[ Prompt: Break ] Changing Seasons (TWST)
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fandomocweeklyFandoms: Twisted Wonderland
Characters: Fafnir Starweaver (OC)
Rating: Teen
Words: 875
Prompts: Break forfandomocweekly and ficwip's Level Up challenge!
Summary: After waking up from his coma and adjusting to a new "normal", Fafnir takes to his journal to jot down his thoughts.
Notes: Originally posted to AO3 on 5/3/24 and now being archived here! Using "break" since Fafnir is up at em from his coma and his giving himself a break for once HDSJKHDJKS Original Notes: Never written first person POV before, so wanted to try my hand at it with one of my OCs! Enjoy! (Also crossposted to my journal!)
****
The first thing they don’t tell you about being in a coma is how disorienting it can be.
To you, the person in the coma, it feels like you’ve just settled in for a nap after a long day and have given up all of your senses in favor of a well-deserved rest. For the people who love you, however, there’s a hole in the shape of you left waiting to be filled, not knowing if it ever would be again.
It’s such a jarring experience to be trapped inside your own body, unable to be apart of the life you once knew. Sometimes you swear you hear their voices calling out to you, but in such a state, who can readily discern distant dreams from reality?
With as intelligent as I am in a variety of things, an overblot is the one thing that eluded me. I was foolish enough to think I could control such volatile power for my own selfish reasons, and it led to me losing so much time. Time I could’ve spent with my newfound family, time better spent finding a healthy way to process the grief that came with those we’ve lost. In my madness I became obsessed with creating a better world, a perfect world where we would never have to experience loss or despair, and look where it got me: floating endlessly in a sea of pitch black uncertainty that I wasn’t sure I’d escape from. The more I look back on it, the more it seems like a nightmare of my own creation. Drowning my sorrows in a bottle of wine would have been a better, albeit unhealthy solution, rather than forcefully becoming an indisposed bystander.
I have no one to blame but myself.
For Lilia, the first to greet me when I finally awakened, I knew it was years of torment diguised as ‘making the best of it’. He was forced to raise our boys alone. Lack of experience be damned, I had no doubt he would raise them well—if the Zigvolts had anything to say about it, they would’ve raised Silver themselves—but to know that I could’ve been there to alleviate the stress? Be there to share in the highs and lows of raising the children I so desperately wanted? It haunts me. He’s told me more than once that he doesn’t blame me for what happened, said that he ‘couldn’t see my tree in the forest of the problems’, but it was also on me to have known better. In between losing my mother, fathers, sister, and brothers before losing Maleanor and Levan alongside them, we’d already lost enough. My sorrows sought to only add weight to our spiral of misery.
I’m reminded of the last image I saw before waking up: my family. As tearful a reunion as it was, to think that they could still sing my praises and cheer me on after all I’d done—I suppose I should stop being so hard on myself. Just the thought of my mother pinching my ear as I try to wallow in self-pity is enough to send a chill down my spine, but with such a memory brings hope for the future.
I know blaming myself after it is all said and done is a foolish endeavor, and that I should press forward to salvage what I have now, though if I could go back—oh, if I could go back. The life I could’ve lived—ah, there I am again, babbling on in this journal whose pages can barely contain my words. Poor thing. I can only imagine just how heavy my troubles weighs on these pages.
I suppose If I am to recover from my failings, I’ll have to remind myself that this, this present day with all of its changes, are the ‘new normal’. It feels similar to the ‘old normal’—if it’s even right to call it that, all things considered—just with a few adjustments due to the hole I unfortunately left behind.
Instead of wallowing in the ‘hole’, I can fill it with fresh flowers instead.
I’ve often told people that everyone deserve a chance to begin anew, to rise from the ashes of their mistakes and forge ahead. In the words of my dear husband, it may be time to take my own advice.
The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with yet another beautiful day. Even though those we have lost are not here to greet the new day with us, we will press on, for those we have lost. For those we can yet save.
I love you, mother. I love you, my dear fathers. I love you, Zenith. I love you, Basil. I love you, Nebula. I love you, Maleanor. I love you, Levan. Thank you for being our guiding light in the darkness.
My first order of business after airing out thoughts and adjusting to Night Raven’s uniform will be to keep Lilia out of the kitchen at all costs. He’s never been a very good cook, sure, but I will not lose the Diasomnia kitchen in a horrific blaze because he wants to boil water for tea. It’s troublesome work, but someone has to do it!
Characters: Fafnir Starweaver (OC)
Rating: Teen
Words: 875
Prompts: Break for
fandomocweekly and ficwip's Level Up challenge!Summary: After waking up from his coma and adjusting to a new "normal", Fafnir takes to his journal to jot down his thoughts.
Notes: Originally posted to AO3 on 5/3/24 and now being archived here! Using "break" since Fafnir is up at em from his coma and his giving himself a break for once HDSJKHDJKS Original Notes: Never written first person POV before, so wanted to try my hand at it with one of my OCs! Enjoy! (Also crossposted to my journal!)
The first thing they don’t tell you about being in a coma is how disorienting it can be.
To you, the person in the coma, it feels like you’ve just settled in for a nap after a long day and have given up all of your senses in favor of a well-deserved rest. For the people who love you, however, there’s a hole in the shape of you left waiting to be filled, not knowing if it ever would be again.
It’s such a jarring experience to be trapped inside your own body, unable to be apart of the life you once knew. Sometimes you swear you hear their voices calling out to you, but in such a state, who can readily discern distant dreams from reality?
With as intelligent as I am in a variety of things, an overblot is the one thing that eluded me. I was foolish enough to think I could control such volatile power for my own selfish reasons, and it led to me losing so much time. Time I could’ve spent with my newfound family, time better spent finding a healthy way to process the grief that came with those we’ve lost. In my madness I became obsessed with creating a better world, a perfect world where we would never have to experience loss or despair, and look where it got me: floating endlessly in a sea of pitch black uncertainty that I wasn’t sure I’d escape from. The more I look back on it, the more it seems like a nightmare of my own creation. Drowning my sorrows in a bottle of wine would have been a better, albeit unhealthy solution, rather than forcefully becoming an indisposed bystander.
I have no one to blame but myself.
For Lilia, the first to greet me when I finally awakened, I knew it was years of torment diguised as ‘making the best of it’. He was forced to raise our boys alone. Lack of experience be damned, I had no doubt he would raise them well—if the Zigvolts had anything to say about it, they would’ve raised Silver themselves—but to know that I could’ve been there to alleviate the stress? Be there to share in the highs and lows of raising the children I so desperately wanted? It haunts me. He’s told me more than once that he doesn’t blame me for what happened, said that he ‘couldn’t see my tree in the forest of the problems’, but it was also on me to have known better. In between losing my mother, fathers, sister, and brothers before losing Maleanor and Levan alongside them, we’d already lost enough. My sorrows sought to only add weight to our spiral of misery.
I’m reminded of the last image I saw before waking up: my family. As tearful a reunion as it was, to think that they could still sing my praises and cheer me on after all I’d done—I suppose I should stop being so hard on myself. Just the thought of my mother pinching my ear as I try to wallow in self-pity is enough to send a chill down my spine, but with such a memory brings hope for the future.
I know blaming myself after it is all said and done is a foolish endeavor, and that I should press forward to salvage what I have now, though if I could go back—oh, if I could go back. The life I could’ve lived—ah, there I am again, babbling on in this journal whose pages can barely contain my words. Poor thing. I can only imagine just how heavy my troubles weighs on these pages.
I suppose If I am to recover from my failings, I’ll have to remind myself that this, this present day with all of its changes, are the ‘new normal’. It feels similar to the ‘old normal’—if it’s even right to call it that, all things considered—just with a few adjustments due to the hole I unfortunately left behind.
Instead of wallowing in the ‘hole’, I can fill it with fresh flowers instead.
I’ve often told people that everyone deserve a chance to begin anew, to rise from the ashes of their mistakes and forge ahead. In the words of my dear husband, it may be time to take my own advice.
The rains have ceased, and we have been graced with yet another beautiful day. Even though those we have lost are not here to greet the new day with us, we will press on, for those we have lost. For those we can yet save.
I love you, mother. I love you, my dear fathers. I love you, Zenith. I love you, Basil. I love you, Nebula. I love you, Maleanor. I love you, Levan. Thank you for being our guiding light in the darkness.
My first order of business after airing out thoughts and adjusting to Night Raven’s uniform will be to keep Lilia out of the kitchen at all costs. He’s never been a very good cook, sure, but I will not lose the Diasomnia kitchen in a horrific blaze because he wants to boil water for tea. It’s troublesome work, but someone has to do it!
