#do you ever wonder what it would look like for an eternal concept to wish it didnt exist?

[theonewhowails]

do you ever wonder how old the twins are? how long have they been with the one who waits? do you ever think about how much of that time in the veil narinder spent totally alone, about how much of a stabilizing presence it might have been to have literally else around, after all that time? i think about it a completely normal amount, personally,

#my art #cotl #cotl the one who waits #cotl baal #cotl aym #eyestrain #do you ever wonder what it would look like for an eternal concept to wish it didnt exist? #in my mind its something akin to watching a computer screen bug out. or like watching something dissolve into particle effects #anyways. cotl is fun bc instead of looking at character references 90% the time i am looking at refs for animal body language

[sarahisslytherin]

•❣•୨୧ 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙨 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠 ୨୧•❣•

felix catton x reader

summary: after seeing felix continuously surrounded by girls at his birthday party, you try your hardest not to get drunk on jealousy.

contains: jealousy, angst, fluff? oh, and like a million references to drinking.

a/n: this one's for all my fellow retroactive jealousy girlies out there! yey mental illness! wrote most of this at 2am so don't mind the elusive ending.

word count: 0.8k

the cicadas have been droning on for what feels like an eternity as you wait for felix beneath the minotaur statue at the maze’s heart. the inky sky above you stretches on beyond the garden walls, fractured by an array of white-hot stars. you cross your arms, tap your heel briskly against the earth, indicating your frustration to no one but yourself. all night you’d watched girl after girl fawn over felix, linking their arms into his own, batting their lashes with an evident goal. you couldn’t watch any longer, stomping away towards the maze, wishing for nothing more than to get so lost you would never be found. nevertheless, you have been. 

“so this is where you’d disappeared to.” felix sighs, golden angel wings glimmering in the moonlight. “i’ve been looking for you all over.”

“surprised you even noticed i’d gone.” you scoff.

felix purses his lips. “i’m sensing some tension. what have i done now, hm?” 

he cocks his head at that, a confused look about his features. he holds up an offering, a bottle of fine wine he’s clearly been helping himself to. you refuse it, try teasing him to forget your emotional turmoil, but it comes out all wrong. “wouldn’t you rather get drunk with your fan club?” 

felix wastes no time towering above you, a gentle hand clasping your chin, a soft pair of lips pressing your own. “are you jealous, love?” he asks, and you can practically hear his smirk. “this has to be cutest thing. sure, maybe they were a little enthusiastic, but you know i only have eyes for you.”

“oh, hush!” you whine, swatting his hand away. “why don’t you go bother one of your girlfriends.” you know you’re being petty, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“i only have one.” he says, voice gravelly and stern. “and don’t you forget it.”

felix has grown to be well-versed in the art of comforting you. he knows you often feel insecure or not worth his time, a concept he will never truly grasp, in spite his best efforts. what he doesn’t know is the gut-wrenching feeling of imagining your lover leaving you for someone else. the knowledge that he loved someone else before you, who knows how many. you try to fight it, remind yourself this is a natural thing and in no way his fault.

“i’m sorry.” you click your tongue. “i don’t mean to be annoying or toxic.” your voice takes on an edge, a subtle quiver only a trained ear such as felix’s could detect.

“hey, none of that.” he playfully scolds, enveloping you in strong arms. “you’re the only girl for me, you know that. i’ll remind you as many times as you need.”

“why do i feel like this?” you asked. “you’re nothing but understanding and loyal.”

he gives you a warm smile, plants a kiss atop your head. “it’ll pass, love. trust me.” there’s a silence so heavy neither you knows how to break it.

“want a drink?” he asks, holding up the wine. felix smirks as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear. perhaps a bit of humor will do the trick. “in a way you’re kind of an alcoholic, you know, only drunk on jealousy.” 

you give him a roll of the eyes and a faux laugh. “at least i’m not an actual drunk.” you tease as you take the bottle from him. 

“we all have our faults.” he jests. “you feel better?”

“sort of.” you sigh, but you realize it’s a lie as you start to spiral once again. you wonder if you’ll ever be able to harness those feelings of yours that lead you to this state. the jealousy that feeds you manufactured visions of felix`s past, one where he was happier with someone who wasn’t you. one where another person slept on your side of the bed, touched him the way you do. you know it isn’t real (not anymore), but the mind can be quite a convincing thing —

“love?” you hear felix say, and suddenly you’re on a staircase; your makeup is fresh, the night still young. “you look amazing!” he says proudly as he takes a drag of his cigarette. it’s the first he’s seen of you this evening, and he can’t stop himself from drinking in the sight before him. it was all in your head. now the party has just begun and your mind will not stray. the vicious cycle will not repeat itself. there will be no comforting, no drying of unnecessary tears tonight. you will focus on the man, the angel before you and steer clear of the maze of jealousy. yes, you will get drunk tonight, drunk on open-mouthed kisses, drunk on someone who wants you and only you.

#felix catton #felix catton x you #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #saltburn #saltburn fanfiction

[perfectsunlight]

(𝟔𝟓) - 𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: none

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬: 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

the both of you knew this was going to be a very uncomfortable conversation. thankfully chaewon managed to get the other members out of the dorm for a few hours so you two could be alone.

truth be told, you didn’t know how long the both of you had been sitting in silence for. 

yunjin's gaze remained fixed on the hardwood floor, her mind seemingly lost in the intricate patterns of the wooden planks. the weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, creating a suffocating stillness that seemed to stretch on endlessly. each passing moment felt like an eternity as the silence enveloped the room, filling it with an almost tangible tension.

in the midst of this profound quiet, the soft sounds of your slight movements on the sofa chair reverberated like gentle echoes, magnified by the absence of any other noise. the creak of the cushion, the rustle of fabric, and the faint shuffle of your feet all contributed to the soundscape of discomfort that filled the space, offering a meager distraction from the overwhelming silence that threatened to drown both of you.

time became an elusive concept, slipping through your grasp as the seconds turned into minutes, and the minutes morphed into an indistinguishable passage of time. the deafening silence seemed to stretch and twist, amplifying the weight of the impending conversation.

you couldn't help but wonder how long this silence would last. it was a delicate dance, a precarious balance between the fear of saying too much and the fear of saying too little.

“i thought i loved you, y/n.”

yunjin's voice shattered the fragile stillness, her words cutting through the heavy atmosphere like a knife. the weight of her confession hung in the air, mingling with the remnants of the silence that had enveloped you both for far too long. it was a declaration that held within it a mix of vulnerability, regret, and the bittersweet realization of unrequited emotions.

as the echoes of her words faded, the room seemed to shrink, its walls closing in on you both. the air grew heavy, pregnant with anticipation, as you searched for the right words to convey your own truth, mindful of the delicate balance that was clearly on its last leg.

with a steadying breath, you finally found your voice, infused with a mixture of empathy and honesty. "i know.”

the american finally looked up at you, accepting the painful reality that had plagued her heart for so long. her voice was soft, probably the softest you’d ever heard it. 

“but you were never mine.”

all you could do was shake your head, silently confirming the other girl’s claims. it wasn’t that you never cared about her, because you did, but you loved jimin.

you would always love jimin.

the taller girl let her head hang as she ran a hand through her hair. “did you ever even care about what we had? because i did.” yunjin whispered, once again staring at the floor. “i was the one who was always there. me, not jimin.” 

yunjin's words carried a mix of hurt and frustration, her voice trembling with unspoken emotions that had long been suppressed. the weight of her unrequited devotion reverberated through the room, intertwining with the remnants of the silence that had plagued your conversation.

"i did care, yunjin," you replied softly, your voice laced with a tinge of remorse. "it's complicated, and i wish it wasn't. but what we had wasn’t built on something genuine."

yunjin's shoulders slumped, her features etched with a mix of resignation and lingering pain. "i fixed you," she murmured, her voice tinged with frustration. "i think that’s genuine enough.”

your jaw clenched slightly at the latter end of her sentence. “you fixed me?” you couldn't help but feel a mix of surprise and confusion at yunjin's assertion. the weight of her words settled heavily in the air, creating a tension that seemed to thicken the already suffocating atmosphere.

"i wasn’t broken," you added carefully, your voice betraying a hint of incredulity. "i never needed fixing."

jennifer scoffed and turned to look at you, her eyes meeting yours. “you were crying in my arms every single night. you couldn’t get through certain days without me. so yes, i fixed you.”

her words hit you with a surge of conflicting emotions. it was true that you had relied on her during a difficult time in your life, seeking solace in her presence. but to categorize yourself as "broken" and credit her as the sole source of your healing felt reductive and unfair.

"no, you did not," you replied, your voice laced with a mix of gentle assertiveness. "yes, you were there for me, and i value that deeply. but all of that was just a distraction from what i was truly feeling."

yunjin’s eyes flickered with a blend of hurt and defensiveness. "so that’s what i was to you? a distraction?” 

your heart sank as you saw the emotion in the other girl’s eyes. it wasn't your intention to belittle her significance or dismiss the impact she had on your life during that time.

"no, jennifer, that's not what i meant," you quickly clarified, your voice softening. "you were more than a mere distraction. you provided me with comfort and support, and i will always be grateful for that. but don’t tell me you couldn’t see that we were not going to last.”

the american hated how you were right. your relationship was only stable underneath bed sheets and behind closed doors. outside of it, it was volatile. 

yunjin's gaze faltered, a mix of regret and realization crossing her features. the truth of your words settled heavily in the air, a stark reminder of the limitations and complexities that had characterized your relationship.

"and how do you know that you and jimin will last this time? are you forgetting the way she left you?” she stood up and had her fists clenched at her sides. yunjin's voice wavered with a mix of hurt and frustration, her emotions spilling over in her words. the pain of her lingering resentment towards jimin simmered just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over.

the weight of her question hung heavily in the air, challenging the foundation of your own feelings and the certainty of your choices. memories of the end of your relationship resurfaced, accompanied by a surge of bittersweet emotions. you couldn't deny the hurt that had come with her leaving, nor the doubts that had lingered in the aftermath.

but as you met yunjin's gaze, a flicker of determination shone in your eyes. "i haven't forgotten," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. "i carry the scars of that loss, and it has shaped me. but i could ask you the same thing."

jennifer gave you a confused look, her arms still at her side as she looked into your eyes. “what do you mean you could ask me the same thing?”

“how do you know that you and i would last? are you forgetting that the only intimacy we had was physical?” 

a heavy silence settled between the two of you, thick with unspoken emotions and the weight of your words. the room seemed to shrink, intensifying the tension that had been building throughout the conversation.

yunjin's expression softened, her fists unclenching as the realization of her own doubts washed over her. the pain in her eyes mirrored your own, both of you grappling with the complexity of your intertwined emotions.

"i know i’m not the one you love," she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. “but why her? why? after everything y/n, why would you go back to jimin?”

the question cut through the air, filled with a mix of genuine curiosity and a touch of desperation. it was a plea for understanding, an attempt to grasp the reasons behind your seemingly inevitable pull towards jimin.

you took a moment to gather your thoughts, acutely aware of the weight of your response. the memories of your past with jimin flooded your mind, the laughter and shared moments that had woven a tapestry of love and connection. but along with those memories, the pain of your breakup resurfaced, a reminder of the cracks that had shattered your relationship.

"i wish i had a simple answer," you began, your voice laced with sincerity. "but she has a piece of my heart that no one else can fill. i know it’s a big risk, but for her? i’d risk it all.”

yunjin's gaze flickered with a mixture of understanding and resignation, as if grappling with the weight of your words. the complexity of your emotions hung in the air, entangled in a web of love, longing, and the desire for a connection that defied rationality.

"i see," she whispered softly, her voice carrying a mix of emotions. "you love her, even if you can’t explain it."

"i'm not asking you to understand," you said gently, your voice filled with empathy. "but just please know that i love her. i will always love her.”

yunjin sighed, a mixture of resignation and acceptance settling upon her features. "i guess i always knew, deep down," she admitted, her voice tinged with vulnerability. "i could see it in the way you spoke about her.”

your heart went out to her, recognizing what she had endured, silently infatuated with someone who couldn't reciprocate those feelings in the same way. "i'm sorry, yunjin," you murmured, your voice filled with remorse. "but you’re right. even if i didn’t know it back then, it was always going to be jimin.”

she nodded, a small but melancholic smile gracing her lips. "thank you for being honest with me, y/n," she said softly. "it hurts, but i know that it’s been a long time coming."

you reached out, taking her hand in yours, offering a gentle squeeze of support. the room seemed to hold a profound stillness, a small moment of honesty for the first time since you two started your talk.

"i know we’ve got a lot to work on,” you whispered. "but i hope we can be okay again soon. i don’t want things to be awkward for us and the rest of the group.”

yunjin met your gaze, her eyes shimmering with a mix of emotions. "i hope so too," she whispered with that same smile.

“and if jimin fucks up, i’ll–”

“chaewon already called first dibs.”

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ✫ ˚♡ ⋆｡ ❀ ┊ ☪︎⋆ ⊹ ┊ . ˚ ✧

you and jimin met as trainees before she debuted, and you two never felt more in love. however, once she breaks up with you before her debut, you completely leave SM entertainment under the notion of needing a fresh start. you eventually debuted a few years later in le sserafim, where you met huh yunjin and have slowly started developing feelings for the idol. much to karina's dismay, she hates to see you have moved on, but deep in your own heart, you still can't help but feel as if maybe she has forgotten about you.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @captivq , @wonyoluvr , @yunalvrrr , @spritin , @babycubchae , @vnschldd , @sserafimez , @chaersly , @rosiehrs , @baldd , @bwljules , @jenaissantesworld , @jennasluma , @dream-chasers-things , @lcv3lies , @elyds , @archerheejin , @vnschldd , @skisk1 , @cfvgbhndun-new-blog , @silantryoo , @phamminji , @bzeus28 , @writingficsblog , @strangegirlcode , @uzumakioden , @noiacha , @sserabey , @archerheejin , @pindoris , @yourstrulytrissmerigold , @jisooftme , @yacii , @ddrummie , @justalittledissociation

[ 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 ]

#smau #kpop #kpop smau #aespa #lesserafim #yunjin x reader #aespa x reader #lesserafim x reader #huh yunjin #karina x reader #yu jimin #yu jimin x reader #about you #perfectsunlight

[definegodliness]

Heaven is a second

You know where to go when you die, right?

Someone built you a place in the sky, where you'll return to all your loving as a being of pure light. Or maybe you will be at your most beautiful, and, so, all the people you have ever known and loved... and, so, all the people you never even knew, but, be as that may, you will love them, too.

I wonder what poison you'd pick. I think light and love is a safe bet, but what do you really envision when you think about that first little while after your final breath; when your body lies of soul bereft, as that little light has faded from your eyes? When the infinite turns finite, as there is nothing left to mirror, and those wintry skies that cannot lie turn dull and vacant.

I know for sure you have too much soul, or at the very least too much magic, heart, and conscience, to be completely gone without a corporeal home. So, you — whatever you wish be — will not be gone, although whatever you wish be will leave; you would not linger on this plane of reality. But, where will you go?

I suppose it should not matter. Not to me, at least. I haven't thought about heaven in ages, but today I had a sudden realization that felt like a cold dagger to the chest.

Heaven had always been a second. A second, so pure — as light, in instant unconditional, inescapable love — that it could have lasted a lifetime. In fact, I never second guessed that what I, then, experienced, could ever be anything other than a glimpse of an eternity, granted.

It only took a second, a glance, to profoundly realize you were the love of my life. This, a verity, transcending all mortality; bright in clarity, like a divine certainty. For a second, a lifetime, I experienced what it meant to be so much larger than anything I alone could ever be. We were 'us'. Strangely. Immediately. And every second since has been an affirmation that you are — the love of my life.

There has not been a doubt in my mind, since that second. In your presence, nor in your absence. But in the emptiness you left since you went — my death, and I, of soul bereft — I would face the facts considering a life hereafter. I am wavering.

Where will we go?

I suppose it should not matter. Not anymore. It cannot matter where you will go, whenever you will leave. Not to me, at least. Because I know, wherever you will go, as whatever you wish be, you will not come looking, and you will not be waiting for me.

Then, there can be only one certainty: whatever concept of heaven people might as of yet imagine, it will not be for me.

If heaven isn't you, heaven isn't real.

--- 2-11-2023, M.A. Tempels ©

#poetry #spilled ink #writing #dark academia #romanticism #romantic poem #romantic poetry #poets on tumblr #tumblr poetry #emotion #lost love #soulmate #soul connection #heartbreak #prose poem #prose poetry #creative writing #poem #spilled thoughts

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Spolia (IV)

Parings: Malleus/(Light Fae) MC // Slight Rook/Vil // Trein/MC (Parental)

Summary: You wondered why you ever got accepted into NRC but never bothered to look back when the infamous black carriage whisked you away from a place you could never call home. Having been handed an opportunity of freedom, of solitude, of hope- how come you're paralyzed with fear rather than excitement? Your sunny plein air sessions and nightly walks contemplating this has attracted a certain dragon fae with an affinity for your nimble gargoyle sketches and magnificent paintings.

Notes: Rn I’m re-reading Nishi Kanako’s Fukuwarai so I’ve been inspired by her writing style/concepts in this work overall‒ it’s a story about defining “yourself” within the murky conception of “you”/what it means to “know” someone, and it uses a lot of sensory/bodily/interoceptive imagery to do so, but it’s kinda hard translating it to my native language to English. Also realized some errors regarding in-game knowledge because I have no working memory. Like actually none. But notes at the end for that lol. Lots of made up lore I vomited out enjoy! Comments, likes, and reblogs appreciated as always :)

CW: None

AO3 Link Here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 (Here) // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7

Masterlist

————————————————

The rest of the cultural festival went smoothly, and though the anxiety from actually confronting the instructions of the letter you received buzzed inside of you, your discussions with Malleus on your passions and theories on Gothic architecture grounded you to the present. You were also pleased to find that the mystery student Trein mentioned was him, which gave you all the more reason to trust him with your adorations that tethered you back to life.

“That’s definitely an interesting theory…I could definitely appropriation being used as a psychological strategy during the wartime efforts and translating postwar with the rise of decorative statuary…” The both of you sat at the foot of a tree in the campus courtyard, leaning onto the sturdy trunk side by side, enjoying the sunny warmth that wove itself into the light breeze.

“My thoughts exactly, child of man. However I still need more material regarding wartime sentiments and society of both the fae and humans.”

You hummed in response. “I wish I could help you with that but unfortunately that falls a bit out of my specialization…I guess all we have is the knowledge in the library. Besides, first hand accounts are hard to find during many wartime eras.”

Malleus paused for a second, putting his slender fingers to his lips. “Hm…I believe actually have a proposition to this issue.” He paused, piercing his gaze into yours, as if to look straight through you. “Do you trust me, (name)?”

Your eyes twitched at the sound of your name on his tongue, before flickering down at your hands. “Always, Malleus.” The heaviness at the root of your wings formed a doubt in your mind.

Why do you trust me?

You dreaded the sturdy kindness, the benevolence of his words to follow. Opposed to you, who kept their heart tucked under sorry smiles and an eternal distance from living things, Malleus always presented his heart in the palms of his hands like a fluttering bird, ready to share its warmth with his friends. Warmth so foreign to your skin, to yourself, that you felt like you were carving the same cold emptiness into him as life had done to you, stealing the brilliant warmth from inside of him. But he was always warm.

“Repent, repent, repent”

“Then I trust you.” Those simple words almost shattered you. He rose from his spot on the ground, and offered you his open hand.

For once you did not flinch, or back away‒ as much as you wanted to turn and run and run and run from his kindness, his warmth, to spare him from yourself. You prayed for discipline , a resistance inside of you that would prevent you from camping next to his warmth, yet, everytime he offered his open hand like this, your body moved on its own, drinking the mulled sweetness that you yearned. In the palm of your hand, you memorized the heat that pumped through his veins, swallowing it with the pain that struck your heart whenever you looked into those eyes that gazed far into you, unraveling the tight knot that strung every piece of yourself that you had cleaved off for other people. You were the first to pull away, afraid that you could become undone if you allowed yourself to revel in his divine warmth any longer.

Find me, find me, find me

He smiled so gently when you accepted his hand. It burned. “I want you to meet someone.”

————————————————

You didn’t expect for Malleus to bring you to the Diasmonia dorm. As you walked on the cobblestone path, you noticed it was one of those rare days where sunlight grazed the rocky mountains the dorm was perched on top of. A perfect day for painting, you thought. However, you had more urgent matters. Malleus seemed eager to take you to his “someone”, but despite his enthusiasm, he made sure to slow his long strides with your small ones.

When the two of you arrived at a wooden door, Malleus gave a few knocks. A beat a silence before it creaks open.

“Oh! Malleus. And a friend…?” You recognized the short man as Lilia Vanrouge, the vice dorm leader of the Diasmonia dorm.

Malleus gestured towards him. “(Name), this is Lilia, Lilia, this is (Name), my dear friend.” Your throat choked on his words. Quickly you bowed to hide the bashful smile on your face, introducing yourself by your full name and title, like you were taught by your mother.

“(Name) D’aramitz, of the D’aramitz skincare and potions company. A pleasure sir.” Lilia giggled at your stiffness.

“We’re the same year aren’t we? No need for formalities, any friend of Malleus’ is my own. Come in, come in.” Lilia stepped aside, allowing the two of you to enter the colorful chaos that was his room.

Ah, such a messy room. We’ll be fast friends.

“So what brings you here?” The vice dorm leader cleared a pile of extravagant looking clothes with a flick of the wrist, before levitating a tin box of cookies towards the table he urged you to sit at. He instantly nibbled on a thumbprint cookie filled with red jam.

“We had a question that I thought you could enlighten us about. Regarding wartime sentiments between humans and fae?” Malleus explained.

You continued. “We’re doing research on gothic architecture and its reflection of cultural and social shifts in both fae and human culture.” The playful grin on Lilia’s face dropped a bit.

“Ah…It’s not a happy story. If you’re okay with that, I’ll tell you all I can.”

Malleus looked towards you for confirmation. “Yes, please, to whatever extent you’re comfortable with.” You said.

“Well, again, it’s nothing happy.” He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms to cradle himself. “Tensions were rising between the two species because of a standstill in the battlefield. Though we fae generally stuck to physical attacks because of our overpowering abilities in magic, however, the humans tended to go for cultural or psychological damages. One way they did that was the complete destruction of fae species.”

“There are many species of fae, and most have specializations based on their magical or physiological make-up. For example, you Malleus, are capable of breathing fire as a dragon fae.” Malleus nodded in acknowledgement. Lilia continued.

“Because the humans could not overpower us physically, they tried to go for psychological and cultural attacks‒ mainly targeting fae species which were especially prevalent in important cultural rituals and roles. Like the celestial fae, born from stardust, and often taking up roles in spiritualty because of their natural inclination with the stars and astrology. But the most gruesome… genocide …I saw, was the extinction of the light fae.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Suddenly, the ache at the root of your wings, and the itchy wig bristling against your pointed ears became heightened. You had read somewhere during your childhood, that light fae had, for the most part, been extinct for decades. That was of course all you could remember, as your mother burned the books you had gotten from the school’s library that had any relation to the fae. But, you didn’t think they were actually completely extinct.

“Light fae‒ blessed by the spirits of the sun‒ have, or, had a particular artistic affinity because they were able to distinguish more colors of the light. So they had a sensibility when it came to tactile and creative pursuits like painting, architecture, or sculpting. Though for centuries they often stood at the center of the art world, during the gothic era right before the war, they gained even more religious, cultural, and political power because of their role in producing stained glass. Further, because of their natural affinity with light, they also attract it. So often in their presence, the walls covered head to toe in stained glass would shine brilliantly. It’s truly beautiful.”* Lilia pauses, gazing far beyond the present moment and space as if to remember its radiance.

“When they were exterminated by the humans, it not only destroyed us psychologically and religiously, but we also lost much of the technical and symbolic traditions of gothic architecture. Without anyone to teach the techniques born from the light fae, the original intentions, meanings, and practices were gone, forever.”

You almost teared up at that. Gone, forever? Lost, never to be found? You dug your nails into the scabs in your palms.

“And the worst part is…what we know of the techniques currently comes from not fae and human writing. They claimed the knowledge as their own, and used it to structurally reinforce their palaces. Gothic architecture was originally born out of militaristic necessity, to strengthen defense. So they used that knowledge gained from the extinction of one of our kind against us.” With a somber expression Lilia mindlessly bit into another cookie.

“That must be what led to the decorative phase postwar, as well as the appropriation of architecture by humans…interesting.”

“Spolia.” You merely stated, starting to feel waves of numbness wash over you. Really, you were doomed from the start. The pain, abuse, and manipulation was just a cycle of what happened before, it was just being repeated over and over throughout history, then passed onto you like a pathetic family heirloom celebrating your growth into an agonizing skin which beckoned destruction. Why wasn’t your bloodline killed off during the war? Why did your parents swap you with a human child? Why did they leave you with your barbaric family? Why? Why? Why?

“Actually, Lilia, I have something to show you.” You barely registered Malleus leaving his seat out of the room, dazed in a nauseating trance.

“…(me)? (Name)?” Lilia’s voice fazed in, as he stuck his hand in front of your glazed eyes, waving it with a concerned look on his face.

“Oh. Sorry. I zoned out.” You quickly replied. The vice dorm leader shot a questionable look at you. He kept his eyes trained on you as he leaned back into his chair.

“You’re not human, are you?”

Despite there being no ill intent behind that question, you felt an icy chill drench your head at that question. You shrunk into yourself, praying that you would continue to become smaller and smaller, and disappear from that moment.

“I…I…” you blubbered. Anxiety buzzed to your hands and feet, and you squeezed your first further, drawing blood from your palms.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell little ol’ me.” Lilia tittered, offering you a cookie. “Fae are common here, there’s no need to hide it.” Internally, you signed in relief. It also seemed he had not caught on that you were a light fae of all things, perhaps because he spoke like he witnessed their extinction first hand.

“No, i-it’s…” you struggled for formulate words as your throat constricted. “It’s different. I’m a changeling. I was raised human, and my family…desires that I keep it that way.” The words you chose were curated carefully. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

Lilia gives you a sympathetic smile. “I won’t. I promise. We’re friends, are we not?”

“A-ah, yes, yes…thank you.” You accepted the cookie that he wiggled in front of you.

He looks you dead in the eyes with a serious expression. “However, I would give anything that’s diminishing your magic a break when you can. Without being able to properly absorb your natural source of life, you’ll surely become drained,“ he paused with a playful smile “mad, even.”

Despite the lightness in his last words, those words struck your gut, swirling a nausea in your intestines that almost rose to the back of your throat. Through that absolutely vomit inducing quip, you let out a nervous smile to assure him that you were in fact, definitely not going mad. You thanked the great seven when Malleus entered the room again, canvas in hand. However, your nausea increased tenfold when he revealed the panting. Your painting. Your gargoyle painting.

Really need to get that exorcism asap. Because what the fuck

Malleus handled the canvas with extreme care, careful not to touch the surface.

“This painting…I’ve never seen such beauty and sensibility in the colors. I was wondering, could it be modeled after any light fae painting techniques?”

Lilia adorned an unreadable expression as he peered at the piece. He took a slow breath through his mouth.

“This…” He paused, gazing at the rare light that poured in from the windows. “This reminds me of a painting I came across during the war, once.” His chest rose as he took in another gulp of air. “Paintings by light fae circulated around the fae world, especially as their numbers dwindled. Even with their extinction imminent, they created, and created, and created, piece after piece, leaving remnants of their existence in the world.” Lilia softly brushed his fingers against the raised mountains of paint on the canvas.

“They were often heralded in the fae as a symbol of incredible strength, a stubbornness to live and create and see beauty despite the ever present death that was instilled in their existence during the time. The death of their friends, the death of their children, the death of their kind…” Both you and Malleus were entranced by his words.

“It was when morale was low‒ humans had succeeded in their psychological attacks and even with our physical capabilities, we weren’t recovering fast enough to get back to our full potential. We received word that a cathedral was being attacked for the search of light fae, so we ran as fast as we could.” Lilia paused for a second. “When we arrived, all we found was a demolished building. But there was one painting, still attached to an upright wall of the building that was otherwise completely obliterated. It was a painting of prayer hands. The form was simple, and the colors brilliant as usual‒ but the way that it handled light was so vibrant, ethereal even, and most of all soft, tender, and loving. These paintings were born of love. Love for the sun, love for their people, love for beauty, love for life. In its presence, I felt rejuvenated. I made me shiver in my skin and bones‒ in a good way.” Lilia drew his eyes across the entirety of the canvas, you were nervous to watch his expression.

“This painting reminds me a lot of that time. But I doubt it was actually made from a light fae, they were pretty thoroughly wiped out, you can even look at the surveys done in Briar Valley after the war if you want to confirm. Ah but the way this painting makes me feel…I feel an undeniable love from it.” Lilia’s lips were graced in a smile as he pulled his hands away from the surface of the painting. Your heart swelled at that, had you been painting with love? What did you even love? Had you felt it before? What did it feel like? You weren’t sure.

You looked at Mallus, curious of his expression. Sweetness spread on your tongue when you saw the enthralled look in his eyes. You drank his expression in, the same way his eyes consumed the painting.

Wait…if he purchased the painting, did he leave a note?

Your heart jumped at that. No, no, it couldn’t possibly be. Something so good couldn’t be true. There’s no way you could handle the reality of that situation. After all, who would love a damned creature like you? Still, you are reminded of the contents of the letter. You lull your heart with a prayer,

Find me, find me, find me.

“Thank you Lilia, for sharing that. I am…further in love with this painting.”

Find me, find me, find me.

“I should get going soon. It’s late.” You rose to your feet, averting your gaze from your creation. Malleus also stood.

“In that case, allow me to walk you home, child of man.”

You bid your goodbyes to Lilia, and before you knew it, you set foot once more into the front lawn of the Pomefiore dorm.

“Thank you for walking me back. And I had a lot of fun today! Please tell Lilia I loved his stories, and that his knowledge will be great for our future research!”

Malleus let out a airy chuckle at that. “You can tell him when we meet again in the future. He’s your friend now, you’ll probably be seeing more of him, especially with his pranks…” You returned his laugh with one of your own.

“Good night, Malleus.”

“Good night, (Name).” You felt like your body swelled with a million bubbles at the sound of your name. You watched his form slowly disappear, and you stood at the entrance of the Pomefiore dorm to confirm that he was likely on his way back to his own. The paper felt soft in between your fingers as you pulled it out of your pocket, worn out from you folding and opening it over and over.

“I wish to find you,

Spolia, 1001.”

Find me, find me, find me.

Your heart drummed along with those words. As you sang them in your head like a mantra, your legs carried you towards the direction of the library.

Find me, find me, find me.

The cool breeze in the library stained your cheeks with red. You trotted your way over to the bookshelf you scoured a few weeks ago, grazing your hand against the spine of each book, fearing that you’d somehow miss it.

Spolia, Appropriation, and Victory: Decorative Statues Throughout the Ages.

Spolia, you think again. Sought after its destruction. The new founded on the old. The cycle of annihilation you bear with your existence. You held your breath, hooking your finger into the spine of the book. With a quick release of air, you swiftly dragged it out.

Your hand trembles slightly, having no issue turning to page 1001 with the nervous sweat sticking to your fingers. 1001. A folded parchment nestled in the pages. Opening the paper, you shivered as you trace your feather light touch onto the elegant crimson cursive, raised slightly from the thin parchment soaking the ink. Finally, you allow your eyes to take in the contents of the paper, transforming meaningless shapes into words.

“Everything you are to me is that beauty I saw in your hands.

The hands that inscribed your thoughts, the hands that drafted your sketches, and hands that tenderly painted brilliant colors onto the canvas. Your hands create such soft gentleness, life, and a depth that pierced right into my soul when I gazed upon your inner world coloring the canvas.

Though I do not know you, what color your hair is, how the rumble of your voice echos upon my ears, or the warmth of your touch, what truly is “knowing” a person? When we think we “know” a person, we may imagine such things as the shape of their lips, or the hum of their voice, but I, who remain blind to these things, can only imagine the beautiful things which make up your existence. That is everything to me.

Though the world I imagine within you may seem small, everything that you are to me is beautiful. Your entirety to me in this moment is just that.

You are beautiful. So, so beautiful it hurts my heart.

If I may find you, gaze these eyes upon your hair, your eyes, your hands, and feel your warmth‒ I would like to expand this small world of beauty inside you that I know into something bigger. I would like to change the “everything” you are to me. I know that for certain, it would be magnificent.

Please let me find you.”

You didn’t even have time to stop the tears that were gushing from your eyes.

Oh great seven, you pleaded. Please, oh great seven, please find me, find me, find me. Your knees gave in from under you, and you knot your hands into a prayer with the letter still in your grasp. They shook from the power, the desperation, the hunger .

Find me, find me, find me.

You satiated that appetite with your tears that night, from the walk to your dorm, to the moment you sat in front of a canvas, painting with such ferocity you felt like you would drop dead if you stopped creating. The moonlight kept you company as you shed the layers which restrained your natural features, scrapping anything that slowed your furious movements.

Find me, find me, find me

————————————————

Notes:

Sorry this chapter is a bit short ,._. I’m gonna make up for it next chapter I promise

Just noticed while looking through the Wikipedia for the Diasmonia dorm that it’s on a literal fucking cliff so there’s really not much space to paint from afar, but I’m just gonna pretend that there’s some grassy areas around the mountain that the dorm is on, which is where I guess the character would go to paint IDK lol I totally forgot to put that into consideration because I completely forgot that the dorms are in their own dimensions because of fucking course they are lmao ALSO I realize most of the times it’s like cloudy and rainy and generally dreary there but I was like FUCK and added in the tidbit that light fae attract sunlight and their extinction made it less likely for Briar Valley/Diasmonia dorm realm to have less sunlight

AUGH I’ve forgotten how hard worldbuilding/creative writing is I should just go back to writing about the power in believing the futility of life depicted in art or whatever

Light is such an important aspect especially in Christian/catholic architecture. “Let there be light” holds a completely different meaning when you consider that technology was not developed enough to provide much light during the night, or to enable big windows to let in huge amounts of light in the early Byzantine era. So candlelight was predominantly used within religious rituals, the flickering of which animated mosaic Christian icons that decorated the walls of early churches in the Byzantine era. Then in the gothic era, light continues to be very important in a different way, as technology enables windows to become taller and taller, and more abundant. Stained glass often depicts religious images/narratives, paired with symbols of the ruling elite in order to strengthen secular, religious, political, and social power, so this light is a way of showing their power and influence in a direct way in the imagery of the windows, but also the existence of the windows as a testament of technological advancement made possible by the royal family (at least this is the case in France)

I wanted to emphasize hands not ONLY because I have a thing for hands but also because of their importance within the art world, and the human experience in general. Hands and hand motifs especially if they are the artists’ hand illustrate their creative soul and devotion to the craft, such as Goltzius Maximus The Artist’s Right Hand (1588). Though the hand is crippled, it holds incredible beauty in its ability, and stubbornness to create. Really, I was stuck between this, or Praying Hands by Albrecht Dürer (1508). But I went with Praying Hands because of the story behind it. To keep it short, Dürer and his brother wanted to go to art school but it was too expensive so the brothers decided to take turns working at a coal mine to afford it. With a flip of a coin, Dürer’s brother was the one determined to work at a coal mine, while his brother used the funds to go to art school, and they planned to switch in some years time. Dürer became quite the prodigy in woodcarving, painting, drawing, and some years later, it was finally his brother’s turn at the gig. But because of the harsh conditions of the coal mines, his brother’s hands were arthritic, and horribly disfigured, rendering him unable to do the delicate work of an artist. I think this piece tells tragedy, devotion, but most of all, love. The love between brothers, the love between people with the same goal. There’s longing, futility, and love in this piece and I think it would make sense for him, as someone who is sending his friends, his brothers, his sisters, and his kind into a pointless thing called war, he would be greatly touched at something like this

We hold hands to touch each other, to prove that we are in fact here, to bring ourselves closer. We use hands to prepare food for each other, to take each others pulses, to reach out to each other when there’s a distance. Though there are many hands that hurt us, there are hands with incredible love in them. The warmth we feel when we touch palms, touch flesh, is transferring that love from one human to another.

I’ll also be referencing this stuff in the next chapter

Also working on another fic with Rook based on the myth of Pygmalion. His character has such depth I think it tends to be overlooked because his avoidant attachment techniques are working lmao. But stay the fuck tuned goobers <3

#twisted wonderland angst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted oc #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland malleus #malleus draconia #twisted wonderland malleus draconia #ao3 fanfic #twisted wonderland rook hunt #rook hunt #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland vil schoenheit #vil shoenheit #twisted wonderland malleus x reader #twisted wonderland malleus draconia x reader #malleys draconia x oc #Lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland Lilia vanrouge #hurt/comfort #twisted wonderland hurt/comfort #mozus trein #twisted wonderland mozus trein #twisted wonderland crewel #autistic reader #twisted wonderland fan fiction #twisted wonderland fanfic #twisted wonderland imagines #twist x reader #angst

[tabswrites]

*live look at me arriving in your asks*

Please I would like Hettie meta-lore 🥺 anything about how you conceptualized her, her inspirations, all that good stuff! She is my fave little lady from your cast and I'd love to know how she came to be 💙

Omggg Hettie lore! My favorite obscure topic! I’m sorry if this gets obscenely long. How do I answer this without spoilers? Hmmm.

First, a fun fact: Hettie and Adrin were the only two characters at first, before I even knew the plot.

So initially, every main character in ToL was assigned a fantasy trope. The idea was for them to subvert the trope in order to pass the “test” from Eternity to receive their magic. That concept has changed a bit, but my plans for subverting the tropes are largely unchanged. In the beginning, we had:

Adrin as The Chosen One

Mara as The Dark Lord

Oliver as The Mentor

Hettie as The Damsel

Her personality was almost fully formed from the beginning. I feel like a lot of purely good characters are overlooked in mainstream media or are poorly written. I love writing cynics like Mara and Adrin, but I wanted to get out of my comfort zone and write a nice character that wasn’t just a “Mary Sue” or a throwaway side character.

It’s also important to me that Hettie is an optimist who doesn’t judge people like Mara or Adrin for their pessimism. She’s not the type of person to say “Just think positive!”, when someone is having a terrible day.

My biggest inspirations for her:

Willow Park (The Owl House)

A very sweet, generally positive character who goes from being underestimated and insecure to being an incredibly gifted witch who puts most people her age to shame.

Capheus Onyango (Sense8)

I think we’ve talked about you having seen Sense8 before? It’s my 2nd fave show ever, the magic system in ToL is also loosely inspired by it!

Capheus was surrounded by poverty and injustice and always left his house in the morning with a smile on his face. One of my favorite quotes of his is between him and another character who is anxious about returning home after a tragedy.

Riley: What if something terrible happens?

Capheus: What if something wonderful happens?

If that doesn’t sum up her relationship with Mara, I don’t know what does.

There’s a secret third character who inspired Hettie who I can’t reveal to you quite yet!

Adrin’s character arc is a decent part of Book One, but Hettie’s is really the heart of the entire story. I really wish I could say why without giving everything away ugh 😂 what I can say is that in Ch. 9, she will have a lot going on that will change the course of the story completely. I have the outline completed and, as a bit of a teaser, I’ll tell you the title of that chapter: Darling, Dearest, Defeated.

If you or anyone reading this knows what that title is a reference to, you win 1 million dollars and my hand in marriage.

I’ll also tag @outpost51 just in case Korb wants a Hettie-themed info dump!

Please ask to be +/- from the ToL tag list!

#answered asks #wip: tomb of light #silver sentinels #oc talk #oc: Hettie #my sweet angel

[julianrchandlerx]

Seven minutes. 

On average, it took about seven minutes to die from asphyxiation. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven minutes. It likewise took about seven minutes for a person to fall asleep. A strange similarity that Julian Rhys Chandler would spend a millennia thinking about, during the quietest moments of his eternity where nothing could occupy him save his own mind. Death had always been such a distant concept to a mortal man of only thirty years. When you’re that young, it felt like nothing could bring you down, and Julian was no exception to that rule. If he thought of his passing, he imagined Death finding him old and wrinkled, gray but hopefully in a distinguished way, and after having lived a long and exceptional life.

At this point in time, there was nothing particularly exceptional about Julian Chandler’s life. A life spent in the immeasurable shadow cast by the Chandler men who came before him, a lonely human existence in a world stranger than fiction. No amazing achievements on record, no wild escapades or fantastic stories to be told. Up until that day, April 21st, 2023, he seemed exceptionally average. Even when he knew the threat of death loomed somewhere above his head, he hadn’t thought it possible.

There would be no tragedy at this town event, after all.

Julian Chandler had been doing his best to side step the overall activity. Long, awkward limbs had not made the best for dancing, though he would have tried his hardest if ever required. Still, he hadn’t come there to participate in the competition. In a fuchsia sweater he found at the thrift store which he thought was passably retro, cuffed Levi’s and scuffed converse sneakers, he hugged the perimeter of the dance-a-thon, watching the fantastical people of Lunar Cove live their enchanting lives. A drink in hand, and a dozen or so chips filling his belly, Julian looked around and thought for that moment that life was good. Life had been good as of late. He was, for the most part, living his childhood dream of living off his artistic abilities (never mind that he was basically a starving artist though) and while it was small, he found a genuine community in this supernatural haven.

Following this train of thought, his eyes sought out the faces which made it for him. Ralph Middlemas was the first he spotted among the crowd, surefooted on the dance floor in a way Julian could only dream to be. His charisma and swagger rolled off him thickly, so full of life and personality. He wanted to be like the vampire, to have his confidence and his spunk. That animated charm which radiated the warmth and comfort of a million suns. The very things that invited Julian in and made him trust Ralph so much, made their friendship what it was. Was that how brothers were supposed to be, he wondered. Was that what he always lacked and craved from his own blood? This sort of bond where they could be goofy and themselves but then get real and honest. The kind of person he knew he could trust with his life — literally — in any situation. Ralph felt like the closest thing to family.

His gaze continued tracking the familiar faces on the dance floor until it settled rather naturally on Nesrim Erkal. Crush felt too simple for the description — in this past week she became something more concrete to him. Her smile was practically etched in his heart now, and their one evening together was, he hoped, the beginning of countless nights they’d share. Since then, Julian could still feel the curve of her in his arms when he slept, her presence lacking in his bed. They didn’t even do anything beyond cuddling and talking for hours, he hadn’t even kissed her, and yet… he was pretty sure it was the single greatest night of his existence. How he wished he could just stay up all night and listen to her speak, witness her brilliant mind at work. Even if he didn’t understand everything she said, he just wanted to be part of her special world.

More faces blurred past his vision, too many to dwell on for long — Nico, Mateo, Mason, more and more and more — until he stopped. Jasmine St. Claire. She was the whole reason he was here, wasn’t she? Perhaps against better judgment, he followed Jasmine to this peculiar town, and he refused to turn back. Tension existed in their friendship, but he was learning. He was beginning to understand the strange world she belonged in. Maybe it was going to be better. He told her he wasn’t going to walk away when she was facing all this danger, and he meant it. That’s not what a friend does. Julian wanted to be a better friend, the best he could be. He hoped she understood how important she was to him. From the moment she showed up at their high school in Queens, Julian Chandler just wanted to be Jasmine St. Claire’s friend. He didn’t want anything in return, he just wanted to know her and be there for her. That much hadn’t changed in the fourteen or so years since he approached her in high school, and he did not intend to change that at all now. Curse or no curse. Their friendship would persist, he wouldn’t give up on it.

Seven minutes…

He cleared his throat, feeling a tickle. “Damn Doritos,” Julian thought out loud, pulling his cup to his lips to take a generous sip. There was a shiver, only slight, rolling down his spine. An odd sensation since it was kind of warm there. Of course it was — there were so many people packed in, exchanging body heat while mostly in motion. He had felt a bit sweaty beneath his collar, but now he was feeling just a tad cold. Maybe it’s the drink, he thought. The drink that was easily going down for a moment. Catching the sudden spit into his cup, the man coughed against the rim. Whoa, wrong pipe, maybe? There was a rawness in Julian’s throat, an uncomfortable sensation which drew his free hand towards his neck instinctively. This strange hoarseness with a tinge of burn began to spread a bit downward until it took root in his chest. Relax, you just breathed in when you were supposed to drink. Just take a breath. His body followed his train of thought, nostrils flaring a bit as Julian attempted to inhale. And failed. That’s odd. He tried again. No air. Are you anxious or something? Once more. Again, no result. His fingers shook as it began to dwell on him. 

Julian Chandler suddenly couldn’t breathe.

Distantly he could hear the falling of a cup, the tap, tap, tap as it hobbled on the ground and rolled away. He could vaguely feel the cool wetness of the liquid splashing against his ankle and soaking into the fabric of his sneakers and socks. All other sensations were becoming clouded and distant as his body began to focus on this new obstacle hindering it. Why couldn’t he breathe right? Quickly his shallow inhales became larger, hastier gasps for air, a frantic sound resonating from his throat where he was struggling to pull in that air. His lungs were burning, his heart was catapulting a mile a minute, doing wild and terrified laps in his chest. It hurt, and to add to the growing pain was a spike of anxiety that dug its claws into Julian’s shoulders and shook him wildly. You can’t breathe, Chandler!

Blue eyes darted around him as his hand clawed uselessly at his neck and clavicle. As if he could dig into his skin and pull away this unwanted obtrusion keeping him from taking in a breath of air. His other hand waved above his head, high above the crowd which Julian regularly towered over, trying in vain to flag someone — anyone — down. Was he choking? Was this a sudden anxiety attack? He didn’t know what was happening and he didn’t have time to question it. He couldn’t breathe, for crying out loud. He couldn’t even shout out, “Help,” though his lips curled breathlessly around the word. Why wasn’t anyone coming to him? Could they not see him?

His eyes, wide and pleading, washed over the crowd again, over the faces he just mused over, but then his gaze was traveling up the wall and then above him towards the ceiling. A shot of pain flowed from the back of his head, one shoulder, his hip and side, and leg, and Julian realized what happened. He’d fallen over. By now he thought maybe people noticed, but he wasn’t sure, because now he was lying on the floor, frantically gasping for air that wouldn’t come to him. His vision was blurring, and in the back of his mind he thought maybe this was a sign. Lose oxygen and sooner or later you’re bound to lose consciousness.

Blue eyes searching the area above and around him, he thought maybe a face was coming into view but he didn’t allow himself too much time to make out the details. He was dying. He knew it now. He felt it now. Death was there, standing over him in its dark shroud with a clock in its hand, slowly counting down the minutes until it claimed him. Seven in total. It was coming for him so fast and he couldn’t keep up. Was this how curses took someone, or was this some other cruel trick of fate? Was this somehow always meant to be his destiny — to lose his life in an unfamiliar town in the middle of a dance floor, surrounded by people but without his family near?

Hands shaking above his chest and throat, he mustered up whatever strength was still in him as he managed to catch his voice for one, brief moment. “Ralph,” he croaked. “I need Ralph.” If the last words were said or just part of his imagination, he wasn’t sure. He was focusing then on the gallop of his heart as it slowly but steadily began to dial back. Lose its momentum. It was growing darker and darker at the edges of his vision, his mind slowly collapsing in on itself. Faces and memories and thoughts and unfulfilled dreams passed him by. He never made his great masterpiece, his magnum opus, he didn’t leave anything grand behind. He hadn’t settled down and started a family like he always hoped he would, hadn’t owned anything material and worthwhile in this life that could be his legacy. He hadn’t spoken to his father in god knows how long, and he hadn’t made amends. He never did anything to make Russell Chandler proud of him.

And he hadn’t seen his mother in months. Caroline Chandler. Her face came to his mind’s eye and stayed there. She had always coddled and doted on him, and now he was dying and she had no idea. She wasn’t anywhere near. And all he wanted was to see her one last time, to feel her fingers through his hair, and to hear his own mother tell him it would be okay. Everything will be okay. His chest jumped painfully as he tried to grasp onto anything, to break out of this and keep going. If only it were so easy. He felt the cold coming then, slowly, gently, like a thin, soft blanket being laid over him. A lot like being tucked in by mom before bed. Maybe you should close your eyes and go to sleep, a tempting thought began to settle in and Julian couldn’t tell if his eye lids were closing or if his vision was finally failing him.

Seven minutes… Just like falling asleep. 

#death tw #anxiety tw #panic attack tw #suffocation tw #lunarcoveevent6 #event: blossom festival #this can easily work as just a self para tbh since he probs can’t interact with anyone who comes to him #but I wanted to get it out there #if you respond pls don’t feel the need to match length #this is rambly and erratic but that’s how it’s going #blood tw #for the gif

[dnangelic]

@ardenssolis asked: "Dark, I wonder - does the concept of potential non-existence frighten you? There is someone I know whose thoughts were often heavily filled with this. Perhaps it might still be." Such was the fate of phantoms, after all. But Dark was different from them in the fact that he had never been human. So, that begged to question how he would look upon that 'death'. For was that not what non-existence was? Death?

had it been anyone else , the phantom might have declared it an insolent question . why exist if only to ultimately be undone ? why ever be born if only to die ? at first his eyes narrow , crimsons puncture by thin little slits . yes , in the silence of the night he had oftentimes imagined a darkness even greater than this one : the station of a cellar-monster haunt plaguing an innocent boy who only desired to be rid of him . but these were private , intimate thoughts ; too complex for the likes of even ozymandias to discern by mere silence alone .

' hmm . so you've come to me for advice ? ' he attempts to veil and frame the topic thus . excises himself from any confessional , maintaining his usual arrogant air in the face of equally arrogant company . ' well , people like that are usually insecure or plagued with regrets . is that supposed to be any sort of fun way to live ? look at it this way : right now , even i exist enough to be sought out and to have a conversation with you , or anyone else . that goes for helping the master , or keeping daisuke safe , too . '

his lip curls a little , enough to flash the tips of his teeth , and perhaps therein , in tandem with his self-confident words , remained his mantra and perpetual modus operandi : do not be afraid . never , ever be afraid . instead , merely do .

' whether or not i tried to avoid it ... even as everyone else around us fights for just one more day , it's inevitable that sometime , everything will still come to an end . ' the sun would someday burst . the moon would fracture . the universe would blink and swallow , and the earth would be gone in just a single gulp . perhaps human beings would have invented and innovated ways by then to escape it ; to continue to protect , pass down and inherit whatever was left of humanity itself by then ... or perhaps things would happen sooner rather than later , and the only thing left that anyone could do would be to hold one another ; to say farewells and precious i love yous .

' the only thing anyone has to worry about is being alone . eternity exists so long as it's believed in , ' his palm throws itself up into the air , out of a deep pocket with one careless motion --- his brows set coy and wry . ' you already know it well , don't you ? someone who's afraid should be busy . the more afraid you are , the busier you should be . talk more , laugh harder , reach out for and seize everything , anything , every one of your dreams and wishes . that way , once the end comes , you can look back on your life --- and see just how and where your existence has been left to linger . as for me ... '

the phantom thief , though readily accused selfish and corrupt , held but one supremely selfish wish . one that he near murmurs , soft and hazed , with a tender-cast sigh .

' at the end of it all , if i could still dwell properly within someone's heart ... that alone would be more than enough for me . '

#*･ﾟ⊰ ANSWERED. ⊱ #FGO. #ardenssolis #nomnom good q shi #THANK U

[thatlongspringnight]

Unspeakable Horrors (Ch. 2) : Cthoseok vs. Trader Joe’s

Pairing: Hoseok x The Concept of Trader Joe’s 

Genre: Comedic Horror, absurdist, whatever you’d call “welcome to nightvale”

Rated: T for teen, because of some horror themes, and descriptions of gore

Summary: 🐙Cthoseok vs. the World🐙 Hobi is ready to see the wonders of the world, starting with the travels and trade of Trader Joe.

Word Count: 658

Warning: Cthulhu, eldritch horrors, mentions of violence!!

Previous Drabble: 1

Tagging: @miscelunaaa @minttangerines @doneimnida (Thank you guys for giving me this idea, BANNER MAKING, and encouraging my mischief hehehehe) also tagging @starlostjimin @xjoonchildx @hobivore @sunshinerainbowsbts @dntaewithluv @reliablemitten@wwilloww​ @illneverrecover @blueversaillesdreams​ @augustbutwinter​ @vyduan​  just because i think you’ll giggle

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“But there was once a Trader Joe?” Hoseok asks, for perhaps the fifth time; staring up at the sign. “He is no more? Was he punished for his hubris? Damned for eternity to the realm of silence?”

“Unfortunately he did not have his tongue cut out, eyes gouged before being pushed into the pit of darkness and into the realm of silence.” Your clarification makes Hoseok sigh, shaking his head in disappointment.

“He was disemboweled by wolves then?” The man – ugh – being of eternal damnation looks distraught. “That is a shame.”

“No, he succumbed to a natural death.” 

“Oh dear, his family must be so disappointed.” Hoseok clicks his tongue. “Yet his wares remain in this store even though he died in such a…dishonorable way?”

“Mostly, they have a tendency to change up their offerings….often.” You narrow your eyes. Trader Joe’s has always been nothing but a place of disappointment to you, luring you in with products just to steal them away again. 

“Mmm preying on humanity’s insatiable need for stability,” the man giggles. “Snatching the goodness away at the worst moment, Trader Joe was truly a visionary.”  

“Perhaps you’re right,” you acquiesce, grabbing a shopping cart from the stand. “Are you absolutely sure I cannot interest you in the blood of the innocent? I don’t want you to get a stomach ache–”

“Come human; they are speaking of a sale, mozzarella balls. I can feel their quiverings of disbelief at such a choice.” And he’s all but skipping inside. “I wish to see these offerings.” 

“Master Hoseok –” You have hardly time to follow him in, unable to comprehend that this is what your life has come to. 

In the Trader Joe’s. Traitor Joe’s is more correct, considering how you have been betrayed by your God. How could this ancient harbinger of the end of days make you stand here while he tries to decide what flavor of ice cream pop he wants? 

“Have you ever had this – this substance called ‘boba’?” he asks, holding up a particular box. “I do enjoy the coffee milk tea – it is sweet AND bitter, a perfect paradox”

“Yes Master,” you deadpan. “They’re chewy.”

“Ah like the flesh of the creatures of the deep,” he observes – the lights flickering as he opens the box, intent on tasting his prize now. 

“Ah, sir – you can’t, you have to pay –” But the gaze of Hoseok freezes the man with a stare, head cocking in confusion.

“I have already paid.” He’s cheerful, even as black liquid begins to leak from the ceiling, cosmic goo, dripping down the other man’s face. “Through millennia of suffering, of being chained in the depths while you puny humans played house up above. Now you ask me for more? Perhaps I should pay for these with your soul? Oh! How would your soul taste with this boba I wonder?” The man does not speak, too busy standing frozen, eyes glazed over as Hoseok smiles. 

“Master,” you sigh, watching as one of his tentacles slips to snatch another box. “If you aren’t going to eat him, then release him from his prison of eternal nightmares. I have noodles at home you can eat before you have dessert.” 

“Oh!” And the moment is broken, sound resuming in the store as Hoseok grins. “That sounds lovely.” You wonder if your freezer can even fit the half dozen boxes of frozen treats he is carrying out via his tentacles. 

Where are they coming from anyway? Your attempts to gaze at his back are met with static in your brain, and. A headache coming on. 

“Trader Joe was a brilliant man.” Hoseok is pleased as he sits in your car. “One day I should like to exhume his body, and feast upon his bones in thanks, and to chain his soul to mine in eternal torment and delight.”

“I’ll have to Google where he’s buried once we’re home.”

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If you liked this! Drop me a heart <3 or send me a comment, drop an ask! 

Drabble three Teaser: Hoseok dance Number 

#btshoneyhive #bangtan fic #bangtan drabble #hoseok fic #hoseok drabble #jhope fic #jhope drabble #fanfic

[crumblingink]

The Most Ancient Dream wakes up to a hospital room, when instead it should have been the grey, dingy metal of the subway he'd been living in for the past... hm.. ...

"I wonder how long it's been..." he muses to himself. It's definitely been an undoubtedly long time. He'd say he's been there for eternity, but he's not there now, and even if he can't remember, he knows that he wasn't there in the beginning.

The Fourth Wall probably knows. All sorts of information get recorded within the sentient wall. Surely, a record for the years he's been here would be in there somewhere, but he's a little afraid to ask.

He finds the prospect of forever to be frightening when nothing in his life has lasted for long. He knows this for a fact, but he doesn't have any examples to rely on.

It's in the middle this thought when, without warning, the door to the room opens, and a very familiar figure walks in--

--and promptly drops the glass of water she'd been holding. She looks as brittle as the broken glass cup.

The Most Ancient Dream wonders where he is, to be facing her at this time. Certainly not the subway cabin he wishes he was back in.

--------

( sometimes, when he wasn't dreaming of or watching Yoo Joonghyuk, he'd find himself in odd places. )

--------

The Constellation decides that this is a very weird dream, one that is spurred on from The Fourth Wall trying to make him remember his... morals..??

He's never met a Lee Seolwha in person, but she insists that they've known each other. And that, apparently, The Most Ancient Dream does not remember what made him... "him." He thinks it's foolish for Lee Seolwha to try to compact her version of his essence into something like a human, when he's anything but.

It's not exactly arrogance that makes the Constellation remind her of that. Like his name suggests - because "Kim Dokja" is a terrible name, and really, his imagination should be better when naming himself - The Most Ancient Dream is incredibly old.

And, it's been an incredibly long time since "he" was human, if Lee Seolwha is to be believed. According to the dream doctor, he's spent a good few years being a mix of a Constellation, a Demon King, and.... an Angel? The Fruit of Good and Evil was an interesting concept he'd thought about before. The Oldest Dream wonders if it and he would be discernable upon consumption and how affected he'd be with The Fourth Wall blocking emotions.

Despite the very amusing things she's been saying that's contradicting her character,  Lee Seolwha's written nature is to be a very kind and skilled doctor. It shows as she checks up on his physical state.  He feels safe, and The Most Ancient Dream supposes that feeling comes from knowing her for a millenia, in the only way something like him can know someone. He knows her capabilities, and even if he's fine without it, he appreciates this weird dream's gestures.

------

When she leaves him for a moment, The Oldest Dream entertains the idea of possessing a body that belongs to someone else. It'd align with the claims the woman was confident in saying, but there was definitely no one who would fit the criteria.

No one he could remember, anyway. Who'd be as crazy and self sacrificial to save all those other people? The Oldest Dream doesn't think he'd ever be close enough to anyone to do that, if it were him.

( The Oldest Dream has only looked the doctor in the eyes once, when she first opened the door. Something in him pains to see her face. )

--------

She comes in again, this time with a tray of soup and water. The smell wafts over, and he didn't even know he could feel hunger in dreams.

"They'll want to see you, you know." She speaks, unprompted, carefully setting the food on his lap. The weight feels so real, and faint warmth seeps into his bones.

The Most Ancient Dream focuses on the futile attempt of steadying his hands to eat a spoonful before responding. He wonders why this dream version of himself is so weak. Maybe he's always been this pathetic and was just lying to himself about his capabilities.

The Constellation misses the subway cabin because there he wouldn't have to talk about things he'd rather not mention. Sure, The Fourth Wall would be there, but he's gotten used to that existence. He doesn't know how to face this Lee Seolwha. Knowing it's a dream doesn't help him escape or change the plot of events from unfolding, as powerful as he may be.

"....I," he begins, and then stops. He looks towards the windows. He wonders why he's humoring her. She and his protagonist go well together. The Most Ancient Dream has seen them together many times, but she had never been his favorite. Still, he decides to think about it.

The Constellation doesn't truly know who these people are that she's talking about, the ones who apparently risked their lives and wasted their time, but already he knows how it'll end.

"I'm not the same." Is what he settles with. The Oldest Dream watched his protagonist far too many times to feel any semblance of pretend comfort.

Just as Yoo Joonghyuk felt burning confusion and despair when meeting his companions who hadn't remembered in the first few regressions, these strangers will only feel soul crushing guilt, remorse, and despair when they realize "he" does not remember.

He does not like this dream anymore, and he does not wish to meet any more people.

The Most Ancient Dream might not remember who exactly "he" was, or the characteristics of the person he could be taking possession of, but he'd like to think he wouldn't enjoy any first-hand levels of pure agony meeting futile attempts.

"Lee Seolwha-ssi," The Most Ancient Dream begins again, after a pause, "would you be so kind to me when you realize what, exactly, I am?" He thinks this question can have a lot of answers, and he wonders what his subconscious will tell him now. The Constellation still doesn't look at her.

For starters, "he" was a Demon King. The feathery mass behind "his" back, easy to carry as "his" muscles stretched and pulled three times "his" original size, but heavy enough to remind "him" of "his" devilry. They were massive, reaching from the top of "his" head, all the way down to "his" feet. "His" horns sprouted from "his" skull, piercing "his" skin in a bloody red. Elegant, but painful.

Or, perhaps maybe a liar. The doctor mentioned in passing that "he" said "he'd" come back, that "he'd" leave the subway. And yet here he is, years late, and wanting to go back and to wake up. He's even forgotten about the people Lee Seolwha desperately wants "him" to meet, and isn't that the most ruthless lie yet?

Above all, however, "he" was a Constellation. Is one now, now that The Most Ancient Dream is here. He doesn't personally know any other Constellations, but he knows he's no different on a fundamental level. He consumes the stories of others to live because he's too pathetic to live on his own. It's ironic how the more power he has, the less he's able to live by himself.

"Dokja-ssi," Lee Seolwha begins slowly. Her hands gently cup The Most Ancient Dream's hands, who have stilled. Selfishly, he keeps himself from moving because it's been so long since he's felt a semblance of human warmth. "You said you don't remember us, so why are you trying to decide how we'll react?"

"Because I've seen the horrors of disappointment, and how raw the aching is once hope is ripped apart. Lee Seolwha-ssi, I have lived for a very, very long time." At his words, the doctor's face hardens, mouth set in a firm line. He doesn't see this, as his face is still turned away.

"Kim-- no, The Most Ancient Dream-ssi. Let us teach you how to live. You know too much about the future, and you choose to forget about the past, but you don't know how to handle the present. Even now, you can't look me in the eyes, because you don't know my answer to the question of your identity." Lee Seolwha slips her hands away, and places the cup of water in his hands. "You must be tired, so I'll leave you."

With that, she stands up, and walks towards the door. He wonders what will happen once she leaves, and if she's the tie to this particular dream.

"Doctor," The Most Ancient Dream calls. He's turned to watch when her hand reaches the doorknob, "don't tell them I'm awake."

This time, it's her who doesn't look back.

#orv #orv kdj #orv od #orv mad #orv lsw

[duhragonball]

[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (192/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball,  which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation.   This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made  on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before  66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z. 

     [3 September, Age 749.  Earth.]  

One story ends with a little girl offering an apple to a king.    

The king used to be a monster, but now he's naked.   But at least he's not a monster anymore, so he's not that worried about it.    But he's so hungry.   As a monster, he couldn't satisfy his cravings, no matter what he ate.   He learned of the seven magic Dragon Balls, which could grant any wish.   He paid dearly to acquire them all, but in his desperate hunger he swallowed them, and then another summoned the Dragon, which burst forth from his distended, inhuman belly.  

He should have died in that moment, but somehow he still lived, and somehow he heard the little girl's wish:

"We don't need the Blood Rubies!   Just turn my land back to the way it was!"

And it was done.    

But the land was more than just earth and rivers and trees.    The land had a spirit too, and was that spirit not bound up with the people who called it home?    Villagers, farmers, merchants, and yes, even kings.   That was the only explanation King Gurumes could imagine for his survival.   Either the dragon restored him along with the land that bore his name, or the dragon lifted his curse by removing the Blood Rubies.    

Now, he is alive and human once again.    Even the hunger has changed.   It feels more like real hunger, and the craving subsides the moment he swallows the first bite of the little girl's apple.  

In that moment, King Gurumes feels the full weight of his shame.   He had nearly destroyed his own kingdom, all for the sake of the Blood Rubies, as treasure he didn't even need.    Now that the Blood Rubies are gone, he wonders why he ever wanted them in the first place.    

And yet, he can't help but look up into the sky, and wonder what became of those beautiful red stones.    Where did the Eternal Dragon take them, and what would happen to them?

And then, a short time later, it all comes to an end.    The land, the king, the little girl, the apple, all of it.    There is no prelude, no sense of climactic doom or relief.   No gentle transition, like a person drifting off to sleep.  There is simply the last moment, and then nothing afterward.   The ending.  King Gurumes, and everyone else in his world, is suddenly gone.

But not for long.  As this story ends, another begins.   The cycle continues.   The heart beats, and the blood of this tale continues another lap on its endless course.  

*******

     [6 April, Age 850.  Toki Toki City.]  

The dreams were a little different each time, but they always played out the same way.    There were so many nightmares that haunted Luffa, but then she came to Toki Toki City.   Then the dreams began to change.  

She would sometimes find herself in the dining hall of her old star-yacht.   Or she would be back on the colony on Dorlu Prime.   Or even in the habitat section of her parents' starship, where she spent her early childhood.   And she would be there, talking to her parents, like nothing had changed.   It would be dark.  

Sometimes the family's missions involved silent runnings, where her parents would reduce power to as many ship's systems as possible to avoid detection.  Luffa enjoyed these times.   There was nothing else to do but wait for the ship to coast towards its destination, and so her parents would sit in the habitat section for hours, sometimes days, and just be with her.   It was such a comforting experience that Luffa almost felt ashamed of herself for craving it.   Her parents were long dead, and that ship had been scuttled a long time ago.   But her subconscious mind allowed her to seek refuge there, and for a time, the nightmares would be held at bay.   At worst, Luffa would sometimes remember that she was no longer a little girl, and this would feel awkward in the dream.   Her mother and father would seem so much smaller by comparison.   And then she would recall that she was the Legendary Super Saiyan, but her parents' younger selves never seemed terribly concerned about it.  

"It just sort of happened," Luffa would mumble in a confused explanation.   Her mother would shrug, and her father would pretend to check the sensors.    

"You're probably wondering about her," Luffa would sometimes say, for she would suddenly notice her own wife in the dream, there on the ship with them, even though the real Zatte had never been on the real ship.  But the dream-logic made this discontinuity a mild faux pas at best.    

Zatte would say nothing, but snuggle up next to Luffa as they sat on one of the two sofas on opposite sides of the hab section.   Luffa's parents would sit on the other, and it was just the four of them.  

"I, uh... well, I got married.   She's an alien," Luffa would say.   "Well, you know her, Father.   Before you died...."  

This was when it became odd, as Luffa's mind tried to rationalize her memories with the dream.   She had killed her father a long time ago, but he was here, now, and everything was okay.   Her sleeping mind concluded that her blow must not have been fatal after all, and he was alive again, and everything was okay.

There would be a sort of rambling, one-sided discussion of Luffa's bisexuality.   She had never told her parents about this.   In the dream, no one seemed concerned about it, but she had always felt a need to spell it out to her parents, and this seemed like a good opportunity.   She vaguely heard her mother's voice, perhaps from the other room, saying she had always known.   But Luffa couldn't tell for sure.   Maybe she had imagined it.    

"Did you say you always knew?" Luffa asked when her mother returned.   Her mother didn't answer, and Luffa felt unwilling to press the issue.    Zatte was there, warm and fragrant and affectionate as always.    The scent of Dorlun sweat in her eyepatch mingled beautifully with the odors of the hab section.    It felt right.   It felt like family.  

"The Time Patrol wants me back for another mission," Luffa said to her.    "But it's not so bad now that you're back, Zattie.   I... well, it still hurts, you know."

"What hurts?" Zatte asked, staring up at Luffa, her left eye sparkling like an emerald.    

"When you died," Luffa said.  "I know it wasn't on purpose, and it all worked out."  How had it all worked out?    The dream didn't know or care, so long as it had.    "But it still tears me up inside.   All that time I thought you were gone."

"I am gone, Luffa," Zatte said.  

Luffa didn't understand that.   Later (How much later?  Minutes?   Hours?), Luffa would realize no one was in the hab section.   Zatte would be gone.    Her mother would be gone.  She would wander the ship trying to find them, or even check aboard the star-yacht, or in Toki Toki City.    They would be nowhere.    She would go to ask her father in the pilot section, but he would be gone too.   And gradually, the realization would set in.   They were all dead, and they were never coming back, and none of this had made any sense, because none of it had been real.    

And then Luffa would wake up.   Not to daylight, or chirping birds, or anything else that might take her mind off what she had just experienced.    It would always be the darkness of astronomical twilight, with just enough light through the window of her apartment bedroom to make it plain where she was.   The blankets would be tangled around her legs, and she would always try to go back to sleep, but never succeed.   She just lay there for a time, while the tears evaporated from her face.    

"Idiot," Luffa said to herself as she finally surrendered to the day.  "She's gone.   She's dead.    Leave her in the past.   It's what her culture demands.    I can honor that at least."

She rolled out of bed and went to the shower.    Once she was dressed, she knocked on her roommate's door to see if she was awake.  

"What is it?" Jayncho's voice called from behind the door.  

"Just checking if you were awake.    You want breakfast?"

"Whatever," Jayncho said.    

This was close enough to a 'yes' for Luffa, and so she headed for their small kitchen to begin.    She liked Jayncho, mostly because she was blunt and uncomplicated, but Luffa had begun to prefer it when Jayncho was asleep.   She had gotten into the habit of talking to the Majin woman while she slept.   Majins would pass out for days at a time, and they were very sound sleepers, and somehow Luffa found it easier to say certain things when there was someone else in the room who couldn't possibly hear.    If Jayncho hadn't answered the knock, Luffa probably would have entered the room and talked about her dreams.    As it was, she found cooking to be a good way to take her mind off her troubles, and making an extra serving for Jayncho helped extend that therapeutic experience.

After a time, Luffa carried a pair of plates to the table and set one at Jayncho's seat.   The Majin stared at it for a moment, then looked up expectantly at Luffa.

"What?" Luffa asked.   "Don't tell me you want more whipped cream on top.  You might as well just eat that stuff straight out of the container."

"No, it's fine," Jayncho said.  "It's just... aren't you going to set a plate for her?"

Luffa had no idea who she was talking about.   There was no one else in the apartment, and when she looked around to see what Jayncho meant, she didn't actually expect to see anyone.   And yet, there was an old woman sitting beside Jayncho now.   She looked like an Earthling, but her body suddenly changed, her skin turning blue, and her hair turning pink.

"Keda?!" Luffa gasped.  

"You don't have room for me anymore?" Keda asked.   Her body had now fully assumed Dorlun form, but she continued to change anyway, growing older and older.  In seconds, her wrinkled skin began to wither and flake off of her body.

Luffa took a step back and dropped her own plate.   "No..." was all she could say.

"Isn't she family too?" asked another familiar voice.   Luffa looked around to find her son, Xibuyas, standing in the doorway.   He had been raised to despise her, and she had tried to kill him on Nagaoka, but somehow he had survived, at least long enough to become the consort and general of...

"Aren't we all your family, Luffa?" asked Queen Seltiss.   She had been a teenager--Princess Seltiss-- when Luffa last saw her, eleven centuries ago.   Now she wore the finery of Saiyan royalty, like the painting she had seen from Dewar's historical files.   Somehow she and Xibuyas had both survived the destruction of Nagaoka, married, and assumed control of the Saiyan kingdom.  

Then Luffa heard the clicking, and the scratching.   She was accustomed to these noises.  During her months-long captivity, the insectoid Tikosi made such noises all the time.  They haunted her nightmares ever since.  

But this time it wasn't the Tikosi clawing at the walls of her apartment.  This time, when the multitude of grasping fingers came tearing through, they belonged to Saiyan hands.   Most of them were dressed like Time Patrollers.  Others wore the uniforms Luffa had seen on Frieza's soldiers.  

As they swarmed over Luffa, she looked back to find Keda reduced to dusty skeleton.  Jayncho was still sitting beside her, cutting her pancakes with a fork.  

"We're gonna need a bigger apartment," the Majin said glumly.  

Luffa struggled in vain.  There was no stopping the mob, no escaping them.  And as they crushed around her from every side, tearing at her hair, ripping at her flesh and clothing, she could hear Seltiss laughing from the doorway.

"Well what do think of your descendants, mom?" Seltiss asked.   "Are you proud of your brood?  Because you're nothing to them.   At least my generation hated you.   But these Saiyans?  They don't even know you ever existed."

Luffa tried to scream, but there were too many hands grasping at her mouth, strangling her throat.   What little air she could breathe was hot and stuffy.  She was trapped, completely trapped!   And just when it seemed like she would never escape--

*******

Luffa awoke with a scream.   The world around her was dark shadows held at bay by a bright yellow light.   She was hyperventilating.   She had no idea where she was.  

Years of dealing with trauma had forced her to learn how to react quickly to these situations.   The Tikosi had tormented Luffa with their cruel experiments.  The ordeal had led her body to achieve the legendary Super Saiyan transformation, but it had also scarred her psyche.  Luffa spent much of her life aboard spaceships, and the Super Saiyan power gave her the raw strength to cause a hull breach with a single, unthinking blow.  The only way to cope with the nightmares while traveling in space was to quickly come to her senses and begin the process of reigning in her power.  

She forced herself to control her breathing, and locked her forearms under the crooks of her knees.    Even though her every instinct pleaded for her to run, to fight, to move, she refused.   She had to remain as still as possible, until that thing inside her was brought to heel.

As she lay on her side, curled up in a ball, she reached out with her senses, telling herself again and again that there was nothing there, nothing at all that could harm her.   She curled her tail around her waist and stared at the end of it, watching the golden glow of the fur as she willed it to turn dark.   And finally, after long minutes, the glow obeyed her, and Luffa found herself in the gloom.

"Idiot!" she snarled to herself.   She took the nightmares personally, as if they reflected poorly on her character.  Those who knew Luffa would all speak highly of her great courage, but in Luffa's mind, she saw herself as a craven weakling, always fighting to rise above that status.  

Gradually, the realization sank in for Luffa that she had no idea where she was.  This was not her apartment, nor her star-yacht from centuries in the past, nor the hospital in Toki Toki City.  The odor of the room was more similar to the Time Vault, but not quite.  She was sitting on a futon in the center of a small room with stone walls.     She had noticed a small window while she was glowing, but now she couldn't see anything on the other side.  

She thought back to the last thing she remembered, hoping to understand what had happened.  Beerus, the God of Destruction, had come to the Time Nest, demanding to face Demigra, the Time Patrol's latest enemy.   As such a battle would have destroyed Toki Toki City and everything in it, Luffa offered to destroy Demigra on Beerus' behalf, and he reluctantly agreed to consider it following a demonstration of her fighting ability.  

It had been a tremendous honor.   Luffa had heard only brief tales of the God of Destruction in various alien mythologies.  To meet him in person was a thrill.  To see him fight Son Goku during a Time Patrol mission had been a privilege.  But Luffa could now say that she had sparred with Beerus personally, and perhaps even earned a measure of his respect.   At the end of their exhibition, she asked him to defeat her with a single strike, so that she could experience some small sample of his true strength.   Beerus had deigned to grant her request, and knocked her out with a single chop to her shoulder.  

Luffa didn't actually remember the exact movement of that attack, but her shoulder and neck still ached from the blow, and she couldn't remember anything after that.  So unless she had lost some other fight in her sleep, it all seemed to add up.   Someone must have brought her to this place to recuperate.  

Feeling calmer, Luffa decided to explore her surroundings.   She could sense no ki energy from anyone.   She had met beings that could conceal themselves from her ki senses.   Beerus was the most recent and noteworthy example, but her surroundings still smelled like Toki Toki City, which should have been bustling with powerful warriors.  

Luffa held up her left hand and concentrated until a ball of yellow energy coalesced above her palm.   She used it like a lantern as she took in her surroundings.   The room was mostly featureless.  There was a toilet and sink mounted along the wall, and a small desk with a stool. It looked more like a prison cell than an  infirmary.   The window she had noticed was part of the door.   She tried the handle, and was surprised to find the door unlocked.  Then she checked the handle on the other side and noticed it had been locked, but only from the outside.  A sign was posted which bore a pictogram warning people to keep out.  

Luffa shook her head and moved on to the hallway.   There were other rooms, but their doors were ajar, and with no sign of anyone inside.   Then, at the end of the hallway, she noticed another door opening, and a small figure emerged.   Suddenly, the room was illuminated, though Luffa could find no light fixtures.  

"Good, you're finally awake," Chronoa said.   "Maybe now you can help me get to the bottom of this."

Luffa had no idea what she was talking about.

*******

"So I was in my house, just minding my own business," Chronoa said, "I was trying to meditate on my past experiences with Demigra, and figure out how we should handle him now that he's back.   But then you suddenly showed up.   Just lying on my couch like you had been there all along."

The Supreme Kai of Time had led Luffa to a lounge area that was in the same building as the room she had been in.   There was a kettle on a hot plate, and the Kai used her powers to make it boil in a fraction of the time it would have normally taken.  

Like Beerus, Chronoa was a god, but it was harder to think of her that way.  The Kai was a very small woman, even shorter than Luffa, who was below average height among Saiyans.    Chronoa's rose-colored skin and pointed ears might have meant something to Earthlings, who were unaccustomed to dealing with beings from other worlds, but Luffa had dealt with far more unusual aliens.    And Chronoa was far less overbearing than Beerus the Destroyer.   The Kai commanded the Time Patrol, and she was responsible for the preservation of history itself, but she still treated her mortal subordinates like friends and peers.   It was hard to think of Chronoa as a god, much less a god who had lived for seventy-five million years.  

"So I brought you here," Chronoa said.   "And I've been keeping tabs on you for the last day or so."

She carried the kettle back to a conference table and began to pour it over a pair of mugs she had set out.   Luffa's mug bore the words "Multiverse's Best Supreme Kai of Time!"   Chronoa's mug had a print of the periodic table of chemical elements.   Between them was a  tray of crepes and tiny sandwiches, and Luffa helped herself.  

"Where is 'here'?" Luffa asked between crepes.

"I call it the isolation ward," Chronoa explained.   "Sometimes I get a visitor from a different time frame, and it might be dangerous to let them mingle with anyone else.   They might hear things about their own future, or reveal future events to others.   So I built this place underneath the Time Vault to keep them quarantined until I could figure out what to do with them."

"Quarantined?" Luffa asked.   "You and Trunks brought me here from the past, remember?  He used the Dragon Balls to wish for a powerful ally, and I got yanked across the centuries.   And you're only just now worried about what that might do to the timeline?"

Chronoa nodded patiently as she waited for Luffa to finish.   "Centuries are actually easier to deal with in these situations, believe it or not," she said.  "What makes this situation so sensitive is that you've been transported a few days through time.   Do you remember the date?"

"April 20," Luffa said.   "Well, you said I've been out for a full day, so it must be the twenty-first by now."

"No, it's not," Chronoa said.   "Here, in this moment, it's April 6.   You've gone back in time, Luffa."

"What?" Luffa asked.  "But how could that--?!"

"I sent you," Chronoa explained.   "Well, I will send you back, eventually."

"But how could you know it was you if you haven't done it yet?!" Luffa demanded.  

"Because I've done this sort of thing before, from time to time," Chronoa explained.   I always leave them on my couch when I do it, because that way my past self will notice it right away, and I'll know it was me.   I don't know exactly why my future self sent you, but you were in pretty rough shape when I found you, like you'd lost a fight.   So I'm assuming I needed you healed up, but there wasn't time to wait."

Luffa looked herself over for a moment.   Her yellow pants and black compression shirt were scuffed and damaged, but she couldn't find any of the scrapes or bruises she had sustained from fighting Beerus.   Her shoulder was still sore from Beerus' finishing strike, and she still a weariness from that battle, but it wasn't as bad as she would have expectd.  

"I guess you must have gotten someone to heal me up," she said.  

"No, I had to do that myself," Chronoa explained.   "I couldn't risk taking you to the hospital, or even bringing someone from the staff here.   So I used my own empathic healing powers to take the damage from your body into mine.  But I couldn't get it all in one go, so I had to do a little bit at a time.   And I'm still not done yet.   Someone must have really worked you over, Luffa."

Luffa rubbed her hand over the area where Beerus had delivered his finishing chop.   "Yeah, you might say that," she said with a wince.   "I'm still pretty sore, but I guess I got off pretty light, considering it was B--"

"No!  Shut up!   Stop talking this instant!"

Chronoa had suddenly leaped out of her seat and was now standing in her chair, waving her arms wildly.    Luffa hadn't seen her this upset since Beerus arrived in the Time Nest.  Although, if what Chronoa was telling her was the truth, then Beerus hadn't actually arrived yet.

"What's your problem?" Luffa asked.  

"You can't tell me what you've been doing," Chronoa insisted.   "If you do, then it'll create a paradox!"

"Didn't you already do that by sending me back in the first place?" Luffa asked.   "I mean, now you know you'll have to send me back on a certain day.   Wait, have I got that right?"

"Yes, but that's all I know, and my future self took that into account!" Chronoa said.  "But if you tell me anything more than that, it could upset that cycle.  We've got enough problems on our hands already, what with the Demigra situation and all.   Unless you've already defeated him in your time..."

Luffa opened her mouth to explain that she hadn't, but Chronoa cut her off before she could say anything.    

"No!  Don't tell me!" she squealed.  "I don't want to know!  Well, I do, honestly, but I can't!"

"All right, sheesh!" Luffa said.   "I got my clock cleaned, and we'll just leave it at that.   But I'm feeling better now, so why don't I just go back to my apartment and I can cook myself a proper meal and sleep in my own bed?"

"Because you can't," Chronoa said.   "Because you're already there."

Luffa could only offer a perplexed look.  

"From your perspective," Chronoa explained, "this moment in time is in your past.   What were you doing two weeks ago?"

"Working for you," Luffa said.   "I was training so I'd be ready for Demigra, and then I'd stop by the Time Vault to check up on things."

"What else?"

Luffa shrugged.   "I'd go home and go to sleep," she said.   "I'd eat.   Maybe hang out with Dewar or Mosh, or one of the others."

"Exactly!" Chronoa said.   "You can't just go back to your own apartment, because your past self is already there.   Do you remember meeting your future self on April 6?"

"What?  No!"

"Then there you go!" Chronoa insisted.   "Not only are you forbidden from meeting your past self, but we now know that it couldn't have happened!  You must have listened to me when I told you this, because you never went and found your past self."

"I think I hate this," Luffa grumbled.

"You hate it?" Chronoa whined.   "How do you think I feel?  I can't stand dealing with these kinds of situations!"  

"Well then why did you send me back in the first place?" Luffa asked.  

"I already told you, I don't know!" Chronoa seethed.   "I haven't done it yet."

"Okay, okay!" Luffa said.    "This isn't helping anything.  Look, I'm feeling better now, and I appreciate you taking the time to heal me up.  But if there's nothing else for me to do here, then why don't you just... zap me back to my present time?  I mean, you can do that, right?"

"Sure I can," Chronoa said.  "But it's not that simple."

Luffa planted her elbows on the table and buried her face in her hands.  

"Well, it's not," Chronoa said.  

"Then what do you expect me to do?" Luffa asked.  "I can't just sit in this ward of yours for two weeks and wait for everyone else to catch up."

"Normally, I'd agree," Chronoa said.  "Sending you back would be the most sensible option, because it would minimize any temporal contamination.  But I think my future  self had something else in mind for you, Luffa."

She began to reach into the inside of her purple coat and fished around for something.   Just as Luffa began to run out of patience, Chronoa finally withdrew her hand and held up a piece of paper, which she placed on the table.  

"What's this?" Luffa asked.  

"I found it stuck to your shirt when you showed up on my couch."

Luffa unfolded the paper and found two words written on it in big letters.  

'SHE'S READY'

There was also a heart drawn under the words, but Luffa ignored this.

"That's my handwriting," Chronoa said.   "I think it's safe to say that I sent this message to myself."

"I'm ready?" Luffa asked.   "Ready for what?"

"I have a hunch about that," Chronoa said.   "It couldn't be anything you were already involved in, because I already have a Luffa of my own working for me in this time period.  My future self wouldn't just loan me her Luffa for that.  It'd be redundant."

"Sure..." Luffa said.  By now she was prepared to go along with almost anything Chronoa said.  

"So I started thinking about other assignments," Chronoa said.  "To be honest, I had to get creative.  There's a lot of jobs that you just aren't cut out for, Luffa.  Shenron brought you to us to help us fight Towa, Mira, and Demigra.   And you've done well with that, but there's a lot of jobs that you just wouldn't be qualified for.  No offense, but you're kind of hard to get along with."

"Hmmph!" was all Luffa had to say to that.  

"Well, something must have changed my mind in the future," Chronoa said, "because I'm going to send you back to this point, with a note that tells me you're ready.   Ready for something that I wouldn't have considered before today."

"Look, if you've got a job for me to do, let's just get on with it," Luffa said.  "Point me at whatever you need beaten up, and I'll handle it.  Sorting out this time travel business is your end, Chronoa."

Chronoa smiled warmly.   "See, that's exactly the sort of attitude I'm talking about," she said.   "That's why I never would have picked you out for this mission.   But now that I've thought about it... well, it's  so nutty that it just might work."

She hopped down from her chair and gestured for Luffa to follow her out the door.   "Come on," she said.  "It'll be easier if I show you."

Luffa sighed and grabbed a few more sandwiches to bring along with her.  

*******

Fittingly, perhaps, Chronoa simply led Luffa back to the same room where Luffa had awakened.  Only this time, she kept going down the hallway, and pointed out a different room a few doors down, one which Luffa had not noticed before.  

"I don't get it," Luffa said.   There was a red glow from the window, but before, the room had been dark, and the door was ajar.  Now, it was locked, and Chronoa was inserting a key she had taken from her jacket.  

"It's a security measure," Chronoa said.  "In case anyone stumbles across this place, they'll have a hard time finding anything they're not supposed to see.   Each of these rooms is confined to a different time dimension.   You're only seeing it like this now because I'm aligning it with your perception."

"Sure, whatever you say," Luffa said.   She wasn't sure why she bothered asking questions about these things.  

"It's the same reason you can't sense any ki energy outside of the ward," Chronoa added.  As she unlocked the door, she pointed her other hand toward the ceiling.    Trunks is in the Time Vault, right above us, but he can't sense us and you can't sense him."

"Oh," Luffa said, glancing up at the stone surface above her.  

"So far, all of the missions you've done for us have involved bad guys trying to tamper with history," Chronoa explained.   "Demons like Towa aren't so different from the enemies you must have battled in your own native era."

"Pretty much," Luffa admitted.  "You're saying there's more to it than that?"

"A lot of temporal anomalies are naturally-occurring," Chronoa said. "You'd think they'd be easier to deal with, because there's no hostile actor behind the trouble.   And sure, sometimes they're not so bad, but every so often we find one that's not so easy to fix.    And then there's the ones where we have trouble figuring out what the problem even is."

Chronoa opened the door, and gestured for Luffa to follow her inside.   As she crossed the threshold, she saw a large red crystal floating in the middle of the empty room.   The glow she had seen earlier was being generated by the object.   It pulsed with red light, almost like a strange, inorganic heart.  

"I don't have an official name for this," Chronoa said.  "But over the years, we've had a few Time Patrollers study it, and a few of them came up with nicknames.   Most people, though, they just call it 'The Ruby Loop.'"

Luffa had no idea what it was, or why it was important.    And so she simply stared at the object, knowing that she would have to discover its secrets the hard way.

Perhaps Luffa was ready, but she wasn't sure that she was looking forward to it.

 NEXT: Cry Excitebike!

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #super saiyan #luffa #chronoa #toki toki city #earth #pansy #king gurumes

[cherrypeaking]

good morning my love~ 🥺🩵 i hope you slept well!

after our last conversation i can’t stop yearning for a nice, lazy sunday together where we know we have nothing to do the next day so we take our time doing whatever we want~ that would be so perfect 🥺🥺 i’m having so many cute little domestic fantasies about you lately my love 🥺🩵🩵sometimes i wonder what we would do if you were in my room with me like what would be the first thing i’d show you? the state of my bedroom is nothing short of a sensory nightmare right now and the criminal at large (*that* txt poster 😒) still hasn’t been dealt with but i would be so eager to show you all my stuff like the part of my wall where i put cute candy wrappers and plane tickets or my taehyun pc binder or my plushie collection that puts kai’s to shame!! so many options hehe 🥺🩵 just the thought of showing you around makes me so giddy~

i was thinking about the fact that you’re a girly pop girl and i think you would love I AM by IVE it’s so you 💃🏾💃🏾💃🏾💃🏾 something about it reminds me of hurricane hehe

(our little lost boys~ 🥺🥺 i love these pics so much temptation probably has my fave styling ever next to freeze (world version), i know you’ve probably told me this before but what’s your favorite era style-wise?)

period cramps still have me incapacitated along with a killer headache so i’m lying in bed listening to one of my many slow playlists and thinking about you~ i can’t wait for the day when i’ll be able to hold you in my arms, my love… 🥺 i yearn for it so much i can’t wait for our teleportation skills to improve so we can make that happen hehe 🥺🤭

i love you so much baby~ my cherry danish 🥺🥺 my little flower 🥺🌸🍒🩷

my love!! i slept well 🥺🥺🩷 i got woken up by my alarm tho which always kills me 😵‍💫 but i have no choice…

aaaah mommy 🥺🥺🩷 i get domestic thoughts when i’m cooking most of the time or showering 😳👉👈🩷 i would want us to chill like this without anything to do for the next day as well 🥺🥺🩷 oooh i’d love to see your room it seems so cute!! mine has nothing interesting i haven’t tidied it in so long and i really should :( i don’t even have txt posters on my walls 😭 but yeah… speaking of, i can’t get over that poster attacking you with taehyun smirking like he accomplished something big 😭😭 and beomgyu being his accomplice that’s so funny but i hate that it kept falling on you like >:( leave my wifey alone 🥺🥺🩷 i wanna see everything!!

i’ll try to listen to it asap!! i loved love dive by ive so i feel like i’ll like i am as well :3 hehe i feel like you might like koraci by hurricane actually since it’s a slower song and i love it 🥺🥺

WAAAAAH THE MOODBOARD IS SO PRETTYYYY 🥹🥹 i think i’d have to go for all eras!!

star - i think i like the ones where they’re at tables (idk the name of the concept rip 😭)

magic - arcadia!! 🥹 i love the darker look and the play with lights

eternity - starboard they look so cozy and mystical at the same time they’re night dream fairies 🥺🥺

blue hour - omg i do not remember the names but the first one where taehyun has like that crop top he looks SO babygirl 😭

freeze - WORLD WORLD WORLD i’ve always told you how much i love it they look like ice fairies!!! 🥹

fight or escape - green and black striped sweater all the way!! i love it 🤭 bbg tyun is always superior!!

thursday’s child - hate cause… 😈😏

temptation - lullaby i love it so much 🥺

gaaaah headache too? :(( i’m so sorry mommy i wish i had been there to help 😞 i’m glad you’re feeling better and i hope you get to sleep asap and that you’ll sleep well 🥺🥺🩷

i wanna hold you so much and cuddle my love 🥺🥺🩷 my sweet crystal gem 🥺🥺💎🩵🩷 i love you so much you’re my everything 🥺🥺😚🩷

#crystal gem 💎 #my girlfriend is the best :(( #no more period cramps for my mommy please 👿 #period cramps shouldn’t even be a thing #i wish we could be at our little cottage rn so we could chill together i miss you i want some alone time with you 🥺🥺😭 #my love you’re so adorable and amazing 🥺🥺🩷 #i hope you have sweet dreams 🥺😚🩷🩵💎

[traanarchist]

Mentalhealthposting (positive) about Music (CW: Discussion of the Concept of Suicide)

I've heard it's good to write down how you're feeling every so often, so I'm doing that.

(This half does not mention Suicide in any way, I will mark when the other half, which does mention Suicide, starts.)

You ever have a like, breakthrough in your own weird depression/dysphoria/whatever feelings out of nowhere? That happens every so often for me, and it just did and it is wonderful.

I am winding down for bed, singing along to the Car Seat Headrest & Naked Days livestream (my fave CSH livestream) and I'm looking at the lyrics for Life Worth Missing, as I don't really know the lyrics for it very well.

I sing the third verse, and I just feel the like emotional breakthrough in my chest as I sing it.

Fall over the edge Learn to live while falling Every life is a path worth following When you put it into words It's comfortingly bland There's so little left to understand

This just like HARD RELATES to me, I already knew that I probably should be living in the moment more, and that my life has meaning if I let it. What flipped the switch for me actually believing it was "When you put it into words It's comfortingly bland". It is bland and generic, but it feels good to actually believe it, like you're giving yourself a hug.

(Second half starts now, Content Warning for Discussion of the concept of Suicide)

I've had these breakthroughs with music before, and the one that really comes to mind is Levers by Roland Faunte. The entire album that Levers is from, Sewing Kit, is very, very, very sad. But it's also one of the most hopeful and powerful things I've ever listened to. The entire album is about Faunte's struggles with Suicidal Ideation, and Levers is about what he thinks happens to those who do end their life. This section is the part that really changed me.

And then it showed me my life How it could end, and where it started And then it showed me the world but said I'm not a part of it But the lonely and the hurting have a place, no one's seen it But once I have shown you, you can't ever leave it

No matter these thoughts, and these words, so inviting I can't say goodbye just quite yet I'll keep fighting it People who love me would never stop hurting From something so simple yet something so permanent

Gone into the valley where everyone started Where smiles are worn by the hopeless and the brokenhearted There in the light of the stars dancing quietly Spirits at home in the warmth of eternity

It makes me really sad when I hear about how some people think about people who ended their lives. As someone who is incredibly unsure about what happens after death, it makes me profoundly sad to think that people who end their lives head to a worse world where they're tortured and punished for their "sin". I don't want to die currently, and I don't want the people who I care about to die either, in fact I'd say that I don't actively wish death on anybody.

But it brings me a weird sense of hope that maybe those people who made that choice are in some place of peace, of solace. It's a weird ambivalence where I really don't want people to choose this action, but I also don't want people who choose this action to be hurting any longer in whatever waits for them after their death. But that ambivalence helps me feel more secure in my choice to continue living, strangely enough. I choose to live for me, for my past, present, and future members of my chosen family, and for them, because they're at peace now, and I hope they're proud of me.

If anybody ended up reading this whole thing, I just want to say that I hope you have these breakthrough moments too, and maybe me telling you my breakthrough moments helps you find yours. I hope you're doing okay, and I hope that you do even better in the future.

#cw suicide mention #but generally positive post #but still pretty heavy #but thinking about it in this way makes me feel more positive and healthy #mentalhealthposting #Youtube

[le-souriant]

#MusicMonday Review - September 2022

#MusicMonday is the hashtag I've been using for quite a while to share music recommendations from up-and-coming artists. Always fresh, and always different, trying to look for trends before they become one. You can check August's review for more music.

Fall season is here! This month, our artists will take us all over the world through the multiple feelings their songs evoke. Let's have a listen, with a word from the artists themselves. 🎧

Tidal Wave – Sunbleached

Tomorrow is the last goodbye And if you recall This is where we met

In the space between it all I can't look to you But now I can see what I have done

When all of the letters burn After all of the ashes fall When will we see each other When all the pictures are Sunbleached

We start with a mellow Art Rock track from Toronto, CA. Truly atmospheric, the song will make you look for those old photos you may still have:

"I remembered looking at my old books on a shelf that had lost their colour. Realizing that it was years of them sitting in the sun it made me think of an image of a photo of two people left on a wall. A lot of my lyrics are post apocalyptic and that’s kind of where the thought of due to a huge event things would be left behind to be exposed to the elements later to be found by potentially those people again.

The idea I had in my head was of a couple that broke up only to find a weathered photo again wondering if they’d ever see each other."

Juan Pablo Pardo – Mariana

Debo enamorado yo de estar No te puedo dejar de pensar Cada vez que te volteo a ver me haces suspirar Solo llegaste y ya eras tan especial

Oye y nunca vayas a pensar Qué yo te vaya a dejar de amar No te lo imaginas cada día te quiero más Y eso yo te lo voy a demostrar

From nostalgia, let's go now to Puebla, Mexico for an enthusiastic love song that loses steam at the end (for a reason):

"I composed this song many years ago to my ex-girlfriend Mariana. As our relationship began I started composing the song and I finished it when we were braking up. That's why the songs starts with a happy melody and rhythm that reminds the excitement of the beginning of any relation, and it finishes like a ballad, which reminds the sadness of an ending.

At the end, I tried to transform Mariana, the person, to Mariana, the concept of the teenage love."

The Inflorescence – The Button

Why does it feel Like you’re just a dream Slipping so far away from me I can’t seem to escape this All I can do is try to hide

I don’t think you understand me I look into your eyes and you can’t recognize me Will we meet again in another life or Would I just pass you by

From breakup, we now go to San Diego, CA for a Pop Punk track full of heartache. Would you push the button and forget?:

"The song is actually based off the movie “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” 🙂

The idea of erasing someone entirely because the pain of what wasn’t was really the thing that inspired me the most. It’s a heartbreaking thing but something I’m sure everyone wishes they could do sometimes."

Sleeping Haze – Acedia

We’ve been stuck for so long Just keep going on and on A circular path is trampled down from our mindless running around

Come see the apathetic show Where everyone pretends to be in control The curtain cuts you in two When it’s over there’s only you

From brokenheartedness, let's go now to Gothenburg, Sweden for some Alternative Rock with a different kind of grief. Is there a fix that will let you go? Band member Per answers:

"It’s basically about a time where we just felt like we were stuck as a band, as the first line of the lyrics says.

The song I think started with Henry’s guitar-melody and thought the feeling of that melody captured the state that we were in, so it seemed best to use that to our advantage and actually write about it. Of course I mixed in some of my personal experiences too, but I think in a very broad strokes kinda way, so it’s also very easily relatable for everyone.

Then there’s the thing about depression connected with musicianship, with the “the curtain cuts you into” line, where I at the time felt like the live shows were when I could feel alive, only to start sinking again after the show’s over and the high from the moment has passed.

It’s not as drab as it may sound though, we love music and making music together for the most part, but sometimes you just get frustrated trying to make things work, since the practical parts of life easily can get in the way."

Baby Shower – Worms

10 days without you in my reach And I slept with someone new for each

Woke the baby and now she's screaming I'm train spotting not daytime dreaming

Got a little devil on my back Cold sweats and panic attacks

Might be nice to be healed and mended But I just want a toxic codependent

Things do not look good for me

From depression, let's end this month's selection with snarky optimism from Melbourne, Australia. Oh me, oh my, I think I'm buried alive 🎶:

"There's a whole other set of lyrics that we used to play it with and had to replace every verse on the day of recording cos they were a bit too... controversial... and lyrically it was extremely obvious who they were about which was great therapy for me but I didn't want to like hurt anyone too much if they heard the song you know.

The chorus I wrote years and years ago and used to be a much slower tempo we would play with a piano accordion. The chorus is about like... I guess sarcastic like hey I'm totally f'd but look at the bright side I'm gonna be a great meal for a bunch of worms.

Then new verses are about I guess just intrusive thoughts you can't get rid of and trying unhealthy ways to do anything to shake them."

Listen to them and much more on the Playlist

@osornios

#music #MusicMonday #review #september #2022

[chinchilla-7]

Idk where to put this but I wrote it last night and am proud of it enough to post it here. Plus, I don’t want my messed up sleeping schedule to go to waste.

Anyway, here’s a long headcanon type thing of a reader (GN) starting a relationship with Genji and Hanzo Shimada. It really just spurred from my bad crush I have on both of them, but maybe other will enjoy too.

Like I said, I wrote this at 1am, so if there’s any mistakes/weird parts, my bad. I also didn’t proofread this cause we die like men, y’know. Anyway-

Hanzo + Genji x GN!Reader

Disclaimer: No, Hanzo and Genji are not dating each other in this. The reader is just dating both of them at the same time.

You hadn’t meant to develop a crush on both Shimada brothers. It just sort of… happened. The longer you spent being around them - whether it be together or separate (it was usually separate) - the more you fell for their charm. They both had that same special quality about them that you couldn’t keep away from,

It certainly didn’t help that it seemed that both brothers had developed a fondness towards you. Both showed it in different ways, of course: Genji’s walls broke down just enough for you to catch glimpses of his younger, playboyish behaviour; and Hanzo’s walls broke down enough for you to experience a more gentle, softer side of him.

So now you were bouncing back and forth better spending quality time with each of the brothers. You weren’t cheating since you weren’t in a relationship with either of them, but there was still this weird feeling at the pit of your stomach that you couldn’t shake.

Of course, you weren’t the sneakiest about seeing both of them - and given Hanzo and Genji’s past, they knew a thing or two about keeping secrets - so both of them caught wind of your relationship with the other. And, at the beginning, they kept quiet about it, despite how much it bothered them.

This back and forth game couldn’t keep going forever, though, and you knew it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to come to a decision. You had fallen for both of the brothers and having to pick only one hurt more than you were willing to vocalize. Well, until you had to.

Eventually, Genji and Hanzo approached you about the situation; it appeared that they had had a discussion between themselves before coming to you, and a mix of emotions washed over you: anxiety, guilt, fear - the general emotions you’d expect to feel in this situation.

You knew that this was the moment where you had to make a decision. Neither of them were necessarily mad at you, but they had made it clear that they no longer wished to participate in your little ‘game’ as Hanzo put it.

You were quiet for a long moment before you could bring yourself to say what you’ve been feeling. You’ve known for a while what your decision on this matter actually was, you just couldn’t bring yourself to accept it - now, however, there was no choice but to do so.

“I want to date both of you.”

It was an odd statement, you knew that. And it wasn’t odd due to the polygamy that was involved, but rather the fact that you were asking to date brothers. You could tell by the shocked and confused looks that you were going to have to give them more than that as your answer.

“I-I want to be in a poly relationship with you two- you two wouldn’t be dating each other, obviously, but I can’t imagine picking one of you over the other… so I want to be dating both of you.”

You knew it was a lot to ask: a brother being okay with you dating them and their brother. But, there was no other outcome to this that made you happy.

It took all too long for either of the Shimadas to respond. It was Hanzo that spoke first:

“I need some time to consider”

That was not a no, so you were more than happy to accept, especially since Genji agreed with the sentiment. You told them to take the time they needed to think it over and you thanked them for even considering it in the first place. There wasn’t much else said from their end afterwards - it was mainly just a nod and a ‘see you later’ before they both left to their own thoughts.

Though, when you told them to take the time they needed to decide, you didn’t think it would be this long.

It had been about two weeks since you had laid a poly relationship out on the table. You hadn’t really talked to either of the Shimada brothers since then, which was probably for the best, but it only made your gut twist more and more into knots.

They had kept to their word, at least, both taking the time to think it over:

After some deliberation, Genji reached out to a couple close friends to aid in his discussion: Zenyatta was the one he spoke to the longest about it, and it really boiled down to the need to also converse with his brother.

Hanzo, not being as close to as many people, mainly spent his time alone to think. It ended up being the only thing he thought about: being unable to get away from it even during his meditations. His mind would just wonder back to the possibility of dating the same person as his brother. He had nearly reached his breaking point before Angela suggested that he needed to talk to someone in order to get out of his head. And, of course, what better person than Genji.

Despite both of them knowing that it was for the best to speak to the other, it still took a couple days for Genji and Hanzo to sit down and discuss this matter with each other. Sure, they could speak about the fact that you had basically been dating both of them at the same time, but now they couldn’t look at each other at the concept of you actually dating both of them at the same time. Still, they made an attempt, and it was a better attempt than they expected. They even managed to speak about other topics they had been avoiding - it ended up being a rather long conversation.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Ganji and Hanzo approached you once more. If only you could get a read on their faces, but Genji had his visor on and Hanzo was as unreadable as ever. You managed to give them a weak smile, hoping for the best, but expecting the worst.

Though, it seemed that the worst wasn’t the reality.

“Genji and I have taken the time to really consider your… proposal and, after quite a bit of talking, we both agreed to date you.”

Okay, so his wording was a little awkward, but that didn’t bother you. In fact, you barely noticed since you were more focused on the fact that they said yes-

Genij cut off your train of thought: “Though, I think it’s clear that there are, um, boundaries that need to be set before we really go further with this relationship.”

You nodded, agreeing immediately since you knew that came with any relationship - but especially in a polyamourous relationship featuring two brothers.

After that day, and setting some basic ground rules and boundaries, you found yourself in a decent spot dating both of the Shimada brothers. It was rocky at first, of course. The three of you were still finding your footing, but you were the happiest you had been in a while.

There were some moments in the beginning of your relationship that were rough: like during times where the three of you would hang out together, neither were sure if you were okay with them initiating affection while the other was also around - they also weren’t sure if they were willing to tell the others around them the current standing of their relationship. There were quite a few hurdles to get through.

It took some time, but the three of you managed to work through the many challenges that came with the reality of your relationship, and you were so happy that Genji and Hanzo were putting in as much effort as you were. It made this all worth it.

#hanzo x reader #genji x reader #hanzo shimada x reader #genji shimada x reader #overwatch x reader #overwatch headcanons #reader insert #if any of you tag this as sh/m/d/c/st i'll scream #and also eat your bones #hanzo and genji x reader #hanzo shimada #genji shimada #hanzo overwatch #genji overwatch #overwatch

[legolasbadass]

A Lifetime Apart [1/3]

Artwork by the lovely @gwen-ever​

Relationship: Thorin x OC

Summary: Thorin meets his One while still a young prince in Erebor, but their lives are torn apart by their families and the arrival of Smaug. 

Based on Alice Tynan’s interview with Richard Armitage in ‘The Vine,’ this fic was inspired by @gwen-ever’s wonderful art for the @tolkienrsb 2021! 

Warnings: Angst. Seriously guys, this is really angsty, get your tissues ready. (gwen and I are not sorry lol)

Rating: T

As always, the fic can be read on AO3. 

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 

There is a room in Erebor, a secret place where once their love bloomed in peace. All the memories of that place, where he held her and worshipped her with his lips, were forever engraved in his mind. It was there that, after months of struggling with his feelings, he had realized she was his One.

All Dwarves know that Mahal sometimes creates two of his children from the same stone, bonding them for life. Of course, not all Dwarves marry. Even those granted this honour by their Maker do not always choose to marry, for some value friendship above all other bonds, while others devote themselves to their craft. Still, as a young boy, Thorin had hoped Mahal would deem him worthy, and every night he had dreamt of the moment he would meet his One, conjuring their likeness like an artist who paints a picture and gives it life.

He had also wondered what it would feel like to meet his One. Would he know immediately? And how would he know? Perhaps it would be like in those romance novels his sister liked so much. A tender, all-consuming look from across the room, silently reassuring the other that they had found each other at last.

Perhaps due to long hours in the council chamber, Thorin had become more of a realist as the years went on. He always had to be on his guard, and he learned quickly that he could not trust his desires, for they could be manipulated by advisors and enemies alike. Romanticism was fine for artists but not for princes. The idea of a destined love became no more than a child’s fanciful dream, and Thorin grew gradually less opposed to the concept of an arranged marriage until the thought of it did not bother him at all. After all, his parents had been married for a political alliance and had still grown to care for each other. Thorin knew he would do the same.

At least, that was what he had told himself before he met Rúna, his dear Rúna.

He did not know immediately that she was his One, but from the moment their gazes met, he knew he would never again be the same. Her presence had so bewitched him that he had not realized he was walking toward her until she stood right in front of him. Then, stumbling over his every word, he had thought himself defeated, oblivious to the fact that she felt the same indescribable pull toward him.

“Thorin, at your service,” had been his first words to her.

“Rúna, daughter of Ragni, your highness,” she had replied with a curtsy, enchanting him all the more with her melodious voice.

“I hope you are having a pleasant time, Lady Rúna.” Already, he had loved the way her name rolled off his tongue.

“More pleasant than you, at least, seeing as you have found nothing better to do than stare at me from across the room,” she had replied teasingly.

Blushing furiously, he had attempted to remain formal and composed but, ultimately, had failed miserably. “I had hoped that would go unnoticed, or at the very least, that you would humour me and pretend like nothing had transpired. And just because I was watching you does not mean I am not having a pleasant time. On the contrary, my spirits were lifted by the sight of your fairness.”

Thorin could still remember the beautiful blush that had painted her cheeks. “Forgive me,” he had said hastily. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I did not say I did not enjoy it,” she had replied with the most enchanting smirk.

That was how their conversations usually unfolded. Thorin, who always prided himself on being in control and always knowing what to say, would find himself barely able to think. He blamed her low-cut gowns and the redness of her lips for that.

They soon became inseparable. Every day, they would meet in their secret room, a haven where they shared stolen kisses and soft caresses. Âzyungel, she would call him, for she, too, had accepted Mahal’s will. She had accepted Thorin as hers, and in those moments, both of them had believed nothing would ever separate them, for they were destined to be together.

Deep in the caverns of his mind, a voice called out to Thorin, warning him against the intensity of his passion, but he did not listen. He found himself thinking of her at the most inappropriate times, and she haunted the nights he wished he could spend with her. When he closed his eyes, he saw her smile and heard her laughter, clearer than the soft splashing of water against limestone rocks.

What would it be like to spend his whole life with her, his Rúna?

Thorin thought with utter surety that he would soon know when they announced to their families their intent to wed. At first, everyone was overjoyed. Rúna came from a wealthy and respectable family, so the king had no objections to his grandson’s choice — not that any of that mattered to the couple. Ale and Dorwinion wine flowed freely as the news travelled through the mountain. The prince had chosen his princess.

Thorin and Rúna welcomed their families’ approval, but they secretly longed to be alone once more. When at last they found themselves in the comfort of Thorin’s chambers, they drank some more wine between languid kisses, committing the moment to memory. Fingers braided hair then caressed the skin they hastily revealed, their cheeks tainted with the soft glow of love.

That night, like their hearts forever bound, their bodies became one. Thorin was gentle, attentive to her every need, and even afterwards, he continued to bathe her in tenderness, scattering kisses all over her skin as they murmured promises of eternal love to each other, bodies entangled.

Rúna fell asleep to the soft lullaby of his heartbeat beneath her cheek, and though she never doubted for a second his sincerity and devotion, those promises were never fulfilled.

Rúna knew they should have been patient, and although she was usually very sensible, she had not known how to resist her handsome prince, especially not when his body had promised her glorious passion, now and for the rest of their lives. Besides, it was not as though premarital relations were unheard of. However, princes had to follow much stricter rules. And these rules had been carelessly ignored. And as the days went on, Rúna knew she would not have the luxury of keeping their transgression a secret, for inside her bloomed the product of her and Thorin’s love, but also the cause of their demise.

Even if it had not been for her growing belly, her morning sickness and alarmingly fluctuating moods would have given her away. And they did. She had never seen her parents so furious, and their disappointment pierced her heart. Her father shouted about her stained reputation and their ruined bloodline, leaving her in tears as she tried to scramble away in search of Thorin even as she knew it was hopeless.

She knew they would separate them.

King Thror, with the support of Thorin’s parents, banished Rúna from Erebor, never to see her beloved again. She tried to fight them, indignation festered inside her like a poisoned wound, the unattainable promise of Thorin’s love shattering her heart into a million pieces, but it was hopeless.

They did not inform Thorin of this, for it was their firm intention never to let him know about the bastard child. Instead, they told him she was bedridden while they conjured up a more permanent plan. And so, unaware that his One had been taken from him, Thorin brought flowers to Rúna’s door every day. He hated every moment he was forced to spend away from her — it felt unnatural — but he consoled himself by thinking that they would spend their whole lives together.

Then the dragon came.

Thorin had been out hunting in the woods with his siblings when a strong wind began to rattle the treetops. Then a roar like thunder split the sky, and the blood of Thorin’s veins froze when he heard a shout from afar.

“Dragon!”

Rúna.

Without so much as a glance at his companions, Thorin bolted toward the mountain, fear clogging his throat.

Refusing to believe this was real, he did not even stop when the gates loomed above him, riddled in flames, but the screams piercing his ears grounded him to the bitterness of reality. The air was wrought with the stench of burning flesh and the sorrow of a broken people. All around him, children cried in fright, and mothers wept while the distant ringing of useless steel announced their defeat.

No help came from the Elves that day, nor any day since; a betrayal Thorin never forgot. Even if there had been survivors still clawing for breath inside the mountain, they had no means to reach them.

Rúna.

Thorin searched for her everywhere, shouting her name until his lungs burned, but when the moon appeared, and she was still nowhere to be found, Thorin knew it was hopeless. Grief crashed over him like a hurricane.

He had lost her.

He wanted to tear the sky open and demand retribution from Mahal himself, but all his remaining strength he used to remain on his feet. He had to be strong for his people — what remained of them. His family had miraculously survived, but even that could not have filled the gaping hole where his heart had once beat.

Rúna, his dear Rúna. The memory of her lips against his turned to ash in his mouth. When he had last kissed her and held her, he had done so thinking he would have a lifetime to keep loving her. But she was now no more than a memory.

He forced himself not to think of that, for his people needed him now more than ever. Only once he was finally alone did he let his tears run free, and all through the night, he sobbed into his pillow, his only comfort the memories of their secret room, untouched by fire and blood. Thorin held onto those memories all through the years, never forgetting, never forgiving.

—

Khuzdul translations:

Âzyungêl: Love of Loves (used here to refer to the Dwarven belief in a single, destined soulmate)

Taglist: @lathalea @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @mcchiberry @bitter-sweet-farmgirl​ @i-did-not-mean-to​

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my taglist!

#trsb21 #tolkien reverse summer bang #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #thorin fanfic #thorin x oc #thorin x reader #thorin x you #thorin oakenshield x oc #thorin oakenshield x reader #thorin oakenshield x you #a lifetime apart