sweat it out.

GRIEF IS A RED HELL.

YOU DON’T WALK OUT OF IT THE SAME.

independent. low activity. semi-selective. plot-heavy VI from arcane. written by itchy (they/them). i don’t play league and i’m not taking any inspiration from the game.

please read my rules.

if we’re mutuals, i take it that you’re interested in plotting with me and that i may reach out with ideas.

compulsive-virtuoso   //   “ Most people in the workplace try to kill me so… you’re a nice change of pace. “   —   spiderverse.

i’m placing this blog on a temporary semi-hiatus. there’s a lot of future-of-my-life stuff i haven’t dealt with yet that i need to sort out in the immediate future asap.

i love all of you and want to write with you all. i simply don’t have the energy or time to do so right now.

@malediictus​   //   "are you a ghost? are you a zombie? am i a zombie?"   —   spiderverse.

“no, you’re—” she cuts off, a laugh escaping as jinx barrels on with the phrase. it’s familiar, in a way it shouldn’t be after all these years. it is as though powder is still here, a sensitive, optimistic kid. a part of vi wants to do the show, sticking her arms out to mime the zombie shamble, patting powder’s cheeks with clipped nails, moaning about brains. but that is a kids’ pantomime, and the look in jinx’s eyes warns vi against it—canny and cunning despite its vulnerability. and there is a great deal of vulnerability there, in the wide eyes, the whispered voice. it doesn’t get any easier to jinx to believe. each time they cross paths, vi is a specter. not just a dead girl, but something deeper.

the laugh dies. will vi ever not be invisible, dead, reanimated? “you’re not a zombie.” it is the part she knows how to address.

she takes a moment, thinks, considers wrapping her arms around powder—jinx—powder. it doesn’t get easier.

“you want a code word or something? to show that it’s really me?” speaking to her like a kid: cut it, cut it. there is so much of jinx that vi doesn’t know, so much that, because of the lost years, she will never be able to know. when you lose growing up next to someone, no matter what you learn, it will never come back. 

what flavor is your soul?

salt

ah little kraken, bold are you. restless sailor, dauntless fighter, lower your sword, let me see your shield. ah, of course, they are but the same object. oh wave-tossed ruffian, lend me some of your mettle would you? you have been struck by the sharpest of spears yet you still stand here proudly. but off your guard, elsewhere of the battlefield, you will find your spirit can parch others. your words are but weapons crafted from your soul. little lion, sheathe your claws, or the ones you love the most will suffer. you do not have to be strong all the time love, there's nothing wrong with being soft. vulnerability is not weakness, and if it were, what's wrong with that? strength is not always your greatest tool, your heart is good. put down excalibur, and use your words. you'll find they will carry you much farther. not everything in life is a battle.

@6cious​   //   ❛ why does it feel like this is goodbye? ❜   —   hit me where it hurts.

“goddamn. i know what you’re doing.”

they’re on the landing outside the bedroom they share with powder and the boys, whispering so low and so intently that even the walls can swallow the sounds of their voices. chatter from the last drop trickles down the stairs through a barely cracked door, which brings with it the promise of privacy. it’s something v couldn’t have gotten away with, sneaking out like they had with their old stuffie and a hand in powder’s hair; the twins read each other easier than anything, know when the other is hiding something. and this is too big to keep down.

“and why you’re doing it. you think you have to; i thought about doing it myself. but you don’t have to, you shouldn’t, i—i can. they need you.” vi steps forward and punches v’s chest, hard, letting her arm go loose the moment she makes contact. “you don’t—” fist against v’s chest “—have—” and again “—to do this.”

she wants to ask, aren’t you scared? but it’s a silly question; of course he’s scared. and it’s a stupid question, because it’s hard enough to talk about things like that, even in snatched moments, when v’s shoulders aren’t so tense you could light a match off them.

vi can’t stop them. not just for their stubbornness, though that would be enough to settle the matter on its own, but because a few yards away powder is depending on them. because vander sat the two of them down and told them about responsibility, and things could go so wrong if topside doesn’t get its due.

“asshole,” she says instead, emphatically.

she pulls v into a hug, deeper and tighter than any hug she can remember. she breathes the undercity stink of him, feels the brush of their hair against her cheek, and curls her hands into fists as they’re wrapped around his back. part of her wants to say don’t go—most of her does—but he is trying so hard to be brave and she doesn’t want to crack that. be safe, she could say, but it’s hollow in the back of her throat.