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krumbine · 3 years

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It's time for a reboot.

As it turns out, I do this a lot -- literally, resetting my life after things have stopped making any sense. I'm 36 and twice-divorced -- it's hard to have a more significant reset than that, my friends.

It's been 18 months of this pandemic. 18 months that have seen a furlough, layoff, extended unemployment, shitty job interviews, the best job I've ever had, and the most professionally-creatively fulfilled I've ever felt.

It's been 18 months and I feel like I'm a different person. Which means it's time to take stock, re-assess, and reboot.

Because the thing is, I'm tired of apologizing.

I'm tired of apologizing for wanting to be safe.

I'm tired of apologizing for having the means -- remote work, good pay, and little life responsibilities -- to stay safe.

I'm tired of apologizing for living in Florida, home of the Freedumb Fighting Antivaxx, Antimask Covid-Denying Patriots who Vote Against Their Own Best Interests Even if it Kills Them (and Especially When it Does Kill Them). The COVID story in Florida is like a vinyl record with a DeSantis-sized scratch straight through it. We're repeating the same horrible events over and over and over again but Floridaman thinks the record scratch is just an intentional part of the beat.

I'm tired of apologizing for Florida, but this is where I am. This is where I own my house, and -- guess what?? -- this is where I have the means to stay cautious and safe, despite my governor's persistent, insistent attempts to murder all of his constituents through shit public health policy.

I'm tired of apologizing to work, family, and other insignificant strangers -- no, the petri-dish of infection rates and the capacity-breaking hospital system does not leave me comfortable stepping out of my bubble. Two shots of Pfizer is not a biohazard suit-of-armor when the rest of Floriduh's residents are practically spitting in each other's mouths.

(My general rule of thumb: when the transmission and hospitalization rates are low-to-insignificant, then it's safe out. What's the point of risking infection -- or literally anything else -- if you won't be able to receive the care you need at a hospital?)

I'm tired of apologizing. So I think I'll stop.

Here's the pattern: new circumstances are introduced (job, significant other, pandemic), I learn and adapt, I get comfortable in the new routine, and then I slowly find my way back to the important things.

For me, those important things have always been personal creative work that satisfies my soul.

That's the pattern, now here's the reboot: life either supports the creative premise or it doesn't. If it doesn't, fuck it (within all reason).

'tis the Season

Devilmas runs from October 1 through December 31. It's about the family you choose, zombies and horror films, getting drunk, high, and happy, and doing creative shit for yourself.

It's the anti-holiday season.

It's also the perfect time to reevaluate what's important and who you want to be.

In other words ... it's the perfect time for a reboot.

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Along with no longer apologizing for having the means and the desire to not get COVID, here are the top three things I think about when reevaluating, dismantling, and rebooting my life.

Less is more.

I've already gone through several phases of minimalism, and mentally, I don't hold onto very much. I've lived in tiny houses and trailers, even though that home I'm not apologizing for has four bedrooms and is nearly 2,000 square feet. (There are still random drawers in the kitchen that are just ... empty.)

My brain is wired for minimalism, but it's not always at the forefront. A reboot is an excellent opportunity to recenter that priority. And while I'm not planning on downsizing my house or anything in it, I do have one exception to minimalism. This fervent and unapologetic tech fetish can definitely be put in check.

Minimalism helps me refocus from:

"Oooh, shiny new gadget!" to:

"Pay off the car. Pay off the house. This is the way."

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More or Less

The last 18 months have been a strange tug-of-war with productivity (this will tie into my third point below). While unemployed, I doubled down on my personal creative work, mainly focusing on writing (adapting, rewriting, and polishing novellas, writing a mess of short stories, developing and writing a few drafts of a feature film for a friend).

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Of course, when you're unemployed (as well as when you're freelancing), you're never really "off". This means that even though I hadn't worked for a year, it was still one of the most overworked and stressful times of my life. You know what I'm talking about. And if you don't, see above -- I'm not apologizing anymore, especially to people who simply lack the experience or the imagination (or the empathy) to be reasonable.

My point here is that, in the grand scheme of life, I wanted to find a space where I was okay doing nothing. Fuck productivity and just chill, literally at 100%.

And let me tell you: it's fucking hard. Maybe not impossible, but definitely hard.

Now here's the plot twist (more or less). The task of giving myself permission to do nothing is carefully balanced with an inexplicable kind of inner peace. It's literally a quieted mind and soul -- something that I only discover when lost in a meaningful piece of creative work.

This got me thinking that perhaps the illusion of productivity isn't so bad. (Obviously, this isn't a blanket statement. A lot depends on the person you are and if you struggle with our society's fetishization of productivity. If that's you, then please take this section with an appropriate serving size of salt.)

Productivity doesn't matter as much as how my chosen activities feed my soul.

Work is work is work, but if I can prioritize creative art that helps me lose myself for hours at a time, well, maybe that is being productive. Or maybe it's just doing what makes me happy.

Finally, nothing matters. Finally.

This is always the most valuable part of any reboot since it's foundational and spans all other concepts.

In 36 years, I've learned the hard way how to be a pretty chill human, but things still get to me. At work -- that best job I've ever had? -- frustrations still mount. At home, when something insignificant disrupts the status quo.

But the truth is that nothing actually matters. And that perspective helps put frustrations into their place.

We're all just a speck of dust hurtling through the cosmos on another speck of dust, and -- statistically speaking -- when compared to an infinitely expanding universe, humanity doesn't even exist.

Nothing matters.

Except for the things that do matter. Which is whatever the fuck I want those things to be. Because nothing actually matters.

Talk about life hacks that matter.

Cheers, motherfuzzers.

#Youtube #life #blog #creativity

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fairycosmos · 3 years

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why do ppl keep forcing you to write those long ass fake positive messages about life when they come to you complaining like you're their damn therapist? you dont even believe those words yourself and with good reason. everythings fucking shit and nothing ever gets better. people need to stop complaining to you expecting to gain hope from someone who's fucking hurting too

hey it's ok, there's a lot of ppl who vent to me that i never even get around to replying to bc my own mental health is shit - and it's rare that anyone gets pissed at me for not responding. so i don't feel forced at all, until people start getting mad, or until people expect something more than just a stranger's opinion on the internet. that's when i feel the need to take a step back esp with what im going through atm. but other than that it's cool. we're all in pain, might as well talk about it. look i totally get what you mean and so much of me agrees with you but also like...... i Do believe what i tell people to an extent. i believe in seeking professional help, i believe in growth and perspectives shifting with time, i believe that the apparent permanence of intense emotional pain is an illusion, i believe that we'll be dead for eternity and alive for only a fraction of a second so there's nothing to be gained by harming yourself or worse. maybe in the grand scheme it is all pointless and we are fighting a losing battle, but in the small scale of our lives there's generally a way forward. even if it's not true for me, it's true for many. thats how the world keeps turning. i believe all of this for other people but i don't believe it for myself because i have a different relationship with myself than i have with others, and i know what i'm like. but i'd feel weird taking that hopelessness and projecting it onto those who are seeking support and who are already vulnerable. it's definitely hypocritical, and i've thought that for years, but i'm unsure what to do about it. but yeah, everything is absolutely fucking shit. there's no way around that. we don't have much of a say in anything. my friend told me the other say that being alive really is just battle after battle. literally the only thing we can do is look at what's actually in our control and try to make it slightly more bearable for ourselves and each other. it's all going to be over sooner than we think anyway. anyway thank you for thinking of me n acknowledging me n making me feel idk. like it's normal for me to not know what to do/to be at a loss. bc i really am, but it doesn't mean i think everyone should be. that's why i try to stress the importance of therapy or working with professionals to overcome whatever's going on. anyway i really appreciate it and i hope you're ok, or as ok as can be in this place. at this point i think it's just about coping. i know it doesn't seem like much of an existence, but there has to be some moments of peace or positivity waiting for us somehow. even if it's like laughing really hard with someone while everything else is going to shit

#i hav a lot of thoughts abt this i literally could go on but it's a lot #anon

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ijiness · 3 years

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YashaHime Episode 5 Iji Ramble

What I thought was just going to be a “Queen Kags got shoved into Kikyou’s shadow :|” two para turned into a bit of a ramble so.. incoherent rambling under cut.

Will Kagome ever not have her worth be directly tied into the fact she’s a reincarnation of a GREAT PRIESTESS KIKYO? How about, I don’t know, Moroha was born from the great priestess who traveled through time, tamed the wild InuYasha, destroyed the Shikon no Tama and saved the world versus being likely corrupted by it like ANOTHER PRIESTESS WE KNOW? Am I the only one who noticed this?

Why are our kids being stepped over for Taisho and Kikyou as far as recognition? Wat? WAT?

And the rouge of Moroha’s. I don’t remember that being a thing in the Manga, but I thought InuYasha gave that rouge to Kikyou in the Anime series as a show of affection to her, saying it was one of the last remnants of what he had of his mother, Izayoi. And I remember Naraku showing that he had the rouge and crushing it in his hand as InuYasha to drive home his betrayal to her.

I’m HOPING if it was restored that it was by Kaede and she gave it to Moroha after InuYasha and Kagome poofed for reasons still strangely unexplained because she knew it had been InuYasha’s, which is still a little odd that she’d give a gift he gave her mother’s essential rival as a show of devotion, but it’d be even more strange, imho, for InuYasha to have either given it to Kagome or Moroha after he’d given it to Kikyou.

“Here you go, Kagome, Love of my life, bringer of my peace, completion of my world - Here is rouge that is the last remaining remnant of my human mother that I cherished so much I was nearly drowned over if you hadn’t stopped me from falling into the trap of her image.” “It looks used?” “Yeah, that’s probably from when I gave this to Kikyou, love of my life, bringer of my peace, completion of my world who I nearly tortured you with the thoughts that I would abandon you for her at the end of our journey and let her drag me to hell because of residual feelings for her and personal guilt. Just ignore those :)”

And, again, I’m probably thinking too much here but I’m so confused as to why Kags who fought so hard to be known in her own right and to be considered powerful outside of Kikyou’s shadow is nowhere being given her dues. Moroha’s blood having more taste of Taisho’s and the rouge being able to make her taste moreso like it? When her dad’s, his son didn’t taste as good or as alike to him? Is Kagome’s blood doing that? How does that even work? I know it’s magic and demons and all fantasy but this basic stuff MAKES NO SENSE!? HOW DOES BLOOD TASTE SKIP GENERATIONS? TELL ME SUNRISE, EXPLAIN YOURSELF!

Setsuna and Towa are the same as they always have been to me. I think even if I was a SessRin shipper I’d be pretty meh about these two. Towa, the fighting fiend, wanting to just apologize to a literal monster who sucks out the bones of living men and animals alike? Just apologize and move on? What? Even Kagome didn’t think like that and she was pretty pacifistic. Setsuna is everything about Sesshoumaru I didn’t enjoy so that’s a no brainer that I’m waiting for their scenes to be over so we can get on with the plot. ‘I’m not so weak I need to uproot my life to get the ability to sleep back. Leave me alone, annoying sister who came to the warring states era to essentially just help me with that one task.’

Moroha’s ingenuity still gets me and has me grin. The purification salt in her mouth for the demon was pretty awesome as far as smarts. Would like to know what her debt is about. Her silliness gets ramped up a little too much sometimes. I think they want her to fill too many roles to keep the trio interesting; smart and expositiony, aggressive and foolhardy, and a hint comic relief. Sometimes it works, but this episode I was kind of meh for me. She felt a little flat until the fight, but they all kind of did so I think maybe that was just an issue with an episode for me?

Hearing her belt out InuYasha’s attacks was total fanservice and I was there for it, tbh.

I hadn’t intended this to be a full blown rant about the episode, especially given that for all of the balls it rolled into motion it didn’t really feel like a lot at any given point. It moved at a breakneck pace, like they all have, as if they’re playing catch up to something and yet every episode really doesn’t have -that- much happen to it. It all gets crammed into the second half and is done quickly. I don’t remember the episodes of IY feeling like this, but maybe that’s just nostalgia goggles. I remember thinking as I was watching “This kind of a fight, if it’s part of such a big aspect of the coming plot, feels like it should have had an episode or two of build up and a few touch and goes with the enemy to signal its significance to the over arching plot.” Kind of like how some of Naraku’s minions would have an episode or three arc of a grand scheme that moved the team closer to their end goal or a revelation before being shooed off or how a major development/fight between Sesshoumaru and InuYasha would have an episode or two building up to them running into each other.

InuYasha has always beaten you over the head with concepts but you could still get completely blindsided by something or they’d say JUST ENOUGH to get you interested or curious. Here, stuff that seems important isn’t given much time or energy narratively, stuff that doesn’t seem important is given a bunch of attention (Setsuna learning how to play violin really had to happen in 3 days? She couldn’t have had that been a developmental thing throughout and something to grow with?) and we’re getting bombarded with exposition about things but nobody seems to be talking about anything... interesting?

I can see them not necessarily ‘dancing around’ the subject of the inu tachi, if they all know why they’re gone and they’ve been gone for years then they wouldn’t be talking about it because it’s common knowledge; that’s natural. Narratively for the audience, though.. Why would that be obvious not to talk about but Moroha’s blood and lineage need attention? That’s where the logic breaks me. We already know Moroha is a 1/3 demon. We know who her parents are (We can’t go long anymore without someone comparing her to one of them anymore, which is getting old and repetitive.). They know who her parents are. Why do we need to spend a half of an episode of Myoga expositing about -who- her family line is and less about their being missing? Myoga talking about how she tastes better than her father, but no mention of ‘I miss him’ or ‘Poor Lord InuYasha, I wish I knew where he was’ or ‘He was gone from us too soon, Lady Moroha. You would have loved him.’ or anything like he used to go on about Taisho to his sons? He clearly was endeared enough to either InuYasha or Moroha to be hanging with her to the point he didn’t meet up with Setsuna to determine she was Sesshoumaru’s kid before now.

The same thing goes for how Kohaku and Miroku and Sango’s boy (I can not remember his name for the life of me) Didn’t know about Sesshoumaru and his daughters or that Setsuna was related to him and, for all intents and purposes, Rin - who Kohaku had traveled with for some time? The lack of details or discussion around these things is feeling more contrived than natural at this point seeing as they clearly remember these people, they’ve interacted with them as adults (Setsuna’s memory of Miroku now confirmed) so the memory wipe thing seems... odd. Unless it’s a situation where they’re all enchanted to remember their existence but placated as to not to go seeking them out. Or maybe they searched and didn’t find anything but again.. Miroku talking to Setsuna and her not knowing who he was despite growing up in the same village they settled down in? Was that just an illusion? What is up with this timeline?

I kind of hope we’re not going to get our fix of the old group through sequences like Kohaku and Sango’s son where each character hits a milestone or a type of demon and someone who knew the original group gives a “Oh, when your Mom/Dad fought that during their journey they learned/defeated it by doing this!” InuYasha got it a few times, but often that was because he was having to learn a new skill via Tetsusaiga, or Kagome needing to learn to do something Kikyou once did, but it was always handled with an almost sense of reverence and feeling of a new challenge, not so much ‘Here’s a clip that the audience would remember that this character will likely shrug off or seem weird learning because they don’t really care about people they don’t remember (All three) or even like (Setsuna).’

Final note: Where are the damned twins? I hope they have a boy crazy streak. Miroku was cringe at times with his groping but the girls being the flirty ones would be an adorable change of pace.

#Kagome #YashaHime spoilers #InuYasha #miroku #Sango #Towa #Setsuna #Moroha #Myoga

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poshwife · 3 years

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3, 15, 22, 30, 86, 93

3. Do you really think there is somebody for everybody? Yes and no, I feel like you have to almost...create that opportunity for that somebody, if that even makes sense, but we all need people and community, we need somebodys!

15. Do you think you’re special, or just another person amongst billions? Can you be both? I want to say both simply because I think everyone is special in their own way, but I’m just another person amongst billions. I’m not saying that to be humble but in the grand scheme of things I’m not more important or more deserving as a human being.

22. How long does it take you to fall in love with somebody?Is the sensation of ‘falling in love’ or ‘being in love’ better? It used to take me a really long time but I talked to my man for like an entire day (after having had a crush on him so I guess it was easier that way) and something in me just knew and I let myself feel it. I think being in love is so much better, falling in love feels embarrassing because you’re like....what if they don’t feel the same way and I’m a clown now!!

30. Are your choices fated or of your own free will? This is so hard. I want to say of my own free will because I really don’t like the idea of not having that freedom to choose my own future but I get deep into thinking like...what if I’m imagining my fate and living it out before my eyes and this free will is an illusion and aaaah, not gonna spiral tonight

86. What’s your toxic trait? Are you trying to improve yourself and fix it? Definitely not knowing how to set certain relationship boundaries, especially in platonic relationships where I let myself be at my friends’ dispense as they wish with no thought of how I feel. It’s difficult because I become resentful of them over time for not setting the boundaries or having enough courtesy to set them, but I realized it’s a two-way street, if I’m making myself accessible, they’re going to view that at their own limit and not my own and I can’t expect otherwise. I’m constantly working on it and I’m definitely much better now than when I recognized it. I’m much more closed off to making friends the past 2 years and I’m much pickier in general.

93. Do you draw meaning from your dreams, or do you disregard them? Most of the time I disregard them. I think dreams are manifestations of what I already feel and know in my conscious mind and therefore it’s just a way of reaffirming. I don’t really see a big point in bringing the subconscious to the conscious, it’s subconscious for a reason, and no reason to try and merge them in such a dependent way. I’m speaking as a 12th house stellium too which is odd but I really do think that.

Thank you 😘

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holy-mountaineering · 4 years

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This Tarot Spread is for @kristennotchristian

Here’s the full Qabalistic Tree of Life Spread that I do and here you are. What I’m going to do is go through and briefly explain each card, its position on the Tree, and then I’ll give you a summary/synopsis of the spread as a whole. You know the routine.

Think of this spread as a sort of quantum map, or even the land of a regular map, everything is happening at once, in each place. It’s important to think of yourself as moving “through” the map but you are also simultaneously everywhere at once. For the sake of this specific experiment, think of this as a map. Maybe as a person, the Qabalistic Adam Kadmon.

Where we’re starting the journey from is Kether, the monad, the first sign of creation. We’ll call this your hometown, since it is where you’re from originally. Here we have the Prince of Swords or the Airy part of Air, total mindfuckery.

This is getting lost in that “pit of because” or talking yourself out of doing anything but staying in the formative stage of action, which is inaction. Remember, the mind helps us act properly, it shouldn’t be using us, we should be using it.

In Chokmah, which is like your freeway getting you out onto the road out of your hometown is the Princess of Swords, or the Earthy part of Air, or what happens in your everyday life because of what you’re thinking.

Like Her Brother, She isn’t really dealing with what is happening because She is stuck on the “way it was” or “the way it should be” and that isn’t helping.

Look around, you’re fighting the wind, phantoms of your own making. You want your life to go the way you think it is “meant” to? Then make yourself aware of what’s going on and not what should be going on.

In Binah, which is ruled by Saturn and for the sake of this reading we will call the first stop on your roadtrip. You haven’t really arrived anywhere but you’re stopping and getting a chance to repack your car in a more efficient way. Sitting in Binah is XXI The Universe, the Biggest Picture we’ve got.

Back up. Further. Keep going. Keeeeeep going. And there, you see, you’re a small part of a large thing happening, and I assure you, YOU ARE a part of something that is happening and if you just back off of your situation and look at it, ALL OF IT, you’ll see the beautiful production, the dance that you’re participating in. That’ll make it all worth it. You are far larger and way more important in the Grand Scheme of things than you’re giving yourself credit for. If you can get out of your head, you’ll see.

In Chesed which is ruled by Jupiter and again for the sake of this experiment we’ll say involves your influence and benevolence in your current trip is the 5 of Wands. The pain in the ass that is being human, between things.

I understand why you’re struggling, being human fucking sucks, it’s real real limiting. And then other people? Forget about it, so much limitation. But you’re feeling the burn here because you have moved so far. The trick is now, you’ve gone so far, that going backward would take equal effort to move forward, the direction you MUST move in.

Across the Tree in Geburah, which is Mars Town, where you find your drive and what you’re trying to accomplish/conquer is the 10 of Wands, Oppression.

Back to things being a pain in the ass. Feeling overwhelmed when you’re trying to accomplish things is because of WHAT you’re trying to accomplish, which needs definition. You’re trying to make major adjustments to your life without having a defined purpose for them beyond what you roughly THINK it should be. There is so much possibility, but you're like a speedboat with no steering wheel. You’ll definitely get somewhere, likely a reef or soundwall flying around like that. Do, but in a focused way.

In Tiphareth, the Sun and center of gravity holding all this in place, the heart pumping the blood through this, your heart is VII The Chariot.

This is part of the Answer you’re looking for. You need to find a path, think about this Chariot more as a train with tracks than a car going off roading. This train isn’t driven by you, you’re on the train, going where that train goes. On that trip, you’ll have the time to work on your inner conflicts that’re causing so much strife. Unless you get a play steering wheel and pretend that you’re driving. Not only is it a waste of time and an illusion, it’ll eat up that useful time on your way that you could focus inwardly and fix much of what is causing you distress.

In Netzach, Venus town, where you have the realization about how this is going to change you as a person with a personality is I The Magus, YOU, using your FULL Potential.

Since Venus is your views of Love, Beauty and Personal Growth, know that is all completely up to you. The Magus, or Magician has his 4 Elemental Weapons, his skill set, the physical representations of the Powers within You. Know those Powers, discover them through experimentation and USE them shits. They are yours and yours alone. No one else knows what they even are, let alone how you should use them. So, back to the last card, use the time on your journey to hone and refine those Tools once you discover them fully.

In Mercury Town Hod-ville, where all the Universities are and everyone has real intellectual shit going on is the 9 of Disks, Gain. The Triplicity of Three, building on building in your everyday life.

You know how you eat an elephant? One bite at a time.

The threes, numerologically are the simplest shape, the triangle. Then, multiply that by itself. In other words, you don’t have to be over complicating your life, even if it is expanding. You build from the simplest formulas you’ve Worked out. Do what you know Works and build from that. Tell yourself and others that’s what you’re up to. Be clear with yourself and others on your goals and progress.

On the Moon in Yesod, the receptive and reflective place that is a lot about the feelings that you’re picking up from all this is the Knight of Disks, the Fiery part of Earth, or acting on what needs to be done.

Back to those skills of yours. You have experience and resources you don’t even see as resources. You’ve got planted and maintained fields, full of ripening fruits. You must harvest those and put them to use to nourish yourself. Those things are already there, you’ve already grown them and tended them. Just because you might have some misgivings about the experiences that gave you those fruits, they are good and healthy and already happened. Don’t let them go to waste out of spite.

Down here in Malkuth-istan, the everyday life mundane, waking up pooping, and going to work world is the Knight of Swords, the Fiery part of Air, or acting on what you’re thinking.

When you clearly have in your mind what it is that you want, what must be done, take all available force you have and FLY to it! Again, this isn’t a time to be indecisive, that went on for too long already and now it is time to Fly and to Smite.

Okay, so, short version, get out of the caverns of your head and your “Pit of Because” so you can get a good, more complete picture of where you are and what you do in your Universe. I know it feels useless and like everything you’ve tried resisted your advancement, but that’s because you’re feeling the friction that comes from your moving, which is good believe it or not. Carry on and find the tracks you’ll ride forward on and be able to handle yourself and let go of the reins for a while.

And know that you’re the one who allows your growth into the full beautiful butterfly you’re molting into, with your experience and your skills, you shall achieve that! But remember that you have to be proactive, not controlling or micromanaging, but when the fruit is ripe, pick it, if you can’t eat it right now, can it for later.

And when you know, and trust me, you WILL figure it out, GO FOR IT. Seek that which you set your mind to.

Ta Da! Hit me up with any questions, comments, concerns, qabalistic inquiries, or praise for my skill, lol.

Goatspeed and good luck.

#tarot spreads #divination #cartomancy #occult #magick

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voidgremlin · 4 years

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The promise (Chapter 2)

At some point, after many adventures, a prison break and many near deaths scenario. The Doctor though of stopping, for one moment, to rest. Maybe gather herself, maybe seek calm from everything.

@isuthetimelady

The room was quiet for a few hours, in low dim light of the library. They were no page being turned, no shuffling of the clothes, no movement, no voice. Just the hum of the TARDIS that carried the doctor through dreams with a lullaby.

The Doctor was dreaming of the winds in her ears, the quietness and the cliff ahead. She could see the purple sky extending ahead shining a billions stars, a billions place to be. But none of it were home. The light from where she came from was too far away to be even seen, if it is still exist somewhere in the world. The light from where she was raised was dimmed, no viable structure was living on its soil. Not that she wanted to go back to it, but this planet held her house at some point, her home, her family. Would she really hate this place that tore so many things she held dear apart ? Won’t it be a disgrace to the work she and the people she loved put to make it happen ? Even for a few seconds of happiness ? She should love this place, she should protect it. But there’s no one left to protect from. There’s no one love anymore, there’s no one to share memory, joy and laughter with … Not anymore.

It is gone and she looks at the stars with nostalgy. How can someone with so many lives can make something new with someone new or even… Someone old ? How could she ? She listened to the hum hoping for someone to give her an answer but the hum make itself louder, pressing, howling, she looked around in horror looking for who was screaming, she ran toward the sound, reaching the edge of the cliff. Before weirdly she remembered that she was dreaming. None of it was real and she suddenly woke up.

She shot her head straight gasping silently for air, feeling the pressure on her shoulder quickly relieved itself. The Master got up quickly, fighting to get his hand free, she let him go and he started pacing in the room with labored breathing. She blinked slowly gathering thoughts, being awake was one thing, knowing what to do was another. She was still on unknown territory with a well-known enemy. The well-known part was the only reassuring part of the whole situation. Founders help her… Hold on was she a founder now ? She frown but shot a glance to the Master who at some point sat his body in a corner of the room next to a shelf. Holding his head in his hands, taking deep breathes through the nose. She wants to ask, why was he still shaking ? Why did he woke up again in a sharp inhale when obviously he needed more rest. Why is he panicking and the whole room seemed to swell. Furthering the distance between them. It won’t be long before the Master would be standing meters away instead of the closeness they shared few seconds ago.

He looks up to her, realizing she is still present in the space. In between two breaths it looked like he tried to pronounce a few words, explanation, but only she heard a sob in his throat. Heartbreaking really. He looked away, standing up with a sort of recklessness to it, as if he was throwing his body up, hoping it would still stand. He didn’t cared today, he didn’t cared of much things. He didn’t even cared of the hate and distraught he felt toward her, allowing her inside. He didn’t cared of his inadequacy in the grand schemes of things. Today he didn’t wanted to think about it. To care about it. Because caring would mean thinking about consequences, thinking about the crushing universe with no solace. To think that no matter how much illusion he would deal himself with there is still a truth that he knows and that no one, not even himself would let it go.

He left in throwing himself bodily against the door. Walking down the corridor and the Doctor waited a few seconds, biting her cheeks wondering if she should gather herself and just leave him to be. Alone, in this infinite castle. Never ending and intricate. Leaving to her own TARDIS, where she could put the whole pondering for later, maybe she will find a place in the universe that doesn’t require any responsibility from her, any fighting. But of course, she only stand up to follow him. She is still sleepy and watching only his back stumbling to the kitchen that hidden itself behind a weirdly terrifying stone statue, that looked way too much of a weeping angel. Upon closer inspection she felt the warm below the stone, it was alive and humming. She noted this observation to the slightly worrying list of things that is happening to her and that she needed to do something about it at some point. But not now, now the Master was angrily drinking water, if anyone was able to angrily drink it would be him. He hold himself to counter next to him, a dark glance to her.

“The fuck are you doing here ?”

She is taken aback, she didn’t expected so much aggressivity after the hours spent together in quiet and peace. Guess he just held bad ? Not being apathic as she was drowned in all her sorrow. He was none of those things, feeling way too much and he only honed back those things for her sake. As much as he loved confrontation, he let her have a few hours of quiet. She should be a little thankful.

If she ever gave a shit about his peculiar predicament.

She stayed silent, dragging a chair to sit on it, playing with the mug on the coffee table. She didn’t had any answer for that question, after all she is still considering leaving. But the steady hum of the TARDIS made her consider another option. To listen ? Maybe.

He looks at her like she betrayed the sanctimony of the space, his breathing is even now, the panic from earlier faded somewhat. He look away toward the fridge defeated by the lack of answer.

“Want something to eat ?” He asks his voice hoarse.

She say no with her head, still staring at him. She shouldn’t it will make him angry, but she cared very little about his anger, she cared about his sanity more.

“What !?” he snapped “What are you looking at ?” The rest was indeed nonexistent, dark bags under his eyes were darker than when she saw him earlier. He couldn’t look still, his hands were moving and not stopping. The Doctor motioned to the chair before her. He threw himself into it, upset and crossing his arms. Taunting her to talk first.

She bids her time helped by the humming which filled the silence. She decided to be little shit to break the nervous energy that filled the room.

“What the fuck are you doing here ? You look like a mess !” She said with a smirk.

He look aback, arching an eyebrow. “I do not look like a mess ! I look awesome thank you very much !”

“Oh really have you seen yourself ? What did you do the last time I saw you ?”

He looked like he was about to retort to the first part but only put a hand in his hard, to fix it. As if it would help at this point she thought. He laid back looking to the ceiling.

“I ran away, got caught on a nasty planet, had to buy my way out with the cyberium and some of my memories. Fought to get the memories back. Succeeded. Now I’m trying to get some rest.”

“Sounds like you had a busy day.”

“Busy month.”

“Oh.” She frowned, she did lived much more things than him but a month ? At first she wasn’t sure what made her stop about it, after all he was able to survive stranded more than one time for far longer than the Doctor could. She guessed it was the memory part that disturbed her. Fighting to get memory back… She doesn’t know if she would have ?

Maybe ? Is the repeated abuse of having her memory ripped away that made her gave up the mere idea of the memories being hers, that she shouldn’t fight for them because it is a defeat waiting to happen ? Who knows.

Terrible thoughts for later, filed under: the irreparable damage of the past.

“Looks like you are not succeeding on the rest part ?” She instead argued.

He still stubbornly looked to the ceiling. “No. But I will. It just takes time.”

“That’s why you chose the outback ?”

“No one was bothering me there, which makes me ask the question.” He leans toward her, elbows on the coffee table. “What the fuck are you doing here ?”

She stayed silent, she didn’t wanted to talk about the foolish hope that brought her here. So hung up on the past and her disillusion. She tapped the table four times.

“TARDIS brought me there ?”

“Was it a question ?” He asks with a smile.

“Nooooo” She dragged the sounds. It was obvious she was lying and he knew. But it was fun. It was for laughs. It really didn’t mattered why she was here according to his smile, what was important was she was here.

“Good because your shoulder is a really good pillow, I will recommend it on Yelp.” He says pulling out a phone from his pants, searching the apps.

“On what ? Wh-What’s Yelp ?” She asks reaching to snatch his phone away, he didn’t even bothered to looking up to her and just pushed his chair out of the way.

“Damn Doctor, I do hate the fact I know more about 21st century earth than you.” He sighs typing down furiously. The Doctor stand up quickly grabbing the phone from his hands despite his weak shout of protest.

“Let me read that. ‘The doctor’ shoulder despite being bony and most of the time uncovered, is still a good place to rest when you have exhausted all possibilities. 6/10 would recommend but only if you have no other solutions.’” She pauses before turning her head to him. “Only 6 ?! How DARE !”

“I have to take into account the reality that I really am tired and that if I could I would have slept on a rock. I find myself very kind with this notation. They should call me the mercyter, merster ? Merciful Master ?” He started to sounds confused to his own sentence.

“Or they should call you your Yelp handle, O. Lee Karl… I’m not sure I get the joke ?”

“Of course you don’t.” He says standing up as well taking the phone away from her hands gently. “But I will be honest I was very proud at the time of the joke but I am not sure I get it either.”

She hummed in response. Standing next to him, shoulder to shoulder.

“Your brains are definitely fried.”

He leans a little on her. “Yes they are. Can’t help getting nightmares since I got my full mind back.”

She listens but she isn’t sure, she isn’t sure if she would have took those memories back. So she asks

“Was it worth it ? Getting back your memories ?”

“Uh… Well I wouldn’t be me if I don’t have them. So yes, as terrible and awful me is. It is worth having my memories.”

“Aren’t they painful ?” She asks stubbornly watching the wall ahead.

“Yes.”

“What do you mean then ? Was it really worth it ?”

“It is still mine. I am owed.” He sighs, head looking down. “If anything else is not. I still I got that.” He chuckles, an empty one, before whispering “I got this one, it’s mine.”

The Doctor waited before putting a hand on his shoulder. “Yes it’s yours.”

They stayed here a little while, leaning on each other. She didn’t understood most of his feeling on the matter, it was like looking in the mirror and not quite understanding the figure it reflected.

The Master would say it was his, The Doctor would answer it never was hers.

The Master would burn all the bridges, The Doctor would try to mend them with time.

They would never be in sync, never agreeing to anything because ultimately and weirdly despite all the shared history, they had a wildly different past.

Endless roaming for one, Broken promises for the other.

It made her laugh which made the Master look at her with worry. They were determined by their past way before they could make their own decisions. Before they could be themselves they were already condemned to this unstable life and endless heartbreak.

“I think I need to sleep Doctor. So…” He slowly let himself lie down on the kitchen floor. “I got to try again.” He smiles looking at her from below, finding it fitting from their newfound status. She sees that in his eyes and is having none of it. She drop down on her knees next to his head, her hands on her laps, looking at him with, she find out later, a hint of tenderness.

“Want me to guard your sleep ?”

His eyes squint, “I doubt you want to guard me, it is a pain in the ass, so I heard.”

“From me. Yet here I am proposing.”

He keeps squinting wondering if it was a joke.

“So you chill with me guarding you or not ?” The Doctor asks.

He grunts. “Yeah. Do your magic.”

She took his head, putting it on her now crossed legs. Fingers resting on his temple. Channeling a link. His face relaxed.

Contact.

#dw #doctor who #dw fanfic #spydoc #my stuff

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snarkomancy · 4 years

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Night Without End

@suresaint

“A ghost can be a lot of things. A memory, a daydream, a secret.”

“You speak true. A ghost can be all of those, and many more.” A shiver runs down her spine, a profound sense of discomfort at the sense of loss she feels against her will.

Philippa runs her fingers through her hair, separating curls, pulling sharply at knots and tangles. A small discomfort to ground herself in. The moon is bright and full above a sea so calm that it is almost like a mirror, its reflection so flawless, so perfect, one could easily mistake it for the real thing. Somewhere above, a nightbird cries out, its voice like the edge of a knife.

Philippa looks straight ahead, focussing on something in the distant dark that may or may not be real, straight-backed and regal – no, tense.

“We all have our ghosts, Zelda. But after all is said and done, it’s up to us to decide whether or not we allow ourselves to be haunted.”

There’s a trembling in her chest which feels oddly like brewing laughter, but it feels so weird, so out of place and unfamiliar, that she places a hand to her ribs and holds herself until the involuntary fit subsides. A few faint lines crease the middle of her brows and she puckers her lips to keep from grimacing, sitting in the sand beside Philippa. She thinks she has as much control over her body and its emotions as one has over nature sometimes. There’s no way of knowing what’s to come, or directing it. Storms come and go as they like.

“Not all ghosts are malevolent. And some of mine keep me company…”

Old, sweet memories of her years at Kaer Morhen. But more often than not it’s a wish, or a day dream. Often times the only companion she has are her thoughts and fantasies. But she finds the more she lives in them, the lonelier she feels out here, in the real world. Brothels quenched a desire which only ran skin deep, but they could not touch her anywhere other than her flesh. And monsters? The only thrill she got from them was knowing that this could be her last fight. She could die, and being made aware of her own mortality gave her a momentary flare for life, a revival of a fire inside of her, if only until the threat was dealt with.

“Are you haunted, then? Philippa?”

The sorceress lifts her left hand, her mind reaching out to tug on the silverbright strands of power that glimmer, half-hidden, in the unseen portion of the world. This is a busy place, many threads running together, intersecting and branching off again, complete and utter chaos and at the same time a perfect balance.

The sand begins to dance under her gesture, moving out of its own accord, forming walls and towers, roofs and balconies. A perfect reflection of the keep of Kaer Morhen as she gleans it from Zelda’s mind. Philippa smiles softly, visibly pleased with her handiwork, enjoying herself in the process of creation, of seeing things come together, a whole made up out of millions and millions of tiny pieces.

Just grains of sand. That’s all we are, too, in the grand scheme of things. Nothing but grains of sand.

“What was that? Oh.”

The question tears her from her reverie, and she is grateful for it – there is nothing that puts her on edge like the threat of insignificance. She wants to be more than just a tiny piece in a gigantic puzzle, she has to be more.

The nightbird calls again, a little closer this time.

“I could be, if I allowed it. But I do not. Benevolent or not, I have no time for things that dwell in the past. I much prefer to keep my eyes fixed on the future. Why fawn over memories when you could look to opportunities instead? Trust me, Zelda – what is dead is dead, it’s dead for a reason and nothing good ever comes from trying to drag it back.”

For a time, her memory of kaer morhen seems all the brighter. It appears in her mind more vivid than it has done so in a long time. If she was to close her eyes and breathe in, she would even be able to hear the way the wind used to pass through the tall trees, and the birds as they sang, and how it had always smelt faintly of sweet berries and honeysuckle, or sometimes of firewood as it was piled and burning in the courtyard below. It had smelt of home, and she had not smelt anything like it since. It is nice, getting the opportunity to sit there, beside Philippa, and have those fond memories play through her mind for a little while. Eventually, however, it all trickles away with the tide.

“I kill monsters for a pittance and spend it on food and women. I don’t see any greater opportunity in my work, unless you know of another way I can put my skills to use.”

In another life she would have made a perfect negotiator, owing to a skilled tongue, which she seems to have had since she was young. It is sometimes impressive how persuasive she is, and whilst she can be almost insufferable to be around sometimes, there are few who hate her; those who had in the past now tolerate her, or even find themselves being endeared to her. Maybe she would have made a good sorceress. She entertains it.

“A woman once said I would make a great queen.” She muses, half amused by the idea of herself on a throne with a crown on her head. “Granted, I think she was only saying that in an attempt to get more coins out of me. But it was nice nonetheless.” With a careless shrug, she buries her palms into the sand and leans back on them, looking at the sorceress with a subtle thoughtful furrow to her brow. Then, a loose smile. “Perhaps I’d ask for you as my mage, if I had a gold crown on my head. How about that?”

“You’d suit a crown, if I am to be perfectly candid. Something sleek and sharp, set with sapphires. A circlet.” Her hands begin to dance again, the air shimmering brightly, only glimpses of an image to begin with, but soon something solid, tangible. An elegant circlet, just as she has described it. A perfect illusion. Well, maybe not entirely perfect, but the closest thing to it, and that is enough.

“There you are. It’s yours.” She gestures out over the mirror calm of the sea, towards the distant nocturnal horizon, a different shade of darkness. “As far as your eye can see. Queen of all you survey, for a night. Wait, let me just...”She plucks the circlet out of the air, leans across to place it on Zelda’s head. “It suits you. Just like I said.”The song of the cicadas rises to a crescendo, a coronation hymn that is soon joined by the frogs. Even the nightbird makes an appearance to add its haunting harmonies.

Philippa closes her eyes, breathes deeply. There is a calmness inside of her that she doesn’t quite know what to do with, a sense of ease that she hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

“If it pleases your Majesty, I’d prefer to be my own mage, just for once. With only myself to be accountable for, only my own whims to indulge, only my own burdens to bear. All my life I’ve been a tool, fit for some glorious purpose, and I’d quite like to know – what does it feel like to be a person, instead?” A pause. Is she speaking too candidly? Is she revealing too much of herself, giving away secrets that could come back to haunt her, to undo her? But the words are spoken, and she cannot take them back.

She glances at Zelda again, delighting in the way the circlet complements her features and once again feeling rather pleased with herself. “But you wouldn’t know either, would you now? Because you, too had your choices taken from you. More so than mine were, even. And so, you grieve. You grieve for who and what you could have been. But what if I told you that you’re all you need to be?”

There is a solemnity to her as the crown is placed atop her golden head, and it really suits her, like she was meant to wear it. It is more a testament to Philippa’s magic, she thinks, that the sorceress would create such a beautiful circlet. A perfect one meant only for the Witcher. Feeling it rest upon her head, she feels noble. She is striking in it, but oblivious to it. A smile breaks across her face meant only for Philippa, and she listens to her request with an upwards tilt of her chin, her eyes the brightest, sincerest of blues, as though Philippa’s wants and desires are the most important thing in the world to her.

There is something about Zelda. She has this way of often unwittingly making people feel like they are the only person who means something to her. And it is neither dishonest or deceiving. It just is. “Philippa Eilhart!” Clearing her throat, she sits up and dusts off the sand from her palms. She moves so that she is face to face with the sorceress, taking Philippa’s hand in her’s and giving it a gracious, brief kiss.

“As Queen of literally everything, I grant you your freedom, to be your own person, where you are accountable only for yourself and your own actions, where you may indulge your own whims and desires to your hearts content, and have only your own burdens to bear! All mistakes are your own, all successes are your own, and everything in between. I beseech you to be selfishly and undisputedly yourself.” With that, she poises herself as a king would, shoulders pulled back, chest expanded, her other hand to her hip. She bows, amused by it, even as the last of Philippa’s words sink in. They ring true, though she refuses to believe it. The smile she wears twitches at their corners, but she keeps it there.

She doesn’t want to think about all of the choices she had had taken from her, or the lives she could have lived, but will now never know what they could have been. So distracted by Philippa’s words, she remains holding Philippa’s hand. Pondering. If she knew exactly who she was, maybe she would be happier than she is. She says nothing on it, only looks half despondently up at the sky, noticing the birds circling above them.

“I accept this most gracious offer with gladness, your Majesty. And I commend you for your kindness.” The magician inclines her head gracefully. She has spoken those same words too many times to count, but tonight, she means them. Zelda’s hand is warm, the skin rough and callused from wielding a blade where her own is cool and smooth as polished marble. Philippa fortifies her mind, out of habit rather than necessity. She has said to much, she’s certain of it now. The sorceress withdraws her hand, with downcast eyes.

“I’d ask another favour of you, if you will. More than a favour, actually – a promise.”

It would be so easy to slip inside her thoughts, to manipulate the delicate threads of memory to simply erase the conversation from ever having taken place. So easy, and so effective, and yet she cannot bring herself to do so. This feels good and right and safe, despite the possible consequences, despite the fact that she has let her mask drop and made herself vulnerable, if only for a fleeting moment. Philippa Eilhart has learned a long time ago that placing one’s trust in another is careless and foolish, she knows better than this and yet – she wants this memory to remain intact, untainted. A grain of truth in this empire of lies.

“Promise me that you’ll keep this to yourself. Everything I have told you. Every word I’ve said.” She tilts her head back, her gaze following Zelda’s, the circling nightbirds nothing but fleeting, dancing shadows above them, sleek black shapes every now and again outlined against the pale moon.

“They speak to each other. They speak of hidden places, of secrets yet to be revealed. They speak of the coming sunrise, and they speak of the nights gone past. They’ll speak of us, too, in time. Of a witcheress who became a queen, and of a mage who was granted true freedom. Let them be the only ones to tell this tale. Promise me.”

Zelda doesn’t understand why Philippa would want her to promise such a thing. It seems such an innocent admission, one which has made her seem more human than anything else the Witcher has ever learnt about the sorceress. And who is there for her to tell? And why would she? There is no part of her which thinks about using this crumb of knowledge for her own gain. So she is bewildered by the sudden request.

Confusion flickers across an otherwise loving expression, her brows tugging together, questioning it as her gaze goes from the birds to Philippa’s profile. She takes a moment to respond, but only because she is trying to figure out what the mage’s motivation is. Then the Witcher shifts and faces Philippa fully.

“Of course, Philippa.” Of course! “I swear it. On my life. I will tell no one. Have no desire to tell anyone. Will never. Could never. More so if it is important to you that no one else ever finds out. I have no want to break your trust. Do you think that I would? Why would I?”

The Witcher has nothing to gain from breaking her promise to Philippa Eilhart. She will gladly go to her grave being the only person who knows this about the sorceress, not because she fears the repecurscsions of telling anyone else but because she is decent, and honest, and honourable. The Witcher moves, touching Philippa on her forearm.

“What can I do to prove to you that I can be trusted? Because I will do it. I have no trouble with it. You can even charm me so that I will tell you only the truth, if it will put you at ease. But I am hoping that you know the kind of person I am, and that by giving you my word it will be enough for you to rest easy at night, knowing beyond a doubt that your secrets are safe with me. That I will take them to my grave.”

“Because no one can be trusted. No one in this whole entire rotten, magnificent world. Because all it takes is a push into the right direction, with enough force, and the secrets will spill out, one by one. I’ve seen it happen too many times. Maybe you don’t see it the same way as I do, but trust me”, a bitter laugh at the irony of that. “Trust me when I say that this is simply the way it is. Human nature.”The magician smiles sadly. The horizon is slowly turning a lighter shade of midnight, a subtle reminder of the fact that the sun will rise eventually, that life’s responsibilities can not be put on hold forever. That there will come a time to part.

I don’t want to go just yet.

“I’m due to return to Tretogor by nightfall tomorrow. Of all the fools I’ve met in my life, King Vizimir stands out as the most stubborn one. I have him well and truly under control, of course, but what I have to do to maintain it... He likes to think he’s asserting his dominance by keeping me on my toes, having me chase after phantoms, petty magics that are below my station and result in nothing substantial. A waste of both my time and my intellect. And yet, my hands are tied and all I can do is obey, lest I risk losing his trust and with it my influence.”A heartfelt, although slightly dramatic sigh, as she rests her head against Zelda’s shoulder. “There’s plenty of room in the carriage, you know? You say you wish to prove your word? Then come with me to Tretogor.”

The Witcher listens carefully to Philippa’s words and considers the truth behind them. Maybe Philippa is right, but when Zelda thinks on it she can’t imagine any scenario where she would find reason to spill any secrets the mage has told her, nor any perceivable vulnerabilities she may have. What purpose will that serve a Witcher like Zelda? Of course she has her own ambitions but not one of them involves power. They are selfish but innocent goals. She had been born with an immunity towards deceit. She could not be affected by it even if it smothered her. What reason would she have to betray her? If Philippa had enemies they would have to find other ways of uncovering her secrets. The Witcher would keep Philippa’s secrets as safe as if the sorceress had whispered them to a tree, or a rock, or into the wind.

“Then it is a good thing that you told your secrets to a mutant, and not a human. ” For all she has had to witness, and learn, and give up, she sees the world differently to humans. Philippa is a stubborn, beautiful force of nature and Zelda is aware that her words probably do little to sway the sorceress on her views, but she will say them anyway. Better that than keeping quiet, she thinks. Zelda can smell Philippa’s hair where she rests her head on Zelda’s shoulder, and the Witcher allows herself to indulge a little by tilting her face close enough that her cheek brushes Philippa’s forehead. Then slowly she breathes her in, catching the natural scent which clings faintly to Philippa’s hair. Wanting to remember it, expecting this moment to end soon and for the two to part ways.

She doesn’t expect the sorceress to offer a seat in her carriage. So much so that when the offer arises, she lifts her head in surprise. “Tretogor.” There is some uncertainty which twinges in the pit of her stomach as she says it, and she looks out at the dark ocean whilst considering it. “How would that prove my word to you? Wouldn’t it raise more questions? Having a Witcher by your side. You don’t need to keep such a close eye on me. Unless the reason is that you’re enjoying the view too much to give it up so soon.” She smiles a little.

With as much subtlety as she can muster, she brushes her fingers daringly over the backs of Philippa’s, almost like she is toying with them. “You know that if I came with you to Tretogor, I wouldn’t be able to stay for too long. Not with what I am, what I do. But…” The sweet scent of Philippa’s hair still swims through her thoughts, and even if it is not sweet, or Philippa has used nothing to wash her hair but water, it is sweet to Zelda nonetheless. It affects her. “I have no work currently. So I’ll accompany you to Tretogor. Even though it’ll mean less room for you in your carriage. I am lankier than you. And fidget.”

Philippa smiles. It is the ghost of a smile, a fleeting light that flashes across her face, reaching all the way up into her eyes. This is not pretense. For this mere moment, she has put the cards aside, has removed the pieces from the board. Just for now, Philippa is no longer playing a game. This is her. This is real.

And she is terrified.

Terrified of the implications, of the betrayal that surely will be imminent – it always is, after all. People get hurt, around her, for the sole reason that she won’t allow anyone to hurt her first. Never again. She’ll never have her heart ripped out of her chest again, she’ll never again be run through with contempt. She will leave first. Because there’s nothing on this earth more painful than being the one who gets left behind.

This is real, and one day this too will end.

Philippa is tired of endings, tired of happiness slipping from her grasp as soon as she’s caught it, tired of that endless void inside of her that she can’t seem to be able to fill, no matter how much she tries.

Zelda’s touch burns against her skin, and she cannot tell whether the sensation is one of pain or pleasure. Maybe they’re one and the same. Does it matter? At least she’s feeling something.

The sorceress closes her eyes. She is still as a statue, unmoving, frozen in time.

The sky begins to change, the ambiguous pre-dawn light dissolving the shadows. Shades of grey. The world is shades of grey and her dark heart beats a little faster at Zelda’s affirmation.

“I am not asking you for, you know – commitment.”She’s back on her lies again, picking up effortlessly from where she left off. Just like that. It is, after all, her nature.

“How long you stay is entirely up to you, but let me tell you that there’s a lot to see around the city. A lot of things to catch one’s interest. The people, however, are rather dull and self-absorbed, as if their petty, short-lived complaints mattered in the Grand Scheme of Things.” She turns her hand slowly, interlocking her fingers with Zelda’s. “I shall do my best to keep things interesting for you. If that’s what you want. Or alternatively, I can offer you complete and utter boredom, not a single mountain to climb, not a single monster to slay, only comfort and all the luxury you could possibly desire. Anything you want. I mean it. ”

Do you want me? Do you want me for me?

She laughs quietly, there’s a tinge of bitterness in it.

“But you’re not one for boredom, are you. And just as well, because neither am I.” She falls silent, whether for the fraction of a moment or for an eternity, she does not know.

Dawn is breaking.

#suresaint #completed threads #THANK YOU this thread was so much fun #and i can't wait for the rest of their story to play out #lmao this is just under 4k words

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ivyveil · 5 years

Text

Have Yourself a Harry Christmas Part 0.5

the one where Y/N has an email and Harry is in a bed

A/N: This was my most popular series and I’ve decided to re-upload it! :) Check here for the masterlist.

The moonlight trickled into the room through slated blinds. The ghosted illusion of jail-cell bars streamed against the cream pillows on the bed, the scattered perfumes on the dresser, and the piled books on the desk. It was mostly quiet, although sometimes the noise of traffic outside the cluster of windows would rise above the standard, muffled hum, marking clearly the presence of intoxicated friends dancing away the blues of the week. It was a late Friday night.

Besides that, the room held its peace. The keyboard’s clacking had dulled into background noise and nothing broke the gentle vibe of a ‘late night haze’ for a while.

His voice was crusted with a thick sleep, as if he had been stirring between dreams and reality for quite some time, but Y/N could distinguish the sharp sense of annoyance that had led to the words being spoken. He was pissed but not awake enough to raise his voice above a grunt.

“Are you comin’ to bed?”

Y/N sat at the desk, her legs tucked up on the swivel chair and her sweater hanging down one shoulder. One earbud was in, and the music was quiet so as to not disturb his sleep, and her laptop was as dim as she could make it. Various websites and emails were up on her screen, a multitude of tabs cluttering the screen, and intermittently she would begin typing, pause, and then sigh in dissatisfaction, before clicking away onto social media.

It was late, she knew that. Or perhaps it was early at this point. She didn’t want to see the time, even put a piece of duct tape over that part of her screen so as not to tempt herself. She felt guilty already, at her lack of desire to go to bed. After all, he was there. In her apartment, after another wonderful night spent together, and now they wouldn’t have the joy of falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Most likely, if the night continued in the direction it had been, Y/N would wake up with her face smushed against the laptop. With the websites still pulled up, perhaps a sleep-derived tweet posted here or there.

She just couldn’t find it within her to go to bed. In the beginning, her body had fought back, sending waves of yawns to stretch her mouth and reaching her hand up to rub her eyes, but her mind was wide awake. And mind over matter, she’d stay up.

“Soon,” she promised in his general direction, her eyes briefly flickering over the top of her computer towards him, but it was as if she hadn’t said anything at all. He didn’t respond.

The room was quiet again, but the peace had left.

They had spent more nights together than not in the past month, with their closets slowly integrating and their morning routines broken up to accommodate the other’s needs. She wished she could go to bed, curl up against his chest, and wake up as he pressed soft kisses against the apples of her cheeks. Y/N wished it could be that simple, and that he wouldn’t get frustrated simply over the fact that she wasn’t next to him. It was sweet, definitely, but she just needed to do her own thing for the time being.

Sighing to herself, Y/N minimized all the tabs that had been open, except for the last one.

The most important one, the one that had been causing her grief since 8:00 pm that night. It was an email, which was not inherently strange, but the message was certainly unexpected.

And Y/N wasn’t sure how to deal with ‘unexpected’, especially when it had made her give an awful sort of squeak during his TV show, when she first saw it, and he had looked down, eyebrows furrowed.

“What is it?”

Y/N had immediately turned her phone off, tucking it against her chest as she gave him a soft smile. She gently kissed the underside of his jaw, feeling him hum with contentment, and shook her head.

“Just won my game of Sudoku. Tricky bastard, you know how it is.”

He had been satisfied with that response and pulled her in closer, mumbling something about how amazing it was he had landed himself such a smart girl.

The email was short, bitterly so - enough that it could’ve been a text, but instead was an email. The reasons behind that had bothered Y/N for hours, and she had tried almost everything to distract herself. A YouTube video of vine compilations was in front of her Twitter feed, which was in front of her Facebook feed, and her Hulu account was at the way back, in case she wanted to watch some Chopped. But not even her favorite show could stop her thoughts from going back to the fucking email.

Email was such an outdated concept, anyway. Might as well send a pigeon messenger her way, it would’ve reached the same conclusion. (Not really, but Y/N wasn’t feeling like being particularly rational. Not when she was left to her thoughts.)

With a slight twist of her swivel chair and a curled lip at her own weakness, she pulled the tab with the email back up. Y/N moved her cursor around the letters, mouthing them to herself as she propped up her face with one hand. She pushed her hips forward to scoot the chair, reaching up to grip onto the table to bring herself closer, so her heavy-lidded eyes didn’t have to squint further to see the screen.

She needed to form a response, both for the sake of the email and the grand scheme of communication, and for herself. It didn’t matter, what had happened almost two months ago, because that was then and this was now.

Y/N realized her eyes had unfocused, zoned out over the end of the email. Shaking her head, she read it again, sitting up and moving her fingers to type out a reply. She wanted to sound casual, to not give off the impression that she had spent the last four hours bent over her laptop, avoiding this very interaction.

Yes! I’m free tomorrow. 10 am, Myrtle’s Coffee?

Y/N kept looking at the screen, refreshing her emails as if a response would immediately register, which was unlikely because it was so late/early and she knew she would end up in this circle, damn, and-

She started.

A new email was within the list now, a stack of communications with a bold one on top. Because that’s how the system of email was created, but Y/N couldn’t help and add some extra, dramatic importance to the moment. Especially since her exhaustion had kicked in a bit, and her desk was looking rather inviting as a makeshift bed…

With one last look at the screen, Y/N’s hands reached out to close her laptop, the satisfaction of a response settling her tense shoulders a bit. The noise of the computer shutting stirred him a bit, on the bed, but he hummed some general ‘hmph’ and then the room was cloaked in silence once more.

The cold type of silence, the one that made Y/N question certain things about her life that really shouldn’t change. Stuff she couldn’t alter without changing who she was as a person, the late-night thoughts that had the tendency of tormenting everyone.

Y/N took out her earbud, dropping the headphones unceremoniously onto the desk as she stood up. Stretching out her limbs, curving backwards and letting out a small grunt of sleepiness, she padded over to the bed, flipping the comforter open so she could slide in. The analysis of the situation had, for the moment, left her brain – her mind had seemingly decided that it had gone through enough, and the rest could be sorted through in the morning.

Her cold toes meeting his legs caused him to shift, slightly, before allowing her to cuddle properly against his body. The familiar scent of woodsy trees and cinnamon made her heart flutter as she hid her grin against his warm skin.

“Night, Y/N,” he mumbled, the words bordering the barely-awake consciousness of someone barely stirred in their sleep, only half-registering her arms wrapping around his bare chest.

“Night, Spence.” she whispered, pressing a kiss on his chest and closing her eyes, allowing sleep to wash over her. It happened slowly, and then all at once, carrying her onward to tomorrow and all the uncertainty it held.

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A few minutes before Y/N slid into bed, Harry Styles was on his phone, somewhere across town. The glow from the screen lit up his face, his eyes that were barely open and his lips that had become, within his murky thoughts, pursed and full in its pout. His cheek was against the silk sheets, his arms tucked up by his chest to hold his phone up as he hit “reply”, the comforter reaching up to his shoulder.

He wondered if he would be too fast in responding, but that would call up the concern that he would have something to be nervous about. And Y/N was just a friend; it had happened a month ago - or was it two months, he couldn’t remember - and nothing had really stirred between them since then. But, the existence of those thoughts, was it a sign within itself that he hadn’t completely lost his feelings for her?

Harry was unsure.

He typed out his response to Y/N with his tongue poking out between his lips.

“See…yeh…then…” he whispered as he finished typing, and hit ‘send’ immediately. He turned off his phone and set it on the bedside table, next to the frustrating stack of unfinished songs, letting the darkness of the room expand out to him, as well.

With a deep sigh, Harry closed his eyes and ran his hand down his face, slumping down into his pillows. Tomorrow would be good, he decided, an opportunity to show to himself that he only felt complete platonic care for Y/N, and the desire to kiss her had been a one-time thing. It wouldn’t happen again, that was for sure.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, in the mesh of memories concerning books, gnomes, and axes, Harry shifted over on the bed. He yanked down the cord of his lamp, ignoring its clanging against the metal base, and reached down to the floor to pick up a pen he had tossed an hour ago, in his fit of writer’s block. Shuffling through the papers, he found the one he was looking for. Resting on his tummy, trying to blink the exhaustion away, Harry Styles began to write.

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I’m back in town. Staying for a while. Hang out? x. -H.

Yes! I’m free tomorrow. 10 am, Myrtle’s Coffee?

The usual? Sounds great. See you then. -H.

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A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know your thoughts here, and check out the rest of my works if you’d like!

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #archive of our own #mine #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic #saint nick verse #snv

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zodiac--signs · 5 years

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Scorpio Sun + Leo Moon: Jay Gatsby

Busy Heart, Busy Mind

If you were born under the Sun in Scorpio & Moon in Leo, you are highly determined & ambitious- once you set your mind on something, you won’t let go of it until you succeed. In your mind, you visualize your success & how to achieve it, so anything is possible as your imagination is vividly rich. You have dreams of a better life, of reaching higher, and you most definitely are capable of climbing this ladder. Any idea that comes across your mind can be made real, as long as you put the effort to materialize it. Your desires are strong and your goals are of the upmost importance to you- because of this, you can often create the most complex schemes in your scorpion mind, which combined with the courage & passion of the Leo, takes you to new levels of accomplishment others can only dream of. When you see an opportunity, you just take it, like you always knew the path to success. This is why you’re able to excel at life- and the only thing running against you, is your impatient nature. You don’t have time for people standing in your way when you’re focused following your dreams, nor to listen to unsolicited advice.. Though be aware others have important lessons to teach you, too. When it comes to love, you are idealistic, extreme, lustful and intense. Everything is perfect (or has to be), in your mind. A born romantic, the Scorpio moon makes you love in a profound, almost obsessive way, while the leonine side of you tells you to be as expressive as you can, if you’re going to confess, the least you can do is showing your love in grand, spectacular ways. Avoid trying to control people, though. You can sometimes be manipulative in the way you try to shape others to fit your ideas.. And you might end up delusional, lost in the illusions you create in your mind, and most of all, you get frustrated because people keep disappointing you, and you can’t do anything about it. Your emotions play a part in this too, as they can sweep you away quite regularly, so you must try really hard to refrain yourself. Life is good, and “anything is possible”, but follow this motto with a grain of salt. You have a tendency to be extremely self-indulgent, esp. when you’re feeling down and lost your hopes. Learn to remain positive even when life throws rocks at you- and don’t brush your feelings off by compensating with superficial pleasures. Sluggishness, lustfulness & your pride are your worst enemies.

-Crystal Melbourne, Within the Zodiac | tumblr *DISCLAIMER* | Info On Sun x Moon Combinations & Link to Posts

#scorpio sun leo moon #scorpio sun #astrological #zodiac #signs #horoscopes #fictional characters #jay gatsby #the great gatsby

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sneakyasaspider · 6 years

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Choose me, and you’re so fucking hot when you’re mad from your prompt list please

Alright @geekgoddess-trashpanda, here’s part one and I’ll tag you in the second prompt when I get it written! This one got away from me a little bit, but I hope it’s alright!

22. “Choose me”

They hadn’t even made it into the the open ballroom and Rey was already exhausted and entirely over this gala. Poe’s hand kept her steady at the base of her back and she muttered a million thank yous as they stepped into the decorated depths of the Star Destroyer.

“The General already said told you, but I’ll remind you, you just need to be yourself and everything will be fine. Don’t worry, I’m not gonna let you fall flat on your ass or insult anyone important.” Poe gave her a charming smile. “You’re a damn miracle, Rey. Don’t stress.”

Rey smiled. “Thank you. I just feel so… out of my element.”

General Organa had given her an intensive breakdown as to why this was important when she helped her into an overly lavish gown and began making intricate braids in her hair. Poe and Rey were the public face of the Resistance and if anyone was going to gain people’s sympathy and interest then it was without a doubt going to be the pair of them. Rey knew nothing about public speaking or how to behave in proper society, it was only recently that she’d learned that there were multiple kinds of forks and that using a fork was always required when eating.

She didn’t see a reason why she needed to have black kohl lining her eyes or the soft pink tint added to her lips. She was a warrior and she stood for how hard the Resistance fought, not for how aesthetically pleasing their members were. She hardly recognized herself like this, her hair all intricately woven into an updo and off her neck and her face lightly dusted in makeup to try and soften her harsh features. She didn’t want to be soft and felt a minor amount of comfort in the fact that at the very least her freckles were still visible.

The dress she wore was made of the silkiest fabric that had ever touched her skin and just seeing it made her feel horrifyingly inadequate. The color was an ombre of cream at the top to a lovely lilac purple at the bottom with pale pink bridging the two hues. The gentle and pastel color palette must have been designed for a woman much less sun worn than a desert rat from Jakku as it made her tan skin look even bronzer than usual. With her shoulders and back entirely bare one could see the many freckles and scars that decorated her skin and destroyed any illusion that her life had been as blessed as this dress might suggest on first glance. Metallic silver strips kept the fabric fastened on her arms and around her neck and the dress itself wrapped in some fancy way that made her appear to be floating everywhere she went.

She suspected that if she were at least an ounce more graceful that the effect would have been increased tenfold, but she was constantly tripping over the translucent heeled sandals on her feet. She didn’t know why heels were necessary when the dress trailed along the floor when she walked and effectively covered her feet.

At first, the gala wasn’t too unpleasant. People were dancing and conversing. A large number of aristocrats approached her and Poe and asked so many animated questions about the Resistance and complimented them on how brave it was to attend. It wasn’t as though they weren’t invited, but with how influential the First Order was they knew off the bat that they weren’t going to be making much ground. Rey was running low on forced smiles by the time they’d been there a standard hour and Poe was giving her sympathetic looks. Everyone had so many questions for the Jedi and she often didn’t have the answers they were looking for. Poe was excellent with everyone they spoke to and he was so charming that people were able to really connect with him. In the grand scheme of things she felt like she was merely there to stand by him and look pretty, something that she really didn’t like the idea of.

After just a little while longer of faking smiles and answering hollow questions, Rey gave Poe a pleading look and managed to get them out of conversation.

Poe’s hand rested on her bare shoulder and he whispered something encouraging before slipping from her side to go and get them both something to drink. Rey took his absence as a chance to look around. The craft itself was lovely. The space they were in was so wide and open and floored with sleek black tiles. Lights lined the floor on the edges of the room and a large chandelier of black and silver dangled from the center of the ceiling. Wall panels were built with impenetrable glass that allowed them to view the stunning planet below. They were currently above Coruscant. The whole planet was metropolitain in nature with giant skyscrapers, extravagant business buildings, and heavy air traffic. Rey had never seen anything like it. In the darkness of space the planet twinkled with thousands of lights that looked like stars. It was it’s own unique kind of beautiful.

Carefully making her way through the crowd, she didn’t approach or speak to anyone, ignoring the eyes that lingered on her and the whispers exchanged by the less savory guests. ‘Is that the Resistance’s Jedi?’ ‘How unexpectedly pretty she is. The remarks were ugly. Things like that used to be muttered at Niima outpost when she was younger and finally growing into a woman. She never considered herself to be pretty, but desperate men weren’t picky. The men who leered at her on Jakku ended up with black eyes and broken ribs, she couldn’t do that here, but she could ignore them and that would have to be enough.

Rey stepped up to the massive window and placed her hand on the glass. She felt trapped. She wanted desperately to feel beautiful and empowered like Leia had intended, but despite her very best efforts, Rey simply couldn’t.

Someone moved to stand beside her, a tall figure in dark colors with a presence that soothed some of the tension in her chest. She didn’t need to look up to see who it was. He tilted his head and took in a deep breath, his hands flexing as if to ease a tension in himself.

“Whatever you’re about to say,” She spoke lightly. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t think you’d come.” His voice was deep and hopeful.

Rey didn’t need to look up at him to know he was looking at her. She could feel the weight of his eyes appraising her. She also didn’t need to look to know that he was entirely enamored with the sight of her. They hadn’t been in such close proximity in months and never without weapons draw. For this moment, he could indulge in the illusion of normalcy.

“I didn’t have a choice.” Hazel eyes stayed trained on the world below them.

“You always have a choice, Rey.” He was willing her to look, begging her to give him just one small glance.

“So do you.” She countered. Fingers curled against the glass and then she dropped her hand to her side. “You don’t have to stay with them. You could leave with me, come home to your mother, help dismantle the First Order.”

“I will never choose the Resistance.” Bitterness drenched him. “You keep asking me to choose their ways, to choose what they stand for, but Rey I have never asked you to choose the First Order. I have never wanted you to do choose ideals you don’t agree with.”

Rey snapped her eyes to him, anger flaring in her. “That’s not true! You asked me to turn my back on the only people who have ever cared for me because you wished I would choose your new empire.”

“No.” He turned to face her. Deep black robes were different from his fighting wear, more formal and elegant. He looked like a king, majestic and powerful. But when she looked up to his eyes she found nothing but sadness and a longing for an impossible outcome. “I never wanted you to choose the First Order. I wanted you to choose me.”

Frozen in time and space, she kept her eyes on him. “I…” She took a shaky breath. “I wanted Ben Solo to choose me too.”

She turned fast and left him before he could speak. She didn’t want to hear anymore, she didn’t want to think anymore, she wanted to return to simpler times and knew it wasn’t possible. Shutting herself in the fresher, Rey sunk to the floor in her fancy dress and trembled. No tears rolled down her cheeks, she refused to spend more tears on Kylo Ren and the person he could have been.

#Prompt fill #Tia writes #Reylo fanfic #Reylo

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aburntship · 6 years

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New Post has been published on AMEPAC Furniture

New Post has been published on https://amepac.org/best-of/everything-you-need-to-know-about-tudor-homes/

Everything You Need to Know About Tudor Homes

While we can all appreciate a home that showcases tall columns and grand architecture, there is just something so wonderful about a small home. A house that reeks nostalgic charm is so inviting and welcoming. And Tudor style homes do just that. Whether they are large or small, a Tudor home promises comfort, making you feel like the king of your own castle. It provides history and imagination all in one. If you ever get the opportunity to live in a Tudor home, please move right in. Take a look at these Tudor homes and you’ll learn everything you need to know about them, as if you needed help convincing.

History

There are those who would argue that Tudor style actually began back in the Tudor period and they would be partially right. Between the 14 and 1600’s, so many buildings resembled the castle that we all associate with medieval England. That would be the original Tudor style. However, the Tudor homes we’re talking about here are definitely not castles. Sometimes called Tudor Revival or Mock Tudor, these homes were inspired by the aspects of rustic medieval cottages.

In the mid to late 19th century, many architects in the UK were inspired to leave off the faceted towers and sprawling floor plans of Tudor in favor of mullioned windows and half timbering. Across Europe, so many were finding the quaint medieval cottage look more to their taste. And the trend hit America just in time for the Arts and Crafts Movement. Being expensive to build with the use of so much brick and stone, these homes were often a style chosen by the wealthy. You could always find those classic Tudor elements like elaborate chimneys and pitched roofs and sometimes there was even a tower, harkening back to the days of kings and queens. Nowadays, any of these Tudor style homes being built are modified to fit our standardized floor plans but you can still spot the classic styles of the past.

Interior

Get ready for a mess of medieval spaces because when you live in a Tudor home, you can’t help but lean that way. You’ll find that sometimes, whatever covers the walls of the exterior makes its way inside. Tudor houses might have brick, stone or stucco featured around the house, giving you a jumping point for your decor.

If you don’t have any of those elements, you can probably count of some wood paneled walls someplace in your home. Not the bad kind of paneling, the good kind. With a bold moulding and a rich stain, you’ll find yourself loving brown more than you ever thought you would and embracing all the wooden walls.

Those pitched ceilings can create some cramped attics or some spacious living spaces. Obviously we prefer the latter. With a high ceiling that comes to a point, it provides the perfect spot for open beams, making your room feel cozier.

Since your eyes are already drawn upward with the height, don’t be afraid to make a statement out of it. Hang curtains high to make those Tudor windows look even bigger. Showcase windows in interesting high places. Hang art above the level you normally would. Fill the space to it’s full capacity with interest.

If it works in your floor plan, consider upgrading your staircase with a balcony. High ceilings are just asking for a spot to look up to and there is no better opportunity for a Juliet worthy balcony than a Tudor style home. Choose between wood spindles or iron, depending on the look you’re going for.

While you’re looking up, you may have noticed the penchant for medieval lighting in Tudor homes. Lots of candles on an iron ring is nostalgic and seems appropriate for King Arthur and his knights. Obviously you don’t have to have real candles on your chandelier but if you’d like the illusion, get the flickering light bulbs.

So you aren’t a fan of iron lighting. No problem. Find a chandelier of fairytale proportions with lots of curlycues and candle lighting. Of course if you can afford the dripping crystals, that’s the best choice but you could also opt for wooden beads and get a similar effect.

When you live in an old home, it’s important to keep as many of the unique nuances as possible. So before you think about tearing out walls in your Tudor home, consider what you’ll be losing in demolishing the vintage shapely doorways. You won’t find those kinds of lines anywhere else.found on traditionalhome.

Leaded windows are such a cottage like feature in a house. Thankfully you’ll find them in many Tudor homes. That lattice design will give you a pattern to pull from before you bring anything else into your home. Plus, your house will look amazing inside and outside.

Lattice patterns aren’t the only patterns you’ll find in your Tudor. Some of them are much more intricate, boasting a good bit of stain glass. Then not only do you get the pattern but you also basically have a built in work of art on the wall.

Does your Tudor home have a fireplace? If so, it’s most likely the eye catching piece in your living room. Rather than painting it or downsizing, embrace that grandeur to the fullest. Style out your mantle and arrange your living room so you catch sight of that beautiful piece no matter where you sit.

Some Tudor homes have a tower on them. If you’re lucky enough to have that feature, you gain some magical square footage. Towers can be decorated into lovely office areas, breakfast nooks or even a giant window seat for reading. You’ll be able to bask in the sunlight all day without moving a muscle.

What about a Tudor kitchen? Well let’s look to the main space occupier, the cabinets. Cabinets in a Tudor home are usually wood and sometimes you get those fun accents underneath the countertop. If that seems a little boring to you, replace some plain cabinet doors with paned ones so you can show off your medieval dishes.

Like the fireplace, the stove is your main eye catcher in your Tudor kitchen and you can achieve that with a range hood. It might already have one and if so, decorate your kitchen around it. If your range is hoodless, seriously consider installing one to complete your medieval kitchen feel.

What happens if your Tudor home has been remodeled recently? How do you put that vintage charm back into the space? Start with the walls. Go crazy with paneling and trim and moulding. Even if you paint over it all, it will add back that authenticity that so much remodeling takes away.

Exterior

A Tudor is very noticeable from the outside. Those half timbered walls give it away instantly. However if that’s just a little too medieval for you, you can always paint the timber a lighter color that will blend better with the other stone or brick of your house.

Love the big statement but don’t love brown? Tudors aren’t required to be brown to keep their style. Paint your half timber in a dark popping color like navy or deep teal. It will help you modernize your Tudor home without losing any of the charm.

While we’re considering painting, why not just flip flop the whole color scheme? Paint your stucco areas darker and your half timber lighter. Suddenly your house becomes unique, even if it’s on a whole block of Tudor homes.

Sometimes the most memorable houses are the ones that are painted a different color, especially when they aren’t on a beach. Who wouldn’t want to live in a fairy tale pink Tudor home? Or maybe bright green is more your style. It just might be worth taking the risk to have the best home you could ever find.

Of course most Tudor homes aren’t completely covered in stucco and half timber. You’ll often find variations of stone and brick as well. If it’s an older home, this might require a bit of restoring on your part but in the end, it will be worth the price to beautify such a classic home.

You’ve probably already identified those steep roofs on Tudor homes. They’re a basic element of the style. However usually Tudor homes won’t have a flat roof. Instead, you’ll find gables on gables, sometimes in various sizes. It helps break up all those shingles and keep the visual interest going.

Some of the old Tudor homes have a tower on them. It might be at the entrance or it might be on some corner, but it really gives your home that castle feel. Embrace it and style around it because you can bet that every kid on the block wishes they lived in your house.

While it might not have a tower, many Tudor style homes have some kind of curved window accent on the exterior. While this is fun to style on the inside, it can be tricky on the outside. The goal is to make it look like part of your home and not stick out like an eyesore. Use landscaping to bring the whole thing together.

There isn’t a Tudor home around that doesn’t feature mullioned windows someplace in the design. It might be on a protruding tower or it might be across your living room wall. Give them extra style with multi paned glass instead of basic frames.

Or go the extra mile with leaded windows. If you think that lattice pattern looks amazing on the inside, you should see what it looks like on the outside. It gives the perfect backdrop for a cottage garden and wispy landscaping.

Let’s talk about Tudor style doors. No basic delivered from the hardware store door is going to be right for your Tudor. Tudor homes have rounded doorways. Often they include a small window and look like they’re made out of wood. Very appropriate for a home trying to look like a medieval peasants cottage.

Do you have a garage on your Tudor home? Yes, even your garage doors should be rounded at the top. Why you ask? Because it looks like you should find a horse behind that door instead of a care. Just the look you want for a classic Tudor home.

When you find a Tudor style home that has kept is original details, you’ll probably see lantern lighting. It only makes sense with the style you’re going for. If you are the more modern sort, plain lantern lighting will do the trick on your Tudor porch. But if you want to go all out, find some lantern lighting with fancy details.

Don’t forget to add a pop of color to your Tudor style home. Whether you achieve that in your architecture, your landscaping or just a bright front door, color will bring your home up to date without losing any quality charm.

Landscaping has changed a lot over the years. But back in medieval days, it wasn’t as much landscaping as plants on your property. Give your front yard that authentic look with overgrown ferns, feathery grasses and wild roses. You’ll feel like you stepped into the English countryside.found on traditionalhome.

The post Everything You Need to Know About Tudor Homes appeared first on Home Decorating Trends – Homedit.

#Best Of #english tudor #exterior #home #house #interior #style #tudor revival

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fairycosmos · 4 years

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How do u let go of embarrassing moments?🥺:/ I cannot forget about the time in english class when my teacher asked me to read a piece aloud and half way through i had a freaking anxiety attack and had to stop. I don’t know why i got so nervous... just all the attention on me felt overwhelming and i just panicked. now i keep replaying the moment. And i know it wasn’t not tHat embarrassing but I cannot let it go even tho it has been like a year

hey……omgggg honestly i don’t really have an all encompassing answer for this bc i experience it every day as well…..i’ve kind of stopped trying to fight off the sudden cringe attacks/flashbacks of embarrassing shit because. the more you try, the worse they are. it’s easier to just breathe and let it wash over you, maybe laugh a bit and say “yeah, i did that.” they’re so uncomfortable and the bane of my existence so i get how hellish they are and why you want them to stop. but they’re also rather uncontrollable :/ avoidance doesn’t do much to keep them at bay. to an extent i think it’s natural to roll your eyes at your past self, it’s definitely a sign of growth or recognition of the need to grow, but it’s also healthy to practice self forgiveness. even if you feel stupid, you can accept what cant be changed even if it kills you to do so. and anyway, in this instance, you literally didn’t do anything wrong. you didn’t hurt anyone. you had a bad day, that’s all. anxiety tends to amplify the gravity of certain situations to make you believe you’re some hopeless case, to make you hate who you are, but it’s a complete illusion. while there may be shame at being seen as vulnerable by your classmates, it’s important to understand that there’s no real FAULT on your shoulders here. another mind exercise that often help me is flipping the narrative. especially when it comes to shit that happened in school. kids emotionally freak out all the time, can you even remember any of your classmates doing it? because i bet they did at some point. and if you can, did it make you think differently of them, did it really change your whole opinion of them? giving yourself that perspective and truly trying to enforce it can make a big difference, with time. something else to note is that the older you get, the smaller this memory will be in the grand scheme of everything. it’s just that you’re still in that stage of adolescence where it’s hard to let anything go. but you’ll learn, and you’re okay. i had a lot of anxiety attacks in school, too. once i cried so hard in the corridor and like half of my class saw lol. but i got through it, and you did too. that’s what the ultimate take away is. the worst case scenario is that someone thought you were a bit weird for it - oh well! if they’re not educated about mental illness then they can make their ignorant judgements, it’s fine. you don’t need their approval. and you can know all of this, and still feel embarrassed. it may take years to internalize. but just try not to be mean to yourself cause of it in the mean time, ok? you deserve better than that, and only you can give yourself that specific type of reassurance you’re looking for. oh and one more thing - it can help to make light of it if possible. try to take it gently and laugh at yourself when possible. you’re not above letting your emotions overwhelm you, nobody is especially as a teenager. your ego might not want to admit it, but we all panic and we’ve all been there. i hope you’re able to take it easy, i’m sure it’ll get easier with growth. sending peace your way.

#anon #i have this one memory that attacks me literally 3 times a day without fail and its been like 3 years lmfao

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yuudetama · 7 years

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Meet Me At the Carnival [Part 1] // BTS’ V

What do you do when the person you’re looking for is already gone?

Angst, Carnival AU. Word Count: 5k.

Part 1 // Part 2 [Final]

I’m looking for somebody. Can you help me find him? The carnival breathes, it spins, it sparks flames like a firecracker; it is alive. You try to stand firm on the ground, but it’s hard when bodies are sweeping past you like a crescendo wave crashing at all the wrong times. They veer off in every which way to breathe in the magic of the circus: dancing bears, elephants wearing funny little hats, tattooed men juggling five, six, ten flashing knives at once. A clown spinning dishes on a knobby stick. Children grabbing greedily at powdered funnel cakes, fairy floss. Everywhere you turn there is something to see, and there is something for everyone who enters this strange, fantastical land. Please, he’s very important to me. Having been deemed unsafe and improper by the orphanage, it introduces itself as a peculiar space from the get-go. Since childhood you’ve gathered and become one with tales of the carnival, yet standing in the very place of those stories now, you find yourself taken aback. The activity is simply overwhelming. Attraction-seekers surround you from all the unpleasant angles, pushing you backwards, forwards, this way and that, like seaweed struggling against the surge of ocean water. “Move, you’re in our way!”

A hand pushes you aside and you stumble over the flattened grass. A group of schoolboys runs towards the pirouetting bear, yelling dares of bravado at each other over the din of the crowd. They hardly spare a backwards glance, not bothering to apologize for their haste. That’s fine, that’s okay. Apologies are not what you came looking for. In the grand scheme of things, those boys hardly present themselves as an issue or even a speck of dust in your mind. He said he would be here, you see- An elbow jabs into your back. This time, however, you manage to stand your ground. The pain comes in quick, hard pulses, and in response you plunge a hand into your pocket. A soundless breath leaves your lips when your fingers wrap around a little glass sphere. The weight in your hand is small, but it is comforting. It is comforting and reminds you of a place once called home. I’ve come a long way to meet him- The elbow pokes you again, accompanied by a voice that reeks equally of jest and rotted beer. “You, girlie- you lost?” The marble falls into your pocket. You avert your eyes and step back, but the beer-festered man simply presses himself closer. “No, thank you, sir- If you would excuse me, I’m to meet somebody-” “No thank you and a sir!” Yellow stained teeth flash in an ugly laugh. “Well well, ain’t you the pretty polite missy! Tell you what, you an’ me can go over there and you can tell me all about your no thank yous and a sirs-” He makes a clumsy swipe for your arm. Alarmed, you try to evade his advances but the crowd presses against you, leaving no room for escape. The intoxicated man leers at you, this time making a grab for your waist. Instinctively your hands fly up, but as they do a flash of red steps in front of you, blocking the lecherous motions of the impolitic man. “Aye, not so fast,” the red speaks. You blink and find yourself staring at the backside of a fearsomely tall woman. Her hair flows over her shoulders like a scarlet river; in the bright heat of the day, the colour only enhances the austerity of her stance. She looks down at the man. “Let’s not get carried away here, shall we? We wouldn’t want to have to escort you out, now.” Her voice is mild but carries with it the promise of following through with whatever escort method she has in mind. The man, on the other hand, is too far gone to tell a sparrow apart from a seagull. “You want to throw me out? I’m a paying customer, I’m what keeps your business runnin’, you don’t do that to a good customer like me-” “We’ll survive,” the woman says smoothly. “Now, are you going to leave, or do I have to ask again?” He opens and closes his mouth like a gaping fish, too slow to answer in a witting manner. Beside him the crowd mills about in all different directions, pushing carelessly past you and the red-haired lady, creating a momentum that causes the man to sway gracelessly on his feet. “Aye, not worth it.” He spits in a last-ditch attempt to recover his dignity, but the effect is ruined when the nicotine-stained spittle lands on his shoe. “Wouldn’t want to dirty my hands anyways… Buncha hoors…” He swaggers off into the crowd, leaving behind the stench of partially-digested beer and abhorrent body odour. The woman shakes her head. "Drunks," she says dismissively. "Always at every show. Like fleas you can't shake off a dog." She sweeps her eyes over your hunched form. “Look after yourself, girl. It’s not always this easy getting rid of the bastards.” “Wait!” you blurt out when she turns to leave. At this close of a distance you’re able to recognize her military jacket and training boots. “You were in the show earlier, weren’t you? With the lions?” “Aye, that was me. I train the animals here.” “Then…” Hesitation catches your voice but you shake it off. You’ve come too far a ways to act shy now. “Could I ask you to take me to the ringmaster?” She cocks an eyebrow. “The ringmaster isn’t partial to visitors,” she informs. “He prefers to remain undisturbed when he’s working.” “Please, I must ask him something.” “And what might that be?” “There’s somebody I need to find.” Your voice comes out in a whisper, but you know the woman has heard it from the way she crosses her arms and studies your expression. A little girl bumps into you, nearly dropping her ice cream cone on your feet, but you don’t dare look away from the lion tamer. Perhaps she is convinced by what she sees in your face, because she drops her hands. “Alright, come with me. I’ll take you to see the ringmaster.” I’ve waited a very long time to see him. Please. ------- She leads you to a quiet area behind the grand tent. A caravan is there, so silent and still that it looks tantamount to the giant oak it stands beside. The carnival bustles with life around it, but somehow, somehow, it feels as though not even the sounds of the circus can penetrate the caravan walls. The lion tamer tells you to wait and slips through the door. You tug at the loose threads of your jacket, trying to calm your restless mind. The jacket is frayed more so than your nerves, but you think that your state of anxiety isn’t too far from catching up. What seems like an eternity passes before the woman reemerges from the van. “Go on, then,” she says, shooing you inside. “The ringmaster will see you now. But keep in mind, girl, he’s a busy person. Try to keep your questions nice and quick, alright?” Inside it is dim, illuminated only by a lamp and the odd candle here and there. It’s not very big but the sparsity of furniture creates an illusion of enhanced space. A dressing mirror, a small bookshelf, a writing desk. The sounds outside are muffled, making you feel disjointed from the peculiar world you had just stepped out of. A lone man sits at the desk, jotting notes with a slender quill. Black top hat, black mask, black coat. An extension of the shadows residing in the caravan. He dips his quill in ink and scratches at the parchment before speaking. "Who are you and what business do you have in my carnival?" "I'm looking for somebody-" The ringmaster waves his quill impatiently. "So I’ve been told. But that doesn't answer my question: who are you?" You tell him your name and he repeats it. "No surname?" You shake your head. “No surname,” you echo, and it sounds hollow even to your own ears. The feather pauses as a pair of dark eyes observes you from behind the mask. But the silence only lasts for a handful of seconds, and soon the quill resumes the task at hand. Scratch-scratch-scratch. “Who is it you need to find?” Outside, a group of children shrieks with delight at the troupe of dancing bears. You swallow nervously and continue, “His name is Taehyung. I think he might have joined your carnival seven years ago. He intended to work here as an acrobat. He… I watched the show earlier but didn’t see anybody who could have been him, so I was hoping you could tell me if he was here or not.” The ringmaster makes no comment but you think that he listens to you with no ill intent. Feeling emboldened by his interest, you add, “It’s very important that I find him. Please, sir, I wouldn’t be wasting your time if it-” “He’s not here,” the hatted man cuts you off. Scratch-scratch-scratch. “There is no person here who goes by that name.” The curt nature of his reply takes you aback. “Oh,” you say after a moment. “Are… Are you sure?” “Quite.” He shuffles his papers, dips his pen into the murky pot, and continues his work. “I am the ringmaster. It’s my duty to know the name and face of everybody who comes to join my carnival.” “Oh,” you repeat, only this time it’s fainter. The word trembles in the air before vanishing like candle smoke. Why are you here? I am looking for someone. It’s very important. I must find him. Can you help me find him? The ringmaster, it seems, also knows how to interpret certain silences, because he soon answers in kind. “For what reason do you seek him?” “I owe him something,” you say. Your throat has become dry, and the words come out in a raspy half-whisper. “And I’d like to give it to him as soon as possible.” He sets down his pen. Hands fold together on the scratched surface of the desk, and for the first time you notice that he’s wearing gloves. Satin cloth, the colour of ivory, melded perfectly with his hands like a second set of skin. “As I’ve said, there’s nobody like that here. Perhaps you’ve come to the wrong carnival.” You press your arms against your sides. Crushed by the weight, the marble digs into your hipbone from its hideaway in the pocket. The pain is not unbearable but it is sharp and clear, and it fills you with a renewed sense of resolution. You clear your throat. “May I stay anyway? Please. I’ve come a very long way. I can’t go back until I find him.” He regards you for the briefest of minutes. The ringmaster, the mastermind behind this whimsical land, the biggest enigma the carnival has to offer. He picks up his quill and resumes his writing. Scratch-scratch-scratch-scratch. “Do as you will. Our doors are open to everybody who wishes to enter.” ------- “Taehyung?” Twigs snap underneath your footsteps, but not a voice breathes back as you tread deeper into the forest. "Taehyung? Are you here?" You shriek and stumble backwards when a figure suddenly drops down in front of you. “Taehyung! You idiot, you almost gave me a heart attack!” "Sorry, sorry," he laughs. He raises his palms in a gesture of apology. “I thought you knew I was up there. Didn’t you see me go up?” “No, I didn’t. The branches are too thick to see a monkey like you climbing up.” You peer at the treetops. Even the lowest branch is high, too far from the ground for a normal person to jump gracefully down. After ten years you still don’t understand how Taehyung does it. At the age of seventeen he should be lumbering around with two left feet, just like the other boys who run and trip through the town streets like a group of trolls. When you tell him this, he only looks pleased. “Didn’t you know? I was born to fly.” And you can’t really argue with that. Because, if there is one thing you could say without any hesitation whatsoever, it is exactly that. “Someday I’m going to fly in the grand tent,” he was constantly saying. “I’ll perform for people all over the world and they’ll be amazed, you’ll see.” And you didn’t doubt him for a second. Taehyung was born with the sky at his feet, destined to fly just as Icarus once did over the sea. Except Taehyung doesn’t have bronze wings, and there is nobody to warn him not to get too close to the sun. No, Taehyung only has you, and it hurts to think of how he’s not even aware of it. Blonde hair flops over his eyes, tousled by his short freefall from the tree. He pushes it back absentmindedly and asks, “Anyway, what are you doing here? I thought you were going to help the kids with their studies.” You ignore the splinter in your chest and point to the direction from which you had appeared. “The kitchen is a mess. The boys got into an accident and spilled flour everywhere. The matron wants us to come inside and clean it.” “Never a dull moment in that place, I’ll give her that.” Taehyung grimaces. “I don’t see why we have to bother with cleaning, though. It’s still a dump even on its best days.” “It’s not a dump,” you say automatically, although you understand perfectly where he’s coming from. “It may not be the best place to live but the orphanage is our home until-” “Until somebody, by some miracle, decides we’re worth keeping, I know,” he finishes with a groan. He runs his fingers through his hair again before offering you a hand. “Alright, then. Let’s get going before the witch shrieks at us.” You scowl at him, feigning disapproval at his language, but you take his hand anyway. He grips yours in return- a habit the two of you have kept since childhood- and his palm is calloused from years of swinging from trees, but it’s warm and strong and god, you hope that he can’t hear how loudly your heart is pounding. He grins at you. So familiar and heartbreaking to look at, but it’s the only thing that has kept you from yielding to misery throughout the years. “Come on, let’s go home.”

------- "Just because I brought you here, girl, doesn’t mean you can hang about as you please.” You glance up to see none other than the woman who had rescued you the day before. Her words are reprimanding but her eyes are crinkled into a smile. Today her fiery hair is pulled back in a ponytail, allowing the sun to cast shadows from her cheekbones. Fumbling to your feet, you try not to trip over the roots of the oak tree. "I'm sorry, I know I'm not allowed back here. But I dropped something in front of the popcorn stand and it rolled underneath the caravan." You unfurl your dirtied fist to reveal a little golden sphere. "A marble?" She peers down. "You were digging in the dirt for a wee marble?" "It's not just any marble," you explain as you stuff the tiny glass back into your pocket. "It's special. Somebody gave it to me long ago and I've had it ever since." You want to thank her for her help the other day, but the words are lost as you become distracted by the flutter of black cloth. The ringmaster is standing behind you, regarding you with a look of barely-there interest. “Excuse me,” he says, and you scramble aside. He nods in acknowledgement at the animal trainer and sweeps inside his caravan. And that’s it- there are no hellos or good days or if you haven’t found your missing friend, I’m afraid you will have to leave. You twist your fingers when the door clicks shut. “He won’t kick me out, will he? I have no money left to pay for tickets or-” The lion tamer stops you with a shake of the head. “Don’t worry about him. He may look like a fright but he means well. He looks after us, see? The carnival isn’t just a business, girl, it’s a family. We all accept each other here without asking questions. The ringmaster knows more than anyone what it’s like to have people you love and want to protect, even if they’re not with you anymore.” And that’s why you’re still here, is what she doesn’t say. You realize that the carnival folk are a lot more perceptive than they seem. They occupy a whimsical wonderland that looks senseless from the surface, but within this world are people who become family through nature, who forge bonds that overlook namesake and run deeper than blood. It’s the kind of family Taehyung would have wanted, you think. She begins to saunter towards the performers’ tent, but not before nodding at your pocket. "Best keep that close to you. You wouldn't want it to roll under the lion cage next time." “I will,” you answer, although by the time you speak the lady is long gone. “This is the last thing I’d ever want to lose.” ------- Crossing your arms, you tap your foot to an impatient beat. “Come on,” you complain, doing your best impression of a one-legged drum dance, “We have to go, it’s almost dinnertime. Do you want to eat leftover rolls again?” “Just give me five more minutes, and I promise we’ll leave.” Taehyung’s voice is muffled as he continues to search through the grass. When you give no reply, he looks back at you and crinkles his face. “Come on, have I ever broken a promise to you before?” “... No,” you admit grudgingly. “Exactly. So stop complaining and let me- Aha! I knew I’d find it here!” In a flash he’s scrambled to his feet and standing before you, holding out a fist with an air of undisguised triumph. You look at him dubiously, but he only urges you to hold out your own hand. “Go on, it’s a gift for you. I meant to give it earlier but I thought I’d lost it. I hadn’t realized it’d fallen from my pocket.” You peer at the object he’s dropped into your palm. “Your old marble?” you say dubiously. It’s a glass ball about the size of a button, with air bubbles and golden flakes that make it look like a bite-sized galaxy. “Not my ‘old’ marble,” Taehyung scolds, flicking your nose. “It’s my lucky marble. When I have this I always land on my feet, no matter where I’m jumping from. But I’m better at landing now than I was before, so I’m giving it to you. It’ll keep you safe. Make sure to keep it close, or I’ll get mad at you.” “And if I lose it?” you joke. “Then I’ll really get mad. Don’t forget, it’s a gift from me. If you lose it it’d be like losing your best friend,” he warns. It’s easy to tell that the little glass means quite the lot to him, because Taehyung hardly ever gets this serious about anything. Warmth floods your insides and you cradle your hand, clutching protectively at your newfound treasure. “In that case, I’d better keep a good hold on it. Thank you, Taehyung.” He smiles but says nothing in return. There are times when Taehyung does nothing but chatter and laugh and fill up the quiet, but there are also moments when the two of you can understand every i and every t without having to say them aloud. Which is why, as you begin walking back to the house together, you know the reason behind his lagging steps. “You don’t need to tell me,” you say when he opens his mouth. “I already know.” He stops mid-step but you continue walking. You only make it three steps before he catches you by the sleeve. “We’ll both be turning eighteen soon,” he says quietly. “They won’t have any obligation to keep us after that. Have you thought about what you’re going to do then?” When you say nothing, he adds, “In two weeks’ time the carnival will arrive in town. You know I’ll have to leave with them but... Won’t you at least consider coming with me? It may be a risk but it’ll be one worth taking, I’m sure of it. Think of all the excitement there, all of the adventures we could have. We have no place here, anyway.” I could stay to look after the children, you want to argue, and you could stay, too. Then we would have our place. You want to resent him for thinking about a future without you in it. It’s always been you and Taehyung, Taehyung and you, fending off whatever hardship or hatred the world has thrown your way. How can he be so selfish, you think, wanting to leave you here all alone while he goes off trapezing on his worldly adventures? How can he be okay with that? And almost immediately that animosity turns on itself. Because, how could you be the selfish one and ask him to stay? How could you ever chain down your Icarus, when all he wanted to do was fly next to the sun? The marble lies in your grip, a small, delicate thing, but suddenly it feels as though you are carrying the weight of a thousand burning suns. ------- The heat is unbearable. The sun is unforgiving during your fifth day at the carnival. It’s angry, harsh, hot enough to scorch grass and scare away a good number of the usual entertainment-seekers. The torch juggler sets aside his routine for the day and the animals pant, lie on their sides, anything to escape the burden of the blistering heat. The lion show is one of the carnival’s most anticipated attractions, but when the beasts refuse to budge from their shaded cages the ringmaster cancels their scheduled acts. As a result, patrons drift away in a sea of disgruntlement after the acrobats finish their show, and the grand tent is left empty by mid-morning. Empty is a good word for it. The seats are empty, the stage is empty. Ticket stubs and popcorn kernels litter the ground, a half-hearted tribute to everything the circus has to offer, but the fun and thrills are the last thing on your mind as you sit alone in the front row seats. Today, the grand tent does not burst with the excitement of cartwheeling clowns or booming music. It only feels defeated, mournful, as though it has lost something precious and has no way of gaining it back. Empty. “The show is finished for the day. The animal acts will resume tomorrow.” Somebody slips into the seat beside you. Although you know who it is, you raise your head like an automated machine. The ringmaster returns your gaze with a steady stare of his own. He’s dressed in his usual top hat and mask, but somehow appears unbothered by the insufferable heat. “I’m sorry,” you say after a pause. “I just wanted to sit here for a bit.” “The tent is closed to visitors after performances end,” he reminds you, but his tone is less reprimanding than it is thoughtful. Your gaze drifts around the deserted stage. “Do you want me to leave?” You can feel the ringmaster’s eyes boring into the side of your face. “I doubt you have anywhere to go.” His tone is so mild that you can hardly take offense to his words. At any rate, he’s right. You have no real home, no family. The person you're looking for is nowhere to be found, and you have no money for the train back to where you came from. No home, no money, no family, no friends. Empty, with no way of gaining back what is lost. As if sensing your grief, the ringmaster speaks abruptly. “Tell me about this person you’re looking for.” He’s studying you through his mask but you can’t tell whether he is asking out of curiosity or kindness. It may be a combination of both, or it may simply be neither. Either way, it hardly matters. His words do nothing to ease the loneliness that cracks your insides. Does anything exist in this world, you wonder, that can heal this feeling? Memories, perhaps, but your memories are old and mock your intentions. They taste vaguely bittersweet when you think back on your past, to the days spent with your precious friend. To when you and he would parade around town, pretending that your home existed somewhere outside of the orphanage. To when you would lie on the grass together side-by-side, laughing at the clouds and humming at the touch of the sun. “See that?” he would sometimes say, tracing the outline of the fluffy whites with his fingertips. “Someday I’ll fly high enough reach those. I’ll jump so high up that even the birds will be jealous of me." And then he would turn to you and smile that beautiful smile of his. You remember it as clear as crystal rain, blissful and innocent and simply so full of Taehyung, and suddenly it feels as though the weight of the ragged world has settled on your chest. You’re miles and miles away from the place that’s supposed to be home, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as when you think about Taehyung. Nothing could ever hurt more than when you think about him. You realize that the ringmaster is waiting for an answer. He looks at you expectantly, so you rapidly blink out the hurt in your eyes. Slowly you begin. “He came to the orphanage four months after I did. We were both young and alone, scorned by the world, but it wasn’t until I saw him swinging from the laundry rope one day that we began speaking to each other.” Yet another memory dedicated to your freefalling boy, but this time you can feel your lips twitching into a wry grin. “It was my turn to wash the bedsheets, but the rope snapped and he fell into the water basin. I don’t think he realized that it wasn’t meant to hold up seven year old boys. The matron found us and we both had our dinners taken away as punishment. But I wasn’t angry at him. He apologized by sneaking me bread from the kitchen. I thought that was very kind of him. We ended up sharing the food and finding better places for him to swing from the next day.” You peek at the ringmaster. He says nothing as he listens to your story, but his presence is comforting. It somehow gives you the strength to say aloud what has been haunting you throughout the years. You spread your hands out in front of you. “Taehyung could fly. It was his dream to be an acrobat. There was a forest close to where we lived, so he practiced swinging from tree branches whenever he had the chance. Every time he jumped the clouds reached out to kiss him. The birds loved him, the sky loved him… I loved him.” Glancing at the ringmaster, you add, “Your carnival came to our town just before we turned eighteen. The matron refused to take us and we didn’t have any money to go on our own, but Taehyung never stopped talking about it. He was always saying how he was going to join one someday, so when you came it was like a wish come true for him." "And you ended up following in his footsteps, looking for him," the ringmaster finishes for you. "But as I said before, he isn't at this carnival. So why haven’t you left?" You suspect he is curious rather than angry about your extended visit. In any case you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. "I'll keep looking until I find him." "That doesn't answer my question. Why are you still here?" A perfectly valid question which calls for a perfectly valid answer. But when you try to search for the right one, the words evade your grasp, as slippery and elusive as water, and when they fall away you make no attempt to call them back. You brush away a ticket stub clinging to your coat hem. "Because maybe I'm afraid of what I'll find." You make it halfway to the exit when he calls after you. “What is it?” “I’m sorry?” You look over your shoulder. The ringmaster is still seated where you left him, but he makes no move to hurry after you. With his mask and black coat, he looks remarkably similar to how he first appeared- as a shadow, blending in quietly with the backdrop of the grand tent, watching and observing the tears and cries and cheers of the audience. “You said before that you owed him something,” he clarifies once he sees that he has gained your attention. “What is it that you owe him?” It had always been Taehyung who was the brave one. He had no qualms about teasing the younger children or defying the matron’s oppressive rules, no fears about leaping from heights that would make a grown man shake in his boots. But now, you can’t help but think that he would be proud of you and the way you respond to the ringmaster’s question, a confident answer that rings out with only the slightest hint of a quaver at the end. “A goodbye.”

#taehyung scenarios #bts scenarios #bts taehyung #bangtan scenarios #taehyung

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