keep it private. I hope it guides you and maintains your vision.

I’ll see you in 2019

A new wave

Caitlin xx

[the-elf-mahat]

Ghosts

(( CW: domestic abuse, alcoholism, slurs against sex workers/women, dubious consent/sexual assault. I kinda triggered myself writing it, to be honest. Please don’t read if you’re not up for it, I really don’t want to hurt anyone with this. It’s here to be read if you want to delve into one of the sadder phases of ‘Hat’s life, and see how far she’s come since then. Endless thanks to Jaoyn’s player for the many wonderful hours of RP it took to get ‘Hat comfortable enough to open up about this, and for giving me permission to use our characters’ in-game dialogue in my writing. ))

Jaoyn's brow furrowed in concern, and he moved towards her—but he stopped short. "I am confused... I am not sure what you want from me. So... all I can do is let you have the control. And wait for when you wish to... be intimate, or touched. All I would ask is you know is that I still love you, and want you. But I am not going to push you for anythin'."

"I's... confused too, I's sorry, jes'... workin' it out as I go. I want ye. Fuckin' gods, do I want ye. But I still--" Mahat cut herself off in frustration, her hands balling into fists as she sought the words. "...sometimes ye touch me an' it en’t ye I feel. It's... th' past, th' loss o' control, th' desperation, th' fear an' th' shame... an' ye's ne'er made me feel any o' those things, I swear, but I--I still feel 'em…"

A couple decades ago, in Kalimdor.

“You stupid whore.”

Mahat crouched to pick up the shards of broken glass. The bottle had hit her in the face before dropping to shatter on the floor, and blood ran copiously from her nose over her mouth and chin. She pressed her face into her sleeve to try and stem the flow, while her free hand reached out, fingertips uncurling to pluck up the glinting shards and gather them into a fold of her skirt.

He wasn't finished with her, though.

A hand in her hair yanked her head back and dragged her upright. The broken glass she'd gathered spilled from her skirt to the ground, cutting her bare feet as she stumbled. He slammed her against the wall and everything went dizzy and tilted for a moment until her eyes could focus on his blurred silhouette. He was so tall. And strong. He'd always been stronger than her.

His muscular forearm pressed tight to her chest, pinning her in place when she wanted to fall. He released her hair to caress her face, his thumb tracing her cheekbone. It felt like a threat. He leaned in.

“You couldn't even be bothered to hide it from me, slut,” he hissed. His breath was hot and heavy with the stink of whiskey, though she knew hers was too. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been sober. Drinking made everything hurt less. “I saw his footprints in the yard… who is it, hm? Some errand boy from town?” He sneered, anger twisting his features into monstrosity, eyes blazing red-amber. She'd once thought he had kind eyes.

“Love, I—there's been no un but ye, I swear!” She started to reach out, but he grabbed her wrist and slammed it to the wall above her head.

“Liar!” he roared, inches from her face, his spittle flecking her cheeks. He dropped his forearm, and for a second she could breathe, but then he was wrapping his fingers around her throat and dragging her slender frame up the wall, forcing her to dance on her tiptoes to avoid hanging by her neck. He was so strong… a Druid of the Claw, blessed with the form of a bear, and even his elven body carried that raw, seething physical power. “I saw the tracks. Tell me who... he... is!” His last few syllables were punctuated by tightening pressure on Mahat's windpipe.

“I s-swear,” she gasped, spots swimming at the edges of her vision, “There's no un… I m-made th' prints, it—rained earlier an' I went t' th' garden—borrowed y'boots— “

He released her wrist with a grunt, and her hands locked onto his pinning arm, pulling and struggling to keep her weight off her neck. “I'll know the truth of it soon enough, beloved.” He barely seemed to notice her frantic grip, leaning in with nostrils flaring as he sniffed her. “I don't smell him on your skin… in your breath...” His free hand hiked up her skirt, broad palm tracing a gentle path over the curves of her bare haunches. “Did you let him finish inside you…?” His voice was less booming wrath and more soft cruelty now, a predator playing with his food.

Mahat felt sick, but she didn't have the air for a denial. All she could manage was to hang on to him and try not to suffocate. His hand clamped down on her sex, his fingers worming their way inside her. She was dry and tight at first, but he knew just how to touch her… she'd shown him, all those months ago when they first married, when he was kind, when his jealousy was just a little joke between them, when they drank together and laughed under the stars. When his hands on her meant pleasure, comfort, and safety, instead of this… shame.

His fingers curled inside her, massaging the front of her inner walls, and she groaned, tipping her head back. Her body was responding to him outside her control, growing slick and quivering as the tension built. She closed her eyes so she couldn't see his face, but she could still hear his quiet, cold amusement.

“That's my girl… you saved yourself for me after all… if you had already come I wouldn't be able to wreck you this quickly… this wouldn't feel so damn good.” At the last word his thumb pressed into the side of her clitoris and began to rub in quick, firm circles. She shuddered violently, her hips bucking towards him as a swift climax swelled and crashed over her. A silent scream tore out, devolving into keening, animal moans as he loosened his grip on her throat. Every part of her trembled, her inner walls  clenching wildly around his intruding fingers and soaking them, until he withdrew them and forced them into her mouth. She knew what he expected, and quickly set to work running her tongue over his digits, cleaning them off. She could taste the bitterness of her arousal, and the metallic salt-tang of the blood from her nose that still coated half her face.

Finally he removed his fingers and released her bruised throat. She would have fallen then, but he caught her, enfolding her slight, quaking frame in his arms. He stroked her hair gently and she wanted to laugh until she cried and cry until her eyes bled, but she didn't. She stayed near him, and let him think her shivers of revulsion were just leftover from the orgasm.

Soon enough he pressed her back against the wall, drawing his knuckle up under her chin to raise it. When he spoke his voice was like she remembered, strong but gentle— almost vulnerable. “I don't like hurting you, Mahat… you drive me mad, you know that? You're so damn beautiful… sometimes I'm afraid that you don't need me like I need you. I take care of you, protect you, provide for you—you'd be nothing without me, a penniless bar-wench with no name, no history, no family—and yet, despite all of that, I'm the one who's helpless before you. That's the power you have over me… I wish you would realize how dangerous you are. I wish you wouldn't use your beauty to hurt me, make me act this way...” He paused, brushing a strand of her silver hair behind her ear, his apologetic tone fading and his lips twisting into an ironic smirk. “But you like me this way, don't you? You like it when I'm rough with you, when I make you remember who you belong to.”

Mahat could barely breathe again, though nothing but her own fear and guilt was choking her. Did she like this… pain and humiliation? It was hard to deny when the evidence of her enjoyment was still trickling down the inside of her thigh. Did she… want this? She swallowed the dry lump in her throat and lowered her gaze. “I's sorry, love...” she murmured, not quite sure what she was apologizing for but feeling desperate to do so anyway. “I—ne'er meant ta hurt ye. Ye's right, ye do—take care o' me, give me wha' I need.” Something far down inside her, some spark of life and rage, was howling at the defeat in her voice, the slack acceptance in her posture. But she'd grown too used to burying that spark, smothering it in booze and blank passivity. To do otherwise was unbearable.

He smiled, and her heart lightened in a little stutter of relief. “That's my girl...” he said again, leaning in to place a tender, possessive kiss on her forehead. She could feel the hard bulge beneath his trousers digging into her thigh. “Come to bed,” he said, drawing back to survey her form. “But clean yourself up first,” he added calmly as he turned to go. “You look fucking disgusting.”

Mahat glanced down at herself after he left the room. Blood had stopped pouring from her nose, but not before it had soaked the front of her shirt nearly to the chest. On her skin, though, it was drying dark and beginning to flake. She stared to move to find water, but the sharp pain shooting up from her feet reminded her of the glass she'd sliced them on. It surrounded her in every direction now; her husband had been wearing thick boots and hadn't noticed the shards he was scattering and grinding into the floor. No way out but through. Mahat dropped to her knees and started again to pick up the broken pieces.

“He wasn' bad at first. I--loved 'im, an' I thought 'e loved me. Mebbe in 'is own... twisted way, 'e did. But somethin' changed in him an' I ne'er knew why... I thought--mebbe I did somethin' wrong tha' made 'im change. Mebbe 's my fault f' bein' too... pathetic, or weak, or stupid... fer no’ fightin’, no’ screamin’… mebbe I deserved it.”

Jaoyn shook his head fiercely, "Don't you say that! You may not have been the woman you are today, but you sure as fucking hell didn't deserve it, and the only thing you deserve right fucking now is for these shadows to cease stalkin' you!" He turned from the ledge of the balcony they stood at, facing her fully, his gaze intent upon her face, "You are the light of my night sky and I will always be there for you. Even if I need to hold the heavens themselves aloft, I am here for you, and nothing... NOTHING will change that." He held his hand out for her, and she took it. "These hands will never strike you in malice. These arms will never force you against your will..." His other hand moved to touch his chest, "This heart... is more yours than it has ever been mine. I know I can't control what fragments of the past, foul memories, or ghostly touches might assail you. All I can tell you is no matter what... this heart is yours."

Mahat grabbed onto his shirt and pulled in close, inhaling his scent and reveling in his touch. Her voice went so quiet and wavering it was barely recognizable as her own. "...there's so many damn ghosts in m' head, love... it, it hurts... please, please stay wi' me..."

Jaoyn's arm wrapped around her back as he began to gently stroke her hair. From him, the gesture brought her only comfort and tender awe. "I am never going anywhere, my love... nothing will stop me from being at your side. And I will be your strength and pillar, and light through the darkness. Reminding you constantly how amazing and wonderful, strong and proud you really are." His head tipped forward, resting his forehead to hers, "And should ever the moment come you can't go any further, I will carry you, and protect you from any horror in this world or beyond."