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ask-a-cool-spaceguy · 4 years

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Making a pinned post to procrastinate my school work-

//Hello! I’m Admin Leon! I run this blog! I figured I’d make a pinned post cause not everyone wants to go and read a long carrd, so I figured I’d make a post with some of the most important info just to make things easier!

If you can, I still do recommend you read my carrd here! At the very least, the blacklist, disclaimers, and why no interact sections! I will be putting the most important info here, but of course the carrd will hold all the information you need to know!

For starters, please don’t reblog this post! This is not a promo or anything! Plus it will be edited from time to time! Now I will place everything else under a read more because it will get long and I don’t wanna clog anyone’s dash!

TAGS:

Character interaction tags all follow this format - “int:*characters name*(*optional nickname based on their blog name*)” With no spaces, no quotes, and no asterisks! For example, int:kaito(coolspaceguy) would be what I use if I was interacting with a Kaito who’s blog name is ask-a-cool-spaceguy ;0c

“promo” is used when I promo another blog! These posts to tend to be long just as a heads up!

“long post” is used when I feel a post is very long, length wise not reply wise. Do note that I don’t tag promo posts with this unless I reply to it after promo-ing it!

Blacklist tags I commonly use are as follows! If you’d like for me to blacklist tag a specific thing not on this list, just let me know and I’ll keep it in mind and add it here(Sidenote: I won’t tag ships/characters with ship/full character names in order to keep them out of the search tag! I will work with ya to get a special tag made though!) Also if I forgot something here just let me know again!:

“👻” and “phobia tw” which are when the topic of ghosts are brought up. The emoji is typically used for more lowkey reactions, but the phobia tw tag can involve panic attacks!

“medical tw” and “medical mention” which are of course used when medical topics are brought up

“death tw” and “death mention” are used of course during the topic of death! I do not tag mentions of the Killing Game unless the topic becomes about a death in it!

“trauma tw” is used whenever someone in the thread is currently going through a hard time because of a traumatic experience. Also gets used when someone is talking about said experience.

BLACKLIST:

For starters I do wanna say: Please don’t use my blog as a positivity blog or come asking for advice! I personally cannot handle vents at times cause brain is the big dumb 😔

My blacklist is sorted into two sections! The general blacklist which contains things that actually make me uncomfy, and the things that I’d just rather not have on the blog!

General Blacklist:

Venting to me unprompted

Romanticizing mental illness

Chihiro or Gonta x anyone

Incest and Pedophilia

Spider pictures and extended spider talks

Character hate and discourse (As well as discourse in general)

Things I’d just rather not have mentioned on the blog:

Kokichi x anyone

Anything involving self harm/suicide

Anything involving major current events (Unless its a happy topic!)

Sending anything involving pee/poop will get you blocked

NSFW (I might allow a few suggestive jokes, but that’s a big MIGHT)

Carrying on jokes longer than they have to (This used to be a bigger problem in the past, but I’m still keeping the rule-!)

DISCLAIMERS:

This is the part where you might have to check out my carrd to get all the details! Again this is just gonna be the most important stuff! I also will not add the “why no interact” section here so make sure you head to my carrd to read those!

I’m sorry if I don’t reblog your promo! There could be many reasons why I do not reblog it, but none of them are because I’m just ignoring you! Tumblr also likes to not notify blog owners when someone tags them in a post, so it’s a good idea to send an IC ask to the blogs you tagged if they didn’t reblog the promo!

I am somewhat busy these days, and also have motivation problems, so I’ll often be late to replies or answering asks! Because of this, I might also forget about some rp threads entirely! Feel free to DM me if I do to remind me!

Kaito is a Japanese character living in Japan. He doesn’t follow some Western traditions (Such as Christmas) because of this! Please don’t treat him like a dumb person for not knowing about/not following these traditions! However please feel free to tell and teach him about those traditions! He’ll be happy to learn!

To any Junko blogs that wish to interact: I have some unease around Junko blogs due to some minor trauma! Junko as a character is fine, however if I do not personally know you as a mod, I will have to decline interacting with your Junko blog! Sorry! Some OC blogs might get the same type of response, again due to the same minor trauma! For clarification though, if I do know the mod behind the blogs then I am perfectly ok with interacting!

I DO NOT interact with blogs that use stolen/uncredited fanarts/edits to rp with. If I recognize the sprite or notice you’re using fanart from google images, and do not see credit (Or a confirmation that you have permission to use said sprites/art without credit) in the bio or in a pinned post, I will halt interaction with you.

While Kaito knows a lot about space, I do not- I have to research in order to have Kaito talk about space things! That being said, sometimes in research you get a bad source, or you think you remember something correctly but it’s wrong! If I make Kaito give a not correct space fact, please don’t take it out on him! It’s just because I, the mod, made a mistake, not him. Feel free to correct me though!

#ooc #important #pinned post #admin leon speaks #idk what else to tag this as but uhhhh here #It's my carrd lite™

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dvp95 · 4 years

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quiet on widow’s peak (3)

pairing: dan howell/phil lester, pj liguori/sophie newton/chris kendall rating: teen & up tags: paranormal investigator, youtuber phil lester, dan howell is not a youtuber, online friendship, slow burn, strangers to lovers, nonbinary character, trans character, background poly, phil does some buzzfeed unsolved shit and dan is a fan word count: 3.1k (this chapter), 9.5k (total) summary: Phil’s got a list of paranormal experiences a mile long that he likes to share with the world. Abandoned buildings, cemeteries, and ghost stories have always called his name, and a particular fan of his has a really, really good ghost story.

read this chapter on ao3 or here!

Interviews used to be Phil's least favourite part of this job. The research was always captivating, the filming was always fun, the editing was always challenging, but talking? To people? About things? Absolutely not.

He still doesn't love doing it, but he's long past the point of begging Martyn or Ian to pretend to be him on the phone.

The curtains in Phil's room are open for once, letting natural light in so he doesn't look as dark on the Skype screen. His eyes keep drifting to himself, distracting him as he tries to fix his hair or laments not getting out of his pyjamas. This is his fourth interview of the day, and he's starting to hate the process with a renewed fervour.

"Okay, thank you," he says, clicking out of the screen record window. "Can I message you here if I have any further questions, or would you prefer this to be your final statement?"

"Oh, um," the girl says, her eyes round with some kind of emotion that Phil can't be bothered to parse. "No, no, that's... that's all I saw. I don't have anything else. But you can still... message me, if you like."

Ah. Phil makes a face that he hopes reads as apologetic and not panicked. "No, I - sorry. Gay. Just interested in your ghost."

"Oh!" she says again, looking more puzzled than Phil thinks she has any right to after a forty minute conversation where he mostly just asked her clarifying questions that she kept dodging. She tucks some of her long hair behind her ear and shakes her head. "Sorry, that's just - you haven't said that online."

Phil isn't very good at knowing when people are lying to him, but now he's definitely suspicious of the half-assed testimony he'd gotten from this girl. He sighs. "Okay, you know who I am, then?"

"I mean, I looked you up when you messaged me about a video and all," she says. "Wanted to know if you were a creep or, like, legit."

Okay, that's fair enough. Phil supposes that if he were a girl in uni and a stranger asked to video chat, he'd also do a little digging first. He still doesn't quite believe her story, though - most of it matches what she'd written on Facebook, word for word, and she didn't go into detail on anything she claimed happened.

"Right, of course," says Phil, feeling awkward and exposed.

Her eyes are wide and blue and she can see into his room, into his life, and she's giving him this look like she thinks she knows something about him. He hates this feeling.

"That a secret, then?" she asks.

"No," Phil says. "It's just not relevant to my job. I don't have a lot of ghouls asking me out."

She doesn't laugh. Phil is getting more and more uncomfortable by the second, and he's wondering if it's worth it to hang up on a potential lead - no matter how dubious her claims - when she says, "Well, alright. I won't tell anyone anyway."

"Thanks," Phil says automatically. He doesn't particularly care if she does or not, but he does want this call to end as soon as possible. "And thanks for your time. Message me if you think of anything else you forgot to mention about the Wilkins place or if you know of someone who's seen something."

Before she can even respond, Phil hits end on the call and groans, resting his forehead on his thumbs for a moment.

Unsurprisingly, this is giving him a migraine. It doesn't take much to make the twinge of a headache turn to insistent throbbing, because Phil's body hates him and overreacts to everything.

Phil takes a couple of deep breaths before he comes out of hiding. He attaches the final screen recording to the email he's already got open and ready to send to Martyn. After a moment's thought, he CCs PJ and Sophie in and adds, Nobody sounds credible except the second person to me, so... it's not looking good lol, before hitting send.

He takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes for a moment. Interviews are still draining for him, especially when they don't go as planned, and Phil's starting to get the impression that there's nothing to even find at the Wilkins place.

But. Phil pauses, considers his options. He hasn't interviewed everyone, has he.

Before he can talk himself out of it, Phil shoves his glasses unceremoniously back onto his face and opens Tumblr. Winnie hasn't said anything to him so far today, so Phil feels only a little like he's bothering them when he shoots off a quick, Hey! I just finished interviewing the sources you gave me and most of them aren't very promising. Would you consider letting me ask you some questions to round out the video?

me?????, Winnie replies almost immediately. i didnt even see anything?? like im happy to answer questions but idk how much use ill b in an INTERVIEW

I know! And you don't have to lmao so don't feel pressured or anything but you know so much more about the place than they do. Everyone claimed that they didn't know other people were having paranormal experiences.

oh bullshit, Winnie says. Phil is surprised into a huff of laughter.

There's a part of Phil, fuelled by anxiety and uncertainty, that worries Winnie is just pulling an elaborate joke on him. That part of him feels a little more at ease every time he actually talks to Winnie. They just seem... genuine. And maybe Martyn would disagree, would blame Phil's desperation to see the best in people, but there's a reason Phil doesn't tell Martyn everything.

Before Phil can agree with Winnie's colourful derision, his laptop beeps again. i look like an ogre rn but i can voice chat if you rly think itll help

It would!!, Phil assures them. The tender spot behind his eyes twinges again, serving as a reminder. Can I call in like an hour? I've got a headache from the screen lol

sure i really have nothing else going on today

So it's later in the day, late afternoon light still streaking through Phil's window, when Phil sits back down at his computer and adds the Skype username Winnie gave him. His head still hurts a bit, but it isn't all-consuming now that he's had another coffee and some painkillers. The padded headphones feel good to put over his ears, blocking out most of the typical noises from such a full house and a busy street, and Phil just sits in the blissful quiet for a moment before he sends a voice call request.

It gets picked up almost immediately, and Phil presses a smile into his palm before he says, "Hi! Can you hear me alright?"

There's a beat. Phil waits, in case Skype is lagging as usual, but he's opening his mouth to repeat himself by the time he gets a response.

"Yeah," says Winnie. "I can hear you."

Phil isn't really proud of himself for being surprised by Winnie's voice. It's just. He knows his viewer demographics, okay, and he has a rough grasp on Tumblr demographics, and the name - alright. It isn't his proudest moment, is his point, because he's expecting a much higher pitch for absolutely no good reason.

In addition to that, his brain automatically tries to classify Winnie's voice as very obviously masculine, and Phil has to push back against that.

"I can hear you, too," Phil says cheerfully, not allowing his anxieties to spill over into the conversation.

"That's good, probably," Winnie says. There's another beat of silence, and then a huff that might be laughter or a sigh comes through Phil's headphones. "Sorry, I - I'm not trying to be fucking weird, this is just surreal."

"Is it?" Phil hums. "But I haven't even asked you about ghosts yet."

A snort - definitely laughter, this time - follows, and Phil is so glad that he's able to put Winnie at ease even if his brain is betraying him. "That's true. I guess it's gotta get weirder from here."

"That's kind of, like, the subtitle of my whole channel," says Phil. After a moment, he frowns. "Subtitle? No. What's the thing, on the poster -"

"Tagline," says Winnie. They sound so amused and warm and, okay, they've got a nice voice. That's not gendered. Phil can think that. "You're thinking of a tagline, you buffoon."

"Tagline," Phil echoes gratefully.

"Don't you," Winnie starts, then stops abruptly. They don't finish the sentence, but Phil can kind of guess what they were going to say. There's the sound of some rustling, like Winnie is getting comfortable, before they change tacks. "Again, I didn't see any of this alleged ghostly activity with my own eyes, but I know the hot goss."

Phil opens the recording program out of habit, nodding even though Winnie can't see him. "That's still really useful at this point," he says encouragingly. He clicks a couple of buttons. "And, yes, I do have an English degree. Thank you for not asking."

Winnie laughs, the sound of it filling Phil's headphones and making it feel like they're in the room with him. It's warm, like everything else about their voice, and absolutely contagious.

"I didn't want you to think I was, like, a big stalker," Winnie says, and Phil can hear the grin in their voice.

"Eh, I know you watch my videos," says Phil. "So I figure you know some stuff about me. You probably know that I'm going to ask this, too, but - is it okay if I record our conversation? I don't need to include it in the video if you don't want me to, but it's still useful for me if I don't so I can, like, actually remember the things you told me."

"Yeah, sure," Winnie agrees easily. They hesitate, for a moment, and Phil waits for whatever the caveat will be. "Uh, can I still swear?"

The question surprises Phil into laughing. "Yeah, you're fine. I can bleep them out."

"Then I am all for it. Ask me the ghost questions, ghost man."

Phil presses record and glances down at his notebook, where he's scrawled some disjointed questions alongside his usual doodling. "Uh, okay. Yes. I am totally a professional."

"If you say so, mate," says Winnie.

"Hush. Okay." Phil finally gets his brain back on track and taps his pen against a question near the end of his list. "So, Winnie, you did all this research into the Wilkins place on your own downtime, but you mentioned that you've been hearing murmurs about it for a while, right?"

"Not that long, actually, I've only been hearing about it since term started," Winnie says, and Phil is struck by how comfortable they suddenly are now that there's a guideline. Or, maybe, now that there's a non-Phil audience. "Which I thought was pretty weird, since I'd been there a couple times since I moved here, and it's a spooky fucking place but nothing to write home about."

That's more or less exactly how Phil feels about the situation, except that he doesn't remember the Wilkins place to be scary at all. Maybe it's gotten worse in the years since, or maybe he's just got a higher threshold for empty, decrepit homes than Winnie does. Either way, he's not sure if he should be relieved or suspicious that their thoughts on it mirror his own so well. He starts a spiral in the corner of his page as he considers the answer.

"So, you never got the impression that it was haunted before?"

"I - can I be perfectly honest?" Winnie asks, and then doesn't wait for a response. "I don't get the impression that it's haunted now. I dunno if people are just making shit up or if they're doing too many drugs, but we all know that ghosts don't actually exist."

Phil snorts. He does have a fairly large number of skeptics who watch his videos to argue in the comments about logical explanations for his findings or to just enjoy watching him fail so much, but he hadn't really expected that from someone who sent him a sourced essay on the topic of ghosts.

He's recording right now, so he's not about to give away the fact that, yeah, he kind of does agree with Winnie on this one. Instead, he keeps his tone neutral and says, "You don't believe in ghosts."

"I don't believe in most things that can't be explained by science," Winnie says, so matter-of-fact that Phil has to smile.

"I don't really believe in science," Phil says, mild.

A beat. "Excuse me?"

"I said I don't believe in science," Phil repeats, doubling down on the joke so he can hear that incredulous pitch of Winnie's nice voice again. "I mean, isn't it all just as made-up as anything else? People just tell us stuff exists and we have to believe them?"

"We believe them," Winnie says slowly, "because it's a fact."

"How do I know that?" Phil asks. He knows how off track he's already gotten, and he decides to cut this part out before he sends the file to Martyn or his friends.

"Because you can. See it. With your eyes." The genuine bewilderment in Winnie's voice is very funny. "Like. What the fuck, Phil. If someone drops an apple and it hits the ground and they're like, 'oh that's gravity', how are you supposed to say, 'uh, no it ain't'?"

Phil leans back in his chair a bit, his spiral turning into an apple. "Because, what if that's just what the apple wanted to do? It's not like we know any of this for sure, Winnie."

"You're fucking with me," Winnie says, but they don't sound very certain.

"I am," Phil admits happily. "Do you remember the first incident that kicked off the Wilkins place rumours?"

"You," Winnie says, and then cackles. They lean away from their mic as they do, but the sound of it still makes Phil feel some secondhand giddiness. He wonders if their laugh has a volume limit, or if it's just going to keep getting louder the funnier Phil is. He is so tempted to put that to the test. "Fuck. You little fucker."

Phil hides his own giggle in the palm of his hand and clears his throat, trying to get back into the professional mindset he'd forced himself to be in for the four earlier interviews.

"Do you need me to repeat the question?" Phil asks. He can't resist teasing, just a bit.

"No, fuck off," Winnie chuckles. They take a deep breath and let it out on a hum, low and thoughtful. "So, there was this shindig during fresher's, which I obviously didn't go to because I'm not a fresher and I'm too old to go to shindigs, but people were talking about how the house was making weird noises. A girl I know - I linked you to her Reddit post - said she saw someone just standing outside the window watching them, but, like, is that really a supernatural occurrence in Rusholme?"

"It's not. And she hit on me as well, so I'm not sure her judgement is trustworthy."

"Sounds like her. Sorry. Anyway, nobody really thought 'ghosts' as much as they thought 'rats in the walls and a pervert on the street', but then - this one didn't get spoken about online. I don't even know how valid it is."

"Word of mouth is how most ghost stories get passed," says Phil. "I'm not going to hold you to citations on rumours."

Winnie huffs a laugh. It's soft, quiet, and Phil almost wishes he could say something ridiculous to make them cackle again. Unfortunately, he has a job to do.

"Fair enough. Well, some idiots spent the night there to see if anything weird would happen," Winnie says, and Phil feels a bit attacked, "and three separate dudes had sleep paralysis."

Phil hums and jots some messy notes down. "In the same night?"

"At the same time," Winnie corrects him. "The other idiots were trying to wake them up for a long time, apparently. They're convinced that the guys who fell asleep were just pulling a prank on them, and maybe they were, but that's when the ball really got rolling."

Out of everything Phil has heard today, this is the most compelling story so far. Maybe that's a good indicator of the Manchester students being full of it - maybe there truly is nothing to find in the Wilkins place - but it piques Phil's interest anyway.

"For someone who only believes in cold, hard science, you're good at telling ghost stories," Phil says.

"Thanks," Winnie says, sounding pleased with themselves. "Learned from the best."

Phil is suddenly very, very glad that this isn't a video call, because he can't stop himself from smiling like an idiot. "Oh, is that what they're calling me?"

Another cackle. Phil doesn't remember the last time he made someone laugh so much without tripping over his own clown feet.

"I never said I was talking about you."

"Uh huh."

"Oh, shut up," says Winnie, and Phil can still hear the laughter in their voice. "Don't you have a bunch of questions to ask or something?"

Phil does. He has a whole list of questions that he should be following. He chews on his pen and looks at the doodle-covered list of things he's meant to ask Winnie. His head still hurts - maybe the extra caffeine didn't help after all - and all he really wants to do is take a nap.

"Yeah," Phil says, reluctant. "I've just got, like, a migraine. Can I call you back another time? This was a really great start."

"Oh, yeah, sure," says Winnie. They've dropped their voice down to something soft, like they're worried that they'll make Phil's headache worse.

"I'm actually going up to check the place out this weekend." Phil isn't sure what makes him say that. He meets up with sources in person, sometimes, but usually only if they've seen something with their own eyes. He just feels comfortable talking to Winnie, far more than he'd felt talking to the other students he'd interviewed today.

Phil doesn't actually extend the invitation, and Winnie either doesn't pick up the hint or doesn't care to.

"That'll be good," they say, still soft. "Get some rest, Phil, you can call me back when your brain stops trying to drill a hole through your temple."

After Phil says goodbye and hangs up, he sits at his desk for a long moment. It feels too quiet, all of a sudden, his padded headphones blocking out all the ambient noise around him. It's good for his head, but Phil is still weirdly disappointed.

#phan #phanfiction #phanfic #dnp fic #words words words #quiet on widow's peak

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quiche-pocket · 5 years

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Crawling Out Of Madness

(Sorry I messed up formatting adding a couple of tags and had to edit the post so if you are being notified that you’re tagged again I’m sorry!!!)

Summary: This is another one about Mads and Dolly (Burger Girl). He’s been gone a few days doing work for Tom and the Wolves and she’s been having a very tough time. When he comes home, Mads knows exactly what to do to lift his little doll out of her current spiral. A bit of insight into Mads’ brain and how he cares for his girl.

Author’s Note: Here it is! One more unrequested, self-indulgent Mads fic… I apologize. It’s been a crazy tough day and I needed some crime puppy comfort and figured why not write and share it with anyone else who might need it as well. This was written very quickly and was not proofread so please forgive any grammatical/tense/spelling etc. Thank you all of you for stopping to read or look at this!

Disclaimer/ Warnings: I do not own the character of Mads or the likeness of Marco Ilso. I also do not own the gif I used, this is from former allvikingsgifs that has been closed. Please heed the warning of discussion of depression and mental illness. Dolly is not in a great place when Mads gets home and it might be triggering for some.

The singing that attacked his ears as soon as Mads walked in the apartment belied what he knew he would be finding when he made his way into the bedroom. No lights were on, just the glow and flash of the bedroom television. He took a deep breath, bracing himself, before heading into the room.

If he hadn’t known for sure she was in the room, he would have missed the lump under the blankets and the glimpse of hair just over the pile of pillows. The cartoon movie with the singing animals was expected, and so was the empty bottle of wine on the bedside table. He walked in slowly, making noise so she knew he was there but moving slow enough that she wasn’t startled.

“Little doll?” He called softly and her head didn’t move at all. Eyes fixated blankly on the movie and shining with unshed tears. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed to take his boots off.

“Dolly how long have you been in here?” He tried again and this time her eyes shifted to him and then back to the tv as she burrowed further under the blankets. Mads didn’t say anything more, he stood and went into the kitchen.

There were dishes all over the counters and takeout boxes still half full of food on the table. At least he knew she’d been eating a little which is better than sometimes. He’d been gone for three days, working jobs and spending the last two nights doing surveillance for Tom. He was exhausted, jittery from all the energy drinks and worried sick about what happened the last few days. This is why he tried not to leave her alone for so long. Plus she’d been working extra shifts at the diner to “stay busy”. All it did was wear her down and make her stuck in her head and drowning in her doubts and depression.

As he cleaned the kitchen he took stock of the food situation. In the bin he found two wine bottles and a vodka bottle. A bottle of wine to help her relax and half a bottle of vodka to put her to sleep each night he’d been gone. Mads sighed and came up with a game plan for the rest of the evening. Tonight wasn’t a night for talking or fixing, it was time for comfort and he had to get in the right mindset for that. He hated when she was like this. Feeling so helpless and afraid at times that he wouldn’t be able to bring her back. She told him stories of college and before she met him. The pain and fear she felt every day before she found him breaks his heart to think about.

The kitchen is clean before he starts making a toasted cheese sandwich and brewing a perfect mug of tea. One night she was sick at home and she told him the longest story about her grandmother making toasted cheese sandwiches when she was homesick and visiting Denmark. Something about the combination of crunchy buttery bread and sharp creamy cheese feeling like home. How it brought her back from a spiral and kept her focused on the now. Tea was his contribution to the comfort routine. They never drank it, always opting for coffee or alcohol or energy drinks, but he still remembered having it as a kid when his uncle died. The warmth spreading from his chest to his fingers like the hugs he’d never get again is something he cherishes to this day. He’d never told anyone but her, and it was their secret ritual on nights like this. Or when he gets back from particularly tough nights with the club. He needed all the help he could get right now.

He plates the sandwich and grabs the mug of tea with all the sugar she always needs and pads back to the bedroom. Setting the dishes on the bedside table he slips out of his shirt and his jeans and climbs into bed. Almost subconsciously she rolls until her forehead is pressed against his knee and her eyes shut tight, squeezing out three tracks of tears. Mads has to literally bite his tongue to keep from saying anything. He knows she doesn’t want suggestions right now. After the first time he tried to help immediately and she threw a shoe at him and locked him out of the apartment for an entire day, he figured out not to start too aggressively. It’s hard, but he loves her and would do anything to keep her heart and mind safe, even hold onto his brilliant advice for the night.

Reaching down he cards his fingers through her hair until she finally looks up at him. Motioning with two crooked fingers for her to climb into his lap. It takes a moment but eventually she shifts to a seated position and Mads pulls her sideways on his lap and sets the plate on her knees. Without a word she takes a small bite and he turns off her dvd and puts on the livestream of jelly fish. To him it feels like being on an acid trip, sitting and staring at the iridescent bubbles floating across the screen but it calms her racing mind instantly. She sighs and leans into him, taking a bigger bite and starting to perk up, sitting straighter and not leaning all her weight on him.

Halfway through her sandwich he hands her the tea and she sniffs it, letting the steam drift into her nose and making her smile slightly. Then she takes the first experimental sip. Like he forgot how many spoons of sugar to put in there, but she did it every time. He still blushed slightly with pride when she gave him the expected nod that it was just right. She started offering him bites of sandwich and he would take small bites and pass it back. She slurped down the last of the tea and smacked her lips before giving him a soft kiss to his neck. Sitting her next to him on the bed he stood up and kissed the top of her head.

“Dolly, I’m going to go start the bath, take your clothes off and put them on the bed so I can grab them.” She nodded distractedly and he took her chin gently in his hand. Saying her name pulled her out of the fog a bit, “take off your clothes. I’m starting the bath.” She nodded again looking him in the eye and he kissed her nose, walking out of the room.

Mads knew not to turn on many lights, she had likely been in the dark since that second morning he was gone. He lit candles even though the smell made him dizzy sometimes. Then he went back to the room and saw her standing there looking at him from under her lashes.

“Walk or carry?” He asked and she reached her arms out immediately. Mads smiled and picked her up, cradling her against his chest and going to the bathroom. He turned some music on and got her settled, letting her pour the bubbles. With another kiss on the head he went out again. This time he returned with a glass of water before telling her he had the sheets washing and that he was going to stay with her until the water got cold. It did before she was ready and he wrapped her up before helping into a pair of his sweats and shirt. She was swimming in them but there was color in her cheeks and a slight sparkle in her eye that hadn’t been there when he first got there.

Mads didn’t give her a choice this time, he lifted her and walked into the bedroom where the lamp was softly lighting the room and the windows let in the city noise but also fresh cool air. She could smell the clean sheets and a new mug of tea. He laid her down on the bed and turned off the tv. Handing her the mug of tea and tucking her against his side he started to talk softly.

“So Red and I got into it that first night. He thought I was following the guys too closely so I pulled off and if CC hadn’t been in the back I would have kicked his ass.” He says as gently as he would telling her about a dog he saw at the park. Mads kept telling her all the mundane details of the last few days even after she fell asleep against his chest. He set the mug on the table and finished the story about having to break up a fight when he ran out of beer earlier that day before turning the light off.

“Good night, Dolly.” He whispered and kissed her temple. “I’m home now, we will finish tomorrow.” Mads sighed and felt her steady heartbeat and deep breathing lulling him to sleep.

@x-valhalla @athroatfullofglass @westcoastselkie @ainatirb-j @hissouthernprincess @lol-haha-joke

#Marco Ilsø #Kriger #Mads #Mads fic #tw: depression #tw: mental health

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the-truth-will-light-the-sky · 6 years

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Prompto’s Birthday

Since Prompto’s birthday is on the 25th, I feel that headcanons about Sunshine Kid is in order.

Prompto as a child

As a child, Prompto isn’t too keen to celebrate his birthday. He’s always been alone each time the day comes, spending his time either at the park taking pictures of little things or at home watching nature documentaries or cartoons at the television.

When he was five, he was so excited for the date to come because most of his classmates had celebrated their birthdays with parties and lots of spaghetti and cake. He looked forward to inviting some of the kids he knew at school and basically having fun with his parents as well.

But of course, none of those happened. Instead, he spent his fifth birthday crying from a knee injury he got at school during running.

Since then, he could barely remember any of his birthdays, nor was he excited to celebrate the day.

None of his parents talked about it either, as if they totally forgot he was born at all. They call him from time to time, but the calls are almost always under a minute.

He would try to cheer himself up by celebrating on his own. He would either just stick a candle on top of a buttered toast with strawberry jam and wish on it.

He once wished to have the barcode on his wrist removed as he blew the candle. He thought he might just cover it with tattoos when he grows up but he’s afraid of needles, so he also wished he wouldn’t be so afraid of so many things.

There was only one detail that he would always look forward to every time his birthday arrives. Without fail, a birthday card always appears beneath the front door at six in the morning and inside is a good amount of money for him to spend on whatever he likes.

There would always be a friendship bracelet included and some lovely handwritten notes on the card. The message was almost always about wanting him to be happy on his birthday, hoping that he’s made friends and all that. The message changes every year, but the context of wanting him to be happy is always there.

He spends the money on memory cards for his camera and the rest he keeps for his savings. He wants to buy a dog from the shelter one day, that one with the brown fur and blue eyes.

He wears all the friendship bracelets or ties them around his bags or keychains like a good luck charm.

He never knew who keeps giving him those things. But he’s extremely grateful because someone out there cares for him. He just doesn’t understand why they can’t be there for him. He needs to see them in person so badly.

On the morning of his tenth birthday, he was surprised to see a cake on top of his dining table, complete with a few gifts of things that he really would like to have. There were new comic books, a new high capacity memory card for his camera, (sweet!), cute chocobo keychains and a new hoodie shirt. The kid smiled all day despite being alone, the grin never leaving his face. This has got to be the best birthday ever!

After befriending Noctis

When he befriended Noctis in high school, each year he’d spend his birthday with him and vice versa.

They’d go to arcades to play lots of games and even got to make Noct play that dance game with him! He’s got lots of pictures enough to blackmail *ehem* the prince to do his bidding.

Sometimes Ignis and Gladio would tag along. They’re still trying to see if Prompto has no ill will against the Prince but spending time with sunshine kid made them realize just how kind-hearted Prompto is.

After the arcade they would eat at the diner, ordering giant burgers and milkshakes to go with them. He likes to add extra sprinkles on his choco-banana milkshake. Eats would always be on Prompto — he wants to treat somebody to something nice on his birthday.

Noct gives him gifts too. But he’s quite horrible with them at first. He gave his friend shoe laces once. Prompto still keeps it anyway. It’s in his favorite color.

But the more time they spent with each other, the more he became an expert as to what his friend would like for his birthday.

He once gave Prompto a customized camera bag, much to Sunshine Kid’s happiness.

They went to a photography museum that was on a limited run and they had to hurry up from school just to be able to line up first because the first one hundred people would get a limited edition camera keychain that has shutter sounds when you press the button.

When Prompto became a frequent visitor at the Citadel, he was always given a small party by the Crownsguard.

The Crownsguard, headed by Monica, would have lots of food made just for him and all are his favorites.

King Regis indulges him with the best Lucian desserts, too. The Lucian King was quite fond of this ray of sunshine, always hoping that Noct would gain the same level of positivity from him.

Ignis, now a friend of Prompto, would secretly cook Altissian-style spaghetti for him and vehemently denies it when confronted.

Gladio, the first one aside from Noct to become a friend of Prompto’s, would always be the life of the party. He makes sure that the kid would always have a great time.

Cor, the Crownsguard marshal, was also almost always there along with a woman who’s lips are covered with dark lace. He’d greet Prompto quickly yet not without gentleness. He would be very kind with his words but would always try to find a corner to himself. Prompto doesn’t mind. He may be intimidating and extremely scary during training, but he’s a nice guy. He basically idolizes Cor the Immortal. The woman however, would never say anything. She would only hold his hand in a firm handshake and despite not being able to see her lips, he was sure she was smiling. A few months later, he would undergo an intense training with this woman along with Cor. It turned out that her name was Veritas and she was to be an older sister figure for him from that day on.

On his nineteenth birthday, Prompto was surprised to find his friends in his home. He couldn’t believe his eyes! He’s having a birthday celebration at home with every person he adores.

Noct would never stop teasing him about the tears he shed that day.

Prompto was surprised to see Cor and V there, carrying presents and food.

Gladio bought him a new set of black bracelets to wear since Gladio saw just how fond the kid is of them.

Ignis bought him a cookbook filled with healthy recipes. He’s such a supportive friend, isn’t he?

Noct bought him a chocobo sweater, much to his sheer delight. He likes to wear it while sleeping since it’s very soft and comfy.

He would never forget his nineteenth birthday.

He desperately wished, as he blew that candle as his friends cheered him on, that nothing would ever change even if they knew who he was…or what he was.

He wanted this so badly that he tried to hold back his tears. His friends had asked him about it, but he said a secret’s a secret and laughed it off. He then proceeded to make jokes, much to everyone’s entertainment.

Next morning as he watched them drive away, he also wished that he would always continue to make them happy, as much as they are making him happy.

He was finally loved. And he would do whatever it takes to always make it that way.

#prompto argentum #ffxv prompto argentum #prompto argentum headcanon #prompto headcanon #ffxv prompto #chocobro #ff15 prompto #final fantasy xv #final fantasy 15 #ffxv headcanon #the truth will light the sky #msy the truth will light the sky #veritas lux seculum #noctis lucis caelum #ignis scientia #gladiolus amicitia #cor leonis #chocobros headcanon #the truth will light the sky headcanon

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habibialkaysani · 7 years

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calling all flarrowverse writers and readers!

hi everyone!

okay so my name is mina. I’m 22 and am about to embark in a writing/editing career having ditched the law route (a long story that I am happy to tell anyone in their own time haha). I also am a huge laurel lance and iris west fan, and bar supergirl I do watch all the flarrowverse shows. I write fic primarily for lauryssa and westallen, and I also have started writing original stuff.

okay, mina, fine. why are you telling me this?

glad you asked! so I would like to start a writing group for flarrowverse writers and readers. I want it to be a safe space where we can salt about the flarrowverse shows (because lbr there is a LOT to salt about) but most importantly to share our work and get critique and feedback in a friendly and fun environment. this is for fanfic and original stuff, btw. I’m currently working on a play and I’ll freely admit I am setting up this group in part so I can get some feedback on it before I submit it to the comp I want to enter it into. but it’s also so we can have a network of readers and betas and writers who want to create content for our fandom and otherwise that is quality. as a writer I always want to improve in my work, and I also want validation for what I do. I’m sure you can sympathise with me in that sometimes with fanfic I feel like I’m screaming into the void.

and also! before I forget! you're going to be making new friends! this fandom can be a difficult one to be in, but the friends I’ve made already are ones I want to keep for life. hopefully I can find more through this network.

this sounds great. so are there any rules to this network?

there are, actually. they are as follows:

~if you vocally hate on iris or laurel or any of the other females or minority groups on your blog, this probably isn’t the right place for you. (I’m singling out iris and laurel because they tend to be the most hated as, respectively, a mentally ill woman and a black woman.) if you don’t like a character, fine, but I’m going to be following everyone in this network and I don’t want to see a lot of anti stuff, so if you’re constantly reblogging anti felicity smoak posts on your blog (I’m using her as an example because she is jewish, but this applies to cisco too as a latinx man and curtis as a gay black man, and so on) we probably won’t get along.

~shipping is on a “you do you” basis. I have good friends who don’t ship my otp and I still love them. unless a ship is in some way racist, abusive or homophobic or otherwise inherently problematic (I get that that is very subjective, but use your judgement), please try not to hate on ships needlessly. having an anti tag is fine, but you have to tag it. similarly I’m fine with you shipping my notp provided it is tagged and I can blacklist.

~salting about the shows is fine. I recognise that all the shows in flarrowverse have their problems and I want this space to be a space where we can criticise them. however, we’re focusing primarily on the characters, not the actors. I know the actors can be problematic but we’re more interested in the story than anything else. I’m not saying don’t ever talk about the actors, but that’s just something to be aware of.

~sharing stuff will primarily be done through google docs.

~chatting will primarily be through an app called discord (although if anyone has issues with this I am happy to consider whatsapp - it's just because discord has a search function that I think would come in handy).

~as I say, I’m going to be following everyone in this network, so if you have a tagging system of some kind that would be a bonus, esp if you’re multifandom.

~intersectional feminism, please! transphobia, ableism, sexism, racism, homophobia, biphobia, antisemitism, islamaphobia, xenophobia, supporting trump and anything else that makes you seem bigoted or intolerant are all red flags for me and again, I doubt we’ll get along.

~this group is for writers and readers, and people who are old and new to the flarrowverse fandom. if you’ve only just started writing, or you’ve only just caught up with the flash, that’s cool! you're free to dive in if you want to. if you read a lot of fic but don’t write any, your opinion is still incredibly valuable, and you of course are free to salt about the flarrowverse shows as much as you like :)

~finally! this is a private chat. that means you have to respect someone if they say they don’t want to share something with the general tumblr public. it also means if you are given the link to a google doc, you don’t share it with anyone else. this network is all about trust. for instance, I’m going to be sharing details of my writing that I wouldn’t share with tumblr as a whole. you have to respect that.

all right. I want to join. how do I do that?

easy! fill in the form below and send it to me as an ask or submission. once I get a few responses I will get around to contacting people in the next few days.

name/preferred pronouns: country/time zone: fandoms within the flarrowverse: otps: notps: your role in the fandom (writer, giffer, artist, beta, reader, etc): favourite characters: least favourite characters:

so that’s it! remember, if you decide to apply, your commitment is completely up to you. I would ask that you try to check in once a week, but I appreciate people have stuff on so if you’re really busy, it’s fine. and of course if this doesn’t get at least 15 notes, we’ll pretend it never happened.

EDIT: I forgot to add. of course, merely applying does not guarantee you a place. I will decide based on what I see from your blog. I haven’t added a deadline but I will edit this post and say when applications are closed.

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jinjikook · 7 years

Text

House of Cards: An Ace (M)

word count: 4.8k

genre: super angst + references to smut; non-idol AU ; set in i need u + run mv universe, references to other mvs

pairing: ot7/reader (includes all pairings but enforced yoonseok, vhope, jikook, yoontaeseok, sugamon, yoonmin, jinkookmin)

summary: all eight of you were just trying to live life, go with the flow. unfortunately, fate had much more awful plans for you all.

warning(s): lots of angst, plenty of major character death, suicide, self-harm, depressing thoughts, cursing, sex (straight and gay), murder, violence, eating disorders, codependency, drugs, smoking, verbal, physical and mental abuse, sexual situations, use of the word slut and whore (both used only once), promiscuity, mentions of being arrested

a/n: this is suuuuper angsty so please read the warnings beforehand because it has a million things that could trigger someone. this was inspired by the song listed, along with a video edit that i’d love to link but unfortunately, the one link i had seen it from was a repost with no luck in finding it so if anyone recognizes the edit to go with the song, please let me know!

music: dynasty - miia

masterlist

There was no definition for you all.

Lost.

Distant.

Drifting.

Just following your hearts until it inevitably led you over the edge; into the unknown, the deep dark abyss of which you never thought you’d welcome so familiarly, like a distant cousin or old friend from kindergarten. Like someone you’d lost touch with and barely remembered their name but you still had shards and fragments of their memory, burned and etched into your mind in a million insignificant, nonspecific ways—from how the bitter taste of your coffee was like the candies from their mom’s purse or the hollow sound of your desk drawer reminded you of someone’s hollow eyes, empty smile full of promises you knew neither of you would keep.

You couldn’t say you all hadn’t tried to stay together, amongst it all.

When Taehyung’s dad would beat him to a pulp, you all vowed to make it the glue to hold you closer. When Yoongi’s music went nowhere, it just solidified your need to stay united. When Jimin’s love rejected him, it just made you all codependent on each other, saying how no one’s love could compare to the bond you all had.

Even when Hoseok swallowed a bottle of pills, you all realized that it made the group tighter, as you huddled around the too-stark-white hospital bed, stench of chemicals and medicine in the air; with the boy who used to breathe life in everything he did, his sunshine warm skin now pale in comparison to the milky sheets he was laden in. All your knuckles matching the empty color along the bars of the bed, gripped tight and the fabric below just darkened with tears as they soaked into them, only making Hoseok look that much more devoid of life.

But sometimes, life had its limits.

As much as your little ragtag gang liked to test them, push past them and tease Mother Nature by screaming in that bitch’s face with as much malice as you could muster, at the end of the day there were things that you all just weren’t capable of withstanding, holding up like a weak twig on an already bare tree, trying to weather the hurricane that came rushing at millions of miles an hour, determined to break you off and sweep you into the whirlwind until you’re forever forgotten, spread across acres as only bits and pieces of who you used to be.

Soon all would remain are those stale, empty, hollow memories.

Like how a strip of aluminum foil just made you think of the burrito joint Taehyung danced on a table at, how a candle’s gentle flicker would remind you of Jeongguk’s birthdays, his favorite thing to do being blowing out them out and waiting with his eyes scrunched shut and wish being plotted for his friends to smash his face with frosting and bits of cake.

The smell of fresh strawberries made you retch, only able to recall the sweet taste you used to savor, Seokjin’s chapstick melding with your own countless nights, only for you to be torn away and forced to mash lips with Yoongi right after, just because he was always the one to taste you last, to leave with your tongue on his.

Some called you a slut, a whore.

For what? Just letting things run their course?

You weren’t sure if you’d ever end up with any one of the guys, feeling like all it would ever be is whirlwind romances, quick fucks in closets and stairwells with palms muffling sounds until you reached your high, going lax in their grip and smiling contentedly at your inner beast being satiated, while whoever was with you finished quickly. It was never a chore but it was something done daily, just another aspect of humanity you all indulged in.

Sometimes it was with one of the guys, sometimes they did it with each other and sometimes you just took care of it yourselves.

Not that big of a deal you always told yourself, because it really wasn’t. You loved them, and you always hoped the feeling was mutual amongst them as well.

“Hey Y/N, wanna blow me?” Jeongguk asked one night and all you could do was shrug and tug his zipper down, wetting your lips because you knew he liked things sloppy. Not once did you doubt their intentions, fear that they’d speak ill of you or treat you like some object because your friendships ran deeper than that.

Hoseok and Yoongi were close, Taehyung somewhere sandwiched in the middle there. Jimin was fond of Jeongguk and the latter was protective of Jimin, Seokjin being the Taehyung in their pairing. Namjoon and yourselves just slotted in the cracks in-between, being something along the lines of rubber cement in the shredded wallpaper lining your friendships.

Somewhere along the line, the rain began to trickle in and soften your hold, the boys slipping from your grip one by one.

Taehyung was the first to go.

He had always been a rebellious guy, loved to go tagging with Namjoon and mock fast food workers for giving into society’s ploys. Never one to back down from a challenge, he’d participated in more orgies than you could count on your fingers and toes and you’re sure he’s never said no to a dare—having slept with a teacher, gone streaking past a police station and even slipping in a tab of ecstasy on his tongue, just for shits and giggles. You swore he’d be the one to go kicking and screaming if anyone even thought about threatening your groups bond.

But one day, it was just too much.

Too many bruises on his skin, too many harsh words spat at him and his sister, too many days where he wasn’t sure if the sun would rise and he’d be alive long enough to see it.

So he made sure one day he would see it, but his father wouldn’t.

He ran for days after it happened, after someone called about screams and wails of anguish; after his apartment was littered with cops, each inspecting the spatters of blood along the floor and window of the small room, swabs in clear cases turned purple to indeed confirm it was exactly that, blood. Tests were ran to show the fingerprints on the broken beer bottle indeed were the dead man’s son’s, the boy with a record for graffiti and public indecency. The boy with a boxy smile that charmed all the female officers whenever he’d be brought in, the boy who you felt inside you too many times to forget.

It wasn’t like any of you hadn’t tried to find him, countless days of searching and shouting and hoping he’d turn up like a lost dog, ears perked and stomach receded until you finally brought him in to have a big meal and a warm bath.

But he never came.

Someone spoke of a boy with pretty eyelashes and dead eyes standing by the ocean, muttering about how sorry he was, how he wished things could’ve been different but he wouldn’t have changed a damn thing because every small, seemingly insignificant detail in his life led him to you, to your friends. To his lovers and exes and all the in-between that you couldn’t name or define. That same someone said they watched as he took a deep breath and jumped over the railing, taking a plunge and never emerging from the dark waters of the stormy shores.

The hurricane powered on.

It took ages to even sort of recover, Yoongi went back to smoking and as many times as Jeongguk would blow out his fire to keep him alive a little longer, it only served to double his cigarette count. Namjoon always kept a journal on hand, writing the most obscure details of the days in it because he was worried one day, something else would happen to another one of them and he didn’t want anyone’s memories to die with them, for their days to be meaningless and forever lost in the wind. He had a black hair tie always on his right wrist, a running joke that he just wanted to give it to a pretty lady one day just to make her life easier but you knew what it was for. You at least commended him for taking the tamer route in hurting himself, unlike Jimin who—no matter how many sweaters he’d wear even on the hottest of days—couldn’t hide how he befriended a razor, the dotted lines of scabbing and scarring flesh being his only lifeline, as ironic as that was.

Hoseok lied and said the orange bottle in the trash wasn’t his and Seokjin would just keep dealing out cards on game nights, as if nothing happened, as if he wasn’t putting out stacks for eight players when there were only seven of you seated. As if Taehyung’s cologne wasn’t still sitting there in Jeongguk’s gym bag right where he forgot to grab it. As if the scratch marks from when Yoongi fucked him too hard on the table you were sitting at weren’t prominent still, the grooves dipping under where your dug your nails into, hoping to cover them up with your own tracks.

You want to say it was unexpected, that you all had no idea it was coming.

But really, it was just a matter of time before someone else came crumbling down, an unfortunate victim to the Domino Effect.

Jeongguk was covered in bruises, supposedly not from the car that carelessly drove straight into him. The medical examiner said he was in a fight, two different assailants with big fists and a drive to kill but the stake in his coffin, the final nail, were the headlights that he stared into before it barreled into him, splattering him onto the pavement.

It was poetic, how his blood looked so similar to Taehyung’s father’s, to Jimin’s when his wrists began to leak down his arm. It was just blood, it flowed in everyone and despite the fact that when you donate it, you have to be so specific when you scribble it down on paperwork, it all looked the same on the ground.

“Kiss me.” Yoongi looked at you with disgust, his lighter a constant flicker in his fidgety fingers.

“What is it with you people? Two of us are dead and we’re supposed to act like it never happened? Like we can all go through the motions without their presence around?” It was the first time someone had verbalized it, made it real by saying it out loud. The room was pin-drop quiet—not like it wasn’t already—but now everyone’s eyes were on Yoongi.

“We’re not forgetting about them, Yoongi,” Namjoon corrected. His pen already blindly scratching down the date and time of this incident to forever keep in his records.

“Just because you put a few things in your little dream diary doesn’t make them alive, Namjoon. They’re fucking dead, in the ground and lost at sea forever. At least with Jeongguk, we got some fucking closure but Taehyung… he’s still out there, floating like trash or sunken like…”

“Like treasure.” Hoseok finished.

Taehyung was always closest with Hoseok and Yoongi. Jeongguk also but…. he wasn’t around to speak his mind right now.

“Maybe we just need to be with them then. They’re waiting for us, probably. God knows Jeongguk can’t do anything without one of us to hold his hands anyways.” Jimin mumbled, fingers toying with what laid under his striped sleeves, his skin marred in a similar pattern. You don’t even know why he even bothers with the sweaters anymore, it was no secret what he did to himself.

“Jimin. Never say that.” Seokjin chastised, fingers wringing out excess water from the sponge he was using to clean up the drink Namjoon has spilled on the table. The table that still has sticky sweet liquor inside the grooves that Taehyung left behind.

“It’s not like we aren’t already headed that way anyways. Hobi has tried and so have I. Pretty sure Y/N attempted to too, after Jeonggukkie died.”

“Don’t call him that.” It was Yoongi’s turn to chastise the younger, eyes shutting as he tried to push the rotten, beautiful memories of Jeon Jeongguk in his prime, chasing after butterflies and having the stars in his eyes.

“So what if we’ve tried? Clearly, God doesn’t want us, that’s why we haven’t succeeded.” You picked at the stray tweed from the sofa, knowing you were not only unraveling the lining of the cushion but also in the patched layer of your friends. “He wants the good kids, it’s why he took Tae and Guk. God is a selfish prick, he can suck me.” You seethed.

“Or you could.” Yoongi looked at you with his dead eyes, and you knew he probably couldn’t get it up if he had swallowed as many Viagras as Hoseok took pretty white pills in unmarked bottles. But it didn’t stop you from getting up and tugging his belt off.

The calendar marked today as some off-brand holiday, something that a store somewhere would profit off of. It marked that it’d been a week since you choked on Yoongi’s limp dick in front the rest of your numb friends. The red circle on the date, however, was because today was yet another tragedy.

In your dreams, you pictured Jimin to die in the tub, the water murky with his blood and something poetic inscribed in his forearm, a picture or something of equal significance burned into scorched soot by the clawed feet of the porcelain bath.

You didn’t think it’d be Seokjin found like that instead.

Namjoon wrote in his journal, tore out the page and burned it the minute he finished with it. The hair tie on his wrist was replaced with something sturdier, more industrial. The colored rubber band snapped harder, louder and left a bigger welt. He tried to take pride in the fact that he still hadn’t resorted to pills or fire or the end of a blade but honestly, this was so much worse. He lived a lie, a façade that he was alright just because his choice of pain wasn’t that of vulgar taste. He lived among the common faces of the world, blurred in the crowds but nothing would make the bright green on his wrist blend into the bland, colorless world.

Jimin tried to cry, the tears burning at his retinas but nothing ever came to fruition, his fingers scratching at the scars he chose to keep visible to the world today.

Of-fucking-course Kim Seokjin would ask to be cremated, to be turned into soil for trees. It was such a “him” thing to do, something he probably read on FaceBook or saw on Pinterest. You honestly thought if he was to be reincarnated into anything, he’d ask to be a pressed into a diamond, so he could always be has beautiful as he said he was. As he really was. No one was as beautiful as Seokjin, both inside and out.

The screen of your phone was shattered and you couldn’t bring yourself to get it fixed, the constant swiping on the glass leaving shards in your thumbs and making you smile whenever another cut embedded itself into your skin. You were just as weak as Jimin, though you hoped that you looked a little more civil since at least you didn’t have to wear jackets in ninety degree weather.

“What are we ordering for takeout?” Hoseok flickered through the several menus in his hand, mind caught between Chinese and pizza. Namjoon just shrugged and Yoongi pointed his chin at the one in Hoseok’s right hand, the Chinese menu. He scanned the options and asked what meats and sides for everyone. When he reached dumplings, Seokjin’s favorite, Jimin ran to the bathroom and left the door wide open as he puked into the toilet.

It was a resounding no for dumplings that night.

“Do you ever think… we’re being punished?” Namjoon started one night, his journal long forgotten as he inhaled deep, passing the joint to Yoongi before puffing out a big cloud of dragon-like smoke.

“For what? Fucking a lot and tagging some abandoned buildings?” Yoongi bitterly spat, Jimin next to him flinching with every venomous syllable. His body was constantly trembling, fingers unable to stay steady unless they were gripping something, anything. This time, it was Yoongi’s own shaking hand.

Hoseok took his own inhale of the drug before giving you the rolled up papers, the joint looking more and more displeasing to you as you stared at it.

“Maybe this is why we get out every time we’re put in a cell, because our ultimate justice will come from a higher power.” Hoseok drawled; weed always made his tongue slow and his eyelids heavy. He’d probably pass out on your shoulder any minute now.

“I think we’re just bad people getting what’s coming to us.” Jimin whispered, eyes still stuck on the break in the floorboards where Jeongguk drunkenly fell, his ass breaking the wood but no one caring because Jimin was on top of him, making out heavily mid-party. You all cheered for the two of them, watching their sexual tension unfold and you yearned for those days back, when you’d skip school and come to this little shack of a home, broken and frayed at the edges but still home. Just like you and your friends; your family.

“Stop repeating what your deadbeat alcoholic of a mother says to you, Jimin. She’s more worthless than any one of us.” Yoongi tightened his grip on Jimin, his squeak of pain doing nothing to ease the tension in his fingers. He didn’t want to lose him too, to watch him slip through the cracks.

Hoseok began to sing, slightly off-key but still melodious, somber in the empty house with broken furniture and too many memories to stay sober near. Namjoon couldn’t sing to save his life but his voice joined, a low murmur along Hoseok’s. Soon, the scratch of Yoongi’s voice intertwined like the threads in Jimin’s crocheted sweater before he too, began to sing. He harmonized with them, a missing link tying the bridge to the chorus. When you finally gave in, it was when you’d all reached Jeongguk’s name, singing Happy Birthday to him one last time.

“Did you know the Song dynasty ended in 1279 but it coincided with the Liao and Western Xia dynasties as well?”

“Who gives a fuck, Namjoon?” Yoongi pulled off Namjoon’s dick long enough to try and shut him up, hoping he’d just be quiet for once and take the damn blowjob without making a damn lesson out of it.

Hoseok was asleep on the couch, Jimin and you in a heated battle of black jack, currently you had 20 and you could chance it and hope you’d pull an ace and win all the graham crackers you’d put in the pool or you could play it safe and hope Jimin had less than you. He wasn’t a great card player but lately, all his expressions look the same so his bluffing was the same as his genuinely sad face, making you lose your cookies too many times in a row.

You used to use real money when you played, back when you had a reason to want to win. Back when you’d cheer for taking all of Taehyung’s money and you and Seokjin would go out to spend it on stupid shit that you’d regret a day later but in the moment, it just looked so useful and convenient.

When Jeongguk would win it back the next day just to see Taehyung smile again, to have him underneath him that night to repay him for his chivalry.

“Hobi, did you want me to suck you off too?”

Silence.

“Hobi?” You murmured, looking over in his direction. Jimin’s sad eyes followed.

Namjoon tucked himself back in, not zipping up the rusted metal in his tattered jeans.

You put down the card in your hand, moving from where you hovered over the deck to turn and watch as Yoongi crossed the room to shake Hoseok, his voice incomparable to the ringing in your ears as he screamed for Hoseok to wake up, to just wake the fuck up.

Jimin didn’t look away, Namjoon frozen in place as Yoongi continued to slap and shake his best friend, his lover, his confidant, hoping he’d wake up from some deep slumber. You turned back to your game, hand back on the deck as you decided it was time to give fate a chance. You pulled a card, the black butterfly in the middle telling you what you never hoped for.

An ace.

You won.

It used to be “us against the world” with you eight, a force not to be reckoned with whenever you all banded together. When you originally met, it was through friends of friends, mutual interests and one through a really interesting Tinder profile. You all had sworn fate brought you together for a reason, happiness meant to be share amongst the lot of you.

You wish you’d never met them, not a single one.

“Jimin? Could you let go?” You touched his shoulder, his body no longer jerky with anxiety. He was desensitized, no longer feeling anything. His eyes stayed on the cascading waves as he released the urn he had clutched against his chest, as if Hoseok still radiated his warmth through the pretty patterns and decorative top.

He wanted to be spread into the ocean, to find Taehyung. He didn’t want to leave him alone out there, knowing that Yoongi could be strong and handle him being gone. His note read:

“Just because I was weak, doesn’t mean you have to be. Let us live on in your hearts, let them beat for the rest of us. Taehyung was a tragedy, Jeongguk an accident, Seokjin an unfortunate chain of events and I, an outlier. Don’t make us into martyrs, something we’re not. We’re just kids, dealt a bad hand. But you all still have your game faces on, so come on Yoongi, pull an Ace for the rest of us.”

Yoongi set fire to his bedroom instead; with the lighter Jeongguk used to blow out, the very one Seokjin used to light his birthday candles, the one Taehyung bought at the gas station at the corner of where you lived. Namjoon threw the remainder of his journal pages in there, Jimin tossed his sweaters inside the flames. You stood by and warmed your hands by the fire, feeling your tears dry from the heat until the firetrucks came screaming and the hoses put out the fire that was in Yoongi’s heart. They killed him. Right before your eyes.

And then there were three.

Jimin never ate, walking bones that creaked and cracked whenever he moved. Namjoon refused to give up his rubber band, switching to a thick red one that turned white when he stretched it beyond his limit, matching the color of Hoseok’s pills, the mayo that globbed out of Seokjin’s burger, the come that Jeongguk would get on the bed after round two, the boxy grin Taehyung used to get everyone in more trouble than it ever did help. The same color that burned when the ignited fire got to its hottest, right in the core. The color of Yoongi’s skin when he found his friends dead, one by one.

“Should I take up the flute?” Jimin shook his head and told Namjoon his fingers weren’t dexterous enough, that he’d never manage the fine skill it took to play such an instrument. You nodded, knowing the damn thing would break the minute it slipped between his grimy fingers.

“Taehyung liked the sax, maybe you should try that instead.” At the sound of his name passing your chapped lips—lip balm no longer appealing to you because every flavor reminded you of someone different, someone dead—Namjoon stiffened, Jimin motionless like always. You’re sure any sort of use of energy from the younger male would cause him to pass out, the hunger in him always there but food never enticing enough for him to give into the temptation and give his body the energy it so desperately needs.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Another tack on the wall as Namjoon robbed a music store and let the cops gun him down. You never thought Namjoon would be the kind to go out in a blaze of glory, let alone one to own a gun. He was a pacifist, but when the crime scene investigator told you that the initials M. Y. were on the handle, messily scratched with probably some house tool, you knew what he’d done.

Jimin stopped holding hands, not having the nutrition in him to making his fingers tighten around yours, the bones probably seconds away from turning into dust. Your throat was dry, like the days you used to love. The days where the sun burned something serious and the boys only wanted to run around outside, despite your protests. Those were the days that everything seemed so simple, so cut and dry. So… easy.

You really hoped that Jimin would be stronger than you, that you’d finally give in and join the others so you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of yet another piece of your soul, your very being, shot dead right in front of you. So you wouldn’t have to go to another funeral or service or spread another’s ashes or read another’s will; so you wouldn’t ever have to hear crying wails or heartfelt apologies, hushed murmurs about how tragic it all was and how you all slipped through the cracks, the school system and your parents all failing you. So you wouldn’t have to etch a seventh mark, as you found Jimin, strung up from the ceiling fan.

The bedsheets were Jeongguk’s, the bandana Taehyung’s, the dishtowel Seokjin’s, the rubber bands Namjoon’s, the shoelaces Yoongi’s, the scarf Hoseok’s, and the sweater Jimin’s.

All knotted together to create a perfect noose, just like you all were meant to come together as. Only good for bringing the worst, death hovering over you all like an ominous storm, threatening to rain on the parade you’d created for yourselves.

All that was missing from Jimin’s perfect noose was yourself.

So you made sure to remedy that.

Putting yourself next to him with the aid of a rickety dining table chair; your hands wrapped around his throat to create a vice, to wrench the last breaths from his body, knowing that his heart was weak but his eyes weren’t; finally there was a spark inside his irises, something more than fear and dismay. You felt his body go limp before you finally checked his pulse, confirming that he indeed, was gone.

You sat down on the ratty couch, the same one you’d had sex with each and every one of them on; the same one that hosted countless movie nights and had popcorn tossed all over it whenever Hoseok got scared or Taehyung too excited. The couch that cradled Jimin when he cried at night and when Jeongguk would hold him for hours, promising to never leave him. The same couch that Yoongi would always fall asleep on, Seokjin covering him because he knew he’d catch a cold if he wasn’t kept warm. The couch that sat Namjoon when he’d heard the news on the phone:

“Kim Taehyung has committed murder.”

It felt like weeks, months, years scrawled by before you heard the front door open, slowly and then suddenly. The creaking something similar to Jimin’s bones, his body still hanging from where he killed himself; where you killed him.

Taehyung walked in, eyes on Jimin then you.

“How’s Hell?” You murmured, knowing damn well he could hear you clear as day.

“I just got back.”

You smiled and let death sweep you up, leaving just one. The first, the domino that started this terrible chain of events. The butterfly on your card, the Ace you needed.

Taehyung took one small breath before taking your life, making sure he followed right after.

Maybe you’d all meet up again, in some maze of chain link fences and pristine white ribbons like the bedsheets of Hoseok’s hospital bed, the suds in the sink where Seokjin scrubbed, the wax of Jeongguk’s birthday candles, the hoodie Taehyung always wore, the blond of Yoongi’s hair, the pages in Namjoon’s journal, the nailbeds on Jimin’s small hands. The white on the back of your playing cards, the ones built to be a steady house but instead crumpled in on itself.

But for now, you just welcomed the white and hoped that no one else would follow in this Butterfly Effect.

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saltypurpleduck · 7 years

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Fuck you Facebook....

So not my normal topic but whatever. I have no where else that's safe to vent this stuff so why not.... Also quick edit to add this is apparently going to be a LONG post. Just a heads up sooo... Guess it's story time.... Another edit. I tried to make sure I tagged enough to keep anyone from seeing this who might be hurt by it so some warning. I talk about my mental illness and some low points, and also I talk about pregnacy loss. So it gets heavy and I talk about these things with a frankness that can seem cold and be off putting so fair warning.

Facebook's suggested post algorithm thingy has decided that I'm pregnant. It decides weird shit all the time, and actually gets things scary accurate at times, but this time is VERY wrong. I'm sure it has to do with my recent search history on micro-premies, my obsessive clicking through baby clothes sites, and the fact that I am in the major minority amongst my Facebook mommy friends who only has one child.... Anyway Facebooks creepy ass fortune teller thing is very wrong this time, and this time it hurts.

The idea of having another child is polarizing for me. On one hand I have baby fever like a mother fucker, on the other hand another pregnancy scares the shit piss out of me.

I am fortunate in that I have never experianced a lost pregnacy. Okay... You know what that's a lie. I had a chemical pregnacy durring my first marriage. Literally no one knows but me and now the internet. I only even knew I was pregnant because I went to an appointment to get birth control. Like always they made me take a test, it came back positive so no birth control for me, they did another test to double check because I had JUST had my period two weeks prior, then a blood test... Yep I was pregnant. Like two weeks later, maybe three I lost time a lot back then, got cramps for the first time in my life and had some spotting. Called the doctor, they sugested going to the ER, by the time I'm seen full on bleeding. Sure enough the pregnacy is a no go. I just want to say my "meh" attidude about it is my way of dealing with it. I was in an abusive relationship at the time, I never got the chance to tell him before the pregnacy ended, and honestly a child would have been the worse thing to happen in that situation. Also I had the BEST doctor at the ER, he was very kind and took care to explain that there was nothing I could do or did do. Honestly with the way my periods are I would have mever known had I not had my birth control appointment that month. I'm late and flat out miss periods ALL the time. The cramping was the only diffence between losing that pregnacy and a period that I would have noticed had I not taken that required pregnacy test. I was very sad when it first happened but I was sad a lot in that time. The fact that I was pretty educated in the pregnacy departmemt helped a lot. I knew what chemical pregnacies were, and I knew that it most likely meant that for whatever reason the pregnacy just wasn't viable. You probably noticed I don't use the word "baby" here for this. At this time in my life my head was not well. Honestly durring those couple of weeks I knew I was pregnant I often forgot I was. I never got to the point of thinking of my pregnacy as a "baby" growing inside me. So my mind did the only sane thing it ever did durring that time in my life, it never registrated that pregnacy as a baby, so I never felt like I lost a child. It helped me move on and not spirl even fasted into the depression that had been taking over me. Maybe losing that pregnacy was some sort of devine intervention. I will never know. I'm feeling a lot of things talking about it. I literally never spoke or wrote about it passed the ER visit. Not even in my jornals, or with a therapist. No one knew. He never knew, my family and friends never knew, I never even told the doctor when I was pregnant with my daughter and they asked. Honestly I didn't even view it as hiding it or lying about it. I forget it happened all the time. Strange. Anyway..... Beyond that point back to Facebook fucking off....

I have the worse baby fever and basically always have. I'm one of those girls that would have been thrilled to get knocked up at fifteen, but I was also smart enough to know better and too emotionally wrecked to get laid to begin with.

Also I'm terrifide of being pregnant. Losing a child is my worse fear. I've had noghtmares about miscarriages simce I got my first period. Always made all those "greatest fear" questions from teachers and stuff real dark real quick. Brad doesn't like hieghts, Cindy hates spiders, Jamie has nightmares about miscarriage. (Also if I'm being too frank or discriptive at all durring this I'm sorry if I have hurt anyone with it. I'm trying my best to not get detailed and have rewritten a lot of this to edit out my normal harshness. I cope with stuff in a strange way, and I want to put my story out there but not in a way that might hurt someone who has ever delt with any of this.)

Basically every woman in my family on both sides has had issues of some kind. Fertility issues, miscariages, infant loss, premature birth.... All of it. Some of them everything on the list, most of them at least one pregnacy loss.

Many of us have sufferd postpartum depression. Myself included. This is where my biggest fear in getting pregant again comes from.

I was sick, and I mean SICK, throughout my entire pregnacy. I couldn't hold water down half the time, medications were given that were no help, I had so many bladder infections from being dehydrated. I also was just plan sick. Constantly with a head cold or upper respiratory infection. Then at about thirty weeks the Braxton Hicks set in. OH MY GOD. I spent HOURS hook up to that stupid monitoring belt because they were just SO sure I was going into labor. So I was pretty down before she got here, and depression has been a part of my life since I was a child. The odds were against me.

Sure enough after she was born I nose dived, further into my depression than I have ever gone before. Now don't get me wrong, I loved and still love my daughter. I took VERY good care of her. Constantly paranoia that someone is going to take your child from you does that. I spent hours a day researching to make sure I was doing everything right and that ahe had the safest baby things on the market. We were at the pediatrician's office with even the tinest sign something was wrong, this actually paid off a time or two so I'm not mad. However.... I did NOTHING for myself. I would go days without eating properly. Then the breast milk dried up (wonder why?) and I found myself crying and in hystarics in the formula aisle because I had failedy daughter by giving her "fake" milk. Every knock at the door sent me into sheer panics, and after a year of this I began to talk openly about killing myself so that her father could find her a "better" mommy.

Natrually this lead to what was propably the best and worse thing ever. A hospital stay. FUCK that hospital, sorry "behavioral clinic" I was so doped up I couldn't make sentances.y one and ONLY therapy one on one was my out paitent "safety plan" where they give you a list about removing knives and rooe from your house. I CAN NOT make this shit up. After my ONLY visit with a doctor at check in where I was misdiagnosed (badly I might add) and doped up the doctor put me on the standard lock down for suicide, which meant I couldn't leave our little ward/wing/area thing. This meant I couldn't go for group therapy, go to the cafitria, get visitors, or go for daily outside exercise time. So I ate in front of the nurses in the tv area with the dude they always stripped his clothes off and the guy they could barely feed himself. I watched a lot of TV, and colored. The order os normally for twenty four hours to make sure you're stable. The doctor forgot about me. She never lifted the order. I was too doped up to notice. A very nice guy who was in with me noticed. He and the group lady and a wonderful nurse brought it up to the paitent aviocate. After five days I was finally off lock down. I was there for ten. A saving grace was the group lady. After two days she took me to group anyway, and often let us have it in the court yard since we weren't getting are rightful outside time. My favorite nurse let me have visitation. Those two things saved me in those first five days. I felt so guilty when I left. So many people I had come to know who had been so kind to me were stuck there, for lord knows how long.

I found a silver lining though. I ended up with a great therapist after that. My psychiatrists were shit and to this day I still don't think I have ever been properly diagnosed or medicated, but my therapist was great. I saw her the other day and ahe remembered me and took tweenty minutes out of her day to ask how I've been and remembered things about my life. I haven't been able to see her in almost two years.

So now I sit and woder. What if it happens again? What if this time it's worse? What will that do to my daughter? How do I handle that, a newborn, and a small child?

So anyway the whole point of this was SUPPOSED to be....

Fuck you Facebook guessing thing. Yeah I want more kids, but I might not get to have them, and fuck you for reminding me about all of the things I hold guilt for. So rant done. It wasn't meant to be this long but I guess I needed to ramble.

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