#trigger: grief.

[zukosdualdao]

through all of the shadowy corners of me

zutara month, day three: (re)meet ugly/meet cute. @zutaramonth

summary: as katara's plans on the anniversay of her mother's murder fall apart, she ducks into a teashop to wait out the storm and finds herself familiar with the rude tea server she comes face to face with and promptly bursts into tears. because of-fucking-course.

warnings: grief, nightmares, references to kya's murder (and ursa's disappearance, though that is less explicit), and references to ableism wrt facial differences. also, just, some lightly gratuitous swearing, on behalf of katara's no good very bad day. she deserves it.

other notes: title taken from landon piggs’ falling in love at a coffeeteashop. because i am basic in that way.

Katara’s pretty sure the universe is conspiring against her.

First, it was the fucking felt-tip markers being all dried up—damn it Sokka—she needed for the posters for the protest she was supposed to head.

(She tries not to think about how really, first, it was the dream she woke up from, that she wakes up from often, but especially on this day, the dream with fearful eyes and the ominous drip of blood and the feeling of too late too late too late. The dream that is also a memory.)

Someone had to make the posters—because seriously, why was the school shutting down the campus food bank when a third of the student population was food-insecure?— so she missed her first class of the day to get new ones from the closest craft store, over half an hour way with traffic. There was supposed to be a quiz, too, and the professor is notoriously stubborn about absences and make-ups. 

And then there was this huge storm, so they couldn’t even have the protest today like they’d planned.

Now, as Katara ducks out of the rain and into the tiny little hole-in-the-wall ambient tea shop—The Jasmine Dragon, the sign had said—which is all warm lighting and soft ringing laughter from the bare few patrons inside, she figures she can at least get a cup of something hot to drink. It’s been a truly horrible day, and she can’t wait to get back home, sleep for ten hours straight, and wipe it from the record of her memory, but right now, this is her one saving grace.

So, when she gets to the second place in line, very patiently waiting as the server at the front snipes at the man in front of her, part of her wants to reel up to confront him. Sure, she knows customer service can be a day-in, day-out nightmare—she didn’t spend her first two semesters waiting tables because it was fun—but really, he could at least try to be a little nicer. The man wasn’t doing anything wrong, as far as she could see.

When she gets to the front, Katara opens her mouth to say—something, she doesn’t know what—and is caught off-guard to find that she recognizes him faintly. With his eyes the color of amber, swoopy, dark hair, and a shiny, painful-looking burn scar set against the left side of his face, on her right—yes, he was a boy who was in Sokka’s class back in high school. And he was a total jerk, barely speaking a word to anyone except to get into arguments, whether with teachers or other kids. She didn’t know him all that well herself, but she’d never liked him from the stories Sokka told or for the way he seemed to bristle at everyone and everything as she watched from a morbidly curious distance.

Zuko. Yes, she remembers him.

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice almost a snarl when she spends a beat too long taking in his features, though he’s not looking at her, instead glancing down at his scratchpad. “I’m supposed to tell all of the customers we’re out of the oolong,” he adds in a rough voice, without looking up.

Katara wants to rage, wants to scream, why does he think he gets to treat people like that, god, at least have the decency to look me in the eye and treat me like a person when you’re being a dick—but instead, she bursts into tears. 

Very loud, messy tears. It’s been a long day.

And, well. He certainly looks up then. 

“Um,” Zuko says in lieu of an actual reaction, his right eye wide. His expression has softened considerably, his mouth shaped in surprise, his browline furrowed. “We have jasmine?” he tries.

Well, she thinks as he stands there stiffly, the perfect image of a deer in headlights, before reaching over the counter to push the napkin dispenser toward her, this is humiliating.

At least it’s not terribly busy in here. There’s no one standing beside her, and she only feels one or two worried glances from the tables, the shop mostly empty.

“Sorry,” Katara says through her tears. “God, I’m sorry. I just—I’m having awful day,” she says, motioning to her face as a way of explanation before yanking a napkin out from the dispenser to dry her face.

Zuko’s lip curls in what she thinks might be sympathy. 

“Me, too,” he admits on a sigh. “Sorry. What can I get for you?”

“Um,” she says, shaking her head and smiling through still teary eyes. God. “A cup of jasmine tea would actually be nice.”

“Sure.” 

She pays quickly and tries to ignore his eyes as they follow her over to the tiny round table she chooses in the corner. One cup, she thinks. She’ll drink one cup of tea and be out of here quicker than even the lightning flaring outside, before anyone can say anything about it, and then head back to her apartment and think through every turn in life that got her there, sobbing in line at a tea shop as a mean boy she knew from high school tried not to call her on it.

But he has other plans, because when he brings her order to her, he doesn’t just leave like he’s supposed to, standing there for several awkward moments that feel as though they’re spanning lifetimes.

Yeah. The universe is definitely conspiring against her.

“So… you’re… good now?”

Katara stares at him blankly for a moment, feeling her jaw grow a little slack.

“Are you… checking on me?”

A beat. “I’m just very committed to customer service,” Zuko deadpans, and Katara can’t help but laugh.

“Right,” she says. “Yeah. I’m… good. Thank you.” He nods—just once, a rigid jerk of his head—and starts to turn on his heel to leave.

But for some reason, she suddenly doesn’t want that. He’s being… almost kind of sweet, and it’s so incongruous with the memory she has of him that it kindles a new kind of curiosity.  “We went to school together, you know,” she says quickly, before he can fully turn around. He pauses in his tracks. “You probably don’t remember, but—”

“I remember you,” Zuko says before she can even finish. She frowns, intrigued. “You always wore your hair up in a braid and those loops. And once, even though we barely knew each other,” he adds with the faint traces of a smile, “you told off that kid when he was… uh…” The smile fades.

Katara remembers suddenly. It was an overcast day, not unlike the way this one had started, and Zuko had been sitting alone in the courtyard, not bothering anyone (for once) as Katara made her way to lunch when she saw some other kid go up to him to start needling him, saying horrible things about his scar. Very loudly.

Katara hadn’t liked that, so she’d marched right over and told the kid so. Also very loudly.

She’s pretty sure that’s the only time she and Zuko even tangentially interacted, and even then, they hadn’t spoken any actual words to each other. Everything else she knew about him came from stories and distant observation.

“When he was being a dick,” she finishes for him.

“Yeah,” Zuko says. Peering through his eyelashes, he adds more quietly, “I’ve always remembered that.”

“Really?”

A shrug of his shoulders. “You didn’t have to do that, but you did anyway.”

“I don’t like cruel people.” He nods, hands in his pockets, eyes suddenly downcast and looking almost a little ashamed. It makes her sort of sad. “Do you have time to sit?” Katara asks suddenly.

He looks surprised as he glances back at up her. “What?”

“I mean, I know you’re working, so don’t worry about it if not,” she adds in a hurry, tripping over he words. “I just thought maybe…”

“My shift’s actually over,” he answers, and suddenly, there’s a soft, sort-of-shy smile playing on his lips. “I—I could sit.”

He pulls the chair out and sits while Katara sips at her tea. It really is quite good.

“This is almost making up for the rest of my day,” she laughs, and his face scrunches up, maybe almost amused.

But then, the expression morphs. “Why was your day so bad, Katara?”

She’s surprised to find he ever knew her name, let alone remembers it now. He really is full of surprises. 

She could tell him the simple version, the actual events without the why she was taking it so hard, without divulging what it was really about… but, well…

He seems sincere enough in asking, at any rate.

“I just… I lost my mother when I was really young,” she begins to explain, feeling sort of choked-up and tight in her chest again, but no tears threaten to fall right now.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and she looks up to meet his gaze, swimming with undeniable sympathy. “That’s something we have in common.”

She looks at him for a long moment, surprised. This is something they share, then. Something they can understand about each other. “I’m sorry, too. It’s awful. And… today is the anniversary. I usually just try to keep busy, but…”

“But everything went wrong?”

Katara hums.

“That’s the fucking worst,” he says bluntly, and Katara laughs then. He has very little tact, it seems, but also, yeah. It is. And it’s nice for someone to be able to… just say it. To feel it with her.

“It is the fucking worst,” she agrees. “But… I really am doing better now.”

“I’m glad,” he says, but he frowns, staring down at his hands, which are splayed on the table. “I really shouldn’t keep you from your day."

“I mean… the rest of my plans for the day have sort of fallen apart, and I should probably wait out the rain anyway, so I might, uh,” she says, feeling suddenly shy and hesitant. “I might stick around for a while. Get one more of these,” she nods down to her cup, warm and solid in her hands. “You know.” She takes another sip.

His smile glints, but it’s soft, too, definitely as shy as she feels. “I could do with a cup.”

Katara’s own smile grows wider.

The kindly older man who runs the shop—Zuko's uncle, Katara learns quickly—brings them out another round of jasmine, two cups this time, and Zuko slowly raises his in a cheers motions motion, a little awkward and a lot funny.

“To awful days?” he says with a raise of his brow.

“And to perfect storms,” she adds in agreement, laughter bubbling in her chest.

They clink their teacups together.

[revvethasmythh]

"You'll get yours. It's coming. And I'm going to help you. And I'm going to high five you when it's done. But until then, you keep that shit tucked inside. Let it build. And then when the time is right, you let her have it." - Grog Strongjaw to Keyleth, Campaign 1, Episode 73: The Coming Storm

[scissorcraft]

so. rescuing kittens, huh.

[kalivasquezart]

a change in you

part 1 // part 2 // [part 3]

[tofixtheshadows]

I keep thinking about chapter 85, when Marcille is lord of the dungeon and her friends are trying to appeal to her by offering her all these things she wants and sharing what they want in return. Specifically I keep thinking about the one thing she asks for that they can't give her.

Because that's the heart of grief for me. It can't be placated. It can't be reasoned with or drowned in honey. Death is a permanent hole in your life. All the tasty meals and good experiences in the world don't change the fact that I can't share them with my loved one anymore.

Marcille had 35 years with her father and still wishes they had more time together. Because no amount of time with your loved ones is ever enough. Nothing less than a thousand years will do.

[rainbow-crane]

had a realization today

[raina-at]

Journey

Warning: You guys, this one HURTS. Seriously. Trigger warning for death, grief, sadness.

Proceed at your own risk. And don't yell at me afterwards if you proceeded anyway and this hurt you. You were warned.

----

There’s a bit of dirt on her dress. If she had to guess, she’d say it’s probably Jo’s fault. But she’s Sherlock Holmes’ daughter, so she doesn’t guess. She deduces.

She wets her finger, picks up a crumb.

Rice cake. Raspberry flavour. Jo’s favourite.

She brushes it off. Then she fixes her hair. Checks her shoes.

Anything to delay. Anything to put off this particular journey for a few more seconds.

She meets her own eyes in the mirror. “Come on, Watson,” she whispers. “You can do this. You have to do this. Remember your promise.”

Look out for him, he’d said to her. Before he couldn’t speak anymore. Look out for each other. 

Fuck, she’s crying already. 

No. She bites the inside of her cheek and keeps the tears in. 

She had forty years of parenting. Now she needs to step up. She needs to be strong. 

She nods at herself one last time in the mirror, then goes down the corridor to the bedroom door. She knocks, just once. “Are you ready?”

The silence that greets her is ever so slightly sarcastic.

Stupid question, she chides herself. “Let me rephrase. Are you dressed?”

He opens the door. Of course he’s immaculate. The black suit fits him perfectly, and even though age has somewhat diminished his ramrod straightness, he still looks distinguished and elegant without much effort. His face is a study of outward stoicism, and if Rosie hadn’t known him her entire life, she wouldn’t have noticed how much of a strain it is for him to take even a single step.

This is hell for her. She can’t even imagine what it’s like for him.

But she was raised by two British men of a certain age, and public displays of emotion make her as viscerally uncomfortable as it does them, therefore she knows how important it is to him to keep his composure in public.

They did a lot of crying together when it happened. Though quite honestly, it was a relief when it was finally over. The weeks and months prior were pure hell, for all of them. Dad was always a dignified man whose autonomy was important to him. When he refused further treatment, she supported him, and so did Paps. 

It’s the circle of life, she knows this. They help you into this world, you help them out of it. You travel together for a time, and then you have to let them go.  And it’s her duty to accompany him on this last leg of his journey. 

But she has a more important responsibility. 

She holds out her hand, and Paps takes it. They help each other into their coats. Paps’ coat is unchanged, and she wonders what he paid for this one. Every time one of his coats gives out, he has one made. With the same red embroidery around the buttonhole.

“Where’s Jo?” Paps asks, the first words he said all morning. 

“Mark’s taking her. They’re meeting us there.” 

He nods in acknowledgement. 

They walk outside. It’s incongruously sunny. It’s cold, and windy, and she’s glad for her coat. 

Should it be sunny, on a day like this?

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, she thinks. 

But no. The hard part is that life goes on. That nothing stops even for a second, just because your heart is ashes. Dinner, errands, bedtime stories, maths tests, patients, laundry, paperwork, bills. 

Ironically it makes it easier, for her. That she has something to do. That she has somewhere to go. That she’s not in the home they shared alone, staring at the walls, remembering.

“Paps,” she says, turning around, leaning against the car. “There’s something…” she takes a breath. “I wanted to ask you something.”

He makes a gesture for her to continue, but his eyes are on the horizon, and she knows he’s far away, locked somewhere in his mind palace to get through the day.

“Admin is putting a lot of pressure on me to take more hours. Department can’t afford another hire, they need shifts covered, et cetera. And we need the money. But it means I’d have twelve-hour shifts again, and Mark’s rarely home before six. Jo comes home from school at four. That’s two hours I don’t know how to cover.”

He looks at her, uncomprehending. You need to be more clear, she reminds herself. He’s not at his best today. “221A is empty. I thought, maybe…” she trails off, making a ‘you fill in the gaps’ kind of gesture. Then she takes a deep breath and fills in the gaps herself. “I thought you might want to come home?”

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He’s watching the horizon with a far away expression. Then he looks at her and gives her a slight smile. “I play the violin at three in the morning. And I sometimes don’t talk for days. Would that bother you?”

“I lived with you for twenty-four years, Paps. I think I’ll be fine,” Rosie says dryly, but she’s biting her cheek to keep the tears in again, because she knows what he’s thinking.

Full circle. 

He nods at her, just once. “I noticed little Watson’s maths needs some polishing,” he says, with a trace of his old self shining through. “And quite frankly, her chess skills are appalling.”

“I expect you to turn her into a grand master by the time she’s twelve,” Rosie says, and discovers that it’s, after all, possible to smile.

They both stand in the sun for a second, letting the small glimmer of joy warm them. 

Then Paps sighs. “It’s time, isn’t it.”

Rosie nods, and this time, she doesn’t check her tears. 

“Should I drive?” Paps asks, gently.

She just gives him a look, and he chuckles. “Fair enough.” He nods at the car, then puts a hand on her shoulder. “Into battle, Watson.”

She nods. Wipes her tears. Takes his hand. “Into battle, Holmes.”

-------

Rosie is quoting a line from Funeral Blues by WH Auden.

I'm not going to apologise for making you sad. I warned you. Remember that before you yell at me in the comments.

May is almost over, you guys. How did that happen?!

Tags under the cut as always, please notfiy me if you want to be taggeed or untagged.

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @jrow @peanitbear @jolieblack @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @lisbeth-kk @friday411 @givemesherbet-blog-blog @weeesi @thalialunacy @thegildedbee @dapetty @salmonsown

[sinnbaddie]

To say that Kakashi and Gai’s relationship (talking solely platonic rn) was mostly about him helping Kakashi cope with the loss of Obito is disingenuous to Kakashi and all of his relationships.

Any person is going to be traumatized after seeing someone — much less their teammate — be crushed to death under a rock. Kakashi is shown to be someone susceptible to depression due to 1. His environment 2. His initial beliefs and 3. His genetic line. Of course his life is going to be centered around one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, romanticizing it is so hurtful to his character because it destroyed him - and if Kishimoto actually cared about expanding other character relationships instead of making a “generational duo that falls apart” + wasn’t a misogynistic writer, Rin’s death would be the bigger influence on his life than Obito’s.

Yes, Gai had to help him numerous times in his grief but it wasn’t solely or even mainly about Obito. Rin was an absolute vital point in Kakashi’s downfall into chaos. The self harm he inflicted upon himself, the self hatred, the self shame. He became a whole different person after he was forced to kill her. I would say Kakashi’s father Sakumo is by far the biggest influence on him. He wouldn’t have needed any speech of “your father was a hero” by Obito if it wasn’t for Sakumo. His personality of today is thanks to his father’s own death.

Gai and Kakashi’s friendship is almost entirely about them when they’re in scenes together. Look at the chunin exams, look at any scene in the land of steam arc, look at their race, etc. naturally there will be grief the two bring to the relationship and it’s on them to work it out separately, together and with other people which did happen.

You’re actively ignoring every other character that has shaped and formed who Kakashi is by saying Obito is the biggest and only reason he is who he is. Gai is one of the strongest reasons why Kakashi is as motivated and strong as he is. Kakashi would’ve absolutely died at some point in (general) anbu if Gai didn’t pull him out and he was slipping so far when he was in it because of Rin and Minato.

Kakashi’s heart does not “belong” to Obito because he’s in love with Obito and can’t get over him, his heart belongs to the people he loves because that’s who Kakashi is at his core - a lover. He’s a person who cares so deeply, even for people he doesn’t necessarily like or get along with.

Kakashi is a person who is shaped by everybody in his life, that’s why he is one of the best written Naruto characters. He feels like a real person because real people are influenced by everyone in their life, in every way. It’s unfortunate to see those who call themselves Kakashi fans only to mischaracterize, limit and erase the bonds he was written to have to prop up one single bond for your ship.

Do you care for this character? His themes, parallels, relationships and writing? or is he just a placeholder / self insert for shipping content?

[not-poignant]

Daily excerpt from chapter 19 of Underline the Blue:

You’re not drugged, you’re relaxed. That was it. The slowness in his body, the feeling of being unhurried, the way his joints weren’t ready to spring into action, the residual warmth in his hands from Janusz’ touch… He was relaxed. His eyes filmed with tears, he placed a hand over his mouth and as he blinked, the tears spilled down his cheeks. ‘What’s wrong, sweetheart?’ ‘I can’t- I can’t remember the last time I felt relaxed like this. I thought I was drugged. Not that you’d drugged me, but I couldn’t figure out why I felt like this, and it’s been so long. It’s been so long. I forgot. I’d forgotten I could feel like this.’ ‘Yeah.’ Janusz sighed. ‘Yeah, that’d upset me too. That’s pretty sad, isn’t it? Hang tight, I’m just going to come around your side of the car and we’ll walk home.’ Home.

[ibrithir-was-here]

Realized I never posted this little comic lighting practice I did, and I still think it looks pretty nice so I’ll share it

[otter-pup]

hi. stay alive. please

[blushblushbear]

'This is torture.'

Fuyu sat at the open door, looking wistfully out at the sky, as a breeze blew through.

You had been away for just two days on business, and the whole time he had truly felt your absence.

On the first morning he awoke without you laying next to him he was almost certain, he was going to cry. And going back to bed that night alone left him just as restless.

He had been used to a lonely home and an empty bed. Years of solitude had made him accustomed to the somber feeling of isolation. Before you, he would've shrugged it off as for the best. A pain worth feeling for the duty he must see through. He would've bared it all with an expressionless face and a stone cold will.

But that was before you. Back before he tried living again. Back before he started to truly feel like himself again. And now that he was here, that he was himself again, that he finally found respite from the grief and solace--

he couldn't stand it.

He had missed you before. Had seen you depart plenty of times. But somehow now, it was different.

More hallow. More Sorrowful. More painfully, achingly lonely.

It this what people meant when they say something 'hits different'?

Hm, perhaps. But no matter to him right now. He's too busy being consumed by his sorrows.

Wallowing in his deep regrets...

Mourning all his mistakes and the time they had wasted...

As he continued to stare listlessly at the open sky, watching the clouds roll past and hearing the rustle of the trees as the cup of tea he held warmed his hands-- he felt so empty. So very very empty...

'This softened heart of mine...' he thought, 'it's so much more tender... so easily pained... what a pitiful beast I've become...'

As he let out a sigh and took a sip of his tea, he suddenly heard the front door open.

In a flash he was on his feet and making his way to it.

"Fuyu--" he heard your voice as he approached and he felt his heart leaping, "I'm hom-- oh! There he is!"

You were setting your bags down but the moment your eyes met his face you beamed. And in that moment Fuyu felt his heart warm and ache all at once. Just seeing you home felt like such a comfort, and all you were doing was setting down your things...

"God you're a sight for sore eyes. You would not believe the--" You paused your small talk as you looked back up at him, "Fuyu? What's wrong?" suddenly your face was painted with concern and Fuyu snapped into self awareness.

He had been frozen at the sight of you. Overcome with a sense of relief, and his eyes were beginning to water. He hadn't noticed, until he saw your smile, how uneasy and deary his mind had become. His relapse into loneliness had had him spiraling into sorrow.

He was still processing his state he looked towards you, and your expression turned sympathetic, as you spread your arms wide.

"Come here Love." Your voice was like a song and two arms had never looked so welcoming. He practically stumbled forward, landing on his knees before you, your arms wrapping warm around him as he barred his face in your chest.

He clung to you like a frightened child. He had never been so vulnerable around another person. And you were responding with a loving kindness he did not deserve.

You let out a soft laugh as you asked,

"Did you miss me?"

You were joking a bit, but his response from coming from his very soul.

"Yes." He said, holding you tighter.

You laughed again, sweet and sympathetic. Then you held him tighter too, and you felt so warm and real.

"I missed you too."

You two stood there like that for a moment, basking in the warmth of each other's arms. Then Fuyu felt a gentle hand pet his hair,

"How about I go make us some tea, and you can rest your head on my shoulders as you tell me all about it, Love?"

Fuyu's hands gripped you lightly,

"N-not yet... I..." he nuzzled his face into your stomach, "I need another moment... Just a bit longer..."

You smiled, kissed the top of his head, and held him once more.

"Of course dearest."

[pascaloverx]

OUR SECRET — MYG

chapter eight

Summary: You and Yoongi are having an affair. No, you are not being his lover. But the world is not ready to know that an idol is dating someone. So you two were doing your best to make sure no one found out. Until he breaks up with you. His mistake.

Notes:

Trigger Warning: Grief, loss of a child. Lots of angst in this chapter guys, be prepared.

PREVIOUS FINAL

You had never imagined what it would be like to have a child. Not before seeing a positive pregnancy test shortly after breaking up with the potential love of your life. The funny thing is, you thought that breaking up with him would be incredibly painful. It actually took you two weeks to gather the courage to break up with Yoongi. You couldn't find a way to end something that had been so important to you until then. But then you found out you were pregnant, and suddenly, Yoongi didn't seem like the most important thing anymore. In fact, you found out that you were more important. You didn't tell anyone until you decided what to do with your situation. You thought about giving the baby up for adoption, wondered if you really wanted to continue the pregnancy, if you wanted to be someone's mother. Until your belly started to grow, you began to feel like a mother even before having a child in your arms. You didn't tell anyone until you decided what to do with your situation. You thought about giving the baby up for adoption, wondered if you really wanted to continue the pregnancy, if you wanted to be someone's mother. Until your belly started to grow, you began to feel like a mother even before having a child in your arms.

"What happened?" You ask as you notice you're in a hospital bed surrounded by machines and important wires. Yoongi is surprised to see you awake. He looks worn out too. Eyes full of dark circles, swollen face.

"You had a hemorrhage. And you lost consciousness. I was so afraid of losing you, you have no idea." Yoongi says, holding your hand. You watch him start to get emotional, you even try to hug him but can't.

"I can't move properly with all these machines on me. But know that I would like to hug you right now. I really would. And our daughter? Where is she?" You ask, getting a little nervous.

"She... she was beautiful. So beautiful. I swear she reminded me so much of you. She was so fragile, so as soon as she was born, the doctors did everything they could to help her survive. But our daughter... she didn't make it." Yoongi speaks with a shaky voice as if he can't say out loud what happened. You however failed to understand how this could happen. She was healthy, you loved her, you two were waiting for her. She already had a family. It already had a name. In your head, she already had a little face.  As you thought about your daughter, tears began to stream down your eyes. And a pain hit you. The pain of loss.

"But, we did everything... as it should be. We went to the doctor, we bought clothes, we were learning to live as a family. She can't not be here." Saying that was like a punch in your stomach. You felt like your world was shaking. As you cried, Yoongi held your hand with some firmness.

"The medical team did everything they could. But it was a delicate situation. Our baby did her best while she could, I can tell you that. The doctors said that sometimes, unfortunately, some babies don't survive. And that we shouldn't blame ourselves, there was nothing that could be done differently. " Yoongi is clearly trying to be strong for you. 

"Did you see her? What did our little princess look like?" You say feeling your eyes start to get blurry from crying. Your real desire was to scream, to beg for this to be a nightmare. 

"Her nose was like yours, her lips too. She took her eyes from me but the rest was you. I was able to hold her while she..." You began to imagine what it would be like to see your daughter.  Hold her on your lap, feed her. 

"Do you think we're being punished? For wanting to start this off as a lie?" You ask, crying even harder. Yoongi then hugged you as best as he could. 

"No. I think our little princess did her job here and went to rest. None of this is our fault." Yoongi speaks softly, comforting you and you manage to put your head under his chest, looking for reassurance. After that you don't even remember when you stopped crying. She only remembers the emptiness she felt in the following weeks while waiting to be released from the hospital.   

Some time later...

"Thank you for coming to pick me up from the hospital. Going home alone would be really bad." You say, placing your toiletry bag inside the suitcase that Yoongi brought for you.

"We're married. I'll stay by your side until you don't want me to." Yoongi says, helping you with your suitcase and guiding you to the hospital reception.  

"Still. You've been a support, husband, since we lost our most prized possession." You say as you’re getting into Yoongi’s car, who is obviously in disguise. We don't want reporters finding out about all this, or invading this moment.

"I'll take you to a place. Before we go home, of course." Yoongi says while driving seriously. You haven't had much spirit after what happened so you just shake your head positively. You didn't even think much about where he was planning to go. Until you noticed you were getting close to a cemetery and instantly knew what you were going to do.

"Do you think I'm ready to..." You say fearfully but Yoongi turns to you, helping you take off your belt.

"I think if you don't do this, you'll feel worse. Saying goodbye is an essential part of moving on." Yoongi speaks as he guides you to where your daughter is buried.

"What if I can't move on?" You ask as you walk next to Yoongi. 

"Then I will accompany you." Yoongi says and then holds your hand. It’s a gentle, gentle act that makes you feel like you can find comfort with Yoongi. You arrive in front of your daughter's tombstone. You're amazed at how Yoongi managed to handle everything about your daughter's funeral while you were in the hospital.

"Our girl is here. I hope she knows she was loved by her parents." You say, looking at Yoongi tenderly, hoping to find the same feeling in his eyes. A feeling that you still don't know what it is but you know that if anyone will understand you it's Yoongi. 

"She knows." Yoongi says, still holding your hand and stroking it. You look at your daughter's tombstone and place a blanket on top of her, which you bought for when she was born.

"Mommy bought this blanket to bring you home. So I'm going to leave this blanket with you, my daughter." You speak to your daughter's tombstone. Then you and Yoongi head towards your house.

[theladypeartree]

Mdzs x howl's moving castle in the sense that wei wuxian's magic is the same as Sophie's.

Everyone else cultivates magic through sword forms and talismans etc and wwx can do all that ...Bc he thinks that how it works. Wwx losing his magic bc he lost his golden core and obviously you need a golden core to do magic so of course he can't wield his sword. Except he is swordless and coreless in the burial mounds and calls out for help out of sheer desperation and the dead rise up to help him.

Does he convince himself that he and the Wen remnants were doomed from the start, creating wards that will fail if he's not around bc he believes they will fail if he's not around. Does it take until his resurrection for him to realise that he can command people to STOP, doors to OPEN, wen ning to REMEMBER just by saying it, by willing into being. Or does he promise a-yuan that will be safe often enough that the wards become impenetrable to anyone intending them harm? Does he promise wen qing that he can help her grow medicinal herbs and grows ones that never existed before? After all, he told her that he could bring wen ning back and he sure did that!! Not even going into tye success of the transfer which convinced wen qing would work.

At what point do the others notice that wwx makes impossible things happen by insisting they will happen.

How many impossible things need to happen for wwx to notice that it's him doing it.

[mister-cynicism]

Might I recommend.. the laceygames.com franchise on YouTube, by ghosttundra.

I just watched an analysis on how the franchise tells the horrors of girlhood trauma in such a clever way. From the fear of imperfection, especially in conforming to feminine stereotypes, to the pain of abuse, especially SA, and the feeling of having just your innocence torn away from you.

In the lore, it is stated that "these games are REAL girls' games", which is so clever, because it really is. They're girls' games in a way where girls/AFABs can really relate to what horrors women are truly exposed to in the real world.

If you're into horror, and into media that dives deep into the REAL stuff, I definitely recommend this. I'm AFAB, and it just speaks out to me so much through the imagery that's definitely gonna give me nightmares tonight (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)

[danothan]

tough pill i have to swallow is realizing that “getting better” doesn’t mean “getting to do more things,” getting better for me means taking better initiative in protecting myself. and THAT means making sure i do LESS things