#this has been rotting in my drafts for several weeks

[ittybittyluci]

MORE LUCIFER HEADCANONS

I cannot get enough of this man, so here you go, some shit that’s slowly been accumulating in the midst of my brain rot:

🍎 Biggest sweet tooth on the goddamn planet. He likes small treats that he can pop in his mouth, or things he can have on the go (like caramel apples).

🍎 He’s an amazing cook, and loves to make food for others, but he hates cooking for just himself. He also has to be in the right headspace, if he’s too deep in depression he’ll just stress out and burn everything and become a mess of tears on the floor.

🍎 The entirety of Lu Lu World was created FOR Charlie. Man had a daughter and a second later was like “I’m making her a fucking theme park.”

🍎 He leaves 1 singular rubber behind (hidden or in the open depends on his mood) whenever he leaves a place.

🍎 During construction, he put a secret duck pond somewhere in the hotel. It’s beautiful (as beautiful as anything can get in Hell), except instead of real ducks they’re all just rubber ones. He goes in there every day, and has a whole soap-opera style, seven layered story going on with each and every one of his little duckies. They all have their own plot, personalities and relationships that he keeps track of… and nobody at the hotel knows about it.

🍎 One day someone walks in on him playing with his ducks. They stare at each other for a good five minutes before the person just closes the door. They never speak of it again.

🍎 He uses the cane like a fidget toy. Something to keep his hands still so he can look at least somewhat professional in public.

🍎 He has several nervous habits. Some of which include: Twirling his cane, “fixing” his hat, playing with the buttons on his waistcoat, adjusting his bowtie, tugging at his sleeves, and playing with his shirt collar.

🍎 The man is both touch and affection STARVED, and any form of either has him practically melting into a puddle on the floor. He WILL cry. He will do anything the person asks him to. Basically, flattery, if it’s genuine, does indeed work on him.

🍎 Biggest worry wart on the planet. Such big heart too. He can get a little overbearing and clingy when someone he loves is sick or injured or just having a bad mental health day. If he notices they’re feeling down, they won’t have to lift a FINGER.

This has been in my drafts for weeks now, and it’s just accumulated enough to actually be posted! Eat up bitches, and let me know what you think or if YOU have any special headcanons for the itty bitty duck king

[aeferkssr]

𝐚𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐤𝐬𝐬𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐯𝐞 ˚✩彡

clearing out my drafts with semi coherent thoughts

unfinished drafts, warning listed before the post.

masterlist.

UNTITLED - open character

the only way to escape this unreasonable situation, is to escape the unfair life that gave it to you..

suicide. escapism. slight domestic abuse.

the air on the balcomy was cool, cool enough to calm you from the several in terractions

the breeze danced around the delicate fabrics of your dress, shoes being long disregarded as you stood on the railings. you whisper faint and final farewells to the very stars that keep you company on your lowest nights, the garden that you would hide away in when you needed some time alone, and to the very life that you have been blessed with.

you doubt you'd be able to live as lavishly in your next life, (you doubt you'll even remember this one, much less make a comparison) but you decided to let fate take the lead.

"you can feel the midnight air just fine from down here, i don't think the need for elevation is mandatory"

fate has got to be fucking with you right now. you didn't even look at him

...

"very trivial matters, i'm afraid. im just a coward running away from my problems"

"a matter worth taking ur life over isn't trivial to me"

...

"count ( ) of ( ), he's have many wives in his years. there has been rumors of the women he weds only serving as countess for a few months... until never being seen again."

you sniffle as you try to blink away the upcoming tears, you shouldn't be weak right now, you can't be weak right now.

"...i've told father about the rumors but he tells me i'm being dramatic, that there was nothing to worry about and that his past wives were just incompetent, and to never be like them..."

you can hear his stern voice boom throughout his office:

"all of those women simply went back to their homes. to add, they came back disastrous, unfulfilled, disappointments. that will not be you, understand?

...

he didnt know what to say, there was nothing he could say

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST - xiao ver.

as you run away from the ball to save you exiled father, the beast finally confronts his thoughts on the past weeks

no warnings applied

the beast looks off at you as you scurry to get your horse, the mirror he gave you had shown your father being harassed and held down by townspeople and you ran off to go save him. he sighs.

his head hangs low as he walks into the uppermost room of the east wing, the whilting rose, that determines not only his fate but the fate of the whole castle, is covered by glass as the fallen petals rot below it.

he reflects on what happened so far, the time he spent with you as his 'prisoner'.

...

he finds himself not only do these memories plague his mind but you stand out the most in them, the entire ballroom was but a blur - insignificant and unremarkable - compared to you. the way how your gown glistened as the moonlight hit is, your unwavering eye contact made his head spin, and the awe inspiring ambiance curated by cadenza.

BESTFRIEND!AETHER - aether obvi

hcs on best friend aether (could count as a sfw version of this post)

no warnings applied

best friend!aether who you met when your teacher recommended tutoring. as you listen to the teacher go on and on about something you didn't care enough to listen to, your supposed tutor gives you a shy wave, to which you respond with a small nod.

best friend!aether that tutors you effectively, he seemed to be able to explain events in history like he's actually been there. no wonder prof. morax likes him so much, they're similar in that matter.

best friend!aether who seems even more excited than you about your grades, rocking you from side to side in a tight hug that you could only laugh to and hug him back. he never fails to make your achievements feel like actual achievements, things to be proud of and be celebrated.

speaking of celebration, best friend!aether, who takes you out to your favorite restaurant next weekend. it doesn't matter how much you ordered, how expensive the food might be, or even the location. he will find a way to take you there and will pay in full.

best friend!aether who you started to hang out with without needing to study. either you two would be chatting away over nonsensical topics or you would be silently sharing one of his airpods as you listen to your blended playlist.

best friend!aether who you got so close with without even realizing it.

UNTITLED - aexiao poly

gossiping with ur boyfriends lawl

gossiping, i hope no one knows me irl is reading this...

“bro, shut up” aether said, as he momentarily stops playing with your hair

“no i’m so serious!” you say as you lean your head up to look at him

“haven’t they been together for a year now?!” xiao kicks in, his eyes still glued to his phone

“almost, bebe, its been 9 months” you respond as you start to weave his hair through your fingers “thats what makes it so sad, pinterest is very much obsessed with mackerel and i don’t know if i should be the one to break it to her”

you sigh as you sink more into aether’s lap, burying your face in his basketball shorts. as aether plays with the locs of your hair, you busy your hands with xiao’s hair as his head lies between your thighs. being “the quiet kid” in your class pays off as you always overhear different stories with a variety of people. of course, their identities are hidden using different code names.

right now, you were telling your lovers what you have heard earlier that day. the cafeteria was a breeding ground for drama, as different people with different majors are in one place. if you leave your headphones — on purpose or not — you could hear the table beside you loud and clear. doggie and wolfie were constantly in some sort of drama, doggie found solace in useless and wolfie got jealous, and banana yogurt was on the rise again? you thought that she moved schools!

@aeferkssr.

[ctimenefic]

Triple crown 👀👀

My WHITE WHALE. My BIG BEAST. The reason I now know more about the history of horse racing, pistol duelling, the principality of Monaco and George Stubbs than any human being should. Yes, it's a Regency romance in the style of Georgette Heyer with a side of Horse Girl movie, and dear lord it's taking me a long time to write.

In brief: Alex, an impoverished aristocrat, has one shot at restoring the family fortunes – winning the Triple Crown of horse racing, England's three most prestigious flat races. If he fails, marriage to a wealthy heiress is the only other option. But his incredibly wealthy if unfortunately untitled friend George Russell seems convinced Alex has other options.

I've made some strange decisions on vital minor characters (Martin Brundle! Jenson Button! Chloe Stroll!) and honestly I have no idea if it'll hang together once I'm done actually getting through a first draft, but I'm having fun with yearning and that old chestnut misunderstanding.

Snippet below!

After lunch George begs a moment to change out of his travelling clothes, and comes back down in an equally immaculate riding jacket and with several finely wrapped parcels that quickly send each Albon sister into a frenzy of gratitude, comparisons and - miracle of miracles - total satisfaction with their own lots. 

“I, uh, left yours upstairs. Thought you might want to ride, first.” The barest thread of proper social mores holds long enough for Alex to make a gesture at staying for tea, but George just quirks an eyebrow at him. “Come on, I don’t think I’ve ever been in here more than two hours before you’ve dragged me out to look at some horse or other.”

Thread broken, Alex happily leads him back out the front door. “That’s a lie - you wouldn’t go near any of them that first year.”

“I went near Artie!” Which is stretching near a bit - there’d been half a furlong in it. 

“Artie was a pony. Look, if you want to see something fine we should take the three-year-olds out for a canter. It’s a longer ride, but worth it.”

He claps a hand to George’s shoulder, and as he does so realises it’s been almost two years since they last touched. It had been a horribly awkward parting handshake, neither of them willing to say what they’d had to hash out in hurried letters in the weeks that followed – that Alex’s father had left mounting debts before his expedition; that George would have to brave the sights of Europe alone; that neither of them had the right words to reassure the other that nothing would change when it was clear everything would. 

George is blinking at him like he’s realised the same thing. Alex has to pull him in for a close hug before his own eyes fill. It feels different to the last time, George somehow fuller, heavier in his arms, some new cologne or hair pomade clashing with the scent Alex remembers. But it’s grounding, too, to have him back, their worst fears unrealised. Home. 

The footpath to the stables is a pretty one - Alex had agreed with his father that if it was going to be a route they took a dozen times a day, it might as well be pleasant. A gate leads to a formal hedged garden, set out in someone’s idea of Tudor knots and paths, which give way to the kitchen gardens, so ripe with well-rotted manure it smells like the stables in high summer. A door to the east corner of those leads through to the lawn, and a walk just long enough to keep the stamp of hooves from rattling his mother’s teacups. 

The stables themselves are visible long before they are reached. It is Alex’s favourite place in the world. It is the evidence of his deepest failings. Beside him, George lets out a low whistle. 

“It wasn’t finished when I saw it last. These must be the finest stables in the country.”

Alex tries and fails to see it as George must - a gleaming three-sided stretch of light and spacious stalls and stallion boxes, with the quadrangle completed on the far side by a three-storey gate house, coachhouse and tack room. You could turn two coach-and-fours in the yard without either team at risk of a clip. George is far too generous, of course - every duke in the land could claim a grander edifice, Devonshire particularly - but for practicality and function, and the health of every horse, he couldn’t ask for better. 

And yet, all he can see is the horrid expense of it. The stone tower over the gatehouse, topped with a gleaming weathervane and a clock that keeps damn near perfect time - that’s at least £2000 wasted, completely irretrievable and so very much needed.

[starfall-spirit]

20 questions for writers

Thank you for the tag @tunaababee and @whatishowedyouinthedark!!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

63 (and another in my drafts for omegaverse free day)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

237,274

3. What fandoms do you write for?

ACOTAR and Fourth Wing mostly, but I'm looking to get more works posted for ToG and Assistant to the Villain (esp with book 2 in hand). Once upon a time I was a Miraculous LB girl too.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Dragons Know Best (Riorgail)

Your Claim on My Heart (Riorgail)

Our Own Little Show (Violiaden)

So This is What Heaven Feels Like (Feysand)

High Lord, Cold and Cruel(Feysand)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Definitely. A single comment can be enough to turn a shitty day or even week on its head and I want my readers to know how much they mean to me. I also just love discussing my work with people who genuinely care about it.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm not an angst writer and I haven't looked at this one in a couple of years but my miraculous oneshot Agony has MCD. So does The Night the Stars Fell on Velaris, even if it turns out to just be a nightmare in the end.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Last year for Feysand Week I wrote All's Fair in Love & Paint Wars which is pure HEA tooth-rotting fluff and smut.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I don't thankfully. There have been a few snotty people who claim i should use a beta or whatever, but I have been very lucky to avoid major hate and entitlement to updates. Part of it is probably that I'm not as popular as other writers in the fandom and I keep my Ao3 locked. People don't like to be a bitch when their name is there for all to see.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh yes. Both fluffy and dark.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I don't, unless you count combining characters from the SJM universe. In that case I have a worldwalking next gen fic and a modern au for Feysand x Ruhn.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I'm not opposed to the idea.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes!! You guys should check out the ACOTAR Writing Circle. I participated in the 3rd circle. There's another thing I'm working on with a friend, hopefully for Feysand Week, but we'll see.

14. What is your all-time favorite ship?

Feysand, the Rowaelin. After that, probably the rareships Feyre x Eris x Rhys and Violiaden.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oof. Um, I've really been struggling to find motivation for Remember me? (Feysand x Ruhn) I started it when I saw an ask @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship asked, but I'm very much a pantser and didn't do anything more than write one crappy chapter before hitting post.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Banter, I think. It's so much fun to write and since I'm lacking in most other components I let it lead my fics. I've had several people tell me I write great dirty talk, but idk. I just make mean men say 'good girl" repeatedly, so...

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Describing anything. My fics are too dialogue heavy and I'm well aware of it, but I've yet to improve my writing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I'm great when it comes to learning sign, but I've never managed to hold onto spoken languages beyond English. I'm not brave enough to trust google translate.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

My Percy Jackson and Harry Potter was never published, so probably ACOTAR.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Burning in the Starlight/How Can I Loathe and Crave You? as well as Precious Collateral. Also super excited about my submission for this Saturday.

They're more about the vibes than making a fic that's actually worth reading and there's something so refreshing about just writing for yourself and like, three dark romance/poly fic girlies who hype you up. I'm in my happy little dark!rhys bubble and will be staying here a long while, thank you.

Tagging: @captain-of-the-gwynriel-ship // @panicatthenightcourt // @writtenonreceipts // @thelovelymadone

[virtual-goat-wizard]

Unwanted storytime!

So my school just had a fire drill. My fourth period aka current period is computer science, which is glorified programming. Most of us, including me had already started our work. Our teacher had began his housekeeping for the period. He started it by saying that he had overheard that supposedly we were going to have a fire drill this period, and to be aware of it. Halfway through his final statement.. DRIIII DRIIIIII DRIIIIIIIII. We all scrambled to our feet, yelling at eachother and him. Bad day to be autistic, as it was setting off every sensory issue I have. My friend in a nearby tech class joined up with me, and we continued with the rest of the crowd out the door, as you do.

Then... "FUCK! FUCK! FUUUUCK!" "Are you okay?" "Fuck! No!"

I had tripped over the door, and my foot twisted sideways under me. I then fell about half a meter onto this foot, and doubled over in pain.

In a ridiculous amount of pain, I couldn't walk right. "Is it your left or right foot?!" "Left!" "Then why the fuck am I holding your right side!?" "FUCK! I don't know!" My other friend took my other side, and we stumbled to the designated area. Problem is, we lost the computer class, so we joined the tech class. I was in the wrong class, with a fucked up ankle. Great!

10 or so minutes of chatting with the occasional "nnnnggg fuuuck" later, the drill ended, and a message was broadcasted across the school that we could return to our classes. Apparently, these fuckers forgot about me, and I then had to drag myself back to the class, pretending I wasn't essentially dying on the spot. Apparently they couldn't hear me screaming to wait because I was slow as shit.

Anyway my summative is going pretty well.

Note: This post is several weeks (months??) old and has been rotting in my drafts

Note 2.0: the summative is horrible but I'll update you when I get my grade back

[whitherliliesbloom]

An Order of Dandelions

He could never forget the scent of caramel coffee in the air, or the sight of the gentle smile that graced her expression as she waved him goodbye. It was a call for him to visit again, an urge and temptation he would never refuse.

Modern AU  ✿ Illya/Alphinaud  ✿ 3,464 words

"A new cafe again, young master?"

He's used to hearing that question asked to him as the scenic view of the city passes him by, his hand idly stroking a length of fur upon his lap as he answers with nothing more than a firm nod.

His chauffeur may not understand it, but Alphinaud was a firm believer of expanding your horizons, trying something new, or some variation of the saying.

He could most certainly not hurt to afford spending his money on the same few chain coffee stores near the campus or his home, and just a few years back he'd even expressed his disbelief at his twin sister's insistence on eating out at those rustic fast food joints rather than the far more trustworthy alternative of five star french cuisine. A disbelief that prompted him to visit a rustic cafe for coffee once, and ever since that first visit, he'd become a devoted convert.

He was enamored by the modest settings of cafe, the more often than not extraordinary decor that put even the fanciest of restaurants he's seen throughout his life to shame. The prices for the food and drinks were extraordinary too - extraordinarily low for quality he'd consider no different from alternatives 5 times the price.

He'd gone from curiosity of a naive rich man's son to a full fledged cafe hopping addict now.

This time, his sights were set on a quaint little cafe he's heard his classmates mentioned once in passing during their lunch time conversations. They said nothing more than the bare minimum to get him curious - that the coffee was delicious, the decorations were pretty and that the barista was apparently nice.

A purr snatches his attention, and the boy turns his head to smile down at the cat that laid belly up upon his lap.

"I shall watch over Romeo as usual, young master."

"My thanks."

Brief words of thanks are punctuated by the sound of the tires braking against the asphalt as the car stops gracefully outside of the quiet little building.

Rows of potted flowers hung just above the window that would give passerby a glimpse into the seating area within. White wooden tables and chairs neatly lined up against the wall where even more potted plants decorated the rustic white planks, green vines taking the place of the ever popular fairy lights he's seen a good number of cafes use. And though the window gave a good view of the handful of customers already seated within, and the sheer amount of plant life that shared that space, the counter is obscured from view behind the wall. He’d assume there would be a short line of people waiting for their orders to be taken.

A small sign was parked right above the window, framed by what else but a wreath of leaves and flowers of every colour of the rainbow.

The Lavender Brew

A suitable name for one so obsessed with plants, Alphinaud thought to himself. Not that it was a bad thing, of course. He hasn't even stepped foot outside the car and he's already sold on the concept.

"Let me know if there's anything else you need, young master." The bearded man in the driver’s seat finally turns to speak to him, and Alphinaud flashes a smile of gratitude in return.

"I will, Pierre. I shall return shortly."

Much to the dismay of the blonde cat that had just been resting so blissfully upon his master's lap, he's quickly scooped up and dropped onto the back seat, evidently less than pleased as it let out a low pitched meow.

Alphinaud is used to the demands of his cat however, and has no regrets with opening the car door and closing it behind him without even a second glance back.

A bell chime greets his entrance into the cafe, and he's immediately hit by the familiar scent of coffee intermingled with floral notes he was less accustomed to. He notes with a low hum that he was right about there not being too many people waiting by the counter.

A display refrigerator he hadn't been able to see from the outside stood proudly next to the counter, housing a myriad of palm sized cakes and pastries along with handwritten cards noting the name of each dessert and their respective prices.

Eye catching as the desserts were, his attention is drawn to the chalk board on the wall behind the counter, where more of the same handwriting now listed a menu of drink items with their prices. Espresso, mocha and lattes he's very much used to.. a subset list of both floral and fruit juices less so, but it further adds to the naturalistic theme this cafe seemed so adamant to follow.

His line of sight breaks upon catching a flash of white at the corner of his eye and he turns his head back down to finally look at the barista.

Long straight white hair fluttered to and fro after the girl as she rushed from one end of the station behind the counter to the other, frantically preparing the orders of the patiently waiting customers who were far more interested in whatever was being displayed on their smart phones. A pink ribbon broke the monotone of her pure white hair behind her head, and he notes to himself with a small amount of amusement that the white patterns on the ribbon were of lilies.

When the lady finally turns around to hand the customer a take away cup of their order, a timid little 'thank you so much!' breathlessly leaving her lips, Alphinaud's eyes widen slightly in surprise. 

Wide violet eyes that practically glisten in the light, almost porcelain-like light skin and a button nose. The woman's sense of dress is simple, but most suited for her. Coupled with how she stood more than a foot shorter than even he and her youthful appearance, he'd garner a guess that she was no older than him, and perhaps even younger. 

If this were the very same barista his classmate had been speaking about, he'd have to very much agree with their prognosis about her 'cuteness'.

Alphinaud may be rich, but he most certainly isn’t entitled. At least, he’d like to believe he isn’t, a claim so many others of his age had throw thoughtlessly his way with zero regards of his feelings. And so he has always made it a point to emulate the behavior of what his father titled ‘commoners’. From occasionally picking up groceries for himself, to the now comfortable routine of standing in line at a cafe as he takes in the sights around him. 

He quickly scurries to the end of the queue and attempts to make full use of his time waiting by thinking on what he’d like to order until his train of thought was rudely disrupted by the rough rattle of the bell as the door to the cafe opened.

“Hey, lady! This isn’t what I ordered!” 

A man stomps in, pushing past the first customer in front of the counter to slam his disposable coffee cup onto the table. It barely makes a sound, but the anger in his voice is enough to contort the barista’s expression into one of unbridled fear.

“U-um-- W-What was it that you ordered again, sir?”

“I ordered a goddamn Americano, not Macchiato, idiot!”

There isn’t a single pair of eyes in the cafe that wasn’t directed towards the bellowing man now. Though the gazes of the patrons within the cafe had ranged from mild curiosity to annoyance, the trembling barista behind the counter had been left alone with a wavering stare of terror. 

“I-I’m so sorry! I’ll prepare a Macchiato for you right away, sir!” 

“I ain’t got time to wait for you to make another shitty cup of your brew! You’ve already wasted enough of my time making me come back here to tell you this!”

Hushed whispers passed among the handful of customers that had been waiting in line, presumably badmouthing the audacity of the man to quite literally scream in the face of a woman who seemed about ready to fall to the floor. Inaction and idle gossip however, has never quite been Alphinaud’s style; it was never the Leveilleur style. 

“There must certainly be a better way to express your dissatisfaction than to yell at a lady like that.” The boy’s words pierces through the air, and the man directs his narrowed glare towards him. 

“What’s that gotta do with you, kid?! Stay out of it!”

“You’re making a scene, sir. You claim that she wasted your time, and yet are you not wasting the time of everybody waiting in line yourself?” Unwavered, Alphinaud folds his arms across his chest. “I’m certain the police would say the same if we were to call them here.”

The threat certainly seemed to get through to the man at least. His eyes almost spitting fire out at the insolent teen who seemed to have no intentions of backing off. The boy’s well dressed, probably well to do.. if he were to lay a hand on him, then  surely no good would come of it. 

Finally stepping back, the man hurriedly leaves the cafe, though not without leaving a final signal of his ire by slamming the door. The sound of the door smashing shut, and the echoes of the bell as it noisily chimed for the next several seconds was enough to cause the poor barista to jump in her skin. 

“Don’t let jerks like him get to you.” one of the customers, a woman with a freckled face and curly brunette hair waved her hand to catch the young woman’s attention. “He probably won’t ever come back, anyway.”

The sentiment seemed to be shared by the other customers, who were quick to turn their attention back to their own business after sparing a final sympathetic glance at the woman behind the counter. 

Alphinaud hadn’t expected anything out of the incident, really. Such actions was only natural, or at least something that should be expected out of the future heir of a corporation. He could not hope to lead others if he did not have the courage to stand up for what he believed to be right, or at the very least defend those with a lesser voice than he. 

It was but a small unpleasant blight during an otherwise uneventful day.

“U-um... Thank you so much...” 

It wasn’t until the other customers before him had been served and the line in front of the counter had dispersed that he heard her voice directed towards him. It was almost like a whisper, a single light chime in the wind. The girl’s hands clasped together in front of her chest as she stared up at Alphinaud with glossy violet eyes. 

The sincerity in her words caught him unaware at first, but he was quick to shake his head and flash her a smile as a return.

“You needn’t thank me. I just did what was right.”

“B-but...” the girl stutters, fingers now fidgeting restlessly as her eyes darts to the planks of wood beneath her feet. “You...you protected me.. from that man and...”

Protected certainly is an unexpectedly huge word to be using for something so trivial, but Alphinaud could only imagine what such a valiant act would appear to be in the eyes of a woman who seemed barely capable of keeping eye contact with others.  

“And I am certain many others would have done the same if they had the chance, miss.” 

The girl averts her gaze, hands falling apart to allow one to brush strands of white over her ear. There’s no one behind him in line, but she still makes an attempt to recall her professionalism all the same.

“W-well,” she begins, her voice almost a whisper for a moment, before it becomes louder. “What would you like to order, sir?”

Alphinaud leans back slightly on one heel as he considers, glancing briefly at the blackboard menu decorated with small chalk drawings of flowers and leaves.

“How about you surprise me?” he asks pleasantly with a smile. He catches sight of her name tag as he looks back to her. Illya. “And call me ‘Alphinaud’, please.”

A light dusting of pink rises to the girl’s cheeks as she shuffles her feet nervously, still not quite looking at him. Pale pink lips tremble as she attempts to choke out his name as requested.

“Y-yes...S-si-.. Alphinaud.” Somehow, something twinges lightly in his chest as he hears her say his name. Perhaps the floral scent of the cafe is getting to him. “My name is...Illya.”

Her expression turns into one of consideration as she turns away from him slowly. He doesn’t think to tell her he’s already seen her name.

The light hiss of steaming milk fills the air as Illya begins preparing him her brew, evidently having decided upon something. Her movement is swift, evidently familiar with her station as she mixes a concoction of what he can tell to contain milk and some powder together. A minute later, she brings him the cup, lightly settles it upon the counter, and names the price.

“Ah...I sh-should have told you earlier...I’m sorry -- “

“No, no, it’s quite all right, nothing to worry about,” he reassures her, already pulling out his card to pay. The payment terminal makes a light beep as he taps it. He spares her another smile as he folds his wallet away. “What is it?”

“A-a...caramel latte.”

Oh -- he’s never had one of those. But he did ask her to surprise him, and she certainly did. He picks up the steaming cup and takes a sip.

It’s -- sweet. Almost cloyingly so.

Somehow, he manages to keep a grimace from rising to his features. Alphinaud has never been a big fan of overly sugary drinks. He’s used to the dark and bitter richness of his usual orders, but telling her he’s not fond of it, especially after what had happened earlier felt a tad cruel.

His panic spikes when she, hesitantly, asks him how it is, and he has to pray that he’s managed to remain composed.

“It’s...good.” Relief washes over him like a tidal wave as he sees her pretty violet eyes light up. “It’s certainly surprising! I’ve never had one of these before.”

“I’m so glad.” The sheer sincerity behind her words is near enough to take his breath away, though why, he’s not entirely sure. 

“I-Illya,” he stammers a moment, internally cursing himself, as he nurses his cup and takes another small sip. “How did you come to own such a quaint cafe?” Ordinarily, he wouldn’t attempt to make such conversation, but it doesn’t feel right to simply leave, and there’s nobody else waiting either way.

“Oh...” Illya trails off, her gaze averting yet again. “I-it’s -- it used to be my parents’. My mother put me in charge of the cafe after I graduated high school.. A-And since I’ve always liked flowers, I t-turned it into a florist shop as well...”

One pale eyebrow quirking in surprise, Alphinaud turns slightly to glance at one of the many displays of flowers and plants festooning the establishment. Now that she mentions it, he can indeed see that some of them have price tags attached. 

From an assortment of potted cactus plants and flower, to smaller trinkets that he assumes to be mini terrariums.. it’s plain to see much love and care was put into the array of plants that was put on sale.

“What a wonderful idea! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a cafe quite like this before. I think it’s very unique.”

Dusts of red returns to the white-haired girl’s cheeks full-force, though this time a smile accompanies it.

“I’m...glad to hear that. I-it’s not that great though.”

Silence passes between them as the young man takes another sip of his drink. For some reason, he wants to say something else. Illya looks unoccupied, perhaps a little out of sorts, as she stands at the counter. The other shop patrons are sitting at their tables, some engaged in conversation, others nose-deep in their phones. 

It wasn’t that he was exceptionally chatty. But something about the girl compels him to want to take an extra effort at conversation, somehow. 

Come to think of it, Illya looks about his age, doesn’t she...? Does she man the cafe the entire day...?

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” he asks her suddenly. She startles, eyes wide as she looks up at him from beneath her fringe of pale hair.

“U-um...I’m...twenty...”

Ah, so only a few months older than he is.

“Is that so? I turn twenty in about another 6 months myself.” he offers, since it’s only polite. “Are you...” There’s a brief pause as he rethinks his words. “In school?”

Whilst it’s common to begin university or college at the age of nineteen or eighteen..he’d rather not fluster or embarrass her if perhaps she’d started late...or had any difficulty...that’s simply not his style. And she’s already nervous enough.

“I...If you mean college... I never went.” Her gaze is downcast, shoulders tense in something that might well be shame. “I...my parents...we didn’t have enough...”

The hitch in her voice was almost enough to cause his heart to ache, and he can already hear a nagging voice in his conscious chiding him for being so foolish as to bring up such a sensitive topic. 

“Oh. I see.” She doesn’t need to continue for him to understand. The taste on his tongue is sour, and he takes a mouthful of latte to soothe it. “I’m sorry.”

“I-it’s okay!” Illya quickly waves a hand to placate him. “I’m...I’m happy here. I-it’s all right.” For a moment, Alphinaud has the sinking feeling she’s trying to justify herself to him. But then -- 

“I’m happy that I get to carry on my parents’ hard work.”

The sincerity in her voice and expression is nearly enough to floor him, and he can’t believe he had been so self-centered and patronizing as to assume she might be...ashamed of working at a small little cafe filled with flowers. That soft, gentle smile -- 

He has to swallow around the strange lump in his throat.

“It’s certainly very admirable. I’m...glad I got to meet you here, Illya.”

He’s glad he wandered into this quaint little shop of warm drinks and pastries and flowers. He’s glad -- to have defended her, to have allowed her to send his preconceived notions and beliefs flying with those tiny hands of hers, for the warmth rising in his chest like a steaming coffee.

Illya’s violet eyes dart up to meet his, shocked. Before she can say anything else, there’s a light ring at the door as someone else enters the shop. Clearing his throat, Alphinaud gives the white-haired girl a nod and a smile.

“Thank you for your time today, Illya. And thank you for the...latte.”

He hesitates a single moment, and the girl is too flustered to say anything. There was a moment of silence between the pair as he waits, hoping for a response. He could not help the hint of disappointment he felt as he watched Illya avert his gaze, a hand moving up to comb strands of silky hair back behind her ear. 

“Goodbye.”

Alphinaud turns, and just as he was about to fully step out the door he’d opened however, he hears her squeak out a question.

“W-Will you be coming back someday, Alphinaud?”

Like a javelin through his chest, he nearly stumbles from the skipping of his heart beat. Color rises up his face, almost dark enough to match the red of the roses that stood proudly among the display the shelves. 

“Of course.”

Alphinaud dares to cast a final glance back, and immediately regrets his decision when she sees the bright smile that graced Illya’s face. Her hand raised, waving sheepishly at him.

He finally steps outside, but not even a gulp of fresh air was enough to steady the racing of his heart, nor did the impatient meows of Romeo who had peeked his head out the opened car window. The cup in his hand still feels warm, and yet it paled in comparison to the heat that filled his head.

Alphinaud raises the beverage up to his chapped lips, gulping in the last of the brew that tingled his taste buds and lets out a low hum at the tender sweetness. He feels immense regret at the fact that his cup was now empty, but that was simply all the more reason to pay The Lavender Brew a second visit.

He may well just have found his new favorite drink. 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird, “A Preoccupation with Death.”

Hope you enjoy :)

Analysis By Dr. Krill MD

Humanity’s preoccupation with death has always fascinated me: I say fascinated because to say that it disturbs me would be rather unscientific, and I have been attempting to reign in my anger… I have had some… complaints over the last year about the unprofessionalism of my previous papers. The GA community does not appreciate, and I quote, “Excessive swearing, and screaming” in virtual reports, so today I will attempt to be calm and relaxed as I explain to you, common human traditions based around death.

Now you must understand, from my perspective these practices are quite bizarre. Vrull have no rituals associated with death. The Vrull are disposed of and their bodies are incinerated. The ash is then disposed with by mixing into the soil to produce needed plants on the planet surface. There are no other options, and no other arrangements are made.

However, I am told that funeral rights with humans are, often, more to do with what the living need than what the deceased do. However, there are some funeral rights believed to be required in certain human cultures, so that rule does not always hold completely true.

I will begin from the moment of death.

Unlike the Vrull humans do not know their exact time of death. Granted this is not because the Vrull have a set clocking system in their bodies which sets the time in which we die, but because our society sets forth a time of our usefulness. No one knows how long a Vrull can feasibly live because no one has tried it before. I myself might plan on finding out, as I have no intention of returning for my scheduled termination, which is already a year overdue.

Humans, like most other species die in several different ways, accidents, sickness, or the sudden failure of the body due to old age, the final one generally happening peacefully and in their sleep.

However this is where humans tend to diverge from their inhuman counterparts, in that they are very social creatures, the death of a human is usually witnessed by multiple family members and friends, in the case of sickness, and is mourned many weeks after because the death of someone in your social circle changes that circle forever. Social bonds are cut and entire social lives are upended. Humans bond so heavily with each other that the loss of one of their own can lead to mental and emotional trauma extreme enough to require medication and hospitalization.

Humans plan their deaths months to years in advance. In certain instances, their jobs force them to plan their death in advance in case something were to happen. Decisions need to be made about who owns their property, where it goes, what happens to their dwellings, and how the surviving members of their family will be supported. Sometimes they plan this due to terminal illness which they knew will lead to their deaths, otherwise they might just do it out of precaution.

There are many different ways of disposing of a corpse. First of all, you must determine if any of the human parts are recyclable: this being the very morbid idea of taking someone else’s organs and giving them to another person. Now with the advancement of this technology, organ transplants from donors is not as common as it once was seeing as they can now 3D print organs. However, this method is not time effective and is very costly, in some cases leaving the harvesting of deceased human organs to be the only viable option.

Yes, they take organs from dead people… the doctor and surgeon in me admires that thought process, but the thinking breathing creature inside of me recoils heavily at the idea.

Assuming that no one requires your organs, or if you have especially requested for your organ not to be used  than there are other questions that need to be addressed. There are humans who have jobs especially in the business of taking care of dead bodies. They are generally moved in special containers and placed in refrigerated units to slow decomposition while the relatives determine what they want to do with the body.

In certain cases, where the death is suspicious, as related to murder, there are, in fact, humans who specilize in determining the cause and time of death based on the decomposition rate of a body and the stiffness of the flesh itself. This is a semi-common practice across the galaxy, and I myself have performed one or two autopsies since my professional career began though they are far more common for humans.

I find that the most humane method of human enterrement, and the one that makes most sense to me as a Vrull is the idea of cremation. The body is taken and placed in a furnace that is then heated enough to turn the body to ash leaving only bone fragments and the occasional mineral deposit. The ash may then be given to the family members or disposed of accordingly. Some humans find it comforting to keep the remains in some sort of container.... A fact which I find morbid but, we have proven in abundance that I find much of what humanity does, rather morbid.

It is only going to get worse.

The other method of disposal, popular through human history, however made someone obscure in recent centuries due to the proliferation of human burial sites…. The common north american and European Burial and funeral rights went as follows. After death, and freezing in the morgue, a special human with the job of mortician is called in to prepared the body for burial…. This is where it gets very morbid.

The body is drained of all of its fluids and then pumped full of preservatives to slow down the process of decomposition. The faces are then painted with makeup to give the corpse the appearance of sleep rather than death. The body is dressed in fine clothing and placed inside a coffin or casket: these in themselves can cost thousands of dollars as the family members decide what materials the box should be made out of and lined with, precious metals, woods like oak or steel, and the inside lined in velvet satin or silk. The body is placed inside with the person dressed in a finely tailored suit before a hearse: a special vehicle designed to carry caskets is brought to the place of mourning, generally a curch or a funeral home.

Many times the body is then put through a “viewing”.... It sounds just as bad as I make it seem, when the humans come in…. In large groups…. To stare at their dead relative. Just…. Stare at their rotting corpse before it is hauled away and lowered into an six foot hole in the earth. A decorative rock is then place on top of that inscribed with the deceased’s name so that everyone knows where to find their moldering corpse….

….

….

I am told this provides a lot of closure for family members, though I have yet to understand why staring at a painted corpse would be helpful.’

Unfortunately, with humans, this isn't the most gruesome method they have of corpse disposal, nor the most involved 

You may also chose to donate your body to science…

They might hand your bod over to a medical school, where aspiring doctors will, in groups, dissect your corpse slowly over an intervening few weeks or months. It is… gruesome, but a necessary part of the learning process. Your skeleton might even be recycled for use as a tool to demonstrate the skeletal structure to those very same students.

Perhaps your body will end up in a museum, where they will encase your nervous system in plaster and place it on a wall for school children and visiting day travelers to view.

Perhaps you might donate your body to…. A body farm. A palace where scientists will toss your corpse out into different elements to observe the rate and change of decomposition based on different dump sites. They will examine the decomposition, the moisture loss, and the bugs which take to eating your body. This research will then be used to determine the cause o death for other corpses disposed of by murderers or in similar fashion.

It is gruesome, but I suppose…. It is useful for scientific efforts.

These aren't the only methods of body disposal.

Bodies have been tied to the top of large towers

Thrown into the woods to be eaten by animals

Dumped into pits.

And in a couple of cases, launched into the vacuum of space.

Different rituals require family members to spend more or less time with the body, to wrap it in special cloth, or to anoint it with certain oils. 

The Egyptians were widely known for their complex and involved enterrement rituals commonly known as mummification.

The body was first embalmed

The brain was removed

The organs removed and placed in specialized canopic jars 

The body was then dried

Then wrapped which continued to help in the drying process 

Then the body was finally entered, and due to the sandy heat of the desert, the body was often preserved to a great and surprising degree. Egyptians believed that those things you had in life would come with you after death, and so egyptian rulers were entered with great riches and inside grand palaces 

Then of course there is the last ritual which I learned about just recently.

Certain tribal societies will….. Eat…. their dead….

They will eat them….

As in the entire village will get together and consume the corpse in a feast, believing that without this they cannot enter the afterlife.

…..

…

…

…

…

I am going to draft a proposal to the GASC that screaming and profanities should be considered scientifically appropriate when in regards to humans

[blysse-and-blunder]

in lieu of a commonplace book

10:30 pm, sunday, nov 14, 2021

what's up gamers, it's been approx. two thousand years (actually a month) but i am alive, i am consuming media, and i am going to tell you about it under the cut. this is a long one!

reading please believe me when i say i had written out an extremely good and thoughtful take on mxtx's novel tiān guān cì fú (heaven official's blessing), specifically for you, @viciousmerlin, and that because i am somehow still very bad at this, i managed to delete the whole thing. very frustrating! anyway, loved it, took forever to finish it, the last quarter or so draaaagged which i do blame in part on the fact that it was being released serially at that part (and also that the slow burn had...slow burnt up to such a pitch by the cave of 1000 gods that any flashback or sideplot at that point was torturous); i know there was a whole secondary arc with some new characters and shit introduced but i have absolutely no memory of it apart from ruoye's incredibly sad backstory; still, we stan a plot that manages to introduce a rigid and completely impenetrable heavenly hierarchy and then deconstructs it, and there is at least one unwritten essay in me about face covering in this (masks! bandages! facial expressions that are or are not sincere! kisses?) and also probably ascent / descent/ leaping /falling/ flying/ leaps of faith and or love? we love to invert a rigid value system, xie lian actually is as worldly-wise and damaged as you think and it only made him kind but then, also, i did contract serious hua cheng brain rot after the whole 'teach him to roll dice properly' thing and it has yet to let up. the way xl just! starts trusting him with literally no reason and is never proven wrong! is very good to me, personally!

in my earlier draft of this post i listed a bunch of the things i was reading around the margins of trying to finish tgcf, and i will recreate it at a later date, but consider: i am tired.

watching finally gave the anya taylor joy emma a fair trial, having more or less forgiven it for not being the romola garai + johnny lee miller mini series. i will give atj this, she does a better job than i feared from all the promo material (wherein she only had a single facial expression-- in the film she has several!), but the best part of this film was a) the soundtrack b) bill fucking nighy c) miranda? the older i get, the more i feel for miss bates. i fucking loved elton and mrs. elton, they were absurd, i loved it. i knew i liked johnny flynn as a folk singer already, and thought he actually did a passable job as knightley, but they did him a disservice with the hair/sideburns combo, it covered most of his face and left his pouty lips as a weird focal point, which was distracting. there's an unwritten essay in me about the decision to associate certain scenes/classes with italianate / classical music, and others with trad music / raucous folk harmonies, without then having any real time spent around the classes who are implicated in those harmonies, but consider: i am tired.

also started watching succession and this Sure is a Show, but four episodes into s1 and i can usually pull the correct name for the correct roy- male and just want to watch sarah snook work. tom and greg are Way Too Much already but they are, individually and together, the kind of traffic accident you can't look away from. actually, i could apply that to roman too. the recny ball just happened, to give everyone context.

listening i've had the newest album by autoheart on infinite loop almost since it dropped a few weeks ago-- initially it wasn't doing a lot for me, not being punch (2013), but as i have listened more to the album as a whole, stuff has clicked. there are more bleeps and bloops, synths and bass lines, it almost hits an abba-esque place every once in a while, which of course means it slaps, and the lyricism and unexpected melodiousness (?) is all still there. the single i know that he loves me captures this pretty well:

(the religious trauma/gay devotion is certainly a big part of the video but also, if the 'he' in the lyrics is a certain ghost king who is there and gone but unquestioningly devoted, this becomes a hualian anthem and on this hill i will plant my flag) and that led me to consider the album more carefully. other stand-out tracks right now are:

into the woods (slow and easy tempo, shimmering sort of up-beat texture, the lyrics are Good but also Very Real, there's a repetition of 'i feel fine, i feel fine' which is a useful mantra lately)

perestroika (instrumental! incredible! cinematic! makes me feel like i'm standing on top of a mountain in a sunrise!)

time machine (the chorus is a good-sad that i don't necessarily relate to but don't not relate to, I forgive, you forget me, that's just how it has to be)

already gone (melodic! melancholy! i love the focus on little things about someone, the way the music itself builds. either a wangxian anthem or a hualian anthem depending on the hour, ugh the devotion is very much)

playing nothing really-- dnd resumes tomorrow!

making i need to...mend things and also put the garden/yard to bed for the winter and neither of those things is happening. i got halfway into the prep for a cooking project yesterday and just...put it on hold...when will my hands-on-project ability return from war...

working on spent much of the last month stressing about, and the majority of the last week actually drafting, the diss proposal which will ideally govern what i spend the next 2-5 years (please god more on the 2 side) of my life working on. so that's...a thing... i have also got a shitload of grading to still finalize, i did a first pass of my thoughts and then got so demoralized i had to fart around reading ridiculous fanfic for like 36-48 hours to recover. my eyeballs feel a bit scalded now but what can you do, just write in the comments section of an essay 'this is poorly written and it made me sad to read'?

[jae-canikeepyou]

| letting go | j.jh

pair: jaehyun x fem!reader

genre: angst (i don’t think it’s enough ;-; )

a/n: weeee this was rotting in my drafts for months, it’s not proof read (as always) haha :D

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

the strong rush of winds together with falling sharp raindrops were painful, as if multiple arrows were aimed at you by a number of huntsmen— hiding behind woods, camouflaging themselves in order to not reveal their positions.

at this point, the droplets rather felt like hailstones than water. well what difference did it make? they still sliced your flesh like knives even if they were the condensed and frozen forms of liquid.

just as your body froze when you saw him with her.

almost the whole crowd turned heads to your way. looking back, the entire picturesque looked exactly like a bride entering a chapel for her walk at the aisle, except what happened earlier was the total opposite. it looked like you objected the bind of the new couple because believe it or not, whispers from all directions grew and there wasn’t an end to them. they spread so quickly that you didn’t bother to stop them.

you stood right in front of your boyfriend, right at the middle of the dance floor, whom he had his arms around a girl’s waist. to make you respond negatively and hurtfully, his fingers intertwined, not wanting to let her away from his touch.

in the depths of your heart, you hoped he would release her and run towards you in regret of his actions. but given the fact that they continued to sway along with the music like you never existed, it was obvious he was deliberately trying to make you flip off. sober or not, you already familiarised yourself with his habits and mannerisms in the years you’ve been with him. the smirk growing at the girl’s lips confirmed it was her plan, while the look on jaehyun’s face mirrored hers.

he was in for the game he wanted to play.

these whole three years, was there a day he thought about you, cared for you, or even loved you? did you actually mean anything to him? for him to easily leave you with another? the club music began to soften, not because everyone witnessed what was going on, but because your hearing was slowly deafening from the revelation before you. what you experienced at that moment; as if you were shoved underwater and let you drown in your fears of a breaking relationship.

it was breaking now, and you’re breaking apart now.

“jaehyun?” the once dear name left your lips and you stood there frozen. his shirt disheveled from the collarbone downwards along with a stupid missing vans shoe you gifted him for the anniversary a week ago. “you said you were going to..” you hissed, and swallowed the words back to avoid giving hints of sadness. “..nevermind.”

the girl snaked her arms around his neck. “oh y/n, finish your sentence.” she was high, her words slurred but was sober enough to pay attention to you. “that would mark as a closure with him, won’t it?” her giggles shrieking in amusement. what a sadist.

“ignore her. now, where were we?” jaehyun cupped her jaw to turn her attention away from you.

it took a minute or less to realise that your fists balled at his naughty, flirtatious grin he put out. you knew your skin already was dented with crescent marks you didn’t bother checking. with courage— the hesitating kind, you walked up to him to confirm your doubts that has been clouding your mind since you last saw him. the girl rolled her eyes, irritated at the fact you were quite persistent. jaehyun did the same. “so you’re just gonna dump me like that?” you pushed him on the chest.

“if you want to hear my answer, i can say it.” jaehyun gestured the girl to leave the both of you. “give us a minute.” he shoved his hands in his pockets to grab an item. it was a watch you got for him in the first year. thinking that he was to give it back, apparently, you thought wrong.

the silver watch fell to the ground with his gaze slowly rising from it to you. “i’m pretty much sober, but i was drunk when i agreed to be your boyfriend.”

“lies.” you gritted your teeth, not buying anything that came from his lips. “telling me you’re lying!”

“it’s the truth, y/n.” jaehyun said. it pissed you off when he had the audacity to bring your hair behind your ear, as if that would make you believe him. he lightly touched the edge of your chin, bringing it closer to his face. you shut your eyes hoping that this was all a dream, but it clearly wasn’t. “it’s all one-sided. it’s easy to understand by now yeah? i don’t love you.”

“jaehyun!” the girl singsonged as she returned, pulling him with impatience. “let’s go?”

you felt your throat going dry seeing both of their figures getting smaller in the distance. you couldn’t afford to be more mad because you knew that if you did, jaehyun still would never return to you. he already enjoyed the sight of you hurting, so what much more if you reacted to his plan? the long-term plan he plotted against a relationship he was to tear apart anyway?

the heart of yours that once pounded vigorously for him now probably skipped a beat or two, or more because you couldn’t keep track in counting. you just couldn’t. everything and all else in your peripheral began to blur in your own tears. and glad they did.

sometimes you’d like to think your heart had a mind of its own. it summoned your legs to leave the place when your mind was already completely blank, and you didn’t realise that you made yourself look vulnerable and desperate to everyone in that house.

even so, no one dared to come to comfort you despite knowing who you were: jaehyun’s now ex-girlfriend. they watched all of it happen like they do with most tv series. maybe they didn’t want to get involved with the drama. the rain started to pour and that was when you gave in into the depression you’ve held inside in the span of three minutes. great timing. no one would know i’m crying now. leave him be y/n.

walking towards home from here was better than taking a bus, you’d probably embarrass yourself. and grabbing a taxi would’ve been convenient, but most vehicles were occupied or drivers wouldn’t take in customers due to finished shifts. the only thing protecting you from the rain was your endurance and patience.

you continued running; away from the source of pain, escaping to wherever your half-conscious state brings you. you weren’t close to home yet.

what felt like hours only made your body temperature drop to its lowest.

a car pulled over just when your legs were to give in. you were in a daze that you weren’t aware of the vehicle honking at you. so the flickers of the headlights did the job better. the window rolled down that the person inside let out a gasp.

the slam of the door had you turning around. voices battling each other and it was surprising you could hear them bickering so clearly under the intense rainfall and loud thunderstorms. “give me a second! it’s y/n and she’s soaked!”

that certain voice warmed the freezing you which jaehyun caused. you turned around to see yuta, your best friend, removing his coat, quickly wrapping over your heads and led you straight into his car. “why are you out here alone?! where’s jaehyun?! is he not with you?!” he tsked, telling ten to drive back to the apartment.

between your sobs you let out a bitter and husky scoff, not wanting to hear or associate yourself with that name ever again. taeyong let you wear his scarf and lend you pocket warmers to add more body heat. “o-one..” you mumbled. “i-it was one-sided. he never l-loved me.”

your friends exchanged looks and were so ready to go to the bar where jaehyun was at, to beat the pulp out of him. “that bastard— ten, turn around! i’m beating the crap out of jaehyun!”

“n-no! please!” you hugged yuta and he froze at your plead. “it’ll cause more trouble than he already is!”

“y/n he wasted three years of your time just to play with your feelings!” yuta tried to see the bar behind the moist and droplets on the window. “and i won’t allow anyone to hurt you when he’s the trouble!”

your palms covered your eyes long as you tried to explain. “but he made his word and you know he’s the type to bring in more trouble! he has people on his back and you’re outnumbered..”

“y/n’s right, yuta. we can’t afford to fight all of them.” taeyong pat your head.

yuta slammed his clenched fists on the edge along with fits of his legs. “rgh!”

you were afraid of jaehyun leaving you, yet your bestfriend gave you the most fear since it wasn’t the first time he clashed with your lover. he was against the relationship, that you began dating an enemy of their frat and that it was risky. he warned you that they both had quite a rough history and would for sure have each other’s heads if they were to meet again.

and because your cries led to this, yuta was sure he wouldn’t let his once bestfriend near you.

ten suddenly stepped on the brakes followed with a yelp. slight screeches from the tires had everyone going forwards before hitting backs against the seats. “oh my g- is he dead?” kun sat up a little to see the figure trying to get up.

“who?” taeyong’s eyes widened.

“i think it was jaehyun.” ten pulled a lever to stop the windscreen wiper.

“ha! he deserved it!” yuta’s grin was menacing and chilled you to the bone, but you understood his reasons. and you were an idiot to not able to notice the relationship falling out until the last minute.

jaehyun yelled out your name several times, asking you to get off the car. you didn’t want to because what was the point? he didn’t love you so why did he want you back now? he was crying, but he could be drunk too.

when that wasn’t enough for jaehyun to get to you, he opened the car door, in which, wasn’t locked and managed to grab hold of yuta’s arm out of the vehicle, pulling you along with him out in the rain. “get back here y/n! you’re not going with yuta!” jaehyun yelled as he made you stand on your toes.

“she’s not going with you! jerk!” yuta quickly punched him in the face, causing jaehyun to fall.

you jumped in front of him, stopping yuta from more violence. “yuta please!”

but jaehyun punched him too. back and forth of fist fights.

taeyong and kun got off the car to join you prevent yuta. “dude quit it! let’s just bring y/n home!”

you pushed your way through and passed the boys, eyes asking your bestfriend to calm down. “y/n what the hell are you doing?! he’s drunk!” yuta grabbed your wrists. “why are you still going to talk to him?”

“i’m not doing this for him, i’m doing this for me.” you sniffed and the seriousness in your eyes made yuta let go. “i just need to make things clear to him one last time.”

“you’re stubborn but i’ll credit you for being brave. give you five ‘cause i’m counting.”

you didn’t care about getting sick. all you could think of was to bid that final farewell. it hurt when he wrapped you in his arms as if what happened earlier was nothing to him. as if breaking your heart was his cup of tea. “what do you want jaehyun?”

he mumbled. reeking of the remains of alcohol, you couldn’t stand him anymore. “i want you.”

“well i don’t.” you wriggled out of his hold. “i went out of my way to tell you to stay out of my life.”

he stared at you. it was different than before. he didn’t do this on purpose. three years with him was enough to know his moves and this was one of those that he was attentive now. “i still love—”

“no!” you sobbed and struggled to catch your breath, soon pushing his shoulder and though he didn’t budge, he probably got the message. “don’t start with that word! for all i care you could be the all-star player girls love— but you’re never ever going to win my heart again! you don’t even love me to begin with and you said it yourself!”

you brushed him as jaehyun tried to reach out for you. “how many trophies have you kept on your shelf, hm? i’d say five.. ah, twenty?” you stifle a sarcastic laugh. “am i one of the trophies you desperately want to get? how about that girl you’re with? is she part of the collection too?”

he stayed quiet, and you expected this anyway. “i’ll never be enough for you. goodbye jae.” you sighed.

jaehyun saw that yuta was already waiting. he had you in his arms, giving the middle finger at him before you both entered the car. it wasn’t that you fell short, it was him. indeed it was true that you were a prize he achieved, but even all-star players had their insecurities too. he just didn’t share with you, rather he chose not to.

because what would he get in return? just a little word of encouragement would make him feel better? no, of course not. he didn’t want that and you couldn’t give what he wanted from you. the car vanished in the distance.

so did your peripheral when you looked back.

some reason, you felt better. the company of your friends now were better than jaehyun, in all the three years combined.

“hey, y/n. you didn’t take five minutes.” yuta nudged you lightly. “he’s not worth it.”

you fell silent as you deleted a picture of jaehyun posing with his watch from a year ago. tears brimmed your eyes but you promised yourself just now to never cry because of him. “i’m gonna sleep. wake me up when we arrive home.”

yeah. you counted as well. it took three years to realise how dumb you actually were and how jaehyun wasn’t the person you knew but..

it took three minutes to decide to let him go.

[7cxrhye]

HOLY SHIT!!! it's amazing, I loved the ending! question: what are you planning on writing next? (not necessarily in the whatever remains universe) have a good day :D

Hello!! So glad you enjoyed it! It took…a hell of a lot, so hearing that it’s payed off for others and not just me is awesome. :D

Excellent question. A lab report for chemistry and a paper for my rhetoric final—

No, the answer you’re looking for is that I have several things in the works. I’m doing a fic exchange for Christmas, so expect a one shot in a couple weeks for that. Won’t give too many spoilers but it will be pretty angsty, I think.

After that, well…we’ll see!! I have several ideas I’m excited about. One is a collab fic that I’m in the process of right now, and now that Detectives are in the back burner I can finally let myself become consumed by brain rot again. (Key words: cyborg Technoblade, very angsty.) Another is a big thick multi-chap that I have had percolating in my head for almost exactly a year; my first notes doc for it is dated November 27, 2020. It’s fully outlined and a couple chapters are already drafted, though I want to go do some serious reworking. (Keywords: pirate Technoblade, found family, Rivals duo!) Aside from those, I’ve got loads of other one shots and multi-chaps in my ideas spreadsheet to keep me fed.

I’m far from done with the Detectives universe, though. It may be a while (and I mean a while, like next summer) before I get back to it, but the ideas are already flowing.

But, uh, yeah! MCYT one shots and multi-chaps for the foreseeable future. Only way that might change is if I get sucked into another fandom (cough cough good omens) but honestly? This fandom has been nothing but good to me, and I love it here. I doubt I’m leaving anytime soon.

Hope that answers your question :D

[zuffer-weird-girl]

A/n:This has been on my drafts for too long now. Is not one of my best works but is certainly something that I thought a lot when I first read the chapter and comung to understand Pops and Kai relationship as father and son. I hope this not come as petty or ahitty like some works of mine because this one I meant it to be... special.

Allert for murder and suicide mentions

Only by a miracle

"Why if I do even need to ask for? Just bullshit ..." he asked, barely bothering to look in your direction while he watched the news ... at least try to pretend he cared.

After the raid of the hassaikai, the league of villains; especially because of Shigaraki; taking his arms, taking away what little significance was left for the poor man, Chisaki had simply put everything aside ... his interest in things and knowledge, his goal of "cleaning the world", even of at least care about his physical and especially mental state ... the reason why you two are having this conversation right now. The only thing that he seemed to not have lost hope or interested thankfully was you.

"I just thought that maybe it was something to help you ... "you answered quietly, gently approaching and sitting right next to him" a psychologist may be a good idea especially after everything ... happened. That co-worker of mine can help and- "

"With all due respect (Y / n), I'd rather rot in Tartarus than accept someone else's help ... After all," he sighed, an empty, melancholy look in his golden eyes "that's what I deserve . "

"Stop." you immediately spoke right away, eyes burning with the urge to cry at his words. "Please, we already had this conversation ... you don't deserve it." leaning your head on his shoulder you can feel how tense his body was but soon relaxed ... as if he had actually released a weight from his shoulders.

 

sighing, your boyfriend finally seemed to slowly return to the real world than the torment that had turned his head as he looked at you.

"You're going on yours at least I hope." you nodded, gritted your teeth and widened your eyes when you saw the familiar green hair of the boy responsible for literally almost beating Kai.

You tried to take control before Kai saw it but already feeling his body tensing and the way his shoulders started to shake you already knew that he had already seen the boy.

You barely remedy what you at least think of the boy named Deku ... upset and irritated because he beat your boyfriend along with the other almost hero Lemillion beat his boyfriend or pity and fear if Chisaki happened to find him. As much as he no longer had his arms, he was still strong ... you have already witnessed several tantrums and breakdowns of his in the last few monthswhwre he had torned the small apartment you two lived now down ... his depression and panic attacks and paranoia were horrible .... but with sure what hurt you the most was when he woke up from a nightmare ... feeling a torturous pain in the place where his arms were supposed to be ... but all this was psychological pain. kai knew how much it affected you, and knowing that you were too stubborn to leave him, he insisted that you do therapy instead of him.

"Let's...turn this off." you mumbled before taking the remote and turning off the tv after turning to him and massaging his shoulders until he saw that he had calmed down at least a little.

"You know ... how about you come with me tomorrow?" you commented, happy that you had finally unlocked him a little "The same place where my therapist is where he is hospitalized and-"

"No ... he would be the last person who would at least enjot my presence angel." you frowned, your hope to at least pay a visit to the poor elderly in a coma fails again. You knew the amount of guilt and sorrow Chisaki carried of putting Pops on a coma, but behind that cold facade and th walls he had constructed, you knew better... You knew that he his intentions truly weren't on the bad side, but even you had to agree he had gone way too far on his path.

Sighing, you stood up, making Kai look i to your eyes questionably before you kissed his cheek lovingly mumbling that you were going to make his favorite for the dinner, smiling sadly at how he sighed and leaned on you, mumbling how he didn't deserves you and such things.

You went to the kitchen before jumping at your notification on your cellphone and beaming happilh at your door frame.

"Ne ne! Hon!" You put the box you just had received and openes for him to see, hoping to see him lighten up a bit.

You smiled and almost teared up when he gave one look at the box and let out a weak chuckle, looking at you with adoration.

"Seems like I wont be needing feeding anymore." He commented as you jumped on him to cage his frame on a hug as tears threteaned to spill from your eyes.

That was the first time in months Chisaki had come close to even smilling... things were slowly starting to get better... but yet, you knew it was never going to return back the way it was... and the worst?

You knew that not only you felt something was missing.

~

The next day you woke up feeling your boyfriend's arms prototics holding you close to your chest, the back of your neck feeling the warmth of his breath while his lips lightly brushed your skin. You mumbled to yourself seeing the schedule and gently raising the fake arms for you to slip past them to get out of the bed. Uou smiled when you saw and heard how Chisaki complained in his sleep at the loss of your warm, getting close to him and giving him a kiss first on his temple then lightly on his lips, stroking his hair for good measure.

Getting ready and leaving a note for Kai to see when he wakes up, you left your apartment for another appointment with your therapist ... after of course going to a flower shop.

~

"Good luck with your father-in-law, young lady"

"Thank you doctor" you responded by leaving the office and walking through the hospital corridors, avoiding the eyes of doctors and nurses when you passed and went to the room where he was. You entered with the permission of the secretary, your heart and body always seemed to freeze when seeing Pops in the vegetative state, machines saving him from death but not bringing him back from the coma that Kai had put him in.

"Good morning Pops." you whispered, exchanging the dead flowers on the table next to the machines to replace them with the new ones you had bought before your consultation "I came as every time."

Taking a chair and dragging it to the side of the bed you sat down with a sigh before smilling at the sleeping elder.

"... we miss you. All of us, both subordinates and me and ... Kai." you bit your lip before you started saying "I don't know if you can really hear me every time I say this, but I swear to you that Kai just wanted to make you proud... Pops if you knew how much he suffers and regrets doing this to you ... " you wiped the tears from your eyes with the back of your sweater. You looked at the old man's face ... resting on the hospital bed for months now.

"Doctors say that even at your age you are a fighter." you giggled before returning your attention "... I tried to bring him here but he feels so guilty that he has no courage to come face you again .... please if one day you wake up again, forgive him, please... you were the only one he trusted and respected since childhood ... "you sighed before taking the bag and giving the elderly a small and careful hug as he used to do while he was awake" I ask a thousand pardons for him... I’ll be back next week Pops, maybe I can get him to come here next time! " you giggled sadly before frowning. Saying a little goodbye, you went towards the door ... but when you touched the maceneta you froze, hearing the sound of the mattress twinks and the fabric of the sheets moving ... looking slowly over your shoulder you gasped in astonishement and shock, bringing your hands to cover your mouth while your eyes watered when you saw tired gray eyes and the little smirk that the elderly person gave you in your bed even with numerous tubes in it.

"How good it is to see you again my dear. How long have I been away?"

~

"Sir is truly a miracle that you woke up from this coma honestly." The doctor said in astonishment as you awkwardly finsighed mumbling explaining all what had happened during the elder's absence.

"The shie hassaikai members are ALL on jail?" Pops asked calmly but you cringed hard at seing how wide were his eyes as you nodded.

"We're... trying to pay Chro- I m-mean Kurono! To get out of prison though... is a start." You clenched your jaw as Pops muttered something to God as he burried his face on one of his hands.

"Well." The doctor smiled at you both as she made her exit "You still have to spend one week to check up, but soon you will be able to go away wuth your..?"

"Daughter in law." The elder sighed, finally lifted his head up to show his gratitude to the medic before she left. Looking back at you "How is my granddaughter? Eri? I suppose you didn't know about the plan that boy had on his mind."

"Y-yeah.. She is on the hands of the hero Eraserhead, as far as I know of, the U.A took her custody to help her to control her quirk for real this time." You grabbed his hand and squezzed assuringly "She is on good hands Pops. I promise you."

"For once." He sighed before giving you a smile. Your phone buzzed and you excused yourself to pick it up.

"Hey hon.." you spoke as Pops furrowed hsi eyebrows, mentioning with his hands that he also wanted to hear.

"Where are you? Your apointment should had ended by one half an hour ago?" The nonchantly voice of Chisaki made you worry about how Pops body seemed tense as he montioned for you to jot speak a thing about him.

"U-uh... it got longer?"

"You're shit at lying, you know that right?" Pops smirked while you blushed a bit.

"Sorey sorry.." you rubbed the back of your neck a bit "I-I went to that place where they sell those sweets you like, that's all."

You heard a sigh and frowned at how tired your boyfriend sounded as he spoke on a vulnerable tune you had grew used to on the past few months... but Pops widened his eyes, almost not recognizing the vouce behind that cellphone.

"Just hurry up and get back home... I feel like one of those is about to come again.." he spoke as if that were a burden, you hummed immediately promising him to be home soon before saying how much you lobed him and hanging up.

"One fo those?"

"For these past few months he had gotten depression and some PTSD attacks..."

"Hironic." The eldery sarcastically chuckled with bitter as he leaned up his back on the mattress "He was the one to put my grandauther through hell, put me on a coma, ruin the whole bussines of my family and now, he is the one with depression." You furrowed your eyebrows at that. Taking a breath in, knowing that was something that could happen you talked back.

"I know the things he had done were wrong Pops... but believe me when I say he just wanted to-"

"(Y/n) my dear. As much as I know how generous you are, you can't actually try to be on Chisaki's side this time." He glared at you as you gulped "I lost count on how much I tried talking him out of those absurd ideas of his, but as always a stubborn one, he continued on and left the path I tried to teach him for years."

"Well, with all respect sir, you cant totally blame him if he was raised by a mafia boss no less." You grumbled as the elder narrowed his eyes at you for the first ever time.

"I taught him manners. He was the one who didn't followed them. Preffering to take this dark and horrific path. The yakusa is superior to villains and what he does? Becomes one of them despite fighting others that we are not? Is he bipolar now?!"

"Pops please just listen to me... We both know he suffered before you took him in, he feels in debt with you ever since that day."

"And he retributes me with this. Putting me on a coma."

"Pops I-"

"Stop defending him kid!" He yelled and you flinched away from him in shock "That man put my own grandaughter through hell and used her as some lab rat experiment, and now not only i lost my own daughter but her as well!"

Silence consumed the room... you felt at the verge of crying before taking a huge breath in determination. You wont let him, you wont let the man who created the one you love speak like that without you giving him a reason.

"Kai done these things, thats for sure ... but his whole life he felt trapped by the fact that he never got to repay you. He had absurd ideas for that? Of course, I will not cover up his errors. But I am not going to let even you Pops speak like that. Since you already knew he wasn't listening to you, why didn't you take him away from Shie Hassaikai's work and just put more pressure on him saying that he would, one day, be the new boss? Your sucessor no less?! " he remained his glare to his hospital room window "... he just wanted you to be proud of him .. so he still protects Shie Hassaikai's honor ... Pops do you even know that he lost only his arms still fighting to give you something?!" You cried as the old man opened his eyes wide and finally looked back at you "For the past months he and I have been in our personal hell, he has nightmares every night! Do you even happen to remember that you had to comfort him the first night he slept at your house? imagine the attack only ten times worse! do you even know how it was to see him begging me for me to kill him ?! "you sobbed while the man was still in shock to hear what you said and your state.

"my dear why are you still going through this?" he said almost breathlessly while you wiped your tears, almost leaving the room.

"Because I love your son ... and I know he loves you in his own weird and antisocial way ... Please I know that it is very difficult to forgive him, but I beg Pops ... try it... both of you only have each other now...." you sighed and left the room without even saying goodbye to him or the nurses asking if you were okay.

~

Two weeks had passed after that. You remained a secret that Pops woke up from his coma to prevent Chisaki to fell on one of those nerve train racking thoughts of his...

"You win this ever time, is not fair." You whined as your boyfriend smiled, replacing the many pieces back on the shoji board back again.

"So why do you even still insist on playing it then with me no less dearest?" He asked, not exactly expecting an answer before he froze at the way you kept looking at him with love.

"Because is your favorite game. And I love seing you happy while playing it." You giggled at the immediate scoff to hide his blush as he closed his eyes, his black mask preventing you to show his smile as he mumbled an affectionate "crazy woman".

You giggled even more at that. Things were surely better than they could have been. Thanks to your teraupist you were also able to help your own boyfriend... his attacks had stopped and you never felt more relieved to see that the bags from beneath his eyes were slowly dissapearing.

"Ugh... im hungry!!!" You whined loudly again, rolling over to lay your head on his lap as he looked down at you with an arched eyebrow.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Take out." You proclaimed before he flipped your nose.

"Absolutely not. Is disgusting." He growled as you whined and put your bottom lip out.

"One time it won't hurt! Pleaseeee???? Please my devil??" You smiled mentally at seing the tip of his ears going red "please my handsome cutie softie delicious-" he hushed you with one of his fake finger son your lips as he growled.

"Fine fine, have your way brat. Jesus Christ you're so spoiled." He offered you one of his last used, that the police couldn't track, credit cards as you lowered his mask to kiss him.

"Says who again?" You giggled before sighing in bliss when he brought you close, you stradling his lap as you circled his neck with your arms, contained your noises as he trailed his kisses down to your jaw.

It has been so long since you two had-

You both growled when your cellphone ringed, but Kai still stood on his track as he mumbled in your ear for you to pick up... although he still continued to carres your thighs as he vould feel them again and lay kisses in the crook of your neck.

You widened your eyes though whem you saw that it was from the hospital... you had beem visiting and making conpany to Pops even despjte the argument you had gotten to him, but now it seemed he was free to go... shit. You couldn't hide this anymore from Kai.

Although you gasped back to the current reality when you felt a certain... hardness on his lap.

"If you tell me you have to go Im setting this place on fire." He mumbled in your neck as you whined. That surely must be the worst cockblock you two had in your relationship. You nodded as he growled again, making yourself out of his laps, he let you go hesitantly.

"What is even about this time?" He said nonchantly as he adjusted his hair back.

"I... have to go to the hospital."

"Is that therapist of yours again?" He asked in annoyance as you left in a hurry, crossing his arms and auspecting at your attitudem

"I-It will be quick!"

"You didn't answer my-" and the door closed while he sighed loudly looking up at yhe ceilingx having to deal with the problem you had caused down there "Fucking brat." He growled out loud standing up with a hiss to go to the shower.

~

The drive back from the hospital was so awkward... the pregnant silence making you go crazy as Pops remained quietly the entire ride.

"I thought a lot about what you said once my dear." You yelped and looked at him in surprise.

"Eh?"

He smiled before looking at you with a serene expression.

"I was never once a good father example for both my actual daughter or Chisaki. Part of me didn't want to believe, but Kai needed more than just my help after I took him in... Guess he took on my stubborness."

"N-no, that was not what I meant-"

"Relax kid... I just recalled what you said back there when you left. There is nothing left for me asides from trying to at least solve things with Chisaki... I cant thank you enough, both of me and him weren't on the right side, so is not on place of me to judge him... specially when I tortured a childhood friend of my once."

... wait whAT-?!

The train stopped and you hesitantly took Pops hand when he offered it to help you stand up.

You two walked before you stopped by the front of your apartment complex as you looked at Pops uncertainly, but he only nodded with a smile.

"Is time for me to speak with him after who knows how long."

You shakily entered your apartment as coincidentally Kai emerged from the tiny hall, drying his hair with a towel, already dressed on his casual clothes as he opened one of his eyes to look at you.

"Better have a good explanation or else punishment is going to be extra harder." He smirked devilish and you would have gotten turn on if it weren't from right after he widened his amber eyes as if he had saw a ghost as Pops entered, crossing his arms as he looked back at Chisaki.

"Hello, Chisaki." He spoke seriously before smilling at how the man he created for years now seemes as a fragile boy who had been caught for doing sonething silly.

You aproached Chisaki slowly before taking his hand, making him look at you to remind him it wasn't one of his paranoia events... Pops was there. Smilling at him.

It was real.

The elder aproached, a small still present on as he looked at Chisaki.

"You seem way better than the last time I saw you. I'm glad to see that."

He couldn't speak, his throat was sore, it hurted too mcuh to even breath near this man again. He knew what had happened, so why on hell was this old geezer smilling at him iut of all people?! He could feel his eyes start to burn as he clenched on your hand before flinching violently when a hand that wasn't yours rested on his shoulder.

"I'm not mad at you. Is all in the past, I know your intentions weren't what happened... and I forgive you, Kai." He pulled Chisaki for a hug and the man himself tensed accidentaly letting go of your hand and lifting his metal arms in the air awkwardly. "But I hope one day you can still forgive me for not being a good father to you... my son."

That was the last straw for the man once called himself the name of his quirk, to break completely. He cried, silently, but the river of tears falling down his eyes was still there as he clenched the back of the man as he trembled... muttering how he hated himself and how much he was ashamed and sorry as Pops also apologized.

You smiled at the scene, trying to left the room but failing when your boyfriend and Pops called you back instantly... these two had still long to talk... but Kai still wanted you there. With him. As he always wanted.

After all, you and Pops were the only concept of family he ever had learned.

[kidcataldo]

Summary: Severus has a secret created by a lie. Now that lie is dead and the secret is on its way to Hogwarts.

I haven’t read the books since high school, but I just went on a harry potter movie binge and wrote this in my drafts for the fun of it. You can also find it here, or you can click “keep reading” and read it on tumblr.

Dead. He received the letter by owl over breakfast: "I regret"—I regret—"to inform you her state of mind has only gotten worse these past few months and it is expected she will die before nightfall." Malfoy thought he might like to know—how he found out, Severus hadn't a clue—but he had little interest in the matter; he preferred to forget her existence altogether. Beryl Bulstrode, ghastly woman: she joined the Death Eaters right after him—for him, in fact, he was told later. Her intentions were as clear as day to any seeing man, so Severus must have been blind his entire life and not realized it. She was a mad woman in her prime; he could only imagine what the Dementors created while she rotted in Azkaban all those years. Nothing pretty, and she entered looking horrid. Would he tell Dumbledore? Yes, of course he would—but nothing more.

Malfoy must have also told his son, for the entire school looked at him differently that day. He caught a group of third year Ravenclaw girls talking quietly amongst themselves on their way to the dining hall—they fell silent when he caught sight of their gossiping, and then they hurried away when he approached them. Minerva could barely look at him while Pomona kept sneaking glances at him. And his students were unusually quiet too. The misfits and troublemakers kept to themselves, hardly causing any ruckus at all. The Wesley twins in particular behaved uncharacteristically that day—obeying his every instruction, not attempting to blow up their potions for the joke of it, even referring to him as sir instead of professor, or not acknowledging him at all. It was quite nice, actually.

By dinner, everyone must have known. Sybill Trelawney was the only one brave enough to speak to him about it; he sat through a long ramble of hers throughout dinner, pretending not to hear her, as other professors and some students watched on in horror. Minerva tried to shut her up a few times, but the daft woman never caught on; "Oh, Severus, to lose a loved one so dear to one's heart," the loony woman said to him. "I can only imagine what that boy of yours is going through." The boy. It was always about the bloody boy. Albus's eyes briefly searched his own, and then Sybill was back to her babbling.

---

"You must tell the boy, Severus," said Albus. He was sitting in his chair. Phineas Nigellus's portrait hung above him, looking on as he reached for his bowl of sherbet lemons and offered one to Severus.

Severus shook his head and quickly turned away. "No," he said. "No—you've asked plenty from me already..."

"They may suspect something if you don't."

"And if they do?" said Severus. He turned back to the headmaster; his calm demeanor hadn't shifted, but the portrait above him was now empty. "Your plan was ridiculous from the start—it's a wonder how we've gotten this far without anyone realizing..."

Albus sighed. "If Lucius Malfoy, or anyone else, were to discover—" He stopped quickly at the sound of footsteps, and then they heard a quick knock on his door. "Come in," he said, turning his attention to the door.

Minerva entered the room with the confidence of a group of centaurs riding off to battle—or a strict transfiguration professor in need of a word with her superior—but she stopped and hesitated upon seeing Severus standing there. Again, as she had done throughout the day, she avoided looking at him. His past had odd ways of creeping up on the both of them.

"Yes, Minerva?" asked Albus calmly, bringing the attention back onto himself. Severus excused himself quietly just as Minerva announced the restoration of the girls' bathroom to its former glory, and then continued by questioning the whereabouts of that nasty troll. Severus was nearly out the door when Albus politely silenced Minerva and halted his departure. "Tell the boy, Severus," he said, and Severus slammed the door shut. That bloody boy.

---

How long had it been, he wondered, since they had seen each other last? Summer, perhaps. But he never kept track, nor did he care to do so. "Must you always mess with that thing?" The boy sat on his knees at the head of the table with Severus's enchanted red quill in his hands, attempting to tame the magical object; the more he tried to control it, the more it resisted his touch. With the wave of Severus's wand, it was out of the boy's grimy little hands and back in its holder. "It doesn't like you. Leave it alone."

He turned, his brown eyes showing no new change in emotion. "You're here."

"I am." Mrs. Cott let out a gentle snore in the rocking chair near the fire. He thought, or rather hoped, she had died and had been rotting there upon first entering the room—and to be perfectly honest, what a pity it was to learn that was not the case. Large wooden knitting needles moved mechanically in front of her, working tirelessly on a grey and green sweater.

He waved his wand again and the needles fell onto the old woman's lap. The old woman jolted awake with a loud snort. She remained still for a long moment, blinking her eyes and tasting her lips to adjust to her new wakeful state, until she caught sight of Severus and sprung out of her chair, letting the needles and unfinished sweater fall to her feet. "Severus, you're—well, I wasn't expecting you so soon."

"You're paid to watch him while I'm away, Mrs. Cott," he reminded her stiffly, "not lounge around like you're on holiday."

Her eyes searched the room, and then outside where it was dark. "Is it the holiday season already? So soon?"

"Leave us now," he commanded, again facing the boy. "I need a word with the boy alone." Her quiet footsteps hurried off through the kitchen door.

"What's happened?" the boy said. His hair was dark auburn, nearly brown—not like it was a few years ago. "Did Dumbledore die?" And those eyes, ordinary and brown, were far from exceptional. He had a mole below his left eye, just above his cheek. He looked and acted simply ordinary, like no one he had ever seen before.

"What makes you think that?"

He shrugged. "I dunno." His words were also never snarky, never trying to resist Severus's authority. But he was annoying with his questions, and he was hardly ever satisfied with the answers given to him. "You don't usually come back so soon, unless there's an emergency."

"Dumbledore did not die," he said. It seemed he always spoke in riddles with him—never quite finding the nerve to lie, just alter the truth.

"But someone did?" And he always seemed to catch on. "Who was it, then?"

Severus huffed. "The woman you call mother," he said, hoping he would understand.

"Oh," said the boy. He adjusted himself on the chair, sitting properly with his feet under the table. There was parchment in front of him and on it was scribbled a drawing—Severus couldn't make out what it was; it looked something like a figure. In the kitchen, Mrs. Cott could be heard moving pots and pans around, or something of that sort.

"Accio, pen," muttered Severus, summoning a normal, non-magical pen. "Here," he said, tossing it onto the table. "Finish your silly drawing. And don't even think about using my quill again." He turned to leave, apparate the hell out of there—back to Hogsmeade, back to Hogwarts.

"Was she also a Slytherin," he asked suddenly, and he turned back to him. "Beryl Bulstrode?" The woman he called mother.

"Yes."

"Do you think I'll be a Slytherin?"

"I doubt it," Severus said to him, and he apparated away.

A week later, he received a letter from the Ministry, asking about funeral arrangements—as if he owned the damn corpse. "The boy ought to see her be buried," Albus's voice rang in his ears. "It might give him closure." Severus hoped to burn the body; in front of the current Minister and all his minions, even. They all believed the boy was born in Azkaban—that was why he was so small and weak and fragile, they said; the Dementors drained both mother and son's soul for several months before it was discovered she was with child. Dumbledore and Bagnold knew the truth, of course—but they would take that truth to their graves.

Again, upon Albus's request, he visited the boy and prepared him for the woman he called mother's funeral. Severus, the boy, Mrs. Cott, and Dolores Umbridge, who worked close to the Minister were the only people in attendance at her funeral. She had other family—distant cousins, aunts and uncles—but none Severus was close to, and they never wrote asking to attend. When they arrived at the gravesite, the boy ran off to search the graveyard, leaving Severus alone with Mrs. Cott and Umbridge—the two most unpleasant women in the wizarding world. The boy returned before the closed—thankfully—casket made its descent with a handful of wild flowers, all uniquely styled, and placed them on top of the casket. Umbridge did not stay long; she offered her deepest condolences with a phony, sympathetic smile, briefly touched the boy's shoulder, which he shrugged away, and then left. Severus apparated soon after.

---

Winter came and it went. And by the end of the year, everyone seemed to put the Beryl Bulstrode business behind them, for other events surrounding the school distracted them. Students started behaving like themselves around him again, Minerva was no longer hesitant to speak with him, Sybill no longer tried talking to him during dinner; all seemed well, given the circumstance. And then it was summer, and the boy could not keep his mouth shut about Hogwarts, no matter how many times Severus told him to shut up. He wore the green and grey sweater vest Mrs. Cott knitted for him nearly every day; perhaps expecting to be sorted into Slytherin. Severus, of course, knew better. When his letter arrived one expected morning over breakfast, he made Mrs. Cott take him to get his supplies the next afternoon. Severus stayed behind to read a book. He arrived back with new robes, a wand, and a grey furry fat cat he named Gravy—a parting gift from Mrs. Cott, much to Severus's dismay. His books had yet to come in, however, so with great reluctance, before the start of the new school year, Severus took the boy back to Diagon Alley.

It was there he saw him, standing with the Weasleys, looking as filthy as a Weasley, and the Granger girl, along with her muggle parents. Gilderoy Lockhart was there as well, looking more doll than man—Severus felt his blood boil; why Albus chose him of all people, he would never understand. He could feel them all staring, but he refused to acknowledge any of them. "I thought he only came out of his coffin during the school year," he overheard one of the Weasley twins whisper to the other; Severus chose to ignore their snickering, but made a mental note to assign them both detention their first day back.

While he waited for the boy to retrieve his books, Severus found himself tangled in a brief conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Granger as Hermione Granger looked on with a mixture of embarrassment and concern on her face. Potter and Weasley observed the conversation as well, but their eyes were daggers; he decided to assign two more detentions at the start of the school year. Finally, Mr. Weasley guided the muggles elsewhere. Lucius Malfoy and his son arrived shortly after, looking on at the group with as much hate as Severus, but the boy had returned with his books before anything could develop beyond a courteous hello. But Severus noticed Draco give the boy a nod and a gentle smile as they passed him to leave the shop.

He wish he could say the start of the new school year was as smooth as the last, or the one before that, but the famous Harry Potter could not allow that to happen. He was proving to be more and more like his father each year, unfortunately. He was told he and Weasley didn't even board the train at platform nine-and-three-quarters—choosing to arrive by car instead—and at the start of the feast, before the first years were even sorted, he received word from Filch about Potter and Weasley's fashionable entrance, diving into the whomping willow head first in a blue Ford Anglia, a car belonging to Weasley's own father. The Evening Profit arrived soon after, and it was worse than Severus could have imagined. They both should have been expelled for their foolish behavior, and any normal boy would, but the Boy Who Lived always did have special privileges at Hogwarts, and everywhere else too—if Lockhart's story over staff breakfast had any merit. And if Albus was indeed correct about... his return, perhaps it was better Potter remained at Hogwarts, under his watchful eye.

A migraine blossomed while shouting at the pair and, by the time Minerva and Albus arrived, he was fuming. He stormed out with Albus following close behind, leaving Minerva to tend to their needs—they had missed the feast; if it were him, he might just let them starve, but Minerva conjured up some sandwiches the house elves made earlier that evening.

---

"The boy's sorting has surprised us all," said Albus, sounding slightly amused. They were walking the halls now; Severus had calmed some, but his blood still boiled. On their journey, they encountered a group of Slytherin first years being guided to their house's common room—coming at no surprise, the boy was not among them.

"Why? We knew he would be sorted into Gryffindor," said Severus casually as he nodded to the first year students. Albus gave them a gentle wave.

"He wasn't sorted into Gryffindor, Severus," said Albus—and Severus stopped, letting the first years pass.

He waited until they turned the corner before he asked, "Where exactly did the sorting hat put him?"

Severus had just always assumed he would be sorted into Gryffindor—with Potter and... the rest of them. He never really saw the boy as anything else; he never really cared to think of him as anything but a Gryffindor. "Florus Snape, son"—Severus flinched at the word while Albus remained unfazed—"of Severus Snape, Head of Slytherin House, was sorted into Hufflepuff this evening," said Albus. And he chuckled softly to himself. "I wish you were there to witness Pomona's reaction. She nearly flew out of her chair."

Somehow the man's words made him feel better, slightly less angry. Severus said his farewells to Dumbledore, and then quickly turned his heel and headed in the same direction as the Slytherin first years. He wasn't relieved, no. He never lingered on what house the boy might get into; he didn't know him well enough to do so, but he assumed it would be Gryffindor. Why should he care what house the boy was sorted in? Gryffindor, Hufflepuff... he was still—he still wasn't... It made no difference at all.

"You can't stay out here," said Draco Malfoy's voice clearly as he drew close to the Slytherin common room. "You have to go back to your own common room."

Severus turned another corner just as he heard Vincent Crabbe say, "Maybe the sorting hat was wrong."

"Not likely," said Pansy Parkinson.

"Look. It's not like Hufflepuff is a bad house—well, it's not good, but at least you're not in Gryffindor," continued Malfoy, "with Potter... and the Weasleys."

Malfoy and his gang stood outside the portrait of the serpent. "What's going on here? Why are you in the halls passed hour?" he said, and then he saw him, dressed in his Hufflepuff robes, eyes red and puffy from crying—he rarely witnessed the boy cry; he sniffed as Severus approached him. "Ten points from Hufflepuff—get back to your common room. Now."

"He's upset he's not in Slytherin," explained Draco. Severus glared at him, which made his eyes go wide in shock and he quickly added, "Sir."

"I'm sorry, sir," the boy cried out as he rubbed his watery eyes.

Severus felt a slight pain in his gut as he grabbed the boy by his wrist and pulled him away from the group. "That doesn't excuse your behavior." The pain in his gut only grew stronger as he stared into those unfamiliar glossy brown eyes, and he found himself loosening his grip on him. "Would you quit your incessant whining. Your mother wouldn't care which house you were sorted in. Slytherin, Hufflepuff, you could be in Ravenclaw and it still wouldn't matter to her."

The boy stopped crying. Looking up at Severus, he sniffed. "Really?"

And Severus realized his mistake immediately; he let go of the boy's wrist. "Yes, really," he said, reverting back to his sternness. "Now go. Before I take another ten points from Hufflepuff."

[peridottea91]

Potential Blog Revamp & Some Reflection (Personal)

So, I’m turning 30 this August, next February marks 10yrs that I’ve had this blog, and I’ve cycled my username on here for all my creative works for roughly 13yrs (give or take).  This blog has seen such a cycle in content, from anime and kawaii things to Harry Potter and Pokémon to food and cute critters to SPN and Dragon Age.  Seeing that typed out actually gives myself whiplash lmao.

Once upon a time, I used to draw and paint and write.  When I was 15 I came up with the first drafts of the characters I would come to create my first graphic novel for.  Prior to that, I drew constant OCs for Naruto, Sailor Moon, and InuYasha.  Oofta, lets not talk about that.  

I won art contests and scholarships and even had received a huge scholarship to MICA, which is/was arguably one of the top art schools in the country. (Spoiler alert: I didn’t go because what is self-confidence?)  It’s been, roughly 3 or 4 yrs since I last worked on any of my graphic novel projects.

Anyways, around the time I fell off the grid with my artwork, I re-indulged in fanfiction.  More specifically, I accidentally sold my sold to two flannel-clad, male-model-looking dumbasses with daddy issues and a kickass car.  So hot, but so damaged... 

Throughout this pandemic, particularly as of the past 3-4 months, I have been doing a lot of self reflection.  Whether that is a good or bad thing still remains to be seen but that’s a discussion for my therapist.  I stopped finding enjoyment in literally everything and began questioning my relationships with practically everyone in my life.

I’m not gonna lie, my 20s were a fucking shit show.  I got disowned (again), was homeless and jobless, almost had to go to court against my childhood abuser, my grandmother died, my mom’s family basically fell apart, I don’t ever get to talk to my dad’s family, and I have no relationship with either of my parents or my mom’s “boyfriend” (they’ve been together for 20yrs but idk if you can call them a relationship anymore).  All my friends from high school stopped talking to me, all but 2 friends from college moved out-of-state, and I realized that people I was willing to take the time to devote my time, energy, and emotion to were not willing to do the same for me, both in-person and online. On top of that, I moved 10 times in 6yrs because I was poor af and did I mention we’re in the middle of a pandemic? Or that I’ve had several breakdowns as a result and had to restart therapy in August/September?

After stepping back from fandom, writing, Tumblr, people, and basically life for a few weeks, I’ve had plenty of time to reflect on myself, my relationships, and my social media presence.  I deleted the Tumblr app for a while, blocked the site from my computer, and eventually came to only peruse Tumblr on weekends and occasional evenings.  It genuinely helped my mental and emotional well-being, as well as my work ethic.

I’ve grown and changed a lot over the years and I think my blog needs to reflect that tbh.  Whether that means I’ll simply be re-naming and redesigning my blog or completely scraping it to begin a new one from the ground up remains to be seen.  I don’t necessarily know if I want to lose all the history I’ve had with this blog but I’ll see how I feel over the weekend and possibly the upcoming week.

TL;DR- My 20s were a train wreck and I’m turning 30 this year.  I’ve taken time during the pandemic to reflect on my blog and my life so far, and will either be completely revamping my blog or leaving it to rot while I make a new one.

[kieraswriting]

Human/Fairy Relations 3

1  2  3  4

Continued from a story based on a prompt from @arc852

The craziest week of his life was now behind him, but that didn’t mean that anything was settling down for Thomas. He hadn’t seen any fairies since, but they clearly had it out for him, and the town was beginning to notice. At first it was things that could be explained away, like rot in the windowsills, and weeds constantly filling his small yard. The fire always smoked and drafts kept finding their way into the house, which was increasingly hard to bear as winter began to set in.

But then came the ivy. Several sprigs sprouting up overnight was strange, especially since ivy didn’t grow near the town, but completely unexplainable was how they managed to completely cover the house and the one tree in the yard in only a fortnight.

Patton loved it, and set out a chair and a small table under the tree, hoping they would be covered too, but of course since he had expressed the desire out loud it didn’t happen. Still, he often would make a pot of tea or hot chocolate and sit out there until he had drunk the whole thing, leaving behind several sugar cubes as a gift. 

The people of the town were wary of both Thomas and Patton, especially with their house clearly under attack, but no one could resist Patton if he once began a conversation with them. But that led to rumors as well, people saying that Patton himself had magic and was bewitching them. Thomas tried to keep the rumors away from Patton, but he couldn’t stop them, and occasionally Patton would come home with a downright sad look on his face. Thomas didn’t know what to do when that happened. He tried to be a listening ear, but Patton didn’t want to talk about it, and would pretend as if nothing happened.

As time passed, the people in the town grew more and more distrustful of Thomas and Patton. Thomas had had three smaller jobs before the week, but now no one would hire him for anything. He had beehives in his backyard, but when he harvested the honey no one would buy from him. He had frequently gone gathering herbs for the doctor or one of the midwives in the town, but no one would accept him for that either. And Patton was no better, if anything, it was worse for him. Thomas had heard people saying that they could smell the fairy coming from him, and didn’t dare have anything to do with him.

So now it was the last few weeks of fall, and their money was almost gone, and both of them were more lonely than they had been in a long time. 

“I miss Logan,” Patton said.

“Patton, he hurt you,” Thomas said.

“I know. But I still miss him sometimes. Don’t you ever miss Virgil?”

“I only knew him for a week.” Thomas fell silent for a minute as he sipped his tea. “But I do kinda think sometimes that it would be cool to see him again.”

There was silence for a while longer. The fire crackled, and then smoke blew into the house, and they rushed to open the windows, put coats on, and sit outside. 

“I had an idea,” Patton said slowly.

“Oh?”

“Well, we have a lot of honey…”

“Mhmm.”

“And no one wants to buy it from us…”

“Yeah?”

“But fairies like honey a lot.”

Thomas nodded. “Normally, but the fairies around here hate our guts.”

“What if we moved?” Patton said, an incredibly winsome look on his face. “I know it’s asking a lot of you, since you grew up here, and it’s your house and all, but if we moved, maybe the fairies would leave us alone? And the people somewhere else might not dislike us so much.”

Thomas thought about it for several minutes before he replied. “Moving in the winter wouldn’t be easy. I don’t have a horse, or money to buy a new house, and I don’t know how I’d sell this one either. And what does this have to do with the honey?”

Patton rubbed the back of his neck. “I might know of a fairy who would buy the honey from us?”

“How?”

“I was there a long time, I think I even made friends, and I know for certain that they like honey.”

Thomas nodded. “So maybe they would buy the honey from us, but what would they pay us with? Could we get food and water? And what would we live in?”

Patton frowned. “I haven’t quite thought it all through, but I still think we could try. Maybe we could make a plan together?”

So they did. It took a week of planning, and a week of packing and preparation, but Thomas’s house was cleaned and locked up, ready to winter uninhabited. Both he and Patton had on heavy packs, and still it might not be quite enough. They went into the woods, deep enough that they could see the ring of flowers through the trees, and then found the perfect spot. 

They dug out an area, and stacked up stones into a fireplace. They used the trees and chopped down branches to make a frame, and laid fabric over it. They then covered the whole thing in piles and piles of dead leaves, until it looked like a small hill, but with a door, and a chimney poking out. Inside was small, but once they had covered the floor with a tarp, and laid out the blankets they had brought, it turned out to be rather cozy even without a fire going. 

For a few days they came back and forth, bringing things that were needed, and piling more leaves on top as the old leaves settled. Most of the leaves were dampish, and rotting from being on the forest floor, and hopefully they wouldn’t have issues with fire. Neither one was very sure about this, but they intended to be as careful as possible.

Finally they had a den. It really couldn’t be called much else. Their hope was to get enough money from the fairies to buy food, and to scavenge the rest from the forest. Once it was spring again, they could try to move back, and hope that the fairies quit the attack on their town house.

If he was honest, Thomas didn’t think that the fairies were going to buy the honey from them, but doing something was better than doing nothing. And, if worst came to worst, if they were starving and freezing in the dead of winter, the ring was right over there, he could barter his name to Virgil in exchange for shelter. 

Patton was very excited about the potential selling of the honey. 

First he set out a small saucer just outside the ring, and put a sign next to it. Free.

It took two days for the honey to disappear, but then Patton filled the saucer again, and put out a new sign. Free. There is more for sale.

The saucer was taken, but no fairy ever showed themselves.

Patton filled it again and waited. He even tried staying up at night, but it was too cold, and he retreated back to the den. In the morning the saucer was empty again. This time Patton didn’t refill it, and tore off the bit of the sign that said free.

Three days later, an hour after dark, there was a knock at the door. Patton practically jumped up, opening the door. But then he froze. Thomas stood up and placed himself in between Patton and Logan, who was human sized. 

“I have been sent as an emissary to discuss the purchase of honey,” Logan said crisply. “I am sure that all of us would appreciate a gesture of goodwill, and as such I will say that I would prefer to be called Logic, and will call each of you by whatever title you prefer.”

“Y-you are welcome to come in, Logic, provided you come in good will. You may call me Morality.” Patton said, and despite his slight stutter Thomas could hear a rhythm in his voice as if the phrases were well practiced. 

Logan came into the den, and both he and Patton sat down. Thomas sat down near them, all too aware that it was his turn to say something. 

“I would prefer not to be addressed, Morality is the one selling the honey.”

Patton gave him a bit of an odd look, but Logan just turned toward Patton as if it were a normal thing to request. 

“As I’m sure you are aware, I have been sent by Prince Roman. He wishes me to inquire the quantity and price of the honey.”

“We have 24 quarts of honey, but we haven’t set a price yet.”

Logan shifted. “Are you expecting that I will make the first offer?”

“I had expected Prince Roman to make an offer, but as his proxy, I suppose you’ll have to,” Patton said cheerily, a perfectly innocent smile on his face. 

Logan’s jaw clenched slightly. “Your time among us has made you dangerous, Morality. This has many of our people concerned with your choice of habitation being so close.”

“I’m not dangerous.” Patton protested lightly. “I believe that the one who taught me called it growing wiser.”

Logan took in a quick breath and let it out slowly. “Because of this, we are not likely to want to pay you exorbitantly, as it might be seen as an encouragement to remain close. In addition to this, we do not have an abundance of human money.”

“So what you’re saying is, you aren’t made of honey, and you’d like me to leaf you alone?” Patton said, a bright smile on his face. 

“I—no—I don’t—that is not—-“ Logan looked almost as though he might start convulsing. 

Thomas looked at Patton in confusion. Amused confusion, but confusion. 

“Since fairies can’t lie, puns tend to blow their minds, and so do some metaphors.”

“My mind is perfectly intact!” Logan screeched. “Can we please return to civil conversation?!”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Patton chuckled. “So, what do you want to give as your first offer?”

Logan got his face back under control before he replied. “We obviously cannot purchase the honey all at once, but as a first offer, I would say that we will exchange six gold coins that are from this century for two quarts of the honey, provided you assist in transporting it into our village.”

On seeing Patton’s face startlingly unmoved by the truly amazing amount of money, Thomas was careful not to show his surprise either. 

“I am willing to assist in transportation, provided you guarantee me my safety and prompt return.”

“Of course,” Logan said, dipping his head slightly. “Then is it a deal?”

“It’s a deal.” Patton said. 

Patton picked up two of the jars and walked outside with Logan. Thomas really was worried, but as they went inside the circle, no mist came from the flowers, and they walked together without any visible problems. It was less than half an hour later that Patton came back, excitedly clutching the gold.

••^*^••

With wood being plentiful in the forest, and the money being easily enough to buy them food, they spent the winter warm and fed, if a little cramped, in the den. 

Logan came as the emissary every time, and Thomas wasn’t surprised, since Logan seemed to have the most hold on his magic, and also had Patton’s name if things went south, but he still kind of wanted to see Virgil again. 

“Logic,” Thomas said, as Logan was getting up to leave with the very last of the honey. “Do you think Anxiety would mind visiting us?”

Logan gave him a confused look for a second. “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t have heard, he was banished from our village for letting you go.”

“What? But he didn’t--I escaped, he didn’t let me go. And if he let me go, then you let Patt-- er--Morality go.”

“I am not going to explain our judicial system to you. Suffice it to say that we were both reprimanded, and I no longer know where he is.”

“But you were friends!” Patton said. “Didn’t you look for him?”

“I have no reason to explain myself or my actions to you. Good day.”

And then Logan left. 

[arcanny]

Ephemeral

Ephemeral

.

genre: romance [angst fluff]

au: NonIdol!Jaemin

word count: 1.6K

content warning: character death and bad grammar (english is not my first language)

author note: i’m very new to tumblr, it would be nice if you left a comment, a note or even reblogged it. this is my very first oneshot and it was in the draft for long so I brought it out. hope you enjoy reading ! (the header is too big for my desktop theme i’m gonna fix it soon! for now i just advice you (if you read on desktop website; to zoom in and then my header won’t be so annoying hoping it helps)

(adj) lasting for a very short time.

I nearly startled in my seat when a new sound pierced through the deafening silence. Steps and breaths followed by a small cough. I gazed up and realized I wasn’t the only one in the train coupé. Opposite in the plush seats sat a boy. He ran a hand through his blonde hair with a striking streak of blue hair disheveled on his forehead, sniffled with his cute nose, and gave me picture-perfect smile. On his white t-shirt, the print said over there, and he did look over at me.

“You are staring,” He said.

All of the sudden my cheeks felt warm, they would be rosy red.

“You are staring” I replied as I let the defense position take control over my choice of words.

His eyebrow was raised for a short moment before he smirked.

“You are worth looking at.”

—

Two weeks went by and Jaemin and I were together at least seven days out of the 14 days. He continually made me do things that I didn’t even dare to do before. In the public swimming pool, he made a jump from the highest diving board. The sinking you get in the stomach when you stand several meters over the pool’s surface and look down at the pit of it. The sinking feeling typically goes away as soon as you hit the water’s surface. That was not the case for me. For when I swam up through the clear chlorinated water, there stood a beaming Jaemin who would pat my head. He made the sinking feeling continue.

—

I sat with Jaemin in his dining room. The light from the ceiling lamp shone down on the food in the otherwise dark room. There was an awkward silence. Jaemin smiled at me whilst his brother shook his head. The brother gave him a small nudge.

“Is it now wrong to smile at one’s girlfriend” He grinned.

He always did it; he always had to break the silence. I took a bite of my plate, the food burned down my throat.

“It tastes delicious,” I said.

“It’s good you like it, Jaemin told me it’s your favorite dish.” His mother said.

She nodded towards him as he sheepishly grinned while rubbing his neck. He then coughed and the silence came again. Now the brother wasn’t the slightest irritated - he was worried. He looked over at his mother who just looked at the ground mumbling something. Nobody said anything. Butterflies started erupting in my stomach, not the usual colorful tranquil ones. These were dark and panicking in there.

—

Jaemin followed me home. The moon illuminated the small sideway we took as the silence overfilled everything. You could clearly hear the first raindrop that reached the asphalt. It sounded like an earthquake when Jaemin cleared his throat. Or was it a cough? I was reminded by the dinner and the sudden mood shift. The butterflies breaking out of their cocoons.

“Jaemin?” I asked. He froze.

“What happened earlier?”

The sound of his strides became louder and louder, mixed with the splashing sounds by the raindrops. He didn’t say anything, just stared out in the rain, raindrops trickling down his face.

“Jaemin what happened?”

My hand pushed his shoulder the hot tears pressing behind my eyes.

“Just…say something”

He finally stopped and looked at me with a piercing gaze.

“Say we always will be together,” He said.

“What?”

“Y/N, say we always will be together.”

The cold raindrops dripped from his body, but not even a hurricane could move him out of place. Not until he had what he wanted; me.

“We’ll always be together,” I promised.

—

“Do you believe in life after death?” Jaemin asked me once, we’ve had been together for almost a year. Sunlight streamed through the windows, it reached his dreamy eyes framed by long lashes and his astronomic telescope on the table. He also had luminous stars in the ceiling and prints of the universe on the curtains. I liked that about his room.

“I would like to believe, in life after death. I don’t like the thought of it all just ends,” I replied after thinking my answer it through. My voice was the only sound that broke the silence.

“I’m not Christian,” He said, “- but I would like to believe in life after death too,”

I shrugged and asked:

“How would Paradise look like?”

“I don’t know. As long as you are there.”

He showcased me a toothy smile, and a warm feeling grew in my body.

—

One night Jaemin and I wanted to watch the meteor shower together. We were laying in my back-yard waiting. A small cloud of steam formed when Jaemin coughed. He was there waiting intently. Like a little kid waiting for permission to take a bite of a cake. My hands fiddled with a brown withered leaf and pulled my hands into my body as the cold feeling started to spread in my body. I was just about to lose my patience and asking if we could stay outside but then Jaemin pointed.

“There!” He shouted with a high-pitched voice. I laughed by his excitement.

I did not see the first shooting star although it did not matter considering there went a few seconds before a new one appeared on the night sky. It continued. Thousands of stars flew across the night sky, like random blobs of paint littered across the sky as it infinite canvas. We were laying for a long time whilst Jaemin eyes were glued to the night sky, wide open, whereas mine were always fluttering waiting to let me shut them.

“Y/N, you can’t fall asleep.”

I rolled onto my side.

“I’m so tired”

However, Jaemin insisted until I promised to stay up with him and watch the meteor shower.

—

The morning after I was awakened by Jaemin, he shook me, and his facial expression was enough to send me trembling. He trashed roughly around in the blankets and his right arm was sticky and sweaty on top of his right leg which was red swollen. With shaking hands, I called an ambulance.

When the ambulance finally arrived, everything was chaos. I had no figures on how many men were running around in luminous jackets, and I tried not to catch a glimpse of Jaemin who laid half-unconscious on the stretcher.

The short trip to the hospital felt like hours. I sat and stared out the window at the tailgate. The world continued. Jaemin laid on the stretcher. At one point I tried to squeeze his hand, but he didn't squeeze back and it made me cry even more

“What is going on?” I asked his mum. She took a deep shuddering breath and looked at the ceiling. I could not see if she was trying to hold her tears back.

“When you have… “Her eyes shut in a concentrating way whilst she continued: “…Lung cancer. When you have lung cancer there is a bigger probability for deep vein thrombosis in the legs.”

There, the mild smell of cleanliness in the hospital went from being pleasant to awful, and the sound of the nurses' clicking shoes outside became unbearable. I was sweating and freezing at the same time and I could not find the normal rhythm in my breathing. Lung cancer. It sounded so wrong in my ears, yet it was the truth. Now I finally realized why Silas insisted on the meteor shower, why he was coughing all the time. I got nausea, I had to clamp a hand over my mouth and stare into the wall so I would not to throw up. Jaemin has Lung cancer.

“Lung cancer?”

My voice thin, so thing it cracked, the tears silently falling down my cheeks. Jaemin’s mother shifted in her seat seconds later crying in her hands.

“He did not tell you?”

I shook my head.

“No”

—

He left us a week ago, I wasn’t even there. He died of his lung cancer which I did not even know about until a week ago. All I know is the phone call from his brother.

“He is dead,” He said.

I guess he just couldn't bear to say more. That is understandable.

I promised Jaemin not to be afraid of new things, but I’m scared. I’m scared of the life I lived before him.

In his notebook, which he had called his will, I received this message:

Dear y/n I love you

Dots started appearing before my eyes as I stumbled around the floor. Trying to stay conscious.

—

I just went out and spread his ashes. They would have buried him, but I told them I would not let him rot. Jaemin was too ethereal to rot in the underground, he belonged to the celestial world like the twinkling star of life he was. That wish is probably the only thing I've said all week. Otherwise, I just nodded. I nod to people when they say they are condoling. I nod to my mother when she glanced sees me with a pitiful look in the eyes sighing.

I don't know what else to do. But I didn't nod as Jaemin flew away with the wind; I cried.

—

I bike home. It's a beautiful day, but it's as if I don't feel the beauty. The sun shines on my face but I can’t feel its warmth. The wind whispers in my neck, but it’s not pleasant. My mind is too clouded to see the truck coming through the sideway. I’m too slow. And just before I hit the truck, I swear I could hear a voice whisper:

“Meet me in Paradise.”

[srwestvikwrites]

Privilege is the Haven of Thorns

I wrote this post the week George Floyd was murdered. I was angry, and tired, and confused, and increasingly more apprehensive in my capacity as a person and as a writer as I was drawn in to the immense whirlpool of the zeitgeist gripping the internet and society. 

It was such a complicated and emotional time. I was wracked with guilt at not going to the BLM protest in Madrid because we had just opened up into Phase 2 of the desescalada and I was scared of COVID. I was furious at the denial of individuals in my home country of Singapore who refused to believe that just because our race riots were in 1964 and not 2020 that it meant we had no more issues of systemic discrimination or privilege to challenge. I was exasperated and uneasy and inspired at having been drawn into a massive shitshow about race that rocked the Tolkien fandom within the same timeframe.

All of this made me question my place and my purpose as an author writing a story like Haven of Thorns. It doesn��t dwell on these issues, but it draws on them, in the same way that my life doesn’t linger on the colonisation of my home country or the country of my ancestors (India) and yet is irrevocably shaped by this history. 

Haven of Thorns was always going to be a story taking place in the strange rivers of colonial legacy. It is a story of drowned histories and ghosts that reside in the very stones of a city and demons that linger inside people who were happy enough to let them back in. All of it is pushed along by the current of time, where history is not stagnant but forces change. It is about war, and it is about subtle discrimination, and it is about what we choose to do when we’re so hung up on our independence story that we refuse to acknowledge the rot in our roots.

I’m reproducing the post as I wrote it all those weeks ago, even though there are better ways I could have expressed my thoughts, and indeed some of these thoughts have new nuances now as I have drafted pivotal scenes in the story. There are other things I’d rather have focused on. The haven of thorns is more than mere privilege now. And perhaps one day I’ll expand on that.

But for now, this is a historical record of what I was thinking as it was all going down and I was trying to decide what sort of story I wanted to tell in the world I lived in as the person I am.

_________________________________________________

I’m not going to be coy about the metaphor anymore. This book was always going to be highly political. It has just become even more political. I cannot begin to describe how apt and how heartbreaking it is to be drafting my novel right now.

Some context should perhaps be given as to the kinds of politics that are informing this story. I began outlining the earliest iterations of Haven of Thorns at the height of the European migration crisis. While migration itself is not a main theme of the story – and where it does feature, it’s from a rather inverted historical power dynamic – the backlash against it was always present in the telling of the tale. The rise of the European right terrified me. I had never experienced open racism before until one incident when I moved to Norway in late 2015, where I was lucky enough to have an ally at the time, though I never learned her name. I have seen far too many swastikas misappropriated from their holiness to represent hatred, spraypainted on neighbourhood walls in Trondheim, London, and Madrid.

For many years, I likened racism and xenophobia and white supremacy to a contagion, even to possession (which may have been down to the title of this book I read during high school). My view on this has changed, now. For those raised into these ideas, sure, the demon metaphor may still apply. But for many, these corrupted values take root and fester because we allow them to.

The old first draft of Haven of Thorns was begun in the first week of November, 2016. I feel I have no need to elaborate on why this timing is significant. Globally, the sense of the triumph of ignorance and vitriol was palpable. Over the next few years, partially because I became more active on social media and partially because of the degree I was studying for, every day required exposure to injustices very often predicated on culture, ethnicity, language, and/or race.

Then in 2019 Singapore commemorated the bicentennial – our 200 year anniversary of being colonised. And once again I was confronted with the bizarre lack of acknowledgment of how blatantly race relations had been directed and segmented by the British, and how whatever the government line says, we have not bounced back from the wounds that gouged in our society. I interned at an NGO dealing with race relations, and it only illuminated what we’d rather cover up – the value judgements we make of people based off their skin colour, the god(s) the pray to, or the language they speak. When COVID-19 reared its head Singapore was lauded for their response, until it hit the migrant worker dormitories. That was a powder keg waiting to explode. And it is false and unjust to pretend that the conditions they are living in do not have their own origins in the petulant protests of those who unfairly profiled and characterised the workers and robbed them of better conditions, resulting in the tragedy that has taken place now.

Even climate justice and its link to ethnicity began to seep into the story, particularly during the early 2020 fires in Australia and how severely the Aboriginal peoples were affected.

As I write this post Minneapolis is up in arms, and Americans are out in the thousands across the country protesting for justice for George Floyd and the countless other black Americans who have been victims of the system and of police violence.

Growing from childhood to adulthood in the 2000s-2010s has meant growing up in a time when discussions about race, ethnicity, culture, and the legacies of our most backward perceptions and prejudiced notions have come to the forefront, both of activism and of violent action taken against others. How could I not be impacted, for example, by the horror of the massacre in Norway on 22 July? How could I not have felt the shadow of the War on Terror through the rampant Islamophobia in the media and in society?

The extent to which all these disparate ideas of politics and power and race and xenophobia and colonialism actually manifest in Haven of Thorns isn’t perhaps measurable in the amount I’ve discussed them here. But the core of this book is that the haven is privilege, and thorns are both the barrier of our ignorance and the spears upon which we sacrifice those who challenge it.  White privilege in the West. Chinese privilege in Singapore. Yes I fucking said it. To refuse to see that is privilege, in and of itself. One can feel hurt, to be associated with the violent ways these ideas manifest. Or, one can choose to acknowledge that feeling implicated by despicable acts is perhaps the spark to challenge one’s own biases.

This story is about breaking that thorn barrier and letting in the light, in all its unbridled blinding glory, to burn away the festering hatred we’ve allowed to take root in our flesh.

In the end an important theme in Haven of Thorns – perhaps the most important – is the power structures and prejudices that prevail when colonisation has ended, along with its associated forms of exploitation, and a state becomes self-governing. It’s about who remains in power, why they remain there, and what it means for those who do not have an equal share in that power. I’m not just talking about physical force. I’m talking about value judgments that disenfranchise people based on their inherent qualities. Things like language, religion, or skin colour. Having a voice and having the power to exercise and sustain what you advocate for are all very different things, and this is why these stories cannot be apolitical. A person’s life, their right to life, and their rights to liberty and equality should not be a matter of politics – and yet they are. Because politics is about power. And power is far too often exercised unjustly.

Blaming the old oppressor only works up to a point. At some stage, a country has to face what it has done and continues to do to itself, and whether they are going to choose to make collective, powerful, and perhaps jarring value changes for the sake of basic human rights and justice. After all, prejudice is learned. It can be unlearned.

While this tale focuses on the legacy of colonisation, these same principles lie behind the abuse of authority and the untended wounds of what has happened to the black community in America for centuries, itself founded upon ideas of racial superiority. The police brutality coupled with endorsement from the highest offices in the land is a horrific ugliness – but worse, is those who choose not to see it for what it is. Those who tweet #alllivesmatter. Those who say they don’t see colour. Those who question why race has to be dragged into everything. To quote Moses in Dreamworks’s The Prince of Egypt: “I did not see because I did not wish to see.” This is privilege. This is us inviting contagion into our societies and refusing to mask up and letting it kill us from the inside out. But unlike a contagion, this is discriminatory. That is the essence of it. The differential treatment is the point. If you question why people are burning and looting, why they aren’t being “peaceful”, why they don’t comply (they do – it doesn’t work, as anyone who watched the clip of the CNN reporter would know), why they are so angry – then you are in the haven of thorns. You just refuse to acknowledge it, because the only light seeping into your little puddle is filtered, screened, and you’d rather ignore the shadows cast by the thorns.

So many of the choices in Haven of Thorns hinge upon deciding whether to preserve or whether to overturn these vicious cycles of hatred. It’s so painful to see these struggles continue to be mirrored in the real world, happening to real communities at this very moment. Part of me wants to stop writing this, because I cannot begin to capture the true agony of what is happening, no matter how much I empathise. But another part of me knows that I am in a position of great privilege, and perhaps it is time I put my voice to something that truly matters. Add another line to the anthem that advocates for these deep-set value changes that we need to make on a domestic and an international scale.

In the first very first chapter of this story, the royal palace burns. It may just as well have been a police station.