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sapphicmsmarvel · 3 years

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Ghost Of You

song for this fic: ghost of you

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regular masterlist

Big TW for drug addiction, suicide, grief.

I wrote this after my sister's death in march, the exact same cause.

I was just able to finish this three months later, the ending is so abrupt because I don’t know what life is like after this kind of grief.

We may have disliked each other, but she was still my older sister.

This is how I'm able to cope, read it or not. Fanfic has saved my life many times and has helped me deal with losses.

harry potter was the only thing that got me through that, and that is still getting me through that.

-Fred admired the fact that you loved Ginny as if she were your own sibling.

-As far as he knew you were an only child.

-No matter what, you immediately would drop anything to help Ginny.

-When Fred and George befriended you their first year, they mentioned they have a little sister so you knew of her existence when she came to Hogwarts (as well as Ron but he’ll get his own chapter).

-Fred and George introduced you two, the twins would never admit it out loud but they were worried about her. She’s the baby of the family.

-Pretty soon you two had inside jokes, a secret handshake and were able to communicate just by looks.

-When Fred was dealing with his feelings for you, Ginny called him out on his shit. “Just ask her out.”

“Gin, do you really think she’ll feel the same?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny what I know.” Was her only response as she walked away.

-He confessed later that day.

-12 year old Ginny was a matchmaker for two clueless sixteen year olds.

-Fred quickly realized that Ginny looked up to you.

-It made his heart warm.

-But then he realized something.

-You and him were getting ready for dinner at your home.

When he turned to you, “Sweetheart?”

“Yes?” You turned to Fred.

“I know I’ve never asked you this. But I just realized, some girls I've dated, they immediately would kind of shun Ginny, why did you take to her so quickly?”

“You were my best friend, why would I reject your younger sister?”

“Even then, why?”

You sighed. “I never had a good relationship with my older siblings. Hell, they’re out there right now and I’ve never mentioned them to you.”

“Why?”

“For a reason.” Was all you said. “They abandoned me. My sister she…” You shook your head. “I was expected to raise her two children whenever I was home at the age of fourteen. Notice how I was always stressed at the end of a school year or going home for a holiday?”

“Yeah.”

“It was because I was helping take care of her children. My parents also raised them. But for some reason, every time she got addicted to drugs again, that expectation went to me. To be their mother. Nobody wanted her to clean up her act, they assumed that I would be the one to take care of them.”

“What’d your sister do?” He sat next to you.

“What didn’t she do?” You sighed, setting down the photos your Mum sent. “Addicts, they deserve so much help. But then there's my sister, who goes to rehab even though her plan was to get addicted again because she wants to please her parents rather than actually get clean for her children.” You shook your head, “sorry to get so angry, I just hate the people who give mental illnesses a bad name.”

He held out his hand, you grasped it. “When my magic developed, it was the same dynamic as Lily Potter and her sister. We were close and then...I had magic. There was a chance I wouldn’t because of the fact that my dads a muggle and my mums a witch. Whereas, my brother and sister are technically my half siblings, so they are muggles. When they learned of the Wizarding World, they were excited. New things, magic, blah, blah.” You swallowed.

“Then when I was ten, my brother got up and walked out of my life, never giving a reason. My sister's addiction was hidden for another four years after that. That’s when the chaos started.”

He nodded and kissed your cheek. You took a deep breath, “I’m honestly glad you asked, my dad texted me, she’s gonna be there tonight.”

He swallowed, “we’re a team alright? Give a signal and we’ll leave.”

“What’s the signal?”

“Uh,” he searched for something. “Say Georgie texted you, that he fucked some shit up I don’t know.” He laughed.

You laughed, “I will.” He kissed you forehead.

-The dinner did not go well.

-It ended with a horrible fight between your sister and you. So badly that Fred was worried it was about to turn physical. He sat with your nieces, the three of them watching nervously as the bullets of your words slammed into one another.

-That’s when your sister said they were leaving, took her kids and left. Your dad was furious at you, blaming you for the fight when it was your sister who threw the first dagger.

You sighed, and looked at Fred, “forgot to tell you, Georgie texted me earlier.”

-On the drive home, he held your hand. There was no sound coming from either of you, no music as the car flew to your apartment in Diagon Alley.

-You both walked in your shared apartment, you walked to the bathroom immediately, he got ready for bed. He was worried. You had never been so silent before.

-You walked out of the bathroom and joined him on the bed. “I’m sorry.” You whispered. “What for?”

“For making you endure that stupid fight.”

“Never apologize for standing your ground.” He kissed your cheek.

“I love you.” You said.

“I love you too, how about we go to the Burrow tomorrow, have the day with some family and relax. We can head over tomorrow morning.”

“They won't mind?”

“Like our family needs an excuse.” He wrapped you in his arms and you two dozed off.

-And then while you were at the burrow, you got a text message.

It was the worst day of your life.

Call me sweetheart.

It was your mom, you excused yourself to a greenhouse the Weasleys had added to their house. You called her:

“Mum? What’s up?”

“She's dead, sweetheart.”

“What?” Your heart stopped, you knew in your gut who it was. You knew but yet, you still had hope she wasn’t gone.

Your mother then confirmed your worst fear, that your sister was dead.

You numbingly agreed to your Mums idea of coming home for a couple weeks. And then said you needed a moment.

Your Mum agreed. While your sister wasn’t even her child, she felt for you.

You set your phone down on the glass table and sat down on the wicker couch.

You held your head in your hands.

You had a horrible fight with her the night before, she died thinking you hated her. She died thinking there would be no hope for your relationship.

She died thinking her little sister wanted her gone.

Damnit. Damnit. Damnit.

Your memories began to play on autopilot, of what she was like before the addiction, of being happy and actually having a relationship with each other.

Oh god, her kids.

Before your mind could spiral anymore, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You looked up with tears in your eyes at Fred, who immediately wrapped you in his arms.

“What is it?”

“She’s gone.” You whispered. You weren’t sobbing, your tears were a constant river down your cheeks.

“Who, love?”

Then you said your sister's name, and he squeezed you tighter. You felt him press kisses to your hair.

After 30 minutes, his twin came looking. Fred immediately sheltered you away from the eyes of someone else. Fred began whispering to George what had happened.

Your phone began to buzz with messages, you silenced your phone immediately.

Fred walked over as George stood in the doorway in complete shock. “Georgies gonna distract the family while you head upstairs. I’ll talk to them.”

You nodded, he kissed your cheek.

You numbly walked up to Fred and George’s room to hide away from people to deal with your feelings. You crawled into Fred’s bed, enjoying the warmth and the smell of cinnamon that drowned your senses.

About thirty minutes later, you heard a knock on the door, you did not have the energy to turn around. It opened.

“Y/N/N?” Ginny's gentle voice whispered the nickname only she could call you.

“Hey Gin.” You whispered, not turning around.

You heard the door shut, then you heard her soft footsteps as she walked to the bed. You felt the bed dip as she sat down. “Sister time?”

You nodded and turned around, she immediately laid down next to you, she pulled a blanket on top of you two. You two were facing each other.

“Fred told you I assume?” You laughed without any humor behind it.

She nodded, “they told us all.”

“How did George distract you?”

She rolled her eyes, “the idiot ran outside and slipped in mud so we’d all go find him and laugh or help out.”

Your laugh cracked as it left your mouth. “He looked scared when he found Freddie and I.”

“We thought you guys were fighting.” She admitted.

You huffed a laugh through your nose. She asked, “are you okay?”

“I dont know.” You said helplessly. “We didn’t have a good relationship, her and I. I’m more emotionally drained right now. I cried it all out in Fred’s arms earlier. At least she’s not in pain anymore.” You said sadly. “Addiction is a true mental illness, I wish more people cared about these people.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I have no idea how to respond to I’m sorries so imagine I'm sending you heart emojis right now.”

She nodded. “Do you need me to do anything?”

“No, unless you can respond to my extended family texting me right now with their useless prayers and words.”

“I can if you want me to.”

“Oh yeah? What will you say?”

“Stop shoving words down her throat and let the girl breathe.”

You two giggled, “I have half a mind to let you do that.”

“Say the word and it’s done.”

“I love you, Gin.”

“I love you too.”

The two of you continued to talk, about your sister and what happened between you two. About a quidditch match, anything.

The morning of the funeral, Freddie sat down next to you on the twin bed you two had to share at your parents house.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I think I've figured out the worst part of this situation.”

“What?”

“That we’ll never know if it was a suicide or not.”

He gripped your hand tighter.

At the funeral, you had Ginny holding one hand, and Fred holding the other. The other Weasley’s were all in attendance, even Percy. Fleur came out with Bill as well as Charlie.

You didn't realize how concerned every single Weasley sibling was. Percy had never seen you so stoic, Fleur and Bill had never witnessed you be so withdrawn, Hermione and Ron have never seen you so emotionless, so cold to your surroundings. George was concerned for his new sister, Ginny was feeling for you, her best friend. Harry was grieving for you, his older sister figure.

Fred hated seeing you so unlike yourself.

Her kids sat with their step-siblings. So you sat with the Weasleys. Molly and Arthur cried, not just for your sister, but they knew you lost a piece of yourself with her that you’d never get back.

Your father and you had never had a lovey relationship, even with his daughter dead, your guard was so high up you couldn’t bring it down to give an affection to anyone but Freddie.

Your older sister's funeral was an event that you had not planned for.

You would now grow older than your older sister.

-After the funeral you and the girls were in your bedroom. Fred knew you needed some girl time. The boys and parents were downstairs with yours.

“I don’t know where to go from here.” You admitted.

They all looked at you in response, you continued. “Even though we didn’t like each other, I always thought she’d be there.” You felt the painful prickle of tears. You sniffed. Ginny reached for your hand.

With your free hand, you gestured to the bag in the corner. “That’s her bag, I have to go through that. I can’t make my parents do it.”

“We’re here for you.” Hermione said.

“I can still feel her, like her ghost is following me everywhere.” You confessed.

“I wish we had another chance at being sisters.”

The ending is so abrupt because I can’t relive the feelings I had after my sister's death. The last line of this sums it up though.

#Harry Potter #slytherin #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x slytherin!reader

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unsettledink · 3 years

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Gotcha Chapter 6!

(Trying something new and posting the full text here as well as AO3? It feels too long, but I’ve posted longer things here before, Idk.)

Read on AO3

Peter: sorry im on my way!

Peter: iswear im just running late

Peter: i will be there supr fast!!

Peter: sorry!

Quentin stares down at his phone and somehow, manages not to sigh. It’s a full ten minutes past when they were supposed to meet, and he doesn’t even want to be here in the first place.

Quentin: Don’t worry, it’s fine.

Peter: im sosorry

Peter: my alarm got set for tomorroow instead of today

Peter: i dont even know how

Peter: adn i just woke up and i dont even sleep this late like ever

Peter: but i willl bet there soon i promise

Peter: sorry!

Quentin: Really, it’s fine! There’s no hurry.

Quentin: We’re not exactly on a schedule or anything.

Peter: its so rude tho

Peter: for once it wast me losingt rack of time!!

Peter: im still sorry!

Quentin had given himself a little extra time this morning, just to remind himself of all the many, many reasons he is doing this, in this particular way. Had spent that time summoning up every bit of patience he could find to get through this day, because he had a feeling he was going to need it.

It feels like he’s already used half of it.

And of course he won’t be able to comment on Peter’s lateness, not even as a joke.

Peter: im like hafway there already illl just have to chagne and then ill be there!

Peter: seriously i am so sorry

Normally he’d be all for hearing Peter apologize, but it keeps happening every other word, Quentin will lose his mind.

He’s already losing his mind.

Well, he’s not going to just stand here until Peter does show up. He glances around for somewhere to sit; there’s a coffee shop just across the street. Perfect. He’s going to need that.

Quentin: Hey, don’t rush!

Quentin: I’ll just grab a coffee okay?

Quentin: I’ll be over at Kaldi’s, it’s just across the street. Can’t miss it.

Quentin: You want anything?

Peter: you dont haveto!

There’s no stopping the sigh this time. God.

Quentin: Not what I asked, kiddo.

Peter: um

Peter: suure?

Peter: someting with carmel i dont care mych

Peter: ill be there realy soon tho!!

Quentin: Then we can just sit for a bit.

Quentin: You’ll probably need it if you just woke up.

It’s a little funny how… drastically downgraded Peter’s texting is when he’s apparently still half asleep. Or maybe it’s just that he’s in a hurry. Or—

Quentin nearly stops in the middle of the sidewalk. He— surely, Peter isn’t—

Quentin: Are you texting AND webswinging?

Peter: …maybe?

No wonder he goes through phones so fast.

Quentin: You’re going to drop your phone

Peter: hey! imst icky! i wont drop it!

Quentin: Then you’re going to fall from being distracted

Quentin: And I won’t feel sorry for you.

Peter: :(

Quentin: I’ll laugh

Peter: :( :( :(

Quentin: You brought this on yourself.

He spends the time until Peter gets there reviewing Lynn’s newest plans for the miniaturized drones; they actually aren’t too bad.

Of course, they’ve probably had them sitting, waiting, for months, what with how they’ve harped on and on about how this should be a priority.

It won’t do to let them get too full of themselves, so along with the praise he sends back plenty of potential revisions. Even brings up some entirely new bits for them to consider; should keep them busy for a bit.

“Hi!” Peter says, flinging himself down across from Quentin. He’s flushed and still out of breath, his hair sticking up. “I’m here! I’m so sorry!”

Quentin allows himself a slightly amused smile. “Hi,” he says. Pushes Peter’s drink—some sort of ridiculously sweet caramel flavored thing that’s barely coffee at all—across the table to him. “Sit. Drink. Relax a bit, okay?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, running a hand through his hair and only making things worse. “Yeah, okay. I’m sorry, though. I’m just… it’s really embarrassing to be that late when this was my idea in the first place and—”

“Peter,” Quentin says, cutting him off. “Breathe! It’s fine, I promise.”

For once, Peter listens, and takes a deep breath, holding it in for a moment. Lets it out and relaxes the smallest bit, and grabs his drink. “Oh,” he says. “This is good! Thanks; you were right about me needing it.”

Quentin watches while he unwinds; Peter’s latest idea regarding ‘things they could do together’ was to show Quentin around Queens, so today they’re wandering. Quentin’s thrilled.

It could be worse. Peter had been all set up to take him to the most popular, well known, touristy spots, and Quentin had barely been able to hide his dread at the thought. It’d taken a little work, but he’d manage to convince Peter that Quentin would much rather see Peter’s favorite places. Even if they were nothing fancy or exciting, or little hole in the wall type places, or silly.

Even if they bored Quentin to tears.

Not that he can let Peter see even a hint of that. There’s a special kind of… vulnerability in sharing the smallest things you like, something different than exposing the larger, more damaged pieces of yourself. Something oddly hopeful about showing someone the unexplainable, intimate things you like and waiting for them to enjoy those things as well. Or at the very least, not reject them, in a way that suggests they’re rejecting your tastes as well.

Not rejecting you.

He’s started to prove to Peter he can handle the bigger things, the superhero stuff and the feelings nearly suffocating Peter; time to show that he can be trusted with the little things too. That Peter can come to Quentin with anything at all. Anything. Everything.

“So,” Quentin says. “What’s first?”

He was right; it is pretty boring. Not… awful, surprisingly, but not Quentin’s sort of thing at all. Peter’s apparently decided to try and cover as many miles as he can in one day, dragging Quentin from one end of Queens to the other. And then back; Quentin’s going to take tomorrow off for sure. Peter just has so much energy.

Has so much enthusiasm, Quentin thinks, as they poke through a small used record store that isn’t nearly as hipster as he expected from Astoria. So, so much enthusiasm, for the smallest things. It just bursts out of him once he gets comfortable and isn’t second guessing every single word he says.

Once Quentin has seemed interested in the first few things Peter shows him. Peter’s nervous about it, trying to explain away any shortcomings before Quentin’s even gotten in the door. He’s just desperate for approval, for acceptance. For Quentin to like him.

It’s not that hard to, actually.

It’s never been that Quentin dislikes Peter. Sure, Peter’s causing him grief and can be incredibly annoying, and sure, about half of what he feels for Peter is pity, but those can exist alongside the fact that Quentin kind of likes Peter.

Has liked him, ever since he started compiling research on him, ever since he’d met Peter as Mysterio and shook his hand and watched him get so excited over the existence of multiverse. It’s harder not to like Peter, not even a bit. He’s ridiculously smart, and stupidly good-natured, and—

He throws himself into everything he does; goes full out, with his heart on his sleeve. It’s no wonder he gets anxious as hell, if his first impulse is to practically flaunt all his soft spots, open and eager and expecting the best. It’s going to go poorly more often than not.

Must have, judging by the way Peter pulls himself in and hides, overrides that instinctual reaction so quickly it’s just a flash, a glimpse Quentin keeps catching again and again. He’s been taught to second guess himself somewhere along the way, by someone—probably a lot of someones—who saw those tender spots and couldn’t help poking them, taking advantage of them.

Just like Quentin’s doing; Peter should be better about spotting that sort of thing by now.

It’s almost a shame to fix Peter just to tear him apart completely, to have to use him like this, but… well. In the end, Peter’s nothing but another obstacle scattered in Quentin’s path. There are far more important things to worry about than the fate of one kid.

Peter grins at him when Quentin admits that this dinky little secondhand bookstore in Jamaica was worth a stop, even if it’s just for the most comfortable couch Quentin has ever sat on. Smiles when he points out a mural he loves on the way to the next attraction and admits he’d actually webbed up someone who started to tag it.

Straight up laughs at Quentin’s face when Peter shows him the most supremely creepy things in some huge thrift store, full of weird antiques and vintage crap. God, it’s disturbing that the things Quentin had as a kid, even as a teen, are considered vintage now.

“Jesus, Peter,” Quentin says after he has to look at a one hundred percent haunted taxidermied squirrel. “Why would you make me see that? I’m going to have nightmares.”

“For that exact face,” Peter says. “Oh my god, you look like you think it’s going to bite you!”

“It might,” and it’s unfair that Peter just laughs harder. He glares at Peter, but it might be slightly put on.

He’s allowed to like Peter a little, Quentin decides, watching Peter nearly double over with giggles. It’ll make having to deal with him easier, if nothing else, and it’s not as though liking someone has ever stopped him from using them—even disposing of them—in the past. It sure won’t this time.

They wander some more, Peter chattering on and easily filling the silence as long as Quentin remembers to make the appropriate listening noises occasionally. Every now and then, Peter hesitates, a nervous stumble in his words, something throwing him off, and Quentin reengages fully. He can’t afford to let Peter get too caught up in his thoughts.

But a few questions—carefully designed to make Quentin seem far more interested than he is—are enough to get Peter going again, bouncing from place to place until Quentin suggests they could use something to eat.

“Oh my god, yes,” Peter says. “I’m starving and didn’t even realize it. Ooo, last time we were down here, Ned and I found this awesome truck that does crazy good Korean barbeque, you’d love it.”

“No,” Quentin says without thinking, the sweet tart burnt smell so strong he can nearly taste it, can feel it stinging when he draws in a breath.

He twitches, shrugging it off, and tries to walk back how sharp that had come out. “Uh, I’m not big on sweet sauces and meat?” he says. “Got another recommendation?”

Peter drags him to a place that has the weirdest chimichanga combinations—and normal ones too, thankfully—and once again, attempts to pay.

“You know,” Quentin says as he pokes Peter out of the way, immensely irritated that Peter is still pushing him on this. “I didn’t realize your memory was this bad.”

“Hey!” Peter says. “It’s not! What are you talking about?” like that doesn’t prove Quentin’s point exactly.

“I seem to remember a bet I won,” he says, “relating to this exact situation.”

Peter opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it. “Um,” he says.

“Yeah,” Quentin says,raising his eyebrows.

“Okay,” Peter says, “okay, you can’t blame me for trying!”

“Hmmm,” Quentin says, passing over one of the foam trays. “You’re forgiven. This time. Just don’t do it again.” It’s always a good idea to get Peter into the habit of following Quentin’s rules, of remembering not to challenge Quentin too much.

Of remembering that Quentin will forgive him anything, easily.

“Fine,” Peter says through a mouthful, so mature.

They eat on the way to the next stop on Peter’s little tour; Quentin had been hoping they were approaching the end, but when Peter looks at him and asks, so hesitantly, if Quentin is tired and wants to call it a day—

Well he can’t say no.

Quentin finds himself dragged on to little half hidden shops, with any signage and down stairs that Quentin has to ask how Peter could have found in the first place. To statues Peter likes, to places he feeds pigeons—why he’d want to, Quentin doesn’t know—places with great views of the Hudson.

And, over and over, once Quentin catches on and starts pushing it, places to eat. Because Peter’s metabolism is a thing of wonder.

It’s interesting watching Peter banter back and forth with an older man about his sandwich; Quentin had gotten the impression Peter was uneasy around strangers, all his awkwardness amping up. But the way Peter’s interacted with people today is much more relaxed, much easier. Peter has a sharp sense of humor that Quentin has only started to see, as Peter gets comfortable around him.

Why do all these strangers get it right off the bat?

He watches Peter dart over to help get a stroller over a curb and— they’re not strangers. Not really. It’s not just that everywhere they’ve gone is somewhere Peter has been again and again, to the point where he knows people.

This is Peter’s home ground. His comfort zone, and the people in it— they’re his people. And when he’s helping them, his nerves disappear. His awkwardness becomes a tool of its own, disarming, downplaying the threat Peter could so easily be.

This is what he wants to be when he’s Spider-Man; the guy on the street, helping in a hundred tiny ways.

That’s fine with Quentin. Perfectly fine; now how does he get Peter to stay there, with EDITH looming over his head?

He can practically hear that in William’s voice, ugh. He’s working on it.

They wind up in Kissena late in the afternoon, almost early evening, really. Peter steps off the path once they get into one of the more wooded areas, and there’s a grassy spot past a few bushes, with a truly massive tree near the center, smaller ones scattered around it. It’s well hidden.

“Alright,” Quentin says, as he has with every other place, “what's the story behind this? How’d you find it?”

“So, when I got bit, when everything changed?” Peter settles down at the base of the tree, cross legged. “One of the things that was like, a huge pain, was how all of my senses got crazy amplified. Everything was turned up to eleven, you know?”

Quentin sits across from Peter, stretching his legs out as he leans back. Ugh, grass; he’d better not end up with bug bites. “Okay,” he says. “Sounds like that was pretty overwhelming.”

Peter groans. “You have no idea! It was really hard for a while, because even once I started to get used to everything being too loud and too bright and too smelly and— things tasted weird and my clothes made me feel like my skin was crawling and it was—” He stops, tipping his head back against the tree and looking upward.

“It was a lot,” he says. “Eventually I sorta started being able to deal with all that sort of… feeling stuff? I mean, physical, sensory, not like feeling feelings.”

Coherent; Quentin does not roll eyes through sheer force of will.

“But I was still really struggling with the, um,” Peter frowns, tips his head back further until Quentin can’t really see his face. “The stuff in my head. Actually doing things, thinking about things or even focusing on one thing was all so hard. It was like…”

“It was like what?” Quentin asks, after a few moments have passed.

“Everything was a distraction,” Peter says, slowly. “That’s still not right, because normally, before, I’d get distracted thinking about something else I wanted to do, or I’d be daydreaming, or, um, just, good stuff? Stuff that I’d want to focus on, just not right that second.”

“This wasn’t like this.” Peter looks down and starts to fiddle with a bit of grass, pulling up blades one by one. “This was like so much noise inside my head, like every little detail about every single thing was right there, grabbing my attention. I’d be trying to do one thing and all that would be clamoring at me nonstop.”

He closes his eyes, scrunching his whole face up. “People talk about wanting super sense a lot,” he says, “but it sucked so much at first.”

“People generally don’t think through those kinds of wishes very much,” Quentin says. Honestly, for the most part people don’t think at all.

“I’m pretty much okay now,” Peter says. “I figured out how to filter things most of the time; when there’s a bunch of stuff at once I can get so caught up in trying to ignore it that I ignore everything, and then that’s it’s own problem.”

“I noticed,” Quentin says, dryly. “Makes you pretty jumpy.”

Peter huffs, almost a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, brushing the ripped up grass off his pants. “I’m still working on getting the kinds of focus right?”

Quentin leans further back on his hands, crossing his legs. “You said something about focusing on me that one time,” he says, and Peter goes faintly pink. “That the sort of thing you’re talking about?”

“Something like that,” Peter says. “If I have one thing I can focus on, almost completely, then I can make it into… uh, white noise, I guess? Or it makes everything else into white noise. If that makes any sense at all.”

Not one bit, but whatever. He can press that later. “Sure,” Quentin says, waving his hand. “I’m following.”

It’s actually something to consider— if Peter manages to function better in difficult situations by focusing on one specific thing, what happens when that thing is taken away? Is ripped away from him, in fact. Would there be a moment of disorientation they could take advantage of? Maybe they could set Peter up to focus on what they want; he’s already using Quentin as a focal point, apparently.

He’ll have to watch Peter, Quentin thinks. This fumbling little explanation leaves a lot to be desired, but he doesn’t have much faith Peter actually could explain it better even if he tried.

“That helps,” Peter’s saying, “but it’s still really exhausting after a while. Sometimes I want to just… stop. Just not feel it at all, not have to try not to feel it.”

He glances at Quentin, and Quentin nods. Peter looks oddly shy, so he’d better pay close attention to what he’s showing.

“I’ve found a couple of places like this, but this is probably my favorite,” Peter tells him. “I can come here and actually relax. If I stop trying to block things out, or stop focusing on one thing, it doesn’t matter.” He tips his head back again, looking up at the tree.

“It's quiet here, pretty much all the time,” Peter says; the light through the leaves is diffuse, dappled on his face. “Even the noises that I get are like, soft things. Leaves and wind and things walking on grass. People talking, yeah, but that’s more distant and almost like background noise. It’s still shadowy in here when it’s super bright out, and there aren’t any super gross strong smells either. Just dirt and water and uh, green stuff.”

He darts a glance down at Quentin without moving his head. “Don’t laugh at me!” he says, and it’s right on the edge of plaintive. “I don’t know what else to call it.”

“I’m not,” Quentin says. He understands; it’s not something a city kid would be around that often, would probably even notice without senses like Peter’s. “I wouldn’t. I know what you mean, Peter.”

“Okay,” Peter says. Looks back away from Quentin and then closes his eyes. “It’s nice. And when I have to go back to the real world, it’s not quite as hard to handle.”

Quentin watches him. Watches as he slowly, slowly unwinds. Peter doesn’t move, aside from his head tipping slightly to the side, and Quentin—

He’d thought, earlier, that it was interesting how much Peter loosened up around people he felt comfortable with, places he felt safe. He’d thought it was a large degree of relaxation—and it was—but it was nothing compared to this.

Nothing compared to the way the tension drains from him with each passing second, from every single bit of his body, until he looks calmer than Quentin has ever seen.

Happier.

If this is how he looks when truly relaxed, the level of stress Peter must carry with him every day, everywhere he goes—from the physical tension to the mental, the anxiety, the constant background level of effort that other people don’t have to think about—must be ridiculously high.

He doesn’t want to say anything, do anything, that would break the stillness that seems to have spread over the entire glade. Poor kid. He might be doing a great job at being a pain in Quentin’s ass, but he isn’t cut out for this superhero shit.

Everything Quentin sees just convinced him further that taking EDITH from Peter really is doing him a favor. He’d never intended for that to be true, but— it’s not a terrible byproduct.

Peter sighs eventually, a barely there breath of a thing, opening his eyes halfway. He looks dazed, almost half asleep.

At least, until he notices that Quentin is watching him, and then he flushes. Looks down, the moment dissipating. “Anyway,” Peter says. “It’s— it’s a nice place for me,” like he’s admitting something embarrassing.

“I can tell,” Quentin says, offering him a small smile. “You deal with a lot every day, don’t you.” He shifts against his tree, trying to get more comfortable without Peter noticing and getting all fussy about it.

“I guess,” Peter says.

He picks up a leaf, twirling it through his fingers absently. “It’s getting really frustrating,” he adds. “Because it’s been almost two years, right? So I should have a better handle on this! I shouldn’t still be getting tripped up by such little things. And—” he makes a face, shoulders starting to hunch again.

“So I have this… this sense? Uh, I call it a spidey sense— I know, it’s kind of stupid. It sort of warns me about things? Like someone poking me, or shouting that something bad is about to happen.”

“Mmm, you mentioned that once,” Quentin says. “Sort of like a limited precog?” Honestly, he’d dismissed it— not fully, it wouldn’t do to completely dismiss anything about Peter. But it hadn’t seemed like it did much for Peter in Europe.

And it hadn’t picked up anything about Quentin, so how good could it really be?

“Oh, huh,” Peter says. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that? Maybe, but it’s not very exact. Sometimes it’s super obvious, but others it takes me a while to figure out what’s wrong. And lately, especially, it’s been— it’s gone kinda nuts? I don’t feel like I can trust it anymore.”

“Like, like right now?” he adds. “Right now it’s just going off like something really big and bad is happening, but come on!” He throws his hands up, exaggerated. “We’re just sitting here talking! Nothing, literally nothing bad is happening. It’s freaking out for no reason.”

Fuck.

Maybe he really shouldn’t have dismissed it, Quentin thinks, trying to stay as relaxed as he was a moment ago. Maybe he really fucking shouldn’t have, because some part of Peter knows that Quentin’s not good news. Knows that Quentin is something dangerous, is a threat.

And apparently knows it very, very insistently. Oh, fuck, this is the last thing he needs. Why now? Why is Peter’s sense losing its shit now and not at any time in Europe? What has he done differently to set it off?

God, what if it had been going off then too? Could that be why Peter had backed off at the last second in the bar, EDITH almost in Quentin’s hand? Has Peter been feeling this the entire time?

It’s a good thing he doesn’t seem to be listening to it, but that could stop at any second. At any time, Peter could decide that maybe his stupid ‘spider sense’ isn’t wrong, and that would be— that would be bad. That would be so bad.

Quentin has got to figure out how to make sure Peter keeps dismissing what it’s telling him.

“It’s so annoying,” Peter’s saying. “I wish it would stop, would just shut up already. It’s like this constant thing lately, sort of fading in and out but almost always there, but not a single thing has happened!”

Oh, that’s really, really not great. Almost always? In and out? How long will it take before Peter starts to realize it’s linked to Quentin?

No. No, he can fix this. He can nip this in the bud, before Peter has even a hint of suspicion. Peter’s already trying to ignore it, already annoyed by it. Quentin can use that.

“Maybe it’s just confused?” Quentin brings one knee up and rests his elbow on it, letting his arm dangle oh so casually. “After all,” he adds, “I’m hardly a bad thing, am I?”

Peter smiles, all that irritation gone in a second. “No!” he says. “Of course not! You’re like, the least bad thing that’s happened in a while.”

Quentin grins back at him. Yeah, keep thinking that, kid. “Well that’s a relief!” he says. “How finely tuned is this thing anyway? Could something have… I don’t know, damaged it? Hmm, screwed up its baseline, maybe? How do you even recalibrate it?”

“I have no clue,” Peter says. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t really test it or fix it or whatever. It’s practically useless now.”

Perfect; he wants Peter distrusting this sense. Wants him not thinking about it at all, avoiding the topic entirely— ah.

If he can get Peter thinking his damaged sense has something to do with the fights he’s been in, these bigger battles, that would be ideal. Peter’s already trying hard not to think about those; tie this sense to them as well, and he’ll just have even more reason to avoid both

“Could something have overloaded it?” Quentin asks. “Just completely swamped it, and it hasn’t recovered yet? If it got used to there being danger nonstop, on all sides, maybe it can’t stand down.”

“…maybe?” Peter says. “But I don’t know what would have caused that, or even when. It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

What.

Really, Quentin thinks, really? Peter can’t think of anything that would fit? Why wouldn’t he think of that? “Nothing?” he says, quietly.

Peter frowns. Takes a moment, and when he opens his mouth, Quentin is almost sure he’s made the connection; but Peter hesitates. Shrugs. “Not anything that’s like, major or a big deal or anything,” he says.

Does Peter— has he really managed to convince himself that all the fighting he’s done is nothing? Or at least, been trying to, because that hesitation says a lot.

He should have expected this, with the way Peter’s consistently downplayed himself so far. He really should have, but somehow it still annoys him. No wonder Peter isn’t willing to admit how scared and screwed up he is, if he thinks he’s completely overreacting to ‘no big deal’.

“Well,” Quentin says, and he’s watching Peter carefully. He doesn’t know quite how this will hit. “You were at war, on a battlefield. More than once, even. That can really mess you up in all kinds of ways.” Remember, Peter, he thinks. Remember that you were hurt, that there’s a good reason to be scared. To run.

“I— that—” Peter stares at him. “I wasn’t in a war,” he says. Dammit. Looks like downgrading it in his head is exactly what Peter’s been doing, and that is exactly the opposite of what Quentin wants.

“No? What would you call it?” Quentin asks, raising an eyebrow. He pushes himself more upright, uncrossing his legs. “It sounded a lot like war to me.”

Peter shakes his head, fingers crushing the leaf he’s been playing with. “It was just a fight,” he says, strained. “That’s all!”

A fight. Just a fight, like it was nothing more than a little spat, was nothing at all. Has someone been telling him this, reinforcing it? Fury, maybe, or even Tony before that?

He knows Fury wants Peter to think he can handle things, but has he also been trying to convince him that what he’s been through so far was small enough Peter should have been able to handle it? Should be able to handle the aftereffects? That he shouldn’t be upset about it, that he’s overreacting?

That’s not good; Quentin doesn’t need Peter doubting he can handle things. He needs Peter to be certain he can’t, and more, that it’s perfectly normal. Acceptable. Not something horribly selfish at all.

“Peter,” he says, “it wasn’t just a fight.”

“It was! It was just one— it wasn’t a war!”

“It wasn’t— Peter,” Quentin says, and sighs. “It was a lot more than that. You’ve been dragged from fight to fight to fight the past couple of years, without anyone helping you after; from what I hear, you really could have used some after that thing upstate.”

He huffs, too sharp to be a real laugh. “And that’s just what I know of,” he adds. “I’m not stupid enough to assume that’s everything.”

Peter sucks in a sharp breath, his hands fisted on his thighs. Blinks, and then looks at Quentin intently, his brow furrowed. “How do you even know about that? About— about other fights?”

“I spent some time talking with Fury,” Quentin says. “He wasn’t big on details, but I got enough that I can fill them in on my own. I’m willing to bet he doesn’t even know every fight you’ve been in, though I’m sure he’d like me to think so.”

He’d been talking with Janice, more like. God, she’d been such a find; seething about having had Tony himself be an ass to her, more than once, but willing to stay where she was to pass things on. She’d had access to so much confidential information, and every time SI and SHIELD decided to bury another thing, shift the blame and throw money at it until it all went away—for them, at least—she’d gotten a little more resentful.

It’s true that they might not have the finer details—it drives him nuts how sparse the info about whatever it was that crashed SI’s plane into the beach is—but he has enough to know that Peter’s been involved time and time again.

“Oh,” Peter says, looking down, losing some of his ire. “You probably didn’t hear much good, I bet. But— it doesn’t matter if it was more than one fight, cause they were all different. All like, spread out and about other stuff. It’s still not war.”

“What do you think war is, then?” Quentin asks, actually curious.

“I don’t, uh. War is… more?” Peter stumbles along, and he’s being incredibly stubborn about this. “More than that, than any of those. Worse. Way worse. You don’t— you weren’t there, you don’t know what it was really like. It wasn’t like that.”

“I think,” Quentin says dryly, “I have a pretty good idea of what war is.”

Peter looks absolutely horrified. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he says. “God, I didn’t mean— I’m sorry, I didn’t think— I just, just meant that you were in a war. In a real, horrible, endless one and this…” He shudders. “These were just fights. It’s not the same, it’s not anywhere near as bad.”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter says. Looks at Quentin and then drops his head into his hands, knees coming up as he curls in on himself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry Quentin, I didn’t mean…”

This is really not what he was going for. Shit, he shouldn’t have said it like that; Peter’s too sensitive for him to be even a little sharp.

Quentin sighs, very softly, though he’s sure Peter still catches it. Pushes himself up onto his feet and walks over to Peter, who doesn’t even look up. “I know you didn’t mean it like that,” Quentin says. “It’s okay, Peter.”

Peter just shakes his head a little; Quentin thinks of sighing again but—somehow—manages to restrain himself. He sits down next to Peter, his back against the tree.

“War doesn’t have to go for a long time to be real,” he says, not looking at Peter. “It doesn’t have to drag on and on for it to still be awful, for it to still affect you,” and Jesus, he’s had to hear shit along those lines so many times. Had to sit there and listen to people be told over and over that what happened to them is worth being fucked up over.

Even if it isn’t. There’s a lot of reasons he never opened his mouth at those meetings, and his disgust at everyone else was the biggest. What a waste of time.

Well. Maybe not. It did give him the material to work Peter over.

“It doesn’t have to be some huge, dramatic battle to qualify,” Quentin says. “It still counts. Pretending it doesn’t doesn’t get it out of your head.” Come on, he thinks, let it be bad, be a nightmare. Admit that there’s a good reason, a real reason, for you to be scared, and then you can back down without shame. Come on, Peter.

“It doesn’t feel like it should count,” Peter says, a bit muffled, head still in his hands. “It wasn’t— lots of people have dealt with so much worse. Something like this, it’s not— it’s not an excuse for, for…”

He doesn’t finish that thought, but Quentin doesn’t need him to. An excuse, hmm? He turns his head toward Peter, just a bit. “Why don’t you want to call it a war?”

Peter lifts his head, arms sliding down to cross across his chest. “Why does it matter to you what I call it?” he asks, and there’s a hint of sharpness in there. Maybe even anger. “Why do you even care if I admit— if I think it’s a war?”

Nice little slip there; isn’t that interesting. Peter does know it was more than a few little fights. He knows, he’s just trying as hard as he can to pretend otherwise. Trying to redirect, as usual, turning the question back on Quentin. Why does it matter, Peter wants to know, and there are so many answers Quentin could give.

It matters because you need to see yourself as badly damaged. Because you need to acknowledge that this is something huge and overwhelming and frightening. Because I need you to start accepting what I say as right, start accepting me as an authority. I need you to not question me.

So many reasons, and he can’t tell Peter any of them. Ugh.

He turns further toward Peter. “Because I think you’re doing yourself a disservice,” Quentin says, tightly, irritation rising up in him. “When you sit there and insist that it’s nothing more than a little fight, when you play it off like it’s nothing— you’re devaluing what you did, and that’s wrong.”

“Don’t act like what you went through, what you did, doesn’t count,” Quentin says, and Peter’s looking over at him, startled. “That it wasn’t brave as hell, and terrifying as hell too.”

Peter stares, his eyes very wide. “I— it’s not like I did more than anyone else there. Than, than anyone else would have.”

“It sounds like you did more than enough,” Quentin says. “And— it doesn’t matter, Peter. It still messes you up. War fucks everyone up. Maybe it didn’t go on long enough for it to really warp your thinking, your morals or empathy or capacity to even feel, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t damage you.”

Peter jerks, sitting up straighter. “I’m not damaged!”

For fuck’s sake.

Quentin has to dig deep for a bit more patience. “Sure you are. Hey, Peter— wait,” he says, watching as Peter shuts down all over again, hurt. “That’s not bad, kid. It’s not an insult. It’s just… you gotta admit that before you can get better.”

Or not, if Quentin gets his way; admitting it might lead to Peter actually getting over his fear and stepping up. But with Quentin around, guiding him along? Peter’s never going to take that admission as anything other than a personal failure.

As just another reason he can’t, and someone else should.

“I don’t know,” Peter mutters. “It doesn’t feel like it should count.”

Quentin watches him for a minute. Leans in, his shoulder bumping against Peter’s. “You’d agree that I’ve been in war, right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“And that I’m able to judge what is and isn’t war. Right?”

Peter can be smart, sometimes. He sees where this is going. Sighs. “Yeah,” he says.

“Will you—” Quentin pauses, waits until Peter is looking at him. “Can you trust me here, and believe that I mean it when I say what you went through was war?”

Peter blinks, his eyes dropping. He’s silent, and Quentin can feel the muscles of his arm moving as Peter fiddles with something out of sight. “I’ll think about it,” Peter says, which is not quite the response Quentin was hoping for. Still, it’s not another denial. Baby steps.

“I’ll— maybe,” Peter says. “I guess you would know, even if you weren’t there.”

“You should listen to me,” Quentin agrees, leaning a little harder against Peter. “I do know!”

You should listen to me, and only me, he thinks. We’ll get you there, kid.

Peter huffs softly, pushing back against Quentin’s shoulder. “Maybe,” but he’s smiling faintly.

Quentin smiles back; he can accept a maybe, for now.

He’ll get a yes soon enough.

#mysteryspider #spiderio #quenter #quentin beck x peter parker #quentin x peter #mcu #spiderman #gotcha #wip #my work #fanfiction

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captainshazamerica · 3 years

Note

🎪 titans spoilers

Tim is too well mannered and smart to be associated with the titans they're a literal bunch of toddlers although donna felt like an old lady being called miss troy and ma'am (I'm 23 an I love being called ma'am my brains like who me I'm an adult cool) 😅 gar and tim are prob gonna bond over being the only titans capable of rational thought 😅 The train was quite cool tbh yo how long have people been on that train cuz that one lady looked very 1920s to me

HANK HALL YOU BEAUTIFUL PRECIOUS ANGEL I knew he wasn't gonna make it out of there but my dumb brain held out a smidge of hope Hank is always in protector mode and always concerned about saving the children he tries to help jason and boom dead he tries to help tim and oh no still dead dang it hank, when donna was like oh no dawns gotta be so upset and hanks like yeah she better be 😅 donna wanted to stay and had to leave and hank wanted to leave and had to stay 😢 donna and hank talking about jason and hes like that little fcker blew me up! I know he talked about revenge on jason and I do think that if he got back he would be focused on stopping jason but I also think over a little time he'd forgive him and they'd kinda be buddies again and he'd help him with the drug problem also hank should get to kick crane in the face cuz yeah. Of course hank be driving around the after life blasting living on a prayer and he manages to find a car and a hotel I'm so happy he's with his brother now tho they gonna be kickn ass in the after life hanks basically some type of afterlife guardian now so I'm taking that as he's literally an angel 👼

Maybe hank donna and tim all had the good luck to find each other because of the ritual thingy they were tryna do at themyscira oh my gosh rachel is too funny her idea of themyscira punishment was being made to fight a shark or getting thrown in a pit 😂 that lady tho was that hippolyta and she saying her daughter being dead and earlier donna said to hank it's not like I died stopping an asteriod I died at a carnival so am I connecting stuff that ain't there or did Diana get killed stopping an asteriod? Ahem DONNA WITH THAT SWORD THO why is she so cool can she have a sword on team titans pls now

Okay but honestly somebody please please please help bruce what the heck dick I get he's got a lot to deal with but he could contact bruce now and again and I dunno maybe make him aware that jason is not dead!!! I don't even know if bruce knows or not Although I do think it is interesting character wise that when he broke his no killing rule he ended up turning on himself I really hope they don't just blow past his grief like someone please maybe donna talk to bruce please I was sitting getting so annoyed like bruce spends his whole life as batman and trying to help gotham and save people and there's no one there to save him and then donna swoops in donna I love you

Hank trying to use the power of his imagination to produce a weapon and he ends up with nightwings wingdings 😅😅😅 that was so hilarious to me p.s for that ask game the other day you asked who my fav legends was it's Zari Tomaz (theres two zaris but I've just got a softer spot for the first one) 💕💕💕

also dc should do a really cool back and white noir movie and a scarecrow movie like the way they did that joker movie would be dope too (it would also be intensely cool if they did a dc black label psychoanalytical exploration of Dr Jonathan Crane leading into Scarecrow stories because honestly I think he's one of thier more frightening villians cuz yeah if joker comes to mess you up it won't be a fun time but at least whatever he does to you he's not going to achieve locking you inside your own mind and there's a chance batman or someone will save you but with scarecrow if he comes to mess you up there's a high chance that he'll screw your brain up that much that you literally get trapped in your own mind and like how is anyone gonna be able to get you out of that also the clinical medical-ness would be a touch extra frightening cuz he can mess up with precision whereas joker will wreck you anyway he can but he's not gonna be able to be so precise in what he's doing sorry for the rant but they have such cool characters and so much potential to do stuff with them like ahhh )

Omg I just realized I never replied to your previous titans ask ahhhh I am so sorry!!!! I love getting your asks!!!!

LMAO, u right, Tim IS waaayy too good and pure and smart for the titans ahahaha. Protect him ahhh. I would die for him omg, I absolutely LOVE how they are doing him and how Jay is portraying him omg its near perfect.

Ahahaha, thats so funny xD people called me Ma’am when I worked at Disney world and it always freaked me out xD Especially cause I look so much younger than I am xD It is nice but weird being considered an adult ahahaha

True, Gar and Tim are the only ones with braincells omg xD I feel like they will get along really well awwww.

Omg I thought that one lady on the train looked like she was from the 20’s too!

Right! Hank has grown on me sooo much, like I didn’t really like him 1st season, was indifferent 2nd season, and like him a lot this season. Oh my dumb butt def didn’t think/occur to me that he wouldn’t get out tbh xD I think it works out for his arc though, especially with him and OG kicking butt together there, that was so cute and sweet and perfect. Tho I do want resolution between him and jason but i guess that isn’t gonna happen :(

Huh, interesting about the Diana theory, I never thought of that but you right, I can see that/it makes sense!

Omg I couldn’t handle donna pulling a sword while hank got freaking Robin throw stars and nunchunks that he immediately got hit in the face with xD That was too freaking funny “I was defiantly NOT thinking about Grayson” xD lmaooooo

Dude, this Bruce is so freaking erratic omg. Gosh, I really hope Dick can help him and we get some father son bonding cause my gosh Bruce has me STRESSED this season omg, God bless Donna Troy. I truly thought he was gonna die there! Not even saying goodbye to Dick, smh!

Huh, Ive never heard of Zari Tomaz, Ill have to look her up!

BRO A BLACK AND WHITE SCARECROW MOVIE WOULD BE SO FREAKING GOOD OMGGGGGG. Pleasseeee DC! Gosh, I would KILL for a “psychoanalytical exploration of Dr Jonathan Crane leading into Scarecrow story”, omg, gosh that would be PERFECT! Crane is SUCH an underrated and underused villain! And omg dont apologize cause like same and i love seeing your analysis and rants!!

#batanon #titans spoilers #titans #titans s3 #scarecrow #meredith thoughts #meredith gets an ask #ask #anon #long post

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fairycosmos · 4 years

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chloe what do you do when you feel really suicidal? but like not like before- but NOW that you are grieving such a painful loss? dont need to answer but i read your a. to the anon that felt trapped and like they couldnt leave now bc their sibling died too and like you and that anon i feel the same. im so so suicidal chloe. i cry every day and night and i feel despertate but my parents just lost their child so. how do you cope... as much as its possible. what do we do? fuck.

dude i am so sorry you're in the same position as me and you are going to hate me for saying it but there is no satisfactory answer 😔 it's a cruel joke. we're in the worst pain we've ever been in, and our instinct is to want to make that stop. but we can't because now we're obligated to stay alive, where all the hurt is, because we're one of the only ones left. and we dont want to cause more of this feeling by ending it all. it's like a contract you didn't agree to and are now trapped in for the foreseeable. grief is the absolute heaviest thing a person can carry, it's a fucking nightmare. it doesn't make any sense, it doesn't have a cure and it's disorienting as fuck. it's ok to be exhausted by it. reality has been irreparably worsened and it's an absolute tragedy, it's completely unfair. personally i'm more suicidal than i've ever been, but like you, i know i'm not going to do anything. and in moments of great pain, where i want to act on those thoughts, i find myself coming back to that fact. i watch the idea of suicide run its course through my head and then i acknowledge the reality of things, that i can't leave. that it doesn't matter how sad i am and how tired i am, because i'm still here, and processing these emotions is a part of that. the urge to kill myself is there, but the actual act of suicide has never been less of an option than it is right now. so i can feel whatever i need to feel, but there's no point leaning into it or daydreaming about it. because it's not going to happen. sometimes i'm screaming and crying to myself in absolute agony while this is all going on, and sometimes i'm just sitting staring at my phone, numb. the desperation is very real, and i understand that. but it is not as urgent as it feels in the moment. no matter how many times i think i'm at my limit, i know that there's going to be tomorrow. and at the moment that sounds like a really bad thing. but i know that by waking up my parents aren't getting a call saying i'm dead, which for now is kind of the whole point. i am living to minimize their trauma, i am living for them, and an optimist would have hope that that could keep me alive long enough until i get to the point where i can eventually live for myself again. i could definitely see that for your future, even if you can't. the thing is you don't have to know what to do and you dont have to look for ways to fill the void that has been left behind by your sibling. you just have to learn to exist alongside it, and i do mean just exist. as awful as it is. waking up, putting one foot in front of the other, crying and crying and crying. that is good enough. i know it doesn't feel like much of a life, but. it's the short term answer, or so it seems to me. another thing i remind myself of is how it all comes in waves. waves are the nature of both grief, and strong suicidal urges. maybe they're always running in the background, but the moments of pure despair where you feel like you're bursting at the seams, they're so strong and harsh that they flare out faster than you realize. and they feel unbearable, and i know those moments are very frequent when you're in our position, but it's good to remember that the intensity of their nature makes them temporary. especially if the grief is fresh, every little thing triggers an avalanche of hopelessness. but some part of me believes these experiences will either a. become less persistent with time or b. become a part of us we learn how to navigate. at the moment, the simple act of being completely broken by these episodes means you're surviving them. i think it's not a matter of knowing how to cope, but knowing that if you're here to ask these questions - what do i do, how do i go on, etc - then that is proof you have been coping. and it probably doesn't feel like you have been. i think there's a common misconception that coping is thriving, letting go, having positive memories. and sure that's a part of it. but there is a lot of darkness and absolute horror to work through before that. additionally, there is no rule book on how exactly to work through it. theres just time, experience, learning what works for you and hanging on. i'm trying to hold my own hand through it, i'm trying to look at the present moment i'm in and just think about what i need at that very second. not what i'm going to do tomorrow, not what i should've done yesterday, but what i have to do right now to make it through. a lot of the time the answer is nothing, and i just sit and stare or cry, because like i said, ultimately nothing can fix it. theres no epiphany that can change what happened.

as far as practical things you can to do combat suicidal thoughts goes, i have a few suggestions that i really hope you consider as viable choices: talk to your doctor/therapist - idk where you live or what your financial situation is like, but if it's at all an option i would really urge you to seek professional help. at least let your GP know what you're dealing with so maybe they can refer you to a therapist, or give you some mental health resources. grief counselling is also a step in the right direction. having someone to talk to and implementing positive coping mechanisms into your day to day life, even if it's the last thing on earth you want to do, can work wonders. understanding your own suicidal thoughts, why you react the way you do and what you can do about it, can really come in handy when you're breaking down. it's ok to reach out. it's ok to visit different counsellors until you find one that fits you. it's ok to treat your emotional turmoil as seriously as you'd treat any physical disease. there is always support and treatment options available in some form, and it is always worth looking into.

call a (grief or suicide) hotline - i've had the hotline number open in my browser for days. if you are in a moment of crisis, it can absolutely help to have someone talk you through your emotions, listen to your pain, and then give you some gentle recommendations as to what you should do next or where to go from here. you don't have to tell them your name, you don't have to say anything you don't want to say. you're in control of the call and they care about keeping you going. you're not alone. theres also online grief support groups - i'm in a sibling loss group on fb. it's absolutely crazy how many people are in this position.

talk to your parents/family/friends - i know saying 'this is a tough one' is a giant understatement. idk if it's the same for you, but i've been isolating to cope and i don't want to tell anyone what i'm thinking because they're already having such a hard time grieving my sister. but if there's anyone you trust, i just want you to know it's alright to lean on them. it's up to you how much you open up, but the urge to keep to yourself leads nowhere. those around you can relate (to an extent) with your grief, and sharing it, talking about memories and crying together - it's fucking awful, god it's the worst thing ever, but it's necessary. and i don't want to say it helps, but a shared burden is always better than trying to shoulder it alone. you deserve to be listened to and supported. and if you think you're being an inconvenience to your loved ones, that's your inner self hatred talking. they would likely rather be there for you when you need it, than have you harm yourself because you kept it all pent up. it's a lot easier said than done, but it's important to keep in mind that it's an option.

try to create a safe space - try to remove things from your living space you could use to harm yourself with, and make the environment as comforting as possible. refer back to safe coping mechanisms/ distractions that have worked in the past - this can be as simple as going for a walk, watching stupid shit on your phone, meditation, having a crying session, writing to your sibling or just about how you feel in general. these are not suggestions that will solve anything or cure mental illness by any stretch of the imagination. they just get you out of your head. that can really make a difference.

create a crisis plan and learn what triggers you - this is a bit of a process but that's alright. being able to identify what sets you off, and being able to recognize your own toxic thinking patterns/behaviours, is the first step towards combatting them. another idea is, if you do end up talking to a loved one or a mental health professional, come up with a plan with them regarding what they should do when you're suicidal and your judgement is impaired. you can even start by just making one for yourself, like writing down a few suggestions as to what you should do when you're in a crisis, what your other options besides suicide are.

i think that's all i've got right now. i'm sorry this got so long, especially when i know nothing truly helps. i just know what it's like having all this useless life in front of you that you're going to have to fight through without the one person who always should've been there. i keep thinking about what she'd say to me if she could see me, and i know she'd be livid if i threw my life away, but. that doesn't change the fact that she didn't get to live hers, and that i miss her so so much it aches. i keep coming back to the idea that our relationship will continue to grow beyond death. i can still talk to her, reminisce with her, understand her, love her. so much of this reality was shaped by her. it's not the same as when she was here, but it's not total absence either. anyway, i'm so so sorry for your loss and i hope you can just focus on taking care of yourself, love. because your life still has so much worth and you deserve to see your own future even if you cant stand the thought. moments of happiness and peace are still 100% possible. it's just never going to feel like it did before. and it's ok if you spend the rest of your life struggling to come to terms with that fact, because at least you got to live the rest of your life. i'm sending so much love to you and i'll be here if you need a friend. one day at a time.

*no pressure to read all this you can just refer back to it whenever you feel the need

#anon #tw suicide #long post #sorry i dont shut up💖 this 1 hurt

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houseki-no-suffering · 5 years

Text

on ch 82 and what the hell is the deal with phos

super long wall of words ahead, you've been warned. also, im not qualified to discuss the emotional effects of trauma, so please correct me where im wrong and don’t hesitate to add on this post

contains an analysis of phos’ character arc, explanation on why and how they snapped and what might happen to our child next:

1. genki phos 2. post winter phos 3. laphos 4. on trauma 5. on snapping 6. speculations about the future

so, first things first, I could not help but notice the sheer number of parallels between this chapter and other significant points of the story. it seems to me that parallels are becoming more and more frequent as the moon arc goes on, and that’s not just because there are simply more chapters to draw parallels from as the story grows in size.

I believe that we’re at a turning point in the story, or even that the turning point has been reached, (aechmea telling barbata to fix phos for the umpteenth time is most likely going to give phos the last treasure, but ill get to it).

so, to try and understand what in the seven hells is going on with our baby at this point (the fandom collectively adopted phos since chapter 2, sign the papers if you haven’t already and donate to the fund to send phos to therapy) let’s retrace phos’ character journey.

1: genki phos

the phos who is too good for this world, too pure, the cinnamon roll who has no idea what the hell is gonna happen to them. oh joy.

hnk sets off as a coming of age story. phos is the youngest, they’re seemingly useless in a society that values usefulness above anything else so genki phos is initially driven by lack of purpose.

i’ve speculated already on the characteristics of the lustrous society, a society that emphasizes sameness over difference and that has no place for outcasts like phos and cinnabar. your value, in lustrous society, is dictated by how much and in which way you can contribute to the survival of the species, with elite fighters (the diamonds) being at the apex of the social pyramid and everyone else coming after.

additionally, while gems live in a highly interdependent and close-knitted society, such interdependence never takes into account emotions, loss, imagination, introspection and free-thinking. the society is extremely practical, apathetic, immobile, and everyone is expected to conform to that.

think about antarc: they’re the poster child of lustrous society: a 3 mohs hardness gem who managed to become an elite fighter out of sheer willpower, who’s blindly loyal to sensei, who sacrifices themselves for the greater good (the group’s interests > the individual’s interests), that does little if any introspection and that is happy about all of this and wants to leave it this way.

phos isn’t like this at all.

since the very beginning of the series we learn that phos is an anomaly. and that’s okay, other gems have been anomalies, like padparadscha, cinnabar, even antarcticite, but while those gems found a way to tip toe to the margins of lustrous society to remain unobtrusive exceptions, or forge themselves into proper, useful members of the group, phos cannot do that. which is ironic, because we know that one of phos’ core characteristics is that they’re able to change and to bring about change in a world that is as immobile and still and stiff as… well.. rock.

like @ruddy-rutile pointed out in a past analysis, phos’ problem wasn’t so much that they didn’t fit in, but that they didn’t fit in the appropriate way: they’re emotional, they’re loud, they’re unreliable, they’re not apathetic. they’re kind. compassionate. imaginative. and imagination is something the other gems lack.

this fuels a deep sense of self-hatred that even at this early stages of the story is lying just beneath the surface and oozes out quite easily, like when phos wants to help ventricosus and mumbles that it’s no problem if they die in the attempt, they’re a good for nothing after all, what difference would it make if they dont come back. at least they were able to help someone, contrary to how they were unable to help cinnabar.

this is the leitmotif of the series: phos is a kind, selfless gem who cultivates a deep sense of self-hatred. the internalized pressure and need to feel useful turns into a necessity for change. they need to save cinnabar, they need to save ventricosus, they need to become a fighter, they need to help sensei.

contrary to most of the other gems, phos loves and loves openly and unconditionally, they’re self-less by nature and that selflessness is a barrier that hides the real reason theyre so ready to put their life on the line for other people: the fact that phos thinks that their own life isnt wort a scrap.

as someone who believes to be worthless, guided by shame and guilt just for being alive and fueled by a deep desire to feel loved and accepted (just like a child), phos is unable to cope with grief and emotion if not by guilt tripping themselves even further.

the fact that the amethysts were almost taken is their fault, the fact that cinnabar is suicidal is their fault, the fact that antarc was taken is their fault, same with ghost’s abduction. the only way phos knows to cope with this guilt is by doing what every other gem does: bury these feelings deep inside their head and throw themselves into work. be useful, like alexandrite, rutile or red beryl.

2. post winter phos

what was a story about purpose, about phos’ coming of age, reaches an end at this very point, with antarc’s death. phos has become stronger at this point of the story, they have agathe legs and gold arms and they have grief to cope with, trauma.

just like alex’s job is studying the enemy and red’s job is making clothes, phos’ job is the one they originally desired for themselves: to fight. because there is nothing as valued as a good fighter in gem society and probably young phos unconsciously hoped to overcome self-hatred by taking on the most useful job there is.

post winter antarc is a skilled soldier, so skilled that bort wants to pair up with them. phos has reached their old goal: through loss and maturity, now they have a place within their society, they’re accepted and appreciated, valued but not loved. because these gems are so, so bad at emotions.

and this is where ms ichikawa begins to fool us all. she had us think that this story would be simple, but now hnk starts its steep and unrelenting detour toward existentialism and phos begins their dance toward madness and bottomless grief.

post winter phos is a soldier, they can fight off lunarians, but theyre still blaming themselves for antarc’s death.

we already said that phos is a very emotional gem and they possess a fervid imagination (probably just like lapis). so what do they do? they start thinking. “maybe i can retrieve antarc if we collect enough pieces. if i can communicate with the lunarians. if i can understand why we’re fighting.”

thinking quickly turns into questioning: why are we fighting? why are we so weak? why am i different? what changed me? is it the new additions, is it just life experiences? can we change? how can we change? antarc told me i shouldnt shy away from life, so im gonna push myself further and further.

that’s when shiro’s arc happens and sensei seems to know something about it, something he won’t tell the gems. phos’ questions suddenly turn to him.

phos is pretty much paranoid at this point of the narrative: they have experienced loss for the first time. consumed by guilt and grief for antarc’s recent abduction (even if phos still doesnt know what death means, we’ll get to that in a while), phos cannot think straight. they can’t be questioning the one authority every gem recognizes, the person phos and everyone else wants to protect, their leader, father, teacher.

phos feels like scum just for even thinking about it, as loyal and young as they are. and yet once you start questioning one minuscule thing about the way you have always lived your life, more and more will follow. it’s a cascade effect and it becomes faster the higher the number of questions, until you’re left with nothing but doubts and you must take into your hands the responsibility to find out for yourself.

this is more or less what happens to phos. they feel awful for doubting sensei the first time, in chapter 27, so they spill their guts to cinnabar, confessing their sins. but what cinnabar says does anything but put phos at ease: of course phos is doubting sensei: he’s shady, everyone knows.

however, while cinnabar is a quiet outcast, extremely prudent (and cowardly if you want) in the way they decide to face life, phos is the total opposite. they just needed a little nudge, they were already on the edge of a cliff of doubts and existential fears. cinnabar’s words are the second, big step that sets phos off on their path to the moon.

chapter 28 is when we see phos self-destructing because of this inner conflict for the first time, a pattern that will be repeated again and again the more phos loses sight of the truth, of a reliable something, a goal to cling onto and find direction.

it is ironic, because phos becomes a direction, a goal, the gems and the moon people’s hope (ch 59 and 72), but in doing so they have no hope left for themselves. let’s not forget that phos is very young by gems’ standards, not to mention in comparison to the moon people. how fair is to expect from a traumatized child to save the world and find answers to questions that run thousands of years deep and give phos nothing in return?

the pressure is enough to break phos and it does, quite literally, over and over and over again.

3. Laphos

lapis’ head comes at a time when phos was literally no longer able to manage this pressure.

it brings a waft of fresh air, it brings what emotional, kind phos needed to detach themselves from grief: coldness, rationality. and yet, it takes something away from phos as well: laphos is the phos that can no longer talk with cinnabar, the phos that brings cairn to reject the gems altogether and launch themselves into their kin’s killer’s arms. laphos is the gems and lunarians’ hope for a brief time, then it becomes the enemy.

i find it interesting how phos feels responsible for goshe and morga’s abduction too, even if phos was unconscious when it happened. phos has no clear boundaries between themselves and the rest of the world. they feel responsible for everything and guilty for everything. whatever they do will never be enough neither to make up for their past mistakes nor to find everyone a clear sense of purpose, safety, truth.

ichikawa plays with truth a lot. truth is that the lunarians are bad people and the gems must defend themselves, truth is that sensei is shady, truth is that the moon people are actually good, truth is that death is real, truth is that sensei is evil, truth is that cinnabar hates phos, truth is that the gems are evil, truth is that sensei is the only one that loves phos. who knows what the next truth will be, but can you call it truth, at this point?

if there is one point, i believe, that ichikawa is trying to make clear is that truth is subjective and that it changes, just like phos’ goal, the more knowledge you acquire and the more mistakes you make. truth is subjective but it must be sought after: you gotta keep fighting, you gotta move on even if you keep making mistakes, even if you cant undo your actions.

and another thing i think she’s trying to say is that you cannot make it alone. the moment phos tried to take it all on their shoulders, they moment they acquired lapis’ head, is the moment everything came crumbling down ten times faster than before.

and the most ironic part is that phos is still kind, even underneath that mantle of aloofness: they tried to do everything by themselves because they didn’t want to put anyone in danger, but in doing so they manipulated the gems just like aechmea. and aechmea knows and he’s been using phos for this.

4. Even more trauma

running after truth and after newer and more nuanced goals, phos has completely lost sight of themselves.

where do their alliances lie? what about their history? phos wakes up in ch 72 after the night raid and immediately breaks into pieces because they’re reminded of how cinnabar attacked them, the one gem they thought was their friend. one of the few truths phos had been clinging to.

phos wakes up after the night raid and asks the enemy “to the lunarians i look like a gem and to the gems i look like a lunarian. what am i?”

they break into pieces because they still believe they’re useless. they couldn't save cinnabar, they couldn't save antarc, they couldn't communicate with the earth gems, they couldn't even see adamant.

this is reminiscent of the very beginning of the manga: phos needs to feel useful, they need a goal, they need to be good at something. and just like they were ready to get lost at sea forever to help ventricosus they’re ready to die for someone else’s cause (not even phos’ own because they have no idea what to believe in at this point) just to be of use. after all, to phos, phos is nothing more than a scrap.

euc disagrees. ch 71 “we need you in our future” is a sentence that phos has probably ached to hear for centuries. “we need you. you are loved, you mean something, you are enough. you belong. we cannot build a future where you aren’t part of the equation. you matter”

and look at the way phos looks at euc. they can barely believe them and in fact they don’t. phos expresses some concern about dying (”after all, those less than 5 includes me”) but they still throw themselves into danger, they still take no care of themselves.

Phos’ self hatred and self-destructive tendencies run deeper than euc’s words could ever cut. those words meant well, but they were too little too late. phos thinks they don’t deserve this kind of hope, they cannot understand it, cannot fathom a world in which they are true and so they will go on believing that they are alone and worthless. next time they go on earth, they’ll go alone and unharmed

it is ironic. they did so much, they went to the moon and back multiple times, put their life on the line multiple times, made more progress toward unveiling the truth about the lunarians and finding a way for them to be free of samsara than anyone else did in hundreds (presumably) of thousands of years. they did it by themselves. in barely three hundred years. that’s impressive. and yet it’s not enough for phos. in their mind, they just keep failing.

so what’s the big deal? they can sacrifice themselves, it’s the least they can do and no one will miss them after all. unfortunately, this is true, at least to some extent.

im appalled by how little even the moon gems care about phos. they’re so self-centered it’s almost funny.

even alex, who has gone through loss and grief if not as much at least in a way similar to phos cannot find enough compassion in themselves to be concerned about phos’ wellbeing after a few months on the moon.

ive heard people mention how this could be a result of the moon people injecting who knows what into the gems or manipulating them someway or another, but i believe that there was no need to. phos is an anomaly after all, their kindness is an anomaly. the lustrous are little more than self-centered children: they are able of little if no introspection and they cannot process complex emotions like grief if not by shutting off those emotions altogether.

the moon gems are still vaguely concerned about phos. in ch 76, when phos departs for earth for the last time, they do tell them to be careful and come back if things get bad, but they do little more than that. it’s little comfort and too little emotional closeness and by no means close to the huge amount of support and (emotional) assistance that phos needs at this point.

phos tries to make do with what they have: a will to end this war and the superficial words of what should be their family, but it’s not even remotely enough. and yet phos, just like any other lustrous, is very bad at introspection: they don’t notice or if they notice they repress it. what’s one more thing down the subconscious after all? it’s fine. phos can take it, until they can no more and they snap without having any idea that they will snap.

phos’ journey, which has made them increasingly more emotional, fragile and human (the last one quite literally) has also made phos even more alone than they were at the beginning of the story. more alone, with the same sense of worthlessness, the same urgency to be good for something or self-destroy, and so much more grief, trauma, guilt and repressed emotions.

5. snapping

“I mustn’t think of anything” phos reminds themselves in ch 76. because thinking never brought anything good and because euc would see right through it.

once again, phos is repressing emotions. here they go, trying to be a cold blooded killer, ready to betray sensei again, the one person who has been good to them and that phos tried to hate with all their heart but just couldnt.

as ive written in a previous analysis, one of aechmea’s lowest blows was to tell the gems he was exploiting and manipulating to reach a salvation he doesnt deserve that if the gems want to acquire freedom they must do so by themselves. talk about coherence.

but that isnt all, he sinks even lower than this: he makes phos and the others question sensei’s affection for them. he says that sensei’s love is fake, it’s synthetic, the gems should totally make him pray or destroy him, no remorse, no strings attached. it’s such a dirty move.

no wonder it confuses phos even more. phos believes it, or tries to, they say they want to break sensei into pieces, but after the night raid they realize that it cant be that simple. sensei never attacked them. he has always been good to phos. and phos feels even more worthless, more of a traitor for daring believe in love, in sensei’s affection, when here they are, on the lunarians’ side, ready to betray him again.

how dare phos hope for anything? they dont deserve love, they dont deserve hope, they dont deserve happiness. they can try to give it to other people, they’ll kill themselves in order to do so, but they have no more hope and no love left for themselves, and they had so little to begin with.

as ive said, phos has little self-awareness and little introspection. i do believe that they had no idea they were going to snap until they did. even in ch 77, when sensei tells them he cannot pray, phos spends their last seconds of consciousness (before being attacked by all of the gems) to kindly ask him to pray. they dont care about themselves, but they dont reflect long enough to consider that reaching out to sensei like that could be interpreted as hostile by the paranoid earth gems. i think this is the first sign that phos is about to snap: they’re quite literally desperate.

tired beyond measure and forced to spend 220 more years in isolation, broken into pieces scattered all over the island, when phos comes to their senses again once kongo reassembles them they’re beyond despair. this war is taking the last toll on them and phos has no more energy to go on.

“please,” they say “pray. do it for no one else but me. grant me mercy,” from one bodhisattva to the other. they’re still somewhat normal, but when sensei fails to pray again phos can’t take it anymore. desperation and rage, fueled by hopelessness, worthlessness, grief and exhaustion make phos launch themselves against sensei, which, ironically, it’s exactly what the story needs.

apparently, phos is human enough to activate sensei but not human enough to make him pray. however, when the two of them join hands, sensei can actually pray. maybe it’s because both phos and sensei are intended to be bodhisattva? maybe because human voice commands are not as strong as contact? i have no idea.

phos has snapped by the way, and it’s weird how they go from “If only you weren’t here” to “sensei actually loves me” in a couple of chapters. in a certain way, we’re seeing phos going back to their roots: they love sensei and trust in sensei’s love, they’re once again openly emotional and impulsive, they’re once again ostracized by the gems (of course, much more violently this time).

i have written about how, after ‘fusing’ with sensei for a brief second, phos doesnt speak for the entirety of ch 81. they look and act like a literal monster, a scared animal, which is ironic since we know that they’re now human. i hypothesized that they might be reborn and that’s why they don’t speak, they’re a literal infant, but in light of ch 82, i think they’re simply hurt beyond measure.

they reversed to their old emotional persona, vomiting out all the emotions and pain and rage and hate they repressed during these 300 years. and yet they still don’t hurt anyone, not as much and as deliberately as they could at least.

they’re conscious enough to recognize the notebook and be reminded of their lost friends, realize how little the earth gems care for phos and for what they’re doing. and, i believe, when phos is rescued and comes back to the moon, they are, for the first time in the whole manga, enraged by the earth gems’ stupidity and sheer ungratefulness.

phos has been fighting for the wellbeing of everyone for centuries, putting their life on the line, never asking for anything in return and always believing that they were doing the right thing. and yet it’s not enough.

aechmea is a clever politician, and like every good politician he’s good at picking up changes and turning them in his favor.

he notices that there’s something wrong with phos and with the way they feel about the gems. maybe he doesnt yet realize that phos is angry at them for being ungrateful, but he senses something so he provokes phos: “you said to leave you on earth last time. did you change your mind?” that is “i’m not your enemy. see? im doing what you want me to do. not quite like those people down there on earth. oh, wait, were those your friends? aw, such a pity. to think they attacked you after everything you’ve done for them. but they’re your family, right? i’ll send you back to them if this is what you want. see? i’ll listen to your wishes. i am grateful.”

look how intently he looks at phos as phos incoherently and obsessively repeats the same thing over and over: “he would have prayed. he would have prayed for me. he loves me. he would have prayed.” if you want, this is also a syìubtle way for phos to apologize: they still feel responsible for their failure, but aechmea must understand: phos did everything they could, it would have worked, it was the gems’ fault.

adamant put phos back together, showing phos that he still cares. he is the only one that loves phos, while the gems (all gems, phos doesnt care much for differences at this point) keep hurting phos even if phos is only trying to help. so they must be killed. to hell with them all. and, notice, phos doesnt include themselves in the ‘gem’ category: they’re no longer a lustrous. they’re a monster, a liminal creature.

with nothing left to believe in if not sensei’s love and a promise to make him pray and then die in peace, phos wants to destroy the only thing that they believe stands between them and finally being useful, but also between them and freedom (freedom from suffering, from guilt, from existing, from their pain, from being): the gems.

this isn’t the first time that phos wants to kill something: in ch 68 they spoke about crushing sensei to pieces. it’s heartbreaking how phos went from “if only the moon people weren’t here” to “if only sensei weren’t here” to “if only the gems weren’t here.” will it turn into: “if only i weren’t here?” who are phos’ allies? who does phos feel kinship with? who is phos? they no longer know, and they’ve not known for a long time.

aechmea has noticed and he’s quick to turn the situation to his advantage. he shakes phos’ hand, he’ll grant them freedom just like phos will grant the lunarians’ freedom. he’ll forgive phos for failing, for their sins, for the bottomless despair and guilt that phos has been living with for centuries. salvation, hope, that is all phos needs.

as @rinboz pointed out, phos’ gold in ch 82 takes the shape of a lotus seed pod, a direct reference to when antarc was abducted and the gold had turned into a lotus flower.

through pain, phos had blossomed into a new character that day, marking the beginning of their long journey toward truth and toward discovering that there is no truth. the day the story changed from a coming of age manga to something much, much more intricate.

phos’ pod is empty, they have nothing left to lose, it’s a dead flower. this is the end of the journey that started with antarc’s abduction. when phos wakes up again, it will probably be with new memories and a new addition to their body, possibly red diamond.

phos’ self destruction has reached its apex because it finally became so intense to extend outwards, to other people that, in their immense grief, phos wants to bring down with them. this might be a minuscule form of progress: anger is better than repressing emotions at least, but phos’ problems are far from being solved.

6. on the future

what will be of phos then? it really depends.

the fact that they’re finally showing all that sufferance and those emotions they tried so hard to repress is good, but aechmea is still there to take advantage of it.

phos will never be free as long as they dont associate themselves with someone that truly loves them and as long as they cant find someone that can help them deal with their emotions. aechmea is just using them and only ichikawa knows what he meant when he told barbata to be careful with those 200 years emotions.

theoretically, phos was unconscious during the timelapse, but if there are emotions to treat carefully maybe they weren’t? maybe the change we’ve seen in phos this chapter depends on what they had to endure during that time. or maybe aechmea simply wants to make sure that his pet is easy to use.

i do believe we’re close to the end. i dont know if it will be the end of the series or just the end of phos as we know them. i could hope for something good to finally happen to them and for them to heal, but it would take a therapist or someone that loves phos.

maybe euclase could side up with sensei, they seemed the most concerned about phos’ status and the most prone to believe them. maybe goshe and cicada could do something again, maybe rutile will fix padpa once more and padpa will talk with the earth gems (not very likely, but im throwing theories left and right at this point), or maybe barbata will refuse to follow aechmea’s instructions, at least in part, and try to help phos.

as always, im afraid we’ll have to wait. in the meantime, please hug phos. if you read up to this point hug phos. hug them now and shower them with love, because no one else will

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #hnk #phosphophyllite #meta #best

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catboymingi · 4 years

Text

hurting - in this life and the next chap. 7

navi/masterlist

story masterlist

pairing: mingi x reader

genre: angst, a little bit of fluff; soulmates & reincarnation au

word count: 3.9k

warnings: dissociation resulting in some self harming behaviour (reader doesn’t realise she’s getting hurt - she’s not hurting on purpose), dealing with grief, insecurities

the realisation that someone wants your happiness more than their own can be a painful one

instead of doing anything yet, mingi decided to sleep. he wouldn’t be able to do anything right now anyway, since you were asleep, and maybe yunho had come up with a solution the next day. but it was hard, falling asleep, even though you were in his arms, because he had no idea if he should tell you about it or not. he didn’t want to make you feel like he only cared about that, about being soulmates, but he also cared about that - how could he not? it by far wasn’t his main reason for liking you, but he couldn’t deny that it did affect him. and even though he’d told you that yunho liked you, too, earlier, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt for him to think that you might choose his best friend over him, even though he deserved it. he was just anxious, overthinking, or maybe thinking just the right amount, and that made it hard to sleep.

though he did fall asleep, eventually, because he was with you right now and he was your friend and that thought calmed him down enough to enter the land of dreams.

of course you noticed that something was odd with mingi the next day, and you brought it up, but he told you that he just felt a little weird being like this with you, even when you were just friends, when he was still mourning. he also told you that he was worried about you, about how you were feeling, and spent another one or two hours with you before leaving to make sure you’d know he did care about you and your wellbeing. then he left, still seeming awkward, uncertain and anxious, and you texted yunho, who was still texting mingi and trying to come up with what to do, though you didn’t know that.

[y/n]: ask mingi to come over, i dont think hes okay rn

and yunho knew, of course he knew that mingi was far from okay, so of course he would do that.

[yunho]: will do. ill update you once i know more, okay?

he didn’t want to snitch on his friend, he didn’t want to do anything hasty, he wanted to find a solution with mingi before any decisions were made. but he also didn’t want you to worry too much, so this seemed like a good compromise. he just hoped they’d actually find a solution, because this situation wasn’t exactly an easy one.

but because you had no idea what was going on you just waited, though it lasted for exactly ten minutes before you got tired of it and too anxious to sit still and you went to the shelter, hoping to calm down a little. there you stayed for several hours, until mingi messaged you, asking where you were and if he could come over, saying he was feeling better now and apologising for his odd behaviour that morning.

and because you were too soft for him you immediately agreed, waiting at the shelter until he came over to spend time with you.

yunho had asked him to come over, and of course he would. he really wanted to know what to do, he wanted to know how to handle things, he wanted to not fuck up. he wanted to do things right this time, he didn’t want to lose you again.

“hey”, the blond said as he opened the door for mingi, who moved into the flat wordlessly, throwing himself on the sofa with a loud groan.

“i take you still haven’t told her?”, which made the groan louder and had his friend cover his face with his hands.

“i just don’t know if i should”, he almost whined out, so incredibly unsure about everything right now. he wanted to be with you, but he was scared that if he’d tell you about this latest development you’d think he only cared about you for this soulmate business, something that wasn’t the case. while he hadn’t entirely forgotten about it it wasn’t his main motivation, his motivation was wanting to get to know you and getting to be with you and, in part, showing you that you weren’t just a poor copy of whoever you used to be, showing you that you were worth being cherished the way you were now. and because he knew that you wouldn’t let him, these next words left his mouth, something he’d thought more than he’d like to admit.

“i think you should tell her how you feel. it wouldn’t surprise me if she likes you, too, with the way the two of you are always talking. she trusts you, and i know you wouldn’t hurt her. maybe that’s better.”

“are you… trying to set us up?”, yunho asked, confused by the brunette’s words because this was the last thing he’d expected.

“that sounds horrible. i just want her to be happy, you know? and i know you wouldn’t let anyone make her sad, not even me.”

while that was true yunho wouldn’t do this to mingi, even if he did like you - something he’d noticed, but that he’d just accepted as unrequited feelings, because it was so obvious that his friend still meant so much to you.

“i mean, yeah, but you like her, don’t you? you could make her happy, too, just get your shit together first.”

mingi sighed loudly, a long, pained, resigned sigh.

“that’s the thing. she deserves better, don’t you think? better than someone that keeps fucking up because of his own baggage. i can’t promise i won’t hurt her again, and i don’t want to risk that.”

this was so thoughtful of mingi and it showed his friend that he really was trying his best, that he really did care about you, and that he’d even put his own happiness back if it would make you happier. and because he cared so much yunho couldn’t do it, wouldn’t even consider it; maybe if mingi had ignored your feelings and his concerns and just thrown himself in head first yunho wouldn’t have had these hesitations, but because the slightly shorter man cared so much he couldn’t do that. and he told mingi that.

“she doesn’t even like me that way. trust me, she doesn’t”, when mingi was about to protest, “she cares about you. she just wants you to care about her, too. why else would she still give you a chance, hm? if she didn’t care you’d long be blocked, because, in all honesty, you’d deserve it.”

“i guess”, another loud sigh. “but i won’t tell her, not yet, at least. i don’t want to hurt her”, laying down on his stomach on the (too short) couch, almost slamming his head into a pillow in frustration because he had absolutely zero idea what to do. because he wanted to be with you but didn’t know how to go about that. because life kept making things hard for you when they’d just gotten even a little easier.

“maybe you should still text her, though. she worries.”

“mh. i think i’ll go home, i need some time to think. see you, yunho. and thank you.”

and then he left, went home and showered and realised he didn’t want you to worry at all even if he still felt unsure about things, so he texted you, asking to meet up again now to show things were still okay.

mingi looked like he’d cried and tried to hide it when he arrived, hair slightly wet from a shower you assumed he’d taken before he got there, eyes no longer red but still slightly puffy. you had no idea what had happened, but all you could imagine was that he felt guilty because he’d told you he liked you even when it hadn’t been that long since his love had died, something you could understand. or maybe he was overwhelmed with his emotions, something you could most definitely understand, as well. still, he tried to smile at you, coming over to where you were feeding the bunnies once he’d spotted you.

“hey”, obviously still not doing all too well, something you weren’t about to question him about, especially when he was trying to smile at you anyway.

“hey”, smiling back at him, moving your attention back to the bunnies soon after so he wouldn't feel like you were staring.

“again, sorry for acting weird, i was just… feeling weird”, an awkward laugh at his lack of eloquence, but you didn’t mind at all.

“don’t worry about it.”

you knew telling someone not to worry didn’t exactly make them worry less, but it was all you could do right now, telling him that it wasn’t a big deal and trying to act as you always did around him. or, always since you started talking again.

you’d spent about an hour with mingi and he had finally relaxed when your phone buzzed with messages from yunho, several at once, something that worried you a little because the brunette was here with you right now, so you didn’t at all know what yunho could possibly be double texting about. after checking that you had the time to read and reply right now, that there were no animals running around, you unlocked your phone, clicking on the notification in order to find out what was going on.

you hadn’t expected the messages you got, though. when you read them it quickly became very obvious that yunho had no idea that mingi was with you right now, and it seemed pretty obvious that mingi had no idea about what his friend was revealing, either.

[yunho]: i know mingi hasnt told you, but your soulmate mark is gone

[yunho]: dont freak out, its fine, he isnt planning anything

[yunho]: thats why im texting, actually

[yunho]: he told me to get with you, told me that he knows i like you and that you might like me and that even if it means hes not w you at least youre happy

[yunho]: i think hes really changed from when he fucked up, hes learned, and he wants you to be happy more than anything

[yunho]: so while i do like you, i think hes good for you. i think hed make you happy. i know you still like him, and he obviously likes you, enough to try to set you up w me

[yunho]: just thought id let you know

you looked at the phone in shock, unsure what to make of this, unsure what to make of not one but two confessions in the same message, unsure what to make of all the information you’d just gotten, and you almost dropped the little device, completely out of it.

“y/n?”

the man that apparently was really, actually your soulmate seemed worried by your reaction to the messages, and when you showed him the screen he understood what had happened. he didn’t know what to say either, though, but he knew you’d have to tell yunho something, at least, shouldn’t leave him on read.

“please message him back, okay? or i can do it. and then we’ll talk, but he’ll worry if you don’t say anything.”

you nodded, still only half there, and typed up a small message.

[y/n]: mingi is here rn. well talk about it now. thank you

then you locked your phone, staring at the now black screen, completely in shock. you hadn’t even thought about it. you hadn’t even thought about the whole soulmate thing when mingi had held you, or when he’d kissed your head. all you’d thought about was how you wished someone would care about you, really, deeply care, and now you’d gotten that in one of the worst ways you could imagine, because your best friend whom you’d not see as more than a best friend had apparently confessed just like this, and the man you did like seemed to want to set you up with said best friend because he cared about you so much. everything seemed to be going wrong and you had no idea what to do and you felt yourself slowly slip away, something you’d noticed you did when you were stressed, leaving reality so you would first have to deal with things when they’d settled in logically, removing the stress of having to deal with them logically and emotionally simultaneously.

“y/n?”, mingi asked again, looking at you with worry apparent in his eyes but that you missed anyway because you were staring into nothing.

“i’ll bring you home, okay?”, he told you when you didn’t react, and then: “can you tell me your address again? or i’ll take you to my place if you can’t.”

you couldn’t, so he brought you to his place as he’d said, trying carefully to prevent you from getting hurt on the way because it still seemed like you weren’t fully present. he had his arm around your waist the entire time, guiding you, and then you entered that place again, the place that had been your home and refuge for a few weeks and that now looked so different but still the same. it looked… inhabited, maybe, and you tried to focus on all the small details that had changed as he took off his jacket and shoes and you mechanically did the same. then he led you to his room, their room, carefully sitting you down on the bed to figure out what would be best to do right now, whether he should talk or wait until you were more present. he decided to wait, you could tell from how he was looking at you, wait for your next action or reaction.

your next action was looking around; this was the first time you’d ever seen his bedroom, and you’d immediately noticed the picture on the bedside table when mingi had sat you down on his bed, focusing on him and her, taking in all the details to bring you back to reality at least somewhat.

“she’s pretty”, you said once you were kind of there again, and “she was” the man replied, looking at the picture with a mixture of fondness and pain on his face. it kind of hurt, knowing you’d never be as pretty, feeling guilty for worrying about having to compete with a dead person, but she looked ethereal, she looked at mingi with such happiness and he looked at her with an expression you knew he’d never have on his face when looking at you. you were nothing compared to her, you were a mess, you were ugly with your piercings and your hair and your messy, weak body that was still dealing with the effects of apparently having been bed-bound for ages, even if you couldn’t remember, and you didn’t fit with him. you didn’t fit with anyone like him.

“i want to sleep”, even though it was maybe five or six in the afternoon, but you didn’t want to have to deal with your emotions right now and sleeping helped. maybe you were his soulmate, but you were a second choice, not just for him but for fate, too, you weren’t enough and you’d never be the one he wanted. and if you didn’t sleep soon you’d be sobbing in his arms again, something you most definitely didn’t want.

“i want to shower”, you then changed your mind, wanting to cry and knowing that if you stayed quiet you could do so in the shower and he’d never know.

he just nodded, getting out a towel for you and some of his clothes - neither you nor he would want you to wear her clothes -, then brought you to the bathroom, asking you to please not lock because he was still somewhat worried. that was fine with you because you didn’t expect him to come in, anyway, because what was there to see? you weren’t pretty, you weren’t attractive, you weren’t hot. you were a stick and you were a mess and you looked sickly even though you were starting to build up muscle, and nothing of that would ever be something he’d want to see naked. so you closed the door and undressed, the light turned off as soon as mingi was gone, unable to stand looking at yourself naked, too. you hadn’t even known that you had these insecurities until you saw how beautiful she was and how horrendous you looked in comparison, and the first sob escaped your lips as soon as the water was turned on enough to swallow it.

you’d been in the shower for thirty minutes now, and at this point he worried. you’d reacted when he knocked at the twenty minutes mark, so he knew you were still alive, but you hadn’t been doing well when you went in, and when he knocked again and he just heard you whimper he went in.

as soon as he opened the door he was greeted by hot steam coming out, and he could barely see because it was so steamy in there, the air hot and humid. it cleared a little now fresh, colder air was coming in, and he made his way to the shower after turning on the light - why was it turned off in the first place? -, pulling back the curtain because he heard you sob and because the water had to be really hot for the room to be in this state and he worried, he did.

and there you were, skin bright red, the water burning you and you just sitting on the floor and crying.

“y/n”, he almost yelled, shocked and scared, and turned off the water, getting slightly burnt on the tap and from the few drops falling onto his skin even as he tried to avoid the water. then he kneeled down, pulling you to his arms carefully because he didn’t want to hurt you but he worried so much about your sorry state, and you just kept sobbing.

“why’d you do that, why’d you do that, why’s the water so hot”, he repeated, completely overwhelmed, you still sobbing in his arms, but trying to answer.

“i just wanted to feel something”, you told him, “it was so hot but i still didn’t feel anything. it’s not hot enough”, arm moving to turn the water back on, but he stopped you.

“no, no, we won’t do that, we won’t do that, angel”, stroking your head and his heart hurting at how red your skin was. he could only hope you didn’t actually get any burns.

“i want to feel something”, you repeated, and mingi was so overwhelmed, he didn’t know what to do, but he wanted to help.

“can i turn on the water, but cold? maybe that’ll help, maybe it will, but i can’t let you burn yourself.”

he was pleading, hoping you wouldn’t hurt yourself any more, hoping you’d let him take care of you, and when you nodded he felt relieved, making sure the water was at an acceptable temperature before turning it on, gently washing you with the cold water, hoping to prevent it from getting too bad, rubbing your naked body but not caring about the fact that you were naked, caring only about taking care of you even when his clothes were getting soaked.

“is this okay? how does it feel?”, gently rubbing your scalp with the cold water, then your neck and your back and your sides, carefully, trying not to hurt you any more than you’d inevitably be when your senses registered your surroundings again.

“it hurts”, and it seemed like you were starting to come back, the sobs getting more violent again now that you were able to feel your skin be so tight and aching and red from your stupid attempt at feeling something.

“i’m almost done, let me just make sure everything is a little soothed, let me take care of you, i’m almost done”, he tried to calm you down as he rubbed your legs with the cold water again, finally turning the water off and getting up, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around you before he told you to turn around, stripping himself of his wet clothes quickly, drying himself just enough to not soak his new clothes as he put on the pants he’d picked out for you before he told you that he’d put his shirt on you now, asking you to lift your arms if you could so he could do that.

you looked so small and hurt in his massive clothes, you made him want to protect you, and at least for the night he would.

“do you want to go to bed? let’s go to bed, angel”, he told you like he was talking to a child, but it kind of felt like he was. he could tell moving hurt and it made his heart hurt all the more, wanting nothing more than to take at least some of your pain, just enough for you to not be crying out like this because you didn’t want to do anything anymore.

laying down hurt, too, he could tell from how you flinched, and he tried very carefully to not make the bed move too much as he laid down next to you. you were laying on his side, he was laying on what used to be hers, and for a moment he felt a pang in his chest, but now his focus was on you, on trying to make sure that you’d be okay.

“it’s time to sleep. i’m here and if it gets too bad, wake me up. i promise i’ll be here.”

if being alive hadn’t hurt so much you would’ve thanked him, but now you just closed your eyes, and mingi watched your form almost vanish underneath the blankets he’d put on you, hoping that the next morning you’d be okay.

you woke up around one am, as the little clock on the night table told you, with your body hurting and your heart hurting even more. you wanted to be held, to be protected, you wanted to be taken care of.

“mingi”, you whimpered, hoping he’d wake up, “mingi, mingi.”

he shuffled, though you couldn’t tell if he was awake or not, so you continued whimpering, until you felt him sit up, and shortly after you heard his panicked voice.

“what’s wrong? what’s wrong, what’s wrong, are you okay?”

he sounded so scared that you felt bad, whimpering even more because everything was horrible and everything hurt.

“y/n, are you okay? do we need to go to the hospital?”, and although you couldn’t see him he was scanning your body - or, as much of it as he could see - for burns or any other clear signs of you needing immediate medical attention.

“no, i just… hug me, please”, you pleaded, him immediately complying even though he hadn’t expected this to be what you needed right now, especially not when you flinched in his embrace, but when he loosened his embrace and was about to move back you grabbed his hand, whimpering again, not wanting him to let go even if it hurt.

“is it okay? i don’t want to hurt you”, he told you with a soft voice, but he moved back closer towards you, trying hard to not move you as he came to lay as close as possible to you, one arm around you and the other above his head so that that one wouldn’t hurt you.

“don’t go”, you cried, his hold around you tightening slightly in reaction.

“i won’t go. i’ll take care of you, angel, i’ll take care of you”, he repeated against you, over and over, and you fell asleep to his promise.

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roguestarsailor · 4 years

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thoughts on a court of mist and fury *spoilers*

***** lots of spoilers folks *****

- MY GIRL FEYRE IS READING!! SHES READING LIKE REGULARLY AND CASUALLY IM SO PROUD

- RHYSAND MY LOVE I TAKE BACK ALL THE BAD THINGS I SAID IN BOOK ONE AND YOU ARE A BABY THAT NEEDS TO BE LOVED AND PROTECTED AND DESERVE PEACE AND QUIET AND MORE LOVE

- tamlin needs therapy like pronto; we dont stan a unsupportive partner and partner who is unwilling to share pain!! CANCEL TAMLIN 2020

- rhys popping up during the wedding scene was *chef’s kiss* and i noticed that he didn’t “claim” her as he said he would for like three months after everything. i suspect he was being a good person and literally letting her live her life. also for loving someone, tamlin was super chill and just kind of let her go??? idk i thought there would be more of a fight??? when feyre was literally like why are your claws retracting man?? fight for me??? hello??? but then again rhys is definitely more powerful than tamlin and probs some unspoken laws and such between high lords i guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyways tamlin aint shit

- page 296-298! fucken shook me to my core. that self awareness, that confrontation, she identified the core of everything and it was such a turning point and im just so proud of her!!! She's recognizing her traumas and is healing!!!!!!!!!!

- yeah i immediately ship cassian and nesta; i hope she fucks shit up in the next book 😀 😀 😀 😀

- maybe az and mor are truly the slowest of slow burns ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

- i pictured pollution from good omens as how Amren is suppose to look like

- rhys is such a strong leader and im just -- baby deserves all the love. He's really good at plotting. He really made feyre learn all these things so they can nurture their love but also be a strategic advantage its interesting that even tho theres love there he still treats her like a weapon

- the joy in his rhys eyes when they winnowed into his regular ass town house that feels super lived in. and his friends banging on the door like he isn’t the feared night court high lord that he is. that was so refreshing to see that hes a regular person and not that high lord man who lives in a near empty mansion. he puts on a mask for everyone but he himself is just a regular fae.

- reading about the peace that velaris was able to live through was beautiful. i imagined a city like san francisco with the hills and views of the ocean but kind of like the peace found in super small towns or cities in asia; maybe even some european cities (which is prob where this location is inspired by but i haven’t visited many euro cities). the scenes of ppl dining out, making art and music and just chilling is so lovely esp given our current pandemic. art is so treasured there and im like thats the epitome of a great society isn’t it? being able to do things because you just can without the pain of financial insecurity, civil unrest, etc. i definitely would love and die and for a society like that. its just so wonderful. i was filled w happiness while reading those scenes. :)

- rhys and his inner circle taking feyre out into the town and just being casual. nobody treats them like theyre royalty or anything special. theyre just a regular group of friends who enjoy hanging out. its super nice and nostalgia inducing esp during this pandemic when friends are so far away and not like it used to be.

- when rhys immediately saw how under weight and dead freye looked when she was in spring court -- AND IT WAS THE FIRST THING HE SAID TO HER WHEN HE SAW HER THROUGH THE DOOR WHILE TAMLIN DIDNT FUCKEN NOTICE

- i also take back my frustrations in book 1 when freye always wondering around the grounds in spring court esp during calanmai. i thought it was because the author needed to move the story forward but its just freye. she doesnt sit still and now that shes w rhys, we are seeing soooooo many things about prythian and thats beautiful. tamlin was truly a hinderance huh

- rhys sent her music when she was in the cell in Under The Mountain which was found in velaris. maybe he wasnt risking a lot but he just showed her a glimpse of the forbidden world right under aramantha’s nose holy shit he saved her from destruction!

- when rhys had his nightmare and feyre came to comfort him and kissed him on the cheeks and gave him such tenderness made my heart sing~

- rhys is literally opposite of tamlin is soooo many ways. RHYS DID THINGS OUT OF LOVE, WHILE TAMLIN DID THINGS FOR LOVE. everything from how rhys made sure feyre can grow into who she is meant to be, to how he introduces her to his friends and how he interacts w everyone in his court, how he handles pain, everything is so different than tamlin. tamlin feels pain and just bulldoze over things, doesn’t think about how his actions are hurting others even as he is hurting. he doesn’t talk, he doesn’t share, he doesn’t try to get himself or feyre out of this misery and just sees threats everywhere and hits them. he was also supper passive honestly. no doubt hes riddled w guilt and grief but can’t figure out how to handle it so he uses feyre as his crutch where if he can “save” her he will be free smh

- rhys PAYS feyre!! HE GAVE HER FINANCIAL INDEPENDENCE AND RESPECT FOR HER WORK!! THE INDEPENDENCE THAT TAMLIN DIDNT FUCKEN GIVE.

- THOSE NOTES THEY SEND TO EACH OTHER SINCE FREYE CAN READ AND WRITE NOW

- Ianthe was sus from the beginning!! i knew it!! although i did bet she was gonna sleep w tamlin on the side. But she's a lot worst so we don't like her either

- the throne room scene was steamy af this time its fine because there was ~consent~ and also because we see the dynamic and growth between the two and how they work together. this was great although I was kind of like pls get a room tho

- RHYS SMILING!!! FEYRE AND RHYS LAUGHING TOGETHER UGH I LOVE THEM SO MUCH

- THEY ARE MATES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FEYRE AND RHYS FOUND EACH OTHER AND HAD SO MANY SHARED TRAUMAS AND WORKED IT OUT TOGETHER AND GREW TOGETHER AND LEARNED ABOUT EACH OTHERS QUIRKS AND ITS JUST LOVE IN ITS PUREST FORM UGH THAT SCENE WHERE RHYS WAS CRYING AND FEYRE HEATED UP FOOD FOR THE BABY AHH MY HEARTTTTT MY WHOLE ENTIRE HEARTTTTTT IS BURSTING WITH LOVEEEEEE

- LUCIEN AND ELAINE HOLY FUCK WHAT A LEFT FIELDER i hope this is the push that will propel lucien to defy tamlin. going back to the contrast between how tamlin vs his court and rhys vs his court, rhys has a group of unwavering loyal friends and are treated equally esp letting them joke around so much and it feels like a casual group of friends hanging out. tamlin has just as much loyalty from lucien but theres still a power structure that tamlin maintains. luciens words doesn’t have much weight whereas rhys’s friends do. both tamlin and rhys have so much power and sway and similarity in traumas and tragedy but both execute things completely differently. tamlin only wants to upload what he is familiar with, maybe what he thinks his father wants whereas rhys actively tries to think of something better, to change the system regardless of how hard it is.

- tamlin you dumbass. He didn't learn from amarantha. He again let his pride fuck over a bunch of other ppl. He shat on amarantha and fucked over his court. Now he fucked the rest of prythian and human world by bargaining w the king. Smh goodbye tamlin

- I straight up knew the queens were bad!!! I knew they had to be plotting something. The sixth is "ill" my ass.

- LADY OF THE NIGHT COURT LETS GO FEYRE AND WOOWW WE STAN A MAN BREAKING TRADITIONS AND SUPPORTING EQUALITY

- when hybern was destroying velaris. I WAS GONNA THROW HANDS BRO. I'm glad we saw the extend of how powerful feyre could be and how she was clever and we can really see how she's completely different from before. She has bite and fight in her and it's so refreshing!

- how about we let az and cassian live in peace. Those boys had to deal w the blunt of literally everything. from being the only shield in valeris to poison/hurt wings against the king, just beat up all the time 🥺

- suriel is their version of a wikipedia

I read all 600 damn pages in like 2.5 days and I was loving it the entire time! My heart sored when feyre and Rhys were getting close and starting to break down their walls and really connect. This was a truly good enemies to lovers, slow burn tale and the drama is so great. There were good stakes that changes a character and their behavior and a good balance of action and excitement but at the same time so many little moments that let u see the character and how they interact w each other and the world. a lot of big plot moments, slice of life moments, a bit of romance and comedy. overall, an amazing book but super long. thus far this is my favorite book and im hoping the rest of the books can be just as charming and lovely but not too heart breaking. i hope rhys and feyre makes it. i cannot predict what to expect in the other books in the series (isn’t there gonna be 8 books total???)

#amandathoughts #bookthoughts #acotar #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #book 2 #sarah j maas #acomaf thoughts #i said a lot because this book had so much content #acotr #amandabookthoughts #feyre #rhysand #feyre archeron #feyre x rhysand

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shaillow · 5 years

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I recently had some major life changes. Things that I didn't think could happen, and things I thought I'd never be able to fix.

I recently let go of a friendship of 11 years, my best friend, my sister. I also started getting professional help for my mental illnesses. I would normally never admit to needing help, but I came to a point where I just said, "I can't fix this alone anymore. I can't do the tape and glue anymore."

In the midst of these changes, there has been a quote that I've clung to, because it struck me so hard when I read it.

"Only you can decide what breaks you."

That quote, it has been my saving grace. Losing that friendship was hard at first, almost unbearable. Then, I took a step back and realized the toxicity of it, the manipulation of it. Because I am introverted, she used it to her advantage, making me put myself into situations I would NEVER put myself in. The last straw was her abandoning me at a concert for the fact she didnt want to lose her spot. She would constantly get angry with me for not wanting to go out, go to parties, get drunk with strangers. She told me, "The reason you're single is because you'd rather read your stupid books then mingle with people."

Yes, yes I would. She then proceeded to tell me possibly the most heartbreaking thing you can tell someone who has buried 12 people before the age of 20. For someone who has dealt with depression, suicidal thoughts, and severe anxiety. For someone who has not been able to deal with the greif of losing those 12 people, because they all died within 6 years of each other, some of them just a few months after another. Someone who has been beaten, and broken, been taken advantage of, and had to put on a brave face because they were a caregiver.

She said: "You're exhausting to deal with. You're selfish, and rude. You hurt my feelings when you dont go out. You're flaky, you're just exhausting."

Those words, said in the middle of a busy Starbucks, broke me. This girl, who I had in my life for 11 years, could not see what was sitting in front of her.

She could not see the shattered bits of my heart being held together with glue and tape. She couldn't see me sleeping all day, waking up late, hating myself for doing it. She couldn't see the grief that was so evident in my eyes to everyone else that looked at me. She couldn't see the tape and glue that I fought so hard to keep in place, that I buried myself behind, fall apart. She couldn't see ME.

So, for the first time in a very, very long time. I stood up for myself again. I had enough. Enough of being walked all over, being friends with someone who couldn't understand why I was so sad.

For the first time in a long time, I said No. I said one of the hardest things in my life, as I believed I could fix myself. I was strong, wasn't I? Yes, and no. I was strong for what I had gone through, I was not strong for adding fire to the flames, for lashing out. But I was 14-18. I was young, and I had been through a lot, more then I would wish on my worst enemy.

I remember the moment that changed so many things. I was sitting there in my moms truck. She was talking about something, and I was looking out the window, at the hospital by the highway, when I turned to my mom and took a deep breath. She looked at me, concerned, as the look on my face was fear.

"Mom, I need help." I said, I remember how hard I was holding the door. Like I was going to break. But my mom, the woman who has never once judged me or belittled me. The woman who has ALWAYS supported me in whatever I did, smiled. Tears in her eyes.

"I'm so proud of you." She said, and I cried. I cried harder then I had in a long time. This massive weight had just.. Vanished from my chest.

I asked for help when I was ready, and I'm so, so glad that I did. For a long, long time I was lost. I was angry, I was hurt. I clung to all of the bad things that had happened, all of the rage, and greif. They molded me into the woman I am today, a strong woman. A woman who has been through hell, and came out on top with a scowl that said, "I can take more."

All of those things that I had gone through had become my armor. The armor I need at the time, and now.. I haven't lost that armor, I've just set it aside. I don't need it right now, but I will always have it. I am becoming.. A really great fucking person and no one, NO ONE, can take that from me.

So yes, I'm going to read my books, I'm gonna paint my fucking paintings. I'm going to stay home with my family, and go out with my REAL friends who love me for who I am. My friends who have been there with me at my lowest point, who wiped my tears, put my head up and said, "Keep going, I'm here."

I am healing my broken soul and heart, and I'm doing it all without YOU. I am great, I am kind. I'm selfless. I am brave, and strong, and most of all?

Only I can decide what breaks me.

#writeblr #writers #writeaway #written #writing #spilled ink #inspiredaily #positive mental attitude #mental help #stay positive #positivelife #sarah j maas

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aura-loveshine · 4 years

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Fringe-dweller’s true tales.

I looked up at the half moon, and thought “this will be the 5th full moon since you died”...

Three nights before you were so suddenly taken from the physical earth, you camped overlooking the beautiful large body of water. you explored the multifaceted countryside, you were always like a kid when it came to exploring. you would have honoured and felt connected with nature. you would have sat with a j and admired the full moon on Friday the 13th. it would have been so beautiful to see the full moon over the water, the reflection, the light bouncing off the rippling water and quartz crystal sparkly rockbed...

I hope those days spent at that campsite were healing, I hope you felt at peace, I hope you spent those days happy, content. I imagine you playing guitar and adventuring with our magic merlin dog, enjoying the wildlife, the peacefulness. I imagine you listening to the abc radio you loved and talking to the other campers, sharing your quirky unique self, making people laugh, or think. I imagine you satisfied to have achieved the long time goal to drive to the tip of Australia, from Cook Town to Cape York in your FWD. I imagine you had chocolate or something sweet even though you were running out of everything else.

I wonder if you dreamt those nights... I wonder if you had a feeling something was coming. I wonder about the last conversations you had with tribe. i wonder about where you thought the wind might take you next. I wonder if you actually were on your way to visit me... ill never know whether I/you/we could have done anything to change what happened... I can't believe after all the physical pain you endured through-out your 34 years, that you experienced pain in your last alert moments... I think about our dog being with you when it all happened...

I imagine you loving being omnipresent, exploring the universe in your cosmic pirate-ship with Xena, your beloved 17 year old dog. I'm not surprised she passed 12 days after you... I'm glad your both free of your aching sore physical bodies. You both lived so adventurously. you and Xena are the only ones I know that can say they lived in their vehicles/bus for over 11 years, driving over a million kms around and through Australia. I also don’t know anyone else that helped as many fringe-dwellers as you did, loved and supported so many beautiful women without trying to take it to a sexual level, who invited people to travel with you and see new incredible parts of Australia. you saved forests, educated people, changed Bunnings national policy, inspired people to live better and more freely, you lived more in your short life-time than anyone I know. you experienced pain, near death experience, limitation childhood abuse and death of loved ones and still managed to be the incredible being full of enthusiasm with an open heart and playful inquisitive nature.

I was relieved to hear you had been reconnecting with your mum and family. that our close friends had quality time with you before everything changed... I know you knew there was a high chance of you dying while on the road due to road death statistics... but all the justifications can't outweigh the heaviness of not being able to message you, call you, find out where you are now, what your building or what fascinating experience you’ve had recently.

You were the first and only male partner I have shared a ‘de facto’ type lovership with, having only been with women until you. you were so respectful, you were loving and gentle... travelling in a old coaster for 6 months with you living a true dream... you built us a bush shack in two weeks, you built us a bush palace in a month and a half, all while been technically ‘disabled’... you showed me sacred sites of Australia, you climbed into caves, swam in ocean with crocodiles a few kms away,, we ate dinner alone with Dick Smith in the desert, casually chatting. you introduced me to Robin Mutoid at Burn out, I loved sitting with you and Robin in the coaster watching you two light up talking about mad hatter genius building ideas... and plans to create an explosive pineapple grenade to the filming we were doing.

Some of my favourite memories of my life-time, have been with you. I cherish you, I cherish my photos of you, I'm relieved I didnt listen to you when you told me to stop taking photos and be in the moment, but now I can look at those memories when I need to see you. every time I see a old coaster van I'm going to think of you... so many things remind me of you... having merlin with me is the silver lining, I'm relieved she was safely found after 15 days of being missing in the bush. I'm relieved she's with me. but I wish I was instead bringing her back to you...

You led such an incredible life I hope to share your stories and pictures with the world. you inspired so many people while you were alive... and even after... thousands of people read about your death on social media and tv... the articles and posts used the photos I took of you. it was surreal to see you and our dog in articles, for what happened to be so publicised... for a tragedy so personal to be used as ‘grief porn’... I hope to use the publicity of it all to make change to the stretch of road. needs better signage, a lower speed, something! I can't get it out of my head that you were the 9th fatality out of 30 accidents in 31 years, within a 4km stretch of road... 9 fatalities is too many. 9 is the final number. you are the last one to be taken out there...

The bush fires started raging not long after you died... in a strange way, the fires seemed fitting in my state of grief. Our lives were all forever changed... I was forever changed. The fires burning for months. My grief, anger, shock and feeling of helplessness burning inside me for months. the sense of emergency through out the country, the sense of disaster within me.

It was all a bit much trying to deal with you dying, Xena dying, merlin being missing for 15 days and everything else that happened over the next 2 months as well the fires raging, rainforests burning, native wildlife in crisis, homes burning, people dying and the nation all in panic and smoke. Being 1500kms away from my forest home and family while the fires burned out of control less that 40kms away, with road blocks and potential fires in between. Trying to have your life celebration festivities while experiencing heavy rain, wind warnings and strained tumultuous emotions all round... thunder and hail while my mums saying she is taking all my valuables and art to a safe house coz the fires are getting closer, and they are prepping to have to evacuate with the dog, cat, ducks and chickens... luckily, it never came to that, the fires were contained 25kms away from our home, contained only 20kms away from my closest town, a well known beautiful alternative community.

A moment that will always bring a smile to my heart, was when I was finally driving home. Id had a really rough night, id been holding so much in, trying to just get through everything to get home, id started falling apart... we had just started driving, when we saw a small’ish’ dust devil. the ‘tornado hunter’ part in me instantly wanted to drive up the near by road to chase it. I held back, until I heard my friend say “we could throw some of him ashes into the dust devil”... and I zoomed up the road as quick as I could. although the little twister had gone out of reach, I trustfully threw some of your ashes towards it. my heart felt uplifted as I watched the ash catch, float up and dissolve toward the dust devil.

You weren't scared of dying, you lived actively seeking to push your own limits, always with a cheeky grin. but you always landed like a cat, you were always there, doing your thing... alive. you always came back... you would have heard about the fires and driven straight to help, you would have fought the fires like you had before. you would have used the experience as a way to further pursue actual change for the planet, would have been apart of the vocal community questioning how the government failed to protect and how we needed to have upheaval and revolution...

You drove so safely on the roads. I dont know what happened to the other driver, except that he was seemingly uninjured. was it actually an unfortunate accident? or did the driver lose control going around the corner at 130kms in a 100 zone....

Was it really ‘your time to go’? if I hadn't been to the crash site and dealt with all that I have, I might fantasise the idea that you pulled the ultimate fucked up prank, that your hiding out in your doomsday bunker, mischievously laughing at no one knowing your alive, being completely ‘offline’, plotting the moment to reveal yourself... to see you, hug you would be....

We separated as lovers 15 months before you died, as we had to go on seperate journeys, we had to become individuals again. we were both struggling with very different things, we had to salvage our friendship and love, to take a break, allow some time... and then... you died 7 hours away, on your way to my area... on your way to see me and Xena.. I can't help but feel I'm being punished somehow, question if I shouldn't have made you leave. you might still be alive... am I silly to dwell on thoughts like that? I thought we had more time.

All I can do is live passionately, continue to be inspired by you and cherish you and our time together, learn from my experiences, healing these wounds by living, by loving, by sharing truth, by having daily gratitude and celebrating the positive events and changes as they come.

I know, for a long time, I will count each passing full moon...

You will always be my gypsy pirate king.

Fly Free my Lover. I'll see you on the other side once again.

#writing #writeblr #original writing #angst #gypsy #pirate #king #bohemian #hippie #australia #bushfires #truth #car #death #aura loveshine #fringe dweller #love #activism #moon #inspiration

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arcqna-hoe · 5 years

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main 6 classic fairytale aus

god this is SO LONG (and took so long). beware!

most of these follow the original stories, not modern adaptations (with the exception of nadia; the original story is too horrible for me to ever even consider that happening to nadia) in addition, all of these stories involve the MC still being asra’s apprentice (except for his own story + portia’s), so there’s that.

Julian - The Loneliest Prince (or, the Tower Prince)

(also known as the story of Rapunzel)

a young prince julian suffers a near fatal-assassination attempt on his 18th birthday, sending him into a coma. when he wakes, he can’t remember a single thing about his life.

for his safety, his father, the king of vesuvia, locks him in one of the castle’s towers, promising to release him once he remembers the truths about himself in the world.

flash foward six years later. julian is 24, still has not regained a single spark of his memory and is still imprisoned in the tower.

then, without warning, a plague sweeps across the land. despite being confined, it still reaches the prince and he falls dealthy ill.

the king, terrified at the thought of losing his only heir, calls upon the local doctors to heal him. after nothing works, he’s forced to turn to the local magician, asra

unfortunately, asra is indisposed in a far off land, leaving his apprentice to attempt to cure julian.

as the apprentice works to save the prince’s life, they listen to his tale of lost memory and confinement and begin to fall for him. they know, however, that julian could never feel the same way - after all, they’re just a magician’s apprentice. he’s a prince.

that is until julian recovers and confesses his love for the apprentice.

under the guise that julian is indeed still sick, they continue to see each other and fall even more in love. the apprentice shows books to julian detailing the world he’s forgotten. they enchant instruments and julian teaches them how to dance, one of the only things he can remember.

one night, julian presents the idea of sneaking out of the tower to see the world with the apprentice. they do, and share a lovely night in the darkest corners of vesuvia, disguised and pretending to live the lives of normal citizens. they continue to do this until one night they are caught by the king and forcefully separated, screaming for each other.

the apprentice is thrown in jail, and the king, furious at julian, makes a compact with the devil and places a curse on him. he is transported deep into the woods to another tower and transformed into a terrifying bird-like creature, one that the apprentice could never love.

when asra returns and finds the apprentice in jail, he helps them escape and locate the location of julian’s new tower. they rush there, shocked to find julian covered in feathers, and his heart shattered by his separation from his love.

seeing him such a state, the apprentice weeps tears of unconditional love and pity. when they fall on his wings, julian’s feathers begin to disappear as he returns to his true form. at that same moment, all of his memories are returned to him.

turns out, julian, right before his 18th birthday, had discovered that the king, unable to produce an heir himself, had kidnapped a baby from the village and claimed him as his. terrified that this realization would cause a coup, the king hired a rogue to assassinate the prince.

together, the apprentice and julian confront the king. the apprentice uses their magic to banish the king from the land, leaving julian (at the lack of a blood relative to the old king) as the sole occupant on the thrown. he and the apprentice get married and are coronated the next day.

and they all live happily ever after.

Nadia - The Slumbering Queen

(also known as the story of Sleeping Beauty)

after her parents’ unexpected deaths, nadia is crowned the queen of vesuvia. in grief at their passing, and at losing the only ones in the world who loved her, she locks herself in her room, leaving a power vacuum to fester in the kingdom.

many suitors come from far and wide to try to lure her into marrying them as a grab at the throne, but she refuses all of them. the more she turns away, the sicker she gets, to the point that she stops even leaving her bed.

the courtiers, worried at losing their only stabilizing force in the kingdom, call upon a local magician and his apprentice to relieve her depression. still, she refuses their help, and the entire court gives up.

one night, after refusing a particularly determined prince from a neighboring land, nadia is found in her bed completely comatose. the courtiers think it’s from grief, but the apprentice, hearing about this and the prince, thinks otherwise.

they apprentice begs the courtiers to let them investigate, and having no other option, they agree. the apprentice starts to visit her every night, checking on her vitals, analyzing blood samples...

until one night she speaks to them. not physically, but in her mind. nadia is conscious, and the apprentice’s magic allows them to communicate. they ask her what happened the night of the start of her coma, but she refuses to speak about it. ‘i dont want to wake up to a world without love,’ she says.

she talks about other things though. art. poetry. her parents. love. and slowly, the apprentice begins to fall for her and her beautiful mind, even if she cannot touch or kiss or hold them.

time passes, and the apprentice and nadia are inseparable; they spend every hour of every day at her side. they still refuse to confess their love, knowing telling such a thing to a comatose queen would spell disaster.

finally, after months of this, nadia suddenly confesses that she’s fallen for her caregiver. ‘i can’t see you, but i can hear you, and i wish to wake for you.’

according to her, the night she went comatose, she accepted a drink from a suitor, hoping to drown her sorrows in it. instead, she found it spiked with a sleeping potion - the prince, bitter at her refusal of his marriage proposal, decided if he couldn’t have the throne, no one could.

the apprentice, angered, attempts to hunt down the vile prince, but he is long gone. no trace of him remains.

the apprentice weeps over nadia, and at feeling their tears on her face, nadia makes a sudden realization: the apprentice truly does love her. there is love in the world, and its enough.

nadia asks the apprentice to kiss her, and they accept. they place the gentlest peck on her lips.

then nadia kisses back.

the sleeping potion reversed by true love’s kiss, nadia and the apprentice embrace, once again confessing their love for each other. ‘now that i can see you,’ she says, ‘i love you even more.’

soon, the pair are married, and stability is restored to the kingdom, the thought of the treacherous prince completely out of their minds. he doesn’t matter anymore, for they know one simple thing:

they can face anything if they face it together.

and they all live happily ever after.

Asra - The Magician’s Golden Thread

(also known as the story of Rumplestiltskin)

(* the miller is the apprentice)

a young miller is living deep in the country is struck with a horrible drought, killing all of their straw crops. left without a source of income, they begin to starve. still, they manage to survive, eating what little they have.

one night, they hear a knock at their door. standing before them is a weary traveler. the traveler begs for food, claiming he is hungry and on death's door. in their kindness, the miller gives him the last of their food, resigning themselves to true starvation.

at the offer, the traveler suddenly turns into a beautiful magician, asra, and tells the miller that for their kindness, he will grant them one favor.

all the miller asks is to be able to eat, and in an instant their house is filled with bundles upon bundles of straw. they are stunned, even more so when asra tells them to spin it upon the spinning wheel.

they do, and the straw turns into threads of gold.

soon, the miller grows rich on the gold and is able to buy enough food to last a lifetime. instead of just keeping everything to themselves, however, they begin to donate to nearby villages also suffering through the drought, saving countless lives.

asra is confused by the miller’s unexplainable kindness, even when the gift that he had given them could be used for such selfish purposes. with the miller’s enthusiastic consent, he decides to live with them in order to better understand how a human could be so good.

unbeknownst to him, asra begins to fall in love with the miller. unbeknownst, for the magician has never loved anyone before.

one day, the miller finds him sobbing in the corner of the house. upon questioning, asra reveals that his master, the devil, the one from who his magic derives, has begun to grow bored with him, and plans to force him to kill the miller. if not, he himself will die.

the miller, having too fallen for asra, promises to help him break his servitude with the devil and get his soul back.

asra confesses that if the devil tries to collect a soul that isn’t rightfully his, he will be banished back to his realm. using this information to conjure up a plan destroying him for good, the two summon the devil, and the miller strikes up a deal.

‘if you release asra from his servitude to you,’ says the miller. ‘i will spin gold for you as long as i am able, and all in your name.’

the devil, foolish, agrees. suddenly, asra’s ties to him are broken, and the devil makes his move to collect the miller’s soul.

upon doing so, the devil is bound by a thick cord of gold thread. he is baffled and furious, unable to understand why such a thing was happening.

‘my power to spin gold comes from asra,’ explains the miller. ‘and asra’s power comes from you. i promised to spin gold for you as long as i could, and if asra no longer has power, i no longer have the power to spin gold. therefor, my soul is not yours, and our deal is void.’

and with that, the devil is banished back to his realm, leaving asra and the apprentice free.

asra breaks down, overcome with the realization that the miller loves them, and that he feels the same. this, combined with the cleansing of his soul, prompts him to confess his love. the miller of course reciprocates, and they quickly marry.

after marrying, the two take their leftover gold thread and move to the city. using their profits, they start a soup kitchen and a charity, helping to heal the last wounds of the drought.

and they all live happily ever after.

Portia - The Thief of Hearts

(also known as the story of Robin Hood)

(* the noble child is the apprentice)

in a far off land, a rich noblewoman and her husband give birth to a child. at the same time, a poor farmer and his wife on the other side of town give birth to a baby girl and name her pasha.

while the noble child thrives, pasha’s family is struck with disease and all but she and her older brother, ilya, survive. following their parent’s deaths, they are sent to the orphanage and from a young age taught that the negligence of the noble class to the struggles of the poor is the thing that caused the loss of their parents.

eventually, the noble child grows into a fine example of the nobility, and by age 22 are the talk of the town.

by the time pasha is 22, she and her brother have been out of the orphanage for years. ilya becomes a doctor, but she still remains unemployed, refusing to work in a society that benefits only the wealthiest among them.

then, she has an idea.

‘what if, ilya,’ she asks one day. ‘what if we took from the rich and gave to the poor?’

in that moment, the dastardly devorak siblings, the heroes of the poor, are born. ilya adopts the name julian, and pasha...she decides on portia.

their plans are simple: when julian treats a rich patient, he scopes out their home, looking for any kind of easy entrance. then, in the dead of night, portia sneaks in and takes whatever she can get her hands on, sells it in the red market, and disperses the profits among the needy.

the two grow extremely, extremely good at this, and the poor of the town grow less hungry. but it’s still not enough.

portia then plans her biggest heist of them all: the house of the once noble-child, now 22 and the sole owner of the estate after their parent's untimely deaths.

unfortunately, the heist doesn’t go as planned. portia and julian are caught by the city guards and are taken to the noble child. in a twist, though, the noble child lies through their teeth and tells the guards that the two were welcome in their home, and were given the items they took directly by them.

after being released, portia confronts the noble and questions why they saved her from prison. the noble explains that they too are sick of the greed of the rich, finally exposed to them at their parent’s deaths. all of their relatives had come running, begging for a sum of the large fortune and when denied, shunned them, even more so when they suggested they donate some to the poor.

from then on, the noble joins the dastardly devorak duo, helping to infiltrate houses they had visited before.

along their journey, portia and the noble fall for each other, eventually confess their feelings, and continue to support the poor.

‘you did steal something from me, portia.’

‘and what was that, dear?’

‘my heart.’

and they all live happily ever after.

Muriel - The Wolf and the Apprentice

(also known as the story of Little Red Riding Hood)

a young apprentice is sent by their mentor asra to fetch an extremely rare magical ingredient supposedly known to grow in the forests outside of vesuvia

as they travel through the forest, they begin to remember rumors of a hideous beast living in the woods, dragging off prey into the shadows of the wood and leaving only blood trails behind

as the night falls, the apprentice realizes they have lost their way and begin to panic

then, in the distance, they see a small cottage, with a billowing cloud of fire smoke coming from the chimney. someone is home.

they knock on the door and are greeted with practically a giant of a man and he’s scary

the apprentice, still nervous, asks for help, considering a night with a stranger in their cottage at least less dangerous than a night in the woods

turns out, the man’s a huge sweetie pie. and unexpectedly quiet.

he introduces himself as muriel and the apprentice eventually falls asleep next to him beside the fire

the next morning, the apprentice wakes up and finds muriel gone - in his place, a huge, slumbering wolf

at first they’re terrified, but then they notice the scars on its face that so closely resemble the ones that muriel had on his face

it’s him. its muriel.

using a spell to talk to him, the apprentice is told by wolf!muriel that he was cursed long ago by an evil count, bitter that he refused to become a gladiator for him.

from dawn til dusk, muriel is turned into a wolf, the one rumors call the hideous beast. at night, however, he’s allowed to return to his true form.

(oh, and the supposed blood trails left by the ‘hideous beast’? it’s just poor muriel taking wounded animals back to his cottage to take care of them.)

eventually, the apprentice convinces muriel to come back to vesuvia with them, traveling solely during the night. they take him back to Asra’s shop just as the sun rises, and as muriel transforms back into his wolf form, asra realizes what’s going on

with the help of asra and the combining of their magic, the apprentice is able to reverse the effects of the curse and unbind him from his wolf form.

muriel, eternally grateful, decides to travel along with them and protect them for the rest of their days

(they fall in love, of course, and eventually get married.)

(and adopt a lot of dogs.)

and they all live happily ever after.

Lucio - The Taming of the Beast

(also known as the story of Beauty and the Beast)

(this one starts in past tense unlike all the other ones, i have no idea WHY just please don’t kill me)

at the foot of a great mountain lies a sleepy, small kingdom. atop the mountain lies an abandoned castle, once home to a selfish prince named lucio, but long since left empty by said prince’s sudden disappearance.

coincidentally, on the same night of the prince’s disappearance, a plague began to wildly spread throughout the kingdom. within days nearly 1/5 of the kingdom was infected, and with no ruler to pose any solution on how to contain it, many fell to it. they didn’t die, however. no...they fell asleep, unable to wake. comatose.

with no other options left, those who weren’t sick began to investigate unnatural methods of curing the plague. soon they turned to the local magician asra and his apprentice, the only two in the kingdom who knew any bit of magic.

asra eventually found a lead, a potion to wake the sick... but it required an ingredient that neither he nor anyone else in kingdom possessed - a rose, touched by the hand of an arcana, a magical being that may or may not even exist. latching on to the dim ray of hope, asra and his apprentice travelled up the mountain, hoping the missing prince’s gardens might contain it.

to their luck, it did. but as soon as asra plucked it from the soil, a great beast, a giant white goat, appeared from inside the castle and demanded payment for the rose. not gold, however, nor silver - the beast looked upon the apprentice and decided it wanted them. the magician could have the flower, but only if the apprentice stayed willingly.

asra begged his apprentice not to take the deal, but they, good-natured and good-hearted, agreed to the beast’s terms. the magician left with the rose, and the beast returned to the castle’s interior with the apprentice in tow.

for the first few days and nights, the beast locked the apprentice in a room and refused to let them out, ashamed of his decision to trade the rose for their life. then, overcome by guilt for imprisoning them, the beast let the apprentice out and began to treat them as well as he could manage.

the beast also revealed his name to be montag. the name, which carried such weight to it, struck a chord with the apprentice and caused them to further pry into Montag’s life. quickly, the apprentice became aware of something hiding deep in the beast - a spark of humanity. as well, they ignored his appearance, not caring a lick about how terrifying he seemed, something which he was deeply grateful for.

months passed, and with each day Montag and the apprentice grew closer and closer. montag began to fall for his captive, but filled with disgust at his own appearance, failed to reveal it to them.

one day, he found them crying in their room. the apprentice, while they did enjoy montag’s company, had grown deeply homesick and missed asra more than ever. doing his best to reciprocate the kindness they had shown him, the beast let the apprentice return to the village on the promise that they would return by sundown three nights later.

the apprentice, agreeing to his terms, travelled down the mountain and was greeted with open arms by asra, who had managed to, using the magical rose, concoct a cure for the plague.

overcome by happiness at the announcement of the plague’s end, the terms of montag’s agreement floated out of their mind. it was only by the end of the fourth night that they realized their grave mistake.

rushing back up the mountain, they returned to the castle, but it was too late.

montag, thinking the apprentice left them for good, fell sick with grief. his last breath is taken with his true love at his side, his last words a confession of such love.

the apprentice, suddenly hit with the truth - that they love Montag, even if he is a beast - weeped tears into his chest, detesting themselves for betraying him.

before the last tear fell, however, montag’s body began to glow.

in an instant, he was transformed from the beast montag into the long lost prince lucio. he sat up, shocked to find that he was no longer the monster he once was. even more shocking was the fact that the apprentice loved him, and in a moment of passion, he kissed them.

and they kissed back.

lucio then revealed that, before he was a beast, he was approached by an old man the night before the plague started. the man, ugly and dirty, begged for shelter from the storm that raged that night, in exchange, he would give him a single beautiful rose. but lucio, selfish, turned the man away. the man then revealed himself to be an arcana and placed a curse on the prince - until he could learn to not judge on appearances, he would be transformed into a hideous, goat-like beast. the only way to reverse the curse would be to gain the love of someone pure-hearted, one who would, like lucio should have, not judge on appearances. as the arcana left, he planted the rose in the gardens.

after all of this, lucio asked the apprentice to marry him. they accepted, and invited the entire kingdom, now free of the plague, into the castle to celebrate their marriage.

from then on, lucio and his love ruled with kindness, never turning down a single soul who asked them for help.

and they all lived happily ever after.

BONUS: the view that inspired me to write this. can’t you just imagine the gang running through those woods?

#the arcana #arcana visual novel #julian devorak #ilya devorak #asra the magician #asra arcana #asra alnazar #portia devorak #muriel #nadia satrinava #count lucio #imagines #headcanons #writing #montag

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loxxxlay · 5 years

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a4 spoilers below

okay seeing all these posts this morning, im getting upset so im gonna explain where im coming from:

im not mad that thor is fat now. i actually went through 3 phases once i read the spoilers about it:

one, briefly mourning the biceps that we all know i love.

two, GETTING SUPER EXCITED AT THE POSSIBILITIES. i definitely headcanon thor as becoming an alcoholic and losing touch with his physical health post-IW. i have like 3 fics lined up to read that deal with thor being overweight post-iw. i also have considered changing a post-iw fic im writing to include thor as being overweight too. i fucking love this idea of thor in canon showing signs of the huge grief and depression hes gone through. finally!!

and then three: i found more info, and while plotwise it might have been set up this way, thematically it seems to be insensitive. hes shamed by the people he loves--which Im well aware is a common experience, more on that later--but rather than for realism, it seems to be for COMEDY. so basically his weight gain is the butt of the joke. his suffering, his depression, his coping mechanisms are the butt of the joke.

okay more on my personal experience. i am not currently overweight, but i used to be throughout high school. and i got a really fucked up self image because of a few things ppl said. in college, i did ballet and basically starved myself for 2 years and became so thin that everyone started worrying about whether i was annorexic (i dont think i was but the fact is i did become underweight). that was a long time ago. ive finally regained my sense of hunger lol, and i am a decent weight right now, if a little chubbier than im comfortable with. many ppl call me "thin." however, even now i still binge eat during spikes of depression. im also very close to a family member who is currently overweight and used hard drugs and alcohol as coping mechanisms during one of their brutal depressive episodes.

in my weight now, i know i am privileged. but that doesnt mean i was always this way and that i dont understand the reality behind thor's experience. and its really frustrating that i feel i have to self-disclose all this information about myself simply to be able to say "i dont want to risk seeing fatshaming of a beloved character in end game"

like, this doesnt even add to the fact of gamora's treatment in IW. i saw DROVES of people who said that they thought the russos were very respectful of her character and the abuse she suffered. while i respect those ppl's opinions and their enjoyment of the movie, i INTENSELY disagree. and because of that, i dont trust the russos anymore.

and so just because now, loads of people are saying thor's mental illness and weight gain were treated respectfully* doesnt mean i will agree???? like ive read the comments characters made to thor. i know about the "go eat a salad" line. and whether i ultimately agree with ppl or not about whether it's respectful, im too emotionally vulnerable to risk being in a crowded room for 3 hours unable to escape while listening to ppl laugh at a line--a line that has been said again and again to *my* family member when *i* was the one to rebel against ppl who would laugh and *i* was the one to reassure her and make her feel better about herself because she hates that she is fat. if i have to relive these kinds of things during the movie, then there is absolutely no way i will enjoy it. im fucking sorry for not being willing to risk it -_-

so yeah, in short, to all the posts im seeing today trying to imply i (and ppl like me) are fatphobic for not wanting to go see and potentially not liking endgame: it's not that thor is fat. quite the opposite. it's that i dont trust fatshaming used as comic relief, esp in the hands of the russos.

just like, it's not that gamora was abused. as u can see by my focus subjects in writing, quiiite the fucking opposite. it's that i dont trust a representation that has her killed by her abuser, thus validating her abuser's "love" for her.

*i respect every overweight person or every alcoholic person (or anyone who used to be either) if they enjoyed this movie and/or thought thor's experience was respectfully depicted. i, in no way, want to rob you of your much-desired representation. it makes me super happy for you to know you felt fulfilled. ❤❤ all that this post is asking is that you respect me for my opinion.

p.s. i have not seen endgame yet. my opinion might change when i do. the premise of this post is that i dont want to see it right this moment because, based on the knowledge i have, the risk to my mental health is too great.

NOTE: PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO ARGUE WITH ME OR CONVINCE ME IM WRONG. ive read like 5 million different opinions on thor being fat before i made up my mind, and i am WELL-VERSED on anything u could possibly say. (at least as much as i can be without seeing the movie.) i dont want hear it anymore. i dont want to defend my feelings anymore. i already had to like literally 50 times yesterday and im ooooverrrrr itttt. 😭😭😭😭 let me be upset and unwilling to go see endgame at this time. i promise you, despite my opinion, the world will keep spinning. your own enjoyment will stay strong. ❤❤❤❤

#a4 #a4 spoilers #lox talks personal #a4 wank #iw wank #long post #lox whines

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that-one-violist · 5 years

Text

formal apologies this is long, its a mindless vent session so like, dont feel obligated because oof

i hate how grief takes away so much from you. not only do you have to deal with the absence of someone you never could imagine would disappear from your life, but the bills, the house, the clothing, the holidays, the food in the fridge she would have eaten, the things you would have shared with them, the phone calls you would make, having someone to forward emails you didnt understand to, someone to sit next to when youre ill, someone to cry to when life gets tough or when your head hurts for hours unend and it just makes everything harder. i cant share anything with her anymore. i cant be happy or feel proud without it being stained by grief and pain.

like, i did really well at my juries, maybe not comparatively to others but for me i did. but all i could do was sit in a practice room and cry because i normally would have called her to tell her how proud i was and how much she made this possible for me. but i couldnt. there wouldnt be anyone on the other side, and there never will be. there was a moment when i read the comments that i just was happy and proud and excited and then i went to grab my phone by reflex and then it just hit and i just broke all over again.

last night i walked around campus from like 10-11:30 at night just walking aimlessly because i just needed to think and get some exercise and fresh air along the way. everything was fine and then i got to my dorm which at this point is empty im the only one left for exams and i feel like i could have had a minor fucking breakdown?

i literally just started crying and all i could do was talk to an empty room like i was talking to her on the phone and i tried to share everything with her and tell her how much i miss her even though i was fully aware there was no one there i just felt like i had to and it helped but how fucking crazy do you have to be? i literally even took out the wedding rings that I cleaned because i knew she would have wanted them clean because she was so meticulous so i could fucking “show” her that i got them cleaned. literally what the fuck? like i even openly said like 40 times that “theres like a 99% chance that you dont even exist anymore and then if you do its unlikely youre able to hear me or experience any of this and tehres absolutely no guarantee that if there is something after that ill be able to interact with you but i dont know what to do because telling dad about this trivial stuff that im proud of just isnt the same. its still important but its not you.” and kept going. whats wrong with me? is this just like, grief but a weird version of it?

why am i going off on here. why is tumblr somehow supposed to help me think through shit? i always have to talk through shit and im 10000% an over-sharer because i think outloud and i think through other people’s reactions and their responses but i dont want to bother anyone with this face to face because its uncomfortable and its been over a month so my “free to be too open or openly sad or openly something related to grief” card is gone and

i used to do this shit on my finsta but a lesser version of it but then people in real life that follow my finsta started to bring it up to me (and by that i mean literally one person but also) and im not trying to concern people and theres a few people i know and love to death that follow me on here and know me irl and i also dont want them to worry but i operate on the slim chance they dont see this shit even though i post fucking bullshit so frequently

i dont know im just saying shit to say it now i really need to just figure out a more personal not so vocal version of this, writing it on a piece of paper does nothing because theres no out in the world to it, idk if that makes me an attention whore but i mean i wouldnt be suprised at this rate with how much i talk about how much this is bothering me

big

fucking

yoinks (thats yikes but more)

#personal #greif #im so lost #idk what to do #im sorry for going of #off #i just #oof

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thedistantstorm · 5 years

Text

Phoenix Protocol 03

A Zavala x Female Guardian work.

Summary: When the Traveler’s Light was returned to the Guardians after the defeat of the Cabal, it did not manifest itself the same in everyone. Miyu, an Awoken Warlock, finds herself struggling with her abilities, her Light feeling different and not her own. With her Vanguard preoccupied with grief and all eyes turned to the Reef, she finds herself turning to an unlikely source in an attempt to rediscover her connection to the Light and define what it means for her as a Dawnblade.

Previously

A voice bellows her name, puncturing her concentration in such a way that it feels like coming up for air. “Miyu!”

She knows that voice, she realizes. It’s the Commander.

When the realization fully processes and she realizes she doesn't know how long he's been watching, her head rockets up, the rift and solar fire dissipate immediately. Her hands fall to her sides, covered thankfully by her sleeves. She can feel the tingling prickle of numbness that indicates she’s burned herself severely, despite the rift. She sighs and straightens from her throwing stance.

Zavala jumps down from the spectating balcony dressed in a cotton training tunic and lacking most of his armor, with the exception of his mark. It flaps quietly as he lands on the ground in the arena, knees easily accepting the impact of the fall. He runs toward her, concern evident in the brightness of his eyes and set of his jaw.

“What were you doing?” He stands before her now. “I heard a scream.”

“Oh,” The Warlock sighs. “Sorry, Commander. Something hurt more than I thought it would. I didn’t mean to-” She looks down at his sweat-soaked training gear in surprise. She had expected to be the only one here, today of all days. “-disturb you from your drills?”

The Vanguard Commander nods and she notices his slightly heavier breathing. “It’s fine. You are unharmed?”

“I’m fine,” She agrees.

Ghost hangs nearby, his optic narrowing on her in concern. Zavala looks up at him in turn, and the small being hovers backward, clearly caught. “You are not,” The Vanguard says quietly, “Are you?” His scrutiny is unbearable.

She moves to tuck her arms behind her back, to mimic the pose he usually takes, when he looks over the City from his post in the Tower. If she can get them behind her back, he -

Zavala grabs her left forearm with his right hand. Miyu hisses. His brows raise, eyes narrowing as he turns her palm over and peels back the sleeve of her robe. He gasps. Blistered, bubbling skin, pink and red and black, weeping and angry meets the light of day.

“How did-”

She snatches her arm from his grasp, ignoring the watering of her eyes. “I’m very sorry for interrupting you,” She repeats quietly. “My Ghost will heal me. It’s fine.” She turns her back to him, looks to her partner, and takes several steps before breaking into a run. It’s clear she does not want Zavala to follow her.

The Commander does anyway, taking measured, calm steps, her Ghost at his side, looking fretful. “Miyu is having difficulty with her Light, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” The little Light explains. “After the war… it - we didn’t,” He doesn’t know how to explain it and finally sighs. “It’s different now.”

The duo finds the Warlock braced over one of the sinks in the empty locker room, robe discarded carelessly on the ground, using her right hand - the less burned one - to splash water on her face. Being so pale in complexion, the redness of her eyes and cheeks immediately drew attention to the chaotic swirling of white aura beneath her normally equally light skin.

“Miyu,” Both Titan and Ghost say, before looking at each other in curious surprise. Zavala blinks, but lets her Ghost take the floor.

Ghost speaks. “Miyu, let me heal you,” He calls gently. “That has to hurt.” She cradles the damaged arm against her chest, her undershirt already soaked with sweat and water turning pink with plasma and blood on contact. Her eyes dart to him, and he turns to the Commander. “Give us a moment,” The Ghost implores. “Please.”

Zavala nods and retreats back into the hallway.

Pale light casts a shadow of his hulking form against the stone floor when her Ghost shucks his shell and swathes her in the glow. The Commander hears the combined sigh of Ghost and Guardian, and a quiet metallic gargle when the Ghost speaks to her. “It’s okay,” He’s telling her. Zavala feels a touch rude for listening in, though there’s no way for him to tune them out in the echoing, empty halls. “He’s worried, not mad. Just… talk to him, okay? Maybe he can help.”

Ghost transmats her soiled training robe away for a softer one. Her skin stayed sensitive afterward, sometimes - the Light not healing it all, not really, and he was always mindful of her needs. She held her hand out for him to rest when she exits the locker room, and Ghost drops to her hand - accepting an affectionate nudge of her fingers against his cones - before disappearing in a shower of sparks.

“Your Ghost cares about you a great deal,” Zavala says, echoing previous words. He does not make eye contact, like she’s expecting. She’s not sure if she’s grateful or feels like she’s being treated like a caged animal. “He said you have been experiencing difficulties with your Light, since the War.”

She nods her agreement, looking sheepish. “Both of those things are true.”

This time, he does meet her pale gaze. “Have you talked to Ikora about it? Certainly she’d be willing to help you.”

Miyu looks away, and shrugs. “I’ll do that,” She says, but his eyes don’t leave her face, staying trained on it - reading it - despite the fact that she’s looking at the ground.

“You have, haven’t you,” He intones, gently. “You’ve talked to her about this.”

The sideways pull of her lips in a disapproving frown is a giveaway. “Maybe once or twice,” She admits. Certainly more than that, but she’s not in the business of putting down her Vanguard.

“Does she not listen?”

“She doesn’t understand,” Miyu finally says, a bit more abruptly than she’d planned to. “She doesn’t understand how my Light can be so different from what it was before. I don’t think I’m supposed to use it in the way the Dawnblades do. Not anymore.” A peek up at his face reveals pensive concern, not condemnation. It spurs her onward. “She believes pushing me into the worst situations possible will help me to reconnect. But-”

“That is a terrible idea,” Zavala says, mostly to himself. He looks up at her in surprise, as if he can’t believe he’s said it out loud, but then admits, “While the Light may very well react if you feel threatened, if it does not, the cost…” He trails off, looks back at her, contemplative. The conflicted look on her face tells him that she’s thought of that, as well.

Miyu leans back against the wall, crossing her arms. “How does a Titan - a Sentinel,” She specifies, asking, “Call upon their Ward of Dawn?”

His brows furrow. “Not that I mind,” He holds out both hands as if demonstrating that her question is not unwelcome, “But what does this have to do with our conversation?”

The Awoken Warlock steps past him, looks down the hall to the empty training arena. “I believe that my Light might be better served in a more defensive manner. That perhaps my rift might hold the key.”

Rubbing a hand against his chin, Zavala thinks it over. “Your research,” He recalls. “You are trying to unlock a different type of ability.”

She nods, a little twinge of a smile here and gone when she faces him again. He understood her immediately, and yet Ikora… she didn’t seem to understand despite Miyu’s attempts at being transparent. “I think I might be able to use my Light, specifically, maybe to not hurt myself, or at least let it last longer, if I try something different. Something with a focus on healing. Protecting.” She reaches up for her ashen black hair, combs her fingers through some of the tangles. “After all, isn’t that our purpose? To protect? If I want to reconnect to my Light, I think that might be the way to do it.”

He still gives her Vanguard the benefit of the doubt, saying, “Certainly Ikora would be interested in-”

Miyu shakes her head and Zavala stops short. “Maybe it will change, but…” She shrugs. “She wants me in the Reef. Up until today, I think she wanted me to help find Uldren.” Zavala doesn’t react to the name, though Miyu watches him carefully. “I don’t want anything to do with that.”

“What do you want?” Zavala asks her. Not judgmental. Neutral. Perhaps curious, just a little.

“I want to feel like me again. I want to prevent what happened - what the Cabal did,” Her fists clench. “I don’t ever want it to happen to us, ever again.” She sighs. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unload on you. I know Ghost said you’d hear me out, but this - it isn’t your problem.”

“No,” He agrees. “But perhaps I can help. I’ll show you how my power manifests, and let you determine if the Ward of Dawn could assist you in your search for answers. However, we cannot do it now. My schedule is-”

The apology stumbles from her lips as she realizes how much of his valuable time she’s taken. He was trying to train, too. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-”

“Stop apologizing, Miyu. It is not your fault I am the Vanguard Commander.” This time, his lips do almost make it to what would be considered a smile, and his tone is nearly teasing. “I lead the Titans in drills most mornings, before dawn, in the training facilities here. You’re welcome to come spectate, if it will help. The schedule should be posted.”

She bows, pressing her hands together. “Thank you,” She chimes. “I appreciate it.”

“I hope you find what you are looking for,” He replies, and his hand finds his way to her shoulder, a gentle squeeze. An affirmation that someone beyond her Ghost might actually care. It makes her flush. “I cannot imagine…”

“It’s difficult,” Miyu admits, voice quiet. “I don’t know if it was because I was in the middle of casting Dawnblade when the Traveler was captured and the Light was ripped from us,” The words are a whisper that she’s not shared with anyone besides Ghost, who was there. “But it feels like it’s all there, you know?” He doesn’t, she knows, but he doesn’t interrupt. She sees the uncomfortable shift in his stance, knows that from his perspective she’s describing something horrific he never hopes to experience. “I can feel the Light there, to be called upon. It just… won’t come out all the way.” She shrugs. “Anyway,” She transitions, not paying attention to the brilliant eyes that soften as they listen to her resolve, “There has to be a reason. I’ll figure it out and persevere. That’s what we do.”

That evening, when she finishes up her late patrols and checks in, Kadi, the postmaster, has a message for her. The frame produces two books, old ones. Tucked within the cover of the first one is a small note, written on thick ivory paper with neat handwriting.

She doesn’t need to know his handwriting to know it’s from him, the two symbols denoting her name in its proper, original form tipping her off. Pre-Collapse Japanese, he’d said, when he learned her name. It brings a smile to her lips. He seemed like the kind of man who would know about languages, how to read and write them. She found herself curious as to what he’d write her, after their encounter earlier in the afternoon.

実優

Perhaps these texts would prove useful. I am not sure how the translation would be made between the Void and Solar energies as they are very different, but it might be worth a read.

I will be focusing on training my new Sentinels in two days’ time, at the place and time we discussed. Afterward, I anticipate being free long enough to answer your questions, should you have any.

-Zavala

Ghost looked down at the paper, then back up at her face and the pleasant surprise he sees there. “See,” He says, “What did I tell you, Yu-mi? He might be able to help. At the very least, he wants to.”

Miyu smiles. “Yes,” She agrees, cradling the books to her chest and letting Ghost rest atop them as they head home for the night. “You never steer me wrong.”

#commander zavala #oc: miyu #zavala x female guardian #zavala x oc #destiny #destiny fanfiction #destiny stories #destiny fan fiction #slowburn #angst #character development #destiny community #post-forsaken #collection: phoenix protocol

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