#walking through the snow and closing his eyes because he might as well be blind anyway

[herearedragons]

Ghilan’nain’s Trial

Here’s a bit of headcanon lore that was on my previous blog, but was deleted when I deactivated it. I still think it’s cool and @solas-backpack-mug just asked about it, so here it is! Again.

I did remember that it wasn’t a trial to receive one’s vallaslin but a trial to become a scout specifically, but it doesn’t really matter, since my Lavellan (Neilar) would have to take it either way. I’m pretty sure halla-keepers would have a different trial, though.

Ghilan’nain’s Trial is a rite of passage in Clan Lavellan. There’s a Trial for every Evanuri; June’s would be a test of craftsmanship, Mythal’s would be a test of your judgement skill, etc. You must take one of these trials to be considered an adult and have the right to wear vallaslin; the one you take is determined by the vallaslin you choose and/or your future profession in the clan.

Ghilan’nain’s trial follows the myth about her ascension, where she is bound, wounded and left for dead in the forest. The ones undergoing the trial are woken in the middle of the night, bound and blindfolded, and then taken into the wilderness outside the clan’s camp.

There, they are given the choice of one handicap: either to keep their blindfold on, to keep their hands tied, or to keep their feet tied. With this handicap, they must make their way back to camp, relying only on their own survival skills. The trial-takers aren’t abandoned; the clan’s scouts will be watching over them from afar to protect them from danger, but asking them for help means admitting defeat.

Successfully making the journey back proves one capable of finding their way home no matter the circumstances, wounded or blinded or bound, which marks them as a capable guide for their people and a worthy follower of Ghilan’nain.

[oogaboogasphincter]

Make My Wish Come True | Joel Miller x f!reader

a hidden crush, a secret admirer and a blind date for a present? talk about a love flurry for your christmas forecast! your best friend joel miller might know more than he’s letting on. 

word count/rating/warnings - 6600+ // MATURE 18+ ONLY: jackson era!joel, friends to lovers (more like idiots to lovers lol), swearing, food and eating mention, one gun mention, very little talk about infected, bodies, etc., tommy, maria and ellie mentions/appearances, lots of anxiety talk but the good kind, everyone is painfully sarcastic in tlou ‘verse, kissing, choking mention, allusions to sex

a/n - @laureliciousdefinition​ is my wonderful giftee for the @pedrostories​ secret santa event! i had soooo much fun writing this and truly got carried away haha, i've never written something this complex. this was also my first time writing joel, i hope i did him justice <3 and i hope i fulfilled your wish lauren! 💕 i left the ending sort of open so the audience can take creative liberty as to what happens next, but i have no qualms against writing a spicy part two hehe 🤭

“A blind date? Really, Tommy?”

It’s early in the afternoon on Christmas Day. Outside your quaint little house in Jackson, the sun - chopped into severe angles from the distant Teton mountain peaks - shines bright against the snow banks. Black-capped chickadee songs float through the crisp air, chirps and mews from elk echo across the great planes of frozen land that comprise your new home - and Tommy is standing across from you in your living room, dumping an unexpected and unwelcome present on you on the cheerful day.

“Come on, practically the whole town’s pitched in to bring it together!” He would’ve never made it as a salesman in the pre-outbreak world. Relying solely on weak persuasion and guilting the customer? A pink slip would’ve found its way into his hands within the first week.

“Even Joel chipped in?” you ask incredulously. Joel’s been your best friend since your first day in Jackson. After being dragged to the town pub by none other than Tommy in an effort to acclimate you to the community, you spotted Joel as soon as you walked in; stood in the corner, keeping to himself. The soft smile hidden under his thick facial hair told you he found alone time pleasant, but when it grew to twice its size when you introduced yourself, you vowed to never come unstuck from his side like velcro. 

You knew your best friend - Joel loved you, but he would never approve of setting you up like this. You can’t really put your finger on any specific reasoning as to why, you just know in your gut he wouldn’t. 

“Yes,” his younger brother states bluntly. Tommy was never good at lying either.

“Look, it’ll be fun! We made it all nice for ya, you don’t have to worry about anything besides being... approachable,” he looks at you with a playful accusatory glint in his eyes. One reason you and Joel get along so great is because you’re two of the few - if not only - people in Jackson that don’t focus on finding love; Well, at least you don’t express it outwardly. Since forming your close bond with the old grump, you’ve wondered to yourself numerous times how deep what you two have swims into those blurry lines that separate platonic and romantic relationships. You definitely haven’t gotten lost in your thoughts day after day pondering how far you want your relationship with Joel to go either. Nope, sleepless nights imagining what it would be like to stand up on your tiptoes during one of his tight hugs, leaning up and finally planting a kiss on his lips couldn’t be more unfamiliar to you.

“We all gotta get wrangled up at some point. Hey - it might be your secret admirer! At least this way we can start to narrow down the options,” he attempts to convince you again, and this time he’s a little more successful than before. For the past few weeks there’s been someone in town vying for your heart. You’ve come back from patrols to find warm servings of food on your back porch. You’ve been awoken from your sleep by gentle melodies coming from outside, down on the street and drifting up to your bedroom. Most recently you set out for the stables for your scheduled patrol only to be stopped by a plate of chocolate crinkle cookies at your feet, and turned away from your horse as someone had volunteered to cover your shift.

“I don’t know. They seem like a ghost, I doubt they’d admit it to my fave if they’re already putting all this effort into being sneaky,” you reason.

The food and treats that have been left on your doorstep are served on no identifiable dishware, left without a note. The musician plays under the cloak of darkness, choosing to not use their voice and let their acoustic instrument do the talking. All this covert attention would have spooked you, but after having Joel taste test the food to make sure no one was trying to poison you, you began to see the romance in it. You grew relieved to find dinner already made for you when you tiredly slugged back to your house, optimistic to hear what lullaby you would fall asleep to that night. And you would never turn down getting excused from patrol.

“Well, you got me there...” Tommy sighs. Ever the matchmaker, he’s irritated this stealthy admirer has been able to sneak around right under his nose anonymously. He can’t officially pair you up with John Doe.

“Your date’s already at the cabin,” he circles back, not letting you get out of the measly slab of romance he was able to piece together.

“What?!”

“I came from his house. I knew if I came to you first you’d up and vanish into the mountains by the time I told him about it.”

You groan exaggeratedly, annoyed at his accurate prediction. Being around Joel so much, Tommy learned too much about you for your liking sometimes.

You’re not ungrateful for this surprise, in fact you find it really cute and thoughtful. But it’s just not you. With Joel, and this secret admirer - you can barely sort your feelings out for your own sake, let alone for anyone else involved! And now there might be a third interest in the mix, thanks Tommy. 

“So you rudely sprang this on him just like you’re doing to me?” you say with your arms crossed. Who is this other poor soul that’s been ensnared in this trap?

“That’s kind of a weird way to say ‘I’ll go on this date, Tommy’, but yes,” he tilts his nose in the air, far too proud of bugging not one, but two people today.

“I don’t want to do this, just so you know,” you grumble, staring him down, trying to get him to crack. But the longer you glare, the more giddy his stature becomes, his smile widening until his teeth show maliciously.

You crumble in defeat, “Where is this? You said something about a cabin?”

He claps his hands together, enthusiastic to explain, “Yeah, it ain’t the lodge. It ain’t really a cabin neither, just sounds better than an old withered shed we found tucked away in a corner of the woods,” he finishes with a laugh.

“Sounds lovely,” raising your eyebrows in mocking bewilderment. You’re now sort of excited to seize this new opportunity, but will hide your feelings from Tommy if it’s the last thing you do.

“Hey, we dressed it up for you two sons of bitches. Just take the main trail east, follow the stream for a bit, until you get to that great big aspen with the gash in its trunk. Take a left where the trail divides there and follow it for a bit. Ellie will show you the rest of the way.”

Your jaw drops, “Ellie’s in on this?! Oh, when I see her-”

“When you see her you’ll politely follow her, is what you’ll do,” Tommy chides. You can take momentary despise on her all you want, and though Ellie was glad to be a part of this scheme, the man in front of you holds most of the blame; it was his original idea.

“Fine,” you surrender. You guess he really did recruit other people from town to orchestrate this plot.

With all your might you ignore the bemused sounds coming from Tommy as you lace your boots up and shrug on your jacket, grabbing your keys and going to the door. He follows behind you on your way out and chirps, “What, you’re not gonna take any gifts? Try to lube him up?”

Your face scrunches, “First of all, gross way to say that. And second, hell no. Me being there should be plenty.”

“’Atta girl,” he pats you on the shoulder.

Once you’re both out, you lock your door, then turn on your heel and look at him directly in the eyes so he knows you’re not messing around, “I’m going to get Maria to smack you for me for this.”

To your demise he huffs out a laugh, pluming into a white cloud in the frigid air, “Oh, she’s looking forward to this just as much as I am.”

“Screw you both!” you yell over your shoulder, jokingly. As you trudge through the snowy streets to get to the stables and begin your journey to your objectionable present, you don’t look back when Tommy bids you an annoyingly joyous farewell, “Merry Christmas!”

-🎄-

Earlier

"Tommy, I can't do this," Joel accosts his perpetually-meddling younger brother.

The Miller brothers, Maria, Ellie and yourself had gathered at Joel's house this Christmas morning to exchange presents, and upon seeing his brother lingering as everyone said their goodbyes, Joel suspected Tommy was going to let some cat out of a bag. Never in a million years, given how close the brothers have been for their entire lives, would Joel think Tommy would have the gall to suggest a blind date, let alone "gift" one to him.

"Joel, we both know you've taken on much more terrifying things with a brave face. Talking to the woman you love is what gets your tail tucked between your legs?" Tommy nags his eternal bachelor of a brother, watching Joel's scarred hands clutch and release the neck of his guitar with an anxious, cyclical grip. As far as he was concerned, he was doing Joel a favor by planting you two in the middle of nowhere, alone, granting him romantic pretext to work with.

"Like you weren't shaking in your cowboy boots when you started talking to Maria," Joel fires back. Tommy was irritatingly correct, but Joel wasn't going to take the full charge when they were guilty of the same crime.

"I never said I wasn't. That's just a part of love, Joel, you know that. What happened to the casanova that could charm the pants off about the whole population of Texas?"

Joels scoffs loudly, rolling his eyes. Sure, he allowed flirtation to bud and sometimes blossom if he was lucky, when the world wasn't falling apart at the seams, but he wasn't that good. He just had gotten more action than Tommy, something the younger brother refused to acknowledge for what it was. Besides, Joel was never too focused on love; it was nice when it was there, but not as important as other aspects of life: family, for one. However, he's seriously considering rearranging his priorities given Tommy's current behavior.

"That was a long time ago," Joel reasons, truthfully, "This is... different. She's different." He struggles with his words, scrambled by adoration overtaking his heart, and he's fully hypnotized when your face comes into his mind. Your breathtaking eyes that he just wants to fall into; your cute nose whose tip gets frigid in the wintery air that he wants to kiss warm; your soft cheeks he wants to cup with his rough hands and marvel at the difference in texture; and your lips, oh, your lips.....

"Goddamn, you really are in love," Tommy jests, receiving a halfhearted glare from underneath Joel's lashes as he leans his guitar against his couch and crosses his arms over his chest, broadened with an odd mixture of pride and insecurity. Proud of his loving commitment to you, nervous that his true feelings are being perceived by others for the first time after what feels like decades of being a statue.

Okay, it's 99% nerves - he's just trying to seem like the same-old unyielding Joel and doesn't know what to do with his hands so he shoves them under his armpits.

"You're not helping," he cocks an eyebrow at Tommy.

"Alright, alright, just- I was going to say be yourself but that's horrible advice given..." Tommy gestures to Joel's stiff form, earning another hardened stare.

"Okay!" Tommy stands from his chair, putting his hands up in surrender. Dear lord, if convincing Joel is this hard, how much of a fight will you put up? He restarts, "What can go wrong? You'll get there before her; I came to you first because I figured I'd do you a favor by letting you set your stuff up, obsessively run through your conversations in your head, get a lay of the land - you know, you and your anxiety and all that."

"Thank you, Tommy," Joel guesses it's a sweet gesture given the troublesome context, "But..." he trails off, stress still coursing through his veins. There are so many unknowns...

"There'll be overlapping patrols the whole time you're there so no having to fight off infected, you got your six string, your coffee and cookies, it'll only be the two of you...?" Tommy looks at Joel expectantly, waiting for the lines of his face to turn up in hope. But Joel's eyes keep to the box of extra chocolate crinkles he watched you taste on your way to the stables a few days ago, unknowing of the second surprise of pardoned work he had arranged for you.

Tommy attempts again, putting a diverting inflection in his voice, "We tried to make it cozy."

Joel can't help the smile that cracks across his face, growing wider as he imagines what you would be thinking if you were in the room right now, "We're not the romantic type."

Tommy counters with a pointed, sarcastic attack, "Who are you talking about? The man who quite literally serenaded his woman in the moonlight and the woman who near broke down in tears of joy over it the next day at breakfast, or some other heartless souls?"

"Would you stop being smart and listen to me?" Joel's patience has run out. He wants to do this, so badly wants to admit to you his infatuation and present his heart on a silver platter for your taking - but there's some undercurrent of trepidation he can't seem to shake.

Tommy's heart sinks as he watches his brother's arms unfold to hang between his legs, gaze lowering to his boots, dejected. Even if Joel can't go on the date, Tommy won't stop trying to help him navigate these feelings, now that he's gotten lucky enough to have caught them, "You worried she won't reciprocate?"

Joel contemplates the gentle question, taking a few moments to make sure he's got everything straight in his head, "I'm afraid she'll think differently of me when she finds out I'm the one who's been doing all this nonsense," he waves his hand unceremoniously in the air, referring to his secret admirer antics.

"It ain't nonsense. And you've seen her face when she finds your little presents; she loves 'em."

It's true. Joel's caught you humming while doing your work around town the tunes he's played for you under the starry night sky, seared into his brain the picture of you giddy with delight at both the idea and flavor of the food he's left after he "taste tested" it - did you really think he would eat, or let you even think about eating, something a stranger made in the world you live in now?

"Do you think she won't love you back?" Tommy drops the final question. Potent, but essential in answering.

Joel knew maybe you didn't love him in a romantic way. But confidently he knew from the way you sought out his company every single day, the way you hugged him a little tighter when he would leave or just get back from patrols, the way you looked at him... you loved him dearly.

"She already loves me."

"Then what're you afraid of?"

-🎄-

Present

Joel paces the rickety floorboards of the battered shed, restlessly awaiting your arrival. It probably has only been a few minutes since he got here, but his mind has written, doubled back, erased some, rewritten and ran through enough possible conversations with you to last eons. After fatefully agreeing to Tommy's blind date scheme, Joel traced the path his brother directed him to take and was greeted with what seemed to be nothing but a mountain of snow and densely packed aspens. Only by rounding the giant snow drift was the "cabin" revealed, and oh what an improper name. Joel smirked at the poor state of the structure, but observed his brother's logic for choosing it - it was virtually undetectable.

The door took a few well-muscled pulls to open, and after completing an initial sweep to make sure no bandits had discovered this perfect hideout, Joel shook his head at the decor. Bundles of mistletoe line every inch of the miraculously sturdy ceiling beams, making almost the entirety of the singular room a kiss zone. There is a red and green plaid couch in the center, which Joel thought would look atrocious in any other setting, but looks sort of pleasantly festive against the stripped wood interior. Its upholstery has noticeable signs of age, the colors faded to muted maroon and evergreen, but other than that it looks decent - spectacularly holding no stains of carnage after all these years.

As Joel wondered how it survived, he took in the few candles placed around the room, a matchbook sitting next to each one. With the "cabin" (that name will never not be funny) battered by the wind and snow, some of the paneling has warped, leaving microscopic seams to the outside. The winds blustered so fierce, the frost snuck through these cracks, creating an icebox. Joel went around and lit the candles, taking delight in the complementary scents; must've been Maria.

As pinecone and lime, peppermint bark and red velvet began to drift through the air and warm the cabin up - maybe the flames are a placebo effect because Joel is still shivering his balls off - he arranged the items he's brought. He set his guitar up against the arm of the couch, his box of cookies on one of the cushions, his thermos tucked away into his bicep like a stress ball. And then he was faced with the insurmountable, maddening, parasitic task of waiting. He paces back and forth past the door, ears pricked for any semblance of noise disturbance coming from outside. Nothing but howling wind so far, once in a while the pittering of snowflakes adding to the encapsulating drift trick him into thinking he hears hooves, hooves carrying you. But no, so he goes back to pacing.

He makes himself dizzy, sprinting through possibilities of what might happen. He plants his feet steady, hands balancing himself over the back of the couch, trying to fight his nausea. He pins the blame on the sickeningly sweet smell of the candles, but even for his stomach's sake he can't convince himself of something that stupid. You've seen her a million times, he reasons, what's so different this time? You're her best friend, she loves you, she doesn't know, you don't have to follow through with the plan if you don't want to, just pretend like this is all some ridiculous joke. She doesn't know. She doesn't know. She. Doesn't. Know.

Instead of calming himself down, he makes his heart ache more. He's been lying to you. Going behind your back, slinking around unbeknownst to you, fibbing right to your cute little face as you look up at him with all the trust in the world. He puts his fist to his mouth and clutches his stomach with the other, trying to slow his body and take some deep breaths. His efforts are for naught when he hears Ellie's voice carried in the wind.

"Shit," he gasps to himself, pressing his ear to the door to listen.

"You'll never guess! Have fun!"

"Okay, thanks, stay safe!" your cheerful lilt swirls in his heart like the snowflakes outside. Oh no.

He heaves through his teeth, putting his gloved hand to his forehead. It slips from the amount of perspiration, so he takes his gloves off, followed by his winter coat. He lays both on the back of the couch, deciding to keep his flannel sleeves rolled down so you don't notice his tacky skin. Now he wishes he were cold, as this doesn't help one bit. He pats his face dry, replaying Ellie's words: you'll never guess what?

He'll think about it later. Maybe. He doesn't know. He smooths his shirt, closes his eyes and breathes as evenly as he possibly can while he hears your boots crunching closer and closer to the door. Just say hi, he instructs himself, just say hi.

It takes you a few shoves to open the door too. Joel would help, but he can't move from where his feet are cemented to the floor. After you get it cracked, the barrel of a gun peeks inside, followed by your searching eyes. You had the same idea of bandits as he did.

When your wary eyes meet Joel's, all caution melts into disbelief. What the fuck is this, Tommy? you think.

Your best friend sighs, a little haggardly you notice, before he greets you, "Well, well, well."

You put your weapon away in your coat, stepping inside and closing the door to this definitely-not-a-cabin. You smirk at Joel, but heightening candle flames guide your attention up to the ceiling, where bundles of mistletoe are hung. You sneer, "He isn't very subtle, is he?"

Joel clicks his tongue, "Nope. And I bet that was indeed a Tommy touch."

"So you were fed the same blind date story that I was?" you walk around the room, taking in the rest of the place. It surely lives up to the picture that Tommy painted for you, but it isn't so bad. Not when you're here with Joel.

"Yep," Joel looks down at his boots, scratching the back of his neck, a nervous tic of his you've come to find sort of endearing. But why is he nervous?

Please don't notice I'm nervous, he stops as soon as he realizes the hint he's giving you.

"They really couldn't just get you some more sandpaper, or carving tools? Or me some peace and quiet?" you ponder, turning back to him. It's not that this seems all that horrible now, but more like a lot of effort for minimal payoff. This is what had Tommy, Maria and Ellie so doubled over in giggles?

"It looks like we got plenty of that here," Joel smiles at you, tight-lipped, but it stirs up warmth in your belly nonetheless. He's right - wicks sizzling and snow dancing are the only sounds you hear. You mirror his expression, and try to relax a little in hopes he'll become less tense. Maybe he's cold? Why'd he take his jacket off, it's cold as fuck in here.

His chest puffs with a breath before he speaks, "Since we already came all the way out here, we might as well make the most of it."

Your smile builds, reaching your chilly cheeks, "Okay."

Okay, this might actually be the best Christmas gift ever. All alone in the forest, for whatever length of time you want, with nothing to focus on other than Joel? You have to think of a way to thank Tommy without giving him any more ideas.

"I missed you anyways," you go to give him a hug, desperate to bury your face in his strong pectorals, but his hands reach for your coat on your shoulders before you can step into an embrace.

You turn around, letting him slide it off you as you coo over your shoulder, "Ooh, how chivalrous."

He hums, amused, wanting to keep his hands on you, pulsing your muscles between his palms, rubbing your cold skin back to warm, chasing away shivering aches from your bones. To your dismay he doesn't, but you two never shy away from getting cuddly, especially recently due to the season. Maybe you can get cozy on the couch.

"Make yourself at home," Joel gestures to the piece of furniture, which now that you're taking a closer look at it, you see how old it seems to be. You'd cuddle with Joel outside on the frozen ground if you had to, so this plaid relic won't be an issue.

"Thanks," you chuckle, taking a seat. Only two cushions, that means we'll be closer to each other, nice!

"I brewed some of the coffee you gave me this mornin', you want some?" he asks, uncapping his thermos. Your Christmas gift to him was a bag of whole coffee beans from his favorite coffee shop chain he used to frequent. Ever since you had your first coffee conversation with him years ago, he continuously cites that when you grind them fresh it's "so much better". You tease him for the line all the time, but it's one of the many quirks of his that you find irresistibly adorable.

"No, it's your present, not mine!" you remind him. Although his offer was a monumental one; Joel is territorial over and protective of his coffee like a grizzly bear. So much so, you're the only member of such an exclusive club, after Ellie tried a sip and proceeded to spit it out.

"Have you tried it yet?" you ask, watching his careful hands fill the cap. No steam rises from the surface - iced, just how you like it. You try not to get mesmerized by the way his long fingers grip the makeshift cup, bounding off into your fantasy land where those same fingers are wrapped around your own, your quivering thighs, your neck...

His timbre knocks you out of your trance as he comes over and takes the seat next to you, "No, but-"

Everything happens at once: Joel sits down on the couch; there's a bizarre cracking sound that fills the room; the two of you share a worrisome glance; you both go tumbling back as the sofa's legs give way. With the couch now sitting on its back, your legs are in the air and you're staring at the mistletoed ceiling. Laughter strikes through you like lightning and only gets more thunderous when you look over at Joel, blinking slowly, trying to avoid getting spilt coffee in his eyes. His grin grows exponentially, as do his uncontrollable cackles ruminating from deep in his chest, while he lies in place, literally soaking in the experience.

"Goddamnit," he grunts through a smile, setting his empty cup down.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" you lean over him, having difficulty seeing him through the tears squeezing out of your eyes.

"Yeah," his tongue darts out and licks his drenched mustache, "Mmm, good roast, thank you."

"You're welcome," you guffaw, pulling your shirt sleeve taut over your hand, your lip between your teeth and patting the liquid off his face - thank heavens he wasn't in the mood for hot today. Your sleeve will dry in time, much like his shirt will have to do too. You're violently struck with the thought of him taking it off, putting his hairy chest on display for you to ogle at in the romantic candlelight. You hope he can't feel the aroused heat radiating from your cheeks by how close you are as you finish cleaning him up.

Just kiss her, Joel's brain yells at himself while his eyes rake over your beautifully concentrated face, take the opportunity while it's inches away from your reach.

He can't do that to you though, spring something so brash on you out of nowhere. He's not Tommy.

In no time you right the couch together, sitting with your backs against one arm each, legs stretched out and intertwined, weighting it to the floor. Joel pours himself a refill, putting on a show of being overly cautious, which makes you giggle.

"At least I'll smell good," he grumbles up at you from under his lashes. You wish you could appreciate his joke more, but his saturated shirt clinging to his muscles is tormenting your sanity...

"You always smell good," you spit out without your brain's permission. You hurriedly pivot, trying to quash the minute uptick of his brows, "Um, so how have you been? Patrols easy?"

Good, that's a regular, sane question, you congratulate yourself. You haven't seen him for more than a few minutes at a time for the better part of a week, both your duties ramping up as the entire town wanted to have everything taken care of and then some for the holidays.

"Yeah, for the most part. Clickers are like most pests, they retreat when it gets too cold. It's the bandits that get desperate, lookin' for shelter, that you gotta watch out for. I don't want to jinx it but there's only been two individuals that we came across, died of natural causes. Nothin' to worry about."

Throughout his speech he's been running the tip of his finger around the rim of his cup, embarrassed that you're staring. If only he knew.

"How've you been, my little busy bee baker?"

His nickname engorges your heart, pumping praise through your veins. The part you fixate on is "my". You're his.

"On my feet. Thankfully I've only been baking like crazy, someone's been picking up my patrols for me."

"Oh?" Joel puts his best acting mask on. If he could steel through your unintended interrogations before, he can evade you for just a little bit longer.

"Yeah, I get to the stables on my scheduled days and they tell me to go back home, that someone's volunteered to take over my shifts. I wish I knew who they were so I could thank them, I wouldn't have been able to make all of my cookies without their help." Your Christmas present to everyone was personal boxes of homemade cookies. Crafting cookie boxes was one of your favorite things to do before the outbreak, so you thought you'd spread some nostalgic holiday cheer this year.

"Well I'm sure they got their due compensation by way of some of the extras you left over at the church hall."

He was a good boy - he only ate what was in his box and left the extras for the town. He really needs to get that lemon cookie recipe from you though, or better yet, truly indulge himself and ask you to come over and bake them yourself - it wouldn't be a complete lie if he told you he wouldn't be able to make them the same; he can't tell a teaspoon from a tablespoon.

"I hope so."

You and Joel sit and chat for a while, exchanging pleasantries about the weather, anecdotes about your days; topics that sound like they're utilized as a pillow for awkward conversation, but your energy flows gracefully with Joel's, like always.

Bringing it up again like it's the joke you know it to be, unaware of the effect it has on Joel's heart rate, you inquire, "So what were your tactics to seduce your date?"

He pauses for a moment, passing it off as a shared laugh with you and not a dive into an anxiety-riddled black hole before answering, "Reel her in with my natural charm, of course."

"Of course," you nod.

"Maybe crack some jokes, you know, because I'm a funny guy."

"Hilarious. Did you take a look at one of Ellie's joke books?" Joel had told you about the first of her findings, now she has amassed quite an impressive collection.

"No."

"Ugh, talk about missed opportunity! There are some good ones in there."

"Well I figured I wanted my lady to fall in love with me, not the book, so I'd tell them from the heart," he looks directly into your eyes, not wanting to give you any inclination that he might be harboring some unseen lovestruck magma beneath his rocky exterior.

"Oh, how romantic!" you tease.

"And then I brought this," he fishes his guitar from behind himself, stretching back with a groan, "Figured I could strum a song or two and see how she'd like it."

At the incredibly rare occurrence - thank you but still fuck you Tommy - you leap, "I'm your arranged audience, lemme hear!"

Joel sets the guitar in his lap, picking a familiar tune from the chords before he can stop himself. As the notes gather into a song, you come to anticipate the next strums, guessing correctly every time. You've heard this before, but where.... And then you remember. The night where it was so fucking cold you pitied your Romeo who was buried somewhere in the snow beneath your window, braving the temperatures to lull you asleep. What a weird coincidence.

It is a festive song that was immensely popular pre-outbreak, so it's not as strange of a fluke as you first thought. You sit and stare, admiring Joel's fingers dancing, his eyes glued to the instrument to watch what he's doing. You both know he could play blind, but thankfully you breeze over this extraneous, damning piece of evidence, for if you were to look in his eyes, you would see the admirer within.

Fading out, he pats the body with a concluding thump, "Do you think I would've swept her off her feet?"

You shrug, not keen to feed another Miller's ego today, "Maybe, if you had sung."

"Nah, that's reserved for at least date five."

"Ohhh okay," you chuckle. Not a romantic my ass, Joel.

He turns the tables, "What were your plans to woo your partner?"

"Um... well I wasn't going to put much effort in because... I-I already have feelings for someone in particular, and I figured he would never agree to something like this," you stammer, honestly, staring at the certain someone in question.

Confidence is injected back into Joel's face on a bright wave of intrigue, "You've got a crush?! And didn't tell me, your best friend?"

He sits up straight, eyes wide and mouth agape in a smile, messing with you, "Your reaction is exactly why I didn't tell you, dork."

"So you weren't even going to try with them? Oof, that's cold," he playfully scolds you.

"Looks who's talking, Mister Iceberg."

He ends his taunting at that. You certainly aren't wrong.

A few comfortably quiet moments pass, then you shiver with a laugh, "I actually am cold."

His beard scrunches in a smile, favoring his jacket to yours and tucking it over your shoulders, running a hand over your bicep once, twice, before reluctantly retracting it to his lap. You wish you could steal it; you'd bite past the tough material and sleep with it if it meant you could snuggle into his residual heat, the worn-in scent of fir sap, wood shavings, black coffee.

He whacks the primal, possessive urge inside him down like a mole, his blood stirring just looking at you in his clothes. He'll dream of you dressed both in more of them and less of them tonight.

The candles in the room have burned a substantial amount of their wax, the sun still shining bright but from a narrower angle behind the clouds continuously dropping snow. Maintaining the front that you're angry at Tommy for this is going to be near impossible to accomplish. You can already see yourself wishing on the stars next year for this very same gift.

Okay, maybe with a more comfortable sitting arrangement. While the tumble was funny and allowed you to get close to Joel, your back is killing you. You can't imagine what Joel's must feel like right now. Later tonight, when you've returned to town and after having dinner with him and Ellie, you'll direct him to lay down on his bed - like after any other intense patrol - and work the knots out of his spine.

"I'm happy we're here," you blurt. Suppressing your delight is useless.

Joel relieves some of the pressure in his heart, "Me too."

Goddamn that drawl brings you to your knees. Sure, it makes your stomach fill with butterflies every time he opens his mouth, but sometimes it mercilessly shoves you onto your back. You rally yourself and press forward boldly, "I'm happy you're here."

His expression doesn't move, sending a shallow ripple of alarm through you. He  seems a bit off, usually he gives you a smile or something.

Holy fuck, his brain shouts, holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck, holy fuck.

"I, um, brought some cookies too," he chokes out. He's about to reveal his big, stinking secret, and while it won't be quite verbal, that somehow makes it ten times more anxiety-inducing. Clawing talons of fear in his throat tempt him to take you by the shoulders and just scream 'I love you!'

Shit, you thought. Was what I said really that bad? You helplessly try to stick the bandaid back on the wound while Joel is preparing to rip it off.

"Wow, you were really going all out," you reference all the stops he had planned for his hypothetical date. Lucky son of a bitch.

"Yeah," he shrugs, trying to keep the tin steady in his clammy hands, "Would you like one?"

"Sure. Are they mine and you were going to pawn them off as yours?"

Your cute joke goes right over Joel's head as he pries the lid off, swallowing thickly and holding it aside so you can reach in and grab a chocolate crinkle. Never would he think of a cookie being sadistic, but his disconcerted soul is claiming otherwise.

Like the shattered powdered sugar coating, your conviction cracks. No way this is a coincidence.

You look up to Joel to find his side profile suspended in worry. You feel the gears in your head turn and he swears he hears them moving at a frightening speed, "Di-did you make these?"

"Mmhm," his throat is tight. He's made of marble, holding the tin open, unmoving. He knows you know and you know he knows you know.

A handful of silent beats pass, regrettably dangling him in suspense, but you're completely dumbfounded, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I- I was afraid. Still am," he puts lamely in his opinion, bravely in yours.

"Don't be," you assure gently, placing a hand on his rigid forearm. Like an ax, you snap him free of immobility, pushing the incriminating tin away.

He layers his hand over yours, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles and back again, calming himself more so than you, "You know me, you know I have a hard time expressing my... emotions."

He snarls the last word like having a heart that beats is something to be ashamed of. You do know him, and flirtatiously retort, "Sure didn't seem like you had a hard time expressing them outside my bedroom window at midnight, sneaking around my house in the morning, rigging the patrol schedule behind my back..."

Your welcoming smile spreads to his face, "Why are you always right?" he grumbles.

"I have to balance you out somehow if we're a couple. Opposites attract, right?" you lean in, flicking your eyes from his hazel puddles to his mouth and back again. He reads the unmistakable cue and meets you, pressing his lips softly to yours.

On the second kiss, he molds his mouth to yours firmly, allowing a moan to reverberate up his throat. You sound one back as he pulls you forward, situating one thigh outside each of his so you're straddling his lap. Wrapping your arms around his neck and his around your waist, you lose all concept of time, your mouths dancing infinitely... before Joel abruptly breaks you apart.

"Hang on."

"What?" you pant.

"We ain't under any mistletoe," he muses, scooting you off the couch to directly under a bundle. Brushing your hair away to reveal your face, he gazes up at you in awe, his body finally at peace - but not for long, when you break out into a smile and him a sweat.

"You really are a funny guy, Joel Miller," you tease against his parted lips, feeling his confirmation vibrate your tongue as you go in for another kiss,

"Hilarious."

main masterlist ♡ join my taglist!

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[agentelevatormusic]

Introductions

Vera was wide awake by the time the first rays of morning flickered through the blinds. Her body was taught, stiff as a board, and pressed against the edge of the mattress so tightly that she might have fallen off if not for the knuckle-white grip of her fists against the sheets. Her memories of the dream were hazy and splintered.

Her mind felt off. Like a snow globe that a child had picked up and shaken. But she could hardly acknowledge the bigger picture until she could move again.

She stared up at the ceiling and tried to breathe. It was Tom. That much was clear. She could remember his warm eyes. His inviting smile. Maybe he’d been telling her something? Vera could not remember. Everything fragmented and split from there. Something about a walk in the forest. Footprints. Dread. Hidden marvels. 

The face of it tore at her and she curled into a ball. Eyes shut. None of Tom’s treasures had been enough to protect Vera from its presence. Nothing had been able to stop it from haunting her since the night it first arrived. It wasn’t just the dreams of Tom that it padded through, either. Circling her. Watching her. Laughing at her, if such a thing could laugh. 

There, she sighed. She had remembered enough of it to breathe easier. To know what she was up against. The dreams had been chasing her for so long that Vera worked them out like a knot and forced them out of her way. There was no alternative. 

Vera rolled out of bed and lay on the floor. Closing out the creature and the nightmares and, instead, softly humming a piece of Brahms and letting the notes form on their bars in her head.

Strange, then, to find herself riding along with Captain Kato. The Hungarian Dances still lingering in her fog-addled mind. Pieces were out of place. Information out of position. Vera smiled, nodded, and focused her full attention on putting herself back together. 

She highly suspected that they had tampered with her the night before. There was nothing to be done about it. There was no point in being angry at the Foundation. She gestured excitedly at a beautiful rock formation to keep up appearances with poor Captain Kato. This was not his fault. He deserved more from her than the occasional polite laugh. She would make it up to him if given the chance. 

“Next time we meet, let’s hope I’ve had a better night’s sleep, Captain,” Vera said, smiling apologetically. “Be safe out there.” 

The Level 0 Clearance keycard was a nice touch, but not nearly so nice as the promise of another photo shoot. Vera did an inventory of her belongings as she wandered up to the second floor. Had she brought an outfit that captured the “essence” of an employee ID card? It seemed unlikely. 

Glass walls. Blinds closed. 

“Morning,” Vera answered, walking right over. She accepted the apparent Commander’s handshake carefully, but not because she didn't want to shake his hand. The increasingly popular idea of the firm handshake had given her trouble over the years. It wasn’t a problem with other surgeons, who understood the importance and the value of their hands, but it had been an issue with Foundation soldiers with something to prove in the past. After one incident early in her career, Vera had taken to avoiding unfamiliar hi-fives as well. 

She shot the Commander a toothy grin, hoping that would push past the awkwardness of her cautious handshake, and felt some of the brightness finally returning to her eyes after the early morning’s difficulty. 

Then, with a polite wave at Steve, she chose a seat second from the end of the row. She hung her ancient green jacket over the back of the first chair and sat in silence. Her thoughts dipped between her odds of escape, a firm zero percent, and Guin.

Guin who arrived almost last of all and did not come to sit next to her. Barely looked at her. Vera gave him a tired smile. Her eyes filled with hurt. Then she nodded simply with something akin to understanding and turned her gaze back to the window. Back to thoughts of impossible escape and sorting out her head.

Vera rose when she felt enough of the room had spoken that they would still have the energy to listen, but they would also have heard enough to respect that she actually had something to say. She wasn’t tall, but she had a presence that had served her well addressing teams over the years. Standing in the front, it was easier to face the group as well as to provide her enough time to think of something to draw the brightness back into her eyes. Zebras!

“Good morning. I’m Dr. Vera Nair. Elevator Music. Or Dr. Elevator Music, if we’re feeling formal,” she said amiably, the corner of her lips curling upwards at the man with the fish. “You can call me what feels comfortable. I’ll be your primary healthcare provider this year on and off the field. I know it won’t make a difference to some of you,” Vera added, stealing a tiny smile at Guin, “but it does help some people to know that I received Board Certification in Internal Medicine from Harvard Med and in Trauma Surgery from Johns Hopkins.” It wasn’t at all a boast. If anything, Vera looked a little red when she said it. Tom had shown her the research years before, though. It was a best practice. Patients tended to do better when they believed in the qualifications of their doctors. 

Still, Vera felt relieved to move past it. “I’ll be meeting with you all for physical exams at some point in the next few days, but I think right now that it’s more important that I tell you first,” she nodded slowly as she built up to it. “I won’t make any promises I can’t keep.” Vera gazed slowly across the room. At first glance, she was looking straight into their eyes. Each of them seeing the face of an experienced doctor. Sad and gentle and knowing. The keen observer might note that Vera was looking respectfully through them, instead, at a line of those she’d lost.

“I will use every tool in my arsenal to keep each of you alive,” she said, continuing with confidence. “Follow my directions.” Her eyes brightened. “Don’t lie to me.” The toothy grin took over again. “Cover me when I’m working on one of your teammates.” Her curly hair practically sparked with excitement. “And for the love of all that is holy, if you must get shot, don’t get shot in the head.” Vera stopped and squinted. “Easy to forget that you’re not all doctors. My last surgical team would have been falling out of their chairs.” She shrugged. “I’m here for you. Everything is going to be alright.”

She began to walk back to her seat, before realizing that she needed to say more about herself. “Okay, let’s see.” She tilted her head back and forth. “About me. I’ll give you three truths and no lies. One, I have been scuba diving in Baltimore Harbor. No, I would not recommend it. Two, I once won ten thousand dollars playing a sport which I hate only to have all of it stolen on the same day. Three, I do haircuts. For a price,” she added, teasing. “Unless the Foundation has a barber hidden in one of the containment cells.”

Momentarily satisfied, Vera stopped short to finish with one last thing. “My office is always open. Page me if you need me. I don’t care if it’s stupid. Outside of that? I’ll be swimming or doing yoga or reading somewhere quiet. If you can find me, maybe I’ll show you a coin trick.” 

With that, Vera sat down and put her hand in her pocket to play with her 1978 half dollar. Her head was finally clearing up. 

[slashmagpie]

Blood & Snow

Pt. VI

Directory: {Pt. I} {Pt. II} {Pt. III} {Pt. IV} {Pt. V} {Pt. VII} {AO3}

Day six for @hermithorrorweek! It's still Saturday where I am so this is Not late /silly TWs for this chapter include: gore, body horror, vomiting

VI. FLESH

The warden roars, loud enough to shake the entire dungeon, loud enough to shake Hypno, though he’s fairly certain he was shaking already. His communicator buzzes in his pocket—Etho’s gone, then. The blocks beneath his fist cracks a little more, chips, gets closer to breaking. 

“Come on,” he whispers as softly as he can, the sound drowned out by the block breaking. “Come on, come on.”

He hears the warden shuffle back, shuffle closer. His vision goes black.

Beneath his knuckles, the stone breaks, leaving a perfect one-block hole.

Blinded and desperate, Hypno throws himself through it.

The fall is—long. Perhaps longer than it should be. Hypno’s not sure how long Tango had intended the fall to be. Probably not this long, though, right? He falls, and it is dark, and then it is no longer dark, and Hypno is landing on something soft and squishy and warm.

He lies there for a moment, catching his breath. There’s no wardens on level four yet. It’s not done. Tango can’t finish it if there are wardens here. So he’s safe, for now, and he lies, eyes closed, just breathing. His heart rate begins to slow.

Right. He should probably get up now, huh? He still needs to find Tango, after all.

He pushes himself up on his hands, blinks open his eyes, and freezes.

His hands are covered in blood.

So is his chest, and his arms, and his face, and—

And everything, really, because, well—

Level four is made of flesh.

It quivers beneath his fingers, soft and fragile organ tissue leaking blood where his fall had torn it. Around him, the walls inhale and exhale as the dungeon breathes. The heartbeat echoes loudly, reverberates oddly off of the walls made of innards. Tiny veins and capillaries run across the ceiling, hanging down like spider-webs. There are strange black spots splattered across everything—skulk, he realises, veins of fungal soul-rot decaying the flesh it devours.

Hypno does not scream. Barely. He does gag, though, reaching up with one hand to cover his mouth, and stopping last-second when he remembers that all that will achieve is smearing blood over his face. The air smells strongly of metal and mildew. His head swims.

“Holy shit, Tango,” he chokes. “What did you do?” 

The dungeon doesn’t reply. The heartbeat continues to echo around the walls. Right. Okay. Hypno—has to get Tango. Has to find him. In this—this—whatever this is. And then they just have to get out.

He can do that. Surely he can do that.

…He doesn’t know if he can do that.

He pushes himself to his feet anyway, because he won’t get anything done if he stays down on his knees.

It takes him a moment to find his balance, nearly toppling over with his first step, the ground squelching and dipping beneath his feet. He cries out, reaching out to stop himself from falling, and grabs onto the soft squishy flesh of the wall. He gags again.

God, this sucks.

“Tango, when I get you out of here, you are gonna fix your dungeon,” he snaps to the air. “I’m never running level four if it’s gonna be like this! I will camp deadly and drive you insane! I will!”

Nothing. He swallows. Okay. Easiest way across this—he has to run. If he walks, he’ll fall, so he has to run. He takes a deep breath—

—and takes off flying.

It’s more of a running-jump, leaping across the fleshy labyrinth like a bouncy castle. He doesn’t know where he’s going at all, ducking through narrow passageways and sprinting across open caverns, just that he needs to move, and so he does. Eventually, he thinks that the heartbeat might be getting louder in a certain direction, and he starts to push that way, because, well, he doesn’t exactly have anything else to go off. No compass, no guide—just blood drenching his clothes and skin and hair and a seemingly endless labyrinth of rotting bleeding flesh that should not exist.

Hypno’s not sure how long it takes before he can’t run anymore. He has no berries left, and at some point his legs simply give out beneath him, and he tumbles down onto slick flick flesh and lies there gasping. His head swims. He might starve down here. Ha. That’d probably be a record of some sort—the only person to starve to death in Decked Out.

…He can’t, though. He needs to find Tango.

He grits his teeth, pushes himself to his knees, and begins to crawl his way along. The ground is too unstable to walk, after all. He shuffles along as fast as he can go, feeling increasingly sick, feeling like he’s being hollowed out from the inside. His stomach is cramping something awful. He can’t remember the last time his hands weren’t red.

A particularly large patch of rot and skulk forces him to double over and vomit what little is left in his stomach up onto the ground. 

“Tango, this sucks,” he yells to the ceiling. “This sucks, I hate this game, I don’t want to play anymore! Okay? I’m done! I don’t want to play. I want to go home. Can we go home?”

The dungeon, for a moment, is quiet. The heartbeat skips, then resumes. There’s a soft, quivering sigh, the walls vibrating him around him—

And then the floor opens up beneath him and Hypno falls down, down, down, a cry torn from his throat and cut off sharply as he lands on more flesh, the breath driven from his lungs with the force of it.

He looks up, and blinks.

There is a heart.

It’s anatomical and grisly, dripping blood and covered in skulk-rot, crusted over with frost and grey like stone, burning with soulfire. It beats in time with the heartbeat that echoes around the dungeon, tha-thump, tha-thump, max-clank-quick. And there, in the middle of it, is Tango.

Tango hangs, half-lifeless, legs embedded deep within the heart and torso poking through the outer tissue. His head is only kept up by a string of veiny flesh that wraps around his neck like a noose, preventing him from fully flopping over. His skin is pale, paler than usual, and there are deep, dark bags under his eyes. His face is gaunt. He looks exhausted.

He looks dead.

Hypno calls, “Tango?”

Tango’s eye flickers open, bright blue, and then closed again. He lets out a groan, scrunches his face, and opens his eyes again, keeping them open this time, trembling with the effort. It seems to take him several tries to open his mouth and croak out, “You shouldn’t be here.”

The whole chamber seems to shudder around them. Hypno tries not to shudder with it.

“I’m here to get you out, man,” he says. “You shouldn’t be here, either.”

Tango—

No, the dungeon snorts, letting out a huff of breath that tickles the back of Hypno’s neck and makes him jump. The flesh squirms, seizing up, then relaxing, sending Hypno tumbling back as the tension releases.

“Too late,” Tango whispers. “Can’t…”

His head lolls again. He hangs, half-buried in the heart, unmoving, unbreathing.

Hypno sucks in a breath and pushes himself to his feet.

“I’m getting you out of here, buddy,” he says, taking a step forward, then another, legs shaking as he tries not to fall. “I told Etho I would, so… Gotta do it. Whether you like it or not.”

He slips, tumbles forward, and catches himself on the heart. It’s cold-hot to the touch, burning like ice, and he gasps, forcing himself not to recoil lest he fall again. Instead he moves one hand, grabbing one of Tango’s wrists and using it as an anchor to release his weight on the other one and use it to pull a netherite sword from his inventory.

…Okay, so he may have cheated a little bit. Etho and Cub may have had strong feelings about the legitimacy of their run, but Hypno had no such qualms. He’s only here to rescue Tango—screw the rules. He’s getting Tango out.

He slips the blade between Tango’s neck and the fleshy noose and pulls it forward. The tissue stretches, stretches, and then snaps, and Tango falls forward, limp and lifeless. Hypno vanishes the sword and grabs onto his other wrist, taking a shaking step backwards.

Then, with all the strength he has left, he pulls.

It’s hard. It feels impossible, muscles straining, lungs heaving for breath, pulling against the entire might of the dungeon as the flesh cavern howls and seizes around him. Veins of tissue and skulk rise up out of the ground, tug at his legs, try to pull him down, pull him away—

Hypno uses the traction that gives him to yank Tango back, and finally pull him free of the heart.

The two of them tumble to the ground, Tango’s leaden form weighing Hypno down, and around them the dungeon howls.

[stardustsunny]

WHITE LOVE;

Words count: 1067

Pairing: Yeonjun x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, best friends to lovers;

Warnings: kissing, pet names.

Song rec: TXT - Ito

Soobin  [Yeonjun]  Beomgyu  Taehyun  Kai

series masterlist

“Uuuuhh..it’s mid-December and there is still no trace of snow! ” you whined, lying on the floor of your room “Juuunn, what do you think, when it will be snowy?” you looked at your friend who sits on your bed scrolling through his phone. “I don’t know Y/n, it’s unpredictable. Who knows maybe we will wake up tomorrow and everything will be covered in white or there will be puddles oceans” he shrugged and you sighed dramatically. “It’s late already, I’m gonna leave” he smiled at your pouty lips. “Fine..see you tomorrow, dude.” you sit up and high-fived him “Mhm, see you!” 

Yeonjun left your house a few hours ago and suddenly it was so lonely without him and to add here your sadness over the snow's absence you felt not well. Summing up all of these factors, you decided to go to sleep early, that’s your own way to fight those feelings.

The next morning you woke up quite early, and you could sleep even more if it’s not your phone ringing with no stop. You grumbled but still took the device from the nightstand and picked up the call, not even managing to check the caller’s ID. “What?” the first and the only thing you said with closed eyes. You heard a giggle in response to “Look out the window” the voice seems very familiar but your sleepy brain can’t process it. “Why? I’m getting my beauty sleep and don’t plan on leaving the bed in the next few hours” you said yawning in between. “I guess the sight out of the window will definitely remove any of your sleepiness” you heard the boyish laugh after his words. Yeonjun? He sounds like Yeonjun. Your head is still in a sleepy haze so you barely recognize his voice. You sigh and get up from the comfort of your bed and go to the window. As you open the curtain your eyes are blinded by the brightness outside, when your eyes get used to this brightness and you slowly opened them you can’t hold a scream. From the happiness of course. “Oh my god! Oh my god! Is it snow outside? I’m not dreaming? Wait I’ll pinch myself” and you did what you said, then you hissed “Ouch..at least now I’m sure it’s for real.” you hear a laugh on the other side of the line. “Come on darling, get ready and let’s go play with snow! I’ll be here within 10 minutes” Yeonjun said and hung up instantly. You were still gazing at the snow, the phone beside your ear and you didn’t move even a bit. After a few more minutes you come to your senses and hurry to change from your pajamas and get ready to go outside. 

Right when you opened the door you met with your friend smiling face “Good morning, darling! Have you eaten anything?” Yeonjun asked you, he knows you so well, when you get too excited you can skip your meal for the sake of it. “Um..well you know..I ate a few crackers and-” you didn’t finish your sentence as the boy put his hands on your shoulders and turned you back to your house. “We won’t go anywhere until you have a proper meal. You know how important it is, right?” you heard him smiling as he said this and guided you to the kitchen. It’s always like this, Yeonjun cares about you like your mom. He asks you about the meal at least four times a day and if you say that you haven’t eaten he will immediately offer you a take-out or go with you to some cafe. When it’s cold he makes sure that you are dressed warmly and if it’s too cold outside he takes your hand in his to get them warmer. You care for him equally but recently it has been harder because you feel like you are catching feelings for your friend. Yes, it might sound like a cliche but you can’t do anything about it.

Finally, when you finish with your breakfast both of you head to your favorite park. The walk to the park wasn’t calm at all cause at every opportunity you tried to throw snowballs at Yeonjun, he got mad playfully and threatened you that he will take revenge once you reach the park. Actually… he stays true to his words, once you reached the park the boy started chasing you with snow in his hands and you tried your best to run as fast as you can, throwing some snow at your friend. A few minutes later you get tired and can’t run as fast as before so you let Yeonjun chase you, but he used too much force to turn you and both of you fall to the pile of snow behind. You laid on top of Yeonjun, your face bumped into his chest, and Yeonjun’s hands resting on your waist. You heard his quiet laugh and giggled too. “Are you okay?” even though the situation is funny, you still worry. “Yep, I’m perfectly fine, you?” he asked looking into your eyes. “Me too,” you whispered, unable to take your gaze off him. This moment feels like forever, none of you tried to end it. The longer you look into each other's eyes the bigger smile grows on Yeonjun's face and you feel his hands slowly moving to the small of your back. You didn't notice how your face dangerously got closer to his until his warm breath hit your cheek. “Y/n..can I?” the boy eyed your lips. The only thing you are able to do is nod because you know that you won’t be able to make any sound right now. 

Have you ever thought that you will kiss your friend? No. You could only dream about it. His lips were soft and cold just like the snow beneath him, but the kiss was sweet like honey and you wish it never ends. “Well..I guess it’s time to reveal something...I really like you, Y/n” Yeonjun whispered to your lips. “Hmm..in this case, I should tell you my secret as well..I like you too, Choi Yeonjun” you giggled and pecked his lips one more time. What a perfect day you thought to yourself, you get the snow and the boyfriend of your dream.

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[snoutbleed]

Bye Sören. Bye Sören. Bye Sören.

Sören didn't register who was bidding him goodbye. He was gone long before he reached the exit.

The boar couldn’t tell his farewell apart from the bounce of his breath. If he didn’t hear the statement from himself, then most likely he didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t remember it like the million instances he cast his goodbye, walked out, and then went home with dwindling energy to carry out that same routine the very next day. The action became second nature.

His legs guided him through the station’s liminal halls. Furniture and people were observed as distinct hues of surface-level nothing in an abstract painter’s composition. There was no meaning to the mess when one lacked the mindset to look past messy paint. Sören walked and only cared enough to stare. His mind was in his eyes.

At that moment, Sören couldn’t recall his work that day. He couldn’t recall much of anything. As he walked he didn’t remember where the electricians blocked the halls to work on the ceiling fixtures. "Herr Heinrich walked under a ladder," an answer shared by those, but for questions the boar lacked the mind to ask.

There was a station, shouts, sirens.

There were stairs, subways, screeches.

Sören’s senses barely tethered him through details he’d forget as soon as his feet and eyes dragged the boar along the path. After that, they didn’t exist. He only existed.

The subway car buckled and threatened to throw the unwary to the floor. Sören swayed like a skyscraper: built to waver in the harsh winds, but he was so worn down he might as well be inanimate as those glass monoliths. They were a sight to behold.

That was all, a sight. Another sense added more white onto snow colored canvas. Some artists in the area have given Sören talks on how to fill in the blanks, but in a better mood, he would disagree. Different colors be damned when the world melted into his mind so much that even the most blinding colors couldn’t catch his eye. There was no such thing as blanks when the entire space was a void.

Around him there were these alien sounds: he heared chirps, screeches, whispers.

He swayed into the back of back of a man who was in the world. They wore headphones and Sören could tell because of the cacophony rumbling muffling from their ears. He heard sound, and he knew its composition meant music, but the instrumentals and lyrics fell on deaf ears. It was another echo that melted into ambient slosh. These sounds were supposed to mean something to him, for the fizzled detective in his brain tried to connect some dots, but his senses only mustered a faint imitation of the world he didn’t live in.

The temperature didn’t register outside. Wind whipped hair in his face, but he inched forward acting like his sight was unobstructed.

Sören cut through the crowd walking through metro. The world moved for him. His mind directed the shifting ground and he was a spectator to the movie that diluted into static. It was hypnotizing to contemplate a world colored dead television.

Sören stopped when a door got in the way of his house. The quiet mind telegraphed his usual motions again. Again. His hand moved for the first time since he could ever move his hands—and fished a key.

The door opened. Darkness beckoned. He followed unquestioningly. He didn’t know if he closed the door behind it.

He walked without the worry occurring long enough to register as an actual thought.

Sören was back at the station: the familiar sights he’s seen so much he’s gone blind to. He didn’t stop to look at the photos hung on his walls, the only people in this home acknowledging their moments. The boar only cared to just stare like it were something so novel. But there was no magic, only something to look at. He could only look and look and all he could feel was his eyes burning from the cold winds stirring in his home.

He stared down the station hallway, he stared down the train car aisle, he stared at the photo of the people who are the only proof he is a part of this rock. Stare, stare, stare. He could only stare as his mind dulled his other senses to not waste fleeting energy on a world he lost stake in. So then: Sören Heinrich will stare, for he could only peek beyond the diorama his mind was trapped in. With all energy and empathy exhausted on conquering his own emotions, he couldn’t care to stare at anything other than the general direction in which someone called his name. He sublimated everything unimportant, regressing into blissful ignorance from a world that became too much to bear. Now, he could focus on what could truly hurt him: the open rails he stood before while longing for the train to take him away.

[string-of-beads]

IX. Squall

You kept the fire going until you couldn’t keep your eyes open and fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning. The fire is just glowing cinders now. You wake up with the sun shining through the curtains in the sitting room and you’re still alone. The worry that has plagued you all night reappears in your mind all too quickly. Tommy’s gone. Questions of what you should do, who you should find, and where he would go race through your thoughts. You put out the last remnants of fire in the hearth and decide to go to The Garrison in hopes that Arthur is there, in hopes that he knows how to find Tommy. You hastily put your coat and boots on and place his coat in your arms. You step outside and are blinded by the glittering layer of snow in the sunlight. You force your eyes to adjust and you walk briskly in the direction of the pub.

You don’t get far when a familiar car drives beside you, going in the direction of the house, John’s car. You sprint as fast as you can back towards the house. You see the car pull up and all three eldest Shelby brothers get out of the car; all three of them. You can tell Tommy’s there because of his strikingly dark hair and lack of fucking coat. They’re standing outside the front door talking, the sight of their nonchalance enrages you. “Thomas Shelby!” You yell as loud as you can and all three men whirl in the direction of the sound. You’re close enough that they can immediately see that you’re not a threat. You’re still screaming as you march directly up to Tommy, hot, angry tears welling up in your eyes. “Thomas Shelby! Where in the hell have you been all night? Huh? You fucking bastard! Where the fuck were you? You had me worried sick you fucking dunce! Out in that bloody fucking snow storm with barely a stitch! ‘I’ll be back soon’ my fucking arse!” Then you turn on John and Arthur, “and you two! Where the hell did you find him? Did you have to scrape him off the sidewalk?” You take a step closer to him, “Probably had to peel you off the Garrison long bar by the fucking smell of you! How dare you do this to me! When I think of what could’ve happened to you-” The last part catches in your throat and tears flow freely down your cheeks. You shove Tommy’s coat into his chest and stomp inside, without a word from any of them.

You slam the door behind you, ripping your shoes and coat off as fast as you can. You make your way over to the basin in the kitchen. You face the wall as sobs rack your body. Your hands shake. Your breaths are ragged and uneven. You think you might pass out. You can’t breathe. This sort of panic isn’t new to you but that doesn’t make it any less easy to bear. You should sit down but you can’t force your body to move. Blood is rushing in your ears. You think you hear someone say your name. You are going to pass out. Your legs give out. Someone says your name again. You can feel yourself fall but black out before your head hits the floor.

Over and over and over again, someone is calling for you. They sound upset. Has something happened? Something’s wet on your face. Is it raining? You try to open your eyes but they’re so heavy. Maybe I'll keep them closed. Someone shakes you and you hear a familiar voice say your name. He sounds far away. He sounds upset. Is he alright? Tom?

You open your eyes to see all three Shelby brothers looking at you with wide, panicked eyes. The sight of them like that makes you panic as well, your heart races, and your breathing goes ragged again. You thrash and throw your arms wide to try and get some air. They all pull away and you sit up, panicked and confused. You feel arms grab you from behind and squeeze you in a tight, restrictive embrace. Someone speaks into your ear, “Hey, hey, hey, hey! Relax! Relax. Breathe.” He breathes slowly in and out in an exaggerated example for you. “In and out, just like that angel. Just breathe for me. Alright. Just breathe.” He breathes with you until your head stops swimming, your eyes focus, and you relax against him. With a hiccup you ask, “Tommy?” His grip doesn’t loosen at all but he says, “Yes, love. It’s me. Arthur and John are here too.” You blush, embarrassed that they saw you like this. “Are you hurt, love?” He’s speaking quietly in your ear, like you’re a startled cat he’s trying to give a dish of milk. “My head, Tommy. My head hurts.” You feel him nod, “Okay, love. I hear you. We’re gonna move you to the couch. Is that alright?” You try to nod but you gasp and wince with the movement. He turns his head away from you to speak to his brothers, “I don’t think she can walk. Help me get her over there?” They must agree because John bends down and lifts you into his arms. The swift movement makes you feel dizzy and sick. You gag in spite of yourself and Tommy is quick to snatch you from his brother’s hold, you gag again. Things are moving too fast. You feel lopsided. Tommy holds you tightly in his arms, the pressure helps ground you but being in the air is disorienting and nauseating. You start panting with the effort to hold back vomit. He speaks slowly and quietly, “I’m going to move. I’m going to lay you on the couch. Arthur is going to bring the bucket by the side of the basin, just in case. Then he’s going to get your quilt from upstairs. John is going to fetch Aunt Poll and bring her here to help you feel better. But none of us are going to take a step before you’re ready. Understand?” John and Arthur both respond, “yes.” Your eyes are shut tightly. You quietly say, "okay." Tommy walks slowly into the sitting room. The sound of hurried steps makes you dizzy, even though you aren’t moving very fast you get motion sick and it takes everything in you not to puke all over Tommy. You’re placed gently on the sofa and you vomit into the bucket placed gingerly on your lap. You feel much better. Tommy slowly places pillows under your head and wraps your quilt around you. You feel him start to leave with the dirty bucket but Arthur quietly says, “Let me. You stay here.” Arthur walks out of the house and Tommy quietly pulls up a chair next to you.

Even with your eyes closed it’s still too bright in this room. Everything is quiet though and you can feel yourself relaxing. After a few moments of silence, Tommy lets out a long breath and speaks slowly and quietly, “I’m sorry I left last night. I shouldn’t’ve worried you like that. I’m very sorry. I got jumpy. Buying the ring. Seeing you in that shop. I needed… a breath. I had planned to meet Arthur and John at The Garrison. We stayed too long drinking. They convinced me it was my bachelor party," he laughs lightly at this. "We certainly drank like it was." He pauses, you're tired and wanting a bit of sleep so you try to stop your head from spinning in the silence. He speaks again but sounds anxious. "You came in out of nowhere and… I'm… I have a terrible track record with girls from the Garrison." You stir and try to open your eyes. Tommy sees this and kneels beside you, one of his hands rests lightly on the top of your head. You manage to open your eyes completely and see him gazing at you so sweetly. It reminds you of that night, not even a week ago, in The Garrison when Tommy first kissed you. This makes you smile a little and that makes him smile.

You decide to speak, to be vulnerable. Not for the first time, you feel like you're overstepping but you're supposed to marry him tomorrow. You don't look at him when you speak. Your eyes fix on the ceiling. Now it's time for you to take the step. You speak quickly and to the point. "I was engaged to a boy that died in France. His name was James. I met him at school. I was studying to become a teacher. I loved him." You start to cry but the shooting pain in your head forces you to try and breathe, Tommy breathes with you. He coaches you through and patiently waits for you to continue. You speak with a shaky voice, "My parents emigrated to New York while I attended school. They died of the influenza not six months after they left. My grandparents died when I was a teenager. The five of us shared one home, that's part of the reason why my ma and da left." Your voice breaks with emotion that you can't hold back any more.

Tommy coaches your breaths and caresses your face with his left hand, "I'm sorry. I-" you hold his hand against your face, silencing him, determined to continue. The mental images of your things upstairs float through your head. "The things I brought; that photo is the last one we took with granny and granda, granny gave me that ivory comb that granda gave her as a wedding present, the medal was my da's for honor during the Boer war," you're speaking more quickly now, like the faster you say it all the less it will hurt. Through it all Tommy just keeps his eyes on you. "James gave me those roses before he left. His sister was the one that helped me dry them so they'd remind me of him while he was away fighting. My ma and granny made the quilt together for me when I was small. It's always been on my bed. The ring-," you draw in a rattling breath, "James had to write to my parents when he asked for my hand in marriage, he did it months before he actually proposed, the fool." You laugh, and cry, as you remember his crooked smile when he knelt on one knee and nearly dropped the ring in the Avon. "My ma sent her ring back with their letter of approval. It was tradition." You fortify yourself. "The ring was mine, and ma's, and granny's engagement ring." You take another shuddering breath. Your soul is bared. You almost wish you hadn't said anything. You wish you could curl back up in your cocoon and be silent. Your fingers trace the familiar stitching of the quilt. Tears prick your eyes again. "That's why I was so angry that you just left last night. I thought I would be all alone again." You brace yourself and turn your head to look at him. "The nights are getting darker and I can't be alone again." His eyes are apologetic and slightly misty. "I'm here. With you. Now. You're not alone. Not now, not ever again." He brushes hair away from your face with gentle fingers.

The stones in front of the house crunch with John's return. The front door opens. You hear Polly and two other female voices directing and questioning. Tommy replaces his hand on your head and stands as all five people enter in a rush. However, they all stay in the entrance hall and seem to wait for instructions. Tommy kneels back down and quietly explains, "You know Poll," then he points to the woman with curly hair, "that's John's wife, Esme." Then he points to the other woman with short dark hair, "and that's my sister Ada Thorne. They're going to come over here and fuss over you, like they should. I won't be far. Alright?" You smile in appreciation, "Thank you, Tommy." He gives you a soft kiss on the forehead and steps away.

Polly, Esme, and Ada come over. They ask you questions about what happened and how you feel. Polly soon declares that it’s just a hard knock on the head, nothing life threatening. "Ada, get her something to eat. Esme, fetch a cool cloth." They leave and Polly reaches into a large bag she brought. She pulls out a jar of willow bark and returns her attention to you, "is there any chance you're pregnant?" The room goes silent. You and Polly maintain eye contact but you can feel everyone else's attention shift to Tommy. "Uh, no. I don't think so." It's not the answer she's looking for so you continue, "it would be much too early to tell." This satisfies her. She directs someone to take the jar from her and brew some tea for you to help with the pain. Polly takes a seat in the chair Tommy brought next to you. "You should be alright in a few days. I only ask because John said Tom seemed especially worried." She looks over to the three men standing uselessly in the entryway. Her gaze shifts back to you, "You'll have to rest. You can go about your normal activities but take extra time to be a bit lazy." She smiles at you, "I understand you're getting married tomorrow?" It feels like a threat and you can't tell if that's how it's meant. Tommy steps forward, "Poll. You just told her to rest. Let her." She narrows her eyes at him in an appraising way. "I had just hoped you would invite your family. Are you?" She asks this matter-of-factly and Tommy rolls his eyes. He begrudgingly announces to the room, "Our wedding will be tomorrow at noon in Saint Peter's. You're welcome to come. But because my blushing bride needs rest, we'll be forgoing any celebration. The most exclusive invitation in town! That alright, Poll?" She sits back in a haughty way, "Maybe you should ask your ‘blushing bride?’" The fighting between them is making your head throb for an entirely different reason. You can't stop yourself from meekly asking, "Please stop fighting?" Everyone's gaze whips back to you. "I would love it if you all came, you, your spouses I don't know, your children I haven't met. That would be lovely. Maybe we can have family tea. I don't care but right now it hurts to think. So please don't fight or, if you must, go outside where the sound is muffled." The room is silent again but slowly the noise returns. You've moved your head back to face the ceiling and your eyes are closed. You hear Polly get up to leave and another heavy set of footsteps follow hers out the front door. Esme comes to sit next to you and presses the cold cloth to your head. "Good for you, love," she quietly praises. You settle in and only wake when Ada sits beside you with a plate of food.

.

.

.

You slept on and off all day, waking up for food and horrible willow bark tea. Slowly people drift away until it's dark outside and only Tommy is left to sit beside you. He's reading and must be vigilantly tending the fire because it's bright and warms the whole house. You wake once more. He must've recently finished smoking because the smell of the cigarette smoke still hangs around.

He looks beautiful like this, keeping watch. You begin to slowly sit up and Tommy rushes to help. He swings your legs over the edge of the sofa so your feet touch the ground. Your socks have disappeared and the floor is chilly. Your head still aches but only a little. The book he's reading is over his knee and he looks expectantly at you. "Where are my socks?" He smiles, “you have a habit of kicking them off when you sleep. Did you know that?" He slides his chair closer to you so your knees are almost touching. "I appreciate what you told me earlier. I didn't realize that you had lost people. I’m sorry I worried you." You try to speak, to apologize for being so forward but he stops you with a hand on your leg. "I… understand why you are so upset with me. I am truly sorry.”

He doesn’t speak for a few moments. His hand slides from your leg and rubs at his chin. He doesn’t look at you but looks into the fire instead. “I need you to know about Grace. I need you to know before you make vows you feel like you shouldn't." And so he tells you, plainly, that he loved this woman, Grace, and that he thought he could trust her. That she also worked at The Garrison. That he brought her home. That she betrayed him. That she might be waiting for him. That while he has no regrets in leaving, he might still love her. He tells you all of it. His candor, his complete transparency is the ultimate intimacy. You both have explored each other's bodies but know you've seen each other's souls. You've both laid it completely bare for the other to appraise.

You sit in the silence for a long time. He doesn't look at you. He doesn't need to. For a man like him to be half as vulnerable as he has been is… beautiful. He rubs the heels of his hands to his eyes, "I can find you a place to stay for the night if you'd like. I'd need time to figure out a long term plan, but it's possible." You stop him short by holding onto his forearm. His eyes meet yours. "Would you like me to go, Tom?" Without even thinking he whispers, "no." Just like that, it’s done. The decision has been made. The die is cast.

You stroke your thumb along his arm. It's a comforting gesture, one you'd come to know very well. You speak softly, "you said I wouldn't be alone." He shifts and holds both your hands in front of him. You continue in the same even tone, "now I make the same promise to you. You won't be alone." He holds your hands to his lips. It's not quite a kiss but the sentiment remains. You sit for a long time like that.

You ask him to sit next to you. He does. You ask him to read aloud from his book. He does. When you fall asleep, who carries you up to bed? He does.

[blackbutler-readerinsertsandjunk]

Soulmate scene with Alistair. Everything they see before they find each other is dull, even physical touch doesn't feel vibrant. He could meet her at a "ball" where she's being sold labeled as "pure and untouched" their eyes meet and the rest is history for him. For her she's worried because her soulmate is a buyer

one word: OOF

loved this tho, aaaaaaaa

the rest of the world was black and white but we were in screaming color. ―“Out of the Woods”, Taylor Swift

The fact that every single thing in life feels muted, (Name) thinks, might be her saving grace.

It’s keeping her from fighting back; keeping her alive, at least for the time being. Every touch on her skin is dull, like she can feel she’s being touched but sensation itself is missing. Her captors have bathed her, dressed her, bound and caged her, and she can’t describe their touches as positive or negative. They just are.

It means she doesn’t retaliate to stop them, because nothing about this is causing her pain, is it? On the other side of the coin, however, it also means that in her whole life, she’s never felt anything good. Everything seems grey at best. She’s gone through life feeling absolutely nothing, no spark of joy nor weight of sadness. Although she’s felt the hint of those things, or what they should be, nothing has come close to the way she sees other people live once they’ve found their soulmates.

The chattering of the crowd, clinking of wine glasses, and the auctioneer selling off the other ladies might as well be a low hum.

Her attention is only pulled when the footsteps of low-heeled boots approach her cage, followed by the auctioneer addressing whoever is interested. “I see this one has caught your fancy, my lord! Inspect her closer, please, if you wish. She is the best of the quality we can promise you ― pure as the driven snow, beautiful and untainted, a true pinnacle of our offerings this evening.”

“May I?” The other voice is low and smooth, with an undertone of something playful beneath the darkness of anyone who would intend to purchase another human being.

“Why, yes, of course, of course. Please. Make sure she’s to your liking.”

The man who’s interested in her doesn’t hesitate. (Name) can feel his hands behind her head, untying the black lace cloth which blinded her for the auction. When it falls down, she’s staring into the violet eyes of a man who threatens to take her breath away by his very appearance alone. She’s never seen anyone so gorgeous, dressed all in elegant white with soft blonde hair that gathers around his shoulders like a crown of feathers.

What startles her more is that when he puts his hand on her face, she can feel it. It isn’t the dull pressure of knowing that someone is touching her. It’s the texture of his glove, the gentle way he cradles her cheek, the snap of someone being suddenly awaken after walking around dead.

It’s him. The one her heart has been looking for is right here, breathing life into her world with a single touch of his hand.

Who is he? Why is her intended here? What is he doing in a seedy place like this, seeking to buy a person? If he pays the auctioneer for her, if he leads her out of here, what will the next cage he leads her into be like?

For the first time in her life, her emotions are clawing at her chest to get out, a wonderful and terrible mix of fear and adoration.

Those eyes of his stand out more than anything. They sparkle at her like precious jewels, reflecting the same desire that she can feel. The sensations of her, of the rest of the world, are finally taking form for him too. Incredible and overwhelming and threatening to swallow him whole, just as is happening with her.

He seems to fall for her in a single instant. She thinks she could drag him to his knees right now and he would have no complaint. That makes her feel powerful and wanted, but it also frightens her.

Someone so devoted to her after knowing her for just a moment ― what is a man like that capable of? What will he do with her? What will he do?

His touch travels to her neck, tracing delicate lines. He doesn’t appear to want to hurt her, does he? That doesn’t mean he’s harmless. She arches her head back anyway, exposing her throat for him as if he can be trusted with it.

At last, he utters three words that seal her fate: “I’ll take her.”

In the blur that follows, the auctioneer is paid, (Name)’s new owner finishes his wine, and he holds her delicately as he leads her down the stairs. Even though she’s out of her cage, she doesn’t think she’s actually free.

“Come along, lovebird,” he murmurs into her ear. “I can’t wait to get to know the one who lit up my world.”

She isn’t sure what to think; too many new, fully blossomed emotions make her feel like they’re going to burst her open at the seams.

She leans against him regardless, somehow content in his embrace.

He doesn’t seem cruel, at least toward her.

Maybe that’s enough for her heart to settle.

[actual-changeling]

needed to share this with someone, so: my Spotify played Life According To Raechel by Madison Cunningham on shuffle and the lyrics are so Joel and Ellie coded I felt like it was a personal attack towards me, who was just trying to listen to my silly little songs and have a good time.

I know that experience too well, anon, Spotify has thrown so many songs at me that had me almost sobbing over Joel and Ellie.

Literally losing my mind. I wrote a ficlet this morning about Ellie and grief (kinda?) and I never intended to let it see the light of day but now I will put it under the cut for those who are interested in pain. Unofficial title is stairs leaning dusk til dawn.

There is a small house painted blue with worn floorboards and creaky stairs, with dark wooden counters and mismatched furniture, a house she knows every single inch of, a house she can find her way through with closed eyes and hands covering her ears.

It has two bedrooms with matching patterned comforters and an array of books scattered through both of them, there are two toothbrushes in a cup next to the bathroom sinks, shoes in two sizes piling into falling hazards in the hallway.

A blanket is slung over the back of a couch that can fit them both if they try, a collection of movies sorted by how much they liked them, hated them, how much the other hates them; there are enough hair ties covering every surface and pocket of space to last a lifetime.

There is a dirty set of dishes in the sink, a mug saying worlds best grandpa next to another one with a hand-drawn dinosaur in the cupboard, cold coffee drowning the bottom of the can, staining it brown.

Fresh flowers on the kitchen table and two pillows in one bed because it's winter, because they were cold, because there is only one thing she wants after fire and blood and metal. Laundry set aside to be folded later, a half-read comic on the nightstand, sheets unmade, messy, waiting.

Sunlight breaking through the blinds, opened to let in the warmth, snow a layer of white powder frosting plants and flowers they know will come back in the spring like they do every year; two badly wrapped gifts hidden away in the bottom drawer of the living room cabinet, Ellie scrawled on one of them, Joel on the other. They always chose the same hiding place.

She picks up the sweatshirt left behind on her bed and presses it to her face, inhaling deeply enough to let the scent coat her lungs, deeply enough to make it stay. The fabric is soft against her cheeks, soft like his palms, soft like his lips when he kisses her temple, soft and warm and alive, and there is an unfinished drawing on her desk and a half-carved guitar on his and a song written by both their hands.

Their home has stilled and the rooms are a collection of their lives, a museum she walks through without having to think because it is her, it is him, and now she leaves her fingerprints on the mirror for the last time, for evidence, next to eyes she knows aren't his but might as well be.

His voice is in every scuff mark she kicked into the floor, every bruise she got from bumping into the door frame, every stain they left while laughing, while living, and she wraps her arms around herself and lays her fingers into the spaces between her ribs, emptiness where it shouldn't be.

Someone will dust off their strawberries when the sun melts the snow and turns their yard into green grass and mud, they will return, resilient in bloom, and Joel was waiting for that, for them to be reborn in the way they were, and the house is waiting for him to come back, too.

Ellie pulls on his shirt, sleeves too long, one last embrace, and there are so many memories she could take but the only one she picks up is the gun he left in his jacket, wearing nothing but trust instead. She locks the door behind her, breaths dissipating into the cold, turning it into a time capsule never to be buried while they will be.

There is a small house painted blue with worn floorboards and silent stairs, with empty wooden counters and lonely furniture, a house she knows every single inch of because they turned it into home, a home Joel expected to come back to.

He never did.

Neither will she.

[amplifyme]

BEGGAR'S COMET LOCKED AND LOADED!

Diana and Mark and their beggar's comet chat before they don't kiss-- a very particular change from the script.

Elliot’s appreciation of music, shaking the man’s hand, being led to Vincent through his humanity and compassion, spilling his anguish to Vincent, “Catherine was wrong about a lot of things”, coming round in the end. In a way, Elliot is able to see Catherine’s flaws and still love her for them; but that “humanizing” of her legacy allows him to also heal and move on in ways Vincent is not able to currently (or likely wouldn’t be able to, ever, if if if.) 

Vincent and Father’s convo from previous episode carries on: Father was right: Vincent was charging heedlessly into death, hoping somehow to recover Catherine. Vincent confirms it by constantly dwelling on the “what if”s and wondering if he can somehow make them come to pass, trading places with death for Catherine. Vincent remembering Catherine and their dance; Father disrupting his memory with Mouse; their intense conversation leading to Vincent’s self-imposed ostracization (“away, somewhere separate, apart”) despite Father’s pleas and accepting resignation and ultimate warning about losing himself. Vincent wanting to walk this road alone despite the dangers… because of the dangers.   

Gabriel’s reaction-- dumping Snow, blowing up over the ring, regrouping in the nursery with his “son.” Was it ever confirmed he and Snow were brothers? Because that’s been my theory since the last episode-- might never pan out, but it made me curious to parallel his life (i.e. brotherhood and fatherhood and… sonhood) to Vincent’s. Gabriel has a name for his son but won’t reveal it (evading the control Snow or any man like him has over himself and his "son.") 

Diana observing the interrogation of Burch’s man, chatting with Joe about Moreno and Burch and trying to guide him to common sense and away from his blind office oaths. Diana revealing Vincent brought Cathy home and loves her and the previous cases, and revealing she sometimes feeling like she knows Vincent-- that he’s “Somewhere… close.”   

The funeral and Brooke thinking it’s her fault and Vincent internalizing it and Father unable to help and Vincent leaving and Father letting him. There’s that aspect of Father that means well but backs away from a fight too easily, too quickly. Again, that aspect of him that erodes Buster’s trust (whose presence is, of course, effecting more and more of Vincent’s actions.) 

Elliot chipped to ruins (Ozymandias comes to mind again) and Diana showing up at his lowest (“maybe at one time, but you’re out of practice” with a smile) and Elliot still protecting Vincent (before ultimately giving Vincent up later) even as he plans to stray further from the truth onto the path of vengeance. The script cutting out Diana giving Elliot her card (for time, but also an interesting call.) Elliot staring into Joe’s eyes during his arrest and still protecting Vincent (and post-prison is a great look for him.)  

Gabriel and Elliot’s conversation is incredible. Gabriel making deals over Cathy’s grave-- “all these tombstones. All these wasted possibilities.” Elliot pointing at Catherine’s grave as the one reason they’d be enemies; and Gabriel admitting he wouldn’t have killed her if he'd know the trouble she’d caused. “She changed me” and “I don’t think so… I know you. I know you.” He and Elliot belonging to an earlier time, calling upon Elliot’s thirst for conquest and kingdoms and empires in his name; but ultimately conquering him with the heart. "Halfway to the stars” and “Beggar’s Comet” make a great pair, especially when comboed with the Diana and Vincent's end scene compared to the choked out aspirations of Gabriel and Elliot. The saxophonist seeing that Elliot lost his way and Elliot not being able to hand over the blood note without some payment (even if it’s “for the music.”) 

MOUSE. Finding Vincent in the dark and "scaring" Vincent and being scared by Vincent and Vincent warning Mouse away from V for his own good “and dying.” “Mouse was alone once. Alone was bad”-- hits close, but even closer knowing Nan’s expansion on his and Vincent’s backstory. Father looking at the stars because he cannot look into the eyes of his son.  

Diana reading and making a connection metaphysically and literally to Catherine’s grave and Vincent’s journey-- chef’s kiss. 

Elliot trying to stick to his false script until Vincent unwittingly rips it away with pure honesty; then feeling a further knife twist because of Cathy’s trust in him. Taking Vincent's shot and trying to dissuade him from further rescue. Gabriel blowing up the dock and plunging the city into darkness. Said darkness causing the comet to shine so that Diana and Father can both see-- Diana smiles, feeling elation and hope while Father frowns, seeing it as a death omen (his quote unwittingly referring to Elliot’s death-- or sacrifice because he lives in Nan’s S4-- instead of Vincent’s.) The baby crying, for the first time inconsolable. Vincent collapsing on Cathy’s grave and Diana rescuing him. 

What a great episode-- and the script to go along with it? Amazing.

Another excellent script from GRRM, right?

Let's dig in!

I'm glad the kiss between Diana and Mark was cut. Her internal distance needed an outward sign.

Elliot is able to see Catherine’s flaws and still love her for them; but that “humanizing” of her legacy allows him to also heal and move on in ways Vincent is not able to currently

Exactly! To Vincent, Cathy will never be anything less than perfect. Because of the way he "pedestalized" her (still love your term!) she was always in some ways an unobtainable dream - beyond his reach. St. Catherine.

Re: Gabriel and Snow's familial connections? It was never spelled out, but in my fanfic The Possibility of Being, I wrote them as being brothers. Did you notice Gabe is starting to run a bit scared, as far as Vincent is concerned? Love to see it, because he should be. He's just now figuring out there's much more to Vincent than just violence and rage. There's a big brain beneath that brawn.

Diana revealing Vincent brought Cathy home and loves her and the previous cases, and revealing she sometimes feeling like she knows Vincent-- that he’s “Somewhere… close.”   

An act of trust in Joe that she will soon come to regret, though. Stay tuned...

The script cutting out Diana giving Elliot her card (for time, but also an interesting call.)

Another instance were I'm glad that was cut. For one thing Diana had already given him her card in Walk Slowly. For another, showing Elliott reaching out to her - even if he couldn't follow through - would've reduced some of the mounting tension of the possibility of him betraying Vincent later.

Diana is so, so intuitive with Elliot. She's got his number down pat.

Gabriel and Elliot’s conversation is incredible.

That graveyard conversation is one of my favorites in the entire series. Absolutely enthralling, not a single misstep. GRRM always writes crackerjack dialogue. I can (and have) watched that scene over and over.

"Halfway to the stars”

I loved this line so much I used it as the title of one of the chapters in my fic. 😊

Elliot trying to stick to his false script until Vincent unwittingly rips it away with pure honesty; then feeling a further knife twist because of Cathy’s trust in him. Taking Vincent's shot and trying to dissuade him from further rescue.

Did you notice after he tells Vincent to go and V tells him, "You wouldn't leave me," Elliot responds, "You're damn right I would," and then he grins when V says, "You're lying again." I can't express how much I love that tiny exchange between them.

"The paths of glory lead but to the grave."

There she goes, making those illogical (or psychic) leaps again. And it pays off. Almost like it was fate that she was there when she was.

Everything else you said? 👍🏼👍🏼👍🏼

Enjoy A Time to Heal! We're gonna have a lot to talk about with that one.

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send me a ✐ for a random sentence starter from my muse (1-1500) — tw: profanity, mild nsfw, long list

generator here quotes compiled from here inspired by

feel free to change to fit your preferences as need.

❨1❩ ❛ They are dreams, but I’m too out of control, I lose myself in them, and I’ve already lost too much to let them take over. ❜
 ❨2❩ ❛ Sometimes human places create inhuman monsters. ❜ ❨3❩ ❛ I'm not gonna hurt ya. I'm just going to bash your brains in. ❜ ❨4❩ ❛ Monsters are real. Ghosts are too. They live inside of us, and sometimes, they win. ❜ ❨5❩ ❛ The world's a hard place. It doesn't care. It doesn't hate you and me, but it doesn't love us, either. ❜ ❨6❩ ❛ The tears that heal are also the tears that scald and scourge. ❜ ❨7❩ ❛ Pull your act together and just go on. ❜ ❨8❩ ❛ I had never dreamed there could be so much pain in a life when there is nothing physically wrong. I hurt all the time. ❜ ❨9❩ ❛ Tough old world, baby. If you're not bolted together tightly, you're gonna shake, rattle, and roll before you turn thirty. ❜ ❨10❩ ❛ Are you sure self-pity is a luxury you can afford? ❜ ❨11❩ ❛ Truth comes out. In the end it always comes out. ❜ ❨12❩ ❛ Living by your wits is always knowing where the wasps are. ❜ ❨13❩ ❛ No matter where you go, the same asshole gets off the plane. ❜ ❨14❩ ❛ We sometimes need to create unreal monsters and bogies to stand in for all the things we fear in our real lives. ❜ ❨15❩ ❛ That’s your job in this hard world, to keep your love alive and see that you get on, no matter what. ❜ ❨16❩ ❛ Human nature, baby. Grab it and growl. ❜ ❨17❩ ❛ God wiped snot out of his nose and that was you. ❜ ❨18❩ ❛ Run away. Quick. And remember how much I love you. ❜ ❨19❩ ❛ How many times, over how many years, have I—a grown adult—asked for the mercy of another chance? ❜ ❨20❩ ❛ I was suddenly so sick of myself, so revolted. ❜ ❨21❩ ❛ You listen to me. I’m going to talk to you about it this once and never again this same way. ❜ ❨22❩ ❛ But those pieces, they’ll never fit just the same way again. Never in this world. ❜ ❨23❩ ❛ Dying is a part of living. You have to keep tuning in to that if you expect to be a whole person. ❜ ❨24❩ ❛ Officious little prick. ❜ ❨25❩ ❛ I’ve been sleepwalking again, my dear. — The plants are moving under the rug. ❜ ❨26❩ ❛ How I wish you were fear. ❜ ❨27❩ ❛ But it was a dreadful kind of curiosity, the kind that makes you peek through your fingers during the scariest parts of a scary movie. ❜ ❨28❩ ❛ All we have is time, you know. An eternity of time. Or shall we end it? Might as well. After all, we're missing the party. ❜ ❨29❩ ❛ We all remember our pleasant dreams more clearly than the scary ones. ❜ ❨30❩ ❛ The way things should be and the way things are hardly ever get together. ❜ ❨31❩ ❛ Got to be regular if you want to be happy. ❜ ❨32❩ ❛ But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. ❜ ❨33❩ ❛ He showed me his scars, and in return he let me pretend that I had none. ❜ ❨34❩ ❛ Humbling women seems to me a chief pastime of poets. As if there can be no story unless we crawl and weep. ❜ ❨35❩ ❛ It is a common saying that women are delicate creatures, flowers, eggs, anything that may be crushed in a moment's carelessness.  ❜ ❨36❩ ❛ If I had ever believed it, I no longer do. ❜ ❨37❩ ❛ I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands. ❜ ❨38❩ ❛ I cannot bear this world a moment longer. ❜ ❨39❩ ❛ I have a better idea. I will do as I please. ❜ ❨40❩ ❛ All my life has been murk and depths, but I am not a part of that dark water. I am a creature within it. ❜ ❨41❩ ❛ You cannot know how frightened gods are of pain. There is nothing more foreign to them, and so nothing they ache more deeply to see. ❜ ❨42❩ ❛ When we are young, we think ourselves the first to have each feeling in the world. ❜ ❨43❩ ❛ When I was born, the word for what I was did not exist. ❜ ❨44❩ ❛ But perhaps no parent can truly see their child. When we look we see only the mirror of our own faults. ❜ ❨45❩ ❛ I will not be like a bird bred in a cage, too dull to fly even when the door stands open. ❜ ❨46❩ ❛ This is what it means to swim in the tide, to walk the earth and feel it touch your feet. This is what it means to be alive. ❜ ❨47❩ ❛ You threw me to the crows, but it turns out I prefer them to you. ❜ ❨48❩ ❛ Yet because I knew nothing, nothing was beneath me. ❜ ❨49❩ ❛ If now I am wise, it is only because I have been fool enough for a hundred lifetimes. ❜ ❨50❩ ❛ You can teach a viper to eat from your hands, but you cannot take away how much it likes to bite. ❜ ❨51❩ ❛ Give me the blade. Some things are worth spilling blood for. ❜ ❨52❩ ❛ I have been old and stern for so long, carved with regrets and years like a monolith. But that is only a shape I’ve been poured into. I do not have to keep it. ❜ ❨53❩ ❛ I wake sometimes in the dark terrified by my life's precariousness, its thready breath. ❜ ❨54❩ ❛ Understanding the world is a matter of keeping very still and showing no emotions, leaving room for others to reveal themselves. ❜ ❨55❩ ❛ Beneath the smooth, familiar face of things is another that waits to tear the world in two. ❜ ❨56❩ ❛ The truth is, men make terrible pigs. ❜ ❨57❩ ❛ My father has never been able to imagine the world without himself in it. ❜ ❨58❩ ❛ This is the grief that makes our kind choose to be stones and trees rather than flesh. ❜ ❨59❩ ❛ Witches are not so delicate. ❜ ❨60❩ ❛ Those who fight against prophecy only draw it more tightly around their throats. ❜ ❨61❩ ❛ I learned that I could bend the world to my will, as a bow is bent for an arrow. I would have done that toil a thousand times to keep such power in my hands. ❜ ❨62❩ ❛ There's the story, then there's the real story, then there's the story of how the story came to be told. Then there's what you leave out of the story. Which is part of the story too. ❜ ❨63❩ ❛ The best way of being kind to bears is not to be very close to them. ❜ ❨64❩ ❛ Life is warped. I'm just in sync. ❜ ❨65❩ ❛ Now it's a whisper from the past. ❜ ❨66❩ ❛ But hatred and viciousness are addictive. You can get high on them. Once you've had a little, you start shaking if you don't get more. ❜ ❨67❩ ❛ Why is it always such a surprise? The moon. Even though we know it's coming. Every time we see it, it makes us pause, and hush. ❜ ❨68❩ ❛ Perfection exacts a price, but it's the imperfect who pay it. ❜ ❨69❩ ❛ What is 'belief' but a willingness to suspend the negatives?  ❜ ❨70❩ ❛ I have scars, inside me. ❜ ❨71❩ ❛ The dead are not entirely dead but are alive in a different way; a paler way admittedly, and somewhat darker. ❜ ❨72❩ ❛ However dark, a darkness with voices in it is better than a silent void. ❜ ❨73❩ ❛ Amazing how quickly the past becomes idyllic. ❜ ❨74❩ ❛ It is another way of saying tough luck. To people you aren’t going to help out. ❜ ❨75❩ ❛ I'm waiting, far off in the future. ❜ ❨76❩ ❛ The only sure camouflage is unpredictability. ❜ ❨77❩ ❛ There are so many of them, and each one of them is doing part of the killing, whether they know it or not. ❜ ❨78❩ ❛ First rule: limit bloodshed by making sure that none of your own gets spilled. ❜ ❨79❩ ❛ I long to swim in liquid moonlight. ❜ ❨80❩ ❛ That's right, I don’t like to be summoned on trivial matters. ❜ ❨81❩ ❛ The part that really made me happy was that you wanted me to be happy. ❜ ❨82❩ ❛ Cut that part out of us: the grinning, elemental malice. Begin us anew. ❜ ❨83❩ ❛ Where there are wars, there will be crows, the carrion-fanciers. And ravens too, the warbirds, the eyeball gourmands. And vultures, the holy birds of yore, old connoisseurs of rot. ❜ ❨84❩ ❛ At last. It's you. ❜ ❨85❩ ❛ No, you will not be cooked on a fire when you die. Because you are not a fish. ❜ ❨86❩ ❛ Take what the moment offers. Don’t close doors. Be thankful. ❜ ❨87❩ ❛ How many others have stood in this place? Left behind, with all gone, all swept away. ❜ ❨88❩ ❛ Is it disapproval or extreme lust? With some men it’s hard to tell the difference. ❜ ❨89❩ ❛ My hair was driving me crazy, but then … I died. ❜ ❨90❩ ❛ Seek and ye shall find, eventually. And you found. You’re right, I don’t dispute that. Sorry. ❜ ❨91❩ ❛ Everything digests, and is digested. ❜ ❨92❩ ❛ My head was once a filing cabinet. Now it’s a flurry of papers, floating on a draft. ❜ ❨93❩ ❛ You cannot keep bumping your head against reality and saying it is not there. ❜ ❨94❩ ❛ I have a feeling that inside you somewhere, there’s something nobody knows about. ❜ ❨95❩ ❛ And if I don’t want to die, I’ve got to start living. ❜ ❨96❩ ❛ The world is a beautiful place. Don’t forget that. And don’t miss it. ❜ ❨97❩ ❛ I was fighting for my life. So I must not want to die. ❜ ❨98❩ ❛ Something’s happening to me, through me, something dangerous and new. ❜ ❨99❩ ❛ It’s taken root, a poison tree; it’s grown, fanning out, vines winding round my gut, my lungs, my heart. ❜ ❨100❩ ❛ We’re interpreters. We’re translators. ❜ ❨101❩ ❛ You’ll notice I’m not asking what made you this way. ❜ ❨102❩ ❛ No family, happy or unhappy, is quite like any other. Tolstoy was chock-fullo’shit. Remember that. ❜ ❨103❩ ❛ We lived in monochrome those nights. ❜ ❨104❩ ❛ You live in a dream. You’re a sleepwalker, blind. How do you know what the world is like? ❜ ❨105❩ ❛ Do you know, if you rip off the fronts of houses, you’d find swine? ❜ ❨106❩ ❛ I stand here in the dark: cold, utterly alone, full of fear and something that feels like longing. ❜ ❨107❩ ❛ The definition of insanity is doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results. ❜ ❨108❩ ❛ Not to warm the flesh, but solely to please the eye. ❜ ❨109❩ ❛ Selective emotional detachment. ❜ ❨110❩ ❛ Not for me, or at least not today. ❜ ❨111❩ ❛ Dead but not gone, watching life surge forward around me, powerless to intervene. ❜ ❨112❩ ❛ Do I sound like a hillbilly saying that? ❜ ❨113❩ ❛ Remember, you’ve got your secret weapon. ❜ ❨114❩ ❛ The dream drains away like water. The memory, really. I try to scoop it up in my palms, but it’s gone. ❜ ❨115❩ ❛ My shadow stretches along the carpet, as though trying to detach itself from me. ❜ ❨116❩ ❛ It curls away from me, like blood in water. ❜ ❨117❩ ❛ It’s been so long since I felt the rain. Or wind—the caress of wind. ❜ ❨118❩ ❛ But snow I never want to feel again. ❜ ❨119❩ ❛ Through adversity to the stars. ❜ ❨120❩ ❛ No hero. No sleuth. I am locked in. I am locked out. ❜ ❨121❩ ❛ Thinking hasn't gotten me anywhere so far. ❜ ❨122❩ ❛ The face you give the world tells the world how to treat you. ❜ ❨123❩ ❛ Sometimes I think illness sits inside every woman, waiting for the right moment to bloom. ❜ ❨124❩ ❛ Women get consumed. ❜ ❨125❩ ❛ Sometimes if you let people do things to you, you're really doing it to them. ❜ ❨126❩ ❛ A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort. ❜ ❨127❩ ❛ Safer to be feared than loved. ❜ ❨128❩ ❛ I ached once, hard, like a period typed at the end of a sentence. ❜ ❨129❩ ❛ It's impossible to compete with the dead. I wish I could stop trying. ❜ ❨130❩ ❛ I always feel sad for the girl that I was. ❜ ❨131❩ ❛ Every time people said I was pretty, I thought of everything ugly swarming beneath my clothes. ❜ ❨132❩ ❛ How do you keep safe when your whole day is as wide and empty as the sky? Anything could happen. ❜ ❨133❩ ❛ See, there I am. I told you I lived. I told you I was. ❜ ❨134❩ ❛ Sometimes I think I won't ever feel safe until I can count my last days on one hand. ❜ ❨135❩ ❛ To refuse has so many more consequences than submitting. ❜ ❨136❩ ❛ I'm here. I don't usually feel that I am. ❜ ❨137❩ ❛ I'm tired of dying. ❜ ❨138❩ ❛ What if you hurt because it feels so good? ❜ ❨139❩ ❛ How confusing to live in the shadow of a shadow. ❜ ❨140❩ ❛ Do you ever feel like bad things are going to happen, and you can’t stop them? You can’t do anything, you just have to wait? ❜ ❨141❩ ❛ Sometimes my scars have a mind of their own. ❜ ❨142❩ ❛ Everyone has their own version of a memory. ❜ ❨143❩ ❛ Isn’t a smile a girl’s best weapon? ❜ ❨144❩ ❛ My sense of weightlessness, I think, comes from the fact that I know so little about my past. ❜ ❨145❩ ❛ Do what I want; I might like you. ❜ ❨146❩ ❛ I feel sorry for Persephone because even when she’s back with the living, people are afraid of her because of where’s she’s been. ❜ ❨147❩ ❛ She has never told me she loved me, and I never assumed she did. ❜ ❨148❩ ❛ The sight of it actually does something to you, makes you less human. ❜ ❨149❩ ❛ It infects you. It ruined me. ❜ ❨150❩ ❛ Your health is not a debt you just cancel. The body collects. ❜ ❨151❩ ❛ Men love to put things inside women, don’t they? ❜ ❨152❩ ❛ We can know only that we know nothing. And that is the highest degree of human wisdom. ❜ ❨153❩ ❛ Nothing is so necessary for a young man as the company of intelligent women. ❜ ❨154❩ ❛ The strongest of all warriors are these two — time and patience. ❜ ❨155❩ ❛ If everyone fought for their own convictions there would be no war. ❜ ❨156❩ ❛ There is no greatness where there is not simplicity, goodness, and truth. ❜ ❨157❩ ❛ The whole world is divided for me into two parts: one is she, and there is all happiness, hope, light; the other is where she is not, and there is dejection and darkness. ❜ ❨158❩ ❛ Let the dead bury the dead, but while I'm alive, I must live and be happy. ❜ ❨159❩ ❛ It's not given to people to judge what's right or wrong. People have eternally been mistaken and will be mistaken, and in nothing more than in what they consider right and wrong. ❜ ❨160❩ ❛ You can love a person dear to you with a human love, but an enemy can only be loved with divine love. ❜ ❨161❩ ❛ If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, then all possibility of life is destroyed. ❜ ❨162❩ ❛ We are asleep until we fall in love! ❜ ❨163❩ ❛ I simply want to live; to cause no evil to anyone but myself. ❜ ❨164❩ ❛ Everything I know, I know because of love. ❜ ❨165❩ ❛ Man cannot possess anything as long as he fears death. But to him who does not fear it, everything belongs. ❜ ❨166❩ ❛ If there was no suffering, man would not know his limits, would not know himself. ❜ ❨167❩ ❛ Yes, love, but not the love that loves for something, to gain something, or because of something, but that love that I felt for the first time, when dying, I saw my enemy and yet loved him. ❜ ❨168❩ ❛ How can one be well...when one suffers morally? ❜ ❨169❩ ❛ Kings are the slaves of history. ❜ ❨170❩ ❛ God is the same everywhere. ❜ ❨171❩ ❛ Pure and complete sorrow is as impossible as pure and complete joy. ❜ ❨172❩ ❛ One must be cunning and wicked in this world. ❜ ❨173❩ ❛ We love people not so much for the good they've done us, as for the good we've done them. ❜ ❨174❩ ❛ When one's head is gone one doesn't weep over one's hair! ❜ ❨175❩ ❛ For what, for whom, must I kill and be killed? ❜ ❨176❩ ❛ He did what heroes do after their work is accomplished; he died. ❜ ❨177❩ ❛ Life is too long to say anything definitely; always say perhaps. ❜ ❨178❩ ❛ Everything ends in death, everything. Death is terrible. ❜ ❨179❩ ❛ The distant and impossible suddenly became near, possible, and inevitable. ❜ ❨180❩ ❛ How often we sin, how much we deceive, and all for what? ❜ ❨181❩ ❛ The wolves should be fed and the sheep kept safe. ❜ ❨182❩ ❛ When I was a child, adults would tell me not to make things up, warning me of what would happen if I did. ❜ ❨183❩ ❛ My memory is a patchwork of occurrences, of discontinuous events roughly sewn together: the parts I remember, I remember precisely, whilst other sections seem to have vanished completely. ❜ ❨184❩ ❛ Would it be worse to love someone who is no longer there, or not to love someone who is? ❜ ❨185❩ ❛ Like mirrors stories prepare us for the day to come. They distract us from the things in darkness. ❜ ❨186❩ ❛ It is not that I was credulous, simply that I believed in all things dark and dangerous. ❜ ❨187❩ ❛ Sometimes you do things you regret, but there's nothing you can do about them. Times change. Doors close behind you. You move on. ❜ ❨188❩ ❛ Love will be an impulse that will inspire and ruin in equal measure. ❜ ❨189❩ ❛ He died alone. It don't matter a rat's ass whether there was anyone with him or not. He died alone. ❜ ❨190❩ ❛ It was love, I knew, and it tasted like champagne in my mind. ❜ ❨191❩ ❛ The end of the world is a strange concept. The world is always ending, and the end is always being averted, by love or foolishness or just plain old dumb luck. ❜ ❨192❩ ❛ She was my dream; and if you touch a dream it vanishes, like a soap bubble. ❜ ❨193❩ ❛ Daylight is always safe. ❜ ❨194❩ ❛ If not for death, they'd be content to simply exist, but with death, well, their lives will have meaning. ❜ ❨195❩ ❛ You want to know the future, love? Then wait. ❜ ❨196❩ ❛ There are things in the darkness beneath us that wish us harm. ❜ ❨197❩ ❛ Fairy tales are more than true. Not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be defeated ❜ ❨198❩ ❛ But sometimes you leave blood on your instruments. ❜ ❨199❩ ❛ I'd like to be a wolf. Not all the time. Just sometimes. In the dark. I would run through the forests. ❜ ❨200❩ ❛ You've seen them. They have mouths that twitch, and eyes that stare, and they babble and they mewl and they whimper. ❜ ❨201❩ ❛ They are not mad, or rather, the loss of their sanity is the lesser of their problems. ❜ ❨202❩ ❛ Good a reason for writing as I know: releasing demons, letting them fly. ❜ ❨203❩ ❛ That miserable state in which everything seems flat and of equal importance; when nothing matters, and in which reality seems scraped thin and threadbare. ❜ ❨204❩ ❛ Someone had scrawled graffiti in black marker on the metal: JUST DIE, it said. Like it is easy. ❜ ❨205❩ ❛ Winter started today. The sky turned grey and the snow began to fall and it did not stop falling until well after dark. ❜ ❨206❩ ❛ Memory is the great deceiver. ❜ ❨207❩ ❛ Silly things do cease to be silly if they are done by sensible people in an impudent way. ❜ ❨208❩ ❛ I may have lost my heart, but not my self-control.  ❜ ❨209❩ ❛ If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. ❜ ❨210❩ ❛ I always deserve the best treatment because I never put up with any other. ❜ ❨211❩ ❛ But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. ❜ ❨212❩ ❛ I have blamed you, and lectured you, and you have borne it as no other would have borne it. ❜ ❨213❩ ❛ There are people, who the more you do for them, the less they will do for themselves. ❜ ❨214❩ ❛ One half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other. ❜ ❨215❩ ❛ Better be without sense than misapply it as you do. ❜ ❨216❩ ❛ You must be the best judge of your own happiness. ❜ ❨217❩ ❛ Were I to fall in love, indeed, it would be a different thing ; but I have never been in love ; it is not my way, or my nature ; and I do not think I ever shall. ❜ ❨218❩ ❛ Indeed, I am very sorry to be right in this instance. I would much rather have been merry than wise. ❜ ❨219❩ ❛ If I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream. ❜ ❨220❩ ❛ If a woman doubts as to whether she should accept a man or not, she certainly ought to refuse him. ❜ ❨221❩ ❛ Faultless in spite of all her faults. ❜ ❨222❩ ❛ A heroine whom no one but myself will much like. ❜ ❨223❩ ❛ There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart. ❜ ❨224❩ ❛ Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, and waste its fragrance on the desert air. ❜ ❨225❩ ❛ I pity you. I thought you cleverer. ❜ ❨226❩ ❛ Evil to some is always good to others. ❜ ❨227❩ ❛ I certainly will not persuade myself to feel more than I do. ❜ ❨228❩ ❛ She is loveliness itself. ❜ ❨229❩ ❛ Time does not compose me. ❜ ❨230❩ ❛ A man always imagines a woman to be ready for anybody who asks her. ❜ ❨231❩ ❛ I do not find myself making any use of the word sacrifice. ❜ ❨232❩ ❛ I am quite enough in love. I should be sorry to be any more. ❜ ❨233❩ ❛ I must tell you what you will not ask, though I may wish it unsaid the next moment. ❜ ❨234❩ ❛ I examined my own heart. And there you were. Never, I fear, to be removed. ❜ ❨235❩ ❛ With all your little faults, you are an excellent creature. ❜ ❨236❩ ❛ You have another long walk before you. ❜ ❨237❩ ❛ The child's laughter is pure until he first laughs at a clown. ❜ ❨238❩ ❛ What is marriage but prostitution to one man instead of many? ❜ ❨239❩ ❛ Out of the frying pan into the fire! ❜ ❨240❩ ❛ We must all make do with the rags of love we find flapping on the scarecrow of humanity. ❜ ❨241❩ ❛ She sleeps. And now she wakes each day a little less. ❜ ❨242❩ ❛ And, oh, God . . . how frequently I weep! ❜ ❨243❩ ❛ From the coffin of your madness there is no escape. ❜ ❨244❩ ❛ I am feeling supernatural tonight. I want to eat diamonds. ❜ ❨245❩ ❛ All the same there is a chance that if we keep on shaking our chains, one day, some day, the clasps upon the shackles will part. ❜ ❨246❩ ❛ It was sad music fit to make you cut your throat. ❜ ❨247❩ ❛ Nothing is more boring than being forced to play. ❜ ❨248❩ ❛ Amongst the monsters, I am well hidden; who looks for a leaf in a forest? ❜ ❨249❩ ❛ Wherein does a woman’s honour reside? In her vagina or in her spirit? ❜ ❨250❩ ❛ Perhaps...I could not be content with mere contentment! ❜ ❨251❩ ❛ Have you ever stared stark failure in the face? The trick is to outstare it. ❜ ❨252❩ ❛ Sometimes it seems that the faces exist of themselves, in a disembodied somewhere, waiting for the one who will wear them, who will bring them to life. ❜ ❨253❩ ❛ I have the febrile gaiety of a being without a past, without a present, yet I exist. ❜ ❨254❩ ❛ I felt myself turning, willy-nilly, from a woman into an idea. ❜ ❨255❩ ❛ She looks wonderful, but she doesn't look right. ❜ ❨256❩ ❛ The one-eyed man will be King in the country of the blind. ❜ ❨257❩ ❛ I raised you up to fly to the heavens, not to brood over a clutch of eggs! ❜ ❨258❩ ❛ I love to hear my bones rattle. That’s how I know I’m alive. ❜ ❨259❩ ❛ I learnt, first, as the birds do, from the birds. ❜ ❨260❩ ❛ Inside and outside match exactly, but both are badly wrong. ❜ ❨261❩ ❛ During the less-than-blink of time it took the last chime to die, there came a vertiginous sensation. ❜ ❨262❩ ❛ I fear a wound not of the body but the soul, an irreconcilable division between myself and the rest of humankind. ❜ ❨263❩ ❛ I fear the proof of my own singularity. ❜ ❨264❩ ❛ Still nothing could calm the fearful storm in my erupting skin. ❜ ❨265❩ ❛ Petersburg, loveliest of all hallucinations. ❜ ❨266❩ ❛ A breathless second between black forest and the frozen sea. ❜ ❨267❩ ❛ I'm beginning to feel totally cut off from the world. ❜ ❨268❩ ❛ What does this all mean? Where are we? ❜ ❨269❩ ❛ Sometimes I bleed. ❜ ❨270❩ ❛ If you see a ghost, you say "hello". ❜ ❨271❩ ❛ The war is not over. ❜ ❨272❩ ❛ You're not going. You left us once already. ❜ ❨273❩ ❛ You can’t go! ❜ ❨274❩ ❛ I loved you, but that wasn't enough, was it? ❜ ❨275❩ ❛ If you're dead, then leave me in peace. ❜ ❨276❩ ❛ The only thing that moves here is the light, but it changes everything. ❜ ❨277❩ ❛ I won't ask for forgiveness for something I didn't do! ❜ ❨278❩ ❛ Sometimes the world of the living gets mixed up with the world of the dead. ❜ ❨279❩ ❛ Death of a loved one can lead people to do the strangest things. ❜ ❨280❩ ❛ Sooner or later, they will find you. ❜ ❨281❩ ❛ They're everywhere - they say this house is theirs. ❜ ❨282❩ ❛ You're always teasing me, and telling lies. I'm sick of it. ❜ ❨283❩ ❛ Others will come. Sometimes we'll sense them. Other times, we won't. ❜ ❨284❩ ❛ No crying now. No crying. Stop that. Here. Look what an awful face you've got when you cry. ❜ ❨285❩ ❛ You listen to me. I've seen them too. ❜ ❨286❩ ❛ You'll see. There are going to be some big surprises. There are going to be... changes. ❜ ❨287❩ ❛ Why did you go and fight that stupid war that had nothing to do with us? Why didn't you stay like the others did? ❜ ❨288❩ ❛ Your place was here with your family. ❜ ❨289❩ ❛ So you say you know this house well? ❜ ❨290❩ ❛ I wasn't expecting you so soon. ❜ ❨291❩ ❛ What's the matter? Has the cat got your tongue? ❜ ❨292❩ ❛ You mean they just vanished? Into thin air? ❜ ❨293❩ ❛ No door must be opened without the previous one being closed first. ❜ ❨294❩ ❛ Here, most of the time, you can hardly see your way. ❜ ❨295❩ ❛ Whatever you do, don't open the curtains. ❜ ❨296❩ ❛ Now, come on. Eyes closed. ❜ ❨297❩ ❛ We start off with high hopes, then we bottle it. We realise that we’re all going to die, without really finding out the big answers. ❜ ❨298❩ ❛ By definition, you have to live until you die. Better to make that life as complete and enjoyable an experience as possible, in case death is shite, which I suspect it will be. ❜ ❨299❩ ❛ I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin’ else. ❜ ❨300❩ ❛ And the reasons? There are no reasons. ❜ ❨301❩ ❛ Love does not exist, it's like religion, made to control you. ❜ ❨302❩ ❛ After all, we're not fucking stupid. At least, we're not that fucking stupid. ❜ ❨303❩ ❛ You fucking knew that fucking cunt would fuck some cunt. ❜ ❨304❩ ❛ Everything in the street today seems soft focus. ❜ ❨305❩ ❛ What does that make us? The lowest of the low. ❜ ❨306❩ ❛ Take your best orgasm, multiply the feeling by twenty, and you're still fuckin’ miles off the pace. ❜ ❨307❩ ❛ It’s as if everything is a copy of what you knew before, similar, yet somehow lacking in its usual qualities, a bit like the way things are in a dream. ❜ ❨308❩ ❛ It’s all okay, it’s all beautiful; but I fear that this internal sea is going to subside soon, leaving this poisonous shite washed up, stranded up in my body. ❜ ❨309❩ ❛ It cuts me up. It confuses me. ❜ ❨310❩ ❛ It's not funny laughter. This is lynch mob laughter. ❜ ❨311❩ ❛ Protect me from those who wish to help us. ❜ ❨312❩ ❛ They mean well, and they mean well to me, but there's no way under the sun that they can appreciate what I feel, what I need. ❜ ❨313❩ ❛ The pit of melancholy is a bottomless one, and I am descending fast. ❜ ❨314❩ ❛ Living like this is a full-time business. ❜ ❨315❩ ❛ I’ll stand or fall alone. ❜ ❨316❩ ❛ We are no wiser now than at the start. ❜ ❨317❩ ❛ This is pathetic, and fucking boring. ❜ ❨318❩ ❛ Death is usually a process, rather than an event. ❜ ❨319❩ ❛ We're ruled by effete arseholes. What does that make us? ❜ ❨320❩ ❛ We are all acquaintances now. ❜ ❨321❩ ❛ The problem is that this beautiful ocean carries with it loads of poisonous flotsam and jetsam. ❜ ❨322❩ ❛ Life is beautiful. I'm going to enjoy it, and I'm going to have a long life. ❜ ❨323❩ ❛ The grim reality of impending death can be talked away by trying to invest in the present reality of life. ❜ ❨324❩ ❛ There must be more to life than this. ❜ ❨325❩ ❛ We all see what we want to see. ❜ ❨326❩ ❛ Statistically speaking, you're more likely to be killed by a member of your own family or a close friend, than by anyone else. ❜ ❨327❩ ❛ What am I living for and what am I dying for are the same question. ❜ ❨328❩ ❛ Maybe that's what love is: it's being pissed off. ❜ ❨329❩ ❛ You can forget who you are if you're alone too much. ❜ ❨330❩ ❛ Any religion is a shadow of God. But the shadows of God are not God. ❜ ❨331❩ ❛ Human understanding is fallible, and we see through a glass, darkly.  ❜ ❨332❩ ❛ We must be a beacon of hope, because if you tell people there's nothing they can do, they will do worse than nothing. ❜ ❨333❩ ❛ Everyone wants to feel like a princess, and princesses are selfish and overbearing. ❜ ❨334❩ ❛ We shouldn't have been so scornful; we should have had compassion. But compassion takes work, and we were young. ❜ ❨335❩ ❛ How easy it is, treachery. You just slide into it. ❜ ❨336❩ ❛ Amazing how the heart clutches at anything familiar, whimpering: Mine! Mine! ❜ ❨337❩ ❛ All creatures know that some must die ; that all the rest may take and eat. ❜ ❨338❩ ❛ Is this the image of a god? My tooth for yours, your eye for mine? ❜ ❨339❩ ❛ Without the light, no chance; without the dark, no dance. ❜ ❨340❩ ❛ Why are we designed to see the world as supremely beautiful just as we're about to be snuffed? Do rabbits feel the same as the fox teeth bite down on their necks? Is it mercy? ❜ ❨341❩ ❛ Love is useless, it leads you into dumb exchanges in which you give too much away, and then you get bitter and mean. ❜ ❨342❩ ❛ Maybe sadness is a kind of hunger. Maybe the two go together. ❜ ❨343❩ ❛ Now I can see how that can happen. You can fall in love with anybody -- a fool, a criminal, a nothing. There are no good rules. ❜ ❨344❩ ❛ If you really want to stay the same age you are now forever and ever, try jumping off the roof: death's a sure-fire method for stopping time. ❜ ❨345❩ ❛ You couldn’t leave words lying around where our enemies might find them. ❜ ❨346❩ ❛ I'm fine, for the moment. And the moment is the only time we can be fine in. ❜ ❨347❩ ❛ Because if you can't wish, why bother? ❜ ❨348❩ ❛ It's better to hope than mope! ❜ ❨349❩ ❛ Reality has too much darkness in it. Too many crows. ❜ ❨350❩ ❛ In any case, time is not a thing that passes, it’s a sea on which you float. ❜ ❨351❩ ❛ I know I’m deceiving myself, but I prefer to deceive myself. I desperately need to believe such pure joy is still possible. ❜ ❨352❩ ❛ Too much God and you overdose. God needs to be filtered. ❜ ❨353❩ ❛ Behind my eyelids I saw an animal. It was golden colour, with gentle green eyes and canine teeth, and curly wool instead of fur. It opened its mouth, but it did not speak. Instead, it yawned. ❜ ❨354❩ ❛ ‘Why can't I believe?’ I asked the darkness. ❜ ❨355❩ ❛ Everyone’s too sad for everything. ❜ ❨356❩ ❛ If you can’t stop the waves, go sailing. ❜ ❨357❩ ❛ I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary. ❜ ❨358❩ ❛ Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them. ❜ ❨359❩ ❛ In the end, we'll all become stories. ❜ ❨360❩ ❛ I am inadequate and stupid, without worth. I might as well be dead. ❜ ❨361❩ ❛ If you knew what was going to happen, if you knew everything that was going to happen next—if you knew in advance the consequences of your own actions—you'd be doomed. You'd be ruined as God. ❜ ❨362❩ ❛ If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. ❜ ❨363❩ ❛ Stupidity is the same as evil if you judge by the results. ❜ ❨364❩ ❛ Time in dreams is frozen. You can never get away from where you've been. ❜ ❨365❩ ❛ Male fantasies, male fantasies, is everything run by male fantasies? ❜ ❨366❩ ❛ We still think of a powerful man as a born leader and a powerful woman as an anomaly. ❜ ❨367❩ ❛ If I love you, is that a fact or a weapon? ❜ ❨368❩ ❛ You fit into me like a hook into an eye. ❜ ❨369❩ ❛ Knowing too much about other people puts you in their power, they have a claim on you, you are forced to understand their reasons for doing things and then you are weakened. ❜ ❨370❩ ❛ Farewells can be shattering, but returns are surely worse. ❜ ❨371❩ ❛ Women have curious ways of hurting someone else. ❜ ❨372❩ ❛ This is the one song everyone would like to learn: the song that is irresistible: the song that forces men to leap overboard in squadrons. ❜ ❨373❩ ❛ Get rid of death. Make it be spring. ❜ ❨374❩ ❛ You are innocent as a bathtub full of bullets. ❜ ❨375❩ ❛ I am the space you desecrate as you pass through. ❜ ❨376❩ ❛ Favour me and give me riches, destroy my enemies. Save me from death. ❜ ❨377❩ ❛ She is a raw voice loose in the rooms beneath me. ❜ ❨378❩ ❛ Isn't the moon warm enough for you, why do you need the blanket of another body? ❜ ❨379❩ ❛ This is a torch song. Touch me and you'll burn. ❜ ❨380❩ ❛ If you look long enough eventually you will see me. ❜ ❨381❩ ❛ I would like to sleep with you, to enter your sleep as its smooth dark wave slides over my head. ❜ ❨382❩ ❛ I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief. ❜ ❨383❩ ❛ But some people can't tell where it hurts. They can't calm down. They can't ever stop howling. ❜ ❨384❩ ❛ How else can we live, these days, except in the midst of ruin? ❜ ❨385❩ ❛ What am I living for and what am I dying for are the same question. ❜ ❨386❩ ❛ Gods always come in handy, they justify almost anything. ❜ ❨387❩ ❛ We loved with a love that was more than love. ❜ ❨388❩ ❛ Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before. ❜ ❨389❩ ❛ The boundaries which divide life from death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends, and where the other begins? ❜ ❨390❩ ❛ There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in the proportion. ❜ ❨391❩ ❛ Never to suffer would never to have been blessed. ❜ ❨392❩ ❛ Believe only half of what you see and nothing that you hear. ❜ ❨393❩ ❛ And all I loved, I loved alone. ❜ ❨394❩ ❛ Years of love have been forgot, in the hatred of a minute. ❜ ❨395❩ ❛ The best things in life make you sweaty. ❜ ❨396❩ ❛ There are some secrets which do not permit themselves to be told. ❜ ❨397❩ ❛ Anything is better than this agony. ❜ ❨398❩ ❛ You fancy me mad. ❜ ❨399❩ ❛ I hear all things in the heaven and in the earth. ❜ ❨400❩ ❛ Who dares insult us with this blasphemous mockery? ❜ ❨401❩ ❛ Leave my loneliness unbroken! ❜ ❨402❩ ❛ A more than fiendish malevolence, gin-nurtured, thrills every fibre of my frame. ❜ ❨403❩ ❛ The fury of a demon instantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. ❜ ❨404❩ ❛ Let my heart be still a moment. ❜ ❨405❩ ❛ You call it hope —  It is but agony of desire. ❜ ❨406❩ ❛ Who has not, a hundred times, found himself committing a vile or silly action for no other reason than because he knows he should not? ❜ ❨407❩ ❛ To die laughing must be the most glorious of all glorious deaths! ❜ ❨408❩ ❛ The beating of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage. ❜ ❨409❩ ❛ Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive. ❜ ❨410❩ ❛ I have been happy, though in a dream. ❜ ❨411❩ ❛ Nevermore. ❜ ❨412❩ ❛ The truth is, I am heartily sick of this life. ❜ ❨413❩ ❛ I am convinced that every thing is going wrong. ❜ ❨414❩ ❛ The scariest monsters are the ones that lurk within our souls. ❜ ❨415❩ ❛ And if I died, at least I will have died for you! ❜ ❨416❩ ❛ It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. ❜ ❨417❩ ❛ Hurt and humiliation — But this, I can not take. ❜ ❨418❩ ❛ The walls in there have ears. ❜ ❨419❩ ❛ This is for your ears only. ❜ ❨420❩ ❛ What is it? You have me scared. ❜ ❨421❩ ❛ Whoever isn’t for us, is against us. ❜ ❨422❩ ❛ You are just a body; to be dumped, disposed of like a carcass, left out for the birds to feed on. ❜ ❨423❩ ❛ The dead will have to forgive me. ❜ ❨424❩ ❛ From now on and no matter how your mind may I change, I will not accept your help. ❜ ❨425❩ ❛ If death comes, so be it. There will be glory in it. ❜ ❨426❩ ❛ Live, then; and live with your choice. ❜ ❨427❩ ❛ I am doing what has to be done. ❜ ❨428❩ ❛ Nothing is going to stop the ones that love you from keeping on loving you. ❜ ❨429❩ ❛ Worst is the man who has all the good advice, and then because his nerve fails, fails to act in accordance with it, as a leader should. ❜ ❨430❩ ❛ Only a loony would walk himself into this. ❜ ❨431❩ ❛ Why do you need such fences and defences? ❜ ❨432❩ ❛ Enough. Do not anger me. ❜ ❨433❩ ❛ The gods, you think, will side with the likes of him? ❜ ❨434❩ ❛ Watch it. You are over stepping. ❜ ❨435❩ ❛ I warn you. You should keep a civil tongue. ❜ ❨436❩ ❛ There is no such thing as an oath the can not be broken. ❜ ❨437❩ ❛ Every now and then, the things you’d hardly let yourself imagine, actually happen. ❜ ❨438❩ ❛ And you stand over this? This is the truth? ❜ ❨439❩ ❛ The bigger the resistance, the bigger the collapse. ❜ ❨440❩ ❛ Iron that’s forged the hardest, snaps the quickest. ❜ ❨441❩ ❛ Even the wildest horses come to heel when they are reined & bitted right. ❜ ❨442❩ ❛ That’s how guilt affects some people. They break and everything comes out. ❜ ❨443❩ ❛ Will it be enough for you? To see me executed? ❜ ❨444❩ ❛ So you know something no one else knows? ❜ ❨445❩ ❛ They know it too. They are just too afraid to say it. ❜ ❨446❩ ❛ If you die, how will I keep on living? ❜ ❨447❩ ❛ There was a star riding through clouds one night, & I said to the star, 'Consume me'. ❜ ❨448❩ ❛ How much better to sit by myself like the solitary sea-bird that opens its wings on the stake. ❜ ❨449❩ ❛ Alone, I often fall down into nothingness. I have to bang my head against some hard door to call myself back to the body. ❜ ❨450❩ ❛ I am made and remade continually. Different people draw different words from me. ❜ ❨451❩ ❛ For this moment, this one moment, we are together.  ❜ ❨452❩ ❛ Come, pain, feed on me. Bury your fangs in my flesh. Tear me asunder. ❜ ❨453❩ ❛ I am as neat as a cat in my habits. ❜ ❨454❩ ❛ Everything falls in a tremendous shower, dissolving me. ❜ ❨455❩ ❛ I am the foam that sweeps and fills the uttermost rims of the rocks with whiteness; I am also a girl, here in this room. ❜ ❨456❩ ❛ We are cut, we are fallen. We are become part of that unfeeling universe ❨457❩ that sleeps when we are at our quickest and burns red when we lie ❨458❩ asleep. ❜ ❨459❩ ❛ These moments of escape are not to be despised. They come too seldom. ❜ ❨460❩ ❛ Up here my eyes are green leaves, unseeing. ❜ ❨461❩ ❛ The moment is all; the moment is enough. ❜ ❨462❩ ❛ I do not want to be admired. I want to give, to be given. ❜ ❨463❩ ❛ I am not one and simple, but complex and many. ❜ ❨464❩ ❛ And if you are dead, I shall weep. ❜ ❨465❩ ❛ But beauty must be broken daily to remain beautiful. ❜ ❨466❩ ❛ But our hatred is almost indistinguishable from our love. ❜ ❨467❩ ❛ I desired always to stretch the night and fill it fuller and fuller with dreams. ❜ ❨468❩ ❛ Life is a dream surely. ❜ ❨469❩ ❛ I think sometimes I am not a woman, but the light that falls on this gate, on this ground. I am the seasons, I think sometimes, January, May, November; the mud, the mist, the dawn. ❜ ❨470❩ ❛ Oh, I am in love with life! ❜ ❨471❩ ❛ I have been knotted; I have been torn apart. ❜ ❨472❩ ❛ There was no freedom in life, and certainly there was none in death. ❜ ❨473❩ ❛ I do not know. I do not know myself sometimes, or how to measure and name and count out the grains that make me what I am. ❜ ❨474❩ ❛ I ride rough waters, and shall sink with no one to save me. ❜ ❨475❩ ❛ I am above the earth now. I am no longer upright, to be knocked against and damaged. ❜ ❨476❩ ❛ I see it all. I feel it all. ❜ ❨477❩ ❛ Death is woven in with the violets. Death and again death. ❜ ❨478❩ ❛ We have been walking for hours it seems. But where? I cannot remember. ❜ ❨479❩ ❛ If we were all on trial for our thoughts, we would all be hanged. ❜ ❨480❩ ❛ When you are in the middle of a story it isn't a story at all, but only a confusion; a dark roaring, a blindness, a wreckage of shattered glass. ❜ ❨481❩ ❛ Murderess is a strong word to have attached to you. It has a smell to it, that word; - musky and oppressive, like dead flowers in a vase.  ❜ ❨482❩ ❛ Sometimes at night I whisper it over to myself: Murderess, murderess. It rustles, like a taffeta skirt across the floor. ❜ ❨483❩ ❛ If the world treats you well, you come to believe you are deserving of it. ❜ ❨484❩ ❛ If I am good enough and quiet enough, perhaps after all they will let me go. ❜ ❨485❩ ❛ It’s not easy being quiet and good, it’s like hanging on to the edge of a bridge when you’ve already fallen over; you don’t seem to be moving, just dangling there, and yet it is taking all your strength. ❜ ❨486❩ ❛ There is no fool like an educated fool. ❜ ❨487❩ ❛ There are many dangerous things that may take place in a bed. ❜ ❨488❩ ❛ I am afraid of falling into hopeless despair, over my wasted life, and I am still not sure how it happened. ❜ ❨489❩ ❛ Underneath it all is another feeling, a feeling of being wide-eyed awake and watchful. ❜ ❨490❩ ❛ And underneath all that is another feeling still, a feeling like being torn open; not like a body of flesh, it is not painful as such, but like a peach; and not even torn open, but ripe and splitting open of its own accord.  ❜ ❨491❩ ❛ The small details of life often hide a great significance. ❜ ❨492❩ ❛ Guilt comes to you not from the things you've done, but from the things that others have done to you. ❜ ❨493❩ ❛ I wonder, how can I be all of these different things at once? ❜ ❨494❩ ❛ It is always a mistake to curse back openly at those who are stronger than you unless there is a fence between. ❜ ❨495❩ ❛ Some call this "Eve's curse," but I think that is stupid because the real curse of Eve was having to put up with the nonsense of Adam. ❜ ❨496❩ ❛ I don't know why they are all so eager to be remembered. What good will it do them? There are some things that should be forgotten by everyone, and never spoken of again. ❜ ❨497❩ ❛ I would never blame a human creature for feeling lonely. ❜ ❨498❩ ❛ If they want a monster so badly they ought to be provided by one. ❜ ❨499❩ ❛ It’s as if I never existed, because no trace of me remains, I have left no marks. And that way I cannot be followed. It is almost the same as being innocent. ❜ ❨500❩ ❛ Today you wear your habitual expression of strained anxiety; you smell of violets. ❜ ❨501❩ ❛ Of course you have always been an idealist, and filled with your optimistic dreams; but reality must at some time obtrude. ❜ ❨502❩ ❛ I wonder what would become of me, and comfort myself that in a hundred years I will be dead and at peace. ❜ ❨503❩ ❛ For it is not always the one that strikes the blow that is the actual murderer. ❜ ❨504❩ ❛ There is a “do this” or “do that” with God, but not any “because”. ❜ ❨505❩ ❛ If you have a need and they find it out, they will use it against you. The best way is to stop from wanting anything. ❜ ❨506❩ ❛ They say, why don’t you ever smile or laugh, we never see you smiling, and I say I suppose I have gotten out of the way of it, my face won’t bend in that direction any more. ❜ ❨507❩ ❛ I was shut up inside that doll of myself, and my true voice could not get out. ❜ ❨508❩ ❛ I see what you’re after. You are a collector. You think all you have to do is give me an apple, and then you can collect me. ❜ ❨509❩ ❛ If you want to be an asshole, it's a free country. Millions before you have made the same life choice. ❜ ❨510❩ ❛ Then there's the future. Sheer vertigo. ❜ ❨511❩ ❛ Nature is to zoos as God is to churches. ❜ ❨512❩ ❛ After everything that's happened, how can the world still be so beautiful? ❜ ❨513❩ ❛ There's something to be said for hunger: at least it lets you know you're still alive. ❜ ❨514❩ ❛ These things sneak up on me for no reason, these flashes of irrational happiness. It's probably a vitamin deficiency. ❜ ❨515❩ ❛ Toast cannot be explained by any rational means. Toast is me. I am toast. ❜ ❨516❩ ❛ You can’t buy it, but it has a price. Everything has a price. ❜ ❨517❩ ❛ As a species were doomed by hope, then? You could call it hope. That, or desperation. ❜ ❨518❩ ❛ I am not my childhood. ❜ ❨519❩ ❛ Human beings hope they can stick their souls into someone else and live on forever. ❜ ❨520❩ ❛ “I'll make you mine”, lovers said in old books. They never said, “I'll make you me.” ❜ ❨521❩ ❛ How much is too much, how far is too far? ❜ ❨522❩ ❛ Expectation isn't the same as desire. ❜ ❨523❩ ❛ Why not cut to the chase? ❜ ❨524❩ ❛ Maybe there aren't any solutions. Human society, corpses and rubble. ❜ ❨525❩ ❛ I thought you didn’t believe in God. ❜ ❨526❩ ❛ I need at least the illusion of being understood. ❜ ❨527❩ ❛ What change would have altered the course of events? In the big picture, nothing. In the small picture, so much. ❜ ❨528❩ ❛ You are only looking at the dirt under your feet. It's not good for you. ❜ ❨529❩ ❛ I like to keep only the bright side of myself turned towards you.  ❜ ❨530❩ ❛ Grief in the face of inevitable death. The wish to stop time. The human condition. ❜ ❨531❩ ❛ So many crucial events take place behind people’s backs, when they aren’t in a position to watch: birth and death, for instance. ❜ ❨532❩ ❛ Would you kill someone you loved to spare them pain? ❜ ❨533❩ ❛ When the water’s moving faster than the boat, you can’t control a thing. ❜ ❨534❩ ❛ Don't be so fucking sentimental. ❜ ❨535❩ ❛ Wrong, as usual. ❜ ❨536❩ ❛ Why do you want to talk about ugly things? ❜ ❨537❩ ❛ I understand why serial killers send helpful clues to the police. ❜ ❨538❩ ❛ Take your time, leave mine alone. ❜ ❨539❩ ❛ You will hear thunder and remember me. ❜ ❨540❩ ❛ If you were music, I would listen to you ceaselessly. ❜ ❨541❩ ❛ I seem to myself an accidental guest in this dreadful body. ❜ ❨542❩ ❛ Call me a sinner, mock me maliciously. ❜ ❨543❩ ❛ I, from the very beginning, seemed to myself like someone's dream or delirium. Or a reflection in someone else's mirror. Without flesh, without meaning, without a name. ❜ ❨544❩ ❛ I knew the list of crimes that I was destined to commit. ❜ ❨545❩ ❛ The future ripens in the past, so the past rots in the future. ❜ ❨546❩ ❛ You are untranslatable into any one tongue. ❜ ❨547❩ ❛ I was hoping my silence would fit yours. ❜ ❨548❩ ❛ See, we were never about butterflies. All about us is unearthly and radiant. ❜ ❨549❩ ❛ You do not know just what you've been forgiven. ❜ ❨550❩ ❛ I need to slaughter my memory.  ❜ ❨551❩ ❛ Forgive me that I appeared to you in waking dreams. ❜ ❨552❩ ❛ I will condemn, I will forget, I will give comfort to the enemy. ❜ ❨553❩ ❛ I know beginnings, I know endings too, and life-in-death. ❜ ❨554❩ ❛ Wild honey smells of freedom. But gold smells of nothing. ❜ ❨555❩ ❛ You are three times more beautiful than angels. ❜ ❨556❩ ❛ I will kill you without spilling your blood on the ground, not touching you with my hand, not giving you one glance. ❜ ❨557❩ ❛ You invented me. There is no such earthly being. ❜ ❨558❩ ❛ You’re late. Way too late. I’m glad to see you, nonetheless. ❜ ❨559❩ ❛ Forgive me that I felt forsaken. Forgive me that I kept mistaking too many others for you. ❜ ❨560❩ ❛ Real tenderness can’t be confused, it’s quiet and can’t be heard. ❜ ❨561❩ ❛ What else lived in that house besides us? ❜ ❨562❩ ❛ How unhappy we are together! ❜ ❨563❩ ❛ I defend not my voice, but my silence. ❜ ❨564❩ ❛ Without love, I'm more at ease, I'm sure. ❜ ❨565❩ ❛ I've got no more tears or explanations. ❜ ❨566❩ ❛ I’m not complaining. Happiness is not for me. ❜ ❨567❩ ❛ Are you not the only tie between good and evil, earthly pits and paradise? ❜ ❨568❩ ❛ In the morning we shall find out who has died in the night. ❜ ❨569❩ ❛ I was not a lovable child, and I've grown into a deeply unlovable adult. ❜ ❨570❩ ❛ The truly frightening flaw in humanity is our capacity for cruelty - we all have it. ❜ ❨571❩ ❛ I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark. ❜ ❨572❩ ❛ I am not angry or sad or happy to see you. I could not give a shit. You don't even ripple. ❜ ❨573❩ ❛ I was raised feral, and I mostly stayed that way. ❜ ❨574❩ ❛ I can feel a better version of me somewhere in there - hidden behind a liver or attached to a bit of spleen. But the meanness usually wins out. ❜ ❨575❩ ❛ I felt something loosen in me, that shouldn't have loosened. A stitch come undone. ❜ ❨576❩ ❛ Everyone who keeps a secret, itches to tell it. ❜ ❨577❩ ❛ Coffee goes great with sudden death. ❜ ❨578❩ ❛ I should just listen to my gut and then do the opposite. ❜ ❨579❩ ❛ “Smile, it can't be that bad!” Yeah, actually, it can, jackwad. ❜ ❨580❩ ❛ Everything bad in the world already did happen. ❜ ❨581❩ ❛ You’re going to find peace? Like knowing is somehow going to fix you? ❜ ❨582❩ ❛ Instead of asking yourself what happened, just accept that it happened. ❜ ❨583❩ ❛ Homesick for a place I've never been. ❜ ❨584❩ ❛ Worries find you easily enough without inviting them. ❜ ❨585❩ ❛ It is always consoling to think of suicide. It's what gets one through many a bad night. ❜ ❨586❩ ❛ Do you understand this is serious? ❜ ❨587❩ ❛ Sometimes it feels good to fuck with something. Instead of always being fucked with. ❜ ❨588❩ ❛ How could you kill something you cared enough to name? ❜ ❨589❩ ❛ Draw a picture of my soul, and it’d be a scribble with fangs. ❜ ❨590❩ ❛ We have the same chemicals in our blood: shame, anger, greed. Unjustified nostalgia. ❜ ❨591❩ ❛ I appreciate a straightforward apology the way a tone-deaf person enjoys a fine piece of music. ❜ ❨592❩ ❛ The phrase fuck you may not rest on the tip of my tongue, but it’s near. Midtongue. ❜ ❨593❩ ❛ Nothing to it but to do it. ❜ ❨594❩ ❛ There are a lot of people who deserve a lesson, deserve to really understand, that nothing comes easy, that most things are going to go sour. ❜ ❨595❩ ❛ If ifs and buts were candies and nuts we’d all have a very Merry Christmas. ❜ ❨596❩ ❛ Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. ❜ ❨597❩ ❛ What does it do to a girl who knows her mother is a murderer? ❜ ❨598❩ ❛ That mean old bitch across the street bit it. ❜ ❨599❩ ❛ Survival is a talent. ❜ ❨600❩ ❛ Crazy isn't being broken or swallowing a dark secret. It’s you or me amplified. If you ever told a lie and enjoyed it. If you ever wished you could be a child forever. ❜ ❨601❩ ❛ Who has the courage to burn themselves? ❜ ❨602❩ ❛ Is insanity just a matter of dropping the act? ❜ ❨603❩ ❛ Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought your train moving while sitting still? ❜ ❨604❩ ❛ You need to be well fed, clothed, and housed to have time for this much self-pity. ❜ ❨605❩ ❛ When I am supposed to be awake, I am asleep; when I am supposed to speak, I am silent. When a pleasure offers itself to me, I avoid it. ❜ ❨606❩ ❛ There is thought, and then there is thinking about thoughts, and they don't feel the same. ❜ ❨607❩ ❛ In a strange way we are free. We've reached the end of the line. We have nothing more to lose. ❜ ❨608❩ ❛ The world won’t stop because we aren’t in it anymore. ❜ ❨609❩ ❛ I can't answer the real question. All I can tell you is, it's easy. ❜ ❨610❩ ❛ I am lighter, airier than I’ve been in years. ❜ ❨611❩ ❛ I am not dead, yet something in me definitely is. ❜ ❨612❩ ❛ You meant that as an insult but I am taking it as a compliment. ❜ ❨613❩ ❛ What life can recover from that? ❜ ❨614❩ ❛ It's a fairly accurate portrait of me. It's accurate but it isn't profound. ❜ ❨615❩ ❛ Pull yourself together! There's nothing wrong with you. ❜ ❨616❩ ❛ It's quiet. It's like― I don't know. It's like falling off a cliff. ❜ ❨617❩ ❛ Once you start parsing a face, it's a peculiar item: squishy, pointy, with lots of air vents and wet spots. ❜ ❨618❩ ❛ I lost him. I did it on purpose. ❜ ❨619❩ ❛ It’s a mean world. There’s nobody to take care of you out there. ❜ ❨620❩ ❛ Reality is getting too dense. ❜ ❨621❩ ❛ I'm ambivalent. In fact that's my new favourite word. ❜ ❨622❩ ❛ I can't come up with reassuring answers to the terrible questions you raise. ❜ ❨623❩ ❛ A spring day, the sort that gives people hope: all soft winds and delicate smells of warm earth. Suicide weather. ❜ ❨624❩ ❛ Twenty-five chocolate chip cookies would be the perfect dinner. ❜ ❨625❩ ❛ A thought is a hard thing to control. ❜ ❨626❩ ❛ Life demands skills I don’t have. ❜ ❨627❩ ❛ Light like this does not exist, but we wish it did. We wish the sun could make us young and beautiful. Most of all, we wish that everyone we knew could be brightened simply by our looking at them. ❜ ❨628❩ ❛ It never stops, even at night, it’s my lullaby. ❜ ❨629❩ ❛ Love blurs your vision; but after it recedes, you can see more clearly than ever. ❜ ❨630❩ ❛ This is the kind of thing you see if you sit in the darkness with open eyes. ❜ ❨631❩ ❛ I have done something wrong, something so huge I can't even see it, something that's drowning me. ❜ ❨632❩ ❛ Whatever is happening to me is my own fault. ❜ ❨633❩ ❛ Hatred is easier. Hatred is clear, metallic, one-handed, unwavering; unlike love. ❜ ❨634❩ ❛ Potential has a shelf life. ❜ ❨635❩ ❛ Don’t move. Stay like that, let me have that. ❜ ❨636❩ ❛ I have come to the edge, of the land. I could get pushed over. ❜ ❨637❩ ❛ Never pray for justice, because you might get some. ❜ ❨638❩ ❛ It disturbs me to learn I have hurt someone unintentionally. I want all my hurts to be intentional. ❜ ❨639❩ ❛ We have been shark to one another, but also lifeboat. That counts for something. ❜ ❨640❩ ❛ This is what I miss, not something that’s gone, but something that will never happen. ❜ ❨641❩ ❛ I am not good. I know too much to be good. I know myself. I know myself to be vengeful, greedy, secretive and sly. ❜ ❨642❩ ❛ You are amazing. Amazing and agonising and almost lethal. ❜ ❨643❩ ❛ In my dreams of this city I am always lost. ❜ ❨644❩ ❛ I don't know where these feelings have come from, I don’t know what I've done. ❜ ❨645❩ ❛ I am not the centre of your story, you are.  ❜ ❨646❩ ❛ I’m mad because you’re an asshole. ❜ ❨647❩ ❛ It's enormously pleasing to me, walking away. It's like being able to make people appear and vanish, at will. ❜ ❨648❩ ❛ There is never only one of anyone. ❜ ❨649❩ ❛ I can't do this without feeling I'm acting. ❜ ❨650❩ ❛ I am prepared for almost anything; except absence, except silence. ❜ ❨651❩ ❛ I’m losing my appetite for strangers. ❜ ❨652❩ ❛ You wear your cravings on the outside, like the suckers on a squid. You want it all. ❜ ❨653❩ ❛ Knowing too much about other people weakens you. You are forced to understand their reasons for doing things. ❜ ❨654❩ ❛ I have lost confidence: perhaps all I will ever be is what I am now. ❜ ❨655❩ ❛ Echoes of light, shining out of the midst of nothing. It's old light, and there's not much of it. But it's enough to see by. ❜ ❨656❩ ❛ Whoever cares the most will lose. ❜ ❨657❩ ❛ Young women need unfairness, it’s one of their few defences.  ❜ ❨658❩ ❛ Time has gone on without you. ❜ ❨659❩ ❛ Don't let the bastards grind you down. ❜ ❨660❩ ❛ Who can remember pain, once it’s over? Pain marks you, but too deep to see. Out of sight, out of mind. ❜ ❨661❩ ❛ Better never means better for everyone. It always means worse, for some. ❜ ❨662❩ ❛ There is more than one kind of freedom. Freedom to and freedom from. ❜ ❨663❩ ❛ Remember that forgiveness too is a power. ❜ ❨664❩ ❛ I am not your justification for existence. ❜ ❨665❩ ❛ I want to be valued, in ways that I am not; I want to be more than valuable. ❜ ❨666❩ ❛ If it's a story I'm telling, then I have control over the ending. ❜ ❨667❩ ❛ All you have to do is keep your mouth shut and look stupid. It shouldn't be that hard. ❜ ❨668❩ ❛ Truly amazing, what people can get used to, as long as there are a few compensations. ❜ ❨669❩ ❛ I want everything back, the way it was. ❜ ❨670❩ ❛ You can't help what you feel, but you can help how you behave. ❜ ❨671❩ ❛ Nothing changes instantaneously: in a gradually heating bathtub you'd be boiled to death before you knew it. ❜ ❨672❩ ❛ To want is to have a weakness. ❜ ❨673❩ ❛ There isn't even an enemy you could put your finger on. ❜ ❨674❩ ❛ The past is a great darkness, filled with echoes. ❜ ❨675❩ ❛ Ordinary is what you are used to. This may not seem ordinary to you now, but after a time it will. It will become ordinary. ❜ ❨676❩ ❛ I wish this story were different. I wish it were more civilised. I wish it showed me in a better light. ❜ ❨677❩ ❛ The night is mine, my own time, to do with it as I will, as long as I am quiet. As long as I don't move. As long as I lie still. ❜ ❨678❩ ❛ By telling you anything at all I'm at least believing in you. ❜ ❨679❩ ❛ Whatever is silenced will clamour to be heard. ❜ ❨680❩ ❛ Don't worry about forgiving me right now. There are more important things. ❜ ❨681❩ ❛ Keep the others safe. Don't let them suffer too much. If they have to die, let it be fast. ❜ ❨682❩ ❛ The body is so easily damaged, so easily disposed of, water and chemicals is all it is, hardly more to it than a jellyfish, drying on sand. ❜ ❨683❩ ❛ The world is full of weapons if you're looking for them. ❜ ❨684❩ ❛ Nobody's heart is perfect. ❜ ❨685❩ ❛ One false move and I'm dead. ❜ ❨686❩ ❛ Watch out. I've got my eye on you. ❜ ❨687❩ ❛ Fear is a powerful stimulant. ❜ ❨688❩ ❛ I couldn't afford to lose you. ❜ ❨689❩ ❛ Name one hero who was happy. ---- You can’t. ❜ ❨690❩ ❛ I feel like I could eat the world raw. ❜ ❨691❩ ❛ We are like gods at the dawning of the world. ❜ ❨692❩ ❛ I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world. ❜ ❨693❩ ❛ There are no bargains between lion and men. I will kill you and eat you raw. ❜ ❨694❩ ❛ You can use a spear as a walking stick, but that will not change its nature. ❜ ❨695❩ ❛ He is a weapon, a killer. Do not forget it. ❜ ❨696❩ ❛ Some men gain glory after they die, others fade. ❜ ❨697❩ ❛ I am made of memories. ❜ ❨698❩ ❛ Will you come with me? ❜ ❨699❩ ❛ I wish I had let you all die. ❜ ❨700❩ ❛ It is right to seek peace for the dead. You and I both know there is no peace for those who live after. ❜ ❨701❩ ❛ Bury us. Let us be free. ❜ ❨702❩ ❛ Go. He waits for you. ❜ ❨703❩ ❛ Nothing could eclipse the stain of this dirty, mortal mediocrity. ❜ ❨704❩ ❛ I know I have told you of this. ❜ ❨705❩ ❛ I don't know how you remember them all. I swear they look the same to me. ❜ ❨706❩ ❛ Perhaps you should get some new stories, so I don’t fucking kill myself of boredom. ❜ ❨707❩ ❛ I yearn for the darkness and silence of the underworld, where I can rest. ❜ ❨708❩ ❛ There is no honour in betraying your friends. ❜ ❨709❩ ❛ There is no answer. Whichever you choose, you are wrong. ❜ ❨710❩ ❛ Divine blood flows differently. ❜ ❨711❩ ❛ How is there glory in taking life? We die so easily. ❜ ❨712❩ ❛ This is what I will miss, I think. I will kill myself rather than miss it. ❜ ❨713❩ ❛ How long do we have? ❜ ❨714❩ ❛ Do you think we fight hopeless wars? ❜ ❨715❩ ❛ There is no law that gods must be fair. ❜ ❨716❩ ❛ I do not fear ridicule. I never have. ❜ ❨717❩ ❛ You were always better with words than I. ❜ ❨718❩ ❛ Who can be ashamed to lose to such beauty? ❜ ❨719❩ ❛ When you see beauty in desolation it changes something inside you. ❜ ❨720❩ ❛ That's how the madness of the world tries to colonise you: from the outside in, forcing you to live in its reality. ❜ ❨721❩ ❛ The shadows of the abyss are like the petals of a monstrous flower that shall blossom within the skull and expand the mind beyond what any man can bear. ❜ ❨722❩ ❛ Silence creates violence. ❜ ❨723❩ ❛ Some questions will ruin you if you are denied the answer long enough. ❜ ❨724❩ ❛ There are certain kinds of connections that are so deep that when broken you feel the snap of it inside you. ❜ ❨725❩ ❛ Nothing that ever lived and breathed was truly objective—even in a vacuum, even if all that possessed the brain was a self-immolating desire for the truth. ❜ ❨726❩ ❛ We all live in a kind of continuous dream. ❜ ❨727❩ ❛ You can either waste time worrying about a death that might not come or concentrate on what’s left to you. ❜ ❨728❩ ❛ What can you do when your five senses are not enough? ❜ ❨729❩ ❛ We will neither be what we had been nor what we would become once we reach our destination. ❜ ❨730❩ ❛ Perhaps my only real expertise, my only talent, is to endure beyond the endurable. ❜ ❨731❩ ❛ When you are too close to the centre of a mystery there is no way to pull back. ❜ ❨732❩ ❛ I long ago stopped believing in promises. Biological imperatives, yes. Environmental factors, yes. Promises, no. ❜ ❨733❩ ❛ I look not for shooting stars but for fixed ones, and I try to imagine what kind of life lives in those celestial tidal pools so far from us. ❜ ❨734❩ ❛ I hesitated for just a moment. Some part of me wanted to see the creature, I think. If so, it was a very small part. I ran. ❜ ❨735❩ ❛ I don’t require any of this to have a deeper meaning. ❜ ❨736❩ ❛ All of this speculation is incomplete, inexact, inaccurate, useless. ❜ ❨737❩ ❛ We don’t have real answers, because we still don’t know what questions to ask. Our instruments are useless, our methodology broken, our motivations selfish. ❜ ❨738❩ ❛ This part I will do alone. Don’t follow. ❜ ❨739❩ ❛ People my entire life have told me I am too much in control, but that has never been the case. I have never truly been in control. ❜ ❨740❩ ❛ Has there always been someone like me to bury the bodies, to have regrets, to carry on after everyone else was dead? ❜ ❨741❩ ❛ I loved them, but I didn’t need them, and I thought that was the way it was supposed to be. ❜ ❨742❩ ❛ Places can impress themselves upon me, and I can become part of them with ease. ❜ ❨743❩ ❛ There is no one with me. I am all by myself. ❜ ❨744❩ ❛ Pretending often leads to becoming a reasonable facsimile of what you mimic. ❜ ❨745❩ ❛ I think you're confusing suicide with self-destruction, and they're very different. Almost none of us commit suicide, whereas almost all of us self-destruct. ❜ ❨746❩ ❛ What did you eat? You had rations for only two weeks. You were there for nearly four months. ❜ ❨747❩ ❛ Something here is making giant waves in the gene pool. ❜ ❨748❩ ❛ I need to know what’s inside. ❜ ❨749❩ ❛ These aren't decisions. They're impulses ❜ ❨750❩ ❛ What do you think I do when you’re away? Do you think I’m out in the garden pinning, looking up at the sky? ❜ ❨751❩ ❛ If I know what’s happened I can save their life. ❜ ❨752❩ ❛ They either went crazy or something in here killed them. ❜ ❨753❩ ❛ Something is coming through the fence! ❜ ❨754❩ ❛ Nothing is written in the stars. Not these stars, nor any others. No one controls your destiny. ❜ ❨755❩ ❛ People who claim that they're evil are usually no worse than the rest of us. ❜ ❨756❩ ❛ Happy endings are still endings. ❜ ❨757❩ ❛ We believe in all sorts of things that aren't true; -- we call it history. ❜ ❨758❩ ❛ Does the devil ever struggle to be good again, or if so is he not a devil? ❜ ❨759❩ ❛ In the lives of children, pumpkins turn into coaches, mice and rats turn into men. When we grow up, we realise it is far more common for men to turn into rats. ❜ ❨760❩ ❛ Girls need cold anger. They need the cold simmer, the ceaseless grudge, the talent to avoid forgiveness, the side stepping of compromise.  ❜ ❨761❩ ❛ Love makes hunters of us all. ❜ ❨762❩ ❛ There is much to hate in this world and way too much to love. ❜ ❨763❩ ❛ You confuse not speaking with not listening. ❜ ❨764❩ ❛ As long as people are going to call you a lunatic anyway, why not get the benefit of it? It liberates you from convention. ❜ ❨765❩ ❛ The eye is always caught by light, but shadows have more to say. ❜ ❨766❩ ❛ Not everyone is born a witch or a saint. Not everyone is born talented, or crooked, or blessed; some are born definite in no particular at all. ❜ ❨767❩ ❛ We are a fountain of shimmering contradictions, most of us. ❜ ❨768❩ ❛ The wickedness of men is that their power breeds stupidity and blindness. ❜ ❨769❩ ❛ I know you don't want to hear this but someone has to say it! You are out of control! ❜ ❨770❩ ❛ Even at the very worst - there is always choice. ❜ ❨771❩ ❛ Maybe the definition of home is the place where you are never forgiven. So you may always belong there, bound by guilt. And maybe the cost of belonging is worth it. ❜ ❨772❩ ❛ Cross a man and you struggle, one of you wins, you adjust and go on -- or you lie there dead. Cross a woman and the entire universe is changed. ❜ ❨773❩ ❛ That was such a wonderful time, even in its strangeness and sadness. Life isn't the same now. It's wonderful, but it isn't the same. ❜ ❨774❩ ❛ I don't care for approval, and I don't mind doing without. ❜ ❨775❩ ❛ It's where I live. A permanent state of bereavement. This is nothing new. ❜ ❨776❩ ❛ Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. Always the godfather, never the god. ❜ ❨777❩ ❛ The world unwraps itself to you, again and again as soon as you are ready to see it anew. ❜ ❨778❩ ❛ Evil is an act, not an appetite. Everyone has the appetite. If you give in to it, that act is evil. The appetite is normal. ❜ ❨779❩ ❛ How many haven't wanted to slash the throat of some boor across the dining room table?  ❜ ❨780❩ ❛ Even God used silence as a strategy. ❜ ❨781❩ ❛ I learned failure early and mastered it. ❜ ❨782❩ ❛ It isn't whether you do it well or ill, it's that you do it all. ❜ ❨783❩ ❛ This is why you shouldn't fall in love, it blinds you. Love is a very wicked distraction. ❜ ❨784❩ ❛ Wisdom is not the understanding of mystery. Wisdom is accepting that mystery is beyond understanding. That's what makes it mystery. ❜ ❨785❩ ❛ Wrong takes an awful long time to be proven, in my experience. ❜ ❨786❩ ❛ Such brightness, as you know, decays brilliantly. ❜ ❨787❩ ❛ I take responsibility only for the future, not the past. The past can't hurt you the way the future can. ❜ ❨788❩ ❛ Tell me to mind my own business, tell me to go fuck myself, to piss off, go on, say it, but don’t tell me nothing’s wrong. ❜ ❨789❩ ❛ The truth isn't a thing of fact or reason. It is simply what everyone agrees on. ❜ ❨790❩ ❛ One can't make peace with another by force. ❜ ❨791❩ ❛ I am a forgettable leaf on a tree. ❜ ❨792❩ ❛ That's all I want; --- to do no harm. ❜ ❨793❩ ❛ I only believe in the opposite of luck, whatever that is. ❜ ❨794❩ ❛ Human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves. ❜ ❨795❩ ❛ You’re too young to know that the heart's memory eliminates the bad and magnifies the good, and thanks to that we manage to endure the burden of the past. ❜ ❨796❩ ❛ Love, no matter what else it might be, is a natural talent. You are either born knowing how, or you never know. ❜ ❨797❩ ❛ Whatever you do, you will be sorry all the rest of your life. ❜ ❨798❩ ❛ There is no God worth worrying about. ❜ ❨799❩ ❛ The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love. ❜ ❨800❩ ❛ Wisdom comes to us when it can no longer do any good. ❜ ❨801❩ ❛ Think of love as a state of grace, not the means to anything, but the very end in itself. ❜ ❨802❩ ❛ Only God knows how much I love you. ❜ ❨803❩ ❛ There is no greater glory than to die for love. ❜ ❨804❩ ❛ Nothing resembles a person as much as the way he dies. ❜ ❨805❩ ❛ Take advantage of it now, while you are young, and suffer all you can, because these things don't last your whole life. ❜ ❨806❩ ❛ Today, when I saw you, I realised that what is between us is nothing more than an illusion. ❜ ❨807❩ ❛ I have waited for this opportunity for more than half a century. ❜ ❨808❩ ❛ I want to be myself again, to recover all that I was obliged to give up. ❜ ❨809❩ ❛ The only thing worse than bad health is a bad name. ❜ ❨810❩ ❛ This soup tastes like windows. ❜ ❨811❩ ❛ Why do you insist on talking about what does not exist? ❜ ❨812❩ ❛ One has to live a long time to know a man's true nature. ❜ ❨813❩ ❛ No, not rich, I am a poor man with money, which is not the same thing. ❜ ❨814❩ ❛ My heart has more rooms than a whorehouse. ❜ ❨815❩ ❛ That may be the reason he does so many things, so that he will not have to think. ❜ ❨816❩ ❛ Love if it exists, is something separate: another life. ❜ ❨817❩ ❛ Things did not go as badly for me as they would for you. ❜ ❨818❩ ❛ There are things you do only for love. ❜ ❨819❩ ❛ I’ll have plenty of time to rest when I die. ❜ ❨820❩ ❛ There is no innocence more dangerous than the innocence of age. ❜ ❨821❩ ❛ You treat me as if I were just anybody. ❜ ❨822❩ ❛ The symptoms of love are the same as those of cholera. ❜ ❨823❩ ❛ There is no law, human or divine, that you have not ignored. ❜ ❨824❩ ❛ Why is it that I feel I've known you so many years? ❜ ❨825❩ ❛ Stuff your eyes with wonder, live as if you'd drop dead in ten seconds. See the world. It's more fantastic than any dream made or paid for in factories. ❜ ❨826❩ ❛ It doesn't matter what you do, so long as you change something from the way it was before you touched it into something that's like you after you take your hands away. ❜ ❨827❩ ❛ We need to be really bothered once in a while. How long is it since you were really bothered? About something important, about something real? ❜ ❨828❩ ❛ There must be something, something we can’t imagine, to make a woman stay in a burning house; there must be something there. You don’t stay for nothing. ❜ ❨829❩ ❛ If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you'll never learn. ❜ ❨830❩ ❛ If you drown, at least die knowing you were heading for shore. ❜ ❨831❩ ❛ You can't make people listen. They have to come round in their own time, wondering what happened and why the world blew up around them. ❜ ❨832❩ ❛ It was a pleasure to burn. ❜ ❨833❩ ❛ I'm antisocial, they say. I don't mix. It's so strange. I'm very social indeed. It all depends on what you mean by social, doesn't it? ❜ ❨834❩ ❛ Being with people is nice. But I don't think it's social to get a bunch of people together and then not let them talk, do you? ❜ ❨835❩ ❛ Do you notice how people hurt each other nowadays? ❜ ❨836❩ ❛ Who knows who might be the target of the well-read man? ❜ ❨837❩ ❛ I don't talk things. I talk the meaning of things. ❜ ❨838❩ ❛ I'll hold on to the world tight some day. I've got one finger on it now; that's a beginning. ❜ ❨839❩ ❛ I just want someone to hear what I have to say. And maybe if I talk long enough it'll make sense. ❜ ❨840❩ ❛ That's the good part of dying; when you've nothing to lose, you run any risk you want. ❜ ❨841❩ ❛ Someday we'll build the biggest goddamn steamshovel in history and dig the biggest grave of all time and shove war in it and cover it up. ❜ ❨842❩ ❛ You're not like the others. I've seen a few; I know. When I talk, you look at me. ❜ ❨843❩ ❛ You're afraid of making mistakes. Don't be. Mistakes can be profited by. ❜ ❨844❩ ❛ When they give you lined paper, write the other way. ❜ ❨845❩ ❛ The sun burnt every day. It burnt time. ❜ ❨846❩ ❛ We have everything we need to be happy but we aren't happy. Something is missing. ❜ ❨847❩ ❛ I feel I'm doing what I should've done a lifetime ago. ❜ ❨848❩ ❛ I'm not afraid. Maybe it's because I'm doing the right thing at last. Maybe it's because I've done a rash thing and don't want to look the coward to you. ❜ ❨849❩ ❛ Good God, who were those men? I never saw them before in my life! ❜ ❨850❩ ❛ How do you get so empty? Who takes it out of you? ❜ ❨851❩ ❛ It must be right. It seems so right. ❜ ❨852❩ ❛ To everything there is a season. Yes. A time to break down, and a time to build up. A time to keep silence and a time to speak. ❜ ❨853❩ ❛ It's my game. And no one can help me. Not even you. ❜ ❨854❩ ❛ What makes earth feel like hell is our expectation that it should feel like heaven. Earth is earth. Dead is dead. You’ll find out for yourself soon enough. ❜ ❨855❩ ❛ Death is a long process. Your body is just the first part of you that croaks. Beyond that, your dreams have to die. Then your expectations. Your anger and memories must die. Your ego. Your pride and shame and ambition and hope. ❜ ❨856❩ ❛ Help me give up my addiction to hope. ❜ ❨857❩ ❛ Life is short, death is forever. ❜ ❨858❩ ❛ Hope is something really tough and tenacious you have to give up. It’s an addiction to break. ❜ ❨859❩ ❛ If the living are haunted by the dead, then the dead are haunted by their own mistakes. ❜ ❨860❩ ❛ We all wish to be pursued. We all long to be desired. ❜ ❨861❩ ❛ All the demons of hell formerly reigned as gods in previous cultures. No it's not fair, but one man's god is another man's devil. ❜ ❨862❩ ❛ I can become someone else, not out of pressure and desperation, but merely because a new life sounds fun or interesting or joyful. ❜ ❨863❩ ❛ It's my petty fear of personal rejection that allows so many true evils to exist. My cowardice enables atrocities. ❜ ❨864❩ ❛ You fucked up. Game over. So just relax. ❜ ❨865❩ ❛ The greatest weapon any warrior can carry into battle is absolute certainty of her eternal soul. ❜ ❨866❩ ❛ If killing you will end my existence as well, be it. Small loss. Such a life, as your puppet, is not worth living. ❜ ❨867❩ ❛ I might be a touch of a sadist and a little bit jejune but at least I'm not a victim, not any longer. I hope. ❜ ❨868❩ ❛ Dying seems like the greatest weakness, and in a world where people say you're lazy for not shaving your legs, then being dead seems like the ultimate character flaw. ❜ ❨869❩ ❛ Any concept of right versus wrong, is merely a cultural construct relative to one specific time and place. ❜ ❨870❩ ❛ To prove that I exist I must kill you. ❜ ❨871❩ ❛ I'd say that my life has been a way-too-long case history of chasing rainbows. ❜ ❨872❩ ❛ The world is a battle for attention, a war to be heard. ❜ ❨873❩ ❛ Every garden looks beautiful in May. ❜ ❨874❩ ❛ When we neglect to fear such brittle monstrosity, we render it powerless. ❜ ❨875❩ ❛ My taste for power continues to grow, as does my ability to accrue it. ❜ ❨876❩ ❛ Such language! Why don't you just take a dump in my ears? ❜ ❨877❩ ❛ You’d be foolish to count on people displaying high standards of honesty. ❜ ❨878❩ ❛ Depending on her mood, she can be more frightening than any demon or devil you might ever run across. ❜ ❨879❩ ❛ Cross your fingers! Maybe death won't happen to you. ❜ ❨880❩ ❛ Do not die while wearing cheap shoes. ❜ ❨881❩ ❛ Old habits die hard. ❜ ❨882❩ ❛ It's our attachments to a fixed identity that torture us. ❜ ❨883❩ ❛ What do I think I am? In a thousand words; I don't have a clue. ❨884❩ ❛ If I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me. ❜ ❨885❩ ❛ All I wanted was to be loved for myself. ❜ ❨886❩ ❛ I have tasted all the happiness the world can offer. ❜ ❨887❩ ❛ Shall we pity him? Shall we curse him? ❜ ❨888❩ ❛ You have a heart that can hold the entire empire of the world. ❜ ❨889❩ ❛ Look, I am not laughing now, crying, crying for you. ❜ ❨890❩ ❛ Tonight I gave you my soul, and I am dead. ❜ ❨891❩ ❛ You are afraid of me! And yet I am not really wicked. Love me and you shall see! ❜ ❨892❩ ❛ Are people so unhappy when they love? --- Yes, when they love and are not sure of being loved. ❜ ❨893❩ ❛ Your soul is a beautiful thing. No emperor received so fair a gift. The angels wept tonight. ❜ ❨894❩ ❛ Blood!...Blood!... That's a good thing! ❜ ❨895❩ ❛ Now I want to live like everybody else. I want to have a life like everybody else. ❜ ❨896❩ ❛ You will be the happiest of women. And we will sing, all by ourselves, till we swoon away with delight. ❜ ❨897❩ ❛ I should be as gentle as a lamb; and you could do anything with me that you pleased. ❜ ❨898❩ ❛ I am going to die of love, I am dying of love. That's how it is. I loved you so. I still love you so. ❜ ❨899❩ ❛ I am dying of love for her, I tell you! If only you knew how beautiful she was when she let me kiss her. ❜ ❨900❩ ❛ He fills me with horror but I do not hate him. How can I hate him? ❜ ❨901❩ ❛ Holy angel, in Heaven blessed, my spirit longs with thee to rest. ❜ ❨902❩ ❛ Nothing is colder or more dead than my heart. ❜ ❨903❩ ❛ I had loved an angel and now I despise a woman. ❜ ❨904❩ ❛ Our lives are one masked ball. ❜ ❨905❩ ❛ Why do you condemn a man whom you have never met, whom no one knows and about whom even you yourself know nothing? ❜ ❨906❩ ❛ He would commit murder for me. ❜ ❨907❩ ❛ If I don't save her from the hands of that humbug, she is lost. But I shall save her. ❜ ❨908❩ ❛ We will go from here together or die together. ❜ ❨909❩ ❛ Your fear, your terror, all of that is just love and love of the most exquisite kind, the kind which people do not admit even to themselves. The kind that gives you a thrill, when you think of it. ❜ ❨910❩ ❛ Destiny has chained you to me forever. ❜ ❨911❩ ❛ You must never ask me that. ❜ ❨912❩ ❛ Are you afraid that you will change your mind? ❜ ❨913❩ ❛ You must come and fetch me in my dressing room at midnight exactly. ❜ ❨914❩ ❛ The holes in your life are permanent. You have to grow around them, like tree roots around concrete; you mould yourself through the gaps. ❜ ❨915❩ ❛ I have never understood how people can blithely disregard the damage they do by following their hearts. ❜ ❨916❩ ❛ There’s something comforting about the sight of strangers safe at home. ❜ ❨917❩ ❛ I have lost control over everything, even the places in my head. ❜ ❨918❩ ❛ It’s possible to miss what you’ve never had, to even mourn for it. ❜ ❨919❩ ❛ There’s nothing so painful, so corrosive, as suspicion. ❜ ❨920❩ ❛ When did you become so weak? ❜ ❨921❩ ❛ I don’t know where that strength went, I don’t remember losing it. I think that over time it got chipped away, bit by bit, by life, by the living of it. ❜ ❨922❩ ❛ Let’s be honest: women are still only really valued for two things—their looks and their role as mothers. ❜ ❨923❩ ❛ Sadness gets boring after a while, for the sad person and for everyone around them. ❜ ❨924❩ ❛ I’m playing at real life instead of actually living it. ❜ ❨925❩ ❛ I’ve just got to let myself feel the pain, because if I don’t, if I keep numbing it, it’ll never really go away. ❜ ❨926❩ ❛ I am not the girl I used to be. I am no longer desirable, I’m off-putting in some way. It’s as if people can see the damage written all over me, can see it in my face, the way I hold myself, the way I move. ❜ ❨927❩ ❛ Who was it that said following your heart is a good thing? It is pure egotism, a selfishness to conquer all. ❜ ❨928❩ ❛ It’s impossible to resist the kindness of strangers. ❜ ❨929❩ ❛ Sometimes I catch myself trying to remember the last time I had meaningful physical contact with another person, just a hug or a heartfelt squeeze of my hand, and my heart twitches. ❜ ❨930❩ ❛ I have to find a way of making myself happy, I have to stop looking for happiness elsewhere. ❜ ❨931❩ ❛ How did I find myself here? I wonder where it started, my decline; I wonder at what point I could have halted it. Where did I take the wrong turn? ❜ ❨932❩ ❛ Now look -- Now look what you made me do. ❜ ❨933❩ ❛ It’s okay, whatever you did, whatever you’ve done: you suffered, you hurt, you deserve forgiveness. ❜ ❨934❩ ❛ They’re what I lost, they’re everything I want to be. ❜ ❨935❩ ❛ You broke me and I broke us. ❜ ❨936❩ ❛ I’ve been the fool. If he does it with you, he’ll do it to you. ❜ ❨937❩ ❛ I’d never realised, not until now, how shameful it is to be pitied. ❜ ❨938❩ ❛ Sometimes, I don’t want to go anywhere, I think I’ll be happy if I never have to set foot outside the house again. ❜ ❨939❩ ❛ I don’t believe in soul mates, but there’s an understanding between us that I just haven’t felt before, or at least, not for a long time. ❜ ❨940❩ ❛ There can be no greater agony, nothing can be more painful than the not knowing, which will never end. ❜ ❨941❩ ❛ Being the other woman is a huge turn-on, there’s no point in denying it: you’re the one he can’t help but betray his wife for, even though he loves her. That’s just how irresistible you are. ❜ ❨942❩ ❛ I feel a rush of gratitude so strong, it feels almost like love. ❜ ❨943❩ ❛ You don’t know how determined I can be. Once I’ve made my mind up, I’m a force to be reckoned with. ❜ ❨944❩ ❛ The more I want to be oblivious, the less I can be. Life and light will not let me be. ❜ ❨945❩ ❛ You don’t have to be afraid of being alone. It’s not the worst thing, is it? ❜ ❨946❩ ❛ I have felt this way before. On a larger scale, to a more intense degree, of course, but I remember the quality of the pain. You don’t forget it. ❜ ❨947❩ ❛ If he thinks I’m going to sit around crying, he’s got another thing coming. ❜ ❨948❩ ❛ I don’t like to lose. It’s not like me. None of this is like me. I don’t get rejected. I’m the one who walks away. ❜ ❨949❩ ❛ I don’t remember anger, raging fury. I remember fear. ❜ ❨950❩ ❛ I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept in days. I hate it, hate insomnia more than anything, just lying there, brain going round, tick, tick, tick, tick. ❜ ❨951❩ ❛ Maybe the courage I need has nothing to do with telling the truth and everything to do with walking away. ❜ ❨952❩ ❛ I’m not beautiful, and I can’t have kids, so what does that make me? Worthless. ❜ ❨953❩ ❛ Failure cloaked me like a mantle, it overwhelmed me, dragged me under and I gave up hope. ❜ ❨954❩ ❛ It’s an odd thing to say, but I think this all the time; I don’t feel bad enough. ❜ ❨955❩ ❛ Some battles aren’t worth fighting. ❜ ❨956❩ ❛ I never felt guilty. I pretended I did. I had to. ❜ ❨957❩ ❛ I never meant for any of this to happen, we fell in love, what could we do? ❜ ❨958❩ ❛ What bothers me most is that I haven’t got to the end of my story, and I can’t start over with someone else, it’s too hard. ❜ ❨959❩ ❛ A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended. ❜ ❨960❩ ❛ It isn’t only wickedness and scheming that make people unhappy, it is confusion and misunderstanding. ❜ ❨961❩ ❛ Falling in love can be achieved in a single word—a glance. ❜ ❨962❩ ❛ Though you think the world is at your feet, it can rise up and tread on you. ❜ ❨963❩ ❛ I’ve never had a moment’s doubt. I love you. I believe in you completely. You are my dearest one. My reason for life. ❜ ❨964❩ ❛ It might hurt, it is horribly inconvenient, no good might come of it, but it is what it is to be in love. ❜ ❨965❩ ❛ It was always an impossible task, and that was precisely the point. ❜ ❨966❩ ❛ Come back, come back to me. ❜ ❨967❩ ❛ In my thoughts I make love to you all day long. ❜ ❨968❩ ❛ The truth is I feel rather light headed and foolish in your presence and I don’t think I can blame the heat. ❜ ❨969❩ ❛ Beauty occupies a narrow band. Ugliness, on the other hand, has infinite variation. ❜ ❨970❩ ❛ Is there any meaning in my life that the inevitable death awaiting me does not destroy? ❜ ❨971❩ ❛ However, withered, I still feel myself to be exactly the same person I’ve always been. ❜ ❨972❩ ❛ Hate is a feeling as pure as love, but dispassionate and icily rational. ❜ ❨973❩ ❛ I’m going mad. Let me not be mad. ❜ ❨974❩ ❛ Is everyone really as alive as I am? ❜ ❨975❩ ❛ Every now and then, quite unintentionally, someone teaches you something about yourself. ❜ ❨976❩ ❛ Something has happened, hasn’t it? ❜ ❨977❩ ❛ I like to think that it isn’t weakness or evasion, but a final act of kindness. ❜ ❨978❩ ❛ Is it possible that I am, in the modern term, in denial? ❜ ❨979❩ ❛ How could anyone presume to know the world through the eyes of an insect? ❜ ❨980❩ ❛ Not everything has a cause. Some things are simply so. ❜ ❨981❩ ❛ I’ll be quite honest with you. I’m torn between breaking your neck here and throwing you down the stairs. ❜ ❨982❩ ❛ How old do you have to be before you know the difference between right and wrong? ❜ ❨983❩ ❛ It was never meant to be read. ❜ ❨984❩ ❛ If I fell in the river, would you save me? ❜ ❨985❩ ❛ That was an incredibly bloody stupid thing to do. ❜ ❨986❩ ❛ I want to thank you for saving my life. I’ll be eternally grateful to you. ❜ ❨987❩ ❛ I’m very, very sorry for the terrible distress that I have caused. I’m very, very sorry. ❜ ❨988❩ ❛ Don’t call me that! – Please don’t call me that. ❜ ❨989❩ ❛ It may be the wrong decision, but fuck it, it’s mine. ❜ ❨990❩ ❛ Like patience, passion comes from the same Latin root: pati. It does not mean to flow with exuberance. It means to suffer. ❜ ❨991❩ ❛ No one ever really gets used to nightmares. ❜ ❨992❩ ❛ I still get nightmares. In fact, I get them so often I should be used to them by now. I’m not. ❜ ❨993❩ ❛ Sublime is something you choke on after a shot of tequila. ❜ ❨994❩ ❛ Some people reflect light, some deflect it, you by some miracle, seem to collect it. ❜ ❨995❩ ❛ Beautiful women are always drawn to men they think will keep them beautiful. ❜ ❨996❩ ❛ The ruminations are mine, let the world be yours. ❜ ❨997❩ ❛ You will fulfil a promise I made years ago but failed to keep. ❜ ❨998❩ ❛ Darkness never satisfies. Especially if it takes something away which it almost always invariably does. ❜ ❨999❩ ❛ I want something else. I’m not even sure what to call it anymore. ❜ ❨1000❩ ❛ What can I say, I’m a sucker for abandoned stuff, misplaced stuff, forgotten stuff, any old stuff. ❜ ❨1001❩ ❛ Is it possible to love something so much, you imagine it wants to destroy you only because it has denied you? ❜ ❨1002❩ ❛ It’s just silent, no sound at all. It’s like something’s waiting. ❜ ❨1003❩ ❛ I guess I’m hoping the weapons will make me feel better, grant me some kind of fucking control. ❜ ❨1004❩ ❛ Oh and something else: – Fuck you. ❜ ❨1005❩ ❛ God I’ve never been afraid like this. ❜ ❨1006❩ ❛ I miss you. I love you. There’s no second I’ve lived that you can’t call your own. ❜ ❨1007❩ ❛ I’m so tired. Sleep’s been stalking me for too long to remember. Inevitable I suppose. ❜ ❨1008❩ ❛ Not seeing the rip doesn’t mean you automatically get to keep clear of the Hey-I’m-Bleeding part. ❜ ❨1009❩ ❛ These days fantasies flourish and die like summer flies. ❜ ❨1010❩ ❛ Yeah I know, I know. This shit’s getting ridiculous. ❜ ❨1011❩ ❛ ‘Fuck’ and 'fall for’ have very different meanings. The first one you do as much as you can. The second one you never ever, ever do. ❜ ❨1012❩ ❛ It’s a nice idea but it reeks of hope. False hope. ❜ ❨1013❩ ❛ It’s, well…one thing in two words: fucked up…very fucked up. Okay three words, four words, who the hell cares…very very fucked up. ❜ ❨1014❩ ❛ Do you think I could spend the night at your place?  ❜ ❨1015❩ ❛ Any fool can pray. ❜ ❨1016❩ ❛ I feel like I haven’t slept in months. My neighbours are scared of me. ❜ ❨1017❩ ❛ I’ve lost my mind? Maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe I’m just really drunk. ❜ ❨1018❩ ❛ Perhaps by cleaning out my system I’ll come to a clearing where I can ease myself into peace. ❜ ❨1019❩ ❛ I should be dead. Why am I still here? ❜ ❨1020❩ ❛ Fuck if I know. Your guess is as good as mine. ❜ ❨1021❩ ❛ You are my flesh. You are my bones. I know you too well. I read you too perfectly. ❜ ❨1022❩ ❛ Not all complex problems have easy solutions. ❜ ❨1023❩ ❛ Do you believe in God? I don’t think I ever asked you that one. ❜ ❨1024❩ ❛ We all create stories to protect ourselves. ❜ ❨1025❩ ❛ Are you kidding me? This place is scary. ❜ ❨1026❩ ❛ These days the only thing that gets me outside is when I say: Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck this. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. ❜ ❨1027❩ ❛ You like that crap because it reminds you of you. ❜ ❨1028❩ ❛ You may suddenly realise things are not how you perceived them to be at all. ❜ ❨1029❩ ❛ The two hardest tests are the patience to wait for the right moment and the courage not to be disappointed with what we encounter. ❜ ❨1030❩ ❛ People never learn anything by being told, they have to find out for themselves. ❜ ❨1031❩ ❛ Be crazy! But learn how to be crazy without being the center of attention. Be brave enough to live different. ❜ ❨1032❩ ❛ You are someone who is different, but who wants to be the same as everyone else. And that in my view is a serious illness. ❜ ❨1033❩ ❛ God chose you to be different. ❜ ❨1034❩ ❛ Why are you disappointing God with this kind of attitude? ❜ ❨1035❩ ❛ You have two choices, to control your mind or to let your mind control you. ❜ ❨1036❩ ❛ Everyone is indeed crazy, but the craziest are the ones who don't know they're crazy; they just keep repeating what others tell them to. ❜ ❨1037❩ ❛ Haven't you learned anything, not even with the approach of death?  ❜ ❨1038❩ ❛ If people don't like it, they can complain. And if they don't have the courage to complain, that's their problem. ❜ ❨1039❩ ❛ Nothing in this world happens by chance. ❜ ❨1040❩ ❛ I want to continue living my life the way I dream it, and not the way the other people want it to be. ❜ ❨1041❩ ❛ Be like the fountain that overflows, not like the cistern that merely contains. ❜ ❨1042❩ ❛ Collective madness is called sanity. ❜ ❨1043❩ ❛ Consider each day a miracle - which indeed it is, when you consider the number of unexpected things that could happen in each second of our fragile existences. ❜ ❨1044❩ ❛ You say they create their own reality, but what is reality? ❜ ❨1045❩ ❛ Many people don't allow themselves to love because there are a lot of things at risk. A lot of future and a lot of past. ❜ ❨1046❩ ❛ Death frees from the fear of dying. ❜ ❨1047❩ ❛ The danger of an adventure is worth a thousand days of ease and comfort. ❜ ❨1048❩ ❛ The happier people can be, the unhappier they are. ❜ ❨1049❩ ❛ Life is always a matter of waiting for the right moment to act. ❜ ❨1050❩ ❛ It's best to accept life as it really is and not as you imagined it to be. ❜ ❨1051❩ ❛ You don't seem mad at all. ❜ ❨1052❩ ❛ We’re allowed to make a lot of mistakes in our lives, except the mistake that destroys us. ❜ ❨1053❩ ❛ You’re what you are, not what others make of you. ❜ ❨1054❩ ❛ Am I cured? ❜ ❨1055❩ ❛ Real love changes and grows with time and discovers new ways of expressing itself. ❜ ❨1056❩ ❛ A lot of people think something is right, and so that thing becomes right. Is that it? ❜ ❨1057❩ ❛ They think they're normal, because they all do the same thing. ❜ ❨1058❩ ❛ I didn't know that other ‘me’s existed inside me, ‘Me’s that I could love. ❜ ❨1059❩ ❛ I have no idea what's awaiting me. ❜ ❨1060❩ ❛ What will happen when this all ends? ❜ ❨1061❩ ❛ I know that you are capable of great deeds. ❜ ❨1062❩ ❛ A loveless world is a dead world, and always there comes an hour when one is weary of prisons, of one's work, and of devotion to duty, and all one craves for is a loved face, the warmth and wonder of a loving heart. ❜ ❨1063❩ ❛ The truth is that everyone is bored. ❜ ❨1064❩ ❛ I feel more fellowship with the defeated than with saints. Heroism and sanctity don't really appeal to me, I imagine. ❜ ❨1065❩ ❛ If there is one thing one can always yearn for, and sometimes attain, it is human love. ❜ ❨1066❩ ❛ Who would dare to assert that eternal happiness can compensate for even a single moment's suffering? ❜ ❨1067❩ ❛ It's not easy. I've been thinking it over for years. ❜ ❨1068❩ ❛ While we loved each other we didn't need words to make ourselves understood. ❜ ❨1069❩ ❛ People are more often bad than good. ❜ ❨1070❩ ❛ I don't believe in heroism; I know it's easy and I've learned that it can be murderous. ❜ ❨1071❩ ❛ What interests me is living and dying for what one loves. ❜ ❨1072❩ ❛ In fact, nobody is capable of really thinking about anyone, even in the worst calamity. ❜ ❨1073❩ ❛ Nothing in the world is worth turning one's back on what one loves. ❜ ❨1074❩ ❛ Again and again there comes a time in history when the man who dares to say that two and two make four is punished with death. ❜ ❨1075❩ ❛ There are more things to admire in men then to despise. ❜ ❨1076❩ ❛ It is in the thick of calamity that one gets hardened to the truth - in other words, to silence. ❜ ❨1077❩ ❛ What on earth prompted you to take a hand in this? ❜ ❨1078❩ ❛ Your code of morals? What code, if I may ask? ❜ ❨1079❩ ❛ I'm fumbling in the dark, struggling to make something out. But I've long ceased finding anything. ❜ ❨1080❩ ❛ No doubt our love is still there, but quite simply it is unusable, heavy to carry, inert inside of us, sterile as crime or condemnation. ❜ ❨1081❩ ❛ I’m not happy to go, but one needn't be happy to make another start. ❜ ❨1082❩ ❛ I am incapable of suffering for a long time, or being happy for a long time. Which means that I am incapable of anything really worth while. ❜ ❨1083❩ ❛ I should have found the words to keep her with me. ❜ ❨1084❩ ❛ We can't stir a finger in this world without the risk of bringing death to somebody. ❜ ❨1085❩ ❛ The evil that is in the world comes out of ignorance, and good intentions may do as much harm as malevolence, if they lack understanding. ❜ ❨1086❩ ❛ There are always flies and itches. That’s why life is difficult to live. ❜ ❨1087❩ ❛ The best protection against anything is a good bottle of wine. ❜ ❨1088❩ ❛ There is no peace without hope. ❜ ❨1089❩ ❛ It's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment. ❜ ❨1090❩ ❛ There is always something left to love. ❜ ❨1091❩ ❛ A person doesn’t die when he should but when he can. ❜ ❨1092❩ ❛ Things have a life of their own. It's simply a matter of waking up their souls. ❜ ❨1093❩ ❛ Tell me something: why are you fighting? ❜ ❨1094❩ ❛ I've come to realise only just now that I'm fighting because of pride. ❜ ❨1095❩ ❛ One minute of reconciliation is worth more than a whole life of friendship. ❜ ❨1096❩ ❛ It's better than not knowing why you're fighting. Or fighting, like you, for something that doesn't have any meaning for anyone. ❜ ❨1097❩ ❛ Holy Mother of God! ❜ ❨1098❩ ❛ A person does not belong to a place until there is someone dead under the ground. ❜ ❨1099❩ ❛ I was born a son of a bitch and I'm going to die a son of a bitch. ❜ ❨1100❩ ❛ Bad luck doesn't have any chinks in it. ❜ ❨1101❩ ❛ I plead youth as a mitigating circumstance. ❜ ❨1102❩ ❛ Get those bad thoughts out of your head. You're going to be happy. ❜ ❨1103❩ ❛ Children inherit their parents' madness. ❜ ❨1104❩ ❛ I'll turn to ashes in here but I won't give this miserable town the pleasure of seeing me weep. ❜ ❨1105❩ ❛ You would be good in a war. Where you put your eye, you put your bullet. ❜ ❨1106❩ ❛ Men demand much more than you think. ❜ ❨1107❩ ❛ Even the craziest and most persistent love is just a temporary truth. ❜ ❨1108❩ ❛ If we’re alone you can whisper in my ear any crap you can think of. ❜ ❨1109❩ ❛ You have taken this horrible game very seriously and you have done well because you are doing your duty. ❜ ❨1110❩ ❛ We have the right to pull down your pants and give you a whipping at the first sign of disrespect. ❜ ❨1111❩ ❛ What worries me is not your shooting me, because after all, for people like us it's a natural death. ❜ ❨1112❩ ❛ What worries me is that you've ended up as bad as they are. ❜ ❨1113❩ ❛ It is characteristic of men to deny hunger once their appetites are satisfied. ❜ ❨1114❩ ❛ Dying is much more difficult than one imagines. ❜ ❨1115❩ ❛ If you have to go crazy, please go crazy all by yourself! ❜ ❨1116❩ ❛ We have still not had a death. ❜ ❨1117❩ ❛ How awful, the way time passes. ❜ ❨1118❩ ❛ You may be in command of your war, but I'm in command of my house. ❜ ❨1119❩ ❛ I missed you every hour. ❜ ❨1120❩ ❛ You know what the worst part was? It caught me completely by surprise. ❜ ❨1121❩ ❛ I’ve risked my life for you. ❜ ❨1122❩ ❛ The problem with wanting is that it makes us weak. ❜ ❨1123❩ ❛ I love you, even the part of you that loved him. ❜ ❨1124❩ ❛ I’m sorry it took me so long to see you. ❜ ❨1125❩ ❛ I never really belonged anywhere. ❜ ❨1126❩ ❛ Thanks for being my best friend and making my life bearable.  ❜ ❨1127❩ ❛ Thanks for finding me. ❜ ❨1128❩ ❛ You and I are going to change the world. ❜ ❨1129❩ ❛ I’ve been waiting for you a long time. ❜ ❨1130❩ ❛ I’m not used to people trying to kill me. ❜ ❨1131❩ ❛ You’re shaking. ❜ ❨1132❩ ❛ There's nothing wrong with being a lizard. Unless you were born to be a hawk. ❜ ❨1133❩ ❛ Make me your villain. ❜ ❨1134❩ ❛ Just you and me. It’s always just you and me. ❜ ❨1135❩ ❛ Do you blame me for every mistake I made? For every dumb thing I’ve said? ❜ ❨1136❩ ❛ Well, if it gets too bad, give me a signal. ❜ ❨1137❩ ❛ Did you tell him what I showed you in the dark? ❜ ❨1138❩ ❛ Did you miss me when you were gone? ❜ ❨1139❩ ❛ What is infinite? The universe and the greed of men. ❜ ❨1140❩ ❛ You’re interfering with my plan. ❜ ❨1141❩ ❛ Too much champagne? ❜ ❨1142❩ ❛ I hope you don’t expect fairness from me. It isn’t one of my specialties. ❜ ❨1143❩ ❛ There is something more powerful than any army. Something strong enough to topple kings. Faith. ❜ ❨1144❩ ❛ All you said was that I had to kill you. You didn’t say how. ❜ ❨1145❩ ❛ What is she? She’s everything, you dumb son of a bitch. ❜ ❨1146❩ ❛ She’s an ugly little thing. No child should look like that. Pale and sour, like a glass of milk that’s turned. ❜ ❨1147❩ ❛ I wouldn’t make that mistake again. ❜ ❨1148❩ ❛ It’s a great honor, to save a life. You saved many. ❜ ❨1149❩ ❛ In this world, there are things you can only do alone. ❜ ❨1150❩ ❛ What seems like a reasonable distance to one person might feel too far to somebody else. ❜ ❨1151❩ ❛ If you really want to know something, you have to be willing to pay the price. ❜ ❨1152❩ ❛ Why should you be interested in me? ❜ ❨1153❩ ❛ I have been told I've got a darkish personality. A few times. ❜ ❨1154❩ ❛ It's not as if our lives are divided simply into light and dark. There's shadowy middle ground. ❜ ❨1155❩ ❛ I'll write to you. A super-long letter, like in an old-fashioned novel. ❜ ❨1156❩ ❛ The spotlight doesn't suit me. I'm more of a side dish. ❜ ❨1157❩ ❛ The ground we stand on looks solid enough, but if something happens it can drop right out from under you.  ❜ ❨1158❩ ❛ So once you're dead there's just nothing? ❜ ❨1159❩ ❛ If only I could fall sound asleep and wake up in my old reality. ❜ ❨1160❩ ❛ Is action merely the incidental product of thought, or is thought the consequential product of action? ❜ ❨1161❩ ❛ Nobody can shake off their own shadow. ❜ ❨1162❩ ❛ The silence is so deep it hurts. ❜ ❨1163❩ ❛ I may not look it, but I can be a very patient guy. ❜ ❨1164❩ ❛ Killing time is one of my specialities. ❜ ❨1165❩ ❛ You can't fight it. ❜ ❨1166❩ ❛ Tell me something,—do you believe in reincarnation? ❜ ❨1167❩ ❛ I can’t understand nothingness. I can’t understand it and I can’t imagine it. ❜ ❨1168❩ ❛ I can hardly breathe, and my whole body wants to shrink into a corner.  ❜ ❨1169❩ ❛ I do have a few things wrong with me, but those are strictly problems I keep inside. ❜ ❨1170❩ ❛ I can't take it any more, I can't go on any more. ❜ ❨1171❩ ❛ You don't really have it together. ❜ ❨1172❩ ❛ Is it against the law for me to know it? ❜ ❨1173❩ ❛ I keep having the same dream. ❜ ❨1174❩ ❛ Are you asking because you really want an answer? ❜ ❨1175❩ ❛ I hate this! I don't want to be changed this way! ❜ ❨1176❩ ❛ No contradictions, no irony. They do everything according to numerical formulas. ❜ ❨1177❩ ❛ Want to hear the rest? If you’re not interested, I can stop. ❜ ❨1178❩ ❛ If I didn’t have these memories inside me, I would’ve snapped a long time ago. I would’ve curled up in a ditch somewhere and died. ❜ ❨1179❩ ❛ I don’t know what you’re feeling. I won’t even pretend. ❜ ❨1180❩ ❛ What are you doing here, honey? ❜ ❨1181❩ ❛ You're not even old enough to know how bad life gets. ❜ ❨1182❩ ❛ You don't understand me. ❜ ❨1183❩ ❛ All wisdom ends in paradox. ❜ ❨1184❩ ❛ It is love that overthrows empire. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire & brimstone. ❜ ❨1185❩ ❛ I have lost my gift. ❜ ❨1186❩ ❛ Winter is the season of alcoholism and despair. ❜ ❨1187❩ ❛ The seeds of death get lost in the mess that God made us. ❜ ❨1188❩ ❛ They're just memories now. It’s time to forget. ❜ ❨1189❩ ❛ The time has to be right and the heart willing. ❜ ❨1190❩ ❛ The world, a tired performer, offers us another half-assed season. ❜ ❨1191❩ ❛ Capitalism has resulted in material well-being but spiritual bankruptcy. ❜ ❨1192❩ ❛ Grief is natural, overcoming it is a matter of choice. ❜ ❨1193❩ ❛ I want out of that decorating scheme. ❜ ❨1194❩ ❛ With most people suicide is like Russian roulette. Only one chamber has a bullet. ❜ ❨1195❩ ❛ You never get over it but you get where it doesn't bother you so much. ❜ ❨1196❩ ❛ Don't waste your time on life. ❜ ❨1197❩ ❛ I'm a teenager. I've got problems! ❜ ❨1198❩ ❛ Adolescents tend to seek love where they can find it. ❜ ❨1199❩ ❛ Obviously, you've never been a thirteen-year-old girl. ❜ ❨1200❩ ❛ It was a mistake. ❜ ❨1201❩ ❛ It seemed like we were supposed to feel sorry for everything that ever happened, ever. ❜ ❨1202❩ ❛ Buffeted but not broken. ❜ ❨1203❩ ❛ Shit. What have kids got to be worried about now? ❜ ❨1204❩ ❛ If they want trouble, they should go live in Bangladesh. ❜ ❨1205❩ ❛ I can't wait until I get out of here. ❜ ❨1206❩ ❛ When she jumped she probably thought she’d fly. ❜ ❨1207❩ ❛ I do not think the patient truly meant to end her life. Her act was a cry for help. ❜ ❨1208❩ ❛ You're a stone fox. ❜ ❨1209❩ ❛ It was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight. ❜ ❨1210❩ ❛ Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. ❜ ❨1211❩ ❛ He broke my heart. You merely broke my life. ❜ ❨1212❩ ❛ I'm sorry to have deceived you so much, but that's how life is. ❜ ❨1213❩ ❛ Words without experience are meaningless. ❜ ❨1214❩ ❛ I loved you. I was a monster, but I loved you. ❜ ❨1215❩ ❛ Come just as you are. ❜ ❨1216❩ ❛ If a violin string could ache, i would be that string. ❜ ❨1217❩ ❛ Perhaps, somewhere, some day, at a less miserable time, we may see each other again. ❜ ❨1218❩ ❛ What's so dreadful about dying is that you are completely on your own. ❜ ❨1219❩ ❛ Don't touch me; I'll die if you touch me. ❜ ❨1220❩ ❛ You took advantage of my disadvantage. ❜ ❨1221❩ ❛ I walk in a maze I cannot get out of. ❜ ❨1222❩ ❛ Life is just one small piece of light between two eternal darknesses. ❜ ❨1223❩ ❛ Imagine me; I shall not exist if you do not imagine me. ❜ ❨1224❩ ❛ There is no harm in smiling. ❜ ❨1225❩ ❛ There is no point in staying here. There is no point in staying anywhere. ❜ ❨1226❩ ❛ There is nothing more atrociously cruel than an adored child. ❜ ❨1227❩ ❛ I am so tired of being cynical. ❜ ❨1228❩ ❛ Come to live with me, and die with me, and everything with me. ❜ ❨1229❩ ❛ This is the only immortality that you and I may share. ❜ ❨1230❩ ❛ I loved her more than anything I had ever seen or imagined on earth, or hoped for anywhere else. ❜ ❨1231❩ ❛ I was despicable and brutal, and turpid, and everything, mais je t’aimais, je t’aimais! ❜ ❨1232❩ ❛ Years of secret suffering has taught me superhuman self-control. ❜ ❨1233❩ ❛ Solitude is corrupting me. I need company and care. ❜ ❨1234❩ ❛ I've missed you terribly. ❜ ❨1235❩ ❛ I've been revoltingly unfaithful to you. ❜ ❨1236❩ ❛ It doesn't matter a bit, because you've stopped caring anyway. ❜ ❨1237❩ ❛ What makes you say I've stopped caring for you? ❜ ❨1238❩ ❛ Nowadays you have to be a scientist if you want to be a killer. ❜ ❨1239❩ ❛ The sun climbs high in the sky, then starts down. People come, then go. ❜ ❨1240❩ �� Tell me, have you ever thought of killing me? ❜ ❨1241❩ ❛ I can not believe you are the same human being. ❜ ❨1242❩ ❛ Just how urgent is it? ❜ ❨1243❩ ❛ It is time for you to be going. ❜ ❨1244❩ ❛ How is it you know something like that? ❜ ❨1245❩ ❛ I don’t mind. Your mess is my mess. ❜ ❨1246❩ ❛ Everybody has one thing they do not want to lose. ❜ ❨1247❩ ❛ I’ll be late tonight, so don’t wait up for me. ❜ ❨1248❩ ❛ Nothing I’ve tried to do by myself has ever come off. ❜ ❨1249❩ ❛ I am not catching you in the middle of anything important, am I? ❜ ❨1250❩ ❛ Some things are forgotten, some things disappear, some things die. ❜ ❨1251❩ ❛ My biggest fault is that the faults I was born with grow bigger each year. ❜ ❨1252❩ ❛ To get irritated is to lose our way in life. ❜ ❨1253❩ ❛ A friend to kill time is a friend sublime. ❜ ❨1254❩ ❛ I don't really know if it's the right thing to do. ❜ ❨1255❩ ❛ Faster cars and more cats run over? Who needs it? ❜ ❨1256❩ ❛ Most of everything you think you know about me is nothing more than memories. ❜ ❨1257❩ ❛ Your fate is and will always be the fate of a dreamer. ❜ ❨1258❩ ❛ You’re loads better than you think you are. ❜ ❨1259❩ ❛ You’re only half-living, the other half is still untapped somewhere. ❜ ❨1260❩ ❛ The song is over. But the melody lingers on. ❜ ❨1261❩ ❛ You are extraordinary. ❜ ❨1262❩ ❛ We tend to fool ourselves into thinking that time is our size, but it really goes on and on. ❜ ❨1263❩ ❛ It could be five years or ten years or one month. It's all the same. ❜ ❨1264❩ ❛ I’m forever realising things too late. ❜ ❨1265❩ ❛ I’m not complaining when I say my life is boring. ❜ ❨1266❩ ❛ Weakness is something that rots in the body. ❜ ❨1267❩ ❛ Coming from your mouth, it has the ring of truth, but I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them. ❜ ❨1268❩ ❛ You can't expect something unreal to last anyway, can you? ❜ ❨1269❩ ❛ A wise man does not step betwixt the beast and his meat. ❜ ❨1270❩ ❛ So, kill me. Tell the others I attacked you so you killed me. ❜ ❨1271❩ ❛ Should never have come here. ❜ ❨1272❩ ❛ Hard to guess my tastes. ❜ ❨1273❩ ❛ Can’t it wait until the morning? ❜ ❨1274❩ ❛ You’ll find temper tantrums won’t help you here. ❜ ❨1275❩ ❛ It must have taken courage to return. ❜ ❨1276❩ ❛ It all sounds grimly dystopian. ❜ ❨1277❩ ❛ I am not afraid of you! ❜ ❨1278❩ ❛ All this could be avoided! ❜ ❨1279❩ ❛ You consider me a murderer? ❜ ❨1280❩ ❛ Gross way to die. ❜ ❨1281❩ ❛ What sparks wars? The will to power, the backbone of human nature. ❜ ❨1282❩ ❛ My life amounts to no more than one drop in a limitless ocean. Yet what is any ocean, but a multitude of drops? ❜ ❨1283❩ ❛ Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others. ❜ ❨1284❩ ❛ I believe there is another world waiting for us. A better world. And I'll be waiting for you there. ❜ ❨1285❩ ❛ You are allowed to feel messed up and inside out. It doesn't mean you're defective - it just means you're human. ❜ ❨1286❩ ❛ Power, time, gravity, love. The forces that really kick ass are all invisible. ❜ ❨1287❩ ❛ Unlimited power in the hands of limited people always leads to cruelty. ❜ ❨1288❩ ❛ Truth is singular. Its 'versions' are mistruths. ❜ ❨1289❩ ❛ Dreams are all I have ever truly owned. ❜ ❨1290❩ ❛ Your version of the truth is the only thing that matters. ❜ ❨1291❩ ❛ I believe death is only a door. One closes, and another opens. ❜ ❨1292❩ ❛ By each crime and every kindness, we birth our future. ❜ ❨1293❩ ❛ The healthy can't understand the emptied, the broken. ❜ ❨1294❩ ❛ Lying's wrong, but when the world spins backwards, a small wrong may be a big right. ❜ ❨1295❩ ❛ The weak are meat the strong do eat. ❜ ❨1296❩ ❛ Do whatever you can't not do. ❜ ❨1297❩ ❛ What precipitates outcomes? Vicious acts & virtuous acts. ❜ ❨1298❩ ❛ I remain thankful to God for all his mercies. ❜ ❨1299❩ ❛ You can maintain power over people, as long as you give them something. Rob a man of everything, and that man will no longer be in your power. ❜ ❨1300❩ ❛ Power. The ability to determine another man's luck. ❜ ❨1301❩ ❛ Pain is strong, aye - but friends' eyes, more strong. ❜ ❨1302❩ ❛ Perhaps those deprived of beauty perceive it most instinctively. ❜ ❨1303❩ ❛ Why ask a question whose answer would demand ten more questions? ❜ ❨1304❩ ❛ You can’t lie to your soul. ❜ ❨1305❩ ❛ Why would I want to do a thing like that? ❜ ❨1306❩ ❛ We start off with high hopes, then we bottle it. ❜ ❨1307❩ ❛ Better to make life as complete and enjoyable an experience as possible, in case death is shite, which I suspect it will be. ❜ ❨1308❩ ❛ I’m not running away, I’m moving on. ❜ ❨1309❩ ❛ The reasons? There are no reasons. ❜ ❨1310❩ ❛ Some people are easier to love when you don’t have to be around them. ❜ ❨1311❩ ❛ Love does not exist. ❜ ❨1312❩ ❛ Fuck that ‘regrets’ bullshit. ❜ ❨1313❩ ❛ How does it make you feel? ❜ ❨1314❩ ❛ It’s horrible how we always die alone, but no worse than living alone. ❜ ❨1315❩ ❛ Choose us. Choose life. ❜ ❨1316❩ ❛ You fucking knew that fucking cunt would fuck some cunt. ❜ ❨1317❩ ❛ I’m more of a warrior than you’ll ever be. ❜ ❨1318❩ ❛ What does that make us? The lowest of the low, the scum of the earth. ❜ ❨1319❩ ❛ You don’t have to run away.  ❜ ❨1320❩ ❛ I tried to stop because it was only causing pain. I couldn’t. ❜ ❨1321❩ ❛ I’m not going to get crushed. ❜ ❨1322❩ ❛ I love doubt in a woman. It’s nearly as sexy as determination. ❜ ❨1323❩ ❛ Take your best orgasm, multiply the feeling by twenty. ❜ ❨1324❩ ❛ You’re a mess. ❜ ❨1325❩ ❛ I know that it’s never left you alone. ❜ ❨1326❩ ❛ Are you asking me or telling me? ❜ ❨1327❩ ❛ You just get used to all the shit. ❜ ❨1328❩ ❛ You can’t afford a conscience in this life. ❜ ❨1329❩ ❛ None of us are saints and scapegoats are always handy. ❜ ❨1330❩ ❛ Doing things doesn’t hurt you; you get hurt by avoiding them. ❜ ❨1331❩ ❛ What was that? ❜ ❨1332❩ ❛ Protect me from those who wish to help us. ❜ ❨1333❩ ❛ You can’t love yourself if you want to hurt things like that. ❜ ❨1334❩ ❛ What happens when people open their hearts? ❜ ❨1335❩ ❛ Nobody likes being alone that much. ❜ ❨1336❩ ❛ I don’t go out of my way to make friends, that’s all. It just leads to disappointment.” ❨1337❩ ❛ Don’t feel sorry for yourself. Only assholes do that. ❜ ❨1338❩ ❛ You need to grab whatever chance you have of happiness where you find it, and not worry about other people too much. ❜ ❨1339❩ ❛ I want you always to remember me. ❜ ❨1340❩ ❛ Despite your best efforts, people are going to be hurt when it’s time for them to be hurt. ❜ ❨1341❩ ❛ What stays in your heart will stay; keep them, and what vanishes will vanish. ❜ ❨1342❩ ❛ All I want in this world is you. ❜ ❨1343❩ ❛ I want the two of us to begin everything from the beginning. ❜ ❨1344❩ ❛ No truth can cure the sorrow we feel from losing a loved one. ❜ ❨1345❩ ❛ What a terrible thing it is to wound someone you really care for and to do it so unconsciously. ❜ ❨1346❩ ❛ If you’re in pitch blackness, all you can do is sit tight until your eyes get used to the dark. ❜ ❨1347❩ ❛ I’ve had enough hurt already in my life. More than enough. Now I want to be happy. ❜ ❨1348❩ ❛ People leave strange little memories of themselves behind when they die. ❜ ❨1349❩ ❛ Stop eating yourself up alive. Things will go where they’re supposed to go if you just let them take their natural course. ❜ ❨1350❩ ❛ When your feelings build up and harden and die inside, then you’re in big trouble. ❜ ❨1351❩ ❛ When you fall in love, the natural thing to do is give yourself to it. ❜ ❨1352❩ ❛ If I have left a wound inside you, it is not just your wound but mine as well. ❜ ❨1353❩ ❛ Hey, what is it with you? Why are you so spaced out? You still haven’t answered me. ❜ ❨1354❩ ❛ People are strange when you’re a stranger. ❜ ❨1355❩ ❛ The dead will always be dead, but we have to go on living. ❜ ❨1356❩ ❛ You don’t get it, do you? ❜ ❨1357❩ ❛ I am a flawed human being - a far more flawed human being than you ❨1358❩ realise. ❜ ❨1359❩ ❛ At least let me know whether or not I hurt you. ❜ ❨1360❩ ❛ All of us are imperfect human beings living in an imperfect world. ❜ ❨1361❩ ❛ I’ve never once thought about how I was going to die. ❜ ❨1362❩ ❛ So I’m not crazy after all! ❜ ❨1363❩ ❛ I miss you terribly sometimes, but in general I go on living with all the energy I can muster. ❜ ❨1364❩ ❛ Will you wait for me forever? ❜ ❨1365❩ ❛ I don’t want our relationship to end like this. ❜ ❨1366❩ ❛ When am I going to be able to talk to you? I want you to tell me that much, at least. ❜ ❨1367❩ ❛ It hurts not being able to see you. ❜ ❨1368❩ ❛ I’m not totally mad at you. I’m just sad. ❜ ❨1369❩ ❛ The world is an inherently unfair place. ❜ ❨1370❩ ❛ Life frightens me sometimes. I don’t happen to take that as the premise for everything else though. ❜ ❨1371❩ ❛ I’m a real bargain, don’t you think? If you don’t take me, I’ll end up going somewhere else. ❜ ❨1372❩ ❛ We’re all kind of weird and twisted and drowning. ❜ ❨1373❩ ❛ Don’t you think it would be wonderful to get rid of everything and everybody and just go some place where you don’t know a soul? ❜ ❨1374❩ ❛ You’re not telling me anything I don’t know already. ❜ ❨1375❩ ❛ He who controls the past controls the future. He who controls the present controls the past. ❜ ❨1376❩ ❛ If you want to keep a secret, you must also hide it from yourself. ❜ ❨1377❩ ❛ We shall meet in the place where there is no darkness. ❜ ❨1378❩ ❛ Until they become conscious they will never rebel. ❜ ❨1379❩ ❛ Power is not a means; it is an end. ❜ ❨1380❩ ❛ They are not interested in the good of others; they are interested solely in power, pure power. ❜ ❨1381❩ ❛ Now you begin to understand me. ❜ ❨1382❩ ❛ In the face of pain there are no heroes. ❜ ❨1383❩ ❛ Big Brother is watching you. ❜ ❨1384❩ ❛ Power is tearing human minds to pieces and putting them together again in new shapes of your own choosing. ❜ ❨1385❩ ❛ It’s a beautiful thing, the destruction of words. ❜ ❨1386❩ ❛ The choice for mankind lies between freedom and happiness and for the great bulk of mankind, happiness is better. ❜ ❨1387❩ ❛ Your mind appeals to me. It resembles my own mind. ❜ ❨1388❩ ❛ Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else. ❜ ❨1389❩ ❛ We do not merely destroy our enemies; we change them. ❜ ❨1390❩ ❛ How can I help it? How can I help but see what is in front of my eyes? ❜ ❨1391❩ ❛ You must try harder. ❜ ❨1392❩ ❛ Confession is not betrayal. ❜ ❨1393❩ ❛ What you say or do doesn’t matter; only feelings matter. ❜ ❨1394❩ ❛ If they could make me stop loving you —- that would be the real betrayal. ❜ ❨1395❩ ❛ Of pain you can wish only one thing: that it should stop. ❜ ❨1396❩ ❛ To die hating them, that will be freedom. ❜ ❨1397❩ ❛ No one ever seizes power with the intention of relinquishing it. ❜ ❨1398❩ ❛ What can you do against the lunatic who is more intelligent than yourself? ❜ ❨1399❩ ❛ To keep them in control is not difficult. ❜ ❨1400❩ ❛ So long as they are not permitted to have standards of comparison, they never even become aware that they are oppressed. ❜ ❨1401❩ ❛ The consequences of every act are included in the act itself. ❜ ❨1402❩ ❛ The essential act of war is destruction, not necessarily of human lives, but of the products of human labour. ❜ ❨1403❩ ❛ Stupidity is as necessary as intelligence, and as difficult to attain. ❜ ❨1404❩ ❛ I hate purity, I hate goodness! I don’t want virtue to exist anywhere. I want everyone to be corrupt to the bones. ❜ ❨1405❩ ❛ The past is dead, the future is unimaginable. ❜ ❨1406❩ ❛ You know the answer already. Everyone knows it. ❜ ❨1407❩ ❛ You don’t give a damn what they suffer. All you care is yourself. ❜ ❨1408❩ ❛ It is not easy to become sane. ❜ ❨1409❩ ❛ No emotion is pure anymore, because everything is mixed up with fear and hatred. ❜ ❨1410❩ ❛ They say that time heals all things —- they say you can always forget. ❜ ❨1411❩ ❛ The object of waging a war is always to be in a better position in which to wage another war. ❜ ❨1412❩ ❛ I sold you and you sold me. ❜ ❨1413❩ ❛ You do not exist. ❜ ❨1414❩ ❛ How does one man assert his power over another? By making him suffer. ❜ ❨1415❩ ❛ Obedience is not enough. Unless he is suffering, how can you be sure that he is obeying your will and not his own? ❜ ❨1416❩ ❛ Everything else we shall destroy – everything. ❜ ❨1417❩ ❛ Two and two makes five. ❜ ❨1418❩ ❛ Facts, at any rate, can not be kept hidden. ❜ ❨1419❩ ❛ The past is whatever the records and the memories agree upon. ❜ ❨1420❩ ❛ So long as human beings stay human, death and life are the same thing. ❜ ❨1421❩ ❛ If both the past and the external world exist only in the mind, and if the mind itself is controllable—what then? ❜ ❨1422❩ ❛ The lie became the truth. ❜ ❨1423❩ ❛ It is like swimming against a current that sweeps you backwards however hard you struggle. ❜ ❨1424❩ ❛ Turn round and go with the current instead of opposing it. ❜ ❨1425❩ ❛ It’s only after we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything. ❜ ❨1426❩ ❛ I don’t want to die without any scars. ❜ ❨1427❩ ❛ This is your life and it’s ending one moment at a time. ❜ ❨1428❩ ❛ You know how they say you only hurt the ones you love? Well, it works both ways. ❜ ❨1429❩ ❛ You are not your job, you’re not how much money you have in the bank. You are not the car you drive. You’re not the contents of your wallet. ❜ ❨1430❩ ❛ You are not special. ❜ ❨1431❩ ❛ You’re not a beautiful and unique snowflake. You’re the same decaying organic matter as everything else. ❜ ❨1432❩ ❛ The things you used to own, now they own you. ❜ ❨1433❩ ❛ Today is the sort of day where the sun only comes up to humiliate you. ❜ ❨1434❩ ❛ Maybe we have to break everything to make something better out of ourselves. ❜ ❨1435❩ ❛ Only after disaster can we be resurrected. ❜ ❨1436❩ ❛ Everything is evolving, everything is falling apart. ❜ ❨1437❩ ❛ We’ve all been raised believe that one day we’d all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won’t. ❜ ❨1438❩ ❛ Don’t you have other things to do? ❜ ❨1439❩ ❛ Prove you’re alive. If you don’t claim your humanity you will become a statistic. ❜ ❨1440❩ ❛ You have been warned. ❜ ❨1441❩ ❛ If you don’t know what you want, you end up with a lot you don’t. ❜ ❨1442❩ ❛ It’s not love or anything, but I think I like you, too. ❜ ❨1443❩ ❛ If I could wake up in a different place, at a different time, could I wake up as a different person? ❜ ❨1444❩ ❛ Why did I cause so much pain? ❜ ❨1445❩ ❛ The lower you fall, the higher you’ll fly. ❜ ❨1446❩ ❛ Maybe self-improvement isn’t the answer, maybe self-destruction is the answer. ❜ ❨1447❩ ❛ May I never be complete. May I never be content. May I never be perfect. ❜ ❨1448❩ ❛ Everyone smiles with that invisible gun to their head. ❜ ❨1449❩ ❛ We are not special. We are not crap or trash, either. We just are. We just are, and what happens just happens. ❜ ❨1450❩ ❛ The girl is infectious human waste. ❜ ❨1451❩ ❛ I want to destroy everything beautiful I’ll never have. ❜ ❨1452❩ ❛ On a long enough time line, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero. ❜ ❨1453❩ ❛ If you could be either God’s worst enemy or nothing, which would you choose? ❜ ❨1454❩ ❛ It is like you’re never really awake; but you’re never really asleep. ❜ ❨1455❩ ❛ Worker bees can leave. Even drones can fly away. The Queen is their slave. ❜ ❨1456❩ ❛ A moment is the most you could ever expect from perfection. ❜ ❨1457❩ ❛ The people you’re trying to step on, we’re everyone you depend on. ❜ ❨1458❩ ❛ You have to give up! ❜ ❨1459❩ ❛ Reject the basic assumptions of civilisation, especially the importance of material possessions. ❜ ❨1460❩ ❛ Without pain, without sacrifice we would have nothing. ❜ ❨1461❩ ❛ You have to realise that someday you will die, Until you know that, you are useless. ❜ ❨1462❩ ❛ A tiger can smile. A snake will say it loves you. ❜ ❨1463❩ ❛ Lies make us evil. ❜ ❨1464❩ ❛ If you died right now, how would you feel about your life? ❜ ❨1465❩ ❛ You always kill the one you love. ❜ ❨1466❩ ❛ Maybe we should always assume the worst. ❜ ❨1467❩ ❛ Put a gun to my head and paint the wall with my brains. ❜ ❨1468❩ ❛ Which is worse? Hell or nothing? ❜ ❨1469❩ ❛ A minute of perfection is worth the effort. ❜ ❨1470❩ ❛ You’re going to die, tonight. You might die in one second or in one hour, you decide. ❜ ❨1471❩ ❛ Lie to me. Tell me the first thing off the top of your head. Make something up. ❜ ❨1472❩ ❛ I don’t give a shit. I have a gun. ❜ ❨1473❩ ❛ I know who you are. I know where you live. ❜ ❨1474❩ ❛ Tomorrow will be the most beautiful day of your life. ❜ ❨1475❩ ❛ My philosophy of life is that I can die at any moment. And the tragedy of my life is that I do not. ❜ ❨1476❩ ❛ Everything is so far away, a copy of a copy of a copy. You can’t touch anything and nothing can touch you. ❜ ❨1477❩ ❛ There are a lot of things we don’t want to know about the people we love. ❜ ❨1478❩ ❛ We just had a near-life experience. ❜ ❨1479❩ ❛ If people think you are dying, they give you their full attention. They listen instead of just waiting for their turn to speak. ❜ ❨1480❩ ❛ I am nothing, and not even that. ❜ ❨1481❩ ❛ This isn’t really death. —- We’ll be legends. We won’t grow old. ❜ ❨1482❩ ❛ Stop trying to control everything and just let go. Let go. ❜ ❨1483❩ ❛ The amazing miracle of death, when one second you’re walking and talking, and the next second you’re an object. ❜ ❨1484❩ ❛ Only if we’re caught and punished can we be saved. ❜ ❨1485❩ ❛ I never thought about how important the sky was until I didn't have one. ❜ ❨1486❩ ❛ Dreams are like that: they go in and out of memories and scenes, but they're never real. They're never real, and I hate them because they aren't. ❜ ❨1487❩ ❛ Power isn’t control at all — power is strength, and giving that strength to others. ❜ ❨1488❩ ❛ A leader isn’t someone who forces others to make him stronger. ❜ ❨1489❩ ❛ A leader is someone willing to give his strength to others that they may have the strength to stand on their own. ❜ ❨1490❩ ❛ In the end, we are alone. ❜ ❨1491❩ ❛ It is like a piece of my soul is lost, empty. ❜ ❨1492❩ ❛ If my life on Earth must end, let it end with a promise. Let it end with hope. ❜ ❨1493❩ ❛ Sorry? Sorry isn't enough. ❜ ❨1494❩ ❛ Every single thing I ever loved is beyond my reach now. Everything I ever wanted. Everything I ever was. ❜ ❨1495❩ ❛ Will you stay with me? ❜ ❨1496❩ ❛ A leader doesn't make pawns - he makes people. ❜ ❨1497❩ ❛ Do you hear that? The pulse of life from your heart, the slow in-and-out from your lungs? Even when you are silent, even when you block out all noise, your body is still a cacophony of life. Mine is not. ❜ ❨1498❩ ❛ It is the silence that drives me mad. The silence that drives the nightmares to me. ❜ ❨1499❩ ❛ There is nothing between us but rain. There is nothing between us at all. ❜ ❨1500❩ ❛ I like a little chaos. ❜

[devildomdisaster]

Idk if you read Lore Olympus but chapter 129 gave me an angsty request idea.

So Persephone, who’s the goddess of spring, goes into a hibernation-like state and when her emotions go out of control, she ends up growing her hair really long and her body sprouts a lot of plants from her; to the point of covering her and whatever area she’s in with her plants.

So I would like to request head cannons of the Brothers reacting to an MC who gets really sad whenever the brothers insult or threaten them and after several weeks of being berated by demons it causes MC to shut down and go to their room but mistakes a comfort spell with a plant curse that causes their hair and plants to grow continuously long. The plants fill up MC’s room and while they would normally be surprised at the mistake, they don’t care any more. They allow the plants to to grow, even wrap around their neck and body, and hopes the curse kills them off before the brothers notice as they go in the “hibernation” stage of the curse (The curse causes the victim to grow a lot of plants and vines from their body until they die, which can take a few days).

I’m sorry for being so long and descriptive, I just wanna see the Bros panic and feel guilty that MC felt pushed to do this to themselves but I understand if you don’t want to do it

I don't read Lore Olympus but you described the situation really well so I hope this is something close to what you wanted.

Comfort spell gone wrong

Lately, nothing seemed to be good enough for the demons. No matter what you did one of them would find something to berate you for.

“Mc, your grades are subpar even for an exchange student. You’ll have to try harder in order to not be a disappointment to Diavolo and myself.” Lucifer warned over breakfast.

“Mc, you burned dinner. You should learn to be a better cook.” Beel grumbled. As if you had ever seen any of these ingredients before ending up in the Devildom.

Even Mammon seemed to be in a particularly unpleasant mood. A never-ending string of complaints about how hard it is to protect an ordinary human. “Geez, you’re such a hassle human.”

Taking refuge in the library to study and to give Mammon a break from you proved disastrous and nearly deadly. Somehow you’d managed to spill your cup of tea all over an old somewhat rare text after Asmo had barged in and startled you. Your string of bad luck continued when Satan rounded the corner and saw the soggy tea-stained pages you’d been trying to decipher. In his fit of rage, he’d called you several unpleasant names and asked if you were “capable of doing anything right or if all humans are as stupid as you?” You’d left as quickly as you were able to avoid any more of his wrath.

No matter where you went you kept walking in on Belphie napping and without fail he’d say something nasty to you, that would make tears burn the backs of your eyes.

Levi had angrily called you a “useless normie,” who he wished would “never come back.” and had pushed you from his room with a slam of his door.

Even Asmo who usually just ignored you when he was upset found every reason imaginable to critique your every aspect. Physical and personality. Not a single one of which made you feel any more than worthless.

So was it any wonder when at the end of a long week you’d locked yourself in your room and decided to try that comfort spell you’d heard Solomon talking about? It seemed simple enough. But then your tears had blurred your vision as you’d recited the words and your Latin was still shaky at best. But it was just a few lines! And there was no way you were going to go to one of the brothers for comfort when they had seemed perfectly happy to make you miserable for the last few weeks.

You’d read the spell aloud and curled up hoping that the spell would kick in and you’d feel even just the slightest bit better. The blinding green light and sudden drop in energy was the first and only warning the spell had gone wrong. But being new to magic meant it still sapped your energy, so you didn’t stop to think something might be wrong. By the time you realized what was happening, everything was out of control. Plants had begun to sprout from your skin and the floor around you, growing and growing. With each inch they grew you felt your exhaustion creep up and consume you. You were just so tired. Your eyes fluttered closed. This was wrong! You forced your eyes open again. You need to fix this. The spell! But a short nap wouldn’t hurt, would it? You’d have more energy after you woke up. Then you could go get one of the brothers. Satan would know how to fix this. Or Lucifer! He’d clean the spell up easily. Yes, after you woke up…

Lucifer hadn’t seen you all weekend. He figures you’re most likely studying. But you don’t show up for meals and none of his brothers have seen you either… and oh Diavolo! He can feel the spell from the dining room. How did he not notice sooner? The cold pulling sensation of the spell, like it was sucking the warmth and life from its surroundings.

When Lucifer reaches your door Mammon is already there. Knocking and shouting for you, but there's no answer. He all but breaks your door down, his brothers behind him, and finds you at the center of the spell. Unresponsive and covered in the plants using your energy to grow. The plants had begun climbing up the walls and twisting through your hair, sending out snow-white flowers.

“Beel! Don’t!” Lucifer warns as Beel reaches out to pull a handful of plants from you. “We don’t know what did this and what will happen to Mc if we just rip the spell off like that.”

“Lucifer, Mc did this to themself,” Satan points to the open spellbook. “It looks like they got a comfort spell mixed up.”

Fortunately, your last tired thoughts were correct and Lucifer is able to break the spell quickly. You wake surrounded by the brothers.

Lucifer:

All this happened for a comfort spell? Because you didn’t feel like you could come to him, to any of them?

He’s so sorry Mc. Enough that as he leans down to pick you up out of the mess of withering plants you can feel tears fall onto your face.

“Nothing I did was good enough for you Lucifer. Any of you. I just wanted to feel… I just wanted-”

His heart breaks when he realizes this is his brother’s fault, his fault. “You are always good enough, Mc. Much more than I could ever ask you to be, and if I ever made you feel like you weren't. No, the fact that I made you feel like you weren’t, means I have been truly terrible.”

You’re choking back your own tears now and you curl further into his arms as he carries you down the hall. “You said I was a disappointment.”

“My dear Mc, you have never been, nor could you ever be a disappointment to me. Forgive me for ever making you feel as if you were.”

Lucifer takes you to his bathroom and draws you a bath to wash away the last of the plant matter from your body.

Afterward, he’ll bring you anything you ask for. He wants to wrap you in his arms but doesn’t want to push you, so he asks softly if he can hold you.

He’ll spend weeks trying to make this up to you, even after you forgive him, he’ll be sure to tell you how much he loves you more often than he did before.

Mammon:

Shit human! Why didn’t you come to him? He loves you so much and oh. He made you feel like a burden.

How could he be so stupid when he knows how his brothers make him feel?

Mammon begs for your forgiveness in front of all his brothers.

“Please can ya forgive me? I never meant to make ya feel like a burden. You're the only human I- I want to protect you Mc. I’m so sorry.”

Mammon helps you up and since your room is covered in plants he offers to let you sleep in his room for the night.

He wraps you in blankets and brushes the hair from your face with trembling fingertips.

There are still a few stubborn leaves sticking to your face and in your hair so Mammon takes a warm washcloth and wipes them from your face before gently untangling the plants from your hair.

You’ll be getting little gifts and tokens of mammon’s affections for the foreseeable future.

Levi:

He threw you out of his room when you came to him for comfort and the guilt at seeing you almost die because of it is eating him alive.

He feels frozen

Maybe you would be better off without an otaku shut-in like him. He starts avoiding you like the plague.

You start to think that Levi is so disgusted with the fact that you did that spell that he doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore.

Despite this Levi still checks up on you. He wants to know that you are ok, he just does it without you knowing.

He’ll ask his brothers about you and discreetly glance at you during meals to make sure you’re eating enough and look healthy.

A few days later when your favorite and manga anime start showing up outside your door you confront Levi. “Are you mad at me? Do you just not want to be around me after what happened? Levi, I miss you!”

He is shook, and he can’t believe he messed up so badly.

He’s happy that he can invite you to hang out again, and he makes sure to spend long nights gaming or watching movies with you until you fall asleep against him. He’ll even stutter out how much he treasures his time with you, blushing fiercely all the while.

Satan:

Satan feels anger swell up inside him. How could he have let this happen? How could no one have seen how upset you were?

Once the spell has been dissolved he is at your side instantly. Brushing vines from your skin. His fingers are shaking in anger but his touch is so gentle.

When both you and your room are cleaned up Satan sits at your bedside, book in hand, reading to you.

He just wants to be close to you now. He wants you to know how much he cares about you but is still too worked up to get his thoughts out properly.

Eventually, his thoughts calm and he stops reading in the middle of a sentence. “Mc, I am so sorry. I never meant to make you feel unwanted. Every day I spend with you is infinitely better than a day without you. I know the spell was a mistake but… we almost lost you. I almost lost you.”

He wants to talk about what pushed you to do this. He won’t push but he really does think that he will be better able to help you if he understands.

Satan makes sure to spend more time with you from now on. He makes a conscious effort to check his temper at the door and be with you when you need him.

Sometimes he’ll just read to you until one of you confides in the other in quiet voices.

Asmo:

As you blink your eyes open Asmo gently brushes some plants from your cheek.

You are so pale and his heart breaks as you flinch away from him. You feel like a mess and you know you must look like one too so curl your body away from him trying to hide. Trying to avoid his critical gaze.

This is the moment Asmo knows he screwed up.

He draws his hand back, for a moment, before reaching out to you again. Cupping your cheek and wiping your tears away with perfectly manicured hands.

Lucifer has him take you to his bathroom to clean up while the rest of the brothers work to clear the plants from your room.

Asmo is quiet for a long while as he untangles plants from your hair.

“You’re so loved, Mc,” he says softly. “You are.” he insists when you shake your head no.

“More than you could ever know, and it’s our fault for not telling you. My fault for not making you feel worthy.”

After this incident, Asmo wants to make sure you know how beautiful you are. He starts self-care days once a week that soon turn into whole family affairs. Each week different combinations of his brother attend and you all work to pamper each other.

Asmo makes sure nothing like this happens again, he never wants to be part of the reason you feel unloved ever again.

Beel:

At first, Beel thinks you did this on purpose. Once the brothers realize you messed up the spell he is less angry but no less distraught.

Once you wake up, he wants to take you to get desserts. He’s heard humans eat Chocolate/ other sweets to feel better. And this makes sense to him, food does make everything better.

But you don’t want to go to Madam Screams or the kitchen to make your own. You’re still so tired. Not to mention embarrassed that you screwed the spell up this bad.

And now they are all staring at you like they care so much when none of them had any time to notice how they were making you feel before.

When you become unresponsive to the brother’s questions and apologies Beel scoops you up in his arms and walks away with you.

Something about the way he holds you close to his chest and his warmth causes you to finally let go.

You bury your face in his shirt to muffle your crying.

“I just… I felt so alone! And… I...but no one” you gasp out shakily between sobs.

Beel soothes you with soft murmuring as he gently cards his fingers through your hair and strokes down your back.

Once your crying quiets he starts to speak “Don’t do that again. You can always come to me Mc. I’m so sorry you felt like you couldn’t”

Belphie:

Belphie thinks it’s a joke at first. “Man, how could they mess up this bad?”

Then he sees Lucifer’s panicked expression and it hits him how serious this is.

Belphie is immediately by your side. Hands frantically feeling your wrist for a pulse.

After Lucifer breaks the spell and your eyes flutter open Belphie is filled with relief until a wave of guilt washes through him.

He can’t believe he fucked up so badly again. Sure this time he didn’t directly cause you physical harm, but he did play a role in causing you to almost die again.

“I am so very sorry Mc, I never meant to hurt you.”

He does everything he can think of to make it up to you. Anything you ask him for, as long as it’s within his power, is yours. No questions asked.

He asks permission just to hold your hand for weeks afterward as if he thinks you’ll come to your senses and decide you don’t want anything to do with him.

He wants to comfort you so bad.

To make sure you don’t feel like this again Belphie pulls you away to nap with him as often as he can get away with it. Most likely only a few times a week (much less often than he would like). Sometimes he uses this time just to talk with you. Others you really do nap, and Belphie curls himself around you. Occasionally he enters your dreams while you nap together to make sure no nightmares can touch you.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Okay so I live (all things said and done) not far from the arctic circle, and long story short got to thinking about the various snow/ice safety things that are drilled into you up here and what to be wary of- like Snow Blindness 👀 what if MC,all alone, ended up out in the icy fields, her goggles broken/etc from a fall, and she ends up with it? In pain, blinded, she can’t tell what is where and Sans sees all of this unfolding, the growing panic, her probably eventually going still as she realizes trying to fumble around would make her more lost…. Would he lead her to safety, perhaps tapping on the ice in front of her to lead her way back to her warm tent, or would he take advantage and perhaps bring her to safety in some sort of icy cave only he has access to, to “nurse” her while her eyes recover~?

“stop.”

The voice was so distinct that if you’d heard it before, you would’ve recognised it immediately. You didn’t. The soft, dark, sonorous tone didn’t belong to anyone on the research team- it didn’t belong to anyone you’d spoken to before.

But you knew who it was.

Your eyes hurt. They hurt so much, the aching worming back into your head and spreading through in a headache that felt like it was going to split your skull in half. You had snow blindness- your goggles had broken hours ago, and your attempts at keeping your eyes shielded had done nothing to aid your worsening condition. You couldn’t see anymore, eyes squeezed shut in your last attempt at defending them from the glare... a gritty sensation under your eyelids was making irritated tears drip down your cheeks no matter how many times you tried to wipe them away. The sun was setting, you didn’t know where you were, you couldn’t see... at this point, the fear of freezing to death in the arctic was nagging at the back of your head.

You didn’t know where you were. 

... 

You’d obeyed the voice instinctively, stopping dead. Yes... despite not recognising it, you knew exactly who it was. 

That was what frightened you.

“Wh-what do you want?” You blurted, heart beginning to pound even faster than before.

How was he there? How far had you moved? You weren’t wearing your ear protection... stumbling home blind and deaf just wasn’t an option. Part of you wanted to force your eyes open to see him, to see the giant orca siren who had been stalking you in both the waking world and your nightmares. But at this point it wasn’t possible anymore- your eyes were so painful, trying to open them felt like trying to drag your hands over broken glass.

So you had to just stand there, blinded. Even more vulnerable than before.

“just listen to me.” Despite the musicality and silkiness to his deep voice there was an underlying urgency that couldn’t be faked. It was coming from just a distance ahead of you... only a few paces, if your hearing was correct. “you’ve walked onto thin sea ice.”

“... H-huh?” 

“there’s cracks everywhere. all around you. if you go forward anymore you’ll fall through and drown.”

... Your heart very nearly stopped. You thought the swaying you’d felt through your feet had just been from the confusion and splitting headache- not from walking so far out you’d managed to make your way onto the treacherous thin ice that’d give way under you any second.

“i’m going to lead you back to safety, okay? just follow the sound of my clicks.”

...

... You didn't really have the grounds to question him. I mean... what were your options? You'd blindly wandered onto deadly and fragile ice, an inky and icy death waiting just a few inches of frozen water below you. You desperately needed help, there was no way you were getting away safely on your own... if you take his help there's a chance he's lying, so you die, but if you reject him...

... You die either way. Might as well take the route with a sliver of hope. Maybe he’s... had a sudden change of heart? Randomly decided not to eat you?

Besides... You thought, shuddering. There's gotta be a little truth to it. Why would he try to trick me if I’m that close to gaps in the ice? Why bother leading me if I’m within range?

... You just... tried not to think about the fact that orca siren were well known for toying with prey for hours.

You heard his clicking, easily penetrating through the ice just ahead of you. That familiar echolocative sound... tapping like water droplets hitting a stone floor interspersed between louder clicks that you felt in your feet.

... You took a shaking deep breath, wiped away more tears... and started stumbling after the monster’s beckon.

He was right about there being cracks everywhere. The ground continually rocked beneath you; as he led you across the ice, you occasionally heard him surface, breath and rippling water... then the clicks would begin again somewhere else- further ahead or a little to the left or right. All around you there were places for him to come up for air... holes that you could’ve staggered straight into.

He led you across the shaking and unstable ice, weaving your stumbling blind form out of a maze of cracks and imminent danger. He could probably sense, with his echolocation, what sections of ice were thick enough for you to safely walk across.

Eventually, the ground evened out, and stopped rocking back and forth when you trod on it. His breaks for air became fewer, and further between... it must’ve been safer territory now...

...

... You turned your face.

... You didn’t have to see the setting sun to be able to see it. Everything under your eyelids got brighter when you turned toward it, you felt a modicum of warmth on your cheeks and still-burning eyelids.

So...

...

“W-we’re... going the wrong way.”

... You heard him pause, his clicking stopping short as he surfaced a short distance away. You couldn’t tell if he’d turned to face you or not, you desperately wanted to see.

“The... the st-station is... east, from the m-melting ice. We’re... g-going south right now...?”

...

His voice changed. You could hear the smile- in your minds eye you could see the dark grin spread across his face.

“i said i’d take you to safety. didn’t i?”

... 

You clapped your gloved hands over your ears and, just like you’d been trained to do, began shouting out the lyrics to the first song that came to mind as loud as you possibly could. Just underneath the words you were yelling you could hear something beginning to resonate... something sweet and beautiful, soothing and otherworldly and terrifying, but you couldn’t linger on it, not even for a second, you couldn’t think about it at all because as soon as you concentrated on the sirensong instead of your song you wouldn’t be able to pull yourself back again. As soon as you thought about him instead of the stupid lyrics, instead of the burning in your eyes and head, instead of the hoarseness in your throat, it’d all be over.

...

A gunshot.

The bullet landed in the water only a few feet away from where Sans was floating, sending up spray that dotted the ice around it. It caught you and the siren off guard- both of you stopped, your panicked yelling broke and the beautiful melody cut short jarringly like an entire orchestra freezing mid performance.

You took your hands away from your ears just in time to hear Sans mutter “stupid researchers...” before the unmistakable splash of him diving back under the surface again; under the ice, back into the depths.

For a second, you literally couldn’t help it- you forced your eyes open the barest fraction, the glare immediately shooting pain through your skull. And... it was Hit, in his signature black and red coat, the sunset-coloured world behind him completely fuzzy. Boots crunching on the ice as he moved toward you, rifle raised and pointed at the water; goggles pulled up to his forehead... 

Even as you shut your eyes again, just a second already too long, his expression was burned into your mind. Glaring at where Sans had been with a look you could only describe as... furious.

And possessive.

You heard him swear softly, anger dropping away- you heard him hastily put his rifle over his shoulder, rushing over to you and dropping heavily to his knees, saying your name like he was nervous you weren’t going to answer. You felt coarse gloves against your icy face, turning it up to him, warm breath on your painful face... you never thought you’d feel so much relief at the touch of somebody you’d never trusted before, but you let out a tiny shuddering exhausted sob and leant into him until your forehead touched his chest.

“hey. hey, it’s okay.” His voice was gentle, but still clearly panting- how far had he gone to look for you? “it’s okay, i gotcha.”

When he hoisted you into his solid arms, you just leant against him completely... tucking into the hold as much as you could. You were emotionally and physically spent and all you wanted to do was sink into his jacket and sleep.

"... c’mon, doll. let’s get you home.”

[wkemeup]

Back to Bourbon Street

summary: When you’re badly injured on a mission, Bucky works desperately to keep you alive. Only, it might not be enough.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 6.7k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, poison, brink of death cuddling, angst with a happy ending

There is a moment of clarity amidst the chaos of the battlefield; a brief, impossible moment that allows Bucky to take hold of a peace he’s been missing for decades. The perfect storm of violence and adrenaline is one he’s familiar with, something he knows well enough to allow his mind to take a step back and give control to his instincts.  

Left jab. Right hook. Kick. Swipe the leg. Shoot.

The sound of the chopper above is muffled. The shouts of the men rushing at him with weapons and malice are indistinguishable. His body moves of its own accord and this is what makes him untouchable. Even with the Winter Soldier buried to the deepest parts of his mind, Bucky finds a relief in letting go of the control, of allowing an untethered detachment to rise to the surface just long enough to get the job done. 

Bodies in his wake, blood on his hands, and his mind elsewhere.

That is, until you come into view.  

Elegant in your movements, exceptional in your ability, you’re teasing Sam on the coms as you duck under the swing of a mercenary and clip him on the chin on your way up. You’re laughing, bright enough that it carries the several feet away to where Bucky is in hand to hand with a combatant half his size.  

He pauses, taken back by how clear your laugh comes through when the rest of the world seems muffled and distant. It’s not enough to give the scrawny opponent an advantage, because even as Bucky watches you with an awe and disbelief, his left arm snakes around the man’s throat and hurtles him fifty feet away with little effort.  

Amongst enemy lines filled with bad guys and guns, amongst the blinding snowfall and the blistering wind, amongst blood staining crystalized white upon the frozen dirt, you capture the entirety of his focus. Clear as day. Spotlight down from the sky. A wonder to behold.  

You catch his eye and for a moment his heart skips completely because you smile at him. A light breaking through a sea of shadows, wrinkling up by your eyes, a giggle in your chest, and Bucky’s knees nearly give out from under him. 

You must notice the fluster burning hot on his cheeks and you start to laugh; that same beautifully, sweet sound that shouldn’t belong on a battlefield. He smiles back.

But the moment lasts longer than it should. It’s something too kind for the evil you’re surrounded with and it’s taken away in a matter of seconds when Bucky sees the sharp reflection of a blade flicker under the haze of sunlight.  

His stomach drops as if he’s stepped off the edge of the cliff, as if he’s falling hundreds of feet into a dark ravine to the icy waters below, and he barely feels the sharp burn of a bullet as it skims his right shoulder.  

“Y/n!” he screams, wasting no time in firing fatal shots to the men around him before he rushes towards you.  

But he’s trudging through mud and quicksand and his limbs are fighting through the resistance of ocean currents. He’s trapped in a nightmare, he’s certain of it, because his body is failing him in the one place it’s not supposed to. Time slows down as he watches the flash of panic in your eyes.

He’s still a few feet away when the knife embeds itself in your stomach.

Something else takes over; maybe it's the Winter Soldier, maybe it’s something darker that has always resided inside of him, lying in wait, but his vision fills with red as he watches you clutch at the shoulders of your assailant, lips parted in shock, chest heaving as you glance down at the knife buried in your gut. A sickening smile curves up on the man’s face and he drops you to the ground.  

Bucky only vaguely registers the bodies that fall around him as he empties his clip. He can't look at you now, not as blood starts to seep around your suit and drip into the snow, so he focuses the brunt of his tunnel vision to the man wielding the knife. The satisfied grin drops as he notices Bucky raise his weapon. It only takes one shot, but Bucky fires six.  

By the time he reaches you, he’s skidding on his knees into the snow. It soaks into his suit and sends shivers into his spine in unpleasant memories of the ice, but he pays it little mind as he bends down to assess the damage. His hands hover over the blade, almost afraid to touch you, and he resides to keep the knife secure until he can safely remove it.  

“Hey, Barnes,” you mutter weakly and it snaps Bucky from his trance. He looks up to see you smiling at him, though your eyes are fluttering shut. Your breathing is shallow.  

“Don’t talk right now,” Bucky warns you because he can see the energy draining away. It’s happening too quick. The blade doesn’t appear as though it’s nicked any major arteries, and yet, you look as though it plunged straight through your heart.

You chuckle, though it’s faint and you wince in the effort. “Sick of my voice already?”

Bucky shakes his head, astounded how you can still tease him in your position. “You kidding me? Not a chance.”

He reaches up to press a finger to the coms to get ahold of someone, anyone, to get you airlifted out of here, only to find it slipped out of his ear in the struggle. A quick glance back behind him and he knows he’ll never find it amongst the snow. He clenches his jaw and tried not to let the panic show as he looks for yours.  

“Lost mine, too,” you mumble, gesturing to the broken pieces in the snow beside you. One of your attackers must have hit you hard enough to dislodge it and slammed it under his heel to cause that much damage.  

Bucky pulls in a deep breath, glancing up to the sky in search of Sam, only to find a dark cast of clouds carrying over. On the ground, dozens of mercenaries are engaged with the rest of the Shield team and more are piling out from the woodwork.  

“I have to get you out of here,” Bucky resides. He doesn’t have a plan, but he knows it’s not safe where you are. He slips a hand under your knees, another around your back, and hoists you into his arms. He’s lucky the blade is small enough that it stays nestled in place as he carries you away from the field.  

He tries not to think of what would happen if a mercenary caught up with him now. He was defenseless with you in his arms and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d sacrifice you to save himself.  

The wind whips around the trees, snow stinging on his cheeks as it builds in the scruff on his cheeks. You curl into his neck as best you can and he knows it’s subconscious, that it doesn’t mean much more than you seeking out the warmth of his body, but it doesn’t stop the trace of a smile that pushes at his cheeks.  

“Stay with me, alright?” he pleads, though he’s not sure you can hear him. It earns a tired hum in response.  

A storm is approaching quickly judging by the dark overcast of clouds and the snow on his boots that inches up higher along his shins with every step. If the blade doesn’t kill you, the exposure will, and Bucky starts to pick up his pace.  

The field is nothing but a distant haze by the time he reaches an unmarked dirt road. He must have walked miles with you in his arms, fading in and out of consciousness, waking you up every few paces when your eyes started to flutter closed. The relief is overwhelming when he spots a cabin at the end of the road, obstructed by trees and overgrown weeds. Abandoned.  

“Almost there,” he tells you and you curl up tighter against him. A whine leaves your lips and he picks up the pace.  

Bucky doesn’t bother with picking the lock and slams his foot to the most vulnerable angle of the door instead. It whips open to reveal an empty living room; dark, with cobwebs hanging in the corners and dust upon the mantle. He rushes inside to escape the painful sting of the wind and the snowfall as it piles outside the door. His footprints are already swept away in the impending storm. 

“You’re alright, hold on,” Bucky mumbles, blindly searching around the room until he can lower you onto the couch. He wipes away as much of the dust as he can as he eases you against the cushions. Your face scrunches up in pain and he knows how hard you’re trying to hide it from him.  

He brushes a hand over your forehead and it startles him when he finds it burning hot. He doesn't have a lot of time.  

“I’ll be right back.”

“No! Wait--”

He freezes, stunned when he hears your voice so clearly. Your hand wraps at his wrist, clenching so tight it would have hurt if it wasn’t constructed of solid metal. When he meets your eye, he finds a pain stab straight through his chest, because he’s become so used to your light and joy and charm that the fear etched into your features ruins him completely.  

“Bucky, don’t go.”

His heart splinters.  

“I need to find a first aid kit. I’ve got to clean that wound before it gets infected,” he explains as gently as he can, sinking down to his knees beside you. You nod at his words, but you’re unconvinced.

“I won’t leave you,” he adds with a little more conviction.

His relationship to you is complicated; filled with teasing smiles and playful tension in the sparring ring, late night talks and comfortable silence. You were the first person he trusted in Shield outside of Steve and Sam, the first to make him laugh until his stomach hurt, the first to accept him completely and entirely as the man he is, not who he was in his youth or what Hydra made him to be. You didn’t ask questions, didn’t expect him to be anything he wasn’t.  

He cares for you and he knows, at least on some level, you must care for him, too. He can't imagine that anyone would be as sweet as you are with him if you didn’t. There’s too much violence to overlook, too much evil ingrained into his veins. You don’t seem to mind and Bucky wonders most days if you’re not simply an angel sent from heaven itself with the extent of absolution you grant to him. 

So it’s not a question. There’s no second guessing. He won’t leave you.  

“I’ll be right back,” he presses again, eyes flickering to the knife in your side. “I promise.”

You nod, letting go of his wrist, but he can tell you’re still afraid. He recognizes it in himself, how he’s felt as though if he closed his eyes for even a second, he might convince himself it was all a dream and he’ll wake up right back in Hydra’s cell. He realizes then that you’re wondering if Bucky steps out of your view, he might disappear entirely and you’ll be alone, facing the impending darkness on your own.  

“Hey, remember that summer in New Orleans?” Bucky starts, hoping to ease your panic through the sound of his voice as he slips from the room. “Sam was walking around Bourbon Street with a dozen beaded necklaces and tripping over his own feet?”  

Bucky can vaguely hear you chuckle weakly from the living room as he rummages through the drawers in the bathroom.  

He continues. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen Sam that wasted before. I had to carry him up three flights of stairs to his room.”  

Shifting through old toothpaste containers, wash rags, makeup brushes, Bucky knelt down under the sink in search of anything he can use. He grabs the clean towels and an ace bandage hidden behind the pipes and moves onto the first bedroom. He still needs something to close the wound.  

“Idiot passed out on me before midnight,” Bucky calls out to the living room, stealing a glance at you to make sure your eyes were still open. You smile at him, faded and faint, but he continues on. “You called when we didn’t show up to the bar, remember? You didn’t think you could keep up with Natalia’s tolerance and you wanted to push some of your drinks off on me.”

Bucky is surprised when his lips curve up into a smile at the memory. It was the first time anyone managed to convince him to stay a few days passed the scheduled mission. He always had such a hard time saying no to you.  

“Think that might have been the first night I went out dancing since the forties. It was a little different than what I was used to but the music had the same soul to it,” Bucky continues as he searches under the bed, through the closet, shoving aside old clothes and shoe boxes. He can feel the panic rising, though he keeps his voice as calm as he can manage. His hands are trembling until he finds a small white box tucked into the back corner. Red cross on the top.  

It’s missing a few pieces inside but it’s enough. Relief surges through him and Bucky makes his way back out to the living room.  

“Don’t know if I would have let anyone else drag me away from the bar long enough to get a whole song out of me,” Bucky says as he holds up the kit for you to see and quickly moves to the kitchen to wash his hands.  

“You’re a good dancer, Barnes,” you mutter out feebly, smiling fondly at the memory.  

It’s a good memory, he thinks. A little faded with time, but he can still recall how you felt pressed against his chest, how his left nestled along the small of your back, his right intertwined with yours. Slow movements, swaying gently to the soft strum of the guitar. 

Bucky smiles backs at you, pauses for just a moment to memorize the way your lips curve up so beautifully into your cheeks before he turns to the sink to wash his hands. The water comes out brown for the first few seconds before it clears up. He washes his hands quickly and gathers a bucket of water before he makes his way back to you.  

As he kneels down at your side, he tries to mask the flash of panic that courses through him as he catches sight of the blood seeped into the couch under your back and the sweat dripping down your temples. It’s wet in your hair and you don’t seem to be in much pain anymore. Just tired. Your eyelids fall heavy.

“Hey,” Bucky calls sharply, shaking your shoulder a little harsher than he intended. Your eyes snap open. “You need to stay awake for me, alright? You know I’m lousy at this stuff. Need you to make sure I’m doing it right.”

You laugh, though Bucky can tell it’s forced. You both know he’s lying. He’d tended to wounds of his own far worse than this before. But Bucky doesn’t care about causing himself pain. He powers through it, uses it as a means of strength. He knows how badly this will hurt you and he hesitates as he holds a pair of scissors to your suit.  

“I trust you,” you say so quietly Bucky isn’t certain he even heard it. You nod at him.  

Bucky takes a deep breath as he cuts away at your suit and removes the fabric away from the wound.  

“It’s going to bleed a lot,” he warns. “Don’t let it scare you.”

You nod, staring up at the ceiling as you try to prepare yourself.  

Bucky doesn’t say anything else, because he knows it will make this harder. Your chest rises a little quicker, hands clench into fists, and it takes nearly everything Bucky has not to hold your hand instead of the hilt of the knife.  

It happens quickly. He pulls the knife from your stomach in one fluid motion. You gasp at the sudden sensation, a cry in your voice as you bite down on your fist to keep yourself from screaming, and Bucky presses a towel to your side to absorb the gush of blood and it drenches the cloth in a matter of seconds.  

He removes it in favor of a clean one and drops the bloodied rag onto the floor. The next towel doesn’t turn red as quickly and Buck begins to exhale a sigh of relief. The blood flow is slowing down. It’s a good sign. It’ll give him the chance to clean the wound and stitch you up enough to keep you together until rescue shows up.  

It takes a while before Bucky dares to lift the cloth. It’s heavy in his hands and dripping with blood, but the wound doesn’t appear to be freshly bleeding. Bucky gets to work, humming quietly to himself as he cleans the wound as best he can. He can feel your eyes on him, watching as he tends to the wound and mumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t mind. You’re awake. It's all that matters to him.  

“You really need to do that?” you ask nervously as Bucky begins to thread a needle.  

Bucky shrugs. “There’s a stapler in the office if you prefer that?”  

You laugh, enough to cause a bit of blood to seep out from the cleaned wound and Bucky presses a hand to your stomach to stop the bleeding.  

“Hey! Don’t mess with my work!” he teases, thankful for a moment where you feel more like yourself than you had since he picked you from the snowbank on the battlefield. You nod, trying to contain your smile, though its weak and fading.  

“My apologies, Sergeant Barnes.”

“That’s Dr. Barnes to you,” Bucky quips back, distracting you long enough to slip the thread through your skin. You wince, hand gripping in tight to the straps on his shoulder.

“Yeah?” you mutter out tensely. “What decade did you get your medical degree in, Doctor? Feels pretty amateur from where I’m sitting.”

“You should be nicer to me, doll. I’m the one with the needle in my hand,” Bucky smirks. Only two more threads to go before the wound is closed and you’re taking it like a champ. Pride swells in his chest and he has the urge to kiss you, but quickly pushes the feeling down.  

“Imagine how I must feel,” you scoff playfully, exhaling a heavy breath of relief as Bucky sits back and cuts the thread.  

Bucky grins, brushing a clean cloth over the surface to wipe away the excess blood. “You did good. Try to get some rest now, alright? I’ll be here.”

He lifts a blanket up over your body and lets it lay against your chest. You smile at him again and he’s certain it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen. He stands to clean up the mess around the couch when your hand catches his.  

“Thank you.” You squeeze his hand, rub your thumb over his wrist, something so tender and loving that it nearly jolts his heart straight from his chest.  

“Anytime, doll,” he replies as even as his voice will let him. By the time he finishes cleaning the bloodied rags and rinsing the red stains from his hands, you’ve already fallen asleep.  

Bucky takes his time as he gathers a few stray blankets and lays them down on the floor beside the couch. He knows there’s a room with a decent bed just a few feet down the hall but he meant what he promised you. He wasn’t going to leave your side.  

So, he lays down on the hardwoods, rests a pillow under his head, and stars up at the ceiling; content to listen to the soft sounds of your breathing until they too lull him to sleep.  

***

He wakes abruptly a few hours later. It’s dark outside, nearly pitch black in the cabin, and Bucky rubs his hands over his tired eyes before he realizes what woke him up.  

Quiet whimpers above him, muffled, pained. You’re crying.  

Bucky jolts up in a panic. He kneels beside you to find you curled up on your side, knees tucked to your stomach, tears streaming down your cheeks. You're sweating again, and it drenches into your hair.  

“Y/n?” Bucky begs, hands hovering over you, terrified to make it worse. “Y/n, talk to me.”

“It hurts,” you cry, barely able to mutter the words out. “It hurts... bad. S-Somethings wrong.”

Bucky nods, rushing up to the fireplace to give some light. It takes him longer than it should and he nearly shouts out in frustration before it sparks and a flame bursts onto the wood. It’s a faint flicker, but it’s enough.  

“Let me see,” he requests, and you release the blanket to let Bucky's slide it off of you. He helps guide you to lay flat on the couch and he knows how much it hurts you because you’ve bitten down so hard on your lip, it’s bleeding. You choke back a cry.  

“I know, sweetheart,” Bucky soothes, running a hand down your arm to find you shaking so badly it trembles right into his palm. You’re fully sobbing as he tries to pry your hands away from the wound. “I’m so sorry, but you have to let me see it, honey. Come on now. It’s alright.”

You pull your hands away, clutching them tight into the couch cushions and it's then that Bucky sees the series of large, angry, purple veins extending from the wound. Jagged lines protruding out across your stomach, stretching up towards your chest to your heart.  

Bucky can’t find his breath as he stumbles back. On the ground at his feet, the faint flicker of the knife catches his eye in the dim light of the fire behind him, and he bends down to pick it up. On its surface, hardly visible, is a sticky thin substance; green in color, bitter in its stench. Poison.  

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

Bucky’s eyes snap up to you as the knife slips from his hand. It clashes against the hardwoods and echoes through the painful silence in the cabin, only obstructed by the muffled whistle of the wind outside and your faint attempts to stifle the sob etching its way through your throat.  

“No,” Bucky replies quickly, though his voice wavers. You’re unconvinced as tears slip past your eyes and you drop his gaze in favor of the ceiling tiles.  

“No,” he tries again, firmer as he kneels by your side. He runs a hand over your forehead to brush away the sweat, soothes his palm against your face and traces the line of your cheekbone until you dare to meet his eye again. “I’m not going to let that happen. I’m not letting you die today; you hear me? You’re going to be just fine.”

“Bucky...”

“You’re going to be fine,” he says again, determined. “Starks probably got a whole branch of the military searching for you by now. We both know how much of a soft spot he’s got for you. Hell, I’m lucky you’re the one I’m MIA with. Stark wouldn’t waste an AI suit on tracking me down. But you? Come on. He won’t sleep until you’re home safe.”

Bucky doesn’t know why he’s trying to draw a smile out of you. He’s terrified and he knows you are too, but dammit, all he ever wants to do is make you smile.  

“Tony would send more than an AI for you.”

Bucky chuckles, shaking his head. “You underestimate how much he dislikes me.”

“It’s been better, hasn’t it?” you ask, and he knows you’re trying to distract yourself from the pain, so Bucky nods.  

“It has. He hasn’t tried to kill me lately, so I’d consider that an improvement.”

You smile and Bucky’s whole world brightens around him. Sunshine through the night sky, past the dark clouds and the blizzard outside the window, flowers blooming through the snow. It's perfect. You’re perfect.  

But then the pain sweeps in again and steals your smile away, warps it and twists it until you’re crying so hard you can barely breathe and Bucky is helpless but to watch.  

There’s nothing he can do. He doesn’t know what the poison is, let alone how to counteract it. He doesn't often wish Stark was around, but he does in this moment. He’d know what to do. He could save you, take away this pain, in a way Bucky couldn’t.

He finds himself looking to the windows, watching as the snow continues to fall in blurring sweeps enough that he can’t see the trees beyond the clearing. He figures at least another foot of snow has piled up in the last hour but maybe if he could find the right layers in the back bedroom, he could make himself useful, venture out to find a nearby town or a phone or --  

“Don’t.”  

Your voice is barely a whisper but it punctures straight through to Bucky’s heart.

“Please don’t go,” you mutter out. “I don’t want to be alone when... when I...”

“Hey,” Bucky exhales, shaking his head, “hey, come on. What did I say? You’re not dying today, remember?”

He tears his eyes away from the window, forgets his plan because he knows you’re right. He can’t leave you. He wants to believe that his hope is enough, that his insistence will sway fate herself, but the truth is he doesn’t know. He can’t do much of anything at all, but he starts to wonder if there is something he can do to shoulder even an ounce of your pain.  

Slowly, Bucky slips an arm under your back and gently guides you forward just enough so that he can slide into the space behind you. You mold against him as he eases his way onto the couch beside you, gathering you up into his arms. He runs a tender hand over your stomach along the spidery veins around the knife wound and you don’t wince. It seems to come and go in waves.  

The next wave comes quickly and Bucky holds you through it the best he can. He’s never felt so helpless in his life; arms wrapped tight around you, a hand soothing along your arm as he tries to reassure you that this will pass, that Stark’s on his way, that you’ll be okay, but he doesn’t know if he’s telling the truth anymore.  

You exhale as the pain subsides again and you’re drenched in sweat. Bucky is too, but he doesn’t mind, not if it means he can give you even an ounce of comfort through this. You curl against him, careful of the fresh stitches in your side.  

“I’m scared.” It comes out broken and aching and Bucky’s heart lurches.  

“I know, honey. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’ve got you. You’re not alone.”  

It’s all he can say.  

His own helplessness makes him sick.  

There’s a prolonged silence and Bucky finds himself keeping a finger against your pulse, just to be sure. He feels like screaming or crying or maybe both, but he exhales a steady breath and tries to calm his heart rate instead because he knows you can hear it.  

“I’m glad it’s you,” you say after a while, voice barely louder than a whisper. It’s faint, fading, and Bucky bites down on his cheek. “I’m glad... that if this is... if this is it... you’re here.”

It breaks his heart, shatters it to pieces. He’d trade places with you if he could, absorb your pain tenfold if it meant you’d survive this, but he knows it’s a fantasy. Bucky Barnes stopped allowing himself to indulge in such dreams a long time ago.  

So, he holds you a little tighter, dares to press a kiss to the crown of your head, and rubs gentle circles along your spine. He can feel your pulse weaken, how it slips to beats a little longer apart, how your breaths fall shallow and he’s not ready to lose you yet. He’s not.

“How about when we get out of here, we go dancing?”

You don’t say anything, but he can feel your smile against his chest, the warm of your breath as you exhale a tired chuckle. It takes nearly all of your energy.  

“Been thinking about it a lot since New Orleans,” Bucky continues. “It could be fun, you know? Get dressed up. Listen to good music. Beautiful woman in my arms. Sounds nice.”

“You should... You should go,” you tell him and he barely recognizes your voice. He clenches his jaw until it aches, brushes at the tear in his eyes you’re too weak to lift your head to notice.  

“I’m not going with anyone but you, so no deal.”

“Bucky...”

“No deal. You or nothing, doll.” Bucky finds himself smiling through the tears. “You’re my only dance partner, okay? Can’t be having just anyone step all over my toes.”

You hum and it’s so faint he can hardly hear it. 

Bucky clears his throat, swallowing back the lump that threatens to choke him. “We’ll have to go back to that bar, okay? The one off of Bourbon Street. Live music only. I can show you how we used to dance back in my day. I’m sure you’ll be wonderful at it.” 

A smile breaks through the tears as he imagines spinning you under the soften glow of amber lights and the reflection of the moonlight through the windows, the roar of trumpets settling in his chest and the echo of your laugh etched right into his soul. You’d smile at him and his whole world would stop spinning. 

“What do you say, doll?” Bucky sighs, leaning down to kiss the crown of your head. He brushes the hair away from your eyes, sticky and wet with sweat.

But you don’t say anything and suddenly, it’s impossibly silent.  

Bucky stops breathing because he can’t hear the crackle of the fire place or the wind barreling against the cabin walls. He can’t hear the heavy snow as it brushes against the windows. He can’t hear your breaths, can’t feel the pulse as he reaches up to your neck, and that silence begins to feel like a void, like he’s screaming, but it’s all inside his head.  

“Y/n?” he chokes out. There’s no reply, but still, as if to break his own heart a little more, he tries again. “Y/n? Please... don’t do this. Come on. Come back to me.”

Nothing.

“No... no no no... don’t give up on me,” Bucky pleads, tears burning hot in his eyes. “Y/n...”

He barely notices as the cabin door is blown open, as the wind screams outside and snow barrels in through the frame. He can’t focus on much of anything else as he tries to move your lifeless body in his arms, trying to wake you from the edge of a paralyzing darkness. He doesn’t recognize the blur of red and yellow as it crashes into the room.  

“Banner! I need the antidote, now!”

You’re being pulled from his arms and all Bucky wants to do is hold on tighter.  

“Barnes, you need to let go of her.”  

The voice is calmer now, gentle, and Bucky allows himself to meet Tony’s eye. There’s a kindness there he doesn’t expect, an understanding. Tony’s helmet has been discarded and Bucky notices quickly he bares the same redness in the whites of his eyes, the same dark circles beneath. Tony’s hand lays upon your shoulder.  

“Let me save her, Barnes,” Tony tries again as Bruce barrels in through the door in a parka a few sizes too big for his frame. He’s clutching a syringe in his hand, desperately trying to hold up the hood around his head.  

Bucky nods numbly and releases you from his hold. Tony and Bruce lower you carefully down to the ground, laid upon the blankets he slept on less than an hour earlier. Tony presses his hand to your chest and an electrical spark jolts through your body. He tries again, and still, nothing.  

Bruce pulls off the cap of the syringe and without hesitation, plunges it directly into a vein and releases the serum inside. He sits back on his heels and waits.  

It's agonizing. The seconds feel like hours and Bucky is certain he’ll never learn to smile again, until suddenly, the purple veins along the knife wound begin to retract. They crawl along your skin and shrink back to the wound until they’ve disappeared entirely.  

But then, the most beautiful sound.  

You gasp for air, chest rising high off the ground before you sink back against the blankets. FRIDAY reports your pulse, says you’re stable, and Bucky presses his hands over his face to stop the sob before it consumes him whole. It’s made of relief.  

“You did good, Barnes,” Tony says as Bucky lowers his hands.  

He’s suspicious of the praise, but as Tony runs a hand over your hair, soothes it away from your face, Bucky knows he meant what he said.  

“We should get her to the cradle,” Bruce says, shivering as he glances back to the door. “Helen will want to fix that wound up and run some tests to make sure the antidote worked.”

Tony covers you with the blankets as best as he can and gathers you into his arms. Bucky tries to ignore the lurch in his stomach as you press your nose to Tony’s neck, seeking out his warmth. He doesn’t say anything else before he flies out the front door, back to the quinjet.

Bruce starts to make his way to the door when he realizes Bucky isn’t following behind. He pauses and glances back at Bucky over his shoulder.  

“How did you know?” Bucky asks weakly, staring at the empty syringe.  

“A few of the Shield agents came back from the field with the same symptoms,” Bruce explains. He scratches the back of his neck. “We wanted to be prepared if either of you were infected by the poison.”  

Bucky nods. He feels empty.  

“She’s going to be alright, Barnes,” Bruce says and he places a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It surprises him but he can feel the tension slip away as Bruce squeezes the muscle tightly. He gestures to the door. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”

***

Bucky’s right hand is throbbing. Blood trickles down from the open scars on his knuckles and it smears into the punching bag. Beads of sand embed themselves into the wounds but he presses on because it’s better than the pit in his stomach, of seeing you laid up in the med wing with wires attached you and a monitor displaying the weak rhythm of your pulse.  

It’s been days since you’ve been home, since the antidote was administered and Helen properly stitched up the stab wound in your stomach, and yet you’re still unconscious, barely breathing on your own. Banner can’t make sense of it, but he suspects it’s because the poison was in your system longer than the others.  

Bucky can’t help but wonder that if he never left the field with you, if he had just stayed put and fought off whoever tried to come near, that maybe they could have saved you. Maybe he’s the reason you're still fighting for your life. Maybe if he wasn’t around at all you'd be safer, you'd be alive.

The bag dislodges from the ceiling and slams into the wall in an echoing thud.  

Bucky sighs, slumping his shoulders down as he kicks at the sand streaming from the bag onto the gym floors. He turns to pick up the next bag in the long line leading from the storage closet when he stops dead in his tracks.  

You’re standing in the center of the gym, still dressed the pale blue scrubs from the med wing, holding onto the edge of a weight machine for support. There is a mark in your arm from where the IV line should be, tape residue around your mouth from the tubes. It’s a miracle you’re on your feet at all and all Bucky wants to do is run towards you, wrap you tight into his arms, just to convince himself that you’re real, that you’re standing right there, but instead, he holds his ground. He’s turned to stone.  

“Thought I’d find you here,” you chuckle, your voice raspy and airy, but it has a strength to it again. It sounds like you.  

Bucky grips his hands at his side. “I didn’t... I didn’t know you were awake.”

You shrug. “Don’t think the nurses do either. Helen might be mad at me when she finds an empty bed in my room.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Y/n,” he says, his gaze focused on the floor. He pushes aside the heavy stone sitting in his chest as he starts to walk towards you to usher to towards the med wing. “I should get you back...”

“What else was I supposed to do when I woke up and you weren’t there?”  

You’re smiling, teasing. There’s a laugh in your voice, and still Bucky can’t help the pang in his stomach. It twists and turns and threatens to consume him whole.  

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe not wander around the tower after being in a coma for four days?”

The smile lingers upon your face despite his tone. It doesn’t seem to bother you at all, doesn’t throw you off your game, doesn’t puncture even a crack into the shield of your charm. No – you smile at him.  

“You broke your promise, Barnes,” you say simply. “I’m here to scold you for it. Think you may owe me a few takeout nights before you’re out of the doghouse.”  

Bucky narrows his eyes, daring to challenge your gaze. “What promise?”  

“You left.”

Bucky feels the hitch in his lungs before the flash of guilt sweeps over his gut. You notice it just as quick because the teasing smile falls in an instant. He stumbles back away from you, slipping out from the extent of your outstretched hand.  

“It’s better that way, Y/n,” he mumbles. “I’m the reason you ended up there.”

“Don’t you dare do that,” you snap, enough so that it startles him. 

You struggle to walk the few steps closer to him, your legs wobbling underneath you and he wonders how you even made it across the tower and down five floors to the gym without anyone stopping you. You reach for his hand and because Bucky can’t bear to see you struggle, he offers his support. You balance yourself on the edge of the weight machine beside him, one hand anchored in his left forearm.  

“Y/n,” he starts, taking in a deep breath, but you cut him off quickly.  

“No. There is no room for the Bucky Barnes guilt parade here, okay?” you argue. “You saved my life, Bucky. You can’t possibly stand there and think for a second that you’re somehow to blame for anything less.”

He shakes his head. The guilt and shame that burns deep into his chest is one he knows well. It lives inside of him, festering, waiting for moments like these.  

“If I hadn’t taken you from the field, if I got that blade out sooner, Banner could have given you the antidote hours earlier and you wouldn’t have—”

“I would have bled out before he had the chance,” you press, pulling yourself a little closer. “Those other agents? They had scrapes, Bucky. Nicks. The poison only started to affect me after you removed the knife. Bruce thinks it reacted to the oxygen in the air. Waiting to remove the blade, closing the wound... Bucky, you prolonged it as long as you could have. You gave me more time, gave Bruce and Tony time to find us. You saved me.”  

Your hand squeezes at the solid metal of his forearm and Bucky knows he can't really feel it. He can only register the synapses faintly, as if they were distant, far away; it reads it like data and numbers, but there’s something in the way the pads of your fingertips press into the divots of vibranium that makes his breath hilt. His stare focuses on your thumb as it rubs soothing sweeps along the crevices and it takes him a moment before he dares to meet your eye.

When he does, all that is waiting for him is that same smile that lit up across a battlefield, that pushed through when you were on the brink of an endless darkness, that cast away the shadows and demons that swarmed in his chest just with the wrinkles up by your eyes. He felt lighter. Safer.  

“Now,” you start, sliding your palm down his forearm until you can intertwine your hand in his own. You curl your fingers around his and you don’t seem to be bothered in the slightest by the harsh chill of the metal. You smile at him and for the first time in a while, Bucky finds himself smiling back. “I believe you owe me a dance, Sergeant.”

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[librarymontage]

When you were thirteen you found a fox on the side of the road, bleeding out from where the car hit it on it’s way home, and you had the afternoon off from class so you scooped it up with shaking hands and you walked into the forest and you didn’t know the first thing about animal first aid so you left it in a bed of leaves by the river and hoped that someone showed you the same blind kindness someday.

You were fifteen when Harry Thomas kissed you behind the English building and you were old enough to know it shouldn’t feel as good as it did and young enough not to care. Harry never spoke to you again and you realized maybe boys like you were meant to stay quiet, unseen.

You are seventeen when your father hands you a new school’s pamphlet and a suitcase and shoves you back into your brother’s shadow. You’ve given up on your own voice by now so you go through the motions and you stand when the headmaster orders and you say the words and you shake the hands and nothing ever changes.

You meet your roommate and your throat closes up like an allergy attack and he has the same look as that fox from years ago: wide eyed, trusting and deep as a sinkhole, and you realize maybe there’s more to life than neckties and dinner parties.

He is brighter than anything you’ve ever seen before. He likes poetry— well, who doesn’t in your class. He seems like everything your father would have wanted but he shakes your hand like it’s made of glass and he doesn’t look away when you don’t know what to say and when he raises his hand in class everything goes silent inside you.

He steals your poetry, he jumps on your bed in the middle of the night, he doesn’t mind when you tell him the dark creeps you out, he never makes you do anything you’d rather not do, and you don’t want to tell him you love him but it’s getting harder every day.

“The world’s first unmanned flying desk set,” he says and you burst into flames on the spot. Nothing has ever been this good, nothing can top his smiling face over a typewriter, a crumpled theatre flyer in his hand, and you love to see him happy even when you feel like crying or when his eyes seem too fever bright for comfort or when your cruel lives seem too close. If he’s happy and by your side, nothing can go wrong.

You were wrong, you realized as you watched him whisper lines with a wreath of twigs around his head. He’s not a fox, or a star, or a man, he’s the whole goddamn universe.

You thought you heard bagpipes in the distance that night he drove away and never came back. You thought you heard him come in at night, brush the hair away from your cheek, kiss you softly. But it snows the day he never comes back, it snows every day he’s gone, until everything is white and covered and unreal because you haven’t stop crying in days and the memory of his smile is just as painful as it was the first day you met him.

When you were thirteen you saved a fox. When you were seventeen you became the fox. But no one ever talked about what happens after the rescue, after the next life, after nothing seems to matter. They never explain that he might have loved you, too.

[yourmidnightlover]

never stop loving me

Summary - Spencer lashes out at y/n after being upset for a while, only to be far too harsh and push her away.

TW: mean spencer, swearing, bomb, injured reader, kissing

WC - 5,647

masterlist

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spencer had been acting weird lately.

and it wasn't his normal, quirky, adorable weird self. it was quiet. too quiet. he didn't ramble like he usually did when you brought anything up.

he was distant. he didn't sit beside you on the plane ride home, or hold your hand as you drove the both of you to your shared apartment.

you didn't want to push him to say anything he didn't want to, but you were getting worried. you rarely had to corner him into talking, but there was the occasional time where you knew he wouldn't get through whatever it was eating himself up until he spoke up and voiced the words in his mind.

so when you both entered the apartment, you hung your coat up on the hook and placed your bag beside the couch as you plopped down.

"spencer?" you asked quietly as he hung his coat up. he turned to face you as you began to pat the seat beside you, wanting him to sit down. he complied with a huff as you took note that he sat at nearly the other end of the couch.

"what?" he asked without looking at you, you could sense the attitude in his voice.

"i'm worried about you," you whispered. "can you open up? what's bothering you right now?" you moved closer to him and placed a hand on his lower thigh comfortingly.

"you're worried about me?" he spat out, looking at you incredulously. "i'm sure that's true," he scoffed sarcastically, rolling his eyes as he flicked your hand off his leg.

"spencer why would yo-" you started as you scooted closer to him on the couch.

"why would i what? why would i not believe you when you ask me that? you're a smart girl, y/n. figure it out," he nearly yelled at you as he began to get up from the couch. you grabbed his hand with both of yours, not wanting him to leave you like that.

"please, spence. i just need to kno-"

"you should be able to figure it out yourself!" he shouted. "and stop touching me! oh my god all you ever do is touch me! did you ever think that maybe something's wrong with you if you have to always be touching someone? god! just don't ever touch me! you're so annoying! what the hell is wrong with you?"

"i-i'm sorry. i didn't think it wa-" you started apologizing.

"exactly! you didn't think! you never think about anyone but yourself! you never stopped to think about how fucking uncomfortable you touching me is! i hate being near you. i can't do it," he started shaking his head as he ran his hands over his face.

"wh-what?" you asked as the teas you didn't know were gathering in your eyes began spilling down your cheeks.

"you heard me," he said as he started to turn around. "i'm just gonna sleep alone tonight," he started walking towards your bedroom.

"i'll sleep on the couch," you spoke up before he made it to the room, he stopped in his tracks. "your back's been hurting lately, and you're too tall to fit on the couch comfortably. i'll sleep on the couch," you whispered, partially afraid that he wouldn't be able to hear you, wiping at the tears.

"whatever," he said as he finished his journey into the bedroom, not bothering to look at you.

you wanted to wait until he was asleep to get any blankets or anything, so the only things going through your mind were his words to you.

what the hell is wrong with you?

i hate being near you...

just don't ever touch me!

you weren't sure what was bothering him this much, but if you knew anything about spencer it was that that man could hold a grudge.

when emily had 'come back from the dead' it was like it was a different kind of person. it wasn't the spencer you fell in love with and you knew it, but that doesn't excuse his words.

so, you did what anyone in your position would do. you gave him space. you dialed the number of a trusted friend and colleague, praying she would pick up.

"hello?" the groggy voice rang out from the phone speaker.

"hi," you meekly replied. "sorry, i know it's pretty late. i umm," you sniffled, "i just didn't know who else to call."

"what happened, y/n? are you hurt? is everything okay?" she asked worried.

"yea, yea. everything's okay," you sighed. "i think spencer might just need some space is all."

"ummm, okay. is there anything i can do?"

"actually, yea? i hate to ask you this or put you in a weird position, but i was wondering if i could stay with you for a while?" you rambled out.

"of course you can. do you even have to ask?" she replied quietly.

"oh my gosh, you're a lifesaver. i-it might not be for long, i'm not really sure," you began. "it might be until spencer is ready, o-or maybe until i umm," you sniffled again, "until i find my own place?"

"that's okay, honey. i promise," she answered sweetly.

"thank you so much. i owe you, em," you sighed as you wiped the tears from your cheeks.

"don't even worry about it, y/n. i'm glad you came to me. are you coming here tonight?"

"if you don't mind... i'm not sure if spencer would want to see me when he umm, when he wakes up," you nodded even though she couldn't see you.

"okay. i'll be waiting."

"alright. i'll probably leave in like half an hour. bye."

"bye," she replied before you hung up.

you snuck into your bedroom, and noticed how spencer was sleeping peacefully.

you had began as friends at the bureau. you didn't even think of him in a romantic way until he admitted his feelings after one drunk night out with the team. it was sweet, a bit sloppy, but sweet.

he kept rambling about how beautiful you were, and how good you smelt when you would lay your head on his shoulder to fall asleep or when you were cuddled up on your couch watching movies. he told you about how you made him feel like less of a weirdo when he would ramble about things he knew, just wanting to be liked by others.

he mentioned how he loved that he could come to you for anything at any time. he also told you about how he appreciated that when you met him, you didn't try to shake his hand. you knew how uncomfortable he was with touching a stranger and allowed him to make the first move. you let him be the one to cross the bridge that was physical touch because you were just that caring for others, and that's truly what he loved about you from the beginning.

then he said that he would never tell you how much he liked you because he never wanted those things to stop.

by that time, you had already driven him back to his place, and helped him into bed. he begged you to stay, so you obliged kindly and opted to take the couch. he told you to stay in the bed with him. he was the one to pull you closer onto his chest. he was the one to stroke you hair as you fell asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

he didn't even remember that night. he woke up with you in his arms, content with the warmth you provided him. he loved the way you instinctively curled into his chest even more.

you never brought it up.

then you realized that you felt the same for him on one of the later cases. you wanted to hold him while he cried, and rejoice with him when he had his wins. you wanted to hear his stupid rants about something as miniscule as sprinkles on a birthday cake. you wanted that closeness he graced you with. you just wanted him.

and now, as you picked a few more pieces of clothes to pack, you heard rustling coming from the sheets. you turned to see spencer now sitting up in bed, looking at you.

"...hi," you whispered with tight lips.

"what're you doing?" he asked. you couldn't tell what he was thinking since it was still dark.

"i'm umm, i was gonna stay with emily for a while," you said as you wiped the tears from your cheeks for the thousandth time. "i um, didn't think you'd want me to be here when you woke up," you nodded as you folded the clothes in your hands. "i was going to leave in about 20 minutes, so i'll be out soon," you felt your lip quivering.

you didn't want to cry in front of him. maybe it was that you wanted to have a sense of dignity, but if it came down to it you would bet that you just didn't want him to feel bad. even after he basically said he hated you.

because that's who you were.

you were a touchy person. that's how you show love to others. that's how others know you care for them.

but now he said he hated that about you.

he hated the way you would gently graze his hand with yours when you could tell he was upset. he hated the way you ran your hand through his hair when he was stressed. he hated the way you placed your hand on his shoulders when he was sad or frustrated.

he hated you.

and he just looked at you standing there. he didn't say anything. he looked at you as tears welled in your eyes from his words.

the words that felt like a burning blade being dragged along your spine. the words that felt like bile rising from your stomach.

"i'll just go now," you said as you ran out of the room and into the living room, not noticing the way that spencer followed you.

"hey," spencer spoke up as you piled the clothes into your go bag that was still beside the couch.

"yea?" you sniffled, not bothering to look at him while pulling on the sweater that was keeping you warm.

when you finally turned to see him he was looking at you with a blank expression. he was looking at the sweater you were wearing. you looked down at it, not remembering it was one of his he had let you worn during the case in north dakota. it was the one you wore when you realized your feelings for him, almost a month after he admitted them for you.

the one you wore when you shared your first kiss in the snow.

"oh," you said as you felt the tears build up again. "you... want it back?" you asked as the tear fell down your face, leaving a burning sensation that felt far better than what you felt inside.

he didn't say anything. you couldn't even see him since the tears were blinding you. so, you slowly unbuttoned the sweater and folded it nicely as you handed it to him.

"i-i'm sorry," you sniffled. "i didn't um - i didn't want to make you un-uncomfortable," you said as you zipped the bag up and grabbed your keys, heading to the door. "just know that i um, i love you."

and you were gone. you rushed out of the door. you didn't want to wait to see if he would tell you he loved you back, scared that you'd be waiting for a lifetime. so you ran to your car and drove off to emily's place, leaving spencer standing in the living room, frozen from what just happened.

but you couldn't see his heart breaking in return. he pulled his sweater up to his face and recognized the sweet scent of you on it that made him break down.

when he noticed how cold you were from the snow from forgetting your jacket at the hotel, he automatically gave you his. he didn't even care how cold he would get - just that you'd be a bit more comfortable.

he draped the sweater over your shoulders to help you put it on, and rubbed your arms for more friction to get you more warm. then, when you turned to look him in the face, you leaned in slowly and grabbed his face.

"can-is this okay?" you asked kindly.

he didn't even respond. he just connected his lips with yours after giving you the brightest smile. he relished in the moment of feeling content, whole, peace. you.

and now you gave him back that very sweater.

in reality, he was looking at the sweater you were wearing as a sign of hope. he thought that maybe since you were still wearing it, he hadn't completely squandered his chance of forgiveness with you.

but you gave him his sweater back with tears in your eyes.

he made you cry.

he drove you away.

when emily answered the door, you broke down in her arms, which was quite the role-reversal.

you were always the one to comfort the other team members. you never really went to anyone for help, you never wanted to burden them with your problems when they all had lives. you just wanted to help them. that's just how selfless you were.

"i'm here, y/n," emily consoled you. "let it out, sweetie. that's it," she stroked you hair as she led the two of you to the couch so you could cry in her arms.

when you finally calmed down a little bit, you started apologizing.

"i'm so sorry. i know it's really late, i just didn't know who else to go to and i'm just so..." you sniffled.

"don't worry about it. i'm glad you came to me. now, care to tell me what happened?"

so you told her. everything.

okay, so you made him seem like less of a douche bag, but you told her. you just tried to explain to her his side of the story, trying to be more understanding.

"and you feel bad? you aren't mad at him?" she questioned in disbelief.

"yea, of course i feel bad. being myself has made him uncomfortable, em. how could i be mad at him when i'm so hopelessly in love with him?" you asked in question.

"oh, sweetheart," she said as she pulled you back into a hug.

she had a plan.

okay, it wasn't much of a plan.

it was more of just chewing him out.

but she knew that would work.

because she also knew how much he loved you. and she knew there had to be a reason he was treating you like that.

the next day you had gotten called in at 4 a. m. with a new case. you drove to the office with emily and walked in behind her. once you saw spencer sitting at the round table in his normal seat beside yours, you felt a kind of rage boil inside of you.

he was just sitting there with a gloom look on his face, not trying to apologize for what he had said to you or anything. you'd thought that maybe he'd even look at you by now but he hasn't even noticed your presence. nothing.

you huffed, walking over to sit in a chair you normally wouldn't be in. spencer finally turned to see it was you who sat down, so you looked him up and down before turning your eyes towards hotch who was giving you all the briefing.

there was a bomber in charleston, california. he would send bomb to local corporations that had a history of animal testing. He was essentially trying to rid the world of those who harm animals, which is quite ironic since that involved killing humans.

each of the buildings were two stories, yet the bomb didn't level it. that's how you knew the bomb was meant to send a message rather than kill more people.

so until his message was spread and out in the open for all people, he'd continue to kill people without hesitation. human life wasn't valuable to him, so it was your job to stop him.

once you had gotten to california, you had all been divided into teams. you went with morgan and spencer to the most recent bomb site to analyze anything they might've missed.

the entire scene smelled like burnt papers, no surprise there. aside from the fact that people had previously died where you were standing, the tension in the air was so thick it felt as though the smoke had remained from the explosion.

you had avoided spencer, tried to talk to him as little as possible when you had to. unless it was for the case, you didn't speak. until hotch decided to room the two of you together.

you had asked the girls if you could room with them, only for them to refuse and make you 'work things out with your beau.' so essentially, you were screwed.

you trudged into the room before spencer had made it, being sure to lock the door behind you just to annoy spencer. was it petty? sure. did he deserve it? yes. would you apologize? absolutely not.

once you turned around, you realized there was only one bed. of course hotch would do that. what a dick. you sighed before placing your things on the couch, deciding that spencer's back pain is completely different than being temporarily locked out of your room. you were truly doing it for yourself so you wouldn't have to hear him complain the next day about his back hurting.

after you had gotten out of the shower, your body in only a small towel, you heard the door knock. you knew it was spencer, his signature knock giving it away, and decided you could open it for him. when he realized you were practically naked and everyone had a view of you from the hallway, he quickly pushed you further inside along with himself and slammed the door shut.

"what the hell, y/n?" he whisper-yelled at you, gesturing to what you were wearing. "anybody could've seen you and you're practically naked!"

"and?" you crossed your arms over your chest. "i don't see why you should have any say so in what i'm wearing."

"you're wearing a towel," he stated as if you hadn't already known.

"and?" you shrugged. "is my body making you uncomfortable? is that why you don't want to touch me, spencer?" you rolled your eyes before turning to get your clothes from your suitcase.

you decided to just strip right in front of him, just to tease him a bit more. you slowly slid the towel down your body, your back still towards spencer as you shimmied into your shorts that barely covered anything. you turned around to get your shirt, revealing your bare chest to spencer who stood in awe of what was happening in front of him. you put your thin shirt on tantalizingly slow, aware that he could probably see your nipples through the fabric, but that was the entire point.

spencer walked over to you slowly, you smiled at him happily as he approached you. when he brought his hands up to cup your face gently, you swatted his hands away from you.

"ah-ahh," you shook your head no. "there's no touching allowed," you rolled your eyes one last time before getting comfortable on the couch, pulling the one extra blanket in the room over your body in an attempt to keep warm.

as the minutes turned into an hour, you felt yourself becoming more upset. his words, even if he didn't mean them, had an impact on you. he couldn't just unsay the words or take them back, that's not how it works. instead, he made you live with the thought and constant worry that you made him uncomfortable by touching him.

and that pained you. that pain turned into tears, which ensued sniffling because of your runny nose. and your tears and sniffles pained spencer even more. he listened in wait as you cried yourself to sleep once more, the sniffled slowing down which told him of your slumber.

when you woke up, you had realized you were awake before spencer. you quickly got ready and made your way downstairs to retrieve some mediocre coffee. deciding to not be a complete asshole, you got spencer his own cup as well just how he liked it and placed it on the bedside table for when he would wake up.

when he did wake up, it was to the smell of coffee beside him. he had obviously realized you had gotten it for him, he wasn't a complete idiot other than the fact that he had hurt you in the first place. when he took a sip of it, it was just as he liked it.

of course it was, he thought, it's you.

since there were so many animal activists that were recorded online, you couldn't really narrow down the suspect range. once you had all made it back to the precinct that morning, they had widdled down all the companies that have ever used testing on animals. there were four companies in total, so you would all split up and investigate each one.

you, of course, had been paired with spencer once again. it was obviously the rest of the team conspiring to get you two to make up, but he hadn't even apologized. and you refused to make the first move.

so as you drove to the company you had been assigned, there was yet again that irritable tension in the air that made it seem like someone could choke on it. you pulled into the parking lot and got out as quickly as you could.

making your way inside, you asked where the owner of the company was while flashing your badge, spencer making his way inside just in time to catch where you were going and follow.

"hi, ma'am," you introduced yourself, extending your hand for her to shake. "i'm here in regards for the-"

"recent bombings? yes, i figured you would be," barbara cooke sighed as she released your hand.

"yes, i'm agent y/n yl/n/ and this is dr. spencer reid," you motioned to him as he gave her an awkward wave. "we were wondering if you've received any recent threats concerning your history in-"

"animal testing? we get those all the time, agent... what was it again?" she asked disrespectfully.

"y/l/n," you informed her once again.

"right, well we get those too often for it to be significant. in fact, we get those almost weekly," she rolled her eyes before turning back to the computer on her desk.

"ma'am, if you wouldn't mind just trying to think of a threat that stuck out to you. one in particular that made it seem as though they might follow through?" spencer asked kindly.

"i actually do mind. i have a company to run and don't need to waste my time on something that won't ever affect me. so please, see yourselves out," she motioned to the door with a sigh.

you and spencer looked at each other before turning around and leaving her office. instead, you decided to ask the employees if they saw anyone that seemed as though they were landscaping the office.

"no, not really. i'm too busy trying to finish the work cooke gives me."

"i'm sorry, no. i try to just ind my own business around here."

"i'm sorry, there have been bombings?"

there wasn't much luck.

you were making your rounds right back to the front of the office, asking nearly everyone that you passed if they noticed anyone suspicious until you noticed a mailman near the front of the room.

he was dressed in an all-brown outfit, but with no logo of what company he worked for. not even a hat to display the name. all the companies that delivered had company logos displayed on the outfits, just to display for publicity.

when you looked around at who was near you, your eyes locked on spencer who was walking towards you, his head down. once you saw the mailman walk out of the office and saw the lady at the front desk begin to open the tape, you grabbed spencer by the arm.

it all happened so quickly.

you pushed spencer out of the door and locked it, blocking him from the blast that would surely ensue, and ran as quick as you could to drag the woman away from the box. you shielded her with your body, turning your back to where the bomb would go off to lessen the impact on her body. before you could even register what happened, you were pushed into the wall cati-corner the desk, knocking you unconscious.

-

spencer didn't know what was happening until he heard the bomb.

he assumed the blast wasn't as intense as it was previously by the fact that the second story was still standing. the blast from the other bombs at least made a bit of a dent in the second story.

in an instant, he realized that he might've lost you forever. the love of his life. gone.

and you were still mad at him. you hated him. you thought he hated you.

once he was able to form a coherent thought, he pulled his phone out and called 911, being sure to tell them there was a possible agent down in an explosion. once he hung up, he mustered up his inner derek morgan and kicked the doors in, it helped that they were already frail due to the explosion.

with the doors now open, smoke flowed out of the now open space, looking for an escape as spencer was looking for his love. all he could hear were coughs and whines of the employees around him. then he felt a hand on his shoulder, he looked to see the face of the lady from the front desk.

"she-she saved me," the woman told spencer in reference to you. "she's over here," spencer helped her navigate himself to where your body lay limp on the ground, drywall covering your face and body.

"oh my god, y/n," he called as he moved the rubbish from your body before looking for a pulse.

he found himself whispering a series of pleas that you were okay, that he would find the pulse in your neck or wrist. that he would feel the warmth off your body against his, be able to touch your skin and have you grab his hand when you were nervous. he wanted you to never stop touching him.

because ever since you had joined the bureau, you had been a touchy person. you were the person people went to when they needed comfort because they wanted a hug. you were the person the team counted on when comforting the mothers or children because you had a comforting touch.

and he wanted that comfort. he needed that comfort right then. but the one person he needed the comfort from didn't think he wanted it from them. you didn't think he wanted you anymore.

so you had to be okay. because he couldn't imagine a world where you weren't his, which sounds so cliche but couldn't be any more true.

ever since you waltzed into his life, he could never remember what it was like without you. what it was like without your hand running through his soft hair. without your hand on his knee underneath the bau table during a meeting. without your face buried in his neck while you were cuddling at night. without your kiss...

without you.

he needed you.

and he found the small, faint, minuscule pulse that beat throughout your body. a gentle but safe way to know you were alive and still with him. maybe you'd still want to be with him.

when the ambulance arrived, he didn't hesitate to hop in the back of the van, opting to call the team to inform them of what happened.

they had put an oxygen mask on you to ensure your safety and had told him that you had a concussion from the blast. they would do further tests once they got to the hospital, which felt like it took forever, according to spencer.

once they had wheeled you away, spencer sat in wait once again. the team slowly trickled in, trying to comfort spencer but ultimately failing. when the doctor finally came in, spencer was the first to jump up and ask how you were.

"she'll make a full recovery, she's rather lucky," he nodded at spencer before checking his chart. "she has three bruised ribs and a minor concussion. she'll be able to fly in a couple of days, but will have to stay out of the field until her ribs are fully healed. she shouldn't be doing any strenuous activities until then as well," he informed the doctor. "other than that she's healthy as a horse."

"thank you. can i see her now?" spencer asked eagerly.

"yes, of course," he nodded before turning around. "right this way."

when spencer came into your room, your eyes were barely open. it looked like you were struggling to stay awake. your face and arms were littered with an occasional bruise, which he's sure were worse on your stomach and legs. your skin was a bit paler than usual, it didn't have that glow you normally had, that liveliness.

but you still looked like you. you still looked beautiful.

spencer took the seat beside your bed and moved it closer to you, taking your hand in his before you snatched it away, turning on your side to face the wall opposite of where spencer sat.

"y/n, please..." spencer pleaded, feeling his eyes well with tears. he thought you were just angry at him until he heard your soft sniffles. "darling, please look at me," he placed his hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you back to face him. you turned yourself back around to face him, eyes red and swollen as your lip was quivering.

"what?" you spat out, trying to maintain your own composure until you saw he was crying himself. you raised your brows in shock before asking him, "what's wrong?"

he laughed, "you're asking me what's wrong?" you nodded. "i'm just so, so sorry i'm sorry i said all those things about you. i'm sorry it took you almost dying for me to apologize. and i'm sorry for ever making you feel like i didn't love you, y/n. i love you so much. every part of you, your touch included. it's anything but annoying. it's comforting, and sweet, and calming, and does so much more to help me than it does hurt or annoy me," he took your hand in his once more, placing a kiss to your knuckles. "i love you so much and i'm so sorry."

"and i'm sorry i had to touch you to push you out of the way of an explosion," you rolled your eyes with a chuckle so he knew you were joking.

"thanks for that, by the way - saving me," he shrugged. "which brings me to my next point... do you know how reckless that was? how dangerous and stupid and how you could have died? because you could have died and if you died i don't know what i'd do with myself. especially knowing you were mad at me when you died," he held your hand to his chest so you could feel how his heart broke in those moments he didn't know if you were alive. the moments he thought he might've lost you forever.

"but i'm alive. i'm right here," you assured him, bringing his hand to your lips this time to press a kiss before holding the one with both of yours. "why'd you say those things anyway? why were you so upset?"

"well remember the officer that was on the case?" you nodded. "remember how he kept touching you?" you rolled your eyes with a nod.

"god, it was so annoying," you interjected.

"well it didn't seem like you thought it was annoying," he avoided eye contact with you, you pulled his arm to get his attention once again.

"are you saying you thought i wanted him to be so handsy?" you questioned, he nodded guiltily. "spencer, are you kidding?" you chuckled. "i had to do that because if he knew i hated him he wouldn't have been so cooperative. i promise, you are the only one for me. you're the only one i want to touch me like that. but that doesn't excuse you talking to me like that. you saying those things hurt me, a lot."

"i know, i know they did... and i plan on making it up to you. i will make it up to you, i swear," he nodded along eagerly.

"yea, you better dr. reid. i'm holding you to that," you huffed out a laugh, spencer following suit as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead.

then to your nose. then right and left cheeks. then your lips. it wasn't a kiss that demanded anything. it wasn't hostile or passionate. it was content. it was a way of showing you love and saying that your love was enough. that you were enough.

"i love you, spencer," you whispered as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"and i love you, y/n," he whispered back. "please never stop loving me the way you do."