#the fact that this man has experienced so much loss and death and grief but never been given a place to experience it let alone overcome or

[fortifice]

I need to talk about gepard landau again.

[inkovert]

➳My Dearest Enemy | a re-introduction

Genre: YA literary fiction Status: Writing second draft | read here Themes: coming-of-age, friendship, healing/forgiveness, death/grief, identity, love, family

People often say, “You never forget your first.” First love. First kiss. First time. In a warped sense of logic, the same sentiment applied to loss. After becoming intimate with death, it pervades every cell in your body, clouds every aspect of your life. Your existence is suddenly split into Before and After. And like a newborn tasting the world for the first time, you become painfully aware of all your firsts without them. First birthday. First Thanksgiving. First Christmas. The first meal, first breath, first sunrise that you experienced in this new world to which they are unknown. 

Summary:

Cami has one wish. To get accepted to the arts program at her father’s alma mater. But after facing constant rejections from magazines to publish her work and being told her drawings are “too detached” and “impersonal”, she decides the time for idealism is over. Convinced to give things another chance, she enrolls in an art class to improve her skill - but lack of talent isn’t what’s blocking her art. It’s everything she’s locked inside her. 

The loss of her father a year prior. Suppressed resentment toward her mother. Guilt. Refusal to let anyone close. On her journey to find what’s missing in her art, she’s forced to confront everything she’s been burying within herself for the last year. She crosses paths with Spencer, a troubled teen who may be more similar to her than she initially believes; Vince, who hides his complex character behind a promiscuous front; and a girl who curiously keeps showing up to Cami’s work place. Before she knows it, she’s taken on a transformative emotional journey that leads to the discovery of a shocking truth. 

(characters below the cut)

Characters:

Main characters

Cami Meyers (she/her): can typically be found drawing in her sketchbook or hanging out at the Vinyl Yard, where she works, fawning over new records. insists she's fine if anyone asks, but she's stopped talking to all her friends (except Mira) because she knows they expect her to be normal and she no longer knows what that means, and whenever she goes for a run she ends up pushing herself past her limit in order to feel something other than guilt and grief. those who've encountered her can tell she has a big heart, which is probably why she guards it so heavily.

Mira Fakhoury (she/her): falls quickly and uncontrollably head over heels for girls and wonders why the male species even bothers trying. loyal as hell when you earn her trust. views Cami as her long-lost sister and is ride or die for her. acts tough, confident and free-spirited but if you raise your voice at her or direct your anger/disappointment toward her she will freeze and turn fragile due to past ✨ trauma ✨ Spencer Henderson (he/him) pisses off everyone he talks to. either gives direct/blunt/sarcastic responses or answers a question with a question because deflection. can't be asked to be nice to anyone because what's the point. usually has his head buried in a book and/or earphones in. feels hopeless about his life and future. hates depending on people and believes no one out there cares whether or not he's alive. grows frustrated and confused when Cami suddenly shows him compassion despite the fact that they've constantly been at each other's throats since day one. irritated that she keeps catching him off guard and that he doesn't totally hate talking to her...

Vince Garcia (he/him): resident himbo. doesn't take himself or life too seriously. known around town as a ladies man and it's certainly possible that that has earned him a slap in the face or two. but maybe that's what he wants. it's so much easier to self-sabotage when you've convinced yourself you don't deserve to find love again. not after what happened. Cami is the first to see through his facade; she's cute and intrigues him and he's determined to wear her down whether she likes it or not. he may be a little too carefree, but no one can say he isn't persistent.

Side characters

Eli Owens (he/him): best friends with Cami's brother. has had a thing for Cami since he first met her. thinks she's the coolest girl he's ever met and the fact that she's so elusive only increases his interest. golden retriever type guy.

Noah Harris (he/him): doesn't like labeling his sexuality. mutual friend of Spencer and Vince. fools people into thinking he's kind, polite and charismatic. is actually manipulative, deceitful and gets bored of people easily. good at reading others and gravitates towards people that intrigue him. while everyone else is playing checkers, he's playing chess, and moves people around the board as if they're merely a means to an end. actually deeply cares for Spencer and is a bit hurt that he doesn't view him as a friend.

Jeremy Meyers (he/him): Cami's younger brother (by 1 year). eats, breathes and sleeps soccer. has always had a strong sibling relationship with Cami, and greatly admires and cares for her, so much so that he gets hurt when she hides things from him or doesn't come to him when she's going through a tough time.

[14sunnyfly]

How Can I Escape This Inescapable Feeling Without You?

Stories of angels and demons always describe them as purely good or purely evil, but God doesn't see them as such. Frankly she's quite insulted that anyone believes she would create anything so utterly, boring. 

No, despite what the creatures themselves might believe, if they looked a little further into their own hearts and minds, they would find someone just a little more human. 

That humanity is nuanced and beautiful and everything she ever wanted, but it is also susceptible. It is weak to the terrors of the world, the faults of hubris and the grief of an all consuming loss. 

Most supernatural beings find it a foreign concept, but for those who live on earth, it is a constant fact of life. That means that all angels and demons who live above the mortal plane will never experience the sensation. 

No, only two of the holy and unholy armies have experienced the pain. 

Aziraphels first was quite early on in his life on earth, the death of Abel. 

He was a kind young man, and often could be found sharing his ideas with the heavens, and Aziraphel. They grew in friendship over their shared loyalty to God and love of knowledge. Abel actually wrote the first letter, over 3900 years before the other guy. 

It was a letter to his brother, Cain. He just wanted to let him know that he made him a nice fur coat. Unfortunately it never got delivered, said brother beat Abel’s head in with a rock that same day. 

The loss broke Aziraphale, this was the first time he had known death, and how it could take someone too soon. He burned Abel's body on an altar that night, hoping that head office could take him in. 

Though this loss was painful, it was a learning lesson for Aziraphale. He learned how fragile life on earth was and how to pick up the pieces of himself left when it got taken away. 

The angel broke quite often after that, his heart being kind and latching onto any living thing that caught his attention. He got quite adept at gluing it back together so that it was almost perfect until it could heal. He learned to enjoy the times he had with them a little bit more, savor their words just a little bit longer, and to hug them a bit tighter before they go. 

Crowley on the other hand was a whole different situation. He witnessed how loss broke others so many times before ever experiencing the feeling himself. 

  The first time Crowley ever saw how loss affected others, was actually with Aziraphale. 

The Demon was not the one who convinced a brother to kill a brother, that was humanity all on its own. 

No, at the time he was occupied with trying to get Adam to swear. He had already gotten them to eat the forbidden fruit, now he just has to secure their souls for head office and he can take the next few decades off. 

He morphed into a crow and sat on the first man’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. 

“Go away Crawley. I do not wish to hear your foul words." The first man was getting old, his voice cracking with pain as he spoke, "You already got me and my wife kicked out of paradise, haven’t you done enough?” The man looked at the bird, pleading with his eyes for the demon to go bother anyone else but himself. 

Fine, he’ll go away, not like he really wanted to talk to the dumb thing anyway, just there weren't too many other options, beginning of the world and all. 

The demon bristled his feathers, cawed loudly in the human’s ear just for good measure, then took off and flew away. He should go and find the young boy Cain. 

The angel loved his brother Abel so obviously the demon should hang out with the slightly broodier brother. 

That was the only option. 

So Crawley flew to find the other brother, really if he was going to be flying as a Crow, his name should be Crowley not Crawley. Never much like being a snake anyway, he much prefers the freedom of flying than being forced to travel around on his stomach in the dirt. 

The demon didn’t find the boy anywhere in the house, so he flew out to the fields. Both of the boys worked too much if you asked him, honestly he doesn’t even think God received the sacrifices. 

She didn't like them even if she did get them, she much preferred flowers and fruits to corn and slaughtered goats and lambs. At least, those were her favorite to create. 

He was lurched from his thoughts when he came upon the person he was searching for. Oh great, goody two shoes was there too, so the angel couldn't be that far behind. 

Later the demon would recall a look in his boy’s eyes that he didn’t recognize, an aggression in his stance similar to the one he used while hunting, but currently all he could feel was an extreme annoyance at how hard it was going to be to corrupt anyone with a messenger of the Lord nearby.

Crowley was still grumbling about this when Cain threw the first punch. There truly was no warning, one minute they were talking, the next Abel had a bloody nose and Cain a bloody hand. The sight was the first thing to truly shock the Demon. 

He didn’t yet know that humans could do so much evil without him. 

It didn’t stop with one punch, no there was second, and a third, and a fourth and on and on until Abel was on the ground. 

That was when Cain grabbed the rock. It was a good rock for smashing heads in as far as rocks go, not too round and easy to hold on to even with its above average size. There was a good point on it that Crowley observed making holes in Abel's head as it was repeatedly smashed down. 

The boy tried to defend himself, he truly did but there was no competition. One party aimed to kill while the other aimed to subdue, one feat is much harder than the other. This is especially certain when the killer had the advantage of surprise and the defender was still holding onto the hope that his brother loved him enough not to end his life. 

It was a foolish hope. 

As quickly as it had started, it had ended. The screaming and fighting back stopped, and after a few more blows to his brother's head with the rock that made a sickening squelch each time, Cain stood up covered in blood. The boy calmly walked over to the river and cleaned himself off. There was no remorse on his face, only solemn acceptance. 

After the human had left, the demon watched as the angel showed up. 

His enemy had some thinly shaved pieces of wood in his hand, bound together to form something similar to a stack of wooden leaves that were stuck together on one end. If the demon looked hard enough, he swore he could've saw some faint marks on the first page that seemed intentional. 

Aziraphale walked onto the scene with no idea of the horrors that had happened not moments ago, but as soon as the angel saw the body he dropped the strange object and fell to his knees. He crawled over to the corpse, and dipped his hand down to try and cradle the boy's head. 

The angel's hand just pushed the bloody mush around, staining his white robe a deep red. 

Crowley watched curiously as his enemy continued to try and find the boy’s head in the pile of flesh. The attempts were futile, but the supernatural being didn’t seem to realize it. 

Honestly, Crowley thought it was embarrassing for them both at this point, making the forces of heaven and hell look pathetic. He took pity– He went over and grabbed the angel harshly by the shoulders, causing the other to give a full body flinch in return. He loosened his grip slightly before trying to snap the other being out of whatever trance he was in. 

"Aziraphale, enough of this. I'm sure your head office won't be happy if you return these robes stained with blood." The angel made no reaction so he shook him a little to try and get his attention. When he got no reaction, he shook him a little harder. When it became clear the other being was in some sort of state that made him seemingly unconscious Crowley's annoyance dimmed. Unable to fix the big issue, the demon decided to fix what he could. 

“C’mon angel, let's get you cleaned up.” He led the other man by the wrist to the same river the human had washed himself in, though the traces of the other being were all gone by now. 

Crowley led the angel into the water up to his waist, letting himself get wet as well. He tried to rinse the other being’s sleeves by just letting them sit in the rushing water but the blood had already begun to dry. 

Chunks of flesh and bone that had stuck to the angel’s clothes came loose in the flowing water, and drifted slowly down stream. The angel had made no reaction to the demon still and honestly it was starting to worry  annoy him. He was just staring into the red ring forming around his body as the blood that had soaked into the lower-half of his robe slowly started to come off in the water. 

Not quite knowing what to do, Crowley stayed silent, and started to wash the blood from Aziraphale's sleeves. Once he got it almost back to the white it was before, the demon used a miracle to clear away the remaining stain. 

The angel had still not reacted, but that was fine by Crowley, he still had work to do. There were splashes of blood dotting all over the angel’s robe around his torso and neck. 

Crowley reached for the edge of a reed that was hanging over the river. When he picked the plant it died in his hands, becoming rough and scratchy. He used another miracle to increase the durability of the plant so that it would not crumble in his hands. 

The demon held the dead reed in his mouth as he cupped the water in his hands and poured it over the blood stains on the angel’s robe. He used the reed to scrub at the stains, paying little mind to the other’s comfort. 

Maybe some of the pain will clear the haunted look in his eyes. 

He continued in the same process he used to cleanse the sleeves on the rest of the robe. The demon poured water on then scrubbed the red marks until they were nothing more than a faint ghost of what they used to be, then moved onto the next. 

The angel had not been clean in his mourning, getting drops of blood up and down his chest and near his neck. Crowley took care of them all, scrubbing until they were all but gone. He got every tiny little splash of red or brown that stained the pure white fabric until there were nothing but the faint stains of orange. 

Then he snapped his fingers and those were gone too. 

Crowley looked the angel over and noticed that there were a few flecks of red on the angel’s face and in his hair. Not wanting to ruin all his hard work by using the rough reed on his face and making the angel bleed(No doubt he would let it drip back onto his clean robe in his delirious state), the demon grabbed another reed from the bank.

This time instead of killing it instantly in his hand, he imbued the plant with fear, so that it used its own willpower to hang onto the last threads of life in his hand and remain soft. He brushed the new plant delicately against the angel’s soft skin, careful to avoid his eyes. 

Finally the angel reacted, eyes darting up to meet Crowley’s as the plant brushed against his face. The demon paused, eyes questioning if he should continue. After a slight pause, Aziraphale nodded, but now his eyes trailed the other man’s every move. 

Crowley continued to clean his face, worry subsided by the presence of his new observer. Now that the angel was conscious, he was gentler with his movements. He didn’t want to spook him and have him fly away, getting himself even more wet. 

Once the red droplets on the angel’s face had been brushed away, he dropped the reed into the river in favor of using his hands for the hair. 

Crowley cupped more water in his hands and poured it over the angel’s head. His eyes closed when the cold water washed over them, but shot back open the moment they were clear. 

The demon thread his long, bony fingers into the angel's hair, weaving them in and out of the soft material. He pulled slightly at the curls to detangle the knots and remove the small amount of blood staining the white strands. He massaged the angel’s scalp as well, removing dirt that had accumulated there thanks to the desert winds. 

The tension in Aziraphale's shoulders finally began to disappear. His eyes softened with a unique euphoria, and a moment later he closed his eyes and leaned into the demon’s touch. 

A small smile broke through Crowley’s normally scowling face as he looked at the angel. He reminded him of one of the animals he had seen in the garden, a baby wolf. What had the women called it? Oh right, a puppy. 

The angel who had come down from heaven to guard the garden of God with a flaming sword, looked like a cute puppy. 

What a strange world this Earth is. 

After a few minutes of massaging the other’s scalp, Crowley's hands were getting tired, and the cold from the river was starting to get annoying. He untangled and removed his fingers from the angel’s hair, but he didn’t miss how the man's head tried to follow the sensation of his hands, almost as if he had wanted it to continue longer. 

Crowley almost put his hands back. Almost

Instead, he brought his hands down to Aziraphel's elbows. He looked him in the eyes and nodded his head toward the bank opposite to the side with the corpse. 

Aziraphale shook his head. “I– I want to give him a proper send off… Maybe, if we treat him like one of the goats, she will take him up and take care of him now that he’s…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, choking on a small sob. 

Crowley looked at the crumbling man. He didn’t understand his grief, but he did understand that the man in front of him was breaking. 

How can one feeling so utterly destroy a powerful being such as Aziraphale? It's not like the angel has to worry about dying himself. It's also not as if the being is gone forever, Armageddon will be here before they know it then they both will be off the clock for the foreseeable future, and angel here can reunite with his pet. 

How one being can have such control over another was beyond comprehension for Crowley, but the tears now freely falling down Aziraphale’s face caused him to put his own confusion aside.

Taking a deep breath he made his decision. 

“Ok.” 

There wasn’t a light in the angel’s eyes, but the darkness of grief that had consumed them since he found the body receded just a little, and that made the whole ordeal worth it. 

They drug themselves through the river, back towards the bank, towards the corpse. About an hour had passed since the demon led the angel into the river, now they trace their footsteps back to the horrific site. 

It was almost worse than Crowley remembered, the smell had definitely gotten worse. 

Aziraphale look at the scene, eyes beginning to cloud over once again. Crowley was close enough that he was able to grip onto the angel’s shoulder, digging his nails into his flesh. The demon did it just hard enough not to draw blood, the effect was instant. 

The holy man yelped and threw a scandalized look at the demon, but the dark clouds in his eyes and receded once again and he was here. 

“You didn’t need to do it that hard.” He said, rubbing his shoulder with a slight grimace on his face. 

The demon only smirked, “It worked, didn’t it?” He said with a small chuckle. 

Aziraphale glared at him, but solemnly turned back to the task at hand. He went over to what used to be Abel and bent down to try to start gathering up the body. Before his knees could even fully bend, Crowley growled. 

“Don’t. You. Dare.” 

The demon's pupils had narrowed into paper thin slits and his eyes were blown wide showing off his haunted yellow irises. Fear was rolling off him in waves, even the wind seemed to tremble on the edge of his word. 

Aziraphale’s holy confidence shielded him from the worst of it, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t affected at all. Angels don’t lie so he chose to remain silent. 

“I just spent thirty minutes cleaning those dreadful white robes, and you go and try to stain them again the first second you are out of the river? No, you go prepare your altar thing or whatever, I’ll deal with the… clean up.” The demon said, dropping his intimidation. 

At that, Aziraphale stood up. He wasn’t looking forward to cleaning up his friend so he was glad the demon had spoken up, even if it was for selfish reasons. Though, the reasoning did seem weak, even too him. If he weren’t an angel and the man across from him not a demon, he would dare to say Crawley was trying to be… kind… 

A demon being kind, what a thought? 

The angel smiled, and manners perfect as ever, he uttered a simple “Thank you Crawley.” and turned away to go find what he needed for the altar. 

The angel left the demon stunned. 

He had not been thanked in a long time. 

He’s a demon, he’s not supposed to get thanked for anything. Ever. 

Suddenly he was filled with the overwhelming need to defend his wicked and selfish intent to the world. 

“I’m not doing this for you!” He shouted, but the angel was gone, so he continued on even louder. 

“I’m doing it because you are making supernatural beings look bad! If people realize that they can walk all over YOU they might try and walk all over ME, so actually I’m being super selfish right now, this is all about me and not about you at all! You hear me angel!!” He screamed so loud that his voice was raw, but Aziraphale never heard, to focused on trying to find the best for the altar to his friend. 

Crowley breathed hard for a moment, attempting to recover his breath. Looking over to the body he realized that this task was going to be harder than he might have first assumed when he took it on. 

Maybe he should’ve let the angel do it, blood stained robes be damned. 

But now the angel was gone, and it was only him and the corpse, and maybe god if she was deciding to be an all seeing creep at the moment. 

Crowley looked around himself for something to put the pieces in, and settled once again upon the reeds. They haven’t failed him yet and he is sure that with his display from earlier, they know not to fail him now. 

The demon gathered several large reeds and started weaving them into a basket as he had seen Eve do hundreds of times since they left the garden. 

As he was weaving Crowley continued to grumble to himself. “Probably couldn’t even gather stuff for the altar anyway, most of it was probably holy items that would have burned me.” 

The repetitve action for his hands helped him to sort through his thoughts and process them better, coming up with all sorts of excuses for why he assisting the angel “I’m just doing this because knowing him it would’ve take all night and he probably would have woken me up with the fire.” he said as he was finishing up weaving the last row. 

After Crowley was done with the weaving he went back to the river and grabbed some sediment from the bank to rub on the inside of the basket creating a watertight seal. “Just doing this so that the blood won’t drip on me when I have to carry this thing to that damned holy altar.” he muttered under his breath. 

Crowley went back to the murder scene and saw the blood covered stone. Near it was another slightly flatter stone of roughly the same size. The demon picked up the murder stone and began chipping away at the flatter stone. He was attempting to cave it in so that it would be a better tool suited for scooping up skull-mush. “Stupid angel having a stupid friend who got his stupid head smashed in.” 

His demonic strength sped up the process, and only fifteen minutes later he had a spoon-like shovel that was perfect for scooping up the mess that was Abel’s body. “Not even nice enough to stick around and help out, could’ve at least miracled a tool for me, but nooo I had to make it myself.” 

Crowley began scooping up the mess into his woven basket. He made sure the reed’s he had used were completely dead so that it would burn nicely for the angel on the altar. He continued to complain, and justify his actions under his breath as he worked, but the excuses sounded weak, even to himself. 

Finally, after about two and a half hours of labor, he was done. The angel still wasn’t back yet so he sat down on a nearby log to admire his work. The body was fully in the basket and coerced with a lid to try and tamper down on the smell. The soil where the body had been was thoroughly mixed up, showing no visible signs of the blood that had stained its ground not ten minutes ago.

It was a nice area, Crowley can see why the angel and Abel had enjoyed hanging out here. He’ll have to put a tree here, something to come back to in a hundred years. Just as he was thinking about this, Aziraphale stumbled back out through the tall grass. 

The angel looked the demon in the eyes, taking a shaky breath, he said, 

“It's ready.” 

Crowley nodded once at the other man before walking over and picking up the basket. He hefted it up to his chest with a small grunt, before turning to Aziraphale with a solemn look on his face. 

“Lead the way.” he said neutrally. 

The angel gave a quick nod before turning back the way he came and trudging through the grass. Crowley followed close behind, trying to keep up so that he didn’t lose the angel in the brush. 

They walked for a good twenty minutes, and just when Crowley was about to start complaining, they arrived. 

The altar was simple, but extravagant. The demon recognized it as Abel’s old altar as the base for the display, but the angel had carved a beautiful mosaic all across the three stones. 

The mosaic was full of designs and depictions of all the good things the boy had done, from illustrations of his brilliant sacrifices to the times he helped out baby animals, to conversations he had with Aziraphale himself. All were shown. Around the altar were bouquets of the prettiest flowers Crowley had ever seen. Explosions of pink, yellow and purple interlaced with green and brown surrounded the stones, giving the whole area the feeling of spring incarnate. 

The altar was also covered with food. Vegetables and fruits were laid in a way that they did not obstruct any of the designs of the mosaic, but instead added to it. There was a blank hole in the center, the exact size of the basket Crowley was holding in his hands. How the angel knew the exact dimensions of the basket brought so many questions to the demon’s head but as soon as he looked at Aziraphale they all left. 

He was staring at the altar, shoulder still slumped giving away his grief, but a small proud smile on his face in sight of his work. 

“Its beautiful Aziraphale, he would be proud.” The out of character words escaped the demon’s mouth before he could stop them, but Aziraphale was too caught up in the moment to notice. 

“Thank you.” They stood there for a minute, one awed at the beauty of the scene, and the other preparing for what had to come next.

Unfortunately, the moment couldn’t last forever. 

The angel moved first, taking a step towards the altar. Crowley followed him, but his feet started burning. 

“Ah, eeh, ooh, hot hot hot hot. Holy ground, holy ground, holy ground.” He was hopping from one foot to the other as he advanced towards the altar, aiming to have his feet contact the ground as little as possible. 

“Oh my word, Crowley, are you all right?” Aziraphale was alarmed, having forgotten for a moment that the two of them were genetically opposed. 

“Yeahhhh, I’m-Ah! Fine-ooh!, Just gonna. Move past ya– Ow! – real quick.” He hopped past the angel, skipping towards the altar. He avoided the flowers just barely but he got the body on the altar then immediately transformed into a crow.

The demon flew over and landed on the angel’s shoulder, releasing a deep sigh. “Sorry about that, should’ve figured an altar set up by an angel would constitute as holy ground, but the thought didn’t cross my mind.” 

Aziraphale chuckled to himself at the absurdity of the situation. A demon, helping an angel set up an altar for a dead human. The world was ending when it had just barely begun!

His chuckles eventually evolved into full on hysterical laughter. The faint mix of fear and wrong that he knows should be there mixed with his feelings of belonging and safety with the demon next to him into a crazed hysteria. 

Crow-Crowley just looked at him quizzically, not understanding how the being could be broken by grief one moment, then laughing until he was crying at seemingly nothing the next.��

It only took five minutes for Aziraphale’s laughter to die in his throat, his reason for being there sobering him from the absurd release. 

He stared at the altar after that, contemplating how to do this. 

She wanted humans to pray right? That’s what she told them in the garden. 

So, for the first time in history, an Angel closed his eyes and began to pray.

 Hey, God. It’s me, Aziraphale, but you already knew that, didn't you? 

…

Right anyway, I was hoping you can keep Abel safe? Until the rapture at least? He was a good kid and I’m sure he will have plenty to discuss with you if you keep him in your presence. 

Anyway, Thank you. 

 The angel opened his eyes feeling quite calm, he could see why the humans had been so eager to do it. Well, maybe that and the threat of an eternity spent in an eternal burning pit of torture. 

Aziraphale once again looked at the altar, and his breath caught in his throat. Abel was really gone wasn’t he? He couldn’t do this, he couldn’t bring himself to burn his friend, let alone their body. 

“I-I can’t, I can’t do this.” The angel breathed out, sobs caught on the edge of his breath. 

Crowley was given whiplash by the abrupt changing of emotion. A moment ago the angel was laughing so hard that tears were coming to his eyes, now he was choking on sobs. 

Fearing that the angel would retreat back to the state he was when he found the body, Crowley did something he’s never done before and only done once or twice since: 

He offered to help. 

“I could burn the body.” The demon didn’t think about what he was saying, he didn’t even question it. It just felt.. right. 

This time the character slip-up didn't go unnoticed by the angel, who flinched at the words from the being beside him. He had forgotten he was there. Aziraphale’s eyes blew wide with shock as he stared at the demon in the body of a crow. 

He looked in those beady black eyes for some type of hidden motive, but even for a bird his body language was genuine. So the angel did something very human of him. Aziraphale trusted someone who he had every reason to believe would stab him in the back. 

Crow-Crowley nodded and flew away. He went back to the river and once again plucked the tip of one of the reeds. In his hands it dried out instantly and became brittle and hard. A second later it combusted in a brilliant flash of red and white. The demon watched as the fire danced over the reed without destroying it, just as he willed. 

Crowley had made the first burning bush about 2000 years before Moses had stumbled upon it. 

The demon once again became a bird and flew back to the altar, drawing a trail to the dead man with the burning plant through the sky. When he arrived he circled down toward the wicker basket, creating a spiral trail of smoke. When he was about 3 feet up from the altar, he swooped down and dropped the branch, coasting over to reclaim his spot on the angel's shoulder. 

Aziraphale watched the bird solemnly. He did not understand how something that hurt so much could be so beautiful. He watched as Crawley spiraled down and couldn’t help but think that the smoke trail he was leaving behind would help Abel to reach the heavens. 

When the deed was done, he nodded to the bird that was on his shoulder and watched the altar. 

The flames did not explode around the stones in a brilliant explosion worthy of a man such as Abel, nor did they come up in artistic displays that would confirm his soul was on its path to her side. Instead it burned slowly, just as a regular group of reeds and other flora would burn on top of stone. 

The fire slowly consumed every bit of beauty and work that Aziraphale had put into the display without discrimination. It destroyed the magnificent colors and foods that the angel had pain-stakingly collected. The red and yellow plasma left scorch marks that marred the beautiful murals that had taken him hours to carve out. 

On top of it all was Abel's body, slowly crackling into ash and dust. 

The altar took three hours and seventeen minutes to burn, the angel and the demon stood there watching the entire time. 

As the fire was fading out and the smoke was beginning to clear, Crowley did something that he wouldn’t do again until the end of the world. He prayed. 

Hey… your majesty? Is that what you go by? I don’t know, anyway god. I know we aren’t on the best of terms right now, my side having tried to overthrow your side and everything but despite our differences I just wanted to let you know… Abel was a good kid. 

A good human in fact, definitely harder to tempt than the rest of his family. Though, maybe that is because he never met a woman… 

That's besides the point, what I’m trying to say is, whatever expectations or rules that you are putting on these creatures, this one soared above and beyond them and then some. 

Do with that what you will. 

And though Crowley’s first prayer was more of a report than a spiritual experience it was still the first time a demon had prayed. 

The embers of the wicker basket finally fizzled out and died, leaving nothing behind of the ceremony but the marred murals and ash. With that, the first funeral ever, was over, and the relationship between a demon and an angel became just a little bit more human.

[semper-legens]

28. A Haunting in the Arctic, by C.J. Cooke

Owned: No, library Page count: 368 My summary: 1901. Nicky, abandoned by her husband and grieving the loss of her daughter, is kidnapped onto the Ormen, her father's whaling ship. They think she owes her, and they're going to collect. 1973. The Ormen is a research vessel, drifting in Arctic waters. Only one of the dead is found, mutilated and alone. 2023. Urban explorer Dom is documenting the ship before it is sunk. She thought she was alone - until a trio of other explorers joined her. But there's something else here. Something angry. And it won't let any of them go... My rating: 2/5 My commentary:

Well, this was inevitable. If you know anything about my predilections, you'll know that I am absolutely fascinated by Bad Things Happening At Sea, survival situations including survival cannibalism, and in particular bad things going on during Arctic expeditions. So when a historical horror novel called A Haunting in the Arctic crosses my path, of course I have to read the darn thing. It's practically an obligation at this point. A split narrative, one woman investigating what went wrong on this whaling ship, one woman experiencing events as they happen…there's a lot that's appealing about the premise, and I had high hopes going in!

The key words there being 'going in'. Unfortunately, I found this book rather too bland for my tastes. See, the reason behind the split narrative is obvious from early on. Dom has dreams of being a selkie, and Nicky is called a selkie wife and is obviously physically transforming into a selkie…hmm, could these two perchance be linked? That Dom is Nicky is obvious from the start, but the book only reveals this at the very end. The idea of a ghost working through her trauma by haunting, in a way that inadvertently causes the deaths of others (the trio Dom meets are the ghosts of two of the research team and one man from the whaling ship) could be interesting. So too could be the idea of ghosts trapped in a loop, trying desperately to redeem their killer. But this is all just mentioned in passing, backstory to be uncovered in the climax.

And the 'mystery' here, aside from being obvious, is treated really clumsily. There are so many points when another character will say to Dom 'I know who you are!' or something like that, then conveniently be interrupted before they can spill all. It doesn't build suspense, it's just frustrating after a point. And when you've realised Dom's secret, it makes all the clumsy references to TikTok and social media that much clunkier - they're there seemingly to mislead the reader, as Nicky wouldn't know about the internet, obviously. Characters are not given full names so their reveal can be a surprise later, but the omission is glaring given parallels between present-day and past characters, to the point where it's not hard to work out who's who. Nicky and Dom's names are the most egregious - they're both short for Dominique, which is only brought out at the end.

Aside from that, though, I think the book's biggest problem is that Dom and Nicky are both really passive characters. And I feel bad for calling them that - this book is about trauma, and how trauma can shape you as a person - but the fact is that they just don't do anything. Nicky only makes one belated, half-hearted attempt to escape captivity. Dom mostly goes along with the others, there's nothing that she really does but decide to explore the ship. I know, I know, this sounds victim-blamey, but there's ways to write this sort of character in this sort of situation that doesn't stray into complete passivity. Nicky is helpless against the will of the men on the ship, but maybe if we saw more of her as a person beside her grief and pain then she might seem more whole? If Dom was actively making attempts to discover herself and change, unconscious as they may be, then she might appear more active? But no, they just don't do much until the time comes for the reveal, and that's disappointing. I can't tell you much about these characters other than the pain they went through. Their likes, dislikes, hopes, dreams…nothing.

And, look. I don't know much about whalers in the early 1900s. I'm pretty sure they weren't outfitted with cages that can be dragged behind the ship as a punishment, and that they weren't in the habit of cutting people's hands off? The myth of the selkie as portrayed in this book is also not much like any selkie-story I know. I don't want to say that the author did no research - on the contrary, her afterwords shows a lot of time researching - and there's something to be said for artistic licensce, but this seemed a wee bit egregious. Also, this is a minor thing, but Nicky's husband is away fighting because of the grief caused by their daughter's death. He's fighting in the Second Boer War. You know, where Britain invented the concentration camp. And it's mentioned that he's actively doing war crimes too! What a baffling thing to just bring up as background detail. Feel sorry for the man actively participating in starving, abusing, imprisoning, and murdering civilians! He lost a kid! And now he's burning farms, murdering prisoners of war, and forcing people into literal fucking concentration camps. But he's sad about it! Like, Jesus fucking Christ.

Next…like I said, I'm speedrunning. House of Night!

[aliveandrestless5]

Is love what makes us human?

This might read as just the incoherent ramblings of a sleep deprived mad man, but stay with me.

As someone who is autistic and on the ace spectrum (asexual/some form of aromantic idk still working it out) I spend a lot of time listening to people talk about love and empathy, and the their amounts and lack of each. There are people who say that “love is what makes us human!” And there are others, typically those on the ace or autistic spectrum such as myself, who disagree, and argue “being human is what makes us human, love has nothing to do with it.”

I personally think, that in a lot of cases, when these two perspectives are arguing with one another, both are misunderstanding what it means to love, and to have love for others.

Before you can argue about whether or not you can be human without feeling love, you should first decide what you mean by love, exactly. Are you talking about a specific form of love? Romantic love? Sexual love? Because you can definitely be human without experiencing those. Or do you just mean “love” in general?

“Love” is not one thing. I truly hate the fact that the English language only has one word for love, because it does such a shit job at encompassing such a giant range of feelings and emotions. The Greeks did a better job, with their seven words for love, but even that doesn’t feel like enough. Love is a hundred different things! Love can be shown and felt in a hundred different ways!

In media, love is so often portrayed through such a narrow lens. It is either romantic between partners, or platonic through friends or family, and that is usually it. But those are only a teeny tiny fraction of the ways humans feel and experience love. There are so many more. To simply say that love is just one thing, and that it can only be shown in one specific way is! Insanity!

Furthermore: most people seem to be able to grasp the idea that you can feel love for someone without feeling sexual attraction to them, but they do not understand that the same concept applies to every single form of love. You can feel one form of love, any form of love, without feeling the others, and guess what! It’s still love!

You can love a person (or a thing! Or an animal! Or a concept! Literally anything!) without without ever being attracted to them romantically, physically, or sexually! You can love someone without ever being able to feel empathy for them! Even if you are someone who cannot feel any sort of romantic or sexual love, and also cannot feel empathy/are low empathy, to say that you have never felt love, ever, is an absolutely ludicrous statement to me.

Because, in my mind, I see love as something so much bigger than the three simple categories (love for friends and or family, love for romantic partners, love for sexual partners) it’s most often divided into. There so so so so so many other ways people experience and display love in the world, and it’s really sad to be that there are people who do these things without ever realizing that they are just. Other forms of love.

Caring for a pet. Moving a plant to a windowsill so it can get more light. Carving your name into the side of your favorite tree to let others know that it was yours. Leaving food out for stray animals. Collecting. Bird-watching. Devotion to a god/religion. Playing a game of jump rope, singing the same rhyme children have sung for decades. Keeping the same stuffed animal you’ve had since you were a little kid. Picking up litter off of the side of the road. Getting out of bed on days where just that simple act is hard. Letting yourself rest on days where it is impossible. Self-care. Going to therapy. Feeling grief after loss. Painting, writing, simply creating something you feel good about. Admiring an old painting. Reading a book over and over until you know the entire thing by heart. Mourning the death of a fictional character. Repairing a hole in your favorite pair of jeans so you can keep wearing them. Restoring an old house. Rescuing an old desk from the side of the road. Eagerly learning a new skill. Working out to improve your health. Getting a tattoo. Dying your hair to boost your confidence. Wanting to learn everything there is to know about a given topic. Devoting your life to pursuing a career or passion. Staring in wonder at something, the night sky, an insect, a math problem, a painting. Feeling in awe over anything at all.

All of these things, every single one, is something I consider an act of love. If you read through this list and nothing resonates with you… then yeah. I might be questioning your humanity a little bit, I won’t lie.

Even if it’s not for another human being. Even if it’s for a subject, a cause, something your passionate about, the Planet, an inanimate object, or just for yourself. It’s still love, even if it’s in a form most don’t recognize. It still counts.

“But matches,” I hear you asking, “how does it count if it’s not between two people? If it doesn’t benefit anyone, or only benefits me, then how can it be an act of love?”

Love has a way of spreading, I think. It’ll bleed out, touch other people. Something you create for your love of creating might bring joy to someone else down the road, even if that wasn’t your original intention. And even if it does only affect you, if it’s an act that only you are benefiting from, then so what? You are still a person. You are worthy of experiencing the love you give to the world around you. That doesn’t make it any less real or important. If it makes you feel good in some way, and is not hurting anyone else, then why shouldn’t it count?

I may not feel sexual attraction, and my own feelings of romantic attraction are too complex for me to put into words without writing another essay, but to tell me that I don’t experience love? That the awe I feel looking up at the night sky, the pure joy and wonder I get from diving headfirst into the ocean, the passion and drive I have for art and writing, isn’t love? Absolute insanity.

Now, circling back to the original point of this post: do I believe love is the thing that makes us human?

In short: Yes. I do.

This is because I believe that simply being alive is an act of love, in of itself.

Just by being here, by interacting with the world around you, wether you realize it or not, you are committing acts of love in a hundred different ways. The passion, the wonder, that need to know instinct that’s inside each and every one of us, pushing us forwards. The curiosity that defines us as a species. To me? That is love, as well.

The universe loves you, dear reader, because you are love.

[donald-is-my-man]

I believe this phrase defines Ressler better than any other told by any other characters, including Red.

And oh, did you catch the The Wonderful Wizard of Oz reference in Red's words? Hint, Tin Woodman, hint.

There’s something haunting about the way this phrase is told by Reddington. Not only because Red truly knows what it means because he’s experienced many losses along his way (and, subsequently, much of those were inflicted by him, directly or not), but also because this phrase captures the essence of Donald.

Grief. He’s starting his way in life with a loss and grief for his father, then—his brother, though it’s estrangement rather than death. Another loss nonetheless. He loses Audrey—not once, actually. Twice. I’m not sure whether Red (I mean, he knew everything about Donald, including the break-up with Audrey, so it’s quite possible he might’ve guessed she’d come back at some point in Don’s life) predicted Audrey coming back to Ressler, but indirectly he’s complicit of her death as well.

The last significant loss in Donald’s life would be Liz. I won’t go into debates about her and Donald and argue the one-sided nature of their connection. My opinion is based is solely on how I interpret Donald’s actions and language. Her death has crippled Donald. A final straw after which he hits the rock bottom, and reaches the point of self-hatred where nothing matters. His life, feelings, Reddington (yeah, take it or leave it, but the guy’d been a part of his life since the moment that file had landed on Donald’s desk), his job. What’s the point of fighting, protecting the innocents, what’s the point of doing good if he can’t save those he cares for and about?

Old habits are hard to break... But he’d never really broken them, hadn’t he? He’s way too good at hiding what’s beneath, where his most intimate desires, aches, and fear lie. Look with what ease he’s crushing those pills with the glass. And how effortlessly he lies to the doctors, who are completely oblivious. They see a man who needs help, not an addict. And he gets another fix. And another.

Everyone can see he’s hurting but let’s be honest—no one tries to actually make him sit and talk. Yes, they do offer their shoulder to cry on and confess, but... Honestly, it’s like standing on the shore and offering the drowning man a life jacket.

It takes Donald lots of will power and perseverance to be back from the abyss. He’s back, his inner self damaged and bruised. He’s picking up the pieces of himself. But Donald is crippled no more—he is slowly coming to terms with the fact that sometimes you lose. You lose this or that fight, you lose someone. It happens. Life happens. Can’t do anything about it. But to feel—or not to feel, be numb and silent, for that matter—is also alright. We're all humans, we all are designed to feel things. Nothing to be ashamed of.

I know there are good people out there. People I could connect with. People I should connect with. But I don’t. I can’t. Not yet, anyway.

Tin Woodman was looking for the heart, hoping the Wizard would gift it to him.

Donald, after so many years of deliberate ignorance of his own heart, has finally uncovered it.

And hopefully, he’ll find a way how to live with it.

[akuma-homura]

reflecting on my brothers death rambling

man. I'm listening to Borderline by Tame Impala-- a song I really like, have some muse thoughts for, but also. Repeated on a loop the following day when we found out my brother died.

I. Mm. When it happened I was thinking how I wish I could have talked to him more, interacted more, maybe even shown up on his and moms video chats every now and then. How it had me think of how I wish I was closer to my brothers in general, how I should reach out more.

But I realize more and more that I just don't have it in me. If he hadn't died, things would likely be the same as they were before on my end.

And even thinking now about my remaining brother (somehow only with all of this did I realize he was the middle child lol? it's hard for me to grasp when I'm like 15 years younger than them or so and didn't live with them in the house) I like. I don't actually know how I'd connect. We're family, yes, but. I don't know anything about him. I don't know how much he knows about me.

...I say that because I guess I also just don't have a sense of how people perceive me, the fact that I am perceived-- my late brother apparently talked about I guess what little he'd heard of my projects, how smart I am, ect. (but not smarter than him, of course)

and. That was so bizarre and alien for me to hear. That he actually talked about me. Knew a little bit about what I was up to? How much he loved me.

...shit, I'm tearing up typing all that. Fuck.

I've said it in other ramblings regarding this, but I also just realized I don't know my brothers. Like, as people. I didn't know what my late brother was like, and hearing others talk about him who did know him better...

And I don't actually know much of anything about my remaining brother, either. He's a father. Apparently he has a twitch channel and streams games sometimes. I don't even know what he's doing as a job right now. He's so short?????

I knew my late brother as the nice one, my remaining as the rowdier one. Expected my late brother to be more successful and stable, but the opposite ended up the case.

That's... it.

But even so, even so, even so, the sadness remains. The fact I didn't get to really really know him. The fact he loved me? And I never even-- somehow I just thought he didn't really think about me at all enough to feel anything about me.

We have a picture of him on the wall-- we have an area in the kitchen that's basically become a bit of a memorial area for the people we've lost like... honestly since the start of the new decade. And now he's there, too.

And every time I look. Every time I see. There's still that pang of pain. The emotions swelling up. I'm still sad.

I can deal with it fine and all, but. I dunno. I guess this is the biggest death I've experienced of a human being, and I know grief doesn't go away.

I was already sad thinking about Technoblade's death, I was getting into Generation Loss after the streams were done, I was working on UTAU stuff, and then...

I can't touch the project I was working on with my old UTAU. I try to, but I can't. The emotions come back. The realization that while I was working on it, he was in the hospital, dying. Dead. The exact time I took a small pause, was when he died. When I was finally going to go to sleep at like 5AM, I was laughing to some tiktoks, then heard a sound from my mother, wondered if something happened to our dog rose before thinking something happened to a human person. And then.

And then...

And now I can't touch that cover. I had ideas for it. I had ideas for Heikinne. But now I just...

Hghhhgh. Associations. And not only that, the grief has messed my body up, even though it isn't constant. I can tell I'm physically doing worse off comparatively, when I was already doing badly bc of the stress from the scam in February, on top of what I can only assume is long covid shit on top of my existing issues. Even now. Hell, that's why I haven't streamed as much as I've wanted-- I REALLY wanted to get back to the swing of things in August, but I genuinely wasn't able to. Thinking about it was too taxing. I want to do stuff for spooky month this month, and I hope I can, but I'm also..... unsure if I ultimately will, either.

I dunno.

I do wish he could still be around so I could actually show him what I'm up to. Especially with me actually getting some stuff running.

But it does ultimately want to have me continue to work, regardless. We only have so much time, and I want to be able to get out as much as I can before anything happens, either to me, or to the world.

[theresalwaysatwistattheend]

Every time I read this passage my heart takes an emotional journey on the bumpiest rollercoaster. 😭

I can only imagine the turmoil Harry is experiencing. Not only is he grieving the loss of his Headmaster/Mentor and handling the trauma which came from witnessing his death, but Harry is having to deal with how little he actually knew about Dumbledore. And the guilt which stems from that, as well as the anger.

Harry regrets never taking the time to ask his Professor personal questions, that all they ever really discussed was Harry himself. More specifically the part he had to play in this war.

Here is a young man, who has never really known the love of a parental figure since the day his Mother and Father were murdered.

And when he does allow himself to attach to such figures, they are cruelly snatched away.

He is never really given the time or the proper circumstances to deepen those relationships. And with Harry being a child for 99% of the series, those relationships are sort of one sided.

As it should be really.

As a child we are much too young to worry about our parental figures, in terms of finding out who they are, beyond what they are. It's only as we grow older, that we begin to appreciate them as people and their back stories.

I feel this is what Harry is muddling through in his grief.

Throughout DH, he is bombarded with information about Albus Dumbledore, which quite frankly knocks him for six. He finds out information which he really wishes Albus had told him. Like the fact that they had both lived in Godric's Hollow, both lost loved ones there. This is mind blowing for Harry. They could have bonded over this shared history. Perhaps even have visited one day together.

But Dumbledore chose not to reveal that part of himself. And Harry is hurt, because he doesn't understand why. He had always believed that Dumbledore cared for him. Even during OotP, Harry at his core, still believed Albus cared, and that is why he was so hurt and angry throughout his fifth year. He thought that they shared a special sort of bond. And each time Harry thinks they are getting somewhere, he feels as though Dumbledore takes a step back.

I always feel that had Albus not died that night, he would have been 'forced' to reveal some information to Harry. They had after all gone through a traumatic experience together, and bonded further due to it. And I genuinely think that Albus would have wanted to reveal what he had seen thanks to that potion. He would have felt he owed Harry some answers given what he asked of him that night. But more than that, again, I think he would have wanted to tell Harry. Because he does care. But Albus being who he is, constantly has to walk a fine line. He can only connect with Harry to a certain point. Because Harry is after all, first and foremost, his student. And it would be inappropriate to share too much. But I do think, the night he died, was that first stepping stone on what could have been should he have survived.

But this is what I mean, Harry only knows what he experienced. Harry couldn't see inside Dumbledore's head. All he knew was that Dumbledore kept him at arms length, even though he claimed to care.

So when Harry finds out that Dumbledore had a shaded past, in which he revealed his secrets to Gellert, as a young man himself, Harry is incensed, and even outright jealous. Here was a dark wizard who Dumbledore is known for having defeated, who Albus had revealed his inmost self to after knowing for a few months maximum. I imagine Harry must feel cheated in some regard.

After all, Harry had known and looked up to his Headmaster for six years. He had trusted him implicitly, no questions asked. And yet he didn't hardly know anything about him personally. But Gellert bloody Grindelwald had somehow managed to gain the Holy Grail in a matter of months! If Dumbledore could share with Grindelwald, who turned out to be a dark wizard, then what was wrong with Harry? Why didn't Dumbledore want to share with him? Harry must have felt he meant nothing to his mentor. Which we know isn't true. But it must have been traumatising for a grieving 17 year old boy.

It's only after Harry has spoken to Albus in person, and Albus has at last revealed parts of himself to Harry which he is ashamed of, is Harry able to let go of his anger.

Once he sees that Albus wasn't withholding information about himself because he didn't trust Harry, but rather because he didn't want Harry to think less of him, Harry understands that Albus did and does love him.

And Harry is also now able to say that he loves Albus. Not for being the Headmaster of Hogwarts, or the Greatest Sorcerer of the age, but for being Albus. Because he now knows everything there is to know about the man. Albus Dumbledore is no longer on that pedestal Harry had seated him on. He was finally accessible and attainable. And loved.

[rose-from-ashes]

YOU. Talk about Emet-Selch.

(Please? 💕 what is a Woe of his? what does he view living as a whole, does immortality skew his perspective of life? etc etc.)

OHHH MY FAVORITE HOBBY [cracks knuckles]

His woes are many, but one of them is how easily and painfully people die. He's inhabited many, many mortal bodies, and experienced thousands upon thousands of deaths. One he experiences more often than others due to his tendency to possess the rich is old age- over so many years, feeling his body fall apart, pain and weakness and wear and tear slowly taking hold. But his favorite for how quick (and admittedly, dramatic) it is by gunshot wound to the head or heart- he hears the crack, feels the hit, and he knows that it's time to leave the body, he doesn't usually have to hang around and bleed out.

His own deaths are commonplace to him now, though- he struggles with the deaths of others far more, because they will never come back the same as he does. They reincarnate, sure, he may even meet their soul again, but that is it's own kind of painful. This drives him to frustration and hurt when the topic comes up- Emet-selch is a creature of grief, always, no matter how cavalier his attitude, and yet somehow, people tend to accuse him of not caring at all, which stings almost as much as the loss itself sometimes.

Living is a complicated subject with him, largely because, as he once put it in a famous line that I actually have a sticker of,

To Emet-selch, to live is to do so freely. The less freedom one has, the less ability to look at each path, understand, and choose without fear, the less alive they are- they are simply robots that can hurt. And mortals are rarely free. They toil away their lives in struggle to survive, picking paths not because they want to but because they may die if they do not- entire lives pass by in struggle for richer men, or lying in bed with illness, or dying of starvation, poverty, abuse, et cetera. To him, a mortal life is painful and not much else, and it hurts him to see, so he turns off his empathy and pushes them towards calamity in hopes that some day, mortals will no longer be mortals, but the long lived, powerful Ancients they once were.

However, Emet is also painfully aware that when this goal is achieved, he will no longer be able to serve any purpose. In the course of trying to right an incredibly deep, painful wrong, he's committed his own absolutely horrific actions, slavery, genocide, and ultimately omnicide, to bring back a people who's times have long passed. He knows that he is not a good man, and the knowledge stings when pointed out, resulting in ugly, angry reactions. The founder of Garlemald and Allag does not belong in a kind world, and the gentler man he used to be is gone. In bringing back life as he believes it to be, he plans to condemn his own- he will, essentially, die on the spot, of his own choice, and return to the aether to be with those he has lost. Immortality is not a burden he plans to bear any longer than necessary. In fact, when he does eventually truly die (and it does not happen in the way he'd hoped), he is eventually given the option to return to life- and he refuses it, knowing that it isn't his place. He is content to be mortal again, along with his long lost friends.

[cyberspacechris]

So since my last post about master chiefs characterization did pretty well I felt it wouldn’t hurt to make a follow up just to further emphasize and appreciate the character. The point that maybe I didn’t express well enough last time is that chief is definitely a character where “less is more” with all of his backstory being established, it makes too much for sense for his character to be quiet and emotionally stunted, he was raised in an environment where he wasn’t given much freedom to speak and where any emotional turmoil he was experiencing would not be catered or supported(at least not substantially) Also despite being heavily sheltered and only being told what the UNSC wants him to know, he is by no means ignorant, he still knows about life outside of being a soldier, and he’s aware of himself well enough to know just how much being a soldier has dominated his life, enough to joke about it and acknowledge it. “thought I’d try shooting my way out, mix it up a little”, “asking is not my strong suit” When the pilot asks him why he continues to do what he does despite not having much to care about, he replies “it’s all I know” the man is aware of how limited his skillset is, but also how gifted it is too. When Cortana or the weapon tells him the deathly odds of facing whatever baddie he’s going up against he always shows unshakable conviction that he’s going to come out on top, in a completely unbragging way like it’s just a matter of fact, another symptom of his carefully constructed upbringing. Things like pessimism and doubt would be hinderances to his battlefield performance so he was trained to not give into those concepts, also his confidence is undoubtedly a side affect of his incredible history, defying odds and succeeding in places where no other soldier could (also being told by the librarian that he was basically engineered over the course of thousands of years to be perfect probably helped too lol) so the man really believes in himself, not to mention, his allies. He believes in himself just as much as the people around him, he believes in Cortana undoubtedly, half of the things he’s lived through would’ve ended differently if not for her, and also by the end of halo 3, he trusts arbiter to the point that they’re in sync with each other as they’re escaping the ark. Also I know I briefly touched on this already but he has a good sense of humor, and one that seems to be most present whenever he’s around Cortana which I love. literally the first thing he ever says to her in halo ce is a joke at her expense, and so many of their interactions are brimming with friendly banter (which again I think 343 did well with in halo 4) which just goes to highlight that chief clearly trusted Cortana the most and felt the most comfortable around her. And that gets us to his grief, something that’s present throughout all the halo games is chief’s deeps sense of regret and loss, even towards marines and Spartans he probably hardly knew, in his body language he is so visibly distraught, you can see this when he inspects private Jenkins helmet in halo ce, to when he sees dead Spartans in halo infinite. Also the fact that when sgt johnson died Cortana felt the need to console him because she knew him well enough to know that Johnson meant a lot to him :’) Every life that chief loses weighs on him so heavily, and what hurts him most is that he feels he could’ve easily saved everyone he lost if he had just done something different, it’s clearly how he felt about Cortana’s death (and subsequent resurrection and all that shit lol don’t get me started) Taking that all into account it’s again so easy to see why this guy is the way he is, you have what was intended to be just your run of the mill video game protagonist become this haunting tale of man with decades of trauma behind him, whose few sources of solace and comfort were taken away from him, yet in spite of all his suffering has the most truly indomitable and unyielding spirit of anyone, because to keep going is not just the best, but the ONLY thing he knows how to do.

the man I just described is not present in halo the series, he’s simply been replaced with someone who was deemed more fit for television audiences, and if you like his character and the show in general, absolutely no hate here, power to you, but its one of the reasons why most halo fans just don’t connect with this show.

also again he fucking had sex like what

[denimbex1986]

'This is a confronting film on the topic of human loss based on a novel ‘Strangers’ by Japanese author Taichi Yamada. It is interesting on a number of levels: its theme, form and unconventional elements.

It tells the story of a lonely gay man who finds solace with the only other resident in his huge apartment block. The two quickly become romantically involved. However, the central character Adam (Andrew Scott) seems to have issues preventing him from fully enjoying the ‘here and now’ of his previously unhappy life.

We learn he lost his parents in a car crash when he was a child and it is this unreconciled grief which keeps intruding on his present life. This intrusion takes on the supernatural when we see him frequently returning to his childhood home to engage in dialogues with his deceased parents. The aim of these conversations is to let them know all the things he was unable to tell them due to their premature deaths, specifically he comes out to them about his current life and partner.

We see him travelling on the train on various occasion to continue these discussions. These interactions are presented as matter-of-fact conversations which apparently only he can engage in.

These conversations are presented as so matter-of-fact, we engage with the lead character and are keen to see where this otherworldly interaction will lead. Overall, the performances are very good and the realism in enhanced by the location scenes; railway stations, gay clubs, suburban houses and the modern, bleak apartments of the two protagonists. In addition, the scenes of physical intimacy are very realistic and reflect a genuine, mutual affection.

As the story unfolds, many negative elements are explored: grief, loss, protracted mourning, loneliness, isolation. The latter two elements are enforced by the limited cast: there are only four main characters: Adam, his neighbour/lover Harry (Paul Mescal) and his parents (played by Jamie Bell and Claire Foy). The themes of loneliness and isolation dominate the film as we don’t see any other aspects of Adam’s life. Apart from his love interest and his deceased parents, he has no other significant interactions anywhere else in the movie.

These negative undercurrents continue until the concluding scenes with the ending perhaps the most disturbing aspect of the film. These final scenes emphasise Adam’s isolation by calling into question everything he has experienced since the very first scene – the only one we can take for granted as being ‘real’. We are left wondering how much of the story actually happened and how much (apart from the supernatural scenes with his deceased parents) was sheer imagination. The way the film is constructed, it is impossible to resolve this issue. In a way, it basically ‘pulls the rug out from under us’. Many will find the conclusion disturbing and even perplexing.

All of Us Strangers is a haunting film about a man who struggles for decades with unresolved grief and where his dearly departed are a welcome intrusion.'

[caatws]

I wanted to say I think you have some of the most detailed and well thought out opinions of vol 3 that I have seen. You do a good job of not ignoring the good while also not pretending the movie was flawless. It's very refreshing.

I'm still working on all of my opinions of the movie and one thing I'm becoming more settled on is that the movie suffered from wanting to have its cake and eat it too. Gamora's death and the ways her past self can't easily fall back on what was got a lot of attention during some scenes. Then in other scenes her death was side stepped to point out that technically she's still here and not all is lost. This was used the most when it came to characters who weren't Peter. I certainly am no expert but I think there were better ways to connect those two points. There is a loss worth grieving and feelings that need to be worked through as a team even as they gradually embrace a new situation. That would have required more time be spent and story dedicated to that plot and easy or not I think that should have been done.

The same issue existed for the non existent exploration of how 5 years after the snap things would be really different. Not sure if you watched The Falcon and The Winter Soldier or Hawkeye but both those shows did a better job than vol 3 at not pretending nothing happened. The new Ant-man movie with all it's mess didn't pretend the snap was easy either. I love the guardians and I love the family theme but the family had been through the most difficult struggle ever and was disrupted in pretty hard hitting ways that there was no way to easily bounce back from. Most of them missed 5 years, Gamora was dead, others experienced the reality of what was essentially a post apocalyptic world. At the end Nebula got her sister back in a way where her sister basically lost some of their most crucial bonding years and she couldn't share with anyone she was keeping up with her. There was so much about all of this that needed exploration. I did appreciate Peter's mental state was terrible and the film didn't joke around about it. But that was the only sign IW or EG had taken place for these characters. It made no sense. In fact the movie played vague about Gamora experiencing Endgame and that was the whole plot around which she returned.

AHHH THANK YOU ANON 🫶🏼😭 i do still love this franchise and all these characters with all my heart, so i want to still give credit where credit is due when i can! (i also am thinking of rewatching vol 3 for the first time this weekend since my initial watch like 2 weeks ago, and i'm eager to better see the forest for the trees and pay less attention to the gamora situation and more attention to everything else in the film, bc there were some things that i did rly like!!!)

re: the ways gamora's death was handled differently scene to scene, i agree!!! i also think a way that these differing reactions between the characters could've been better connected is by having that be a more prominent conflict between the characters from start to finish. like it's already kinda established at the beginning that peter grieving is disrupting the team, but i feel like we could've done more with that throughout the film. and rather than have it be peter vs everyone else, it would've been interesting to see how each character individually may have been at different points in their grief journey. but i understand that a rocket backstory-centric film is not gonna allow much room for That much exploration between the characters

also yeah the way post-endgame content has been handling the snap has been one of my biggest criticisms of phases 4 and 5 so far. i did watch tfatws and hawkeye and you're right that those are the only shows that have rly addressed things (and of course quantumania touched on it a fair amount) - and tbh, hawkeye is the only phase 4 project that i felt like i came away from it with a genuinely better understanding of the snap with it showing yelena's pov of getting snapped and then coming back. we definitely needed something to that emotional extent for gotg at some point, whether it be here or the holiday special - something that rly showed how much the snap disrupted their lives and fucked up both those who were snapped and those who were just stuck living in the apocalypse for 5 years. (i also would've loved to see more of how it affected rocket especially, considering his arc in vol 2)

at this point, now that we have phases 4 and some of 5, to me it almost feels like the snap was done all wrong lol. like what was the point of making it 5 years long if it we weren't gonna get to see the actual full impact of it on the characters, especially the ones who lived through the 5 years? the only characters' experiences we rly got to see in depth were the core 6 avengers in endgame...meanwhile, rocket was left as the SOLE member of his team (bc nebula wasn't even technically a guardian yet in 2018) and nebula lost her sister in a super traumatic way. LIKE ARE ROCKET AND NEBULA OKAY LMAO???

similarly, if the mcu wasn't ready to actually handle the implications and the fallout of the circumstances of gamora's death, it shouldn't have done it lmao. like don't dish what you can't take. don't make huge universe-altering and character-devastating story moves if you're not even going to give them the depth they deserve

[tmisaccidentreportbook]

MAG027, A Sturdy Lock

Case #0032408, Paul MacKenzie Release date: July 6, 2016 First listen: Somewhere between the 20th October and the 5th November. I think it was the walk home.

Well, I’m writing this in a state of physical and mental exhaustion, I may still be bleeding and the my scolded hand has about stopped stinging. LET’S GO! 

The Spiral would be so proud…

- Speaking of which, this is our second ever statement attributed to The Spiral and it comes hot on the heels of the first. We see two major features of The Spiral back to back; distortions in glass and mirrors, and doors. Doors that are there that ought not to be, doors that don’t behave as they should.

- ‘…repeated nocturnal intrusions into his home.’ I’m going to sound like a broken record but, once again, this encounter is within the home and damages the psychological and physical safety offered to one by one’s home. I mean, OK, a lot of people spend the vast majority of their time at home. Or at work. So a lot of these statements are going to either occur in a situation where someone has to be there, doing the thing because ‘survival under capitalism’ or in a place where there ought to be peace and sanctuary that gets invaded. Odds are it will be one of the two, kid, you didn’t discover anything groundbreaking. It’s just when you started listening to this show the first time round, you’d only just gotten out of a bad living situation and you were still in a bad working situation that was about to get a whole lot worse. Chill.

- ‘It’s strange to live alone.’ Is living alone currently and has been for maybe 9months now Heck, I forgot about that. I was lucky, eeeeerm, enough to not be living alone during lock down, though in hindsight, I would have been significantly better off if I had been and by this stage of 2020 I was living somewhere else with a lovely family who were friendly but also knew they were taking on a lodger that vaguely resembled a cat in need of rehabilitation. So they were very, very good about including me but also reading when I needed my space. But I worked through lock down, I work in animal husbandry and we needed to look after our charges. Thankfully spring and summer meant we could distance easily and still meet up for meals and be safe. But there’s a hell of a lot of work to do on a site that typically has a work force of +150 people plus volunteers going down to 7. But I don’t think any of us came through lock down unchanged. I think I’ve become sharper, not in the cruel way, I just seem to have more edge to me then I used to. I think the extended period of being alone meant that I wasn’t performing for folks as much as I had been in my life before. And when I didn’t need to hide the teeth, I realised I had them.

- We see it again, an Entity swooping in during a time of loss and grief. As well as the grief and the stress of ‘her condition’ towards the end, the fact that this man has lost the love of his life and his world has irrevocably changed for the first time in 40 years could certainly be a source of fear and uncertainty, along with everything else.

- Noises in the house at night is something, thankfully, that doesn’t bother me. Partly, because there’s a part of me that’s already made peace with death and at least I’d be going under my own duvet, but also I can be a very heavy sleep if the mood takes me. I went to boarding school through secondary, I learnt to sleep through a lot. I also was doing way to much and routinely pulled all nighters so when I did get to sleep, I was typically out like a light.

- Part of me wants to look up statistics of home invasions and burglaries in the UK and look at the age demographics for the victims, but I also don’t know where Mr MacKenzie lives. Also, I can get behind blissful ignorance as a concept.

- The fact that he’s not shying away from the use of the word ‘paranoid’ is telling me that there is a part of him that thinks what he’s experiencing could be illogical, and I’m trying to word this carefully because I know paranoia is something very real that people struggle with. It’s a discussion of mental health that I am not qualified to weigh in on, but part of me wonders that is Mr MacKenzie had not been experiencing such an elevated state of nervousness, if he would have attracted the attention of The Spiral at all.

- ‘I could feel their presence waiting on the landing.’ Can I just get a reading from the room; do other people get this? Does anyone else sometimes become aware of someone’s presence that they are unable to see or hear? I had a quick search to see if there was a word of any scientific or evolutionary reasoning to the phenomena, but all I could find was things that would serve me more at a séance than a study lab. I’m too tired to do a proper research dive so I’m going to chalk it up to residual animal instincts and awareness and wait for someone to correct me.

- Mr MacKenzie has been living in the same house for 40 years. I never moved house as a kid, I lived my life in one old converted barn. Every step on the stairs creaked but I learnt which ones really screamed, I knew how to get the sliding door to cooperate, I knew how to get the boiler to stop grumbling. It’s amazing what little foibles a place can have and how you learn to read them.

- The speed that this encounter takes place feeds into the dread of the situation. The slow walk across the landing, the slow turning of the door handle. It brings to mind the word ‘stalking’.

- I wonder if there was any significance to the battle over the door knob lasting twenty minutes?

- The blood on the hands after being on the door handle for the night. Mr MacKenzie describes feeling his hands ‘grow wet’. There’s no sudden pain of a cut and door handle itself was clean. Now the presence of blood on the hands may just be a supernatural thing, a sinister marvel to add to the dread, I once saw a case of a bird that was so terribly bruised, she was bleeding through her skin. I shudder to think what sort of pressure would be needed to recreate that on a human hand, if the presence of blood was in anyway had a mundane cause.

- The police have been mentioned in a few statements now, either in the immediate aftermath or in prolonged investigations but I think this may be the most involved we’ve seen them with an occurrence. In every instance we’ve encountered them, I can say I’ve been… overly impressed by their performance.

- Now 2003, maybe there aren’t the smartphones or the cameras that would have made gathering evidence of the second night’s visitation easier, but you’d think the dispatcher might have heard the ‘rattling and banging’ of the door down the line.

- I don’t think I’ll live to see retirement honestly, I think my generation and everyone after us will be lucky to, but I think I can understand the fear of being sent into a retirement home against your wishes. The loss of freedom and autonomy. The loss of privacy. Not being able to live life on your schedule and just… waiting. I think Mr MacKenzie is also experiencing fear of what his place is within his son’s life now too, as he says later, Marcus has his own life to lead. I think he himself is adrift as it might have been that he has been effectively living his life for his wife, especially is her ‘condition’ made her a dependant the later stages of her life.

- ‘…for the last month I have lain awake almost every night.’ The Spiral has got to love sleep deprivation, just one big feedback loop. Genius and also torturous.

- So he does try for footage evidence, but the devices don’t pick up anything. Anything except a face, ‘leering’. We know the Distortion has a strange appearance, too long and too many, but I think 2003 is too early for it to have taken Michael. Maybe this was the face of the Distortion before it took Michael’s?

- I can not tell you how quickly my stomach dropped at the line ‘maybe I should get a dog.’

- ‘I am not entirely made of stone’… Jon cares so much it is debilitating at times but he’s in a position that means he is having to ruthlessly suppress that to seem competent and professional. Jon wants so desperately to help people, but he wasn’t built to be a hero.

- Mr MacKenzie died of a stroke two months after the statement was given. Going by the date of the statement, this started July 2003 and could have been going til October, possibly November 2003. If we say 5 months at the outside. 5 months of acute sleep deprivation. Sleep deprivation increases blood pressure, and high blood pressure is considered to be the leading risk factor for strokes. So… yeah, he died of fear.

- We met one of the previous generation of Institute staff member, Sarah Carpenter. I’m fairly certain she’ll be mentioned later in regards to Gertrude’s past missions, but I can’t remember anything key at this point.

- Marcus speaks of ‘already giving his statement’ and if memory serves, it’s another of The Spiral.

- The bedroom door never had a lock… So The Spiral cultivated an environment where Mr MacKenzie was his own jailer, cultivated an environment suitable for inducing long periods of sustained fear.

[clouds-rambles]

hello!~ o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

can i request headcanons for kaeya, diluc, childe, and venti on what they would while their s/o dies in their arms? (if thats okay with u <3)

thank u sm! :))

BESTIE THE PAIN I FEEL RN!!! Omw to make hurt some of my faves hope you enjoy <3

Also guys I’ve been here for a day how are there almost 50 of you following?!

Pairings; (Separate) Kaeya, Diluc, Childe, Venti x reader

Warning(s); hurt, big hurty, reader death, vague wound description, cursing, talk about dead bodies

Keep reading under the cut!

Kaeya

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were meant to live forever with him. You were supposed to grow old with him and become a parent to your future children. You were-

“Kaeya” you choke out smiling at your partner above you. The man shakes his head mentally pleading with you to not die “Kaeya I will always be on the wind” you tell him, a shaky, bloody hand raised to his cheek to weekly caress it

“Please” he pleads “Please don’t die on me [name]” you smile at him feeling the breaths in your lungs disappear

“I’m sorry Kae--ya” you apologise before passing away in his arms

He doesn’t move for a long time. He doesn’t feel for a long time. The one person he could share his secrets and his love to gone. Away with the wind

Kaeya doesn’t remember the last time he cried, but he’ll remember this one. 

Your beaten, bruised, broken, dead, and beautiful body slumped in his arms as his tears fall from his face as he feels an absence in his heart

How is he supposed to live on if this is the pain he feels right now?

Jean eventually stumbles upon Kaeya out in the wilds, still clutched to your now cold and even more lifeless body

Jean manages to get the man up with your body held close to his chest

“Jean, I can’t, I can’t let them go” he pleads as if he’s waiting for you to simply wake up in his arms

“Kaeya...” Jean says in a concerned tone having never seen him in such a state, even he seemed to quickly recover from his fathers death

Eventually Jean coaxed Kaeya to go back to the city and leave your body in the hands of the sisters. Where they dressed you up and prepared a funeral service for you

The funeral was larger than Kaeya was expecting, you had affected a many more people than he realised from your small jobs around the city. Kaeya can’t help but be awed at how many people you’ve helped while you were in Mond

The usual chatter of Mondstat is quiet and in a time of grieving for about a week or so, many people have wonderful memories of you and Kaeya seems to be collecting them all, that and bunches of flowers. Many of which find themselves laying on your tombstone as Kaeya tells you about his day

A month passes and it seems like everything's back to normal, Kaeya is back to his outgoing self. He spends more nights at the tavern, but even Diluc doesn’t have the heart to cut him off. 

Jean seems to pick up on the smallest things, goddamnit Jean, the extra nights at the tavern, the eyebags, the weeping she can hear from his room. In it’s own right is heart-breaking, the acting Grandmaster cannot imagine what it’s like to be actually experiencing that kind of pain

-

Diluc

No, not like this

You had both decided that night to join each other in your little vigilante escapade. Which was fine you had both done this before, but tonight resulted in something very different

Here you are, head on Dilucs lap. This could be considered romantic, and often was, were it not for the fact you felt like you choked up a mixture of your lung and your bloody supply

“Diluc” you speak with a much worse for wear voice, the red-head looks into your eyes, eyes already gaining moisture. A similar scene has befallen him before, a Diluc knows how this ends

“Please” he pleads his voice wavering “Please don’t leave me” he chokes back a sob and tears fall off his face the salt hitting your own

“I love you so much” you start, Diluc shakes his head. Must you hurt him so with last words? “Don’t blame yourse-” another set of hacking befalls you as you lose more blood

“Please” he pleads again as the grip you had on his arm goes slack indicating your loss of life

Diluc screams, he cries and he hugs you close. He screams into the air of Mondstat until his voice hurts and he cries until all he’s doing is dry sobbing and he holds you close until you’re broken body is pried from his own broken mind

A wondering Jean heard his screams into the night sky and hereby answered them. She never expected to see Diluc, still in his vigilante getup, crying over your body

She calls for more guards who take your body from his and Jean helps Diluc get back to the estate. At one point during the walk Jean can feel DIluc shaking and hyperventilating. So they stand for a moment, Jean holds and comforts the wine-master before they move again

Jean has never seen such emotion from Diluc before, and she wholeheartedly hopes she’ll never have to see it again. Seeing Diluc so raw and rife with emotion is enough to make anyone cry. And Jean nearly did on more than one occasion.

Your funeral is small, much to Dilucs request and really only were attended by the estate and Jean. Diluc didn’t want to cry again in such a large audience

Though the maids often hear pained sobs coming from Dilucs room as he contemplates and often blames himself for what had transpired. Maids daren’t speak up about what they hear though, Diluc’s pain is more than understandable

Diluc throws himself into work opting to man the bar most days of the week and fighting for the city as often as he can. People around him are more than concerned

Diluc’s stoic nature seems to be intensified now, not wanting to let another person in and die in his arms. He’s seen enough death for his life and wishes not to lose more loved ones

Everything seems to have moved back to what life was before you arrived in your life, depressive, monotonous, boring, mundane for the most part and sad. So very sad

He wishes for a day where his heart isn’t strife with grief, but he doubts that day will not be coming anytime soon

-

Childe

You grin up at him, feeling close to naught pain coming from the gaping wound thanks to the excess of adrenaline that’s pumping through your body

“Childe” you say the smile still on your lips in an attempt at not making the situation as dark and horrific as it is. Childe speaks your name in return

“I love you” you tell him mustering the strength to cup the mans cheek, who immediately nuzzles into it. The situation almost doesn’t feel real to him. He’s going to be shaken awake by a very unwounded you in just a moment and inform him he’s having a nightmare

But that moment doesn’t come. Nor do any words come from you. Your slow rhythms of your heart remind you that he’s still got time, but you’ve expended all your energy. Your smile you’re wearing seems to be dropping

“I love you [name], I love you so much, you are everything I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you” he rambles bringing your body to his chest

“Live for--- me” you sputter out into his chest, a dying wish that Childe isn’t too sure he can uphold. Is it really living if he’s an empty vessel.

You go limp in his arms and he can no longer sense your heartbeat. Death had finally laid claim to you

Childe sits with you for hours, you’d expect him to be wailing like a banshee if you knew his personality but that’s rather not the case. Sobbing quietly is a better word for what happens. Most of his sobs and hacks for air are hidden in your hair. He pulled your body to his shoulder just to weep

Eventually he finds himself mustering the courage to walk back to Liyue Harbour. You firmly held in his arms. He knows that if he walks too plainly the Millelith would pry and ask too many questions for his fragile heart to answer

Childe ends up barging into the wangsheng funeral parlour, which surprises Zhongli a little. He’s about to go on a rant to Childe about how he must book an appointment, until he sees your lifeless body in his arms

The funeral is arranged quickly and neatly. There aren’t many people who attend, Childe is okay with that, he secretly wants to see his family and cry on their shoulder a bit

Instead he opts for a letter, which arrives to the family tear stained and lacking the usual penmanship ‘I’m sorry, you won’t be able to see [name] after all. They passed away not too long ago...’ he basically writes your arbitrary in the letter. And his whole heart is in every word he writes

Determined not to let anybody in Childe finds himself in a pattern, when he’s not throwing himself into battles he’s doing paper work or yelling at his subordinates and when he’s not doing that he’s doing his weekly fight with the traveller. Childe gets next to no sleep and instead opts to reading and rereading every letter and note you’ve ever given him

If Childe passes out at his desk nobody bothers him either in fear of getting yelled at by the harbinger or an understanding of losing a loved one

They never said being a harbinger was fulfilling work. Yet, he let himself believe that he could be fulfilled and content with a lover. What a shameful lie

-

Venti

He’s awfully quiet. He hasn’t experienced death in so long. Especially one he thought would be forever.

He couldn’t even get to you to hear your last words. Ironic isn’t it? He hadn’t heard that guys last words either. And yet this pains him so much more

Sure mortal lives are fleeting but he was certain he had more time with you. More time to see you grow old, more time to put off your inevitable mortality. More time to-

He’s hyperventilating, Venti’s body shakes as he finds nothing to ground himself not even the person he loves so dear is there for him. He feels like he could explode, breaths caught in his throat refusing to surface and come up for air. Despite being an immortal archon, the breaths that refuse to surface don’t fail to make him feel like he’s choking

A bard he is. And one that knows every song from the past, present and future. Suddenly the pained songs from the future make sense to him. He knew what was written. A love lost

Suddenly he finds himself crying and hunched over your deceased form making promises to the wind that he’ll never forget you. Much like he’ll ever forget that bard

He isn’t sure how long has passed but he’s still sobbing over your form, there aren’t many tears left for him to cry but he can’t find himself stopping. He feels like they’ll never stop. 

Maybe he could lay beside you and sleep for another thousand years. But that would only delay the inevitable. The inevitable sinking feeling.

Maybe it was his fault for letting himself fall in love with a mortal, but in the moment he could truly see you living life with him. He could see a marriage, children. He wanted you to have it all.

Damn celestia and all things above for not letting you ascend, at least when he inevitably ascends you’ll be there to greet him. Curse that and your mortality

Jean eventually stumbles upon him during a recon mission to find him covering your body in various flowers, a crown made of cecelias don your head. He’s quiet, but he’s saying goodbye. Who would blame him? Jean doesn’t interrupt him and only wishes you a farewell

News of your death spread around town like wildfire, your grave donned with more flowers than Venti can count. He almost feels bad about not doing a public service after seeing how many people are truly in mourning

Diluc doesn’t push Venti to pay his growing tab no matter how much he should. And Diluc doesn’t say no to Venti singing his happy tunes in the tavern

It feels like his life has retuned to normal. Though Jean can’t help but look out the library window to see Venti sat atop his statue with an expression, as Jean can only guess, of sadness.

Venti finds himself going back to an old schedule again but he can’t miss the nagging feeling of somethings missing. The something being you

Sometimes he half expects you to hug him from behind, or join him up at the statue, or kiss him on his nose, or-

Venti can’t quite comprehend how he feels, he just knows there’s a hole in his heart where you belonged. And he doesn’t want to let anyone find their way into there

He doesn’t want to lose again

It’s happened too much

[bigskydreaming]

Brain topic du jour is reflecting on the frankly weird as fuck pattern in Dick’s life where....he barely ever experiences losses one at a time. Most of the loss he’s experienced in his life is compounded by him losing multiple people and other elements of stability all at the exact same time.

1) When his parents died, in some continuities this is coupled with him losing his extended family of his aunt and cousin as well, with his uncle left comatose and on life support for years before he eventually died as well. Even in continuities without Richard, Karla and John, the loss of Dick’s parents is compounded by the additional loss of his circus family in the sense that he was taken away from them by the state and their constant reassuring presences in his life were no longer comforts he was able to rely on.

2) When Jason died, Dick didn’t just lose his brother, as the tragedy was compounded by Bruce’s reaction. I’ll never be able to gloss over the effects of NTT #55, personally, because I think its too key to Dick’s entire characterization and the specific direction his character took in the years that followed this, to like....disregard that Bruce however unintentionally, while lost in his own grief, added to Dick’s own sense of loss for Jason in probably the worst way possible. As by kicking Dick out and telling him to leave his keys, Dick - having no way to know or guess that they’d ever reconcile, just like he never actually went back to the circus being a regular presence for him - to Dick, this was in essence the equivalent of his childhood tragedy all over again. Losing not just one family member, but his whole family in one sweep, and all the comforts and stability offered by a home he was forced to leave. Even Dick’s contact with Alfred was minimal for awhile, because why would the guy who basically JUST saw history repeat itself and was like, well I know how THIS tends to play out.....why would he think that if Alfred felt forced to actually choose between his loyalties to Bruce and Dick respectively, that Alfred would pick Dick over the man he’d known and raised from childhood himself?

3) Titans Hunt. I know I harp on this one a lot, but you can’t deny that it fits the pattern. Dick didn’t just lose one friend and teammate.....he lost Joey, he lost a good four or five lesser known Titans who nevertheless were people he viewed as directly HIS responsibility to keep safe. With these tragedies compounded by the fact that though comics played out a lot more slowburn and extended stories over years back then, like.....the aftermath of Titans Hunt was still everpresent and directly died into Dick’s reactions and emotions during the Mirage storyline and everything that happened with the failed wedding and his breakup with Kory AND the fact that he was literally forced off the team he’d basically founded, by the government agency that took over the team and appointed Roy as its leader in his stead.

3) Graduation Day. The second time the Titans disbanded it was again not due to a singular loss, because Dick didn’t just lose Donna at this point, but also Lilith died in the exact same story and though Lilith is criminally underused, like, she’s also one of Dick’s oldest friends. She was literally the first Titan to join after the original five. This then led into the Outsiders era, where Dick was shown to still be reeling from the losses of this story for an extended period of time, and in a fun parallel to the Titans Hunt aftermath, Dick was also ousted from his leadership of THIS team by essentially a vote of no confidence by his teammates (and uh, Bruce too, literally).

4) The Blockbuster arc. Where Dick’s emotional state was due to a continued string of multiple losses. He lost his apartment building and almost every one of the neighbors he’d built a community out of, as we’d been shown him actively involving himself in their lives and vice versa for YEARS before this point. Then he lost his circus, his childhood home, burned to the ground and with dozens of deaths - both spectators and actual performers Dick had known and loved as a child. Then he lost his relationship with Barbara, his sense of self-security and autonomy to Tarantula, he lost another teen vigilante who died in his colors, the mantle HE’D created, when Stephanie was believed dead in War Games, and it all culminated in losing the city he’d invested himself in as his CHOSEN home, the place he dedicated himself to protecting, when Chemo blew it up.

Oh just for the record - my nonexistent passport to the magical kingdom of Narnia for a fic that raises the point when bringing up Tim’s losses in the Red Robin era, that like.....ALL of the above happened at literally the EXACT SAME TIME as all Tim’s referenced losses occurred. Obviously Steph meant more to Tim than Dick on a personal level, but I also included her largely as an anchor point to the timeline, to show how that death, and not long after that Jack Drake’s and then Superboy’s.... occurred right smack in the middle of one of the absolute WORST periods of Dick’s life. To be clear, I don’t intend this to suggest that no actually, Dick had it harder than Tim - nah. 

No thank you. Hard pass. I hate that sort of thing even in support of my own faves over other characters. No, instead the thing I’d love to see explored more is just in light of the SPECIFIC angle fics take here - that Dick’s actions while Bruce was lost in time showed an obliviousness to everything Tim had lost lately - for literally ANYONE to bring up or introduce into the timeline here an awareness of everything Dick had lost AT THE EXACT SAME TIME PERIOD. To establish that actually, Dick didn’t just ‘not understand what it was like’ - rather, its more accurate to say that nobody in universe around this time ever shows an awareness of Dick’s own losses and says oh wait, that doesn’t track then. 

Because obviously, with this stuff put in proper perspective, Dick understands VERY VERY WELL the exact thing we’re accusing him of not understanding by being oblivious to Tim’s losses that he’s not actually oblivious to because he tries to talk to Tim about them all the time, while meanwhile its everyone else who has absolutely mum to say about the fact that Dick’s emotional state is compromised to hell and back at this point, not JUST because of losing Bruce, but also because *gestures wildly* literally ALL OF THE ABOVE in the exact same time frame Tim’s extended losses happened in.

And okay I am going to indulge in slight tiny itty bitty pettiness and point out my ire that so many fics set during this time tend to recite listicles of Tim’s losses, with Steph, Kon and Jack Drake at the very top of said list....while paying no attention whatsoever to the fact that STEPH WAS LITERALLY BACK BY THE TIME THE RED ROBIN SERIES HAPPENED. She’s LITERALLY a person Dick sends to check up on Tim after Tim turns Dick away when he tries himself. How are you gonna stress the impact Steph’s loss has on Tim when you’re not even acknowledging STEPH’S RIGHT HERE IN THE EXACT SPECIFIC CANON STORY YOU’RE CITING??? I just. afhioskhflafhlafhklfahlfa. 

And not to put too fine a point on it, but you know who ELSE was also back at the same time? CONNOR. Superboy LITERALLY was already back to life by the time the Red Robin series even began. Like, the issue where a resurrected Kon and Cassie (Wonder Girl) have a heart to heart about the fact that Tim and Cassie ‘connected’ during his absence and Connor stresses that this doesn’t bother him or make him feel negatively towards either of them at all, because hello, he was literally dead at the time, why would he mind that two of the people he loves most in the world sought comfort in each other? Yeah, that issue? Literally came out BEFORE Tim even became Red Robin.

I MEAN. I’m just saying, when people constantly take shots at Dick’s choices during this period because of how much Tim had lost before Bruce already, in order to shift focus away from the fact that Dick lost Bruce every bit as much as Tim did......and you repeatedly emphasize the SAME three names as the focal point of Tim’s losses while paying no acknowledgment whatsoever to everything Dick lost at the exact same time Tim lost these three.....it quickly becomes kiiiiiiinda relevant in my opinion THAT TWO OF THE THREE NAMES CONSTANTLY MENTIONED AS BEING TIM’S LOSSES ARE NO LONGER EVEN LOST BY THE TIME THE SUBJECT COMES UP. Again, I’m just saying! Pettily, mind you! I am aware of the pettiness, I just beg awareness of like *again gesticulates wildly at all of the above* ALL THAT!

LOL.

But I digress.

5) When Bruce was believed dead while he was lost in the timestream. Again, Dick didn’t just lose the father who had been the only parent in his life for almost TWICE as long as his first parents......this was coupled with the loss of numerous other sources of stability in Dick’s life. There’s the matter of his personal sense of identity and self-expression....Dick FOUGHT against becoming Batman, trying to handle Gotham in Bruce’s absence as Nightwing for as long as he could, because he knew being Batman was very much NOT going to be good for him. He put so much of himself into building his identity as Nightwing, establishing himself in that role, that self-image, that yes, I maintain it was an actual LOSS for Dick, to feel like he had no choice but to give that up and everything it meant to him and his own life, in order to essentially live Bruce’s life for him in his absence. 

Because it wasn’t just being Batman that Dick was struggling with at this time....he also had to act as the patriarch to the Wayne family, essentially raise Bruce’s ten year old son, step into Bruce’s old role in Wayne Enterprises, all while getting no acknowledgment for any of this, for literally LIVING his father’s life instead of the life Dick had worked so hard to build for HIMSELF....because of course Dick’s actions and struggles couldn’t even be advertised beyond the family and close friends, because the whole point of him doing all this was so that nobody else even realized that Bruce wasn’t really there anymore. Dick didn’t just assume Bruce’s responsibilities. Dick assumed Bruce’s life, so thoroughly that most people didn’t even put together that Bruce was ‘dead,’ between Dick handling Bruce’s actual roles and responsibilities while Hush made public appearances as him. 

Like, when you’re living someone else’s life so completely that nobody can tell they’re even gone....how on earth does that leave any time or space for you to have ANY kind of life of your OWN, y’know? Not to mention the fact that like in so many times previously....all this meant that Dick couldn’t even afford to let his grief for his own losses show, because he wasn’t supposed to be grieving any losses in the first place, that was the whole point of the con!

Additionally, couple this with the fact that throughout this time period, Dick didn’t have Tim to lean on at all, because it was never that Dick kicked Tim out or neglected him or didn’t care....he’d actively stressed how much he needed Tim, because the partner Tim was convinced Dick chose ‘over’ him - Dick was the first one to admit back then that he DIDN’T trust Damian yet, couldn’t afford to, because he was all too aware that Damian didn’t give a fuck about him yet and couldn’t be guaranteed to step in to have Dick’s back - because that required mutual trust that Dick literally just hadn’t had time to build yet. And add to THAT the fact that during this time, Jason was actively antagonizing the family and Dick in particular at every turn, trying to bring them all down and basically write over what all of them saw as Bruce’s legacy with Jason’s own version of what he thought that should look like.

Also also, take into account that unlike how often we see fanon depict Dick as just too stubborn or proud to ask for help, there’s the fact that he actually had very few avenues TO ask for help! As already established, he DID ask Tim for help. Not like Jason was an option at this time, and Dick’s friends weren’t actually just sitting waiting in the wings and groaning about the fact that Dick was trying to do all of this solo....nah, they kinda had their own problems, which Dick was all too aware of?

Like the fact that in the wake of Final Crisis, it wasn’t just Bruce that was believed lost. Many other key Leaguers like Martian Manhunter were dead or lost, with others struggling to fill the gaps left in their absence. Cry For Justice happened right after Final Crisis too....that story where Lian was murdered? So it wasn’t like Dick was remotely going to try leaning on Roy when Roy had just lost his freaking DAUGHTER and very much wasn’t handling it well (and not to overshadow Roy’s loss at ALL, but please let’s not act like Dick - who had literally been the person to put a baby Lian in Roy’s arms for the first time and had known that girl for pretty much her entire life - like, it shouldn’t be used to detract from Roy’s loss at all, but it shouldn’t have to, to just acknowledge that Lian’s loss right at this exact time was painful as fuck to Dick, who’d loved his niece like crazy.)

The pattern of compounding, concurrent losses in Dick’s life. I’m just saying. Its there.

And it extends into the New 52 as well, where Forever Evil came right on the heels of Dick losing his circus in THIS continuity to the Joker, just as a way to hurt him in Death of A Family. And with the aftermath of Forever Evil and Dick’s own literal death, being like....the complete loss of Dick’s entire life, even though he was revived quickly. That didn’t mean he got to live HIS life though, since Dick Grayson was believed dead and he was told had to remain so, so its like fuck whatever he actually wanted to do as he went about on the Spyral mission aka something that pinched his own sense of morality and personal agenda at every turn and was kinda the last thing a therapist would recommend for a trauma recovery period, lol. And like, for all the focus that was paid to how Dick’s family were hurt because they believed they’d lost him when he was actually alive, let’s not forget that for all intents and purposes, Dick DID lose his family in the wake of his resurrection because he was flat out told over and over that due to what ‘he’d LET happen to him’ he was an ACTIVE danger to them, and thus wasn’t allowed by Bruce to contact any of them or lean on them to any degree, until Bruce got amnesia and stopped blocking Dick’s pleas to return home by just not being there to pick up the secret phone line at all. 

(And omg, the obliviousness that just EMANATES off the hot takes that Dick had a ‘choice’ in all this and he still CHOSE to do what Bruce told him....like. LOLOL, stop being pissy about me bringing up the term abuse apologism when its literal victim blaming to paint the guy who had to be beaten into ‘agreeing’ to the Spyral mission in the immediate wake of the trauma of DYING, all while his father vocally blamed him for his own suffering and the ‘threat’ he now posed to his family, keying directly into the guilt complex Bruce knows damn well is at the core of most of Dick’s motivations.....fucking please. There’s no choice in all that. That’s active emotional, mental and physical abuse aimed at directly manipulating Dick’s actions, delivered by the guy who knows Dick best in the world and whose approval - particularly when Dick is at absolute rock bottom aka Current Location - matters more to Dick than just about anything because his sense of self-worth has more in common with dog shit than actual dog shit does. Or something. Idk. That analogy got away from me. But like. You get it.)

BUT. I. DIE. GRESS. (I guess).

Aaaaaaanyway, so yeah! That repeating pattern throughout Dick’s life of ‘loss? What loss (singular)? My losses only come in groups, lolol, fuuuuuun’ - mmmm. Yeah. So that’s what’s on MY brain right now. Thoughts?

[vrishchikawrites]

Reverse transmigration wangxian where LWJ who cultivates to immortality found an old summoning array where mxy fails to summon wwx but the whole thing with JGY still got revealed. LWJ in his grief summons WWX in our modern world, and the rest is up to you :) Maybe get WWX some therapy and loving family and how different modern days people are

This one is a bit angsty and has vague descriptions of sex. Modern AU.

“The Tragedy of Wei Wuxian - The Man Behind the Legend”

Lan Wangji caresses the title of the book with a thumb, eyes tracing a name he has always held close to heart but hasn’t heard for a long time.

“We all know of Wei Ying, courtesy Wuxian as Yiling Laozu. He’s one of the first to cultivate successfully with ‘resentful’ energy. His theories and papers helped us develop a greater understanding of yin energy, Qi deviation, and resentful spirits. He was a visionary, a man ahead of his time, someone who thought outside the box and looked for solutions instead of sticking to the norm. He’s also the first known person to donate his Golden Core.”

Wangji looks away for a moment, remembering Wen Ning’s snarling face and Jiang Wanyin’s rage, denial, and guilt.

“But we don’t talk about what brought that great visionary down. Society, as it did with many great thinkers, turned against him. In his youth, Wei Wuxian was one of the most accomplished cultivators of his generation. No one knows exactly what happened for him to develop the so-called ‘Ghostly Path’. His loss of the Golden Core may have been a factor, but the actual circumstances are shrouded in mystery.

What follows after the War of the Five Great Clans, known as the Sunshot Campaign, is nothing short of a tragedy. Wei Wuxian saw injustice happening and decided to fight against it. Society tore him up for it. At that time, all actions against him were justified and considered righteous. Those actions don’t stand up to scrutiny under the modern lens. Like all great and radical thinkers, Wei Wuxian ideals made him the enemy and that led to this tragic death, along with the murder of innocent war prisoners he sought to protect. There are unconfirmed reports of there being a child among the Wens.”

Wangji’s eyes flicker over to a picture frame sitting on his desk, an image of Sizhui and Jingyi smiling up at him through the glossy image. They’re well, he knows. Last he heard from them, they were in South Korea and having a great time.

Sizhui must not know of this book or he would’ve called immediately, always so concerned about his a’die.

“It was later revealed that hunger for power and political maneuvering led to his death. When we study the historical records, it is obvious that the man was pushed into the corner and was forced to retaliate. Unfortunately, no one cared about his fate-”

“I did,” Wangji whispered to himself, thinking back on silver eyes in an indistinct face. He loved - still loves Wei Ying - but the physical aspects of him have long since faded from his memory. He sometimes remembers Wei Ying’s laugh. Sometimes, he dreams of his smile. He doesn’t recall what Wei Ying sounded like, only remembering his tone when he said ‘Lan Zhan.’

And yet, Lan Wangji hasn’t forgotten love.

He reads the book in silence, going through all 375 pages of it without pausing to eat or sleep. It tells the story of Wei Ying in stark, blunt terms. There are a few facts missing or erroneous. He wasn’t the adopted child of the Jiangs. There was certainly no unrequited love between Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli.

There’s very little mention of him. According to this book, Lan Wangji is a mere footnote in Wei Wuxian’s life; a childhood acquaintance, a disapproving comrade, and later a man who unraveled the truth because he pursued justice.

“He was just 23 years old when he died,” Wangji lingers over that statement, “23-year-olds are barely adults. They hold the promise of a bright future. They have so much potential inside of them. At 23, some people graduate from college, some take up their first serious job. At 23, young people fall in love and maybe form a life-long bond. Wei Wuxian became a key player in a big conflict at 17, he donated his core at 17. At 17, we still have children in high school. Our seventeen-year-olds aren’t even allowed to drink or drive. Our seventeen-year-olds are still protected and sheltered by their parents.

That is perhaps the biggest tragedy of Wei Wuxian’s life. He was only allowed to live a carefree life for seven years, from the day he was taken off the streets to the day the YunmengJiang Sect was attacked. After that and until his death, his life was marked by war, strife, betrayal, and persecution.

A visionary, a hero, a brilliant mind, dead by what most would consider suicide.” Wangji’s breath hitches and he takes a moment to collect himself, the sentence ringing in his head.

“He deserved better.”

---

He deserved better, Wangji thinks as he walks sedately towards his library.

There had been a glimmer of hope, all those years ago when Mo Xuanyu attempted to resurrect Wei Ying, but when he failed to do so, Wangji felt something shatter in him.

Whatever Wei Ying had done had completely destroyed his soul. His precious, noble soul. One that was formed for justice and kindness.

He deserved better.

He knows what he must do.

---

An immortal’s Golden Core has immeasurable power. It is the result of several hundred years of Cultivation and diligence. Wangji is more powerful than most, having survived through war, strife, grief, and loss.

An immortal’s Golden Core can also be an ingredient.

‘Draw the talismans shown below in the blood of your heart. Pin them in eight directions, north, northwest, west, southwest, south, southeast, east, and northeast. Sit in the exact center of this circle and sacrifice half of your cultivation to the being you wish to summon.’’

Wangji’s heart and hands are steady as he draws the talismans from blood drawn directly from the artery. He pins them in all eight directions and sits down in the middle, his hands moving elegantly to summon his Qi. He breathes in and breathes out, sinking into meditation with habitual ease.

It will work.

It has to.

The room floods with Resentful Energy.

---

He deserves better.

Wangji feels torn apart in ways he has never experienced before. The ritual summoning carves something out of his chest and drags it away. His mouth floods with blood and his body weakens alarmingly.

But it doesn’t matter.

Wei Ying.

---

Wei Ying is more beautiful than Wangji remembers. He is bloodsoaked, covered in cuts and bruises, saturated with Resentful Energy, but he’s alive.

And he’s beautiful.

Wangji stumbles to his feet, shakily walking into the bathroom to fetch some warm water. He walks back, his arms feeling the weight of the bucket like they have never carried such weight before. With every step that he takes towards Wei Ying, his heartbeat spikes up a little. He doesn’t know if he chose the right time. He doesn’t know if Wei Ying’s spirit had shattered before his death and dying had just been the aftermath.

Maybe Wei Ying’s body is here and not his soul.

Wangji cannot bear thinking about it.

With weak, shaking hands and the taste of blood lingering in his mouth, he slowly reaches forward. Layer by layer, he removes Wei Ying’s clothes, his fingertips tingling because his beloved’s body is warm.

He deserves better.

With aching tenderness, he wipes Wei Ying clean, removes all blood, grime, and mud from his body.

Wei Ying doesn’t stir.

---

There’s a gentle touch against his cheek. It is strange enough to wake him up because few people dare touch Lan Wangji. Slender fingers tap once, twice, almost playfully and Wangji knows who it is even before he opens his eyes.

Like a sun emerging from the horizon, Wei Ying appears before him, his smile bright and questioning.

“Wei Ying,” He breathes and Wei Ying nods, eyes a sparkling silver. There is so much beauty in that face that he can’t help but reach forward. Ignoring Wei Ying’s surprise, he cups his face and leans forward pressing his forehead against his beloved’s.

Wei Ying is still for a long moment, but he moves eventually, setting hands on Wangji’s shoulder. He doesn’t push him away, just huffing in soft amusement.

“Wei Ying,” He whispers, closing his stinging eyes, “Forgive Wangji for his selfishness.” He says, “I summoned you.” I summoned you without asking, knowing you wouldn’t desire it.

Wei Ying huffs again and that’s when it strikes him.

He pulls back and looks at his beloved in concern, scanning his eyes, face, neck, and chest quickly, his heart racing.

Why wasn’t Wei Ying speaking?

---

“You’re right in suspecting that his spirit sustained some sort of injury even before he was… killed.” Lan Jingyi says softly, pulling away from the sleeping Wei Ying, “There’s nothing physically wrong with him, Hanguang-jun, please don’t worry! His spirit just needs a little bit of time to recover.”

Wangji nods gratefully as he watches Sizhui lean over Wei Ying, his expression full of wonder and desperate happiness. As Sizhui’s cultivation grew, he started remembering more things from his childhood. They have never spoken on the matter of Wei Ying, but Wangji knows his son remembers more than he did when he was a child.

“Now, please let me check you.”

He levels a sharp look at the younger man but Lan Jingyi is no longer the adoring and naive student Wangji taught all those years ago. He’s a strong, accomplished cultivator and an avid researcher.

Lan Jingyi ignores him cheerfully and checks his core, stepping into Wangji's personal space without a care.

He narrows his eyes at the steely glint in the boy's eyes.

"I know you love him, Hanguang-jun," Lan Jingyi says, "And love is worth a life." They're immortals, life has little meaning for people who have lived for centuries, "But I wonder if the Wei Wuxian that you so adore will be happy about you risking your life for him."

Wangji's eyes flicker towards Wei Ying, who looks exhausted even in his sleep. "He deserved better."

Lan Jingyi is silent for a moment before he speaks, "Sizhui and I read the book on our flight back. Everything was horrible, I'm not surprised that his spirit sustained so much damage. But it is almost entirely intact now. It shows how much he wants to live, Hanguang-jun."

It's a relief.

---

Wei Ying can't speak but his presence is still loud. He rests for a few weeks to recover from his injuries. During that time, Wangji spends most of his days moving from Wei Ying's bedside to the library and back again.

His beloved has an insatiable hunger for knowledge. He wants to know everything about the modern world.

Every morning, Wangji is confronted with a bright face with sparkling eyes waving a book or a scroll in his direction.

Wangji hasn't experienced such liveliness in centuries. The very air of his home glows with Wei Ying's vitality. Wei Ying's body recovers quickly and soon the man is out of bed and following Wangji around.

His heart feels too big for his chest.

By all appearances, Wei Ying is perfectly content. He walks around Cloud Recesses, visits Caiyi Town, and is happy to watch the sunset with Wangji every evening.

That had been Wangji's wish when he performed that summoning.

He wanted Wei Ying to have another chance to live free and happy.

Looking at him now, Wangji wants to reach out, cup that cheerful face, and pepper kisses all over it. He wants to kiss those fluttering eyelids, smooth cheeks, sharp jawline-

That soft, smiling mouth.

Wangji is an immortal. He has endless patience. He can wait for Wei Ying to come to him.

He must wait.

---

The modern world fascinates Wei Ying. His beloved looks at everything from tall buildings to food stalls with wide, stunned eyes. Cloud Recesses and Caiyi Town are still relatively untouched by the passage of time, but Wei Ying has free access to the internet and has learned how to use it within two months of his arrival.

Wangji doesn't restrain him.

He just watches as Wei Ying, his brilliant and enthusiastic love, learns to thrive in his new world.

His voice has still not returned but that doesn't seem to bother Wei Ying. He is delighted to learn that there's a way to communicate nonetheless.

He starts learning sign language and Lan Wangji, with patient and steady hands, practices with him.

---

Lan Sizhui follows Wei Ying around with quiet affection and aching tenderness. He's much older than Wei Ying now, but he remains their son in spirit. He treats Wei Ying like a senior, with respect and adoration.

His Wei Ying notices, of course. At first, he finds the situation quite strange but Wei Ying isn't stupid.

'Lan Zhan,' He asks, 'Who is Sizhui?'

Wangji brings his fingers up and replies, 'He's your a-Yuan. I went looking for you but found him instead.'

Wei Ying's eyes widen and he spins around, running out of the room to seek Sizhui.

Wangji follows sedately and when he finds his love and his son, they're embracing while crying tears of joy.

---

'Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan!'

Wangji huffs under his breath and carefully sets his brush down, tucking the scroll away before turning to meet bright silver eyes.

Wei Ying leans forward with an eager expression, 'Do you know where Suibian is?'

Wangji nods, 'In storage. I was able to retrieve it from the Jin Clan.'

'Can I have it?'

Wangji rises smoothly to his feet and leads Wei Ying to storage where both Suibian and Chenqing.

Wei Ying only glances at Chenqing for a moment before reaching for Suibian with a desperate expression.

Suibian, a blade that has remained sealed since Jiang Wanyin unsheathed it once, easily reveals itself again.

Wei Ying spins around eagerly and looks at him with pleading eyes.

As Wangji is able to deny Wei Ying nothing, he reaches for Bichen and they immediately head for the training grounds.

It has been a long time since Wangji has really used Bichen to its full capacity. With half of his core pulsing within Wei Ying, they're almost evenly matched.

Wangji has not fought in ages but Wei Ying is still a Cultivator. The spar is fast-paced and thrilling. Wangji acquaints himself with Wei Ying as his love becomes reacquainted with his sword.

Wei Wuxian had been one of the best swordsmen of his generation. He has lost none of his elegance and skill. Wangji presses him and Wei Ying laughs soundlessly, twirling around him in white GusuLan robes, bright and joyful.

He breaks Wangji's heart and mends it at the same time.

---

Wangji has missed Wei Ying for hundreds of years.

He can't resist the urge to touch. He keeps it chaste and respectful but his hands have a mind of their own in Wei Ying's vicinity.

When they're out and about, Wangji guides Wei Ying with a hand on his back. It becomes natural to grasp his love's elbow if he wants Wei Ying's attention.

His touches can easily be dismissed as gestures of friendship by most. But Wei Ying knows him.

'er-gege,' Wei Ying's smile is sweet, 'Wei Ying is cold.'

Wangji's eyes flicker over to the lit fire briefly before landing on his love, 'Are you feeling well?' He asks in concern, reaching forward to place the back of his hand on Wei Ying's forehead.

His beloved laughs and nods, leaning into the touch with a sly smile, 'I'm well, just cold.'

Wangji feels a stir in his chest at the intent look in Wei Ying's eyes. Hesitantly, he cups Wei Ying's cheek in silent question.

Wei Ying nuzzles his palm, his eyelids fluttering close gently.

Desperation and elation flood him and Wangji sucks in a sharp breath. He moves in a blur, lifting Wei Ying off his seat and placing him on his lap.

Wei Ying gasps and giggles, his tall, strong body seeming to almost shrink as he cuddles close. Wangji wraps both arms around his love and squeezes him tight, rocking them gently as he is assaulted with painful love.

"Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying," He chants in Wei Ying's hair, holding him so close, it feels like there's no part of him not touching his love.

When Wei Ying turns to him with a smile in his eyes, Wangji doesn't hesitate to lean forward, bringing their lips together in a long-awaited kiss.

He presses Wei Ying back against the crook of his elbow and tastes his silent laugh on his tongue.

Wangji has never felt so blissful and complete.

---

Jingyi convinces Wei Ying to go to therapy.

Eager to learn and curious, Wei Ying agrees.

He returns from every session with a thoughtful expression.

Months pass but his voice is still lost.

---

They make love and Wei Ying mouths the words he wants to speak. He smiles, sobs, laughs, and pouts as Wangji takes him apart bit by bit.

Wangji has never known such pleasure. He loses himself, drowning in Wei Ying's scent and finding heaven in his body.

He enjoys feeling smooth skin. He sinks his fingers into Wei Ying's silken hair. He tastes the sharp edge of his jaw. He bites. He drives in and takes ownership of Wei Ying's pleasure.

He presses his mischievous sprite into their bed and doesn't hold back, centuries of love pouring out of him.

---

A combination of therapy and Wei Ying's natural approach to life makes his recovery quick. Within a year, he's well-adjusted and happy.

He laughs at almost everything. The first time they fly, the first time they visit an amusement park, the first time they go to an aquarium.

He laughs and Wangji starts noticing the color of his voice returning to it.

Wangji is grateful for what he has. He's grateful that Wei Ying is back, safe, and happy. He is grateful that Wei Ying is unharmed.

But he cannot lie to himself. He misses Wei Ying's voice.

---

"Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,"

Wangji almost misses it, as engrossed as he is. He presses in deep and feels a shiver of pleasure race down his spine. Wei Ying's fingers curl around Wangji's nape and his lips caress his ear.

"Lan Zhan,"

He stills.

Wangji takes a deep, bracing breath and pulls back a little, balancing on his arms to peer down at his lover.

Wei Ying is a vision. His cheeks flushed, his eyes wide and dark with passion, his lips bitten red from Wangji's kisses. His long hair is scattered and wild, a tangle of glossy strands across Wangji's pillow.

"Lan Zhan,"

Wei Ying's lips move and a voice accompanies that movement. It is slightly hoarse, somewhat weak, but it is still the voice he barely remembers.

Heat flares in him and he sinks deeper, pulling a sharp gasp from Wei Ying.

He spends the entire night filling their room with that precious voice.

---

Wei Ying doesn't ask questions. He doesn't ask why Wangji did what he did. He doesn't ask how he did it. His beloved has always been perspective and he understood Wangji's desperation from the moment he woke.

He reads the book that triggered it all and laughs, "Aiya, they make me out to be some sort of martyr for justice." He says fondly, for he is very fond of the modern world.

Sizhui is sitting at his feet, eyes closed in bliss as Wei Ying gently combs his hair, styling it into an intricate braid.

"They're not wrong, though." Jingyi can never sit straight and he has forgotten all of his Lan teachings over the years. He has his legs thrown over the arm of his chair and his head is dangling over another arm, his hair sweeping the floor as he nods.

Ridiculous.

"I never asked to be glorified in such a way." Wei Ying protests with a chuckle.

"Baba should be grateful no one knows about his resurrection." Sizhui pipes up, "At least, you don't have to deal with modern stans."

Wangji arches a brow at the word and Wei Ying laughs, already more accustomed to the Internet language than Wangji is. "Oh, heaven forbid!"

"But listen, you and Hanguang-jun have the greatest love story ever, you could write a book about it, Wei-quanbei!"

Wei Ying tilts his head to the side and Wangji urges him to consider it with a subtle nod. Wei Ying is happy but he's never content to be idle. The modern world doesn't need cultivation, but perhaps it can benefit from their stories.

---

‘Once you summon successfully, you belong to this being for all eternity as payment for the one wish they may grant. Half of your core will live within them. If they die, you die. If they live, you live. If they hurt, you hurt. If they become corrupt, you become corrupt.

You will sacrifice immortality, but not the eternal bond. Every time you are reincarnated into this world, you will be tethered to the being.

Beware.

Wangji tucks the scroll away, sealing it so that it is never discovered again.

He has no regrets.