#bit it hints at such deeply rooted loneliness.

[savesharkwars]

The Curse of the Seazarian - Immortality AU

The Seazarian lives forever, and Barklay struggles to cope with this reality.

AU background: This AU has the Seazarian (Barklay) live forever, unless he is killed in battle or steps down from his position. (I tried to pay attention to shark lifespans, by the way. But it’s hard though because a lot of species in Shark Wars don’t really exist anymore.)

Note: I made most of this while listening to The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives, so listening while reading may improve the experience or something, I dunno. (Also, if Barklay’s out of character, it’s because he’s immortal and grieving, and totally not because I haven't read this series in a bit.) Also it’s really short, but it was more for the experience than the word count.

Words: 1,078

(End notes and fanfic under the cut.)

Barklay swished his tail softly. The water around him brought a warm current, filling his gills with the oxygen he needed to keep living and his nose with the scents of the ocean just outside of the Seazarian’s cave. (No matter how many seasons and seconds ticked by, it never felt like it was his.) The arching pillars that ribbed the walls, which his court (may they shine with the Sparkle Blue) had refused to leave broken, often felt more like the bars of a cage.

And it had only gotten worse after Gray had died. 

But it had been bad enough already! Hadn’t it? His advisors and co-leaders, already adult sharks before the war had even been fought, slowly dropped away from him. First the ancient makos, their oversized fins frozen forever as the current of a new blue tore them from him. Then the tigers, their striped sides, once so powerful, without a hint of movement before his crying eyes. Then went his other advisors, and though they put up a raging fight against death, eventually even the last Great White was gone.

It was fine, he still had his closest friends. Even if Gray was far away from him, and Velenka was usually busy with the Ghostfins, they were still here for him to lean on. (Though his preferred messenger, that wonderful flying fish, Eugene Speedmeister, had been lost to the sands of the deep blue long ago now. …and how deeply he missed that friend.)

Barklay swam in a small circle on his throne. Since the rest of the leaders were off in their own oceans, he was alone here. The swim back to Coral Shiver waters was simply too far for a small shark like him, and though he would love to make the trip once more, sometime in the future, the decisions that surrounded him kept him rooted in place. (Strange that someone with such power and knowledge, even if it was shared among so many others, had no home to return to.) 

Because this cave, even with all its improvements, was never going to be a home to him.

Home was among his friends, and it was simply impossible to be among them now. Those that had already passed on, those who were no longer his friends, those that were too far away to swim for. The fight was useless. 

It was impossible to be with them all again.

…of course, it always feels useless to meet someone still living until they are gone. Then you see every chance you had to see them. Chances that were no longer valid. Times that were over and up. 

Gray.

His first friend. 

His best friend.

The bravest shark he’d ever met.

He was gone.

Barklay’s heart shattered at the news. And, surrounded by a crowd of the surviving Shiver leaders, he wept. With him, they cried. But it didn’t feel real. It didn’t feel like they meant it. Even with his every attempt to make the leadership position shared, some sharks could never accept that the Seazarian wasn’t absolute. So, when he laughed, they laughed, and when he cried, they cried. There was no emotion in their tears, and that only made Barklay’s loneliness grow. (It grew like the maw of some deep sea cavern, or like the glowing magic or an evil time long past.)

An evil time that now only seemed to have existed in his memory.

A couple of moons later, the message that Velenka was gone reached him. (And to be honest, it felt like his very soul had split in two.) But if it hadn’t done so already, the answer to what had killed her, certainly did. A training accident. A training accident with the group that he had begun.

In a fit of rage, he disbanded the Ghostfins.

To Barklay, time didn’t matter anymore. The currents that pulled through the cave felt cold now. Now that he knew that not a single one of his beloved friends were out there to enjoy a current in the ocean he lived in, what warmth was there to feel? Through the small crack in the ceiling, lights flashed. The moon, the sun, a particularly bright star, he could no longer care to tell. 

It was only when shadows passed over him that he felt at home. 

And though he did not wish to die, he longed for the end. He longed to see his friends again. His gills ached with the strength of the emotions that shot down his body. From nose to tail tip they held him, wrapping him like a drifting strand of greenie around a meal from Slaggernacks. (Did that place even exist anymore? He’d stayed in the same spot for so long that the outside world barely held meaning to him, even though his heartbroken decisions were a vote towards changing everything about it.)

He wished that he could contact his friends. 

He wished that Eugene Speedmeister could fly over from the Sparkle Blue and deliver him a message. He wished that Velenka, leader of the not-so-newly destroyed Ghostfins, could protect him from the horrible pain that shook him. He wished that Mari, though she was long gone even before his plight had begun, could take a swim with him. He wished that Gray, his best friend until the Sparkle Blue was polluted with too many bodies to leave room for more, could save him from his curse.

He wished for all of his friends, Snork, Lochlan, Striker… He wished that they were here with him. He wished that they could be his co-leaders and advisors, instead of this new batch of sharks he hardly knew. He wished he could feel their fins drag over his spine, if only once more. He wished that he could be with them, whether they came to him or him to them, it did not matter. He just wanted them back.

Barklay wished for so much, but deep down, he knew it was useless.

That was the curse of the Seazarian. (Though he knew that if one good thing had come from his plight, it was that at least no one else had to suffer. How could he step down if it meant that someone else would be cursed to his reality? How could he name another shark to his position, knowing what would happen to them? He couldn’t.)

And he knew that.

It simply wasn’t his time to go.

-

Hope you liked it! XP

#implied animal death #barklay sw #shark wars #fanfic #whump #my post

[wackybuddiemewbs]

Man, I'm a thirsty hoe for hurt, comfort, and angst, but I am really frantic for how things are going to pan out with Maddie and Buck, once she comes back.

To send this ahead: I don't mean to criticize Maddie or to shift blame to a woman suffering from depression and being desperate to protect her family, no matter the costs. She needs help and I hope she finally finds it as she needs it.

I'm just interested, and a bit scared, for how this may affect her relationship with her brother.

Because Buck felt like she left him behind before. While he since understood where she was coming from with this, it has been his emotional reality. That's how he felt. To him, it felt like she left him behind. He missed her, and she wasn't physically or emotionally available for him.

It feeds into many of his deeply rooted insecurities. And those, he can't help either, even though he's in therapy. So having Maddie leave like that will be not only a blow to Chimney (POOR CHIMNEY, MY BABY!!! GIVE THE MAN ALL THE HUGS!!!), but it will have a great effect on him, too, I fear.

I could even see a scenario where that may be a catalyst for Buck's composure falling. Because right now, things pan out for him. He has that relationship with Taylor going on (even though we see some hints of different wants and needs in that relationship, but that's another topic). He is well settled with the 118. We know that he's spending time with his favorite Diaz boys. Buck feels validated in his role and his self-worth thanks to the conversation with Eddie and the will last season. And Jee-Yun is super adorbs

What more to ask for, right?

Makes it easy to forget what happened only a few months ago, right?

Right?

And while we see Eddie having a panic attack as a result of his struggle with his relationship, we also see first cracks that may hint at him coming to grips with his trauma about being shot. *fingers crossed that the writers don't brush that off again*

Interestingly, Buck is the one to point out to Eddie that getting shot can be anxiety-inducing. Well, so can be seeing your best friend (and love of your life...) get shot, boo. He worries for Eddie and empathizes with him. For what we got to see, he's doing just fine.

Right?

But maybe having Maddie gone will open the Pandora's box for him. Buck may go spiraling, thinking that his sister didn't trust him with herself and her problems, that he was not good enough as a brother to notice certain things, to make good on his promise to take that spot in her life and protect her.

That she leaves again, even though they promised something else.

Again, this is not to blame her, but on a narrative level, those pinky promises are an important theme between the two siblings. When Maddie told him he'd always have her, we just got this episode that highlighted Buck's headspace, the loneliness he felt, which in part inspired him to befriend Red - only for him to die. Having her leave after she promised to do the exact opposite, tracing back to that pivotal moment, is seldom arbitrary. So I guess we may get a callback to that scene at some point.

So I could see a scenario where Buck tries to brush it all off. Coz he didn't get shot. Coz he's in therapy. Coz his sister didn't leave him, even if it may feel like it, okay? Coz he still has his partner to rely on. And anyway, Uncle Buck to the rescue, right? He can go help Chim and Jee-Yun. He can be of use, even when his sister is not around to see it. Nonetheless, it keeps eating away at him. That he does well distracting himself, but that he still finds himself feeling that desolation again that he's felt by the time he met Red. Even though he should be fine. And anyway, it's not the first time this happened. He can deal with it, okay? He got the 118. And Eddie and Christopher.

Right?

So yeah, I think we could easily see him spiral down. Because healing is no linear process and all that.

But then maybe more tensions arise between him and Taylor about what they both want out of this relationship, moving forward. Maybe he clings more onto her, which may not be what she wants out of that relationship right now. Maybe Buck gets a painful callback to Eddie at gunpoint, thus sending him right back down to hell of what he seemingly brushed off, too, because he is happy and in a relationship and all is fine, right? All is going according to plan, yeah? It's on a clipboard, okay?

Because that would open up a chance for Buck to reflect on his trauma on-screen - just like Eddie still needs the space to deal with his. And ideally, they will somehow find a way forward together. Because even without the shipper goggles on, it was a trauma for both, so it'd make a lot of sense if their healing is just as closely interconnected. That they are the people who can facilitate each other in their healing, getting out of those headspaces, stopping the spiral down.

But back on topic: Buck may really be in for an emotional roller-coaster with Maddie leaving. Perhaps much so when she comes back. Because the two may have to have some very painful conversation once she does.

Because there'd be no bad guys in this scenario, just two people with different traumas finding very different ways to deal with their feelings. And in Maddie's case, her impulse to run is basically a worst-case scenario for a guy like Buck who's struggling with separation, who has the fear of being left behind deeply ingrained into his system.

And I am really curious to see how that will play out. While I firmly believe that the two will mend things between them just like I am sure Maddie and Chim will, it will be a struggle not just for her but also for the people she loves and cares for, including her brother.

So yeah, I see some great potential for angst there, but also an awesome narrative opportunity for Maddie and Buck to progress as characters. That Maddie finally realizes that running is not the way out anymore. That with a committed partner like Chimney, running is actually no longer an option. That she has to let people in and trust them to be by her side even when she finds herself at a low point in her life.

Which may very well boil down to Buck and Maddie both coming to that understanding of what not being alone actually means. For Maddie that she can't run from this. And for Buck that even if Maddie is not there, he is not alone by any means. Even if he may no longer be in a relationship, even if he may be a mess, he has people he can rely on - and who rely on him.

And if Buck winds up finding the support he'd otherwise gotten from Maddie... even more so if it is in the shape of that henley wearing guy who has too much panic and too little disco... all the better for me. *ahem*

So please excuse me while I remain... perfectly calm.

#buddie #buck x eddie #evan buckley #911 spoilers #911 season 5 spoilers #911 season 5 #evan buck buckley #911 fox #maddie buckley

[alizrak]

Chaos Rising Review (Spoilers under the cut)

Non-spoiler review:

Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy (Book I: Chaos Rising) is a fascinating new book by Timothy Zahn that takes us on a journey between the “present” and flashbacks, looking at Thrawn’s early days starting with the Academy. It’s an examination of how these experiences slowly serve to build him up as the character we have come to know in the newer “Imperial Trilogy”, as seen in Thrawn 2017, Thrawn: Alliances, and Thrawn: Treason.  

“The peace of the Ascendancy, a beacon of calm and stability, is shattered after a daring attack on the Chiss capital that leaves no trace of the enemy. Baffled, the Ascendancy dispatches one of its brightest young military officers to root out the unseen assailants. A recruit born of no title, but adopted into the powerful family of the Mitth and given the name Thrawn.

With the might of the Expansionary Fleet at his back, and the aid of his comrade Admiral Ar'alani, answers begin to fall into place. But as Thrawn's first command probes deeper into the vast stretch of space his people call the Chaos, he realizes that the mission he has been given is not what it seems. And the threat to the Ascendancy is only just beginning.”

For me, this book has become a personal favorite on par with Thrawn (2017), and it does so by bringing an amazing cast of characters to life in the galaxy far, far away. Learning about them and how they interact with Thrawn and each other is the book’s greatest strength.  

The way the Chiss culture is explored here feels fresh and gives the Ascendancy a life of its own. There is a tug of war going on between the military and the civilian side of their society, something I was looking for beyond the conflict of the Empire and the Rebels/Republic. This also means the Ascendancy has a “complicated” relationship with Thrawn that adds to what we already know is his weakness… politics.

For newcomers, this is a great starting point. You’ll get to the core of who Thrawn is and why he behaves the way he does during the “Imperial Trilogy”. There’s still a very marked difference between this Thrawn and the Rebels version, which makes me appreciate the books even more. You’ll root for these characters and wish things turn out well for them because we know that getting swept up in Thrawn’s plans can be a very dangerous proposition.  

Thrawn’s genius still shines through during the battles and while we know he survives these encounters, there are consequences and repercussions for each of his victories and for the people around him. In any case, while you can obviously expect math and physics to play a big part during the battles, this might be the story with the most HEART of all the Thrawn books.  There are moments of joy, sadness, fear, confusion, and a fair amount of HOPE, things we don’t always get from a Thrawn-centric story. It affected me deeply and I read it again as soon as I finished. Hopefully, you’ll feel the same way. 

I'm so grateful to Zahn for writing this story and I can’t wait to see where it goes in books two and three. I highly recommend this book!

9/10 

SPOILER REVIEW:

From the very beginning, I was swept up in the emotions of the story, something I was not expecting. The memories of young Thrawn getting thrown into the politics of the Mitth and the struggles of being a Navigator from Thalias surprised me by how much my heart hurt for them. And yet, there’s always a hint of hope and that reminder that someone in the universe does care, bringing a smile to my face. 

Seeing a socially awkward Thrawn fumble his way through, even with his fellow Chiss, and trying to find his place in the world is a real treat. As someone who constantly checks herself about not rambling on about my interests, because I fear I’ll upset people or they’ll think I’m weird, it made me really identify with this younger version. 

For the characters, the one I loved maybe the most was Che'ri, the nine year old navigator assigned to the Springhawk, providing us the point of view of a sky-walker. It can be difficult to read sometimes, how these children are experiencing their situation and the people around them in a very distinct way. I really felt her anxiety, her loneliness, her fear, and her hope. Zahn did a wonderful job with her and those with “Third Sight” Force abilities.   

And speaking of Che’ri, we learn that she was the pilot who was with Thrawn during his adventure with Anakin Skywalker in Alliances! Experiencing that first encounter with the future Darth Vader, from Thrawn's and Che'ri's POV, was perfect and very sweet. I’m so glad that we get confirmation that Thrawn is actually very understanding and patient when it comes to kids. Indeed, he looks for ways to encourage them, to become the best version of themselves, as he’s helping anyone willing to learn. 

The other equally important character is former sky-walker and Che’ri’s caregiver, Thalias. I have to admit, I was a bit skeptical of Thalias at first when she’s introduced to us as an adult. I loved her first encounter with Thrawn as a child inone of the “memories” chapters, but I worried for her grown-up version. I was starting to fear Zahn was setting her up just to be a romantic interest for Thrawn, and while it didn’t happen in this book, I still see the potential for that later on, especially when her goal becomes supporting Thrawn. And while it was a rocky start for me, I did come to like and appreciate her, giving us perhaps the most “humane” face of the Chiss so far. She became a favorite for me. 

There was a bit about gender roles being a little too on the nose for me. It wasn't so much that it detracted from the story, but it was noticeable enough to make me raise an eyebrow once or twice. In any case, it was amazing to see how Thrawn is surrounded by capable women. The Empire Trilogy was a bit lacking with this, only having a few important females actually engaged with the main plot (Pryce, Faro, etc), but Chaos Rising was seriously an improvement. 

And for people waiting for Thrass or Formbi, we don't exactly get to see them. There's one single mention confirming Thrass died but no other comment about him being Thrawn's brother or what transpired in the Vagaari incident. Instead, Thrawn mentions he believes he had a navigator older sister when he was very young and she was taken away. My mind was blown. No name was given, but I'm sure she will come up in some of the next books. 

There is a callback to Outbound Flight, specifically Thrass and Thrawn’s iconic exchange about his wish to help people outside the Ascendancy. This time, Ar’alani is the one explaining they can’t do that, but she promises to support him if he gets high enough as an Aristrocra to change their policies from the inside. I think in general this sets an amazing precedent. You know me. I can't help but think about how this could influence future stories with Ezra and Thrawn. To see Thrawn's accomplishments and need to help others, even if he's forbidden to do so as well as how he risked his career again and again, going out of his way to stop these attacks, made me hopeful. I feel it resonates with what Ezra went through and reinforces in me the idea that the middle way he's looking for is them working together. 

Going back to the book, while I felt the main villain (Yiv, the Merciful) was quite scary... there was something missing to make him truly memorable to me. I still can't place my finger on it. I'll need to read the book again to make a better judgement about him. In this case, I was not reading the book because Yiv felt compelling, but more about how Thrawn and company were reacting to him. And speaking of villains, the book ends with the reveal of a new enemy... but just like with Yiv, I felt disconnected from him. We only got a few lines from that one, so I can't tell for sure what to expect from him, but it seems like another guy in a long list of warlords that Thrawn will defeat. Which makes me wonder if we will get any female rivals in the following book. 

In general, I loved the book. I loved the characters. I loved their struggles and how they get to solve these problems. Thrawn always has a card up his sleeve, but there will surely be repercussions for what he did at the end. We know not everyone is happy with him… but I can’t wait to find out what else he will do. In a way, this book would work as a stand-alone story if it wasn’t for that reveal at the end, so I believe anyone could grab it and have a great time. 

#chaos rising #thrawn ascendancy #star wars #thrawn #review #spoilers #spoiler #chaos rising spoiler #thrawn ascendancy spoiler

[lihikainanea]

Please do 37. A smidge of angst for our holiday pleasure. Mauahahaha.

**Happy Christmas, friends! I’m doing the 25 days of Christmas with Bill and tiger, so go on and send me a prompt from the list, or any list, or make up your own–to read about all the troubles these two morons can find themselves in during the holiday season

Day 1/ Day 2/ Day 3/Day 4

37. “You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?”

Misery. That’s all this was. Surrounded by flashing lights and jovial faces, warm sentiments and love, you were just in misery. Of all the years you had known Bill, this would only be the second Christmas you had ever spent without him—the first one being the year that you met. Even with a family as big and a schedule as crazy as his, you had somehow always been able to divide the holidays amongst your families—sometimes you would follow him back home for a few days, before he’d return with you and celebrate with your family. Each of them had just accepted the other as their own and it was just a given—where Bill went for Christmas, you followed. And when you came back home, he’d call up your mom and ask what he could bring to your family dinner.

But a bad stroke of luck this year, a filming schedule that ran right until the week of Christmas had left him scrambling. His family was used to accommodating changing schedules, whether that meant celebrating Christmas a little earlier or a little later, and this year all the siblings had been available the day before Christmas Eve. It was cutting it too close for your family celebrations, so you opted out of joining him this year. No one was to blame, but both of you still hated it.

“I’m sorry, tiger,” he sighed over the phone before hopping his flight, “I wish I would have wrapped earlier.”

“It happens, bud. Go be with your family, I’ll be here with mine, and I’ll see you in two days.”

“I hate this,” he grumbled.

“I know. But say hi to them for me,” you tried to smile.

“I will.”

“Give Alex a kiss for me,” you smirked, “On the mouth.”

You were met with dead silence, a long pause as your devious smile grew wider.

“You’re not funny kid,” he deadpanned, “Not even a little.”

With instructions to text you when he landed, you hung up the phone with a heavy heart.

The bad luck would only continue. A winter storm hit, burying his town in snow on the day he was supposed to leave. The city was in lockdown with 4 feet of snow on the ground; you followed the local news and while you couldn’t understand the words, the pictures were clear enough. Cars were stuck, trains weren’t operating, the airport had shut except for emergency flights. And when his number popped up on your phone the morning of Christmas eve, your heart sank. You took a deep breath in before answering.

“Tiger,” he started, and you could tell by his tone that no good news was coming your way, “I don’t know if you’ve been following, but…”

“Looks pretty bad, bud,” you interrupted.

“It is. The entire city is shut down. Nothing is leaving here, kid,” he murmured, “Including me.”

You took a deep breath, willing the tears back and swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I’m sorry, tiger,” he said, and he sounded as heartbroken as you felt, “God this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Bill,” you sighed, “It’s okay. Christmas is just a day. We can celebrate it together any day. And we will, bud. We will.”

You knew he didn’t believe you, but he was trying to hold it together too.

“I haven’t seen you in a month, kid,” he said, “I hate that. I hate this. I want to spend Christmas with you.”

“I want to spend Christmas with you too,” the tears were getting harder to hold back, “But Mother Nature had other plans.”

“It’s not fair. I just want to hug you and kiss you under the mistletoe and cuddle up with you in blankets and bake Granny’s shortbreads and see your family and just…hold onto you so tight. I miss you kid, I miss you so—”

You couldn’t stop it now, big fat tears rolled down your cheeks the more he spoke.

“Bill, please—“ you interrupted, “Don’t make this harder.”

A deep sigh came through the phone, followed by a long pause.

“Merry Christmas tiger,” he said, “I love you.”

“Merry Christmas Billy Goat,” you replied, “I love you too.”

And it was hard. Spending Christmas Eve with your family was fun, the loud and boisterousness of it all took your mind off of your loneliness, but your heart was still heavy. You missed him. Missed his presence, his comfort, his smile that you would catch from across the room. You missed the waft of his cologne you would sometimes get as he flitted about your parents’ house, missed his goofy, hideous Christmas sweaters he always insisted on wearing, missed the midnight walk on Christmas Eve you would always take together. Missed his arms around you during the night, missed the hot chocolate the two of you would always creep into the kitchen to make at 2AM, you just missed….him. In every way.

Christmas Eve came and went, the dinner was plentiful, the gifts were in abundance and the alcohol flowed. And on Christmas morning you took home the few packages with his name on it—gifts from your parents and a few aunts and uncles who were always fond of him-but when you put them under your tree, you broke. Hugging your knees to your chest, you buried your face in them as you just let the sadness overtake you. It was a lot, the time leading up to the holidays without him. Work had been stressful, the bustle of the holidays adding to your anxiety and you didn’t have that grounding presence, that steady voice of calm, to help you reel it all back in. You didn’t have the affection you craved, the kind you needed, and when it seemed like the whole world was in love and celebrating it, you were….alone. During a time where you should be anything but that.

Your family didn’t do much on Christmas day, celebrating the majority of the festivus season on Christmas Eve. They had offered for you to stay for dinner so you wouldn’t be alone, but you wanted some peace and quiet—you wanted to sulk a bit, wallow in your sadness, without anybody witnessing it. 

You swiped at your cheeks roughly, hauling yourself up from the floor. You changed into one of his shirts—a fresh set of tears making their way down your cheeks when you caught the barest hint of his scent—and you climbed into bed. You wouldn’t sleep, you knew, but at least with your stuffed tiger cuddled to your chest and his shirt all around you, maybe you could find some peace. Some solace from the heavy ache in your chest at his absence.

You must have drifted off at some point, because the sound of the door unlocking jarred you from a light sleep. Confused, you rubbed at your eyes as you tentatively patted for your beloved knife under your pillow. Moving as silently as you could, you made your way out of your room and down the hall just as the door flung open.

You paused, staring at the sight in front of you in disbelief.

There in your doorway, looking haggard beyond belief and shaking the snowflakes from his shoulders, was Bill. Exhausted and disheveled, stubble covering his jaw and deep bags under his eyes as he set his suitcase down, he looked terrible—but he was there. Staring at him wide eyed, you shook your head a little—half expecting him to dissipate as if he was a mere figment of your imagination. His eyes fell on you, and you could hear his deep exhale.

“Tiger,” he sighed, “My tiger.”

You couldn’t move, staying rooted to the spot.

“C’mere sweetheart,” he stepped into your hallway, toeing his shoes off and extending his arms.

You thought you were imagining things, continuing to stare at him while staying completely immobile.

“Tiger?” He looked at you a little uneasily, lowering his arms and taking a cautious step forward, “Put the knife down.”

And it was only when he moved again, only when you caught a whiff of his cologne, that something clicked in your brain—he was here. He was actually, truly here and it wasn’t just some cruel apparition, some illusion born of how badly you needed him.

The knife clanged to the floor as you ran to him, leaping into his arms as he caught you. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your arms pulling him to you and he held on just as tightly. Stuffing his nose in your neck, he inhaled deeply before you pulled back and crushed your lips to his. You kissed him with a fervour, pouring every ounce of need and loneliness you had felt into it, and he held onto you as he kissed you back just as urgently.

“Bill,” you tried, but it was just a sob against his lips, “What are you doing here?”

He kissed you again, holding you closer to him as you cried.

“Spending Christmas with you,” he murmured, and you clutched at him.

“But….how?” You sniffled, “The whole city was on lockdown. The airport was closed, I saw it.”

“An 18 hour ferry to fucking Latvia,” he paused to kiss you, “and then a red eye flight, and two more flights,” another kiss to your lips, then to your nose, and then your eyelids, “But here I am.”

You couldn’t speak, overcome with emotion you buried your face in his neck but he set you on your feet, pulling back to cup your cheeks in his hands.

“You didn’t think I’d let you spend Christmas alone, did you?” He murmured, kissing a few of the tears trailing down your cheeks. With a loud, choking sob you jumped on him again, wrapping your legs tightly around his waist  as he walked you back into the bedroom.

“Merry Christmas, kid,” he whispered into your hair.

#christmas #BFF!Bill #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Word by Word | 02

Genre: Fluff, Romance, University/College AU

Pairing: Graphic design student!Bangchan x Literature student!/Irish!Reader

Warnings: Swearing (but what can you honestly expect when dealing with an Irish person?)

Summary: An ancient saying dictates that polar opposites attract, which is proven once again once an introverted whiskey-loving aspiring author meets a fairly extroverted boy initially proposing to survive the loneliness brought about by academic administration together.

But soon the meaning of ‘together’ expands as personal creative worlds are explored and understanding stirs up hidden emotions.

Masterlist

Previous part / Next Part

In life, nothing goes according to plan for Fate is cruel and God is dead. There is no other explanation for the amalgamation of desperately ironical chaos which follows in the wake of the checked-in transport card going to the steady place by the window all the way in the back of the bus while blasting music. To be more precise, it comes in the form of bleached locks also lost in songs, cruel enough due to the circumstances to unapologetically settle down on the empty seat that cannot be occupied fast enough by throwing the habitual laptop bag onto it.

Oh, for feck’s sake. Alright, lass, just keep calm and read yer book. Just don’t look and... fuck, he’s looking. Calm down and fake ignorance!

Out of the corner of the eyes, a glint is beheld of jasper eyes staring interestedly at the cover of the current read, clearly trying to make out the title partially obscured by cramped with timid fingers while every thought is overrun by the scent of the widespread ocean lapping at the shore mixed with a light hint of coconut. However, impossible as it might seem, a steady yet vague focus is kept on the letters shaping the memoir of a bookseller and good faith is put in the general universally acknowledged fact that earbuds in is equal to the meaning of “leave me alone”.

Though some, like the fairly unwelcome stranger, never grasp this simple meaning.

‘Good book?’ AirPods are taken out in favour of understanding while patiently awaiting a response, continuing to gaze at a rapidly becoming distracted soul heavily debating whether or not to reply.

‘Sorry, what?’ Despite still sounding annoyed, the level of irritation is considerably lower than when speaking to another person asking the same thing and that is quite a curious occurrence for strangers are kept at bay at all costs and by any necessary means such as music.

Songs which are weirdly put to rest without hesitation. 

At seeing uncomprehending brows knit together, fortunately failing to see a part of the confusion is also turned inward at a fluttering heart and discombobulated thoughts, platinum strands elaborate on the initial inquiry. A long finger rises and points at the cover of the novel in a manner that should not be deemed as cute yet is. ‘The book. Is it any good?’

Neither should speech come as difficult as it does, stuttering normally entirely out of the question as well as the want to expand on the curt reply. ‘Uhm, y- yeah. It is.’

The response evokes a bubbly giggle which miraculously turns up the temperature in the vehicle on its way to the university, surely painting cheeks with a roseate flush. Judging by the mesmerized sparkling irises staring back in unwavering contact, they do. ‘That’s not a whole lot to go on. What’s it about?’

How can I act like this? Get yersel’ together, Y/N, and act as you would during an event. Be a cold professional.

A splendid plan that is always immediately resorted to in similar situations because it offers a sufficient amount of social protection. Moreover, it nullifies any further advances pursuing the conversation as it employs the harshest coldness of politeness.

That is the case under normal circumstances. 

But not now.

Now there is nothing but an oddly enchanted girl stammering while explaining the premise and cause of the diary written by a Scottish bookseller, gradually becoming more and more flustered with every word that flows from lips eager to engage. In the meanwhile, focus is kept steadily on the friendly handsome face intently listening with genuine interest, clearly doing so in delight.

‘So, uhm, tha- that’s the p- pre- premise.’

‘Huh, sounds interesting. Maybe I should read it.’

‘You should!’ The suggestion ignited a giddiness preserved for private moments with Grandfather, particularly on whiskey nights when books are the sole other companions in whose company to rejoice. ‘I- I mean, if y- ye want to. You ob- obvi- obviously don’t have to.’

‘I mean it, I’ll check it out. Wait, I haven’t even properly introduced myself. Hi, I’m Chris. Or Chan or Bangchan. Whatever you prefer.’ The last bit is added shyly, a careful smile ghosting over pale pink lips while a trustworthy veined hand reaches out.

And is taken for a strong handshake that clearly surprises the lad. ‘Y/N.’

‘That’s a firm hand.’ Both barely suppressing a gasp for different reasons, gripping digits swiftly unravel. Personally, it is because of a sense of being attacked on a womanly front while never having been bothered by it, only endeavouring to act entirely ladylike on important occasions. Until someone cannot shut their gob properly. In case of the lad smelling like a beach day, a grimace as if mourning the loss of contact flashes over the composed expression trying to look merely surprised yet fails in doing so. ‘Which is good, because it signifies a strong character.’

Distant remorse laces the elaboration on the original response, jasper eyes averting from a panicked face to the novel put down. Picking up on this, bookish fingertips rapidly retracted to a denim lap graced with the sarcastic memoir creep ever so slightly towards the edge of thighs to feel the warmth of ones still formed as if they were enveloping those that ran away.

But stop and flee once more.

Falsely calm.

Acting.

Though they are not doing so in the desire to get to know the boy showing sincere interest in a cold professionally introverted and, above all, unlovable girl.

‘Whe- Where are y- ye from?’ To keep the exchange going, a natural question follows from what has been quietly observed from speech.

‘Hm?’ Eyes wide, the brooding grim mood fades from chiselled features and morphs into curiosity due to incomprehension with a tilted head.

‘Yer ac- accent. You’re not from a- around here.’

‘No, I’m from Australia. I moved here recently to study.’ A playful grin promises that the same observation pertaining to the manner of speaking has been made as well, counterattacking the question by means of a proposing comment. ‘But you have an accent as well.’

‘I’m actually from around here, but thanks to Charles I got the good ol’ Irish accent.’ Composure has been regained entirely, mostly thanks to the fact the matter comes up frequently whenever accompanying Charlie to foreign publishing events where everyone always seems surprised to hear from the north.

‘Charles?’

‘My grandfather. He’s the one who raised me.’ Nothing is said about the family name out of a conscious disdain to be associated with a great author instead of being seen as an original person and novice writer. Although, mayhaps it is more of an unconscious endeavour since the thought of even mentioning a surname does not comes up.

‘What about your parents?’

‘I’d rather not talk about them, Chris.’ A brief look out the window shows the long line of variously branded cars in front of a steady red light letting solely up to three pass before halting the ever-growing queue, every driver showing impatience in a fashion as diverse as the range of names on the trunks. Next to the bus is a jet black Volkswagen Polo, a father driving while the mother and lone daughter are chattering away.

 That could’ve been me. If only life had been different. If only I wasn’t a bastard.

‘Sorry, I didn’t know it’s a sensitive topic.’ The remorse is more prominent in display than awareness thinks to let filter through to the world, curly platinum strands leaning in apologetically despite not being at fault when reverting attention to Chan.

‘You couldn’t have known, so it’s fine.’ Regardless of sounding as if nothing is wrong, the deeply-rooted pain of being raised in a good yet different life with a father figure rather than an actual parent nevertheless colours the used tone.

Withal, and fortunately fluidly, the subject changes to something casual creating a grander sense of comfort. ‘You said you came here to study?’

To forget what could have been.

Lips part as if to protest but change their mind at the last second, going with the flow and thusly leaving the previous topic behind. ‘Yeah, I did. I’m studying graphic design, but added a literary course to my curriculum this last part of the semester. Unfortunately, all my friends have either chosen a different course or are doing a whole other study.’

‘Then you and I are on the same boat.’ Unintentionally, there is a question of teaming up through the absence of familiar faces placed in other workgroups if present at all. And it is weird it is there at all since loneliness is nothing new and actually bearable, though a little bit more when being in the company of a nice character.

‘Wanna stick together and try to survive?’

Had another person been asked this, no doubt the chance to have a familiar face for support would be taken advantage of. However, it is not so in the case of a bastard who is apparently in the way. Easy to discard, as has been made evidently clear by the monsters that should have raised her instead of the other glorious bastard under a swearing whiskey roof shared with two cats from Inferno.

Trustworthy in action, honest in words, true in sincerity of company.

Just like the aura of the newly met fellow student looking like a puppy anticipating a consenting reply, excitedly wagging an imaginary tail but trying to suppress any signs of enthusiasm under a veil of patience. Still, the gloss over cheerful eyes and pursed lips indicate hoping for the best, despairing when being denied. Henceforth, while the persuasion of attitude comes second in the factors of changing minds, the proposal is accepted gladly with the brightest contained smile that has been given to someone in a long period of time, honest in meaning. ‘I’d like that.’

‘You don’t have to.’ Despite agreeing to the plan, understanding disappointment rings in the taken on tone of speech, Bangchan pulling away barely noticeably yet introducing a familiar abyss that makes the heart sink to the deepest depth it knows.

‘What makes you say that?’ Maintaining the facade of ignorance to hide the unintentional sensitive pain, the face of a summer beach day is carefully analyzed in the hopes of finding an explanation for what has been done wrong.

Why the truth cannot be seen when it has risen from beneath the rose.

‘You seem reluctant.’ The fingers held earlier in a friendly handshake dig their nails in the fabric of the seats to hide the sadness thanks to suspected denial.

But, just this once, there is a wholehearted agreement.

An exception.

For him.

Notwithstanding, the mirage of happiness fades after being built so carefully, flowing down the melancholic stream of the consciousness forever stuck in its grasp with a lowering voice and averted focus. ‘It... it’s a bad habit. A likely wrong thinking pattern.’

‘I don’t understand. What are you thinking?’ Brows knit as the Australian boy stares on in wonder, in need of an explanation to lift the mystery of the cryptic response. In fact, the weird urgency in the inquiry hints towards honestly pondering what makes a mere stranger sympathize with Atlas.

A train of thought which is disregarded by a self-mocking comment of no importance, somberly mumbled with a shake of the head. ‘Nothing. You’ll think me a drama queen.’

Because everyone who knows the truth has judged its teller as such.

An attention seeker.

But why then is she alone?

Dismissed?

But not by Chris, in whose nice to listen to voice has slipped in strong determination underlined with personally deemed misplaced worry. However, perhaps if it is truly so, it would not be evident in the overall distressed attitude sitting on the next seat. ‘No, Y/N, I won’t. I want to know and we’ve still got a ways to go before we’re at the university anyway. Please, tell me about what’s weighing you down.’

We.

Us.

Two.

Of us.

A pleasant notice that is nullified by the knowledge of the inevitable walking away because this lie has been heard one too many times by the grandsons and sons of famed writers who are in contact with Charlie. ‘You’ll discover soon enough, Chan.’

A moment of silence passes, gazes averted and one steadily kept on the memoir of a bookseller with the need to escape and wander alone again. Dwell in familiar solitude and curl up inside it.

Running away is always easier with music. Henceforth, digits already reach towards Airpods and phone.

But are halted by slender fingers wrapping around the forearm, asking for attention with a light squeeze followed by a soft-spoken call. ‘Y/N?’ Kind happiness timidly filters through in the visage of the chatty lad when looking up again, cheerfulness forming a proposal. ‘Shall we first get some coffee after we arrive and walk to the classroom together?’

Curiously, the emphasis on the concept of together remains, thus also continuing to stress the overall paradoxical importance of the word which only enhances the wonder about why contact would want to be had at all.

 Why me? Why “us”? Why “we”?

As if reading the train of thought, Chan voices the answer to the unspoken rampant inquiries. ‘Because everyone deserves to have at least someone for support.’ Teeth bite down on the lower lip, the corners of the mouth wanting to curl up but hesitating to do so. ‘And... I want to see you smile again.’

‘My smile’s fecking horrible.’

Don’t go effing and blinding. So much for that.

They shape themselves into a warm smile regardless, an adoring sentiment that filters through into sincere speech. ‘No, it’s not. Happiness looks good on you.’

The heart flutters at hearing the warmth and unknowing how to deal with the show of affection towards a mere stranger, the book which had been put to rest for a wee bit is picked up again to hide the likely very carmine flush dusting over heated cheeks. Adorable laughter sounds from behind the safe protective walls of pages, the sound enhancing the furious blush following what was surely wrongly heard but which was interpreted as a muttered under the breath “cute”. However, eyes do not shift to check the truth, having no courage to face Bangchan while being an uncharacteristic emotional mess.

The bus starts moving.

And so do we.

In music and literature.

Word by word.

#Stray Kids #SKZ #Stray Kids fanfiction #Bangchan #Chan #Bang Chan #Chris Bang

[junker-town]

Couldn’t Be Me: What do we owe the world?

Getty Images/iStockphoto

In this week’s advice column: How to define yourself against your internal instincts and the external horrors of the world.

Welcome to Couldn’t Be Me, a weekly advice column where I solicit your personal dilemmas and help out as best as I can. Have something I can help you with? Find me @_Zeets.

Opening this column to all types of questions seems to have convinced people to come to me with their deepest, toughest existential quandaries, which is both fun and exhausting.

If there’s a theme this week, it’s individual responsibility — the responsibility one has to themselves, to the kind of life they want to live, and, as an extension, to the world. Responsibility is admittedly a murky subject. The making of oneself is a lifelong endeavor, which means that knowing one’s place and obligation to the world is equally long.

Of course, I can’t tell people who they are or what they should be, but hopefully I can help them come to a starting point. At the very least, I can point them to life’s most essential reading material.

[Editor’s note: Questions have been edited for space and clarity.]

James:

I’ve recently left my deeply religious childhood, and in the two years or so that have passed, I’ve been struggling with what I consider my “discovery” that almost every social convention our species has developed is a result of our evolutionary instinct to survive. I haven’t decided whether the step in that process that led our primate minds to figure out that we actually exist and are alive is a cruel Nihilistic curse or not. But I do think the idea that the universe’s indifference to our existence means that life is whatever we make it is enough for me to escape Nihilism itself.

If life is what we make it, I think that means that we have the freedom to go against the coding, to pursue happiness that isn’t a byproduct of fulfilling instinctual, evolutionary needs. In principle, I feel like I shouldn’t get married or have kids one day, because those would tie me down to the conventions I thought I was free from.

But I’m also lonely. I’ve never been in a real romantic relationship. I have a bunch of friends — really great, close friends who care about me — but I feel like I’d be a lot happier if I eventually found someone to spend my life with. I may be wrong, and it’s probably deeper than this, but it feels like a lot of the loneliness I feel would be easier to deal with throughout the course of my life if I found a significant other and eventually a spouse.

I think this might’ve been a rambling, long-winded way to ask what you think about the idea of balancing living within the bounds of what you consider truth and what will make you happy.

CBM:

It’s understandable that your first reaction after leaving a certain world is to rebel against the conventions and beliefs of that world. We all do it. That reaction — to try and become the opposite of what you’ve been raised to be — is part of growth.

I feel that you’re misunderstanding the concept of freedom, however, at least in this realm. That confusion seems to be the root of your frustration. Freedom doesn’t necessarily mean “to go against the coding, to pursue happiness that isn’t a byproduct of fulfilling instinctual, evolutionary needs.”

Sure, that path should be available, but freedom isn’t directional or oppositional. Freedom means having knowledge of your choices, and being able to choose for yourself what life you want to live and who you want to be.

To lead an intellectual life you need to be aware of the traditions that have driven your life. One should question the reason and history behind everything one believes. You should decide whether you believe certain things because they are true, or because you’ve been taught that they should be true. And then ask yourself whether you want certain things to be true because they justify who you are and what you want the world to be.

But freedom away from religious conventions doesn’t necessarily mean that you need to oppose marriage, love, and having children. Or distrust the latter two because there’s an instinctual imperative behind them. That would suppose that you are in battle against yourself, and I detest the idea of existence being so war-like.

What you need to do is to take stock of the available knowledge you have of yourself. Interrogate your past and present as much as you can, and determine the kind of person who you want to be. But you need to know everything, including those instinctual desires, — and even spiritual desires, away from the Church.

From there, you can build yourself from the ideas that you see as true, and you can abandon those you don’t. That does not mean that love, marriage, and children should be dismissed because you distrust your instincts. If that is how you’re driven, and you believe that a happy life for you could include those things, then there’s no shame in pursuing them.

The idea that a true intellectual is someone who can remove themself from the wants of the body and heart as much as possible — stoicism, essentially — is folly. Even Marcus Aurelius was a failure in that pursuit. You are a human being. Rather than detach yourself from human experience, I think it’s better to make yourself vulnerable to the totality of life.

At the same time, if you do pursue a partner, don’t do so purely as a cure for loneliness. That’s a dangerous game. You may find yourself just as lonely with someone else, or so attached that your partner struggles to be their own person. As Nietzsche said: “The lonely one offers his hand too quickly to whomever he encounters.”

Be happy and fulfilled with yourself first, but keep yourself open to love and its possibilities — to not need another in order to be whole, but to enjoy that partner for all that they are, and as they are, if you do happen to find them.

Anonymous:

I know you answered a question very similar to this one in the column last week, but I just need to say it. Everything in the news recently with the Amazon burning and just how obvious it is nobody in power cares about climate change has completely debilitated me.

I’m finding it impossible to enjoy anything or have any fun with the knowledge of what’s coming. I’m going through the motions at a job I used to really enjoy. I’ve lost a lot of motivation for my goals for the future, because there might not be much of a future. It’s the dominating thought in about 95 percent of what I do. I basically just exist at this point, other than some isolated moments of happiness that never last because of how defeated I am with the situation.

Is there anything you can offer me? I know you can’t change the science or the facts, but do you have any advice that would at least help me get back to functioning? To enjoy whatever I have left in this life?

CBM:

I have answered this, but I will again because I do find these questions interesting.

My initial reaction to this is: what made you think that it is your individual burden to shoulder the problems of the world? As heroic as it seems to be worried about the state of humanity, and to be thrown into despair by how bad everything is, there’s a hint of egotism in the idea that you are responsible for or so touched by all the suffering of the world that you’ve been driven into disinterest in life.

Even Jesus and Nietzsche can’t compete with that, though I think Kierkegaard would roll his eyes at such nihilism. You’re not Atlas. The first step is ridding yourself of the idea that it is your burden to carry the world, and then find things within the range of your person that you can affect.

The cure for nihilism is a committed life. What I think everyone who is in the state of despair needs is to plant a metaphorical garden.

Audrey Hepburn said, “To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” Rather than being consumed by all the bad things, you need to redouble your efforts in committing to the world and its future. You need to find all the things you love, all the people you care about, and decide what you can do, as an individual, to better the present for them and give them a chance to exist in the real and metaphorical tomorrow. You need to put your hands in the dirt.

Letting yourself be driven to inaction is easy, I would say it’s the more comfortable of the two choices here. The world and its people needs individuals who care about them, and that care has to be shown through action, engagement, and imagination, and not through abstract concern from a detached state of being, so that that we can survive the present terror — and if we can’t survive it, so that we can make the world as it is better for those who are suffering.

If you want to enjoy what you have left of life, you have to commit yourself even more to the things you love. To the people you love. To the world that you love. The biggest waste of the small moment you have in this world is to worry about how short that time is and let that knowledge dull your experience and perspective. There’s no benefit at all.

What that small time should give you is a renewed appreciation for how precious everything is, and if you want to help save all of those precious things, you have to trade that nihilism for love.

Gabriel:

What are some good books to read?

CBM:

I don’t know if I can answer this, since each person’s tastes are different, and you really should try to find what you like through trial and error.

That said, I recommend reading and rereading every bit of “Calvin and Hobbes” you can.

[avi-stella]

Communication | Zen/Hyun Ryu x Reader

Rating: Teen Word Count: 1,822 Genre: Hurt/Comfort Summary: You have difficulty explaining something to Zen, so you write a letter instead. Author's Comment: A bit of a more personal piece, but one I want to share all the same.

They say that scars eventually fade with time, but that wasn't always necessarily the case. Some scars stayed with you forever, deeply rooted into your heart from a time long ago that you wish you could forget. There were days you could pretend that those scars were never there, hiding behind smiles and laughter, but they still lingered in the depths of your mind. They were there in those small actions and careful choice of words or lack thereof, even if you were never fully conscious of them.

"Hey, babe?" Zen spoke up, breaking the comfortable silence in the living room as the two of you sat nestled together on the couch with you between his legs, your nose buried into a book while the actor absentmindedly ran his fingers through your hair from behind you.

"Hm?" You made a small sound of acknowledgement of having heard the young man, but you were still somewhat distracted in the story you were reading.

Zen hummed as he contemplated on how to phrase his question. "I'm not pressuring you or anything, but do you think you could introduce me to your family some time?"

Your mind grinded to a halt, your eyes stopping dead in their tracks of the words they were tracing on the page. Zen didn't seem to notice the way you tensed your shoulders as you hesitatingly asked, "Why...?"

You felt the actor casually shrug his shoulders from behind you as he answered, "It's just...well, we've been dating for some time now, and I still haven't met your family."

"Is it...necessary for you to meet my family?" You continued to question, speaking slowly and carefully, a small edge hidden behind your voice.

"Not really," Zen responded, "but I think it'd be nice for me to meet them, y'know, to introduce myself as your boyfriend."

You remained quiet for a moment, chewing at your bottom lip as you buried your face even more into your book, but it was more out of fear and cowardice rather than to read the words on the page. "I...haven't had any contact with them for a while now, so I don't know..."

It was only then that Zen noticed the shift in your behaviour and attitude. "Babe?" He asked, placing his hands gently on your shoulders. His eyebrows furrowed together in concern when he felt the slightest of trembles, but the actor wasn't given a chance to comment on it as you had abruptly stood up from the couch. Zen's eyes followed your lonely looking back as you started heading towards the washroom.

"Excuse me," you muttered with a strained voice as you retreated the conversation with hurried steps, locking the washroom door shut behind you.

Several minutes passed by with you locked inside the washroom, and Zen grew increasingly worried. He walked over to the door and raised his hand, ready to knock, when you suddenly opened the door. The two of you jumped slightly in surprise before you bowed your head. You weren't fast enough, however, and Zen was still able to catch a glimpse of your reddened eyes which caused his heart to clench.

You tried to push past the actor aside, but he quickly caught your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. "Babe, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," you lied feebly, and you couldn't help but wonder where your usual talent with lying seemed to go at that moment.

Zen's eyebrows stitched together. "You can tell me if something's bothering you."

"It's nothing," you repeated, much more insistent. There was a finality in your voice that made Zen drop the subject overall, but he was still worried. His grip on your shoulder loosened, and you took that as your chance to walk away.

It wasn't like it was your intention to be so cold and distant all of a sudden like that, but you needed time. You were still recovering, albeit at a very slow pace. Of course, Zen had no idea what it was that you were recovering from exactly, and you understood that it wasn't fair to him for you to keep quiet, but you couldn't bring yourself to talk with the actor.

...No, that wasn't it. You were still in denial. If you lied to yourself that you were okay, then that was merely the truth you would tell him. Fake it 'til you make it, was it? But you couldn't do that. Not to someone as special to you as Zen. ...You needed to collect your thoughts first.

By the time Zen comes home, you're napping away on the couch. The male's expression softens at how peaceful you look, and he makes his way over, kneeling down so that he can admire your sleeping face. He carefully brushes away some strands of your hair so as to not disturb you and places a soft kiss to your cheek, smiling to himself when he pulls away.

Zen then stands up and walks over to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water when he sees a neatly folded piece of paper on the table addressed to him with your handwriting. Confused, and perhaps with a hint of apprehension, the young man picks it up and unfolds it, his eyes scanning over the contents.

The actor's lips parts in shock as he reads through your letter that explained your reason for your behaviour in regards to your family. You tried to explain to the best of your efforts the emotional trauma that they had caused you with their words and lack of attention and care towards your emotional needs. It all seemed to click to Zen. He finally knew why you were always so complacent when it came to making decisions or why you would accept whatever argument was thrown your way without too much of a fuss. He finally understood why you would flinch at the slightest rise of volume in voice whenever somebody talked to you or why you would always seem to go out of your way for him despite his protests.

Anger boils through Zen as he can feel all the hurt and pain you felt from your words. He can sense the guilt and blame you carried, not just for keeping quiet about this to him, but also because you truly felt like any time anything went wrong that it was your fault. That it was your fault your family treated you like they had in the first place because you believed that you weren't good enough and up to standards.

Just how long did you have to live like that? Zen knew what it felt like to be constantly degraded by the people he thought he could trust. He knew just how deep those scars could run. He knew what constant disappointment and disapproval towards your hopes, dreams, and who you were as a whole could do to you, especially if those spiteful words were spoken to you at such a young age.

What was it that people would usually say? "It's their own way of showing that they care and love you"? It's because people are told those kind of things that they think it's a normal occurence and acceptable to strip someone's dignity like that. Nobody deserved such treatment, yet here Zen was, reading through your honest words of all the shame, guilt, and emotional instability you felt, and ones that Zen himself was personally familiar with.

It was why the actor ran away from home in the first place, but you were different. As far as Zen knew, you stuck through it, apparently. That in of itself was its own way of strength and courage, but it still pained the young man to think that you had to endure such a thing for so long. It would explain that look of loneliness he would sometimes catch a glimpse of. It would explain the clinging to him towards certain situations and avoidance of conversation towards certain subjects.

Zen's eyes flicker over to your slumbering form. There was no doubt that it took a lot of courage for you to explain all of this. Even if you didn't tell him verbally, Zen still feels relieved and glad that you were able to at least tell him through written words. The young man places the letter back onto the table before walking over to you. He doesn't want to wake you up to discuss the contents of your letter so suddenly when you're caught off guard, so instead, the young man carefully picks you up and carries you over to the bedroom where you would be more comfortable.

You must have been on the edge of consciousness and sleep because the moment Zen sets you down on the bed, your eyelids slowly flutter open. The actor flashes you an apologetic look for waking you up, and you return it with a lazy smile. You lift up a hand to take some of Zen's hair between your fingers, finding comfort in how soft they feel, and Zen dips his head down to kiss the tip of your nose.

"Welcome back," you greet him, still slightly disorientated from your nap, and Zen takes his spot beside you on the bed before encasing you in his arms.

"Did you sleep well?" Zen asks as he traces lazy shapes on your back.

You answer with a small hum. "I had a weird dream that you were a unicorn and galloping on a rainbow."

Hearing that, Zen can't help but snort in response at the imagery. He chuckles lowly to himself, the sound making you smile. You shift around a bit and roll yourself to lie down on top of the actor who only gazes up at you with a gentle expression. His hands move to cup your cheeks, and he pulls you down for a kiss. Zen breaks away for only a moment before kissing you again and again, each new kiss becoming longer and deeper than the last.

You pull away from the young man's lips, and your fingers curl to grip onto Zen's shirt. Slowly, you bring yourself to ask, "Did you...read my letter?"

There's a sense of fear in your voice, but the smile on Zen's features never leaves. He nods, and you bury your face into his chest. "Do you want to talk about it now or later?" Zen gives you the choice, and you take a moment to think about it.

"...Later," you respond after a pause, and the young man nods once more in understanding before kissing you on the top of your head.

"I'll wait until you're ready," Zen tells you, pulling you closer against him. "No matter how long or short it will take."

You mumble out a muffled word of thanks, your heart swelling from the actor's patience and consideration. It's something you're not quite used to receiving from others, but it's welcome all the same.

[• Commissions •] Masterlists: Imagines | Oneshots | MysMe Oneshots | Multi-part/Series | NSFW Oneshots | Browse by Tags

#Mystic Messenger #Zen #Zen x Reader #F: Mystic Messenger #C: Zen (Mystic Messenger) #R: Teen #G: Hurt/Comfort #reader insert #avisteliterature

[jhorend]

9,13,14,15,21,23 HAH

damn, aight let’s do this

9. Describe their personality in a paragraph.

(I always feel like I’m a bit off with these but w/e. They’re kinda short and I’m too tired to create a well constructed, concise summary for both but the additional responses should give some more insight)

Teokkin - Exceedingly loyal to the cause, pugnacious, and with an active strive for displays of wit, Teokkin fits many of the stereotypes associated with Inquest. He’s determined to earn the respect of his peers, preferably through trust but will resort to fear, particularly those that would not align themselves with Inquest. Of course, it can be a challenge to impose threats on someone when they go crying to the Peacemakers immediately, and so he often must opt to linger on the side of passive aggressiveness and careful wording. When a threat presents itself, he’s seldom the one that throws the first blow, but returns fire with swift retribution.

Nizktt - Reclusive, and a bit eccentric in a way different from most Asura, Nizktt is often more at home in the jungle, without any artificial structure over his head. It’s not quite a return to the race’s roots as tunnel diggers, favoring the above ground more, but caves are nonetheless his favorite dwellings. Even moreso when surrounded by his personal moa flock, to which he has named and carefully bonded with each and every one, having had as many as 18 of them. Some asura would go so far as to call him a savage, or a primate, but he has brushed such namesakes off and they do little to faze him now, regarding those that still call him such to be ignorant and myopic. Even if he spends his time far from laboratories and halls of study, his mind is as capably developed as any typical asura, having undergone the rigors of their education all the way through college before his life centered around the wilds.

13. What’s their favorite place in Tyria, and why?

Teokkin - Like any self respecting bookah-antagonizer, Rata Sum is Teokkin’s home and soul. Though some of his early years were spent beyond the cube, in Metrica, Sum is where he matured into the rat-bat he is now. It’s where he can be comforted by the familiarity, the congregation of great minds (but some are more great than others), a wealth of machines and magical artifice, and the distinctly infrequent presence of non-asuran beings.

Nizktt - Why, his moa cave of course. Most of its occupants have been recovered since Nizktt’s unfortunate imprisonment at the hands of the Magistracy and subsequent freedom granted to him by an opposition group, with credit to his great diligence towards finding the lost moa.

14. What’s their least favorite place, and why?

Teokkin - Any of the major cities of the other races. They are permeated with their smells, voices, and filth, and in far greater concentration than any town or outpost. It’s hard to say which one he hates the most, really. Divinity’s Reach is full of pompous, airheaded lunatics (he, of course, does not hate them because of their conceit, as that would be contradictory, but because they are horribly undeserving of wielding any pretense of superiority). The Black Citadel, or rather, Charr as a whole, in his eyes, embraces brawn over brains in many scenarios, which is just repulsive to him. He has somewhat of a guilty curiosity for their machinations however, outwardly claiming he sees them as horribly rudimentary and primitive like many asura, but knows that is an unsagacious lie after learning of the raw, brutal, and pants-soilingly intimidating destructive capability some of their more inspired creations possess. Hoelbrak on the other hand does not even make an attempt at such creations, and beyond that, essentially takes everything Teokkin dislikes about Charr and magnifies it to a greater scale. Finally, The Grove is a spectacle of both natural and magical biology, but tainted by the utterly obnoxious personality of the many Sylvari inhabiting it. And since Teokkin never was much of a florist, the Grove just isn’t anywhere near appealing enough to overlook the constant pestering and infuriatingly curious nature of the natives.

Nizktt - Speaking of the imprisonment, it’s fairly easy to imagine why Nizktt very quickly developed a terrible dread for that facility. It’s not only the severe trauma it inflicted, which he thankfully was resilient enough to keep forced out of his thoughts after some recovery time but nevertheless seethes with emotion at the memory. It helps that he has an… unusual connection with a species of flightless birds that give him something to ventilate unpleasant feelings to (In a positive way! he’d never hurt precious birbs). The loss of Rizzi though, his longest time traveling and hunting companion, had felt like part of himself perished with her.

15. Describe a high point in their story, and then a low point.

Teokkin - Probably the time he saved Kezza while Gerik was off flirting with Oola, if I’m remembering the name correctly. Teokkin felt a bit of pride in that moment, knowing he’d earned some of Kezza’s favor and elevated her respect of him over Gerik. I still need that RP log tbh… But as I look back on it, Teokkin doesn’t really have any very significant high points; there are lesser ones but Teokkin’s life is more often permeated with misfortune. So, moving onto that:

Let’s look at his more distant past instead of reviewing what happened in RP, cus why not. After Teokkin completely alienated his birth family, being on a tenuous enough relationship as it was, by spontaneously razing their laboratory (the materials within igniting the facility into a veritable inferno at a rate unprecedented even by the krewe utilizing them) through a combination of intentional mischief and innocent negligence which nearly caused the death of them (it DID spell an unfortunate end for some of the other lab technicians on site), he was cast into foster care. It was devastating to him; he didn’t know what he was expecting as punitive action for what he did, especially since he was already lectured on multiple occasions not to play with fire, but to be displaced from the family entirely by his own parents was an outcome not even hinted in his thoughts. It manifested an intense feeling of loneliness that he was quite vividly reminded of in recent times after claiming the position of Magistrate at the expense and subordination of former Magistrix Kezza and Disaggregator Gerik, brought on by their responses.

21. What are their biggest strengths? Biggest weaknesses?

Teokkin - He’d like to say it’s his intellect, but that’s any asura. Loyalty stands out in him, a product of the shame he feels from his rebellious, hoodlum upbringing. Perhaps it’s also intimidation, but that’s a tool he uses surprisingly sparingly, and too many things bigger than him do not take his threats seriously, making bluffs a difficult proposition when the scenario does not allow for violence but still requires a subdued target. Neutralization by electrocution has made a suitable substitute in many scenarios. As an elementalist he’s grown quite proficient in most fields however, and features some martial capability with his convertible, mechanized staff-spear; it’s a shame so much of his prowess goes unused within the constraints the Magistracy places on utilizing violence, as it’s seldom the primary option, but he draws from that ability as a source of confidence all the same. So yes, for an asura that claims to prefer intellectuality and discretion, he’s quite fond of simply projecting near-lethal quantities of electric current upon a victim, or impaling them on a fiery spearhead.

That can just as much be a weakness, and misdirection from the likes of a Mesmer or skilled rogue can easily catch him off guard. Both best be careful to avoid an outburst that would spare little in the vicinity, however. Expounding further, Teokkin’s young, pyromaniacal tendencies were not the product of themselves, but symptoms of a more subtle desire for power, and the respect gained through it; this occasionally manifests in borderline maniacal conniptions that can be a short term boon in combat scenarios but typically ends with prolonged exhaustion and several moments of confusion and self-loathing. These fits are not, however, restricted to direct confrontations, and he simply isn’t in enough battles for him to feel that the results outweigh the negatives of the outbursts. Because of them, Teokkin accepts the Magistracy’s reduced tolerance for violent action as a blessing, and frequently expresses a great deal of self restraint on both starting fights and then elevating them to destructive levels, which can be a limiter for him in attack.

Nizktt- He prides himself on his ability to adapt. He, naturally, was a Statics alumni, finding solutions through re-purposing already existing materials. All it takes to recognize this sort of resourcefulness is for one to notice his handmade bow: crude only in appearance, it is expandable from a shortbow into a longbow, and equipped with blades that are just as suitable for cutting through thick underbrush as it is for slicing and dicing flesh.

He is deeply connected to his moa however, and while they are certainly capable of hiding or defending themselves as well as coming to the aid of one another, they are still animals with limited coordination and intelligence, and instinct that can override rationality. Rizzi was his closest and one of the first he befriended, and he is reminded of that loss constantly when around his moa. Indeed, if something were to inexplicably happen to his flock, it would scar him deeply. Fortunately for him, while it’s usually immediately obvious he has a connection with moa as he almost always has one following him, very few know about the flock and who it belongs to.

23. Give them an AU, any AU.

Teokkin - For funsies sake, it’s exciting to imagine a near-godmode Teo that annihilates everything in his path, the Inquest having acquired him from when he was but toddler-aged, having removed him from his family by force, and amplified his capabilities to essentially use him as a living weapon. Something like the biotics from Mass Effect; like Jack, even. It’s not the most original trope but it’s fun to think of.

Nizktt - Tarzan edition, raised-in-the-wild-by-moa, of course. As if they didn’t have enough of an influence on him. With a hint more seriousness but not really much, Disaggregator Nizktt is an occasional, funny thought.

#long post #askbox meme answers #gw2 #teokkin #nizktt #i wrote like 90% of this while my eyes were screaming for sleep #so it's probably quite incoherent #i feel like i at least got my points across so