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blingblong55 · 11 months

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Sweet Nothing- Rodolfo Parra (includes Philip Graves)

Based on a request:

Look, as much as I love Philip Graves, he gives off jackass bitch energy. So, he leads on the reader (who's just fuckin adorable, wife energy, protect this one for the rest of your life vibes) before leaving them after a one night stand and then they meet again years later and reader changed into a badass boss bitch dommy mommy you'd wanna tap but she's fucking hostile af. Also dating Rudy, cuz Rudy's the only man who deserves to score a pre-Graves reader. Idk, im in my "fuck me up and you're next" era

A/N: Someone said I should use the lyrics of Sweet nothing, so...here it goes

F!Reader, fluff, angst, soldier! reader

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings Outside, they're push and shoving You're in the kitchen humming

7 years ago, a few of your comrades and you had a huge victory. You all went to celebrate out by a local pub. It was fun, the drinks, the stories, laughs, the stupid songs you'd all sing, and then the stupid mistake of letting Graves take you home. You had a crush on him before, how when he smiles he would do so to the side. The way his hair was always well groomed and how his cologne never changed. You noticed his American southern accent, getting rougher when he was drunk like this. The way his hands wandering your thighs or back. So for you it was a dream to even have him offer himself to you.

If you can describe yourself from 7 years ago, you'd call her "sweet, innocent, caring, bubbly, and loving", and all that is true, well was true. The night with Philip was great, the way he assured you all night in bed that he'd take care of you. How his lips met yours, how he kissed you with so much delicateness it felt beautiful. "al'right, sweet thing, just close your eyes and rest now." Your head rested on his chest, his hand drawing small circles on your back. You felt content in his arms.

By morning, instead of waking up to him by your side, it was just you. A note and nothing else.

"That was fun, but just a one time thing:) -take care, Philip Graves"

You never knew it'd be just a one night stand with him, you'd expect more. Back then, you were only a 22 year old, still learning and understanding much of the military. You trusted him with your body that night, a innocent girl, not knowing she'd be robbed from something she held dear to her, her own young heart on a platter, eaten by the man Philip was.

By some miracle, a commander in Mexico had seen your work for Shadow company. Alejandro Vargas, a major at the time of him recruiting you and his friend, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, a captain at the time. Graves let you go, knowing that you'd ask for more and he was not wiling to give. In all honesty, after you left, he talked about his time with you, made fun of you the weeks after it had happened.

After that night with Philip and how he belittled you, even if he didn't know, you promised you'd never let that happen to you. All the men that approached you were quickly turned down. You only gave time to your job, training and to yourself. You treated men like the scum of the earth.

Belittled them if they ever spoke about you. "I'd shut it, because you are nothing more than a worthless, good for nothing piece of ass." All men at some point feared you, not making advances on you, except for one.

Rudy, although rejected by you more than 19 times, always came back. He never cared if you degraded him with your lemon filled words. He loved you for it, loved how you never spoke bad of yourself, standing tall and proud. Alejandro tried to tell him to stop pursuing you, but he is stubborn as he is cute.

With him, you were always more soft. Although at times you'd say mean things to him, you were never too mean. Because in him, you found your old self coming back. Begging to be let out, because all you wanted to do was cuddle with him, listen to his problems, kiss him, adore his very soul.

And to be honest, he worshipped the ground you walk on. He didn't care that he was a higher rank than you, no, he always said. "Yes ma'am", "No, ma'am", "Sorry ma'am", "You look beautiful/perfect, ma'am". In his eyes, you deserved all the shiniest of things this world could offer.

He loved how you would yell at rookies, but the second you saw a puppy, you'd turn all soft and would pet it for a long time. How one time he saw you baking and dancing to a melody in your head. Your puppy eyes when you would see a something adorable.

One night, there you were, ready to hop on your motorcycle when he approached. "R/N, uhm...do you mind if maybe this Sunday me and you can maybe....I dunno, go on a date?"

You see, the reason why he asked you on a Sunday and not on a Friday or Saturday was because he heard you sing a song to yourself.

"I want a Sunday kind of love, A love to last past Saturday night, And I'd like to know it's more than love at first sight, And I want a Sunday kind of love" Your voice soft like a whisper.

"Sunday...time?"

His face lit up, in a way for him, this was you agreeing, "6 am, ma'am." he happily responded. You were confused, why would he want a date on a Sunday at 6 in the goddamn morning?

"I was thinking breakfast by the lakes...maybe you'd like that," he answered as if he was listening to your thoughts, he paused and looked at you, "Or whatever time, all I want is to spend time with you."

A light red hue on your cheeks, there it was. The old you, feeling excited because for the first time in years, you were validated as more than just a 'one time thing', seen by him for you. You nod, "very well-"

"I'll pick you up?"

"I don't see why not."

You put her helmet on, going for the typical night ride. Funny enough, he was the guy who would race you any chance he got. You of course never knew, but he did. Wanted to spend time with you in whatever way he could, so, he learned from Alejandro how to ride one.

During the date, he was so nervous, he completely forgot his Spanish and English. Giggled as he tried to compose himself for you, you took his hand, "Just one work at a time, I promise to listen." the way you said it and carried it, was a different side of you, the old you.

"Eres hermosa, la mas bella." he cups your face, looks you in the eyes and smiles. You'd learn Spanish for him after months of dating, but in this moment, when you barely spoke the language, you understood the meaning. Skin melted on his hands, turning into mush, he leaned in, kissed your forehead and then looked you in the eyes.

"Thank you, for giving me this chance."

Soon after that, you went on more dates, Sunday dates. Always by the lake, eating, laughing and at times, he'd chase you into the water. Both laughing, being the sweetest of creatures.

6 years after that first date, you and him celebrated your engagement, Alejandro being asked to be the best man. While everyone had seen your cold hearted side, he saw you, the woman he'd be waiting for at the end of the isle. His favourite melody, the girl who made him soup, stayed up all night understanding the video game he was enraged by, taking classes to speak to your in-laws in their language. Wearing that sundress and although you weren't religious, attended church with his mum, grandma and him.

4 months after he had proposed to you, thats when you met 141 and Shadow Company. Graves introduced himself, once he spotted you in the room, he stopped, "-any...ways, it's a pleasure to meet y'all." He nodded to himself and walked to where you were. Alejandro ran through the plan.

"You look beautiful, sweet thing-"

You raised a finger to him, "I don't let dogs speak to me." Rudy heard it, chuckled to himself. He was happy, a part of him was always protective of you, wanted to be selfish and have you to him. So knowing you were still like this with other men made him glad. Now that he was on the good side of your actions, he didn't know if you still spoke like that to other men.

Graves was....mad...? He noticed how you changed, how you looked healthier, happier and that stupid fucking diamond ring. He did love how much your body had changed, how your curves become more prominent, your hair longer, the same body he was once all over was...sexier, appealed to his needs for sure.

And then after the meeting, he saw you hand in hand with Rudy. Your cold gaze now soft, you blushing and admiring your boyfriend. Rudy kisses your cheek which caused you to look away blushing. Although you were dating him, it was as if you were a school girl, crushing on a celebrity, gushing over him.

Rudy was always the one, that was clearly known. Graves will now forever hold his peace, as the girl that treated him with love and respect was now with another. You'd be the bride and he would never be the groom who gets to call you his.

His lost was and is clear to be Rudy's gain.

Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more" To you, I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it

Tags: @anonymuslydumb

A/N: checking my inbox and I just realised I have request from back in may....sorry...I'll get to those, I promise

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exaltedfuzz · 19 days

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Hi! Do you have some personal HCs regarding how Lana dealt with the grief of losing her parents? She'd known them her whole life compared to Ema, and I love to think about (read: make myself sad about) how she managed to balance that and trying to do the best by her only remaining family.

Hello! Honestly, if a question contains “do you have some personal HCs regarding [...] Lana”, the answer is almost definitely yes, and this is no exception! Thanks for the ask. I’ve got a couple scripts in early stages around this very topic, so I don’t want to spoil too many of my thoughts in case I ever want to make a comic about them, or something. (Honestly, I should just write fanfic at this point… I have a rough piece of prose writing in the works that I'll attach part of under the cut... A little teaser.)

Around the time Lana would have had to start taking care of Ema, I think I’ve settled on it being most likely between 16 and 18, since I think if she hadn’t had to stay put for Ema, she’d have moved away to go to uni. So she’d be in a pretty tense time in her life anyway, with exams coming up, and whatever teenage stuff she was dealing with. I imagine that when she got the call saying that her parents were dead, she didn’t have much time to grieve alone before Ema was asking what was wrong, and her focus had to very quickly switch right onto making sure that her sister was ok. In general, I think the thing with Lana is that she’s massively self sacrificial, so her coping mechanism became doing the best possible job she could for Ema, and in that, there wouldn’t be much time for grief between making sure Ema was fed, making sure she was getting good grades so she’d manage to get onto a law course (so she could earn good money to put Ema through college), making sure she could drive, so they could shop and get places…

Here she is...

I think one of the biggest struggles in the early days was learning how to drive. She would have probably been about to start lessons, or just started, (if we assume she was 16 or so) and her parents just died in a car crash. But she’d just have to get on with it, because it was necessary. (She doesn’t have the best record with cars, does she?)

Since Ema says she “used to be so gentle, always smiling”, I think that this was the image of her that Ema experienced most often, so it’s safe to say that she was really patient with her. Ema was probably the only thing that kept her going at a lot of different points in her life.

I expect there would have been some really rough moments though, once Ema was off to sleep and she was alone in a house much too big for a teenage girl and a baby. I like to think that they at least got to inherit a house. (They deserve a little bit of a break, don't they?)

Here's a doodle of her in the first few seconds of having to acknowledge the fact that she's on her own. This is based on a line from the thing under the cut.

And, as promised, here's a little bit of writing. Rough and underdeveloped, I think, but hopefully enjoyable.

The landline didn’t usually go. If it was important, her parents would call her cell. But it did go. Three times, consecutively. She could recall it all. Ema, sitting up at the table with her, eating her pot of yoghurt and drawing in the back of Lana’s notebook. Lana’s textbook laid out in front of her - this was the one thing she didn’t remember. It was physics, that much she knew, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care about whatever was on that page after the rest of what she learned that night. She was smiling, Ema was too. She couldn’t keep her sticky little hands off of Lana’s pens and pencils. It was achingly normal. So familiar. Her parents would have a conference, or a party, or a theatre trip planned, and she was old enough to look after Ema, so she did. She was good with her.

So when they told her to not wait up, to make sure Ema got a little snack if she was hungry, to call them if she needed anything, it was normal. Another night in, another night of making sure Ema didn’t get too curious about what all the fun things under the sink were, another night of studying, another quiet night. She liked them. Sure, it was hard to be saddled with looking after the most curious baby to ever have little hands to grab with, and it was hard to not feel like she was missing out whenever her friends would go out, while she was here, eating carrot sticks and cucumber to try to encourage Ema to follow suit - those days still tasted like hummus in her mind. But it was a labour of love, and Lana was happy to sacrifice her time for her baby sister.

She tried not to be bitter. She didn’t want to be, because Ema was such a joy. But when she’d sit up at the table, nose in her books as always, and she’d hear all the fawning over the youngest Skye, she did feel left out. When Ema was born, Lana stopped getting so many little treats. Her parents used to take her out with them to these excursions. It was a lot of fun to get to talk to the scientists who worked with her mum, she loved seeing the crappy plays that the amateur dramatic society put on, she’d always end up getting sweets and snacks when her dad took her to the shops, and it just kind of stopped when Ema was born. It was a hard time for Lana, but she couldn’t resent Ema. She had a silly smile, and little hands which wanted nothing more than to squeeze Lana’s fingers, and poke around at her face. Holding Ema in her arms while she conducted her first scientific experiments on the elastic potential of Lana’s nose almost made her cry.

She told her parents then that she wasn’t ever going to let anyone hurt Ema, and she’d done her best to make good on that promise until her life was once again torn out from under her feet with the SL-9 incident, and she found herself constantly hurting Ema all on her own in her self absorption. She never forgave herself for that. Ema did, though. She was always so excited to come and see her on the other side of that visitation room, and she still told her everything, like Lana made sure she knew she could. Her eyes looked sad, though. Lana had watched those eyes as they changed from barely betraying any conscious thought, to when they quirked half closed with Ema’s newfound sarcastic smirk. Lana wasn’t quite sure she liked that. Her baby sister was older than she was that night by now, and she definitely didn’t seem like she could handle looking after a kid. What must Lana have looked like?

She knew what she felt like, that’s for sure. Of course, she stood up, with a sigh, on the third repetition of that irritating ringing, and held up the phone to her ear. She was so ready to tell whoever was on the other side that they didn’t need double glazed windows.

“Hello?”

“Is this the Skye residence?”

It was cold. Maybe they did need double glazed windows. Lana hesitated before she responded.

“Ah, yes?”

“Am I speaking to Miss Lana Skye?”

“...Who is this?”

There was too much blood rushing through Lana’s head for her to really hear what the response was.

“Sorry, could you repeat that last bit?”

“There’s been an incident involving a Mr. and Dr. Skye.”

She didn’t care about the rest of whatever he said. Something about investigation being open, something about intensive care, something about an escort car to the hospital being arranged. She could not speak, and her eyes failed. She leant forward, one hand white knuckled around the phone, the other now beginning to bleed with how Lana was chewing at her thumbnail. Ema was still babbling on the other side of the kitchen-diner. She never wished Ema would shut up, but she didn’t want to hear her making these silly noises as if their lives weren’t about to become impossible.

Lana was about to put Ema to bed. It was late. She didn’t remember the time. It was easier that way. She was supposed to be giving a presentation tomorrow at school, and she wanted to be sharp and awake for it. She wasn’t really planning on staying up much longer herself. Certainly not to wait for her parents to get back. She supposed they never would, now. She recognised the way this officer spoke from all the stupid cop shows she watched. She didn’t need it spelled out for her. She mumbled out a thanks, and hung up.

She always hated crying. She couldn’t stand it. The way her breath sounded as it shuddered out of her made her feel weak, and she wasn’t weak. She couldn’t ever afford to be, and that was all she could think of. Lana didn’t notice Ema getting out of the chair and unsteadily walking over to her, and her little grasping hands reaching for the hem of her jumper managed to ground her again. She looked over her shoulder at her sister. Eyes so wide and full of questions, all of which Lana realised, in that moment, she would have to answer. She must have scared her with the way her eyebrows furrowed and the way she grit her teeth, because Ema pulled a little sad face at her.

“Why are you crying?”

Ema wasn’t really that helpful sometimes. Lana swallowed, and looked for an answer. She tilted her head up, closed her eyes, and covered them with her hand, before breathing.

All she could manage to choke out was confirmation: “I’m very upset.”

What a useless statement.

Ema wasn’t ever satisfied with one answer. She just kept asking why. Lana knew that you had to be honest with kids when they had complex questions, so she picked Ema up in her skinny arms and held her while she explained. Usually, she was delighted to explain everything about the world to her sister, but this was hard. Not as hard as seeing Ema’s little pout as she tried to comprehend, though.

As she sat in the escort car on her way to the hospital, as if their presence would miraculously bring their parents to life, she kept holding Ema. She kissed the top of her head and tried not to cry on her soft hair. Her stomach turned as she thought about what the last thing her mum had said to her was. It had escaped her mind until now, and she wished she could let it escape her mind forever.

"No boyfriends over, alright? Be good. Love you. See you in the morning."

She supposed she'd never get to tell them now that there never would be any boyfriends. It was selfish of her to care about something so trivial, so she tried her best to push it to the side. Ema never had to know, either. It wasn't important.

She didn't end up giving her presentation. Or going to school, for the next few days. Ema was at home, so Lana was at home.

#art #my art #ace attorney #ema skye #lana skye #writing #exaltedfuzz #skye sisters

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undercoverpena · 5 months

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THINGS TO LEAVE IN 2023

presented by your friendly neighbourhood jo ✨🩷

✨ being an arsehole: this doesn’t just apply to your fellow writers, gif makers or readers, but also to yourself. if you talk crap to yourself, you’re giving permission for others to talk to you in the same way.

✨ writing things you don’t like: so, you’re mid-series and you’re not feeling it. the worst that can happen is your wip is abandoned, and some people might be a touch annoyed? I know it feels bad, but also, by pushing yourself you risk burn out, writing sub-par work you hate and feeling disinterest in the thing you loved doing. overall, not good for either you or readers, so.

✨ feeling guilty for putting yourself first: there is only one you. sometimes we have to draw a line in the sand and put our hands up and go “I cannot do this rn” and that is okay. we also need to know which people to walk away from, which things to give our time to and continue to protect our energy. it takes a second to deplete our batteries and several business days for it to return—remember that.

✨ things that don’t bring us joy: whether that’s your mobile theme, a fandom, a pairing, a character, the list goes on, but let’s do the things we want to in 2024. let’s also surround ourselves with people who lift us up and let’s choose things which make us smile. let’s also celebrate ourselves a bit more, cause we’re all fucking amazing.

✨ the notion of “to write X you need to have Y”: the beauty of fandom is that we’re all playing around in a playground with a bunch of swing sets, slides and sand boxes. you want to write X!character going to space, go for it. (pls be sure to label and mark warnings for people tho, it’s not cute to blindside people).

and because I’m a believer of growth, here are some things I’m gonna promise to do more of in 2024:

➡️ begin accepting compliments and not moon-walking away: because I know by not accepting them, I’m both telling myself they’re not true and also possibly running the risk of telling those who are complimenting me their opinion doesn’t matter. be easy on me though.

➡️ apologising for silly things: I’m gonna slip up, but I’m going to try and stop apologising for writing too much, being a bother (more so when I say hi and strike a convo) and for my mental health.

feel free to reblog and add on one or two goals you hope to do in 2024 ✨

#jo’s thoughts #this is just something I’ve been pulling together over the week #I love setting goals #(achievable goals)#and also being a supporting and kind space

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baileypie-writes · 5 months

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Hey pookie it's me and what about veneer x male reader where reader is just overworking and doesn't know when to stop working with readers job can you make him a drafter pwetty pwease🥺

(I'm sorry for all the veneer requests I'm getting destroyed by work and I'm starved of veneer comfort)

A/N ~ Sure pookie! I don’t mind the requests at all, so send as many as you’d like! I also don’t know much about being a drafter, so I’m sorry if anything’s inaccurate!🩷

~Time to Stop~

Veneer x Male!Overworking!Drafter!Reader

Fandom: Trolls 3: Band Together

Relationship: Romantic

Synopsis: You’ve been overworking yourself, and Veneer’s not having it.

Warnings: Reader overworking himself, Veneer lecturing Reader

“Just finish this drawing, and then you can rest.”

That’s what you’ve told yourself six times. So obviously, you haven’t gotten your rest yet. You don’t know why you have so much trouble stopping. You just feel the need to constantly be working. You’ve been working nonstop for almost three days, and your wrist was killing you. Not to mention, you’re absolutely exhausted. But you won’t stop.

~~~~

“Why won’t he pick up? Do you think he’s okay?” Veneer asked his sister. He’s tried calling you seven times already, and you haven’t answered. He was getting really worried, and starting to pace.

“Veneer, for like, the millionth time, I do not know! If you’re so concerned, just go visit him.” Velvet responded, just wanting her brother to leave her alone.

“You know what, I will!” His mood changed to a more happy one, excited to see you. He grabbed his car keys, and drove to your work.

~~~~

The moment Veneer arrived, he was frantically searching for you. When he finally found you, he called out your name, causing you to jump. He ran into your arms. “You’re okay!”

“Uh… yeah? Oh course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be?” You asked, puzzled.

Veneer pulled away. “Because you haven’t answered any of my calls! I’ve tried calling you so many times!”

You were slightly shocked and confused, so you pulled your phone out of your bag. Seven missed calls. “Oh…. sorry. I guess I was so busy, I didn’t notice.”

Veneer scoffed, his lips forming into a pout. “Yeah. Of course you were busy. You’ve been busy for the past three days! I haven’t even seen your face until now! Why even are you so busy? Is it your boss? I can talk to them if they’re making you work too hard!”

“Oh, no, that’s okay! It’s not my boss. I guess one day I just… kept going and never stopped.”

Veneer didn’t quite understand what you meant. He glanced over at your desk, looking at the many papers, supplies and your cluttered computed screen.

“Why? You look so tired, so why haven’t you stopped?” He asked, genuinely confused.

“I don’t know. I just get like this sometimes. I start working, and I don’t let myself stop.” You sat on your chair, taking a much needed rest. You looked sleep deprived and malnourished, and Veneer did not like it.

“Babe, that not okay. You need to stop working.”

“I know… but I just want to finish this one-“

“No (name). It’s time to stop. Right now.” Veneer pulled you out of your chair, and grabbed your bag for you. You were going to protest some more, but he had this strict and determined look that made you cave.

“Fine.” Veneer smiled, and you both went to his car. You didn’t realize how tired you really were, until you fell asleep in the passenger’s seat.

Veneer promised himself that he’d never let you overwork yourself again.

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

~~baileypie-writes

#trolls 3 band together #trolls 3 #trolls 3 x reader #trolls 3 veneer #trolls veneer #veneer #veneer x reader #male reader

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cassidymb121 · 12 days

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OMG It’s You… (Part 6.5)

YouTube! Fem reader x Stray Kids

Summary: Y/N’s YouTube channel is taking off after her reactions to Stray Kids MV God’s Menu. Now she’s making videos nonstop along with working a full time job. What would happen if she got offered a job of a lifetime and met the boys of her succession?

⚠️Warnings⚠️: cursing, crying, confusion, fatigue, Lee Know coming in clutch, Chan admits to being jealous of reader (let me know if I missed anything)

🏷️: @laylasbunbunny @weirdowithaphone @silverstarburst @jusanontstuff @anxiousskylar @drewsandsebastianswife @amararosesblog @niaalove (Taglist open)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 2.5 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9

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Third Person POV

Y/N never imagined that she would be summoned to the conference room at her workplace, especially by unfamiliar individuals not from the United States. Nevertheless, they were seated on one side of the table, while Y/N found herself on the other, facing a stack of papers with the word "CONTRACT" emblazoned across the top.

“So, what do you say? Would you like to work with us?”

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Y/N’s POV (One week ago)

I felt like I was glued to my computer screen for an eternity. Realizing I was making no progress, I pushed myself away from the desk and flopped onto my bed. I had never felt this exhausted before. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was falling behind. Perhaps it's time to hit the reset button and start from scratch.

Flashback (Two weeks prior)

Pulling up my camera, I press record and wait three to five seconds before starting. “Y’all.” I huff, still trying to catch my breath. “When I made this address, I expected to get some packages here or there. The post office called and told me I must pick up my packages because they overflowed. I thought….You know what, let me show you instead.” I pick up a vast draw bag of packages inside. “I have three of these, and that’s not including them.” I grab a basket of letters or other small packages. “I had to take my grandfather’s truck because my car was too small to fit everything. I honestly thought that I wasn’t going to get this much stuff. I’m afraid I won’t be able to get through all of these before they call me again, saying I have more waiting. I told y’all I don’t need anything; I already have too much.” I start looking around my room. “Where the hell am I going to put all this? I have no room, ugh.” I turned back to the camera. “I love y’all to death, but this is way too much.”

Looking around, I let out a big sigh. “I’m grateful, honestly. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad or upset. I’m more surprised than anything. I don’t want y’all to waste your money on me. I'd rather you keep that for bills, food, clothes, etc. Though at the end of the day, I can’t stop you from sending anything.” I sit down in my chair, worn out since those bags were heavy. “I know I promised you that I would record everything I open, but then again, I didn’t expect to get this much fan mail. I’ll do my best to record what I can. Hopefully. What I can’t, I’ll try to thank you in letters.” I laugh a little to myself. “I feel like I’m digging myself a hole, making all these promises and talking about sending letters. I don’t want to let anybody down. I want all of you to know that I appreciate everything you do, and I don’t want any of you to feel left out if I don’t show you opening up your package or letter.”

I get up and grab one of the big bags. “I’ve got to record an upcoming video, but as soon as possible, I will record myself opening up some of these packages. I could do a live stream of me opening some of them, too. I’ll have to see how I’m feeling that day. Either way, I love y’all and hope you have a great day. Bye!” I turn the camera off and instantly drop my shoulders and head. ‘Why do I do this to myself? I knew I was in over my head when I did this.’ I look down at all the stuff people sent. “Well, I better get started on the album review before I worry too much about these.”

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

Third Person POV (Before Y/N’s video above)

The boys had been worrying/stressing over what to send to Y/N. Chan had convinced the rest of the boys to send a gift and a letter from each of them so that she would know who it was from. Some guys knew exactly what they wanted to send, others couldn’t decide. Each one agreed that they would all send their stuff at one time, so hopefully, she would get them all around the same time. Lee Know walked into Felix’s room, seeing the Sunshine himself writing a letter. He knocks on the door to announce his presence.

Felix turns to his older Hyung. “Hey.” Lee Know grins, and Felix responds. “Hey.” His Hyung sits by him. “How’s it going?” Felix drops his head on his gaming desk. “Terrible. I can’t think of anything to write.” Lee Know observes him before replying. “You don’t have to think about it so much. Just write what comes to your head.” Felix scuffs. “Easy for you to say. You don’t overthink everything like I do.” Felix runs his fingers through his hair. “Normally, I could already know what I’d want to tell someone. Right now, I’m coming up blank.” Felix, frustrated with himself, pulls on his hair.

“Do you want to see what I wrote?” Felix turns to his Hyung. “I don’t want to copy what you wrote, Lee Know Hyung.” Lee Know smirks. “I know. I wrote two of them, in case you couldn’t think of anything. They’re not the same letter. Here, take it.” He pulls it from his back pocket. “You can always rewrite it in your handwriting if you want.” He gets up to leave before turning around. “We’re sending them out tomorrow, so have it ready by tonight.” Felix nods his head, smiling. “Thank you, Hyung.” Lee Know returns the smile. “You’re welcome.”

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

After Y/N had recorded and edited both versions of the review for the Oddinary mini-album, she sent one to JYP and saved the other for the release date. She decided she’d take a small break before she would start recording herself on opening fan mail. She had to wait a couple of days before she got the chance to re-record herself.

“Hello, Lovelies, and welcome back to the channel! So, we will start opening some of these packages today since I have so many. I will warn you that I’m bad with names, so if I don’t pronounce your name correctly, don’t get mad at me.” I laugh lightly. “These will probably be different videos since I know I won’t be able to open all of them in just one video. Okay, let’s get into it, shall we?”

Little did Y/N know eight boys were waiting for her videos to come out. They wanted to see her reaction to the gifts they gave her. When the day finally came, they gathered around a TV to watch her. “What in the world is this?” She pulls out a package and sees there’s no name on it. It’s also from a PO Box address but from Seoul, South Korea. She looks at the camera with a questionable expression on her face. Pulling out her scissors, she cuts the package open. The first thing she grabs is a letter with her name on it. She opens it, and what she does next makes all the boys happy. Her jaw drops, “There’s no fucking way. This cannot be real.” She looks at the camera, back to the letter, then back to the camera again. She swallows slowly before speaking.

Dear Y/N,

I’ve followed your videos since you reacted to our MV God’s Menu. The guys and I have been quite your fans. When we saw that you created a PO Box, we knew we wanted to give you something from each of us. We hope you enjoy everything you get, and thank you for always supporting us through our journey.

Signed,

Lee Felix

She tears up a little bit and wipes her eyes immediately with her hands. “So that means you’ve seen me make a fool of myself this entire time. Damn. Well, at least you know this is the real me. What you see is what you get. Now you just made a lot of Stays very jealous.” She laughs and points at the camera. “Y’all don’t come after me now.” She puts the letter to the side and opens the package more to see what’s inside. She pulls back and starts laughing hard. “Felix, have I ever told you how much I love you? Because I do. Hold on, everyone, I’m about to show you what he got me.” She pulls out a container of brownies he made along with the recipe on top. “I knew the package looked weird, but I now understand why. He said he had to use vegetable oil to preserve them while being shipped.” She looks at the camera and smiles. “Thank you, Felix. I will enjoy these.” She puts them off to the side and grabs something else from the package; she turns it over to see a little bracelet with his skzoo. “Ooh, I love that. That’s very precious.”

She turns to look at her other bags. “So I’m not constantly thinking about the other guys’ packages. I will see if I have them all to open them one after the other. I’m quite nervous now. Especially since I know they’ll be watching this video.” The boys can’t help but smile at her. She searches through the bags and manages to find all of them. “This one looks promising.” She had grabbed Hyunjin’s and carefully opened it. What was inside made her gasp. It was a painting of flowers in a glass vase. The painting itself was mute but had pops of colors on the flowers. “That is so beautiful, Hyunjin; I love it. Did I ever tell you that my grandmother is an artist herself?” Hyunjin’s eyes widen upon hearing that statement, and the boys do, too. She steps out of view and calls for her grandmother.

Her grandmother comes into view. “One of my fans painted this for me.” Her grandmother compliments the painting, and Hyunjin lets out a breath he doesn’t know he is holding. He also gave her some facial masks since he knew she enjoyed those more than makeup. Each member gave her a letter with similar words to Felix’s, hoping they would meet her one day. They went for more sentimental value ideas since they knew she didn’t like costly items. Seungmin had given her a book he enjoyed reading and even got her a box of tea he wanted. I.N. gave her their Oddinary album book and an unreleased box of photo cards. Changbin had given her a couple of their shirts from the Oddinary merch collection. Han had gifted her a new light stick with a Quokka keychain.

Y/N thanked all the boys for their beautiful gifts, which finally reached the last two members. If anyone ever asked her which two she would consider her biases, she would tell them Chan and Lee Know. While she loves all the members equally, those two (including Felix) stood out the most to her. One package is bigger than the other, but only by a little. Both feel soft like a pillow, and she’s torn over which one to open first. She almost forgets that she’s being recorded. “I don’t know which one to open first.” She laughs to herself. “I feel that there’s more clothing in both of these. I guess I’ll go with this one.” She grabs the slightly smaller one and cuts carefully. Inside is a hoodie, not just any hoodie, but one she’s familiar with. She pulls the letter out and opens it. She’s glad she knows how to speak and read Korean; otherwise, she would have to use her phone to translate.

Y/N,

Usually, I wouldn’t say I like sending things to people, but I will make an exception for you. Your channel has brought me comfort on hard days. I never realized how much they meant to me until I unconsciously looked up your videos. I want to give you this to have on your bad days. To know that you’re not alone and have people who care about you. I have included a small bottle of my cologne that you can spray on it when my smell starts to fade. I also included a unique Leebit plush that hasn’t been released yet. Thank you for being your true self and making others happy.

Sincerely,

Lee Minho

Y/N had tears rolling down her face, but she didn’t go to wipe them. Lee Know didn’t know whether he went too far or his gift wasn’t good enough. But she turned to the camera and smiled, hoping Lee Know could see her. “리노님 정말 감사드립니다. 너무 마음에 들고 잘 보살펴 드리겠습니다.” He smiled right back. “천만에요.” She grabs a tissue and wipes her face. “Okay, this is the last, then I’ll end the video here.” She opens the last package and inside is a black jacket with white writing. Her eyebrows scrunch together as she looks at it. Once she realizes what it is, she looks at the camera with her hands on her hips. “Christopher. Now I know damn well that you better not have spent a lot of money on this jacket. Don’t act like I don’t know my clothing brands; I know just how much this cost and it’s too much.” She shakes her head like a mother would when disappointed in her son. “Good grief. What am I going to do with you, mmhm?” She pulls out the letter and opens it.

Dear Y/N,

I wanted to be honest with you from the start. I didn't know how to feel when Stays first talked about you and how much you were like me. I felt like someone was trying to copy me. It didn’t help that the other guys adored you and talked about you constantly. You were always somewhere in my head, and I couldn’t get you out. I tried, but it only seemed to make it worse. It wasn’t until I found you crying your eyes out that it all changed. I’m not saying that your crying made me change my views about you, but I realized you’re a human being like me. Seeing you upset made me want to comfort you. You were holding my skzoo to dear life. I let my emotions control my thoughts of a person without getting to know who they were. I wanted to give you something to remember me by. This jacket is mine, and I also included something to spray on it when the smell starts to fade. There’s one crucial item in here that I want you to have. It’s not mine, but it’s a replica. I want you to have it and remember that not only are you by our side, but we are by your side, too.

Sincerely,

Bahng Christopher Chan ❤️

Y/N’s emotions were all over the place. He was jealous of her because he thought she was copying him. But it changed when he realized she was kind all along. Chan was feeling the heat from waiting for her response and the looks on his member's face. They see her pull out a bracelet. It’s the same Stay bracelet that Chan wears. She finally spoke up. “Wow, I don’t know how to feel about this. I, for one, appreciate you being honest with me. I don’t understand why you would be jealous of someone you’ve never met, but then again, I don’t see things from your point of view. I could understand if you have people who say I’m exactly like you. However, that’s not entirely true. Um, I’m kind of at a loss for words right now. I don’t hate it, but believe me, I don’t. I love the gift; I love all of them. The letter makes me ask, where did I go wrong?”

She looks back up at the camera before continuing. “I’m willing to look past this as long as you and I get along. And to Stays, please do not go bashing Chan for any reason. I better not find any of y’all being mean to my boy. I’ll find you.” She points her index and middle fingers to her eyes and the camera. As if saying, ‘I’m watching you.’ “I could see that if it were the other way around, I’m sure he would react the same way if I were him in this situation. But outside of that, I greatly appreciate the gift, Chris. Thank you.”

“Thank you all for watching! I hope to have more of these videos up soon. Until then, I will see you next time. Bye!”

End of Flashback

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

Present day

Which brings Y/N to today. When she arrived, the overhead boss told her the CEO wanted to see her. She started replaying everything she’d done, and nothing stood out. The only thing she could think of was something outside of work that had to do with her channel. After her Ordinary review went up, she received a call from an out-of-country phone number. She didn’t answer as she didn’t know anyone outside of the States. Maybe besides the email she got from JYP, there wasn’t a phone number listed.

She had let it go to voicemail, hoping that if it were necessary, they would leave a message. They left a message, and what she heard stunned her.

“안녕하세요, 저는 MNet Digital Studios에서 전화를 겁니다. 나는 여기 입장에 대해 y/f/n과 이야기하기 위해 전화하고 있습니다. 다시 전화해 주시면 감사하겠습니다. 안녕.”

(A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I kind of threw some things together hoping that they’d work. Wasn’t really sure what I wanted each member to gift to the reader, but I hope it makes sense. Anyways there’s more to come!)

((A/A/N: I forgot to add the translations in.

Blue- “Thank you so much Lee Know. I love it so much and I will take very good care of it.”

Green- “You’re welcome.”

White- “Hi, I’m calling from MNet Digital Studios. I’m calling to speak with Y/F/N about a position here. If you could please call us back. Bye.” ))

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dampsleeves · 3 months

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Okey Dokey, so no more tiptoeing around the issue, with many people's helpful private opinions, I've come to the conclusion it does need to be addressed.

AI "art." From here on out, anyone I see posting it is getting blocked. I'm not arguing with anyone about this, that's not what I'm here for, but I've seen it too much as of late, and I feel I should at least say something about it, especially as an artist myself. There's never an excuse for it.

- Need a visual/reference of what your oc(s) would look like, but don't think highly of your own artistic abilities? Surprise! There are still plenty of ways to obtain one, without using AI. The amount of incredibly talented artists in this community, some of whom are in need of commissions. The incredibly talented artists who sometimes draw for free, out of hobby or perhaps need for practice. And then even if neither of those work for you, try some of the character customization mediums we've all used before, that have existed on the internet for years now. (Think Gacha, Picrew, etc. Even if it's seen as "cringe" by some people, it's better than this.) Or hey, try drawing it yourself. "Bad" art is allowed, and everyone starts somewhere. Even if you don't like how what you're drawing looks at first, you will eventually if you keep trying, I promise you. Watch speedpaints, animatics, cartoons, study the way things look through your human eyes, and apply them to your process. Learn. Grow.

- Ignorance? There is no way that you've dipped your toes in AI generated images, without knowing what needs to occur for an AI to generate said images. It does not come from thin air. These robots use real people's faces to produce images of people, real animals to produce images of animals. So, in the case of "art," that's right, they're using a real artist's artwork to produce it. In short, stealing. If you've not heard about this by now, and have still been using AI generators to generate "art," then I'd have to assume you've been doing it blindfolded.

- Just for fun - or worse - for fet? ...Let's be serious. As I've explained above, there's no reason to be using it at all, but especially here on fucking SNZBLR of all places! Like... Guys, this is a sneezing kink/fetish community. And you're really knowingly using a robot - which grotesquely melds together other people's work - to generate fetish content? Do we... not realize how gross that is?

I'm not coming after anyone specifically, because I've seen more than just one person doing this, but if the shoe fits, wear it. And that's all I'm saying about this. I'm really tired of seeing it, so if those of you doing it won't change, I will. Though considering the blatant disregard some of you have for human artists, one blocking you shouldn't bother you too much, right? ♥

Anyways, sorry if I freaked anyone out with my cryptic ass posts from before, I was hesitant to say anything, because I didn't wanna start shit, but sometimes it's just not worth it to bite your tongue. If the snzblr art community can (rightfully) come down on tracers, then we should be doing the same with AI "art."

#snzblr #snz #snz kink #sneezeblr #sneeze kink #snzfucker #snz thoughts #snz fet #not snz #spiidervent #rant ahead

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veryblazedreamland · 1 year

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Day 1: MinaxSaku💕

Okay, imma explain myself. Out of curiosity, what if and I say WHAT IF--Sakura would go back in time and meet Minato? I just thought--oh! That'll be great because i feel like they could be good friends BUT WAIT! I looked it up, searched some fanfictions and saw them paired up and thought huh, this is weird but let's give it a try and then BOOM!!! I was blown away by the amount of chemistry that they have in that one fanfiction (Start at the Beginning to Get to the End by FireThatFox) Amazing work Love it so much😭❤ and that's how my addiction to this pairing started but I was too shy to draw some and THEN I saw a post by @multisakumonth2k in which encouraged me to draw my very first MinaSaku pair AAAAACK!!!💖 This fanart is inspired from that wonderful fanfiction wherein Sakura was back from time traveling and Minato sensed her the minute he entered the Konoha gates, rushed to her and watches her sleeping. Of course our Sakura slapped the daylights out of him. Read it! The fanfics fun, angsty and spicy😉. Maybe confusing at first but read it 'til the end I promise it's good.

#multisaku #sakura haruno #haruno sakura #multisakumonth #multisakumonth2023 #sakuharem #multisakuday1 #pro sakura haruno #anime #naruto #naruto shippuden #team 7 naruto #digital artist #digital art #fanart #minasaku #LOVETHEM!!!!!#narutop #narutop99

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mrsgiovanna · 10 months

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Fighting Imperfections (Don Giorno x Wife!Reader)

I'm sorry, this is just me projecting. I can't remember if I posted this before, but here goes.

Word count: 1.2 k

Warnings: sad, self depreciating reader.

You sighed heavily as you walked out the last of Giorno’s guests. Normally the murmurs of how beautiful of a couple you two are would make you beam with joy, but today it annoyed you because it only amplified your insecurities. Another day… of smiling through the alternating pain and emptiness. Your cheeks hurt, but the physical pain was welcomed, it was so much easier to bear than the ache that thumped in your chest with every heartbeat- a painful reminder that you were still breathing. As the last car rounded the corner away from your luxurious home, your shoulders finally slumped and you trudged away from the door. The master bedroom was one of the few places where you felt safe enough to let your tumultuous emotions wash over you, so there you went.

You had struggled with these negative emotions for many years, losing chunks of time to this unshakeable melancholy. They were difficult to predict or counter. You had locked the door behind you, wanting to try and restore some semblance of calm to your demeanor before facing Giorno again. You threw off the gorgeous designer dress and took a shower before throwing on something soft and comfortable. You had every intention of rejoining your husband but just getting yourself through that little routine had drained whatever energy you had left. He'd be better off catching up with your shared associates though, you mused, feeling as though you wouldn't add anything valuable to their video conferences. Firmly tucked away, drawing your knees towards your chest, you allowed the floodgates to open and let everything out. Usually, a good cry would take care of some of the negative emotions, but this time, it didn't seem to work.

Intrusive thoughts about the worst scenarios plagued your mind despite trying to push them aside. You tried thinking about the good things and how much you had been blessed with but it always morphed into a scenario in which you would ultimately be left alone… so you thought about Giorno and how he makes a daily promise to never leave your side. But you had lost so much, what if he was just lying to you and you'd eventually have to deal with losing him too…

No…

You took as deep a breath as your constricted chest would allow you to and tried to focus your attention on something positive.

Giorno… you thought of him more and your heart ached for a different reason. He loved you, you knew that, but your mind had always managed to convince you that he would be better off with someone else, someone beautiful and vibrant, someone worthy of him because beneath it all you're just a broken doll. The repair is near perfect and nobody can see the fault lines where you cracked, but you feel every fracture, constantly reliving each event that put the cracks there in the first place.

You felt the bed sink on one side as a large comforting hand rubbed your back in circles before pulling back the covers you had buried yourself under.

"You know I'd end anyone who hurts you?"

"I know…"

"So what do I do when you're the one hurting yourself?"

Giorno's glassy eyes didn't leave your face, searching for an answer to his question.

You met Giorno's gaze, feeling a mixture of vulnerability and love in his eyes. His concern was evident, and it touched you deeply. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you reached out and held his hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice filled with raw emotion. "I don't want to hurt myself, but sometimes it feels like I can't escape these thoughts. They consume me, and I can't help but doubt myself, doubt our love."

Giorno's grip on your hand tightened, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "You are not a broken doll, my love," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "You are the most beautiful and resilient person I know. I fell in love with every part of you, including the cracks. They are a part of your story, a testament to your strength."

Tears welled up in your eyes as his words resonated with you. It was moments like these that reminded you why you fell in love with him in the first place. He saw beyond your insecurities and loved you unconditionally.

"I'm trying, Giorno," you replied, your voice wavering. "I'm trying to believe in myself, in us. But sometimes it's overwhelming."

Giorno leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "You don't have to go through this alone," he assured you. "I'm here for you, always. We'll face these demons together, and I'll do whatever it takes to help you heal."

Feeling his love and support envelop you, a glimmer of hope sparked within your heart. With Giorno by your side, maybe you could overcome these insecurities and find the peace you longed for.

You snuggled closer to Giorno, seeking solace in his comforting presence. "Thank you," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude. "I love you."

Giorno smiled softly, his eyes filled with warmth. "I love you too, more than words can express," he replied, his voice laced with sincerity. "Remember, we are a team, and together, we can conquer anything."

Giorno's gaze held a mixture of tenderness and longing, mirroring the emotions swirling within you. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips hovering just above yours, seeking permission and reassurance. You met his gaze, the unspoken understanding between you palpable.

With a gentle nod, you closed the remaining distance between your lips, initiating a kiss that conveyed both vulnerability and passion. It was a kiss that spoke of shared burdens and unyielding support, a tangible connection that transcended words.

The kiss deepened, as if pouring all the love and reassurance you both felt into this single act. It was a moment of solace, a reminder that you were not alone in your struggles. Each brush of your lips conveyed a promise—a promise to heal together, to support one another, and to cherish the imperfect beauty of your shared journey.

Time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the tenderness of the moment. The world outside your bedroom faded away, leaving only the two of you, entwined in a cocoon of love and understanding.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and yet more at peace than before, you found solace in Giorno's eyes once again. There, in the depths of his gaze, you saw unwavering devotion and a fierce determination to help you find happiness.

With a small smile, you whispered, "Thank you, Giorno. Thank you for loving me."

Giorno's voice was filled with sincerity as he replied, "Always, my love. Always."

And in that moment, you believed him. You believed in the power of love to heal and overcome and to create a future where your insecurities would no longer hold you captive. Together, you would face whatever challenges lay ahead, guided by the strength of your bond and the depth of your love.

As you lay in his arms, you allowed yourself to believe in his words, finding solace in the love and support he offered. The journey towards healing would be challenging, but with Giorno by your side, you knew you could face anything that came your way. In the sanctuary of his embrace, his presence soothed your troubled mind, and a moment of quiet intimacy enveloped the room. The weight of your insecurities and pain began to fade as you focused solely on the love between you, knowing that in this imperfect existence, you had found a love that was flawless.

#giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x you #giorno x y/n #giorno giovanna x y/n #don giovanna x reader #jojo x reader #jojo x you #jojo x y/n #giorno giovanna #don giovanna #giorno #don giorno #giogio #jojo's bizarre adventure #golden wind #vento aureo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba

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unicornjoking1111 · 9 months

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Success story from Neville Goddard's book (The Law and the promise) (chapter: there is no fiction)

*this is not my work but a copy paste from Neville's book*

Spoiler alert!!! *this story is really amazing! its about a 19 year old dancing teacher who didn't believe in imagination but took up the challenge to owning a studio (Arthur Murray dance studio franchise) to making it much bigger and meeting Arthur Murray himself*

As my story begins at the age of nineteen I was a mildly successful dancing teacher and continued in this static state for almost five years. At the end of this time I met a young lady who talked me into attending your lectures. My thought, upon hearing you say ‘Imagining creates reality’, was that the entire idea was ridiculous. However, I decided to accept your challenge and disprove your thesis. I bought your book ‘Out of This World’ and read it many times. Still unconvinced, I set myself a rather ambitious goal. My present position was as an instructor with the Arthur Murray Dance Studio and my goal was to own a franchise and be boss of an Arthur Murray studio myself! “This seemed the most unlikely thing in the world as franchises were extremely difficult to secure, but on top of this fact, I was completely without the necessary funds to begin such an operation. Nevertheless. I assumed the feeling of my wish fulfilled as night after night, in my imagination, I went to sleep managing my own studio. Three weeks later a friend called me from Reno, Nevada. He had the Murray Studio there and said it was too much for him to cope with alone. He offered me a partnership and I was delighted; so delighted, in fact, that I hastened to Reno on borrowed money and promptly forgot all about you and your story of Imagination!

“My partner and I worked hard and were very successful, but after a year I was still not satisfied, I wanted more. I began thinking of ways and means to get another studio. All my efforts failed. One night as I retired, I was restless and decided to read. As I looked through my collection of books I noticed your slender volume, ‘Out of This World’. I thought of the ‘silly nonsense’ I had gone through one year ago before getting my own studio. GETTING MY OWN STUDIO! The words in my mind electrified me! I reread the book that night and later, in my imagination, I heard my superior praise the good job we had done in Reno and suggest we acquire a second studio as he had a second location ready for us if we desired to expand. I re-enacted this imaginal scene nightly without fail. Three weeks from the first night of my imaginal drama, it materialized — almost word for word. My partner accepted the new studio in Bakersfield and I had the Reno Studio alone. Now I was convinced of the truth of your teaching and never again will I forget. “Now I wanted to share this wonderful knowledge — of imaginal power with my staff. I tried to tell them of the marvels they could accomplish, but I was unable to reach many although one fantastic incident resulted from my efforts to tell this story. A young teacher told me he believed my story but said it would have probably happened anyway in time. He insisted the entire theory was nonsense but stated that if I could tell him something of an incredible nature that would actually happen and which he could witness — then he would believe. I accepted his challenge and conceived a truly fantastic test. “The Reno Studio is the most insignificant in the entire Murray system because of the small population count in the city itself. There are over three hundred Murray Studios in the country with much larger populations, therefore providing greater possibilities to draw from. So, my test was this. I told the teacher that within the next three months, at the time of a national dance convention, the little Reno Studio would be the foremost topic of conversation at that convention. He calmly stated this was quite impossible. “That night when I retired, I felt myself standing before a tremendous audience. I was speaking on ‘Creative Imagining’ and felt the nervousness of being before such a vast audience; but I also felt the wonderful sensation of audience acceptance. I heard the roar of applause and as I left the stage, I saw Mr. Murray, himself come forward and shake my hand. I re-enacted this entire drama night after night. It began to take on the ‘tones of reality’ and I knew I had done it again! “My imaginal drama materialized down to the last detail. “My little Reno Studio was the ‘talk’ of the convention and I did appear on that stage just as I had done in my imagination. But even after this unbelievable but actual happening, the young teacher who threw me the challenge remained unconvinced. He said it had all happened too naturally! And he was sure it would have happened anyway!

“I did not mind his attitude because his challenge had given me another opportunity to prove, at least to myself, that Imagining does Create Reality. From that time on, I continued with my ambition to own the ‘largest Arthur Murray Dance Studio in the world’! Night after night, in my imagination, I heard myself accepting a studio franchise for a great city. Within three weeks Mr. Murray called me and offered a studio in a city of one and a half million people! It is now my goal to make my studio the greatest and biggest in the entire system. And, of course, ‘I know it will be done — through my Imagination’!” …E.O.L., Jr.

#loa success #loa #neville goddard #manifestation #vaunts & affirmations #the void state #void success #void state #law of assumption

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thetomorrowshow · 2 months

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for a light

okay I PROMISE that comfort is coming I PROMISE

Scott stares Xornoth down from across the plateau, wind whipping the demon's hair and robes, black streaking out from him like some decaying flag.

They're alone, just the two of them, so far away (ndisu ndikitá'ána).

He's here.

It's time.

He sets the crown of antlers upon his head.

His fingers tighten on the thin grip of his sword.

Scott hisses as his finger bumps the pot, drops his hold and sticks the finger in his mouth. He was just trying to shift it to settle it better in the coals. Stupid cloth slipping.

Right. There's literally snow right there.

Scott removes his finger from his mouth, digs it into the snow beside him. The burn cools, eventually going numb.

That's one upside to living in a permanent winter. There's snow everywhere.

This little clearing in the woods that he took used to have a tent pitched in the center, grass and trees and wildflowers all around.

The tent is long gone, having collapsed under the weight of the snow and ice that collected upon it. Scott replaced it with an ice hut of sorts, which he thinks he created while asleep because he's not exactly sure how he did it. It's kind of ugly, but it has four walls and a roof and a little hole for a door, and it works.

The grass and plants aren't really visible anymore, the ground covered in a thick blanket of snow. Scott's not sure how, but someone had managed to get him a good pair of elven work boots, insulated and sturdy, so that he can tromp through the six or seven inches of snow without much issue. He's cold, this old, patched coat not quite enough to block out the chill, but the gloves keep his fingers from feeling too much like ice and the hand-knit hat prevents a majority of the headaches that his frozen ears cause. He's not too badly off, to be honest. There's just so much . . . cold.

And if he could get it to melt, that would be great.

He can make ice and snow appear just fine. There's plenty of snow, and he can point and ice spikes will shoot up out of the ground, and he can picture a cube of ice and watch as it forms in front of him, but that just means that now he has a little pile of ice cubes and a ludicrous amount of spikes the size of a tree. He can't get rid of anything.

And sure, he has a modicum of control. He can form ice cubes, and spikes, or whatever. But he can't turn off the way ice and snow just grows around him, or the freeze that blasts from him when he waves his arms.

He's been here for two weeks, figuring absolutely nothing out, and he doesn't have much hope for the future.

It feels like there's a wall in his head, a literal barrier keeping him from finding the way to draw back the ice. He's spent hours, days, even, pushing and shoving and just sitting against this wall, trying to force it to work.

It won't give. It's exhausting, day-in and day-out, to try again and again and again as the ice and snow just build up around him.

"Scott!"

Jimmy.

They haven't really . . . talked. Of course, Jimmy turns up every day without fail, bringing with him food and supplies. He always stands on the fringe of the clearing, shares news of the camp, of their latest excursion, of the fight they have planned.

Scott never really says much. He doesn't know how to respond, and Jimmy always leaves with his shoulders sagging the slightest bit.

What is he supposed to say?

I mourned you. I cried for you every day, because I knew I'd never see you again. I attended your funeral. I comforted your sister. I wore a depressing mimicry of what we once wore together, covering myself in the same darkness that took you. I lost you.

You didn't die, you survived, and I still lost you.

How is he supposed to tell Jimmy that what hurts more than anything about this situation is that he never tried to disabuse Scott of the notion that he was dead?

He thinks he still loves Jimmy. Their hearts were made for each other. They've been through too much together to just let go of everything they had.

But there were forty-two of the worst days of Scott's life, in which Scott believed his betrothed to be dead. He can't forget that. He can't pretend that Jimmy even attempted to contact him.

His mind always returns to that. Why didn't he? What reasons has he given, other than his ominous “it wasn't time yet”? Why?

And now they're here, in this horribly awkward phase where they haven't even discussed whether or not they're still an item (Scott's desperately in love with Jimmy but he isn't sure he can even stand to see him it hurts so much) or if that's even something they want to pursue right now (Scott wants so badly just to hold his hand but he can't let himself hurt Jimmy).

"Hey, Scott!"

Scott straightens (his wings shudder under the weight of the ice coating them, but none of it cracks), shakes the snow off his hands, and turns, stomach twisting.

Jimmy is standing there, a good ten feet away, leaning out from between the trees.

It's just Jimmy. Hair still too long, beard still obstinately there, an anxious smile on his pockmarked face.

Doesn't he have anything better to do, rather than visit Scott every day?

Jimmy holds up a bundle of cloth.

"I brought some bread and . . . venison, I think? I forgot to ask what it was. Does that sound good?"

Scott tugs his scarf up a bit higher on his cheeks. "Sounds fine," he calls back, voice muffled by the fabric.

Jimmy tosses it; Scott catches the bundle, grimaces when it frosts over the moment it touches his hands.

"What are you cooking?" Jimmy asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Scott glances back at his little pot on the dying coals.

"Just porridge," he says. That's all Jimmy gave him yesterday, after all. The grain for whatever chunky porridge it is that they eat at the camp all the time.

"That's . . . that's cool," says Jimmy. Dear Aeor, he looks so unbearably awkward. What does he want?

Thankfully, Jimmy gets straight to the point, no more hobbling around small talk.

"We're going on a mission," he says, the words coming out in puffs of frozen air. "There's a village about a day's walk from here, the largest we've gone for yet. They're going to be a huge asset to our rebellion."

Scott nods a couple of times. "Okay. How long until you're back?"

Jimmy chews on his lip—the way he always does when he's anxious, or isn't sure how to approach a problem. "That's . . . well, I wanted to see if you would come, actually."

It takes Scott a few seconds to process that, but when he does, he almost laughs out loud.

He's out of his mind if he thinks Scott will risk something like that. He can't control this! He's had to separate himself from the rest of the camp because there's a ten foot radius of winter wonderland that appears around him!

He has to be joking.

"You have to be joking," Scott says.

Jimmy shrugs. "I talked about it with the others that are coming on the mission, and they're all fine with it. If it makes you feel better—"

"No, I'm dangerous—"

"—we can walk apart from you, and—"

"—you don't understand, I hurt Gem, I'll—"

"—was just thinking that it can't be good for you to—"

"Jimmy, I said no!"

And childishly, to emphasize his point, Scott stamps his foot.

Ice crackles along the ground like a whip, shooting up in little spikes, a ten-inch wall down the middle of his little clearing.

It stops just short of Jimmy, the last little spike rising just inches from his boots, and Scott almost wants to go and shove him out of the way because Jimmy doesn't even move!

Doesn't he have any sense of self-preservation?

Jimmy doesn't seem scared when he looks up at Scott. He just seems sad.

"That's why I can't," Scott bites out, wrapping his arms around himself. His scarf is slipping, nose exposed to the cold. "I'm not safe. I don't want to hurt someone."

"Okay. Can I explain myself, though?"

Before Scott can give an answer, Jimmy takes a small step forward, boot crunching on snow.

Scott takes a step back.

"We know how to keep ourselves safe," he says. "Most of the people here escaped terrible conditions where one wrong move could kill them. They know how to recognize threats and keep a safe distance. It wouldn't even be an issue to travel with you."

Scott wants to argue, but Jimmy takes another step. Scott quickly steps back, swallowing down the fear that rises in his throat, burning like bile.

"We would travel kind of separately, and it wouldn't even be a long journey. Two days at most, I think. So the main group would stick together, and you would stay within sight off to the side. We usually move quietly, so you wouldn't miss out on conversation or anything."

Okay, that's probably what Scott would do if they were forced to travel. He's pretty sure that he can cause ice issues outside of the ten foot radius, if he tries, but it doesn't automatically happen. Travel plans like that might actually work.

Which doesn't mean they're good. They aren't. They just might work.

"This village has a lot of soldiers, from what we can tell. Way more than there ought to be. They're beginning to figure out our game. We usually wouldn't go for someplace so risky, but there's so many people there. If we freed them, we could easily add two hundred to our able fighters."

Is Jimmy stupid?

"It's a trap," Scott says, pointing out what seems obvious. "Why would they have so many Mythlanders there if not to wait for you?"

Jimmy scoffs. "We know it's a trap," he says. "That's why we want you. We want to avoid fights if possible—and if you were there, we would have a really decent chance of getting in and out without losing anyone."

"You're forgetting that I can't really control this," Scott says icily, and as if to match his tone, it spontaneously begins to snow. "I'm just as likely to hurt one of you."

"We just need you to make it as cold as possible. The Cod will survive—we're pretty good with cold temperatures. But humans are a bit more sensitive to that kind of thing. So we thought—if you could freeze over the village, then all the guards would go inside and we could sneak everyone out!"

That. . . .

That is a monumentally idiotic plan.

Scott blinks several times, just to make sure it really is Jimmy in front of him and not some hallucination induced by so much time alone.

"Or we could not do that," he says. "Just a suggestion."

Jimmy laughs a little. "I kind of figured you'd say that," he says. "But it's worth a shot, right? And if it doesn't work, we can go back to camp and figure out something else. No harm done, right?"

"Other than the possible harm that my very presence could cause," Scott says. "Do you really think that staying ten feet away while traveling would work? Just because that's my snowglobe radius doesn't mean anyone is safe outside of it."

He re-crosses his arms, waits for Jimmy to meet his eyes.

Jimmy's quiet for a long time, looking around at the unintentional ice spikes and piles of snow. Long enough that Scott turns away, tosses the sack from Jimmy into his ice hut.

That's that, then. He and Jimmy aren't going to talk about any of their real issues. Jimmy's so focused on this inconsequential rebellion of his that he won't even think about the fact that Xornoth may be controlling the world by now. Gem might be dead—literally any of them could be dead, Lizzie or Shubble or Joel all could have fallen—and Xornoth has control of half of the empires or all of them. And the only way to stop him didn't work.

Yet all Jimmy will even give thought to is his stupid little rebellion.

"I know it's hard," Jimmy says, voice awkwardly too-loud, rousing Scott from his thoughts. "It's really, really hard. I know that you don't trust yourself, and that you're hurting, and there's so much tangled up between us that I don't really understand but I know isn't making any of this easier for you. But I know you want to get better. I know you, Scott. And I know you will do everything in your power to keep those people safe."

Scott doesn't say anything, blinks back the sudden tears. He doesn't need this. He doesn't need Jimmy telling him what he feels.

Even if he's right.

He would do everything to keep the others safe.

He just can't guarantee that it would work.

"I trust you," Jimmy says firmly. "We trust you. I wouldn't have even brought it up if I hadn't cleared it with everyone else. And if it doesn't work, I'll never ask you to do it again. But please, Scott. If not for the people suffering, do it for me."

He doesn't owe Jimmy anything.

As a ruler, he pledged to defend his people, and he failed. What about when he fails again? Will he even be able to live with himself?

Will he be able to live with himself if he doesn't try?

In the grand scheme of things, a rebel attack to evacuate citizens of a small town in the Codlands is absolutely nothing. It will likely not contribute at all to the ending of the war.

But it's somewhere to start. Jimmy's always talking about how if they're still alive after everything, they ought to be doing something good with it. If he wants to eventually try to launch some sort of hopeless attack on Xornoth, he has to start somewhere. He has to figure this ice stuff out.

"Okay," he says eventually, reluctantly. "I don't . . . I don't want to. I don't think it will go well."

"If you can't trust yourself, you can trust me," offers Jimmy, and Scott grimaces at the hope in his voice.

He doesn't respond.

He wants to trust Jimmy. He wishes nothing had ever broken the trust that was there.

He isn't sure what did break it. He can't exactly blame Jimmy for not dying.

"I'll come get you tomorrow around midmorning, okay? We're hoping to arrive when it's dark the next day, then just have you freeze it overnight and get the Cod out before sunrise. Sound good?"

Scott shrugs. "It's your plan," he says. "Does it sound good to you?"

Jimmy doesn't respond, glancing over his shoulder. "I need to go finish prepping," he says when he turns back. "Take care. I . . . I'll see you tomorrow."

Scott doesn't move (frozen to the spot, he thinks idly), just watches Jimmy go, picking his way back between the trees.

What has he agreed to?

The journey goes exactly as Jimmy had laid out. Jimmy travels in a band of thirty-two people (Scott counts them during one of their fifteen minute rests), all able young Cod, some with cobbled-together armor or swords, others with nothing but the clothes on their back and improvised weapons. Scott sees two hand-made slings, one little hunting bow, and a couple of large branches shaped into clubs. All from afar, of course.

Scott walks a good thirty or forty feet away from the group, shying away whenever someone accidentally veers a little close. They always hurry back to the others, shivering and rubbing their arms.

Jimmy, of course, comes close on purpose. He keeps trailing along on the edges of the group, giving Scott terribly hopeful glances.

Scott just keeps his eyes on the snowy ground before him and wishes he could figure out how to talk to him.

Does he even want to talk to him?

Of course he does. Of course he wants to talk to his . . . to Jimmy.

He just can't. He can't risk hurting him. He can't risk getting hurt.

And soon enough, they've arrived at the town.

Scott has somehow managed to avoid hurting anyone, though one Cod only narrowly avoids getting stabbed by a flying ice spike when Scott gets startled by a bee.

He isn't sure how powerful he is, just that he's managed to tie it down and lash it to himself. But Scott, more often than not, feels like there's a thin door being battered and blown by a terrible snowstorm, ice seeping in through the cracks, and soon enough he'll have to try to open the door just a little bit. He can only imagine it blasting it open and sending bursts of unstoppable power out, forever unable to be closed.

Jimmy approaches him as Scott finishes up eating a cold supper, and even though it's dark Scott knows it's Jimmy because he knows Jimmy, he knows his habits and his tendencies and just weeks ago that had been painful, precious knowledge and now it means nothing significant.

"We're about ready," Jimmy says, not looking at Scott. He's looking out over the ridge that they're hidden behind, toward the town below. Scott wants to shake him, scream at him, drag him down to the ground. Doesn't he know he'll be seen? That his outline against the darkening sky will be obstinately visible?

"I'll take you down there in about a half hour. Then you just need to drop the temperatures to about freezing, all right? We'll do everything from there."

Scott doesn't answer. He doesn't have anything to say.

You left me you died to me I lost you and you were here. You were here this whole time and I've been hurting, and I'm still hurting and you just don't care. Why didn't you comfort me? Why aren't you helping me? Why won't you listen to everything I can't say?

Jimmy doesn't say anything, either, despite Scott's silent cries. He just stands there awkwardly, then gives Scott a nod and jogs back over to the main group.

Scott flexes his fingers in their gloves, blows on his hands, relishes the momentary warmth that brings him. He's always so cold these days. For good reason, of course—and despite all that, elves naturally run colder than humans, with the climate of their dwelling—, but he doesn't have to like it.

How is he meant to freeze an entire town without accidentally doing more damage than intended?

At this point, Scott has absolutely zero doubt that he'll be able to freeze the town. Piece of cake. The problem is drawing back the power after it's been extended.

It doesn't help that he doesn't know what he's doing. It doesn't help that all he's done for the past two weeks is try to not explode. He hasn't actually learned anything about control, or using the magic to his advantage.

And now he has to save a town. Use this untamable magic in moderation.

He's going to fail so badly.

And yet, when Jimmy returns not long later, Scott readjusts the little knapsack that hangs off his shoulder and sets off around the ridge, following Jimmy from a safe distance.

They skirt around their little camp on the side of the ridge, giving the refugees a wide berth so as to avoid getting any of them mixed up in Scott's personal snowstorm. That wouldn't help anything about this situation.

The ice hasn't been unfreezing behind him, either. That's been kind of concerning. He'd assumed, back in his little patch of the forest, that the ice hadn't gone away because he hadn't gone away. But now there's just a path of frost and snow through the long grasses of the outer Codlands, a trail leading directly to the rebel camp.

Scott really hopes it melts with time. It wouldn't be good to have one of fWhip's flying fish spies follow it and discover the camp.

He gets pulled from his thoughts by necessity as they approach the town, Jimmy making sure to keep them to the shadows, out of range of the torchlight from the perimeter guards. They crouch down behind some bushes (Jimmy beckons Scott closer, miming something about talking, and Scott reluctantly settles down close enough beside him—about five feet away, the closest to anyone he's been in weeks), peering between the brambles. Sure enough, there's more guards than a small border town ought to have—Scott counts at least four that patrol by the edge of town in the five minutes that they sit there and watch.

"We need to give my people a few more minutes, probably," Jimmy whispers, glancing up at the sky. The moon hasn't risen yet, so Scott's really not sure what he's checking. "But if you want to start the freeze, you can."

Right. Freezing an entire town.

Scott reaches inside himself for . . . for something. He isn't sure what. It's not like there's anything in there. Just his aching heart.

He legitimately feels fatigued from holding back the magic the best he can, but he doesn't know how to let go. He doesn't have any sort of point of reference for this. What is he supposed to do?

After several long minutes of indecision, of pulling at different parts of his mind to see if something just releases the switch, Scott gives up on figuring it out and just pushes.

He's not sure if the dam is broken, but a little flurry of snowflakes shoots out of his hands and he imagines the town, water in barrels and canals slowly freezing over, the temperatures dropping, the night air becoming frigid and biting.

Why does it have to be him?

"Nice," Jimmy whispers beside him. Scott blinks, looks up.

It's snowing. All across the town is snowing.

He didn't mean to make it snow. He only wanted to make it cold.

And it is cold. His fingers through their gloves are aching, the exposed skin on his face burns as a gust of freezing wind blows past.

"Was that too much?" he whispers, twisting his hands together. "I didn't mean for—"

Jimmy breathes out a near-silent laugh, gives him a grin. "I knew you could do it. I knew it!"

He made Jimmy happy.

Despite all the confusing hurt keeping them apart, that still makes Scott's heart squeeze in the best way possible.

The guards glance around at the fat flakes of snow, clearly confused. There's some shouting person to person, and within torchlight on the edge of town, a cluster of guards gather, rubbing their hands together and stamping their feet and pointing back to the center of town as they talk.

There's no way this will work. If his guards at Rivendell left their posts because it got a little cold, they would be in severe trouble with their captain.

But as Scott watches, one by one, the guards begin to trail away, heading toward what Scott assumes to be the inn.

There's no way. There's no way this is actually working. This can't be real.

Jimmy takes in a near-silent breath, lets it out in a low, loud, whoop/whistle. It sounds strikingly like the call of an owl that Scott has heard occasionally in these parts, late at night.

When did Jimmy learn bird calls?

It's a small thing. It's not even anything that matters. It's tiny and unimportant and Scott really shouldn't be close to tears right now.

It's like he doesn't even know Jimmy. He doesn't want to be upset, but he can't seem to stop it.

Jimmy still loves him and wants him; Jimmy wants them to be in love again.

How is it so hard?

Every guard has gone inside now, the town quiet.

The snow continues to fall, slow, drifting gently onto a peaceful street, becoming a picturesque winter scene.

Yet staring at it doesn't bring Scott peace. He only grows more and more anxious, eyes scanning from point to point, as though he might miss the operation entirely if he only watches the snow.

And after five or so minutes of waiting, Scott sees, past the falling snow, camouflaged people stealing through the streets, peering in windows, tapping lightly on doors.

The Cod residents are quick and quiet to answer, which is absolutely absurd.

It's actually working.

The other day, this was the most ridiculous plan Scott had ever heard. He never would have believed that any part of it would actually come to any sort of fruition.

And here they are.

He continues to watch as entire families sneak out of houses, glancing left and right before stepping out into the street, some bundled up in layers of clothing and others with nothing but a thin tunic protecting them from the weather.

The rebels move in phases, ushering out first this side street, then that one, making sure each sector of the town doesn't leave without instruction.

Scott watches, and something within him marvels.

This is the work. This had seemed so inconsequential to him just days ago—there are much larger things to worry about, after all—but now he can see how this had become Jimmy's whole world.

There's so many of them. They're moving house-by-house, sending one group before beckoning the next, but the streets are still close to packed.

There's a woman, hands covering her mouth as tears stream down her face, following a group into an alley. A shirtless man, carrying two children at once, his shirt draped over the both of them. A child—a tiny slip of a girl, surely not older than eight, clinging to her parent's leg, the torchlight from the abandoned guard posts illuminating her face just enough that Scott can see a hand-shaped bruise spanning her cheek.

The people are malnourished, injured, terrified. They’ve been desperately praying that someone will rescue them, someone will come along and deliver them from this darkness.

And here Jimmy is, a shining light, their once-dead king returned to save them specifically, as unimportant as they feel they are.

It makes sense. Jimmy's forces aren't strong enough to take on Xornoth, so why should he even focus on something so unattainable?

This, while not easy, is doable, and something that both strengthens his numbers and helps his people.

Scott gets it. It's about hope. It's about remembering the lost. It's about finding strength and life in this world of corruption.

"Scott," Jimmy whispers, pulling him from his realization.

Scott blinks, looks over at him. Jimmy's teeth are chattering, his nose pink, his lips pale of color. His arms are clutched around himself, doing nothing to hide the way his entire body trembles.

"You can reel it back in, a bit," Jimmy says, clearly going for humor, but the words fall flat when his lips can't even twitch up in some semblance of a smile.

Oh.

Scott looks back to the town, and now, he doesn't just see the wonder of it all. He sees how slowly everyone is moving, the way the rebels look up fearfully at the quickening snow, the way none of them are wearing any proper winter gear.

It's cold out. It's very, very cold out. It's definitely far below freezing, icicles already hanging from buildings, a thick layer of snow blanketing the ground.

It's too cold. He sees, all at once, three children collapse, and their caretakers pick them up but can barely keep going.

It's too much. It's too cold, so cold that a man stumbles and falls, and those around him are too cold to stop and help.

"Scott, make it stop," Jimmy whispers with increasing urgency. "It's too cold. Scott, stop."

He can't stop.

The door has been opened, and Scott doesn't know how to close it.

He can't make it warm up, he can't even stop it from getting colder. The night sky is growing steadily darker as more clouds roll in, the snow falling harder and faster—there's actual ice spreading, visibly spreading, crawling out from the bushes where he and Jimmy are crouched, heading toward the town and Scott can't stop it—

"Scott—"

"I can't stop it," breathes Scott, and it's nothing but the truth. He can't just turn it off, that isn't something he knows how to do—he doesn't know how to do anything, this is a curse and he hates it and nothing will ever be right again!

"I can't stop it," he says again, louder, voice shaking. "I can't—I can't do it, I told you I can't, I don't know how—"

"Just try," Jimmy says over him, hands held up. "I know you can do it, I trust you—"

"Just—just stop!" Scott bursts out, finally, all those terrible emotions rising to his tongue. "You keep saying—you keep—you were dead, you left me and you don't get to—you can't tell me what I can and can't do, I don't—"

"Scott," Jimmy says, something horribly placating in his voice, and it sounds just like the old Jimmy, just like the one who died—

Scott stumbles up, backing away from Jimmy. He can't—he doesn't want—this is all too much, too much, he's ruined everything and it's too much—

Jimmy stands as well, taking a couple of steps toward him. "Scott, I'm going to touch you, okay?"

"No!" Scott bites out. The wind is whistling in his ears, he can barely hear Jimmy over it—he can barely see Jimmy through the snow, there's so much of it, and Scott can't make it stop! He can't fix this! "Don't touch me, I don't—I don't even know you, I'll hurt you!"

"Scott—"

"Get—away—" Jimmy's just coming closer, one step at a time, and Scott doesn't want him, that's not his Jimmy, he doesn't want to hurt him—

The storm is rapidly getting worse, the snow beating down on his face with little pellets of ice, he had never meant to make it snow let alone storm, he's cursed, he's forever cursed, there's no way he can make things right, there's no way anything will ever be right again—!

And then there are arms around him.

Jimmy squeezes him tightly, good pressure and tightly enough that his brain is forced to settle into a more peaceful state, despite his surroundings.

His lover is warm against him, and Scott instinctively buries his face in the crook of Jimmy's shoulder where it belongs and perfectly fits.

Something inside doesn't really click into place. It doesn't quite work. It's close, but it's just not where it needs to be.

But it does slide together nicely, and Scott somehow finds a slippery grasp on the cold and tugs it back in.

He hadn't even been able to have this before. He hadn't even been able to feel a way to control it, let alone actually take hold.

But there's some kind of power positively radiating from Jimmy, something that Scott can feel and recognize in this entirely new world of magic that he never even knew existed.

It's got to be Jimmy's love.

Jimmy loves him so so much that it overpowers the curse.

And Scott, for the first time in weeks, feels warm.

He feels warm. Jimmy's here, his arms wrapped around Scott, and he feels warm.

A sob rises in his chest.

This is his Jimmy.

His Jimmy is holding him, and loves him, and is so very warm.

"There we go," Jimmy whispers into his hair, voice slightly muffled. "Not too much, now. We still need a little bit of snow coming down."

Right.

Scott doesn't think he has the emotional capacity to pay attention to anything but Jimmy, but he loosens his grip on the ice just a little, enough that the snow doesn't stop.

The sob bursts out of his mouth, and Scott clutches Jimmy as close to him as possible.

His Jimmy is here. He's actually here.

And Scott can feel his fingers again, warmth washing over every part of his body.

They don't move for a long time. Jimmy watches the exodus over his shoulder as Scott cries into his chest, letting all of the emotions that he's been feeling for the past two months pour out onto Jimmy's coat.

They stand there, and Scott sobs.

After too long, long enough that the tears on Scott's face become more sticky than wet (they aren't freezing on his cheeks, like they've been doing, and isn't that just a miracle), Jimmy pulls away.

Scott feels his tenuous control slip from his grasp—too cold again, too cold—and he launches himself back into Jimmy's arms.

"Don't go," he chokes out.

"Okay."

"Please . . . I can't—I can't do this without you."

"Okay."

Scott takes in a shuddering breath. He's stronger than this. He can do this.

"Do you think you can stop the snow?"

Scott nods, his nose wiping across Jimmy's coat. Then, with a mustering of what little strength he has, he shuts that imaginary door.

It almost doesn't shut. Scott strains against it in his mind, inch by inch, but eventually it clicks shut.

He can't lock it. But holding to Jimmy keeps it shut, and Scott doesn't plan on letting go.

Jimmy's right here.

Jimmy is real.

He's alive.

"You died," Scott sniffles, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. "You died!"

"I know," Jimmy murmurs, sounding absolutely heartbroken. "I know. I'm here."

"You weren't there, though. You—you left me! I was so—so alone!"

"I know," Jimmy says again. "I'm so sorry, Scott. I'm so sorry."

Jimmy's crying too, Scott realizes. They're in snow up to their knees, in full view of the town, and they're both just standing here crying.

Scott. . . .

Scott doesn't really care.

His heart, broken by the weight of the grief hanging so heavily on it, is finally beginning to heal.

That's more important than anything else around.

Scott doesn't let go of Jimmy's hand the entire trip back.

They walk back to the camp, bringing up the rear of a long crowd of refugees. Scott's trail of frost is barely-there, and he never feels like he's a danger to anyone while Jimmy is at his side.

They arrive back at the camp almost three days later, the group slower-moving with the addition of a good three hundred people. The camp is thrown into chaos, more than doubled in size, and Jimmy's pulled every which way by every person possible as they try to make arrangements and adjustments on such a large scale.

Scott stays with him through it all. He presses himself into Jimmy's side during a hurried meeting about leadership for splitting into several camps; he clings to him while Jimmy directs new refugees to food; he holds his hand through long hours of pointing people this way and that.

Jimmy doesn't end up being forced to bed until past midnight, a young Cod practically pushing him and Scott to his tent. Jimmy goes reluctantly, walk stumbling and eyes bloodshot. Scott can't imagine that he looks any better—he can feel how oily his hair is, limp after being literally frozen for so long, his wings unkempt and dragging. He can barely stay upright, and relief floods him when they finally reach Jimmy's tent.

Jimmy collapses onto his bedroll without even taking off his boots or unbuckling the enchanted sword on his back, and Scott is just able to manage loosening the laces of his own boots and kicking them off before he falls down beside him.

"There's still so much to do," mumbles Jimmy, and instinctively, they wrap around each other, knees slotting perfectly and arms weaving just right.

It's like nothing changed.

It's like everything is right again.

"I missed you," Scott whispers, though his throat threatens to choke on the words.

He lost Jimmy. Forty-two days of mourning, of the worst torture he's ever been subjected to.

He lost him, and it still hurts. Everything still feels so terribly hopeless, so dark, and Jimmy forsook him for so long.

But he's back. He's here, and alive, and through his thin tunic under the hilt of the sword Scott can feel a new scar just below the nape of his neck (Jimmy shudders as his fingers trace it, but doesn't pull away) but he's alive and in Scott's arms.

He died. Jimmy died, and it must have been terribly traumatic for him in ways that Scott hasn't even considered.

But by some miracle, he's here. He's okay.

He is, isn't he?

"Are you all right?" Scott asks quietly, seized by the need to know that his love is well. He doesn't know the specifics, not really—but Jimmy said he'd been stabbed several times, and that can't have been easy to recover from—and Scott had made it awfully cold earlier, and he knows that some of the refugees suffered because of it, and Jimmy only had that thin coat on.

Jimmy doesn't respond, though, breathing slow and even, and Scott eventually relaxes, assuming that he's asleep. He can get his answer tomorrow, after all. He can fuss over him all he wants.

Scott honestly can't believe that he let himself drift so far from Jimmy. He let his feelings of abandonment and despair and everything else get in the way of being here, holding his beloved, giving him comfort and receiving it in bucketloads.

He was so wrapped up in losing Jimmy the first time, he almost lost him again.

Then Jimmy shifts in his arms, sighs a little bit. "I'm okay," he finally replies. "That's what you asked, right?"

Scott nods against his shoulder, and Jimmy lets out a low chuckle. "My good ear is pressed to the pillow, sorry," he says by way of explanation. "Couldn't quite hear you. Are you okay?"

Is he okay?

He's not physically injured. And he's not quite so cold—with Jimmy's love warming him, he can keep a lid on the ice magic, stopping it from spreading beyond his fingertips.

Everything about this situation still hurts. Everything's still so terrible, and there's no way to overcome it.

But Jimmy's here now, and he loves Scott.

And Scott loves him.

"I'm all right," he says eventually, before burying his face deeper into Jimmy's shoulder.

And he thinks, for the moment, that it's true.

Scott dreams that night.

He dreams of a plateau, ice, wind whipping dark robes every which way.

He dreams of his hand tightening around a sword hilt.

He dreams of a crown upon his head.

Inka kuuna ndikitá'ána.

It's just barely past dawn, and a young girl with mousy brown hair and scales smattered across her face like freckles is wandering down to the river to collect water.

It's a bit of a long walk, but Lithi doesn't mind—it's preferable to the walk back, when the empty waterskin strapped to her back will be filled with water.

She's a girl forced to grow up too fast, barely in her teens, yet made to take up her mother's armor and flee into exile.

But she doesn't cry. Lithi never cries, and it's a point of pride for her. Her peers seem to be constantly crying, after all. She isn't going to let herself be perceived as a weak little girl. Not after everything her people have been through.

The ground beneath her bare feet becomes squishy, pockmarked with little puddles of water, and she veers right. Her course has taken her too near the slow, swampy portion of the river, and while she longs to go splash about in the swamp, she knows that the water there isn't clear enough to use back at camp. Not to mention, the Codfather wants them to avoid the swamps, for some reason.

She misses the marshes of home. They all do—Cod aren't made to spend all their lives on land.

She knows the swamp misses them, too.

And that reminds her of the folk song that her mother taught her, and her mother's parents taught her, and their parents taught them.

So, while the girl walks, she sings.

The sun is brighting,

Children, come home!

The grass is sighing,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The frogs are croaking,

Children, come home!

The critters woken,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The birds are singing,

Children, come home!

The trees are ringing

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The fries are playing,

Children, come home!

The wind is saying,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The marsh is calling,

Children, come home!

The night is falling,

Children, come home!

Where the water's dark and deep

There her children will find sleep

The marsh is crying,

Children, come home!

She reaches the riverbank as the song comes to a close, singing the last line over and over again, in a myriad of styles and keys.

She shrugs the waterskin off her shoulders, clumsily dips it into the water. The riverbank is uncomfortably dry and sandy between her toes, which long for the mud of home.

Why can't they go to the swamp? Not that she would ever rebel against their Codfather, but she just wants to feel at peace again.

The waterskin isn't totally full, but she draws it up out of the water and ties it closed, arms shaking, straining to hold it up. And now she has to make the long walk back to camp with this heavy load, the leather straps cutting into her shoulder blades with every step.

So maybe she dawdles by the river. Maybe she dips her fingers into the water, swishes it around.

It's that distraction, perhaps, that changes everything.

Because had Lithi not lingered, she wouldn't have seen the glimpse of bright green caught under a rock in the water. She wouldn't have levied up the rock, pulled loose the thing. She wouldn't have held up the sodden leather bag, beautifully embroidered with a bright green cod and a sky blue stag.

And most importantly of all, she wouldn't have opened the bag to find a thin, Oceanic book, nor caught a glimpse of gold shimmering in the silty mud beneath where the bag had lain.

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