#you will not see me frequently anymore but do not mourn for me

[andisupreme]

I moved recently to start a new job and part of my commute now involves one of those high capacity toll booths where a two lane road suddenly flares out into 5-7 lanes of total anarchy with no lines anywhere, and then narrows back down to two lanes again, and we're just supposed to sort ourselves out? Who designed this

anyway I dreamed up this helpful anatomical guide on the drive home

[ms-demeanor]

Atheist condolence card like "sucks that your grandpa no longer exists and you'll never see him again, oh well"

I mean, I'm looking for a condolence card for a Jewish family (found a pretty good one, will be adding a note about a shared memory of the deceased and hopes for the mourners that their memory may be a blessing).

But also I have no idea why people find the concept of an afterlife comforting. Legitimately, that is unappealing to me and the idea that I would be artificially separated from the people that I love and reintroduced to them after a period of separation if there was no need for that time of mourning and loss seems. Bullshit? It seems like bullshit? Capricious and cruel at best?

Anyway when my grandpa died we got a phone call when they tossed is ashes into the ocean and we never saw him again! Being reminded that we wouldn't see him in an afterlife wasn't the sad part, the sad part was knowing that we wouldn't know him anymore, that we'd be on one side of a growing divide, that there was a before and an after and we had left him behind while we had to move forward. It wouldn't have been comforting to think "well perhaps someday when I have lived my life without him, I will see him again in a place where nothing from this life (all the things that I have done, all the things that he taught me) will matter because they were worldly and unimportant."

What was comforting at that time, and after the very many family deaths that I have experienced (and I've experienced a lot! I've been comfortable with the idea that I'll never see my loved ones again when they're gone since I was a very small child!), and what I suspect is comforting even for religious people who have experienced a loss is to be reminded of the people who are still on the same side of that dividing line, who we can still love and adore and support and make memories with.

Anyway. I'm an atheist at least partially because of my grandfather, who was a magician and a skeptic and took great joy in skewering the supernatural. It would be an insult to his memory to think that he was an angel lighting up a star in heaven or whatever the christian condolence cards say.

My grandpa did a sexy comedy magical immolation of my grandmother in front of crowds; there was a devil on the flier.

(grandma's the one on the right)

Pictured: Not someone who had much reverence for death or much patience for the supernatural:

(Funny story, when my dad came to visit this week he saw a 2-post 52U server rack on the driveway from a distance and asked me "where did you guys get the guillotine? Did I leave that here?")

But my family is probably *unusually* atheist and irreverent.

For atheists in general I don't know why people think that it's more upsetting to acknowledge the truth (that once people are dead you won't see them anymore) than to be told "comforting" lies (that you will see dead people again at some mystical place that you have no access to or proof of).

I *hate* hearing "they're in a better place" when I'm mourning someone I loved because that's something that's comforting for a religious person to say but dismisses both the way that I mourn and (frequently in my family) the beliefs of the deceased. They are not in a better place, they are *gone* and I don't want to imagine that they're somewhere waiting for me to join them again, I want to remember them for who they were and accept that they aren't in my life anymore.

"They're in heaven now" "they're with the angels now" "they're with their maker" - none of those things are true and they reflect an extremely limited worldview that I don't share and find pretty insipid actually! Thank you for trying to comfort me you are doing a poor job of it I'm going to go hang out and talk to someone who actually knew them and we'll share stories of what an asshole they were and what kind of crazy nonsense they got up to and what a big, important part of our lives they were and we'll start trying to make sense of how to fill the hole left behind with something practical and joyful and fun and honest that they would have loved instead of cardboard angel wings.

[karugoround]

Nagizuru au creatures ~ probably their most normal drawings ever.

🩶

Today marks one year since I made my first Nagizuru post. I never thought I would love this beast so much. Thank you all so much for enjoying this au!

Here you have a small lighthearted fic written by @draconicsparkle as a gift. It's not connected to the original story, just them celebrating a regular birthday. They spoil them too much! ⬇️⬇️

How long had it been since then? So long. Both the creation date and their escapes. But in a strange way, Hajime was glad they had experienced all those hardships and difficult times. For without them, the two of them wouldn’t appreciate the bliss they were living in nearly as much.

Hajime thought this as his one working eye stared out the window in the small kitchen. The garden was visible from here, where all kinds of flowers and plants were growing. Gardening was one of Izuru’s many talents, after all. It would be odd if it wasn’t growing splendidly.

A small smile grew as he recalled the many hours they had spent sitting in the gazebo they had built in the middle of the garden, sandwiches and lemonade in hand while the butterflies and bees flew by.

But today wouldn’t be spent in the garden. No, Hajime had other plans. Hence why he was in the kitchen earlier in the morning. Izuru was still in their bedroom, sleeping away without sedatives. He wouldn’t dare wake him up, even now when they were far away from the Lighthouse’s rubble.

He bent down to check the oven’s window, pleased to see the cake sheets baking nicely. He grabbed an oven mitt and pulled the pans out, sliding them on the cooling rack. They were the perfect shade and smelled amazing. While they cooled, the brunette got busy preparing the whipped cream and cutting the strawberries he had picked yesterday. He focused hard on his task, not stopping until his creation was fully constructed. A beautiful and practically flawless strawberry shortcake. He almost felt bad for cutting into it and pulling a slice out to place on the plate. But he was far more eager to see the reaction, so he didn’t mourn the perfection.

After gathering a fork and a glass of milk, he placed everything on a tray and carefully picked it up. His months of practice came in handy, as the tray remained balanced the whole way to the bedroom. Using a shoulder, he bumped the door open so his hands didn’t leave the tray. Soon enough, he was placing the tray down on the nightstand. By this point, he knew the Ultimate Hope was awake now. “Good morning. Was your sleep restful?”

The red eyes gazed up at him, still mysterious and cryptic, though not nearly as hard anymore. Being free of pain and drugs was most likely the reason. “I can confirm that it was. The aroma of your creation coaxed me back to consciousness. Not that I mind this pleasant method of awakening.”

“I’m glad you think so, si-” Hajime paused, laughing in embarrassment. “I mean Izuru.”

The white-haired man smirked up at him. “Slip of the tongue?”

Hajime scratched his cheek, right under his silk eye cover. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“But they are getting to be fewer and less frequent,” Izuru observed. He sat up, the large shirt he was wearing slipping off a shoulder. “Can you hand me a hair tie, my dear caretaker?” he requested once he had risen into a comfortable position.

The brunette was quick to do so, though he did it with a grin. “That was on purpose. You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”

Izuru’s smirk didn’t diminish, even as he began gathering his long hair and weaving the hair tie around the locks. “Observant as always, my dear. Just one of the many traits I adore about you.”

Hajime felt his cheeks redden. He still wasn’t able to hide his reactions to Izuru’s words of affection. “I-I do my best.”

“That you do.” Izuru finished making his ponytail, letting it rest against his back. He then reached forward, tugging on Hajime’s arms. The strength of the tugs had been unexpectedly strong and Hajime found himself falling onto the bed alongside Izuru with a yelp.

“Much better,” Izuru stated as he hugged Hajime to his chest. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

The brunette wiggled only slightly to get more comfortable. “But… don’t you want your cake?”

“In a few moments. Let me indulge myself on this first,” was the reply. A pleased hum followed, along with some shoulder rubs that felt amazing. “Another day of tranquility. One that we earned for our perseverance through the blood and pain. The torture those foolish scientists inflicted while playing God. But I suppose it would be best to not dwell upon such horrid memories. It is beneficial to move on and build oneself back up stronger than before.”

The caretaker chuckled. “That the Ultimate Therapist at work? Putting in overtime, for sure.”

“Perhaps. But I will utilize my abilities for our sakes and lives. And I’m sure you are well aware of this.” One of Izuru’s hands migrated up to his hair, scratching his scalp and conjuring happy noises from the receiver.

“What did I do to deserve this? So nice,” Hajime muttered, relaxing into the comforting touches.

“If you would like reasons, I can compile a list. But be aware that it is a long one. It would take some time to read them all,” Izuru replied with his eternal smile.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll decline. You know how I am with rapid fire compliments.” The brunette relaxed under the ministrations, enjoying every second.

“Oh, I do have something to retrieve. Remain here in bed, okay?” Izuru withdrew and extracted himself from the bed covers, standing up and walking over to his closet. Hajime watched in confusion, especially as the pale man pulled out a giant crocheted blanket with a mandala design. “You are always making things for me, so I figured I could return the favor. It was surprisingly easy to keep my work on this little project secret from you. Though, I am certainly not complaining,” Izuru commented as he brought the blanket over, laying it over Hajime and tucking him in. “The pattern is a representation of our spiritual and physical journey through our lives. That we found our fulfillment after our struggles. Quite fitting, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hajime’s eyes, both functional and broken, widened at the colorful blanket now around him. He ran a hand over the design, admiring the nice material and the quality of the gift. “I… I don’t know what to say… This is…”

Izuru sat next to him, sliding under the blanket next to him. “I already know, so don’t fret. Nothing needs to be expressed.” He leaned over to the nightstand and grabbed the plate and fork. “Now then, how about we try your splendid creation?” The full strawberry on top was speared with the fork and was raised to their faces. “I’ll give you the honor of taking the decoration. You won’t refuse, will you?”

Hajime’s breath was shaky as he nodded. “You know that I would never refuse anything from you. Neither back then, nor now.”

“Excellent. Though there is one condition to get this. You will have to take it from me.” Izuru placed the lower half of the strawberry into his mouth, the thicker half sticking out. And the mischievous look in those ruby red eyes implied exactly what Izuru was insinuating.

Hajime’s face turned as red as the berry. They were about to do this, weren’t they? But he couldn’t go back on his promise, so he swallowed his nerves. He leaned forward and locked lips with the other, the kiss tasting like the sweet fruit. It lasted for several moments, neither of them eager to break it. Eventually, they did separate, the strawberry now in Hajime’s mouth. He focused on chewing to buy himself time to calm down from the rush of emotions. Though this was easily seen by the Ultimate Analyst, if the smirk was anything to go off of.

“Now, I shall taste test your work. Though I don’t doubt it will be fantastic. Thank you for the treat,” the Ultimate Hope said as he cut into the cake and took a delicate bite. “A nice way to wake up and start the day. And here’s to many more in our future.”

Hajime snuggled under the beautiful blanket a little more, resting his head on Izuru’s shoulder. Finally comfortable with initiating close contact after all this time. “Yes. I hope and wish for that, too.”

[circethesinner]

infuriating ⟐ xavier thorpe

pairing: xavier thorpe x reader oneshot (second person pov - she/her pronouns used for reader - occasional use of Y/N)

wednesday x enid mentioned

warning(s) : mild language, enemies to lovers, mild violence, injury, and bl**d mentioned

word count: 6.2k

⭑•⊱✩masterlist✩⊰•⭑

═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══

summary: no matter what you did, xavier would somehow find a way to one up you - but when he accuses you of something you didn't do, you set off on a mission to clear your name and help him

═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══

 Sometimes you mourned the friendship that could have been between you. 

Then he’d do something that boiled your blood until it evaporated, and the mourning was replaced with seething rage.

“Looks like I won again, Y/N,” Xavier’s smile was so smug you wanted to slap it off of his face. “I’d say ‘better luck next time’, but we both know it takes more than luck for you to beat me.” 

“I am going to sprinkle shattered glass in all of your left shoes,” You glared at him, snatching the test paper from his hands and comparing his score to yours.

One point.

He’d beaten you by One. Fucking. Point.

“Flee from my presence, foul creature,” You shoved the test paper into his chest and turned around, making yourself look busy by rooting through your bag. “I can still hear your breathing.”

“Just revelling in my victory a little,” You could practically hear his smirk as he spoke. Taking deep breaths, you tried not to engage with him. You’d gotten in trouble for fighting in class before, and you weren’t going to let it happen again because he couldn’t help but shove his victory in your face. Your breathing didn’t return to normal until you’d heard him walk away, catching up to Ajax to likely gloat about his achievement. 

That was the fifth test in a row that he’d beaten you on, and it was infuriating. Xavier Thorpe was utterly infuriating in every way possible. You had spent nearly every waking hour studying, yet he would doodle in the margins of his textbooks and still come out on top.

You swung your bag over your shoulder, feeling the weight of your sketchbook clunk against your back as the corners jabbed you in the spine. You considered it to be the sketchbook taking revenge on you as it lay at the bottom of your bag, having been left untouched for over a month. As much as you adored art, you couldn’t face it much anymore. Not just because you didn’t have time, it was what it represented to you now. He’d soiled one of the few activities you enjoyed with his mere being, and you hated how much it got to you as much as you hated him.

Art was what you and Xavier had bonded over in that first week at Nevermore. You would sit together under the shade of the trees on the outskirts of the forest, drawing and comparing your individual art styles, taking notes from one another. You had admired how he’d make his art come to life and delighted in it when he’d lean over and do the same for yours.

You were both good students, great students even. Two of the top scorers in almost every class. At first, it was a playful competition to see who could do better. You would take friendly jabs at one another, but the mood soured like milk that had been left on the kitchen counter for a week in the middle of summer. 

It started with a comment here and there that would hit home, you’d brush it off at the time, but it would weigh on you. Soon, those jabs became sharper and more frequent.

You weren’t a saint. You knew you were guilty of dishing them out as much as you were taking them in. Somewhere, the bond you two had briefly shared was cut entirely, and that was it. You hated one another.

It wasn’t just academically that he would one-up you; it was everything. 

You got a new paintbrush? That’s cool. He got a whole set.

You won a teddy at the fair? That’s amazing. He won five of them.

You got to turn an old supply cupboard into a mini art studio? That’s great. He fixed up a whole shed.

Everything you did, he had to do better. You could keep up at first. It was back and forth. You’d beat him one day; he’d beat you the next, and so on. However, your grip was slipping, and it was clear to everyone who knew you.

You had increasingly stopped talking to people, started to eat meals at your own table so you could study in between bites without interruption, stopped showing up to fencing club. The list went on.

“Pick three colours!” Enid threw her arm around your shoulder as you were walking. You flinched, having not expected it, but acclimated very quickly. You were more than used to Enid’s ambushes and hugs after two years at Nevermore.

“Pink, purple, and blue,” You answered, trying to use the arm that wasn’t pressed up against her side to readjust your bag so it would stop literally stabbing you in the back. “Why do you ask?”

“I got a new manicure set the other day, and we are going to treat ourselves to a nice spa evening,” She announced proudly. “We’ll put on some cheesy movies, eat some junk food, do face masks, the whole nine yards!”

“Enid, that sounds lovely, but I really have to study for-” You tried to protest, but she cut you off.

“Nope! I’m not taking that again!” She shook her head wildly. “You’ve cancelled on me seven times in the past three weeks so you could study.”

“You’re free to study with me,” You offered up. Enid stopped walking and turned to you, grabbing your shoulders, so you faced her.

“Y/N, I am genuinely concerned for your health,” She sighed, shaking you slightly as she spoke. “The bags under your eyes are not designer! You look like you haven’t slept in a year, and all you do is study!” 

You wouldn’t admit it to her, but your sleep had been rough for a while. You’d stay up until 3am studying, then go down for two hours of restless sleep full of nightmares of failure, only to wake up at 5am to get some more studying in before class. As for the weekends? Sleep simply didn’t exist.

“I just really need to-” You tried to protest again, but Enid was having none of it.

“I’m not asking you to relax. I’m forcing you to,” She said firmly. She let go of your shoulders, but before you could react and escape, she had your hand in a death grip as she dragged you to your dorm.

“Enid! Claws!” You pleaded as her sharpened nails dug in slightly, but she was too busy making sure you got to your dorm without escaping to take notice.

Once you had reached your dorm, you noticed that Enid had already set everything up on your bed. Your roommate, Yoko, was notably missing, and you cursed under your breath when you realised that they had likely been planning this ambush for a while.

“This is going to be a fun, relaxing evening!” She smiled as she finally let go of your hand. You rubbed the area where her claws had dug into you as you pouted at her. “Don’t give me that look! You brought this on yourself. Now sit down, and relax.”

She switched some awful cheesy rom-com on and set to work shaping and painting your nails.

After a while, you did manage to relax. It was nice to be pampered a little, and the rom-com was so bad that it made you laugh, something you realised you hadn’t done in a while. 

You were halfway through the second movie when someone started pounding on your door. Regrettably, you knew the voice demanding to be let in immediately.

“Don’t,”  Enid warned, clearly also recognising the voice.

“I’ll just make him leave,” You signed, getting up as slowly as you could just to antagonise him.

“I can hear you in there!” Xavier shouted, still banging on the door. He almost fell into your room when you opened the door. Pushing past you, he barely paid attention to Enid as he started to open your drawers. “Where is it?”

“What the fuck is your problem?” You yelled back. You’d never seen him look this frantic before. Whatever had happened had shaken him, but that wasn’t an excuse to barge into your room and root through your belongings. “Whatever you’re looking for isn’t in my goddamn underwear draw, you creep.” You slammed your drawer shut, only just missing getting his fingers trapped, which was a shame in your eyes.

“Where is it?” He repeated, turning around and apparently only just noticing Enid on your bed. He pointed at her accusingly. “Did you help her?”

“Don’t bring Enid into whatever little fucking mind games you’re playing!” You stood in front of your bed, blocking Enid from his view. “What are you even looking for?”

“My sketchbook,” He answered, his eyes still scanning every surface of your room. “I know you took it.”

“You know I took it?” You repeated, completely flabbergasted. “What makes you so sure?”

“Because you’re-” He gestured at you wordlessly. You rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know who pissed in your cereal this morning, but I didn’t take your sketchbook,” You told him firmly, pushing on his chest to try and usher him out of your room. “Now get out of here before I summon every teacher I can and say that you barged into my room and rifled through my bras.”

“Where is my sketchbook?” He asked again, standing firmly still so you couldn’t push him away.

“Where did you last see it?” Enid asked, standing up to join you. You almost cursed how helpful she naturally was but couldn’t find it in you to be even remotely upset with her.

“I left it in my room after class while Ajax and I hung out in the quad, and when I went back to my room, it was gone,” His eyes had met yours and were fixed in a stone-cold glare. “I know you took it.” Before you could defend yourself, Enid jumped in again.

“That settles it then! Y/N can’t have taken it!” She told him, sounding relieved that she could settle the conflict. “I pulled Y/N back here straight from class, and we’ve been here since! She hasn’t left my sight for a second.”

“She wouldn’t even let me pee by myself,” You added, hoping to solidify it further. “She followed me into the stall and faced the opposite direction.” 

“How do I know you weren’t an accomplice?” Xavier asked, focusing back on Enid. “You could just be covering for her.”

“Oh, please! She couldn’t lie to a dead fish,” You rolled your eyes and turned to her. “Watch this! Enid, do you have a crush on Wednesday?”

“What?” Enid giggled nervously, playing with her hair. “Nooo!” 

“See!” You pointed at her, looking back at Xavier. “She plays with her hair whenever she lies.”

“No I don’t!” Enid tried to protest but realised she was still playing with her hair as she denied it. With a small ‘shoot’ muttered under her breath, her hand dropped, and she looked down at the floor.

“I didn’t take your sketchbook, Xavier,” You repeated for the final time, watching as his shoulders dropped in realisation that you were telling the truth. “But we’re going to find out who did.”

“Wait, what?” They said it in unison, each looking at you in confusion. You felt almost as much confusion with yourself when the words had left your mouth, unsure where they’d come from. But you had said it now, and you weren’t going to backtrack.

“Why the hell would you want to help?” Xavier asked.

“Firstly, to clear my name,” You told him, tapping on your nails to make sure they were dry before you started this ordeal. They were still a little tacky, but you figured it would be okay. “Secondly, stealing a sketchbook? That’s unforgivable.” 

“Can’t you just buy another one?” Enid sighed, looking longingly over at the bed where the snacks she’d curated for the evening lay undisturbed.

“Buy another one?” It was your turn to speak in unison with Xavier.

“Look, Enid, while Xavier was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, sketchbooks can’t just be replaced that easily!” You received a small jab in the side with Xavier’s elbow at the silver spoon comment but ignored it as best as you could. “I’ll put this in terms you’ll understand, okay? A sketchbook is to an artist what Moona is to you.” Moona was Enid’s favourite plush teddy. It was a wolf that Wednesday had won at the fair, which she had claimed she’d won accidentally, but you knew for a fact that she’d specifically won it for Enid. It was an irreplaceable treasure to the lovesick werewolf.

“Well, then, why are you still waiting around?” She gasped, pushing the two of you out the door.

“Are you not helping?” You asked, trying to plead with her not to leave you alone with Xavier without using words.

“I would, but I really need to find out of Jack and Sarah end up together!” Enid nodded back over at the laptop where the rom-com you had been halfway through had been paused.

“They’re the main characters, and they hate each other,” You scoffed. “Of course they’re going to end up together!”

She mouthed the word ‘sorry’ without a trace of actually being it on her face as she closed the door behind you both. You heard the lock click behind it.

“Enid! That’s my room!” You groaned, leaning against the door. “You can’t just lock me out of it!” From inside, you heard the sound of the movie being turned up to cover your voice.

“You don’t have to do this,” Xavier sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I know I don’t have to,” You rolled your eyes, pulling away from the door.

“So you want to?” He looked smug again, and it boiled your blood.

“No, shut up,” You waved your hand around in front of his face as though you were fighting the words off physically. “Just show me to your room so we can get this over with.”

“That’s what she- never mind,” He stopped himself midway through the sentence, but you knew exactly what he was about to say. With a small, seemingly nervous laugh, he pushed his hair out of his face again and started walking.

“Tie your hair up,” You instructed, holding out your wrist so he could take the spare pink hair tie you kept on it.

“Why?” He asked, taking the hair tie and doing so anyway.

“It’s annoying me,” You told him, ignoring the look of ‘are you serious?’ he had given you in return. “Do you have any pieces of it? A page you ripped out?” You asked as you neared his door. “Hell, even a sticker that was on it might work.”

“Uhh…” He opened his door, looking around his room for something that would fit the bill. You noted that it looked like he’d torn the whole place apart to try and find his sketchbook. He walked over to his bed, rooting around in the storage he kept under it before pulling something out. “This is a page I ripped out of it.”

He passed it over to you. It was folded up tightly, and you went to unfold it. You didn’t need to. You were just nosey.

“Don’t-” He held his hands over yours, stopping you. “It’s… just don’t look at it.”

“You been drawing naked ladies? Naked men?” You teased him but stopped trying to open it. Whatever it was, he wanted to keep private and you, as much as you disliked him, respected that much at least.

“If you’re not going to help, just-” He tried to take it from your hands, but you snatched it away before he could.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” You raised an eyebrow as his shoulders slumped in acceptance. “Turn around.” 

“What? Why?” He looked incredibly skeptical. Convinced now more than ever that you were playing some sort of elaborate prank on him.

“Fine, I will!” You sighed, turning your back to him. You rooted through your bra until you found what you were looking for, hearing a quiet ‘what the fuck?’ being mumbled under Xavier’s breath. When you grew up with pocketless clothes, you had to learn to make do.

You had pulled out a hand-drawn map of the school grounds. It wasn’t your finest work, but it did the job. You had also pulled your necklace off to use.

This wasn’t your first rodeo. You knew what you were doing. You’d been scrying since you were 7. You could do this in your sleep.

“As much as it… pains me to say….” You took a deep breath as you placed the map on Xavier’s bed and sat crossed-legged in front of it. “I need you to… ugh… hold my hand.” You held your hand out, the torn and folded page from his scrapbook in it. Wordlessly, he took it.

Within seconds of focusing your energy, your necklace zoned in on the quad. You were thankful to be able to pull your hand away from his.

“It’s in the quad,” You said as he examined the map.

“Are you sure?” Xavier asked, looking doubtful. “Can we double-check?”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were just looking for an excuse to hold my hand,” You groaned, holding it out again. He took it, and the necklace once again zoned in on the quad immediately. “I swear to god, if you took your sketchbook with you and left it there yourself, I will never let you live it down.” 

“I didn’t take it with me, I swear,” He protested, his head tilting back in annoyance.

“Can you let go of my hand now?” You asked, trying to wiggle your hand free. He’d been gripping it tighter than last time. As soon as he realised what you’d said, he dropped your hand like it had the plague. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I know where it is now. You don’t have to come with me,” He pointed out. “That is unless you’re not confident in your scrying.”

“I am going to shove that damn sketchbook up your ass when we find it,” You glared at him getting off of his bed, brushing yourself off dramatically as though it had been filthy. “I’m going with you because, and I say this with all due respect, which is none, if someone had hypothetically taken your sketchbook, what would you do about it? They’re clearly not scared of you if they broke into your room and stole from you.”

“And you’re supposed to do what exactly?” Xavier scoffed at you. “Have you seen yourself? You’re the least intimidating person I’ve met.”

“I’ll show you intimidating,” You stormed off, determined to get to the quad and show whoever it was a piece of your mind, just to prove a point.

You should have known who it was before you turned the corner and met eyes with him. Josh was a werewolf with an attitude. Enid had once described him as ‘if anger issues were personified’, which was very accurate. The meathead was usually more bark than bite, but when he did bite… Well, he would quite literally bite, which wasn’t the safest thing for a werewolf to do.

He’d been in trouble more than once for breaking into people’s rooms and stealing their stuff just for the thrill of it. People tended to be too afraid to call him out on it after he’d sent three kids to the infirmary. But you had a point to prove.

“Drop it!” You spoke to him the same way you would with a dog who had grabbed something they weren’t supposed to have, which you deemed a very accurate comparison in this case. Xavier rounded the corner to see what was happening.

“Make me!” He taunted, flicking through the pages, not even looking at the images. You heard Xavier suck in a breath as he watched one of Josh’s claws catch and tear a page.

“Fine, I will,” You stepped forward, full of what you knew was pure spite and stupidity masking as anger. With each step you took, your shoes clacked against the cobblestone flooring and echoed throughout the structure.

From behind you, you were vaguely aware of Xavier calling your name, the volume increasing the closer you got to Josh.

“What are you gonna do? Hit-” You cut him off with a square punch to the face with your right hand as you grabbed at the sketchbook with your left. You didn’t even allow yourself to wince as his claws scratched your hand. If anything, you feared Enid’s reaction to you messing up your new manicure she’d worked so long on more than the practically feral werewolf you’d just punched. 

The following few seconds were a blur full of tears, but surprisingly not yours. Josh was crying as he clutched his nose, which was now bleeding profusely. Without saying anything, he slunk away.

“Holy shit…” Xavier was right behind you by the time Josh had disappeared. “That was…” He couldn’t quite seem to find the right words.

“Your sketchbook,” You turned around to pass it to him, but he caught your wrist before he’d even taken the book back.

“Infirmary,” Was all he said as he studied the scratch marks, which, now that the immediate rush of adrenaline had worn off a bit, hurt. You nodded and allowed him to drag you to get the scratch checked out. 

Five minutes later, you were sitting on a chair in the infirmary following a lecture about being careless from the nurse. Xavier hadn’t left your side, nor had he spoken since you’d arrived.

Usually, you enjoyed not having to hear his annoying know-it-all tone, but the silence was making you uncomfortable.

“The words are ‘thank you’ in case you’ve forgotten them,” You joked, hoping to lighten the mood. You thought you saw the ghost of a brief smile cross his face, but it was gone when he saw the scratches again. You brought your sleeve down to cover them in the hope that it’d make him talk, but you were still receiving radio silence. Eventually, you were annoyed with him again. It was to be expected. He was infuriating even when silent. “If you’re going to act like a stubborn child, just leave.” You spat out at him, turning your head away to look out the window. It had gotten very dark by that point, and it was bound to be curfew soon.

“You’re so reckless,” You almost dared to smile when you heard him talk at last, but you pushed down whatever weird part of you had presented that idea to the table, firing it immediately. It could go seek unemployment in someone else’s mind.

“Got the job done, didn’t I?” You pointed out proudly, nodding at the book that rested on his lap. “And I’d say I was pretty intimidating.”

“Well, I’d say you were pretty stupid,” He sighed. He’d let his hair down again at some point, your pink hair tie now round his wrist. You’d ask for it back later. It wasn’t that important to you. You had about 50 more scattered around your room and in your bag; you were pretty sure there was even one tied to the tag of your blazer. 

“You’re so cute when you think I care about what you think,” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him.

“You think I’m cute?” Xavier had a smug grin on his face that you wished you could punch off. But, given what had just happened, you thought better of it.

“Shit! No! Fuck!” You cussed, throwing your head back in annoyance. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

“What I know is that you just called me cute,” Before you could come up with a worthy retort, the nurse came around to check the scratches and sent you both away. As you’d predicted, it was almost curfew, not that anyone really abided by it, but it meant the halls were quieter than they would usually be. 

You were at your door by the time it registered that Xavier had walked you back to your room. You’d walked together in silence, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It almost felt like a peace offering of sorts. You weren’t sure if it would last when you woke up the next morning, but dare you say, you enjoyed it while it did.

“Thank you for….” You felt wrong thanking the person you’d considered your sworn enemy, but you were raised with manners, and it felt even more wrong to not be polite when someone was kind to you. “Walking me to my door.”

“Well, someone had to make sure you didn’t punch anyone else,” Xavier didn’t make eye contact with you, but the slightest smile crossed his face. “Thank you for….” He held up the sketchbook he’d been holding.

“Don’t mention it,” You shrugged, leaning slightly against your door. “Seriously, don’t mention this to anyone. I can’t have people thinking I’m soft.”

“I think Josh’s nose will speak for itself,” He joked, allowing the smile to properly settle as he spoke. “Make sure you put that stuff the nurse gave you on your hand.”

“Shit!” You groaned as you realised you’d forgotten it back in the infirmary, rifling through your pockets in some hope that you’d just placed it in one of them without realising what you were doing. You pulled out some loose change and a bar of chocolate that you’d forgotten you’d picked up last time you were in Jericho, which was a score, but no sign of the salve the nurse had given you. “Goddamnit, I left it at-” You froze as Xavier waved the little pot in front of your face.

“You mean this?” He teased, holding it just out of reach. You glared at him, trying to grab at it anyway. After some jumping, you managed to grab it, pulling him down with it in the process.

You didn’t realise quite how close his face was to yours until it was all you could see. The movement was so subtle that you almost didn’t catch it, but you saw his eyes so briefly dart down to look at your lips.

You were aware that your breathing had gotten heavier, and your heart rate was starting to pick up as his face inched closer and closer to yours. What confused you was that you were making no move to stop whatever was about to happen from happening. That was until your door swung open, and the two of you parted so fast you would have just been a blur.

“I was wondering what the noise out here was!” Enid grinned, leaning on your doorframe. “You managed to get it back?”

“I punched Josh,” You proudly held up your hand, only for Enid to grab it and examine it in pure horror.

“You smudged the nail polish!” She gasped, her voice laced with pure outrage. “We’re starting over! Come on!” She started to tug you into the room before you could protest against it.

Your other hand was caught by Xavier, who pressed the pot of salve into it wordlessly before he rushed off down the hall, assumably to his own dorm. You managed to just about kick your door closed before Enid had pulled you away entirely to try and salvage what had been ruined.

Looking down at your free hand, you noticed that the salve wasn’t the only thing Xavier had left with you. In your hand, you held the torn piece of paper you recognised from earlier, still folded. You decided to open it when Enid went to sleep or disappeared back to her own room.

That didn’t happen for another four hours. You were exhausted, barely able to keep your eyes open as Enid finished doing your nails for the sixth time before she was finally happy. She’d curled up at the end of your bed and fallen asleep immediately after, the fifth rom-com of the night playing in the background.

Yoko hadn’t returned to your shared room, but she rarely did on weekends as she was too busy with Divina. You usually enjoyed the quiet evenings you’d get to yourself or at least enjoyed not being told to turn the light off at 4am as you were still hunched over studying so you could do better on whatever test was coming up next. But having company was nice once in a while, even if that company talked at 100 miles an hour and had absolutely destroyed your cuticles.

Remembering the piece of paper Xavier had left with you, you pulled it out of your pocket, trying desperately not to smudge the still tacky nail polish as you feared Enid had a sixth sense and would awaken from her slumber foaming at the mouth.

Carefully, you unfolded the piece of paper, holding it up to the dim light of the laptop as you’d long since turned the other lights off. 

Your eyes scanned the image; even in the low light, it was clear as day. On the piece of paper, curled under a tree with a book in hand, was you. Every detail, down to the strands of your hair, sticking up at odd angles after a long day. You looked serene, almost ethereal. It was difficult to understand how anyone, let alone Xavier, could have seen you and depicted you in such a beautiful way.

Though your eyes were begging you to finally allow them to rest, you reached over and pulled your own sketchbook out. After a long month, you finally allowed a wave of artistic inspiration to flow through you.

═══ -ˋˏ *.·:·.⟐.·:·.* ˎˊ- ═══

Slip the drawing under his door and get away from there as fast as you could. The plan was so simple, yet you repeated it in your head like a mantra so you wouldn’t forget.

Unfortunately, your plan didn’t account for how small the gap in between the bottom of the door and the floor would be. Nor did you plan for Xavier to be in his room and open it as soon as he’d seen the piece of paper start to wiggle through the small gap and heard your disgruntled grumbles from the other side. His hair was damp, and you could smell the shampoo he always used. You weren’t sure when you’d committed it to memory, but you had told yourself it was just so you could avoid him better if you could smell him a mile away.

“I know your hand is busted, but you do have two of them, so you could have used the other to do it,” He looked down at you as you slowly stood to your feet, trying to hide the piece of paper behind your back. Unfortunately for you, he caught it before you had a chance to. “You’ve been trying to shove this under my door for three minutes, don’t tell me you suddenly don’t want me to see it?” He teased you, unfolding the paper. It was only folded in half, so you didn’t have time to dash away before he could open it. 

That didn’t stop you from trying, of course. You’d managed to spin on your heel and take a single step before a hand grabbed your shoulder. Using the leverage, he turned you to face him.

You expected a variety of different reactions.

Laughing at your face?

A shouting match?

Maybe just an awkward ‘thanks’?

What you didn’t expect was for his hand to gently cup your face as he pulled you in for a kiss. In fact, it was so unexpected that your brain hadn’t registered what was happening until he was pulling away.

Your eyes were wide, and your lips were parted as you watched a flurry of emotions cross his face. Confusion, happiness, annoyance, until finally settling on embarrassment.

“Sorry- I just thought-” He took a step back. His face had turned a brighter shade of red than you’d ever seen on him before. You’d seen his face flush from anger, but this was different. “I think I misread the situation, sorry.”

“No! It’s fine I-” You struggled to put your own emotions into words. “I… think I was… I think I maybe… liked that?” Though the words sounded uncertain, you knew them to be true the moment they had left your lips.

“Can I do it again?” He asked. His words were fast, as though they were falling out before he had a chance to catch them. You didn’t have to answer him properly as you surprised yourself by taking a step forward and pulling him down into a kiss. It was clumsy and fast but felt so right. You were the first to pull away, noticing how his lips tried to chase yours as you did so. Instead of kissing you again, he settled with just resting his forehead against yours.

“I don’t think I have the energy to keep pretending I hate you,” He sighed, closing his eyes. His arms wrapped around you, holding you against his chest. His words felt warm as they reached your ears. You tried to find a snarky response, as was customary in your exchanges, but you couldn’t find anything. Perhaps you were just equally as tired of pretending to hate him? 

The two of you instinctively let go and took a step away from one another as soon as the sound of someone’s voice echoed down the hall, increasing in volume as they grew closer.

“Should we…?” You nodded at his open door. His hand found yours, and he pulled you into his room. You took note of how he’d taken your injured hand but had avoided touching the area where it would hurt. You weren’t sure if this was intentional or not, but the tender look in his eyes as they fixed on yours once the door was closed behind him suggested it was intentional.

Your eyes trailed down to his hand again, noticing the pink hair tie on his wrist. His hair was damp, but the hair tie wasn’t. He’d taken it off so he could shower and had gone out of his way to place it back on his wrist afterwards.

“I just wanted to impress you,” He sighed softly, his fingers slowly lacing with your own. It was a foreign but pleasant feeling. “I kept on hoping that you’d notice me more if I did well in class, which you did… But by the time I realised it wasn’t working in the way I’d intended….”

“You just doubled down on it?” You finished his sentence for him.

“It was stupid, but you were talking to me more,” He shrugged. “At one point, I considered failing classes so you’d have to tutor me, but I realised it was too late, and you’d just celebrate my loss instead of helping me.”

“As much as I’d like to argue with that, you’re right,” You laughed lightly. It wasn’t a laugh of joy but rather one of disbelief upon reflection. Had you really spent the past two years actively hating someone over a misunderstanding of intention? “So what do we do now?”

“Well, I had planned out a first date ages ago,” He smiled. He’d taken a step closer to you. His arms had found themselves around your waist as he spoke. “We’d go down to the lake with a picnic and our sketchbooks and draw, I had a playlist ready with your favourite song, and when it would play, I’d offer to dance with you.”

“That is disgustingly cheesy,” You grinned, not a hint of spite in your voice. “How would you even know my favourite song?”

“Your Spotify is public and linked to your socials,” He shrugged.

“Stalker!” You gasped. Your tone was playful.

“I was genuinely so concerned that I almost went to check on you a few months ago because you’d been playing ‘Vending Machine of Love’ for 7 hours straight,” He teased. “I listened to it out of curiosity, and I have questions.”

“And I will not be providing answers!” You laughed, knowing the exact day that was as you’d been antagonising Wednesday with it all day after she’d accidentally hurt Enid’s feelings and was too stubborn to apologise for it. “Then what would we have done on the date?”

“After dancing our little hearts out, I would have kissed you for the first time,” He admitted, his cheeks reddening a little. “I guess I messed that part up? We could pretend we-” You cut him off when you pulled him into another kiss. It was slower this time, lasting a lot longer than the previous two. His lips moulded against your own as though they belonged together. It was a cheesy thought, one you’d never dare to admit out loud.

When you finally pulled away, you did so with a smile.

“Sorry, couldn’t stop myself from ruining your plans,” Your hand absentmindedly traced patterns on his chest. “Old habits die hard.”

“Guess we’d better make some new habits,” Xavier shrugged before he captured your lips in what would be one of many, many more kisses.

a/n - I am a total sucker for enemies to lovers and writing this was an absolute delight - I enjoyed writing it so even if people deem it trash, I am happy 😌💅

anygays! I've got a couple of xavier requests that I'm working on, but feel free to send me more for xavier or any other wednesday characters!

likes and reblogs very appreciated! lemme know if you wanna be tagged in future xavier x reader fics

@ali-r3n

[strscrossed]

kiss of death — part i

and here i present the ballerina/mafioso au. it's a slow start but i always like having a setup. anyway, eren's a mafia underboss along with his brother zeke. grisha is the boss and women are kept out of the family business. thanks @likesunsetorange for reading this over and also enabling me! 💕

eremika. 2.5k. explicit.

~

“And what do you mean you won’t be joining us for dinner?”

Eren glances at his father for a little assistance. His mother’s voice is low, something dangerous stirring behind the calm. At this point, Eren would rather be in enemy territory, without a gun, than deal with Carla Jaeger. 

“It’s last minute but a business associate's daughter has a ballet recital and he’s treating us to dinner after. Sorry, mom. Can I take a raincheck? 

The key to a good lie is a half-truth. He does, in fact, have to attend a ballet tonight. Not with a business associate but his mother isn’t to know that under any circumstances. He worries for a moment because his mother is quiet. Too quiet, in fact. 

“Always with the rainchecks,” she mumbles, shaking her head. She glares at him for two seconds, narrowing her eyes before sighing, conceding defeat. 

When he was younger, he had a tell. His ears would turn red and his mother had a habit of pinching them whenever she would catch him in one. But adulthood has turned him into a seasoned liar. 

“And you couldn’t handle this because…?” Carla glares at her husband, who sits on the sofa cross-legged, reading a newspaper. Grisha Jaeger is afraid of no one. Except, maybe, his wife. 

“I’m close to retirement, dear. The boys are grown now, it’s time they got involved in matters of the family business. If I keep doing it, they’ll never learn anything. And I’m not getting any younger. 

Zeke, who stands a few feet away, snorts quietly. Grisha’s “fragile old man” shtick would be laughable to anyone but his wife. Carla shakes her head. Again, a sigh of defeat as her husband gives her those weary eyes. Eren has to bite his tongue to keep the laugh from escaping. 

“Eren’s hardly around anymore,” she says, shaking her head. “Can I at least have a meal with my boy once a week?” 

He can’t say no to her. 

“Of course, mom.” 

She sits back in her chair, teacup in hand. She mourns time lost with her son but unbeknownst to her, she is living comfortably because of all this. And to keep all this, he has to break yet another promise to his mother. 

“I need to head out now,” he tells everyone, with Grisha and Zeke nodding and Carla sighing. 

“Who is going with you?” 

“Armin and Floch,” he answers. At the mention of Floch’s name, he sees her face pinch a little. No, he’s not having this conversation again. She’s made her distaste for that young man abundantly clear. He doesn’t want to stick around to hear her ask his father, yet again, why he keeps him around. 

“Bye,” he says and he’s out the door before his mother can get another word in. 

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

The fresh air fills his lungs as he closes the door behind him. His mother still doesn’t suspect a thing and that’s how he wants to keep it. It’s a dirty, grimy world that only the men of the family are privy to. If she really knew what the real family business was… 

He doesn’t want to even entertain that idea. These are the rules. They exist for a reason. And he stopped feeling bad about lying to her years ago. It’s a lesson that’s been beaten into him since he was sixteen years old. 

Eren slides into the front seat of the car. Floch is driving and Armin takes his place in the backseat. Neither man makes an effort to converse with each other and that’s fine. Their bickering is a source of Eren’s frayed nerves too often. 

“Ackerman soldiers were spotted frequenting the ballet, huh?” Eren asks. It’s a rhetorical question. 

“Quite a few of them actually,” Floch responds, his eyes glued to the road. 

“It’s because one of their own is this year’s prima ballerina,” Armin adds. “A large number of them are said to be in attendance this evening.” 

“Frequent the ballet, Arlert? How do you even know that?” Floch asks. 

Eren stays quiet as he glances at Armin’s unamused expression in the rearview mirror. Thankfully, he’s not the explosive type. 

“Well, if you must know, knowing about different things helps me navigate and infiltrate a number of different circles. You might want to culture yourself a little more, Floch.” 

Oh, here they go. 

“So, one of their own, huh? Old Kenny’s extorting ballet companies now?” Eren snorts. “His niece wanted to become a ballerina so good ole Uncle Kenny made it happen? Never took him to be such a fucking softie.” 

No, actually, if that is the case, it’ll be easier to get under the old fucker’s skin. 

“Actually, I hear Mikasa Ackerman is a once in a generation talent. And just in case, tonight’s performance is a ballet called Giselle. It’s about a young woman who falls in love with a nobleman and when they can’t be together she dies of heartbreak but that’s not where it ends—” 

“I don’t care, Armin,” Eren cuts him off. “I don’t care about ballet or the girl. We’re going there for one reason and one reason only — to watch the Ackerman’s every move. Everything else is worthless and irrelevant.” 

He hears Armin sink back into his seat, sighing. 

Eren does his best not to twist his face in annoyance. A ballet of all places. He never thought he’d be caught dead at one of those… 

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

Kenny Ackerman is nowhere to be seen. Naturally, his old ass couldn’t be bothered to show up anywhere someone could see him. Levi Ackerman, however, is seated in the very front row. Armin manages to get them balcony seats so they can see everything. 

It’s the most boring observation ever because the Ackerman associates and soldiers are just seated there. 

This is why soldiers and lower level soldiers are sent to do this crap. Now he has to sit through a two hour long ballet and pretend to know what’s going on. 

Occasionally, the man to Levi’s right will lean over and whisper something to his ear. He simply nods, giving nothing away. 

“What are they saying?” Floch mutters to himself, squinting as if to read the lips. 

Armin, meanwhile, is observing their surroundings. It’s entirely possible that they’ve been spotted. 

“None here,” he assures Eren after a while. 

Before he can say anything, the theater lights dim. 

Eren knows jackshit about ballet. He doesn’t care to know what’s going on. The arts, the gentler things in life, were things he never cared to become acquainted with. So when the lights dim and the sound of violins fill the theater, he groans. He hears a lady gasp and jump behind him and he can’t help but scoff. It’s nothing compared to the sound of gunfire, bones breaking, or knives cutting through skin. 

The Ackerman party, however, stops talking. Their eyes are glued to the stage and, unwillingly, Eren turns his attention to the stage. The whole production is colorful. Too colorful. It’s an eyesore.

He has no idea what’s going on. There are several dancers on stage at the beginning and then it’s just two guys. No one’s talking, obviously, it’s a ballet not a play. Armin’s probably watching completely enthralled, but he’s not impressed. He leans back in his chair, bored out of his mind as he watches them prance around the stage. 

He’d never willingly show up to these things. But, when his father received word of a large gathering of Ackerman, of course he had to show up for it. 

If the Ackerman are here, he needs to keep an eye on all of their activities. They might be here for the girl, but that’s immaterial for Eren. 

He doesn’t care about ballet. 

He doesn’t care for the girl—

His thoughts come to a screeching halt when a young woman appears on the stage. She looks around, and prances around the stage. And just like that, Eren is drawn right into the performance. 

She’s graceful, her movements are so natural, so effortless. It’s like she belongs up there. Whatever she’s doing — whoever she’s playing — she embodies the role perfectly. 

If he knows nothing else about ballet, he knows this much. 

“That’s Mikasa Ackerman,” Armin leans in to whisper in his ear. “This year’s prima ballerina.” 

He doesn’t know what the hell is going on but it gets sad pretty quickly, he assumes. He hears sniffling behind and near him. Floch looks endlessly bored and Armin, as predicted, is really into the performance. 

Eren is focused on his dancer. 

If he could compare her face to anything, it would be the moon. It is the illuminated beauty in the dark of the night and even from here, her eyes light up like the millions of stars. Only hers are brighter. 

It goes on for two hours, which Eren decides is not long enough. He’ll watch her perform all day and night if that’s what it takes. 

When the curtains close and everyone stands up to clap, he cannot bring himself to do so. His beautiful dancer is no longer in front of him and he finds no reason to celebrate that. 

“Well, that was uneventful,” Floch mutters disappointingly. “I thought they might actually try something. I thought we might actually gain an advantage over them.” 

Oh, right, they had a job to do. 

“Floch, if you thought they were coming to a ballet, which by the way one of their own is performing at, to try and pull something you’ve set your expectations way too high.” 

“Yeah, well if you haven’t noticed, this is our territory—”

“—technically, no it’s not.” 

“What? Are you secretly on their side, Arlert? Because it sounds to me like you are.” 

“Would you two shut up?” Eren growls, prompting the two of them to shut their mouths. “Armin, is she set to be in any more shows?” 

“I can check but if she’s the prima ballerina, you can bet on it.” 

Well, he is a betting man. And he always wins. 

“Then we’ll keep coming back. Sooner or later, they’ll start conducting business around here. We should watch for that.” 

He receives no protest. He does his best to keep a poker face but as he exits the theater, the corners of his turn up slightly… 

➽───────────────────❥ ➽───────────────────❥

“So?” Grisha asks, closing the door behind him. Eren and Zeke stand side by side as Grisha walks back to his desk, settling down and making himself comfortable before Eren allows himself to answer. 

“Nothing special. The Ackerman girl is part of the ballet, so they were serving as glorified bodyguards. The three of us watched them the whole time and nothing happened.” 

Disappointing news to say the least. So much for this being a golden opportunity to strike against the Ackerman. As always, they manage to elude them by doing absolutely nothing. 

“Even so, continue to watch the ballet,” Grisha instructs. “One evening will tell us nothing. And if the girl is part of the ballet, well they’ll frequent that theater. Perhaps, old Kenny Ackerman might show up.” 

Fat chance. 

“And Zeke,” he turns to his eldest son. “Are the girls of any use?” 

“Nope,” his brother answers. “The men don’t frequent brothels. In fact, the girls haven’t heard of either of them.” 

“Damn it!” his father curses, pounding the table with his fists. The whole thing is a little over dramatic in Eren’s opinion. 

Weaker men cower before Grisha Jaeger. He is someone that you don’t want to piss off. In all fairness, the Jaegers in general are people you don’t want to piss off. The two brothers are the only ones immune to their father’s fear tactics. Though, he is certainly not just talk. He wouldn’t be in this position otherwise. 

“It is decided then,” Grisha mumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The Reiss and the Tyburs agree that this cannot continue.” 

There is a tenuous peace between the families. Initially, each family controlled a third of the island and conflicts broke out through the generations. Eren’s grandfather realized there were more benefits to keeping these families as allies than enemies. Though tenuous is the best way to describe whatever alliance they had going. 

“And what does that mean?” Zeke questions. 

Grisha responds with a small smile. 

“I won’t keep you as you two have more work to do. I have arranged it. Zeke, you are to marry Rod Reiss’ eldest daughter, Frieda. And Eren, you are to marry Willy Tybur’s younger sister, Lara. You are to meet with them, court them, and the official engagement will be two months from today. It is done. You two will honor it.” 

What century was this? 

“What the fuck, old man?” Eren growls and two pairs of eyes are on him.

“What was that?” his father asks, daring him to repeat it. 

“You just sold us to the Reiss and Tyburs? You just want us to go along with it? What the fuck?” 

Grisha’s not used to having his authority questioned. Sometimes Eren is going to whine but usually he doesn’t have an issue doing his father’s bidding. Extort the local jeweler? No problem. Take care of a guy and dispose of his corpse? Done. Spy on a couple of low level Ackerman associates? He can do that in his sleep. 

Marriage though? Fuck no. That was different. That is something sacred and just for him. 

“You don’t have a choice. You’re going to go through with this, Eren. I’ve given you way too much freedom. You’re marrying Lara Tybur. End of discussion. You have dinner reservations tomorrow night at 8 pm. Make sure you’re not late and I’ll know if you two fuck this up. Now get the hell out of my office.” 

As the door closes behind the two of them, Eren is prepared to stomp down the hall but Zeke’s hand on his shoulder stops him. 

“Careful, Eren,” he warns. “Step out of line and the old man isn’t going to hesitate to give you the kiss of death.” 

Eren scowls, “And when did you become the obedient son? ” 

“You didn’t seem to have an issue when he decided that you’d join the family business. You don’t have an issue doing his dirty work. But you draw the line at marriage. Interesting. Is there someone?” 

“Fuck off, Zeke! It’s entirely fucking different and you know it! Does there have to be someone? And you’re one to talk! Pieck Finger is it?” 

“Watch it, Eren,” Zeke warns him, all amusement vanishing from his face. 

“Hit a nerve? Does the old man already know? Is that why you’re so okay with going along with it?” 

Zeke narrows his eyes, “I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do as you’re told.” 

“Whatever. I’m tired.” 

He stomps off. Zeke might be okay with this, but he definitely isn’t. He’ll do anything for this family but this was too much! And without even consulting the two of them. Shouldn’t he have a say in who he marries? 

As he silently rages, images of Mikasa Ackerman moving gracefully around the stage flood his mind. And all the rage dissipates into thin air…

[azures-bazar]

Accommodating 

Re-uploading this one shot because I wanted to add some changes. I'm experiencing a massive writers block tho, my inspiration is gone (my new job is taking most of my mental energy away but I love it lmao)

Here is some SOFT!Arthur one-shot, again, because boy oh boy it makes me want to write a full story about him going through our current era lol

Don't mind his absolute child-like fascination for modernity, I mean... it's cool to see our tough cowboy happy, isn't it ?

Arthur Morgan x GenderNeutralReader 

Word count : 2.9k

Short summary : You make Arthur try some new technologies, and it’s quite funny to watch his large blue eyes gaze at them ! 

A/Note : I bought myself a galaxy projector not so long ago and wondered how Arthur would react lol. Don’t mind it ! 

Tags : cute, Arthur discovers modern things, mentions of Avatar, movie-watching, snacks, cute nicknames, cuddles, soft boah is in the modern world, men can also cry

A cowboy in the modern world… what a weird story to tell ! Arthur had been in your life for a few months already, slowly accommodating to your era. Sometimes, it was fun, sometimes it was almost scary, and, occasionally, it could be sad. You knew Arthur was an outlaw, a thirty-six, probably thirty-seven year-old man who had been abandoned on the top of a mountain, but he never really brought the subject to the table. In fact, on a few occasions, he would mourn the rest of his gang, he would mourn his friends he would never see again. You had done your best to cheer him up during his rather sad moments, but nothing could really fill that void. 

Arthur missed these folks, a few names were frequently mentioned : Hosea, John, Tilly, Charles, Sean and Lenny. Six people he would describe at times, probably the six people he missed the most from his former life. A father-figure, his siblings, his closest friends… he often wondered what happened to them, to these people becoming distant memories he could only mourn. As of 2023, even little Jack was gone. You wished you could do something, probably beg for Francis Sinclair to come back and drag all these people he mentioned to your time… but Francis was long gone, not even bothering about stepping by your place anymore.

You knew Arthur loved drawing stuff, so you bought him a set of sketchbooks for him to practice. He would hole himself in your now-shared room, sitting on the edge of your window or on your bed, spending about one or two hours sketching figures, animals or even sceneries which appeared to be from a very distant era, mixed with modern buildings and figures he came across while wandering in the streets with you. You often left him alone for him to enjoy his solitude, listening to some blues while sketching his discoveries before he would head to you and proudly show you some of his works. One of your walls had a full set of Arthur’s drawings framed and displayed to the eyes of any guest coming in. After all… it was art ! And nothing could make Arthur more happy than receiving compliments about his sketches he often disliked. 

Arthur still had some hard time getting used to a smartphone you had bought him as you thought it would be a good thing to keep in touch whenever you would be away from him. He nearly broke his phone’s screen twice, unable to understand why it would not switch on, struggling to send you correctly written texts. His large fingers did not help much, he would get easily frustrated by not selecting the right letter for his text. You absolutely adored each one of them, finding them incredibly cute by knowing how much Arthur wanted to do things like you. Sending a text usually took you a few seconds, whereas Arthur would roughly spend one minute writing a five-word sentence filled with typing mistakes, some of them being due to his autocorrector. 

"Im misqing yoi, Y/N !" was an almost daily message he would send you

At some point, you saw an add of a galaxy projector while scrolling on some social media, right after telling Arthur he would probably get a lot of followers if he decided, by miracle, probably, to create an account for himself. He was handsome, had some sweet-looking traits and could easily model for some alternative brands. He often said he would never do such thing, finding his face too ugly to be shown to anyone. How wrong he was, he was probably the most gorgeous-looking man you had ever met ! But, somehow, you did not want to encourage him to post pictures of himself. Social medias were a rather dangerous place for healing minds, and Arthur still needed time. Besides, he would probably not even be able to post anything due to his lack of ease using his digital keyboard ! 

You bought that lamp later that night, it got delivered quite fast. You carefully unpacked your new tool and quickly headed to your bedroom, followed by Arthur who had stopped reading a book about extinct species as he saw you wander around your place with this curious thing you held. You calmly placed the lamp on your bed, reading the instruction manual while Arthur touched it several times, not understand what the hell this little thing was and what was its purpose. 

"What’s that ?" Arthur asked 

"It’s a galaxy projector." you answered. 

"Why d’you need that ? Can’t you just look at ‘em stars from your window ?"

"Light pollution prevents it. These are often used to create a cute ambiance at home or to distract kids. Wanna give it a try ?" 

"Sure." 

Arthur sat on the bed as you switched all lights off, plugging your galaxy projector on, making a large blue and purple light come out of it, filled with laser dots representing stars. The background was moving a little, creating a wave effect which froze Arthur on place. He kept his head up, looking at your now star-covered ceiling. His surprised and mesmerised face was absolutely priceless ! His eyes were shining, his mouth remained half-open as he could not help but stare at these fake stars covering your ceiling. All his troubles were forgotten, making him return to a child-like state. It was such a beautiful thing to see ! 

"And it can also distract grown-ups." you smiled 

Your cowboy-roommate did not even react. His attention was completely focused on the ocean of fake stars he had above his head ! Of course, Arthur knew what a projector was. It would have been awesome to see his reaction if he had never seen such thing before, he would probably have been trying to catch these laser stars like a cat and look confused. But, at the moment, his reaction was pretty cute. 

You left Arthur alone in the room to buy a ready-made lunch at the local market. He had a phone and would call you whenever he would need your help, if he would get lucky enough to make his fingers touch the right icon on his screen. It only took you a few minutes to buy some finger food for the two of you to eat while watching a movie, you came back to find Arthur exactly where you had left him thirty minutes earlier, in the same position, with this same amazed facial expression blooming on his face. He was hypnotised by these lights enough to feel suddenly so lost as you opened the curtains of your bedroom. 

"Wh… what’s going on ?" he said, placing his large hand over his eyes. "Damn sunlight…"

"I brought us some food. You wanna watch a movie ?" 

"Yeah, why not ! Just… just let have my eyes back first, hun." 

Arthur rubbed his eyes and shook his head while you smiled. You absolutely loved listening to him giving you cute nicknames, such as hun, sweetheart, lovebug… even calling you boo, sometimes, after he heard about that nickname while watching TV. It took him a few more seconds to leave your bedroom, keeping his eyes partly closed until reaching your living room, helping you placing all the food on the table, still looking surprised you did not have any forks or knives to eat these carrots, chips, mozzarella sticks and cucumbers. He glanced at the chips and took one between his fingers. Since his arrival in your era, he had never seen or had the opportunity to taste chips !

"What’s that thing ?" he asked. "Is that really food ?"

"Oh, that’s a potato chip." 

"Really ? Just like fried potatoes ?" 

"Yeah, just like fried potatoes, but smaller and thinner. We can eat them for snacks or very random occasions. Try it !"

Arthur nodded, taking a bite of the chip before smiling and taking more of them into his large hand. You could not help but chuckle at his sudden addiction to salty treats, wiping away a few crumbs stuck in his three-day beard with the tip of your fingers. He turned shades darker and smiled, gently taking your hand and rubbing it with his thumb as you launched the movie. Avatar, by James Cameron. Back in a day, that movie had been vastly acclaimed for its large technological progress, and was still pleasant to be watched to this day. You would take Arthur to watch the second Avatar movie someday soon in case he liked the first one. 

"Are ‘em blue folks real ?" Arthur asked while pointing a Na’vi on screen

"No, they’re modelled with computers." you smiled, trying to explain Arthur about motion capture in the most easiest way. "Our technologies allow us to record actors and then modify their bodies thanks to computers to morph them into these blue folks, like you call them."

"Is there a planet called Pandora too ?" 

"I don’t know. Probably ? The universe in infinite, and we didn’t explore much yet." 

The gaze Arthur gave you was adorable. You could see his eyes shine with admiration, it was such a privilege to be able to witness an era which was more than one hundred years ahead of his time, despite its good and bad moments. You had tried your best to keep Arthur away from newspapers in order to help him remain in his rather innocent state of discovery, knowing that a simple glance at the news on TV would probably make him terribly sad and somewhat nostalgic of his own time. 

It was quite unexpected, but Arthur cried during the movie. He cried because of its overall beauty, the story appeared amazing to his eyes, the soft melodies and choirs chanting in background soundtracks moved him a lot. He loved the bioluminescent effect of some scenes, the overall atmosphere of the movie, not taking his eyes away from your TV while wrapping his arm around your shoulders, gently kissing your temple at times. He adored that, he adored this moment. Having you close to him while being fully taken into this movie made him forget about all his past troubles.

"D’you also have ‘em guns ?" he softly asked 

"Maybe… why ? You want one in case you’d come across blue people ?" 

"Mmmm… yeah. Jus’ in case. I miss my good ol' revolver, sometimes." 

You rested your head on his shoulder, somewhat amused by his sweet attitude. You would listen to his gasps, his soft squeals, his almost inaudible wows… you could not deny how adorable Arthur was. You could even hear him sniff, his chest trembling a little whenever a scene would be emotional enough to bring him to tears. Who would have thought Arthur could be so sensitive ? Those who knew him much more than you did. Hosea and Charles, for instance, and most probably John at some point, even Dutch. Just by looking at his drawings, you could have guessed he had a soft heart and high intelligence hidden underneath his rather menacing appearance. 

The movie lasted for so long… you had time to check your phone about a dozen times while resting against Arthur whose eyes were glued to the screen. You did not even want to bother him, he was absolutely hypnotised by the movie and did not want to be bothered. You smiled at him as the credits rolled, noticing tears streaming on his cheeks as you teasingly poked them. 

"Getting a little sensitive, huh ?" you smiled 

"That was a beautiful show !" Arthur answered. "I loved every second of it ! Can we watch it again ?" 

"Someday, we will. But... let's just take a break, okay ?" 

Night came pretty fast, Arthur made you a lavender infusion, you found enough energy to work a little while Arthur sat on the couch and started sketching. Very random figures, some fantasy-like sceneries… and you. You could easily tell he was drawing you by looking towards your direction a few times, then proceeding to sketch something, and looking back again. Another artwork to frame, that was for sure ! 

"What are you drawing, cowboy ?" you smiled 

"Well… I’m trying to sketch you, but I can’t get it right… you’re too gorgeous and my hand shakes too much." 

"That’s… that’s really sweet !" 

"I mean it." 

What Arthur told you made your heart stop beating, you turned shades darker and hid your face behind your hands. Your smile widened enough to cause your roommate to move closer to you, carefully closing your laptop with a large smirk blooming on his face. He made you stand up, slowly uncovering your beautiful face before dropping a sweet kiss on your forehead. 

"You’re making me melt, you know that ?" you smiled 

"Let’s get you to bed so you’ll stop workin’ on your… weird machine here." 

"It’s a computer, Arthur." 

"Well, computer or not, you’re going to bed with me ‘cause it’s kinda late."

You shrugged, you didn’t notice how fast time had passed since you decided to get back to work ! Remote-working had its ups and downs, and Arthur had complained a few times about you staying up too late instead of going to bed and hide into his embrace. He could hardly sleep without having you next to him, and there were no ways to escape him that night. How could you resist these puppy eyes and insisting behaviour ? Your arms spread wide for him to lift you up while you dragged your legs around his hips. Arthur loved carrying you around your place, he could easily remain in shape by doing this almost on a daily basis ! You did not mind it. In fact, you loved having him carry you from a room to another. Bridal and koala style, as you called it, were your favourite. 

Arthur calmly put you on the bed and proceeded switching all lights off while you changed into some more comfortable wear, slipping under your blanket as Arthur moved next to you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He took advantage of you turning yourself towards him to passionately kiss you before making you rest your head on his shoulder. You remained like this for a few seconds, in your pitch-black bedroom, up until Arthur cleared his throat. 

"Erm… Y/N ?" he sheepishly asked 

"Yeah ? What’s wrong ?" 

"Would you mind… switching the galaxy lamp on for a bit ? I… I liked it and…-"

"Sure, sweetheart."

You gasped at your own sudden reaction. "Sweetheart ? Really ?" you scolded yourself, covering your forehead with your palm. You never dared giving Arthur nicknames, not finding anyone of them suitable enough for your time-traveling cowboy, his sole name sounded just fine, you would sometimes call him by his surname. Sweetheart came out of nowhere, and was well deserved ! 

"S-sorry." you stuttered 

"Nah, it’s fine." Morgan responded. "I like ‘em sweet nicknames. "

Arthur smiled, deeply flattered by the nickname you just gave him. His heart pounded faster than expected as you calmly reached out to get the lamp and switched it on. A beautiful fake galaxy suddenly covered your ceiling, filled with laser stars which slowly moved along with the rest of the digital ocean of blue and purple clouds behind them. You analysed Arthur’s reaction and smiled at his sight. 

"Why do you like this lamp so much ?" you smiled

"Oh… it just reminds of home." Arthur answered as he moved closer to you, allowing you to place your head back on his chest 

"You never slept with a roof over your head before you came here ?" 

"I did, at some point… but I got used to fall asleep while gazing at the stars from a corner of my tent, or sometimes from my bedroll when I was away. Gazing at ‘em moving above me was always calming."

"If you want, we could go camping this summer. Would you like that ?"

You heard Arthur moan a little, feeling his heart pound faster. Your head rose a little, allowing you to get a better view of Arthur’s beautiful face. Your hand caressed his chest, drawing circles on them while you kept gazing at him. His eyes kept staring at the ceiling until he felt your gaze, slowly turning his head to you. 

"That’d be awesome." he smiled 

There were many things left to discover, many things you wanted to show Arthur. The world was full of treasures, modern or ancient, cultures you wanted him to get familiar with, places to visit… Arthur’s health was back to normal, you could now guide him through your own era without bothering about any health issues he would encounter. Indeed, that man was not twenty anymore, but you were ready to do so much for him ! You were ready to guide him, to be with him. Beyond what Francis had first asked you. Your help turned into a beautiful blossoming relationship filled with embraces, kisses and… very noisy nights. 

Switching this galaxy lamp became some sort of ritual every single night. Along with waking up to Arthur’s face and his hugs after you would come back from work, your daily embrace in bed facing a fake galaxy was your most favourite part of the day. At times, you would run your fingers into Arthur’s dirty-blonde locks, massaging his scalp with singing some song. Sometimes, he would do the same with you. You adored it, you adored him. No, you loved him… and did not have the courage to tell him just yet, but you knew this day would come soon enough. The world was filled with treasures, mysteries and beauty. 

And Arthur was going to find out about them. 

[the-story-keeper]

Hello and welcome to my shop

It is a pleasure for any and all of you who come here, be you seeking or simply browsing

I am the beast and you may call me what you will

It is a pleasure all the same

Who’s running this thing?

another blog by me, bunny, the person who came out of nowhere swinging SEMI-LUKEWARM

the beast will randomly blip out of existence with my motivation and energy levels!

ill be sure to tag “gif” for all gifs and the queue tag will be “supes cute” because i am far too lazy to change it at this point, we all suffer together now

since mobile is a fuck, heres the ooc page info put here

my name is bunny, im 25+, i do not want to be addressed

you may know me from honey @jujulebee!

id like to avoid the tumblr chat “function” as much as possible, especially ic, i do not receive any kind of notification that i have a new message and it will not update with new messages unless i manually refresh the page. it leads to miscommunication and me missing things frequently and i dont like that.

additionally, i am no longer given activity notifications, so communicating through replies on a post is a good way to have me not see it! please reblog whenever possible if you want to have a conversation

if you interact regularly and we are mutuals you can talk to me ooc/ask for my discord,, if i draw you things i am trying to be friends, but i am not very good at it and do not have much to offer

im not Extremely picky with who i follow, but i have people whos judgement i trust and will block freely and without hesitation. im here to curate my ideal experience, not save the feelings of a stranger. 

while i understand that ic=/=ooc if your character spews blatant bigotry of any kind please dont interact, actually

this page tentatively accepts magic anons

no godmodding, you are powerless in it’s domain

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

------ The Beast ------

my beast stands at 8 feet and has soft, light grey fur

it has no mouth, but you can hear its voice in your head when it speaks to you

it has a soft voice

my beast has a shop

its a very small shop, very long and narrow

with shelves very high and rolling ladders along the sides

my beast takes and gives memories

do you have a memory you want to get rid of? they will take it

they offer you a memory in turn

all memories become little trinkets

so all the shelves in their shop 

look like

ispy books

they will take whatever memories you do not want to have anymore

they will offer you a trade for something else

the beast does not have a name or a gender and accepts any pronouns or titles

titles so far: Larry, Dreamkeeper, Beast, Simply A Beast, Chronicler, Minstrel, Storykeep, Story Keeper, Story

----- The Shop -----

you can simply Arrive at the shop,

it exists just outside of reality

but no matter where you Try to arive In shop

it will not work

you will only arrive just outside the door

the world outside is Nice, but its hard to focus on

like a dream that keeps changing

going in its a very warmly colored place

like the i spy books in its ecclectic nature

its a very long, narrow shop with shelves as high as the very high ceiling

and the beast stands stooped in textiles not too disimilar to what the withers family owns

theres a feeling of overwhelming Nostalgia

the kind that makes you feel Happy but Ache

and most importantly

while in the shop

you have no powers

you are just a person

------ The World(?) ------

there exists a place just outside of reality

between Life and what lies beyond death (known as the Vast Nothing)

it goes by many names: the Unknown, Traverse, Ephemeral, Expanse, Penumbra

this space can be visited in the Dreaming and is what awaits after Life

the landscape of the Expanse is different for the Visiting (Dreaming) versus the Resting (Leaving)

the Dreaming experience a landscape that is ever changing and dreamlike

the Leaving experience a softer, grey landscape, liminal in feeling

it is a place for the Resting to mourn their lives and find solace and peace before moving on to the Vast Nothing

[kiatheinsomniac]

Heya! Can I request "Will you listen to me? I don't care where you are, what time it is or what happened. If you need me, I'll be there." With Ezio? Thank you!

pairing: Ezio Auditore x Reader

word count: 0.5k

☾ ⋆ﾟ  MASTERLIST / RULES / TAGLIST FORM

If you need me, I'll be there

You hadn’t meant for him to find you in the graveyard just behind Monteriggioni and yet here you two were. You had come to mourn your father who had died many years ago, sent to help in the assassination of Vieri de Pazzi. He had suffered from a wound and died of infection after his return. Today would have been his birthday. Your mother had fallen into a depression and, being the eldest, you had to take responsibility for your younger siblings. Life had never been the same since and you found yourself missing your father and resenting him somehow for it at the same time. 

The reminder of when he had been here and what life had been like before seemed to be hitting you hard and you came here to try and let it out. You didn’t want your younger siblings seeing you, you had to be their sense of support and stability. You also hadn’t wanted anyone else to see you and yet here you were, turning your back on Mario Auditore’s nephew, rapidly smudging away your tears. 

You had spoken to Ezio a few times. He was charming, that much was for sure, but Monteriggioni was a small town where everyone knew everyone and you were one of few ladies around the same age as him so you knew that a man like him would come to try and win you over for whatever reason. However, you were also one of his less frequent targets as you were often so busy trying to take care of your family. 

“Cara mia, dai, you don’t need to hide away. Tell me what you need and I’ll help you.” He coaxed and put his hand comfortingly on your shoulder, the one without the glove. You could feel his warm, calloused skin against yours and he must have noticed how cold you were because you soon felt the weight of his cape being wrapped around your shoulders. He crouched down beside you and you tried to turn your head away from him, sniffling. 

“What can you actually do for me, Ezio?” You shrugged your shoulders, trying to distract yourself by picking at a thread on your skirt, “Really? We’re stretched so thin financially and I don’t even know if we can get through the winter, I can’t get mother to leave her bed-” You choked on a sob and felt an arm snaking around your shoulder. That one kind gesture seemed to tip you over the edge and you broke down, weeping and turning yourself into his body, wrapping your arms around him and holding on tight. He kept you in his embrace, swaying you slightly as you clung to him. 

 "Will you listen to me?” He began once you had calmed down from your sob-broken rambling, “I don't care where you are, what time it is or what happened. If you need me, I'll be there." You could only nod your head slightly, sniffling. “My family owns this town, we can help you however you need. Without the people, there is no Monteriggioni and your father did a great thing, I was there and he fought valiantly.” You buried your face in his shoulder to try and quell another onslaught of tears. “Don’t cry alone anymore.” You stayed in his comforting embrace for a while. 

“Come on,” You said, standing up and holding the cape around your shoulders – admittedly you had been cold – before looking to him, “let’s head back.” 

☾ ⋆ﾟ Buy me a coffee? ✧⋆.・゜Want to be tagged?

🏷️@gojohater101 @writing-noah @havatnah @ayameiris4

[mia-vita]

WHAT A RIDE!! I loved this drama so much ❤ and I'm a little sad it ended. I'll do a reflection about this drama final episode and a little background story time on how I have found my love for Kdramas again because of Tomorrow.

(My reflection on the final episode and drama as a whole is at the second part with RED words if you only want to read that. 😁)

Now, I want to laugh a bit because I was not aware of the terminology "kdrama" and the Korean entertainment world in general and how popular kdramas are, until this drama showed up in my IG feed because I liked the song in that video and IG started to bombard me with more videos that used that song. Now, I was unconsciously introduced to kdramas back in 2000 and I didn't know it was called like that 😅

Last time I saw a kdrama was probably back in 2005. I was a kid, watching dramas for adults, don't blame my mom. I was very mature for my age even though I was not allowed to see kissing/sex scenes 😅 and back then and kdramas barely had any kissing, IF ANY. So they became my favorite thing to watch.

I used to watch Mexican dramas that in Spanish we call "Novelas" wich usually have about 100 episodes, more or less, and they have kissing in every episode and passionate sex scenes very frequently as well. It's the norm in most Hispanic/Latino TV romance dramas but nothing explicit, as it's broadcasted on regular TV channels.

I loved Kdramas back then, my first love was a drama in 2003/2004 called "Stairway to Heaven" which I saw probably more than 10 times. And I would highly recommend it!

I was infatuated with the main male lead. I mean, how could I not? Look at that...

The funny thing about this, is that this drama made me cry so much every time I watched it, even when I knew the story while re-watching it. And so did Tomorrow as well, I cried 😅, some episodes were a lot.

The one with the dog hit me hard because I lost a dog that I mourned more than I had for a person and even though for some people that episode was irrelevant, for others like me, it was a lovely one.

Well, for some reason I grew up and I started to get busy with school and I wasn't watching dramas anymore and instead I would watch movies when I had the chance. So I forgot my love for Kdramas. And the reason I loved Kdramas so much was because it showed me that I really didn't need that much kissing or sex scenes in order to see the romance between two people and their love story. Although a little hug between Ryeon and Park wouldn't have hurt. That was cruel for us the viewers🙄

I never came across any kdrama content on Instagram, Netflix or anywhere really because that was not in my content search so I guess the algorithm wasn't showing me anything and I wasn't aware that kdramas were a thing, but man!! Thank the lord for showing that video to me because now I'm watching dramas again and I found my love back for them. Quite addictive honestly, I have to be careful binge watching them now 😅

So I started watching Tomorrow without knowing what it was really about, just because I liked that 20secs video and was excited about Ryeon and Park's love story, I assumed it was about them.

Now if someone read this, yes you can laugh at this because you already know I got played with the amount of screen time they got 🤡 that was brutal.

However, I did love the theme of the show, and it's importance and even appreciated many things that were said that will stick with me for the long run.

NOW, THE FINAL EPISODE:

Oh wow, I must say it was better than I expected. Thank you writers 😅

Could it have been better? Sure.

Nonetheless, it didn't leave me unsatisfied as I thought it would, since a lot had to be covered in one hour episode, I was scared it would leave me empty. So in my opinion, they did well.

I binged "Twenty Five, Twenty One" yesterday, that end left me with no hopes for Park and Ryeon at all today. I liked 25-21 ending because it shows reality, but you know, I was too invested into Tomorrow's story that it would have been depressing to watch another end like that two days in a row.

Plus, I have been watching this show as an ongoing show for the past 3 or 4 weeks, and I never do that on Netflix, I didn't even know that was a thing there, I thought they always dropped the whole season at once 😅

I watch things after the season ends because I don't have the patience to deal with the wait. So I guess waiting every week for an episode gave me time to think about theories, read people's opinions in Twitter and here as well, and all of that made me be more invested in the story than when I binge watch a show because that doesn't let me have too much time to be thinking about possibilities.

I don't want a Season 2, because I don't see the point, but I do wish it had at least two more episodes to have more development between Ryeon and Park healing conversation, and Choi's life after waking up. I've read some viewers complain that Lim got almost 3 episodes to cover his story and that the others should have too, but honestly I think they all got about the same amount, the difference for me is that Lim had his story show consecutively and the others stories were more spread out into different episodes. Such as Choi's father story, the mom and sister hardships after he went on a coma, etc.

After all, Lim was part of the main cast and he didn't get as much time talking to the people they were saving, so for me it was a balance.

Now, I do think Ryeon and Park needed a longer conversation at the end, I loved that they were together for the final scene and they looked at each other in a way that it felt like an open ending was up to the viewer to interpret what happened in those 6 months and what would continue to happen after that final episode.

I don't want to read the Webtoon because I read it's different from the series so I just want to keep it for my interpretation of their future relationship. (But if the end is better in the Webtoon, then please someone tell me 😅)

For me I'd like to believe that they are never going to choose to reincarnate because they know that their fate is broken in the land of the living and they won't find each other there. But as reapers they get to see each other, work together, heal together and love each other again. I do think that love between them will happen because now that Park knows his past we saw in their conversation that he realized his mistakes towards Ryeon and the RM team purpose, and he acknowledged that his pride made him misunderstand Ryeon's opinion of suicide and that made him do foolish things as he said. That he realized he went to rescue her from being taken to hell again because of his pride not because of his feelings. And for me that shows growth, and healing overall.

That experience changed him for the better. And I really loved that for them.

I know many complaint about his behavior towards suicide and his hate towards people that think of this as a choice to end their sadness being part of the story line. And I will say, that is a real thing, and I am glad it was part of the show, I have known people like that in the past with that mentality, and although Park changed his view on the show, some people never do, even nowadays when mental health is more prioritized. There are still people like him out there.

Also, others complain about the show not having mental health professionals to be part of the show, I do think it should have been part of it as well indeed. However, the show did have Ryeon as one in the episode with the singer whose wife died. Of course more than that would have been ideal, but nonetheless, it did shine light into it.

Also, many say that the people changing their mind in the last minute by talking at the end was too rushed and simple. Yes, it seems so, but:

One, it's a show with an average of 50min per episode and writers are limited by the channels they broadcast in.

Two, they are grim reapers who's job is to save those that are in their last moments of committing the act. By that time, imagine a friend saving another in their last moment just by talking to them. That happens a lot, not only health professionals are part of that moment when it happens. Also, many can't even afford one at all, or don't want one. Etc.

So my point is that all ways here are valid. Could they have shown more of a mental health professional approach. Yes, indeed.

However, that doesn't make their way in the show wrong either. I mean, Ryeon could have been less aggressive like Choi, but again, is a show, and this world is full of different types of people with their own personality, nobody can judge someone else by their own standard of how someone should be like. And more specifically, is a Korean show, so according to what I have read so far about Korea when it comes to mental health, I think that the show did a good job in addressing the issue of suicide there and the need the country has as a whole.

I heard/read many times how people have killed themselves even after years of therapy. I personally know two people, one unfortunately did die, and the other one survived after the act because the hospital was quick enough. Both had mental health professionals helping them, and both committed the act anyways. Unfortunately this topic is not black and white, there's a lot of shades of grey in between.

I didn't mean for this post to be this long 🤯 I started to write something in specific and now I got a whole essay. 😅 The fact that when I have to do one at college I can't even write a page properly and for things like this I find my ways is just a joke 🤣

If someone read this long, I appreciate you 🤗

P.S. English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for any mistakes 😅

Now an appreciation for the 4 characters:

Ryeon and Mr. Lim are made for eachother as team, those two are cold and honest as F* 🤣 I love them.

Choi, you are so cute, and funny ☺️

And last BUT DEFINITELY NOT LEAST!

Mr. PARK!

I address you at the very end because WOW!

Sir, your gaze towards Ryeon in that 20sec video I saw. That gaze sir, is what made me watch this drama.

And that walk, I got in every episode for a bare minimum of 5 seconds per episode made me excited each time. 😅

I repeated each episode throughout the weeks many times just to see scenes between you and anybody else in the show. That's how much I had to compensate for the fact that you were almost non existent in it sir. 😅

I have to say that Lee Soo-hyuk just added another follower in his career because I'm about to watch anything this man has been on now. 😍 I mean, that man is stunning to watch talk, walk, and see how he looks at things with those eyes. 🤭

Like look at this...

I am very interested in learning Korean because I saw a few episodes in Spanish voice translation, and things were said differently than the English subtitles in many occasions, which I understand since the voice needs to be in synced with the mouth of the actor. However, I have read people say that the English subtitles many times are not as accurate either, so I hate not having the actual thing said translated properly 😅 I like watching shows in their original language because I feel like the tone of the words said are never translated with the same emotions into another language. How difficult is Korean? Asking for a friend 🤣🤣🤣

If someone got here, then here is the video that started everything for me.

Thank you for reading, it was a pleasure to talk about this drama. I'll definitely watch it again in a year or when I feel like I need it. ❤

[fangirlinglikeabus]

i finished blake's 7 two days ago, here are my totally unsolicited thoughts on 'blake'

god i think killing blake really and utterly broke avon. if only blake had stuck around for rumours of death, then he’d KNOW about avon’s trust issues and wouldn’t have tried to test him (or maybe he would because it seems he ALSO has trust issues at this point. love these fucked up little guys)

is it morbid to say that while i sorta got avon/blake it didn’t really click for me until that moment where avon shot him? avon's taste in women AND men works out terribly for him. it's equality

jenna’s death didn’t happen onscreen, therefore it didn’t happen <3 i pretend i do not see

i love the way gareth thomas delivers that line about her taking out the ships when she blew herself up tho. like blake doesn’t even have space to mourn one of his closest allies anymore, he just gets the grim satisfaction of knowing at least she did something against the federation with her death

vila fighting back and disarming his opponent only after dayna got shot is like,,,BRUTAL especially considering he’s the one who brings up cally in this episode. i truly do believe he cares about all his crew mates so much under that veneer of cowardice and being the clown, and while i don't think he was ever seriously going to betray them in that moment, i can't help but read into how immediately his attack follows on from dayna getting hurt

speaking of brutal moments. slave says tarrant’s name and it’s so sweet but it’s also what blake at least claims gave tarrant away to him...can’t have any nice moments in this series

soolin my darling underdeveloped queen...you can see all throughout that she’s really not happy about returning ‘home’ and then she gets shot? on the planet she lost her childhood to? for a cause I’m not sure she ever really believed in?

(i do like that dayna is the one who asks her more when she’s talking about her past. they seem very close by this point and that’s a nice illustration of that)

the gunshots continuing in place of the credits music until the names of all the main characters have appeared...yeah. like i know there was a Plan in place should there have been a series 5 but i’m honestly happy things ended here, tragic though it may have been.

blake’s 7 is often a show that’s so good i wish it was better - such great characters who don’t always get utilised to their full potential (the NUMBER of cally possession episodes...get a new plot!), moments of drama that don’t always get their full consequences followed through on, an entire series where the main characters frequently seemed to lack any sense of urgency or drive but which also had my beloved rumours of death in it, ben steed episodes which frankly have nothing much to redeem them - but my god, what an ending. and i really do love this wretched, tragic little show with all my heart even with all of its irritations. time to buy the box set and watch it five billion times!

[kenobisgalaxy]

His Legacy (Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader) | Part 1

fandom: STAR WARS

pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

type: series (but can be read as a one shot)

genre: angst

word count: 663

warnings: bunch of angst, mention of death/murder

plot info: You are a Jedi Knight in the order and fight during the clone wars for the cause of the republic. The story is set after Obi-Wan’s alleged death through the hand of the bounty hunter Rako Hardeen. Obi-Wan and you joined the Jedi order together when you were only children and are consequently life long friends. However, like Anakin you are not informed about Obi-Wan’s under cover mission and faux death in order not to endanger his endeavor. After Obi-Wan’s funeral, you are now sitting in your room mourning his passing.

summary: At night you are sitting in your room in the Jedi temple pondering over Obi-Wan’s death not being able to let go of your beloved friend.

a/n: I could imagine writing a second part to capture y/n’s reaction to Obi Wan being alive, if you liked me to.

masterlist

It was a shallow night, the almost setting moon was glimmering through the faint gaps in the shutters of your cramped room’s window in the Jedi temple looking over the vast skyline of Coruscant. Sleep deprived and weary you were trying to meditate forcing your thoughts to cease wandering through the endless abysses of bitter sorrow that was haunting you. Jedi are not supposed to form attachments, they are not supposed to bond. You thought. But it was only friendship, the mere appreciation for a long kept companion - one that you could count on, one that always cleared your back, one that watched you. Surly, that was not forbidden by the Jedi code. Surly, there was nothing wrong with it as long as one was able to let go - but you couldn’t let him go.

There had not been a single day without him and if you were parted, at least it was not for long. Of course, with the beginning of the war and the now frequenting missions that kept you from spending time in the Jedi temple, Obi Wan and you were not always seeing another. Sometimes, various tasks the Jedi council required you to undertake forced you into different parts of the galaxy, but with ongoing time you were increasingly sent forth together being an excellent team and working efficiently towards the next victory in diplomacy or battle. You had claimed crucial strategic successes together, fought Sith Lords and entire droid armies. Thus, how could a single bounty hunter pose a serious threat? One shot was enough. One hit in Obi-Wan’s chest, right were the heart sits beating, pumping blood, fueling life. No more. If it was not the shot’s wound, it must have been the fall that had killed him. You were right there watching as his lifeless body raced towards the solid concrete. Screaming his name you tried to catch him, but to late. In seconds you were with him cupping his head heavy as lead, pressing your ear to his chest. Shaking him, tearing at him, hugging him. But he would not open his eyes, he would not gift you a last one of his comforting smiles, you would not hear his soothing voice. You could only listen to your own thoughts screaming in your head, pleading for his life, offering your own, if only Obi-Wan would be granted another breath. But it was all for nothing.

Later that night you found yourself in the crematorium next to Mace Windu, Master Yoda, Ahsoka, Anakin and Padmé. You weren’t sobbing anymore, your tears had stopped when you had entered the Jedi temple force carrying Obi-Wan’s lifeless corpse. Only a blank expression covered your pain distorted face. Keep up the mask, cover your emotions, do not show suffering. It was crucial not to admit the pain in your chest. Remember, Jedi are not supposed to form attachments.

You did not let them notice. After the funeral, you were immediately strutting back to your room. That was at dusk. Now it was almost dawn. You opened the shutters of your window gazing to the far horizon. Coruscant never slept. Vehicles were still moving on the lanes, hovering far above the ground. And under that ground in the lower levels scum was getting drunk in greasy taverns or getting shot in dark alleys. Somewhere there might as well be Obi-Wan’s killer, the bounty hunter, this wretched filth. The one who took your only true friend. But Obi-Wan would not want you to waste your time avenging his death. He would want you to remember him, carry his name with you, honor his legacy in battle and in diplomacy. That was what you were going to do. Still, you couldn’t for the sake of the galaxy let him go. Screw the code. You were not going to forget him, you were not going to stop keeping him in your heart. He would understand, of that you were sure.

Part 2

[mlwritersguild]

The world is still sleeping, while I keep on dreaming, by @queer-cosette

Based on John Rzeznik's I'm Still Here (submitted by @thedreadpirateholmes)

AO3 link; Grief/Mourning, Autistic Adrien Agreste/Chat Noir, Disabled Character, Brain Damage, Partially Blind Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Permanent Injury, descriptions of an accident that lead to permanent injury, Advice, Eye Trauma, brief mention of Christianity

Summary:

On the second anniversary of his mother's disappearance, Adrien is struggling with grief - not just for her, but for the family his father doesn't seem to want to fix. Marinette's cousin offers him some advice.

Written for the Miraculous Ladybug Writers' Guild's August Challenge; partly inspired by I'm Still Here by John Rzeznik. Carlotta is an OC who pops up frequently in my ML fics; this one features a lot of her backstory.

Rated M

———————————–

Friday, 1pm

Le Collège Françoise Dupont

4th Arrondissement

Paris, France

It’s just another normal Friday lunchtime for Carlotta Suero-Dupain, until she opens the art cupboard and finds Adrien Agreste sitting on the floor with his chin resting on his knees and his hands clamped to his ears. Although initially taken aback at finding her classmate uncharacteristically lacking most of his composure, she sets aside her surprise in favour of gently addressing him.

“Adrien? You doing okay?”

Adrien squints up at her, looking for all the world like a Crying Cat Meme. It occurs to Carlotta that he’s been sitting there in the dark and she’s just exposed his eyes to a lot of light, so she gently closes the door behind her and sinks down next to him, abandoning her quest for a decent highlighter pen for the moment.

“I’m guessing that’s a no. Bad day, huh?”

Adrien makes a little noise that sounds like half a laugh, half a sob. “You could say that,” he croaks. “Lila wouldn’t leave me alone, so I snuck in here while she was in the loo.”

“Can’t blame you,” Carlotta says, making extra effort to put a smile into her voice. The cupboard is too dark for her limited eyesight to make out his face; it seems politest to assume he can’t see hers either. “She’s like the world’s most mendacious limpet.” Adrien lets out a little amused snort at that. “But I’m guessing today was especially bad compared to normal?”

Adrien sighs softly, and while it sounds sad, he doesn’t seem to be on the verge of tears anymore. “Most of our class know that this week is a hard one for me. Even Chloé gets it. But, I dunno, either Lila didn’t bother to ask anyone about it, or she did ask but just doesn’t care.” He falls silent, and Carlotta settles herself against what feels like the collage box, letting him keep the metaphorical stage for the time being. At last, Adrien sighs again, but now he sounds more frustrated than sad.

“Tomorrow marks the second anniversary of my mom disappearing.”

And that rings a bell; Carlotta remembers Marinette mentioning something about this - her cousin had been running around the Dupain-Cheng’s kitchen, frantically making passionfruit macarons that Carlotta had been expressly forbidden from sampling. A gift for Adrien, so he knew Marinette was thinking of him and wishing him an easy time of it. Sweet of her.

She can’t think of anything to say, but then Adrien continues, “It feels like it shouldn’t be as painful as it was last year. But everything just feels… like it’s too much. And I haven’t seen my father all week, and I just… I just wish I could talk to him. But I couldn’t even make an appointment. Nathalie insists he’s too busy.”

Carlotta sighs sadly, and reaches for where she thinks his leg might be, patting a knee-shaped thing gently. “I’m sorry, Adrien,” she says softly.

“Thanks,” Adrien replies. “Sorry I took up the end of your lunchtime.”

“‘S’alright. It’s good to talk about it, y’know?”

“Yeah, you’re right. It feels… not so bad now. Thanks.”

The actual bell rings at that moment, and they both jump up, hurrying to leave the classroom before anyone catches them leaving the cupboard together and starts making assumptions. Carlotta pokes her head out the classroom door first and glances around, before beckoning Adrien to follow her.

“Lila’s not anywhere out here. I can’t see any sign of that tacky jacket.”

“Thank God,” Adrien sighs, emerging into the corridor. He looks noticeably less stressed than he had been when she found him in the cupboard, and an idea strikes her.

“Listen, Adrien,” Carlotta says hurriedly, tapping his shoulder. He looks around at her, apparently surprised. “If you ever want to talk to someone who, I dunno, doesn’t know all of it already… I just find that sometimes a fresh perspective helps, I guess. So if you want to talk to me about anything that’s going on, any shit that’s bothering you… I’m here.”

Adrien stares at her, his big green eyes round and incredulous. “You… you’re sure?”

“‘Course. Tell you what,” Carlotta adds as they both start down the hallway towards the science labs, “I’m usually at the skatepark on Sundays after eleven o’clock, you know the one around the corner from the little cinema on Impasse Carrière-Mainguet? If you ever wanna chat, it’s pretty quiet. All the usual crowds are sleeping off Saturday night.”

Adrien is still staring at her, but now a small smile is tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Carlotta smiles sincerely at him as they enter the science lab, before hurrying over to the desk she shares with Ivan. Adrien sits down in his own spot next to Nino, but throws a full smile over his shoulder at Carlotta before Ms Mendeleiev enters and begins explaining that day’s experiment.

As they begin organising the equipment for studying the combustion enthalpy of butanol, Carlotta ponders that, while Adrien is unlikely to take her up on her offer, she feels glad that it seems to have done something towards making him feel a little less crappy. That’s all you can hope for, after all.

------------

Sunday, 11am

Skatepark de Charonne

11th Arrondissement

Paris, France

As his Chat Noir transformation melts away and Plagg tucks himself into his favourite pocket, Adrien watches as Carlotta effortlessly slides her skateboard along the park’s flatrail and ollies off it before effortlessly mounting the half-pipe ramp. True to her word, the skatepark is almost entirely deserted, and she stands out against the tranquil scenery, a vibrantly energetic figure clad in a floral turquoise summer dress and matching cardigan. It’s an outfit that seems far too bizarrely formal for skateboarding in, and it’s a far cry from her normal wardrobe of scruffy cargo shorts and appliqué-adorned crop-tops, although she’s refused to part with her stripy knee socks and scuffed red converse. But before he can do anything more than ponder this, she spots him and waves.

“Adrien! Hola!”

Adrien waves back and approaches her as she easily turns the board around, exits the half-pipe, and tail-flips the board into the air, catching it and tucking it under her arm. “Didn’t think you’d come,” Carlotta admits, sitting down on one of the benches at the edge of the skating area. “But I’m glad you did.”

“Yeah,” Adrien smiles, sitting next to her and leaning back. “I didn’t think I’d get the chance, but it’s the Gorilla’s day off, and Nathalie had to help Father with… well, I think he locked himself out of his own iPad, so they might be there a while. I took my chance and snuck out the back window.”

“Adults versus tech, huh?” Carlotta laughs, removing her helmet and shaking out her hair. “My dad nearly spontaneously combusted last year when my sister Geneviéve filled up his harddrive with photobooth selfies. Couldn’t figure out how to get rid of them, poor guy. Mom called the computer store when it started looking like he might tear out his moustache.”

Adrien laughs with her. Carlotta isn’t someone he’s particularly close to - he really only knows her through Marinette - but she’s funny and easy to talk to, and like every friendship he’s made since starting school, talking and laughing with someone makes his heart feel the lightest it has in a long time.

“So what’s with the dress?” he asks, the tiniest hint of teasing creeping into his voice. Carlotta groans.

“I didn’t want to miss you if you did come, so I didn’t bother changing after Mass.”

“I didn’t know you were Catholic.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not good at it,” Carlotta laughs. “I really only go to make my parents happy.”

Adrien feels a little twinge in his chest at that. “I get that,” he says softly. “You don’t wanna let them down.” Even though you feel like you can never be who they want you to be.

Carlotta sighs, but it seems to be an agreeing noise, and they fall into amiable silence, broken only when Adrien compliments her helmet: it’s purple with a light-blue cartoon whale sticker on one side. Carlotta smiles and taps it lightly with her fingers.

“Can’t be too careful.” She pauses, tilting her head at him, then - “So, you wanted to chat?”

Adrien sucks in a breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah. I, uh, I’m not really sure where to start -”

“You can just talk,” Carlotta suggests, surveying him through her thick eyelashes. “Just whatever’s on your mind. And I’ll listen. If you want.”

He nods, because that does sound good. Over the next half-hour, Adrien tells her everything - how his mom vanished two years ago, how he doesn’t know if she walked out or was kidnapped or what happened, if she ever intends on coming back, if she’s even alive, how much he misses her; and then he explains how not once through his grieving process - because he’s almost crushed with grief for losing her - has he been able to turn to his father for support. Adrien just wants to keep the last parental relationship he has, but his father forces him to make an appointment before even giving him the time of day, and while his existence up until this point has been lonely in general, that was nothing compared to what it’s been like these last few years, with no mother, and a father who seems intent on locking his son out of his life. How last year, he’d felt like they might be ready to move on and accept that this was the Agreste family’s new normal, but his father had brought all that crashing down with only a few words, and now they’re two years in and Adrien feels more confused about it than ever.

“I just thought,” he tells Carlotta, his voice hoarse with how much he’s been talking, and he’s definitely going to be in deep shit later if he can’t disguise it, “maybe this week… he’d want to be closer. Want to talk or spend time together, anything. Acknowledge that we can still find a way to be a family. But I couldn’t even make an appointment. He’s… too busy. And I know he misses her too, probably even more than I do, and that this is just his way of dealing with that, but… I just hoped that… this time… it would be… different.”

Carlotta, true to her word, has listened intently the whole time, occasionally nodding slightly, a trace of a frown adorning her face. She’s silent as he slumps back, her dark brown eyes scanning him slowly, as if to gauge whether or not he has anything else he needs to get out. But he’s told her everything he’s never been able to really tell anyone (short of the fact that his only escape from this painful homelife is donning the Chat Noir costume and fighting supervillains), and when he doesn’t speak for two whole minutes, she shifts sitting positions so one leg is now tucked up onto the bench, the other still dangling with her converse toe scuffing the ground slightly.

“Is it…” she says slowly. “Would it be okay, Adrien, if I told you a story?”

“Uh. Sure. I guess.”

“Just… I have some advice for you - you don’t have to take it if you don’t want to. It’s just one person’s opinion. But it doesn’t make sense without the story - or, well, it makes more sense. With the context added.”

Adrien mulls this over. What little time he has spent with her has given him the impression that Carlotta Suero-Dupain is not the type to give someone advice in bad faith, so he nods. “Go for it.”

Carlotta gnaws her bottom lip. “Alright. So… You know how I trip over my own feet a lot, and some days I can’t walk in a straight line, and sometimes I use a sight cane at school?”

Adrien nods; Carlotta doesn’t trip quite as often as Marinette does, but she’s got a reputation for being clumsy, and in the past he’s wondered if her occasional stumbling and wobbling while she walks might have been a sign of too much teenage freedom. As for the sight cane, it had taken him by surprise the first time he saw her with it, carefully sensing her way up the stairs to class, but he’s vaguely aware that she seems to have trouble seeing where she’s going all the time.

“It’s because, about two years ago, I had an accident while I was skateboarding. It was a really stupid one. I went backwards down a hill, which I shouldn’t have done in the first place, and I hadn’t planned how to break… then I hit a high curb. I flew twenty feet, then skidded another ten, and I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in hospital. I’d been…” Her voice wobbles a little, but she soldiers on. “I’d been put in an induced coma. And when I woke up, I couldn’t see anything because I had to wear eyepatches while my eyes were recovering. Because… when I landed, it caused permanent brain damage.”

“Oh,” Adrien says quietly, because he’s not sure what else he can say to that.

“My occipital lobe was… It took a really bad hit. It’s like I can only see the right of everything, because the left side of my visual field is just… gone. It was my right side that I landed on, and brains flip everything around, so…” Carlotta laughs bitterly. “I have to use the cane on low atmospheric pressure days, because I get migraines that make it too hard to see at all, really. My arm and ribs got it pretty bad too. It’s pretty much all scar tissue from my shoulder to my waist on that side. Sometimes I can’t move my fingers properly.” She kicks at the ground, gnawing her lip again. “My brother and sister saw it happen.”

“God,” Adrien breathes, horrified at the thought. Carlotta's lips press together; there’s a sadness in her expression that he isn’t used to seeing from her.

“Yeah. They… they didn’t realise anything was wrong, at first. When I didn’t get up, they just thought I was joking, that I was doing a bit. And…” she laughs, and it sounds sad, but also very genuine, “Juanito drew a chalk outline around me. He thought it was funny. But when I still didn’t get up… I think Juanito still blames himself for it.”

She sighs heavily.

“He told me once that sometimes, when he can’t sleep, he just lies there thinking about it and wondering, what if he hadn’t goofed around? What if, instead of drawing a chalk outline, he’d checked to see if I was okay? He would have seen that… my helmet was completely cracked open at the back. He would have got to our parents quicker, and I’d have gone to the hospital quicker, and maybe the damage wouldn’t have been as severe. And I think that way myself too, sometimes. What if I’d planned better? What if I’d never tried to do the stupid stunt in the first place?”

“I’m so sorry,” Adrien whispers. Carlotta gently pats his arm.

“But that’s the thing, Adrien. You can’t go through life thinking like that. Because the past is the past, but time keeps marching on. You have to find a way to keep living. Because your mom might not be around, but you’re still here. You’re still living and growing and thinking and hurting. You have to find a way to live with it, even if your father can’t. Sorry if it seems harsh…”

Adrien shakes his head. Her words make a lot of sense. “It’s not. Is that how you can still skate even after…?”

Carlotta smiles and nods. “Yup. Found a way. I don’t want to let worry or fear run my life. Not everyone can manage it, because sometimes that’s life. But some fools are luckier than others, and I’m one of the ones who got lucky. If I hadn’t been wearing a helmet…”

She shivers.

“It could have been way worse. Some people think it’s reckless of me to keep skating after what happened, but I’m not stupid. I learned to skate with my off-foot forward. I come to this skatepark when it’s quiet, I know every inch of it like the back of my hand, I don’t skate when it’s crowded or if I don’t know what the topography is like. Next year I’ll be able to get prism contacts, so I won’t have such a massive blind-spot. And it sucks sometimes, that I can’t do exactly what I want. But it means I can keep living my life. We can’t let our grief for the past take away our future. And you can’t let your father’s ongoing pain stop you from allowing yours to heal.”

She gets up at that, dropping her skateboard onto the ground and rolling it experimentally under her right foot. It occurs to Adrien that most people skate with their left foot at the front, leaving their right free to manoeuvre with. But that’s not an option for Carlotta. He wonders how hard it was to learn how to completely reverse her entire stance. It must have taken so much time and effort and patience. But she managed it, and it’s become so natural to her that if she hadn’t told him, he wouldn’t have noticed.

Find a way to keep living.

“How do I do that?” he finds himself asking. “Keep on living?”

Carlotta shrugs. “It’s up to you. Find a new hobby. Start back with an old one. Make the most of the relationships that aren’t in flux right now. You have a lot of friends, Adrien,” she smiles. ���Everyone in our class thinks you’re great. I get wanting to avoid Lila, and I know your schedule is tight, but everyone else is willing to be there for you, if you show them a way that they can do that.”

She grins. There’s a long white scar on her cheek; it stretches when her mouth moves, but not in an ugly way. It looks like someone’s drawn a line on her face to connect up her dark freckles like they’re constellations.

“Hey, if you’ve got the rest of the day off, I know Marinette usually bakes on Sundays. Y’know, in their actual kitchen, rather than in the bakery. She’d probably dig your company.”

“Are you sure?” It seems too good to be true - Marinette is so sweet, and her baking is always amazing, but he can’t help but feel she’s unusually reserved with him, in a way she isn’t with everyone else.

“Trust me. Very sure. She just gets overwhelmed easily, like, in her head and stuff. Overthinks everything. But…” Carlotta’s grin widens. The scar becomes a perfect semicircle. “She keeps living in spite of it. And she’d love to hang out with you.” She clips on her helmet, and Adrien knows the conversation is over.

“Carlotta?”

Carlotta looks back at him; for the first time, he consciously notices how she turns further around to face him than most people would. Of course. Missing vision field.

“Thanks. I mean it.”

Carlotta smiles gently at him. “You’re still here, Adrien. Don’t let the world change who you are for people who can’t understand that.”

She pushes off, rolling away from the bench towards the half-pipe. Adrien watches her leave, feeling unusually peaceful. Marinette doesn’t live far from here. It’s shaping up into a pretty okayish day after all.

He’s still here.

[chill-out-and-rock-out]

To the Friend I Used to Think was So Great

To preface, I said what I needed to say to you in our dms. And I don’t think you even use Tumblr anymore, but on the off chance you do find this, I’m not using any names or places. But I’m sure you’ll know who you are. And if you get pissy about this, just know I haven’t even scratched the surface of what I told you in that text message, 

I used to think you were so great. We had been friends for years, and I always thought you accepted me for who I was despite having such different views. If someone asked me, literally yesterday morning I would’ve sung your praises. Now here I am, pissed off and mad more so at myself because I let it happen again. Is it your name, or your fucking star sign? Because you’ve done the exact same thing an ex friend of ours did to me, someone you and I had both ranted to each other about for doing what you’ve done not only to me but to our mutual friend and sister over these past few months. 

You’re so goddamn confusing. Give me space, but also give me comfort? Well which was it? Because we gave you space, and I would reach out to you only every now and then to see if you were still alive because I was fucking worried. Even then I didn’t reach out as much as I wanted to cause I didn’t want to push you. Then you get mad that we didn’t try contacting you on other apps outside of the one we all most frequently use? The one I’ve told you that that’s where you could always find me and I’d always see it? 

How much have I had to stifle because of you? How many things have I felt I couldn’t rant or even talk about because you showed little to no interest? (Something you claimed we did to you, and to an extent yeah. Maybe I did. But I was done giving more than I got). Do you want an itemized list?

My Writing. Because gods forbid you put the same amount of effort into reading my works that I do yours. Or that I had to rewrite my ideas so it can have your OCs shoehorned in otherwise you wouldn’t care to read it period?

 My Art. See same reasons as 1.

Pokemon. Literally my first love and I can’t rant about it cause all I get as an ‘Ah Cool’. And although I doubt it crossed your mind, but had it ever occurred to you I never did a Pokemon AU despite loving the game so much?

Mythology. Another thing I could rant about. And when you tried to use it to justify why your ocs were so overpowered “Oh well this character is the son/reincarnation of this greek god” but you gave him the totally wrong powers did you expect me to not call you out for being inaccurate to the mythos? 

My Tarot and Oracle cards. This was more so in case your parents went through your phone or I was scared of you telling them. How fucking shitty is that? That I had to literally stifle something because of your fucking parents? 

My own problems. Figured this would be the last one. I couldn’t talk to you about anything personal cause you were so fucking unavailable. Family issues? Nope you were mourning. Work being a pain? Nope your work is sooo much worse. Fuck, how much shit have I put aside just to listen to you say I never cared? Fuck you. Actually fuck you. 

And don’t get me started on your parents. It was always me and our other friend coming to see you. When was the last time you called us? Let alone came out to visit us? You don’t have a license? Boo hoo, go and get one. Don’t rely on your parents as they obviously aren’t helping you. And every time I went over there, I was put under a goddamn microscope. Sorry, but I’m not getting indoctrinated into your cult. Having jesus and the holy spirit shoved down my throat through passive aggressive threats and preaching, all the while you KNEW how I felt about it (not to mention the homophobia). And you did nothing. You left me to feel uncomfortable. And you played a role in it. Remember back in highschool when you stole my comfort item? The one I have repeatedly said I can’t sleep without and take with me if I’m not sleeping at my home? I do. I remember it vividly how you laughed until I showed a massive amount of distress over it. How Christian of you all. 

But no... I was the bad friend. I was the one who didn’t stay up late, knowing I should be asleep, to listen to you rant. I wasn’t the one to buy you fucking games because you constantly complained about having no money in your account, which wasn’t surprising given your spending habits. No.

It was you who was so great, right? 

[aidenlove]

CW: suicidal ideation in relation to chronic pain and disability

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Some days I don't want to be alive. That is not something I am ashamed of. I'm in pain all the time. Every minute, of every day. When I'm smiling, when I'm working, when I'm happy, I'm still in pain. It is completely reasonable, when it's so bad I can't move or hold a conversation, to not want that anymore. I used to beat myself up for that, but I don't anymore. Not for a long time.

However, I also don't talk about it. And I've come to feel that is a mistake. I see others going through it too and feeling alone. You're not alone. We're not alone. It is okay to feel this way. It's okay to want it to stop, to want out.

There are times I feel it wouldn't matter if I died, because in a way I already have. I was a young adult who played sports, who did martial arts, who studied the sword, who went hiking and swimming, who could play wrestle with friends and hold my own in a fight any day. That person is dead. That person is gone. And what is left...sometimes leaves me feeling empty and helpless and lost. It is common, when mourning the person lost, to feel there is little point in continuing as a shell, as a burden, as an inconvenience. There are endless posts and articles and friends and family who tell me that is not what I am. As though perhaps telling a fish it is a bird long enough will allow it to fly. It is okay to be angry about that. I love the people who offer me comfort and validation. It is okay to love them and be grateful, and also be angry that their comfort doesn't find purchase in my heart. That's okay.

I know that part of my hopelessness is the result of the society I live in. I live in a world where doctors do not take me seriously because to them I am a woman. I live in a world where my worth is counted by my productivity. We are taught if we do not contribute we are a burden. "Hand-out" is a dirty term. "Charity" is an act of benevolent shame bestowed on the less worthy. I live in a world where disabily is invalid no matter what your condition. If you are happy you are faking. If you are depressed or angry you are ungrateful. I live in a world where the bare minimum is seen as too much if it isn't "earned."

I'm allowed to be angry and disappointed and sad about that. I'm allowed to hate it. So are you. I'm allowed despair. I'm allowed to fear the system won't change before it kills me. To want to escape it.

I am frequently what is know as passively suicidal. If you're not familiar with that term, it basically means I am not actively making or planning any attempt on my own life, but if a truck was bearing down on me I'm not sure I'd move out of the way.

I have my own ways of coping. As evidenced by the fact that I'm not dead. They may not work for everyone, but they work for me.

When I am in so much pain I don't want to live anymore, don't want to go through it anymore, I spend some time talking to myself about the better moments. The person I was is dead, yes. But it wasn't a trade, it was a metamorphosis. My intelligence survived, my sense of humor, my love of reading and nature, everything that makes me the person I am survived. The ability to act on a lot of it is no longer there. But I can still make my partners laugh. I can still write. I can still make my children light up with wonder when I teach them about the ocean and the stars and the miracles only seen through a microscope. I still have that. I have the person I have built, not the one who was born. I have the moments I have made and those given. Giggles and sunsets. And that keeps me going. That keeps me alive.

I bear the pain, because I choose to live for giggles and sunsets. And I will never judge those who choose not to continue. But I truly hope you do. I hope you find your own moments, and hold them close so they bear you through. When things are darkest, I hope there is some person, or hobby, or passion, or pet, or dream that is enough to be your light.

[whsprings]

My therapist has been the first person to truly see me and start to help me recover thanks to intense, frequent work together over the last year and a half. I trusted her and she said she’d never leave. She now has to permanently terminate me due to her own boundaries/her worries that she can’t be what I need anymore due to an insurance/practice situation outside of our control that would limit our sessions dramatically. It feels like she died. I was so attached.

Having a therapist terminate you is so hard. I am still not over mine doing the same despite it being months later. it's hard because when you let someone like that-- tell them all your darkest thoughts and worries as they help you heal-- they become a part of you in some ways. I'm not sure I have any real advice but just know that your therapist wouldn't be doing this for no reason, and you will be able to form that trust with someone else. it's okay to mourn losing that relationship, it's okay to feel everything you are feeling. just don't let it be the end.

[tangiblejournal56]

6/29/11

Six-thirty in the morning & I am wide awake.  Missing Max with a dangerous longing like a current come to wipe away any other thought.  Again complimenting each other all through the night.  I told him how I believe he could one day surpass Bukowski, as he has something our beloved poet lacks, “A different outlook.  A relatability, a sense of sympathy for the human race,” I told him.  We discussed his trying to keep his artistic rage fresh, & his choosing a life of unhappiness in order to continue making art.  I told him that was noble & as an appreciator of his work I want him to struggle so as to keep his art churning, but as his friend, I would rather he be happy at the cost of his art.

“Oh you.  I hope you’ll always be there no matter what I do,” he responded, words I thrilled at.  So frequently since I’ve left he’s found ways of telling me how much I mean to him, something I always crave.  I do so despise that part of myself, that I should need regular reminders of the affection I already know is there, but never do I seem to get away from it.  So I try to write down all of these so-rare reminders, so I may pour back over them when my confidence wavers.  I said to him that I hope always to be there on the sidelines of his life, getting to see it unfold.  He said I will be.  I want so much for this to be true.  I crave sitting across from him in a restaurant, listening to whatever thoughts erupt from that mind so inimitable, to be watching some movie he’s drowning out with his running commentary.  That tenderness when he’s drunk, the softness he displays to me only, a self he has hidden to the rest of the world.  How if I cannot be his love, I am at least his confidant, his confessor, his champion.  I am the reason he does not feel so alone in his night, & seemingly no amount of my fucking up can entirely push him away.  Our pseudo-relationship has surpassed even the length of time I was with Ryan, & has all but cured me of my longing for that person.  Now I just long for my burning artist, & know with total faith that he treasures having me at his side, always fighting for him.  Though I cannot entirely quell this desire to believe that perhaps one day his love for our friendship will grow into a romantic desire for me, & then we could be together despite the opinions of his family & friends like Sara, who don’t know me anymore.  I know it is unrealistic, especially with a man like Max, so set in his ways.  But the hope remains.  I worry one day that hope will ruin what we’ve built, but it hasn’t so far.  I still fret for the day he finds a replacement for our days together, our nights.  I will mourn that loss beyond imagination.  A blow larger than Ryan, a total sinking of the self.  But I will not contemplate it, I know where that train of thought leads.  I also refuse to fantasize about the next time I’m with him, I cannot place the burden of expectation on his already-weighted shoulders.  I want to be indispensable to him, but not at the expense of what calm & comfort he can forge.  The intense longing for things to be different, you can’t imagine the struggle.  If only we could’ve met now rather than in high school.  A clean slate.  He’d be more closed off, but I believe I could break the reserve, & everything would be like now, except that he could love me, & I would know how to love him in return.  Maybe then everything could be perfect, neither of us would be all alone in any area of our lives.