#*not* tomorrow though. i am taking a break from posting art everyday. want to write some instead that just always takes me longer :p

[maemil]

Bonus Day - Alternate Universe

Technically following starwarssapphicweek's day 7 prompt, I just really wanted to do some star wars mermaids for MerMay, even if sapphic week is over (and it's never the wrong time to post barrissoka)

[ID: A pencil drawing of Ahsoka Tano and Barriss Offee as mermaids holding hands. Ahsoka's tail is striped like her lekku, and she has fins in the same shape as the markings on her cheeks. Her lekku are floating in the water. Barriss' tail has lines all down it like her shirt does and her fins are black diamonds, like her tattoos. She wears a swimming hijab patterned like her normal hood.]

[rokutouxei]

in a way that would make you proud

bungou stray dogs dazai osamu (& oda sakunosuke) | T | 2913 | [ao3]

warnings: post-canon, alcohol, dazai-typical suicide references, implied/referenced self-harm, oda is still dead, also everything is in lowercase. spoilers for dark era / 黒の時代.

notes: this was supposed to be for dazai’s birthday, but i started it way too late. i didn’t want to rush it, so i took a week to write it and now it’s just a long angsty love letter from me to him (in a way.) + first bsd fic so i wanted to make a good impression LOL

summary:

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 23. hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15. everyday he would wake up wondering (hoping? believing?) that he’d be dead the next day. he never really does. alternatively: june 19th, every year, just feels like a long, long night.

-

(midnight.)

dazai doesn’t celebrate his birthdays, at least in his head. it’s just another likely-humid day in the country’s short rainy season. every birthday is just another reminder, no, a testament to a year of failed attempts to take his own life. it’s miserable at the worst. today, it’s just numb. he doesn’t even wake up feeling any different.

but he doesn’t let that train of thought stop everyone around him for celebrating for him.

dazai considers, for the first few minutes after waking up, skipping work altogether. it’s not going to be surprising, or anything new from him, really. and an earful from kunikida is just going to be cheap fun for the next day. but as dawn slowly gave way to the sun, he figured dealing with the pleasantries (as in, the “surprise” party that had stopped being a surprise a week ago) and sitting in his office chair would make him feel a little more put-together, at least more than just lying in his futon with his new roommate, a growing stack of empty cans of ready-to-eat crab.

dazai sighs, shuffles out of his bed, hearing the imaginary shackles that bind him there clink around.

(one o’clock am)

besides, the members of the armed detective agency think of themselves a small family at best, and for families, birthdays are special. (dazai hums this to himself on his way to work, like it’s a fact he’s learned, not a lived experience.) he’s spent the past two years carving himself a spot in this mismatched little group, and even if his space feels just as impermanent as anything he’s ever wanted, it’s still a place. he isn’t going to lose all that hard work over a random day.

budget is tight this quarter, but when he gets to the office, he’s welcomed with, salad, karaage… and even crab! there’s no alcohol because kunikida is too strait-laced for that and he insists there’s still work to be done. dazai whines and makes complaints, as everyone expects him to.

most of his colleagues have small gifts for him, like an orange from kenji, a candy from ranpo (quickly taken back), his favorite bandages from yosano… nothing really spectacular. kunikida gets him nothing, but the wordless glance they share with each other says otherwise.

atsushi feels indebted to his mentor, so he splurges to get him something nice: a scarf. which is hilarious, to say the least, considering it’s basically summer, but since scarves are off-season they are cheaper, and that’s the only way atsushi can afford something as stunning and high-quality as this—a nice thick cotton one in a deep blue shade. he passes the credit to kyouka for choosing which to get and for wrapping it nicely.

dazai’s eyes flicker with something for a moment before it’s gone. he thanks them with as much heart as he can muster, then does his usual dramatics. asks if the scarf is sturdy enough to hang himself with.

atsushi begs him please don’t and dazai feels something squeeze in his heart.

after the feast, the rest of the day goes as it usually does: dazai smiles and makes jokes and laughs and drives kunikida batshit insane. it’s just a normal day at the armed detective agency office.

just not for dazai.

(two o’clock am)

a work day is still a work day, though, and there’s no getting away from kunikida even on “personal holidays.” there are reports to be written and things to be followed up. dazai isn’t being efficient about it, but he still does his share—at least enough so that it’s even a bit fair for his begrudging partner, who is always gentler to him on this particular day.

an extra serving of patience—that’s what kunikida always gives him on his birthday. and even on this year, dazai’s quick to claim it; two hours before the work day officially ends, he’s already packing up to leave.

not that kunikida’s screaming will really stop him, but it feels a little better when dazai can afford to leave a little early with permission.

atsushi’s a little surprised no one stops dazai from leaving, but he asks no more questions when kyouka shushes him. kunikida only tsks when dazai is out of the building.

(three o’clock am)

out of the office and back into the rush of the city, dazai’s feet bring him to a beeline to that place, like on autopilot. he’s humming all the way there but his brain’s only echoing a sort of static. that is, until the imagery of sitting next to empty seats begins to burrow into the haze of his mind—and it hurts. numbness is okay, but pain? it hurts the same way squeezing into old shoes that no longer fit you does.

and dazai hates it.

so he steels himself, says, no one’s there anymore, insists, there is nothing to come back to.

even if he knows he will find himself there again one day. he always, inevitably does.

but not today. that’s not where he feels safe enough to break.

this time, dazai’s a little more purposeful, a little more awake.

he drops by a liquor store to get whiskey. just goes up the aisle and picks up the first one he finds. it’s not like he’ll remember what it tastes, anyway. the cashier doesn’t make small talk. dazai smiles at them anyway.

he contemplates buying flowers, but he feels a pang of pain at gifting something that’ll die before he does.

and so he begins the long, slow walk to the seaside.

(yesterday, today, and tomorrow)

yokohama is too familiar to him now. he’s lived here too long.

every street bears his secrets. every crosswalk has a memory.

every inch of the city has a weight.

when he was still learning to maneuver the ins and outs of the city, a little boy barely filling in the hollow of his new uniform, there was darkness everywhere. everywhere he entered, everywhere he left. dazai was sure the darkness would quickly consume him.

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 22.

hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15.

every day he wakes up wondering (hoping? believing?) if he’d be dead the next day.

today, he’s 23.

odasaku died at 23.

dazai should have died at 15.

or better yet, it should have been him who died at the hands of mimic.

he’s sure.

(four o’clock am)

even if odasaku had acted of his own accord, he was still given a mafia’s burial. the details, of course, were hushed: it didn’t matter that mori had orchestrated the entire deal with gide. what mattered is that odasaku’s death had led to the granting of their prized business permit.

a piece of paper in a stupid black envelope.

in the months between the port mafia and the armed detective agency, dazai struggled to find a way to put into words what the experience left in him. it was like it was him who was shot clean through the chest. he was walking down the path the end of odasaku’s life had pointed him towards, but then what? at what cost? to what end?

his friend’s death left no trace of him, his private files burnt, the ones still useful to the mafia kept in confidential locations. (dazai knows where everything is.) to the outside world, all that was left of the man named oda sakunosuke was a headstone, on a rather beautiful gravesite on a fancy cemetery overlooking the sea.

it was dazai who overlooked all these tiny details, even while on the run, in hiding.

honor the dead, they said.

he figured it was the least he could do.

dazai always felt like he could offer too little to the only man who ever really knew him.

so now he offers it all, stumbling along the unfinished path of a dead man, even if he didn’t know where was he going with it.

“ya, odasaku.”

(ten minutes past four)

not much of anyone comes to visit this grave, really. ango, maybe, dazai bitterly thinks, but he’s gladly never had the chance to see the man here. (he hopes he never gets to.)

because this is the only place dazai truly feels quiet.

he doesn’t really stop thinking. he doesn’t know how to. there’s always too many things to consider, so much going on, and even when his brain lets go of the tangible, of the here and now, there are other things for thoughts to latch on to, like old wounds that suddenly seem fresh if dazai closes his eyes hard enough, or the phantom sensation of a noose, or the sudden realization that he’s drowning, just not in water.

dazai’s long mastered the art of keeping his forever-rushing thoughts in neat compartments. he doesn’t usually lose track of his spirals, except when he’s here.

here he counts down, 18, goodbye, 17, 16, 15, hello, he is young again, he isn’t wounded in the places that hurt when he’s alone, he is meeting odasaku for the first time. (he’s walking down the port mafia headquarters and he sees him, and something deep within him, six years away from the future, shouts: don’t! spare him! meeting you is a death sentence!)

and then he is meeting him for the last time.

like freshly pumped from a weakened heart, stuttering, begging to live, the spurting red blood is still warm. it sends those in dazai’s veins boiling. there is no rationalizing here—no amount of reason brings the dead back.

he knows that.

but dazai breathes easier when the lines are less muddled, and he can point the criminal to the judge and sentence them to death.

it was mori ougai, sir.

it was gide, sir.

it was me, sir.

it was him—it was oda sakunosuke’s fault, sir.

(it was him who pulled me out of the dark, sir. who forced me to deal with the mess we made, sir. who told me i belonged here, sir.

i don’t want to be here, sir.)

it is only here where dazai’s mask really breaks.

shatters cleanly in half, then falls down with a thump on sacred ground.

(twenty minutes past four)

dazai rests his back against the headstone, staring out at the ocean, the sunset dyeing yokohama bay a lovely vermillion. the tendrils of loneliness cling to his limbs like they’ve sprouted out of the ground, when really it’s from deep inside his heart.

only here does dazai really feel seen: his transparency only to a man buried six feet under.

dazai’s given up on it, now. it doesn’t matter that people don’t “get” him, as long as he’s able to do what he has to do. this is a luxury is long past him, now that he’s slipped into someone else’s unfulfilled dream. he’s trying to be what odasaku would have wanted himself to be.

if there’s one thing, one thing he would ask for, it’s faith: and with his subordinates’ faith comes success—and that’s all he needs.

just bargaining chips he’s collecting under his pillow as he says, “look, odasaku, i’m doing good, look, cruel god, this duty’s given my life meaning, forgive me, forgive him.”

meaning?

no, there is no meaning here, no metaphor, no hope.

just a gaping void.

(four thirty am)

the sun slips under the bay and the sky is a beautiful lavender-violet; the sea breeze makes him chill. rainclouds have begun to crawl over the horizon, hiding the moon.

dazai feels old. too old. he feels too old for someone in a body that’s only twenty-three. he never expected this body to last as long as it has. he was ready to retire at ages much younger than this. his hands crave death with the same vigor his mind races to write strategies for situations where he survives. now, he lives in a world he never expected or planned to be a part of.

he wonders if odasaku felt this exhausted when he was at this age.

all dazai does here is think. until the thoughts stop.

the cap of the whiskey bottle is screwed on tight but when it opens, the smell takes him back to bar lupin so fast that his head spins. dazai takes a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

and he was right. he can’t taste it.

only blood. the blood in his hands, the way it stained his bandages, odasaku’s dead weight, the red pooling on the floor. dazai only tastes blood in his mouth.

blood’s always been the only thing that’s filled him.

and he hated it. felt it thrumming underneath his wrist, his jugular, blood that said try as you might, you insolent mortal, you can’t die, that so many times he’s tried to wring himself dry of it.

he never does.

because if he loses his blood what else would be left in him?

odasaku once told him that the emptiness inside of him will never be filled, not by anything that he’ll ever find in this world. and odasaku was right—dazai knew. dazai knew long before he was told. no amount of money, no amount of power, no amount of whatever will get him out of the edge of the cliff he was dangling on.

for a moment, dazai wonders if odasaku knew and was so sure of it because odasaku was aware he was taking it away with him.

whatever “it” was.

(the sun begins to paint the sky violet)

dazai remembers an afternoon a million years ago when the hollow in his heart didn’t have the shape of oda sakunosuke’s hands. ozaki kouyou was teaching two jittery fifteen-year-olds about literature.

well, just one, but dazai’s really only there because he wanted to mess with chuuya, and kouyou spotted him first.

with not a single year of formal education on chuuya’s back, kouyou’s work with him was nearly tenfold. she was tasked not only to refine his abilities (he’s good, but he can be better, a touch of elegance will not hurt), but also teach him other valuable skills.

being part of the organization, after all, was not just about violence and murder.

dazai knew that. chuuya was yet to learn it.

arithmetic and history and science—the redhead had tutors for that. but literature, kouyou had taken into her hands.

it’s not the text itself, or the language and vocabulary, she said, what we’re honing here is critical thinking, and the bits of philosophical thought to be picked up that’ll shape you into a brilliant mafioso in the future. pretty words, dazai thought. she sipped tea while chuuya read. she tapped his back with a fan when his posture broke and he began to slouch.

chuuya read the books religiously, without complaint (at least not in front of kouyou). dazai never really understood all this. he let his mind wander. why didn’t she just let the boy read war strategy books—the kind mori made him devour? oh, but chuuya wasn’t really a strategist, and well, he’s obedient, that’s why he’s a dog—

the silence of the afternoon was broken by chuuya getting up to ask about a phrase he didn’t understand. kouyou smiled in a way that left dazai unsettled. and somehow, that afternoon was burned into dazai’s memory like it was something he mustn’t forget.

the phrase was 無我夢中.

to be totally absorbed in something, you lose yourself in it.

that is, dazai’s long known what he’s doing, he just doesn’t want to admit it.

(the sky is a weak light blue, giving way to an inevitable morning)

the whiskey bottle is empty now. dazai shifts to stuff it into his little paper bag of gifts when his fingers graze the soft cotton of his new scarf, deep blue.

save the weak, protect the orphans, he was told.

he pulls the scarf out and clutches it in his hands.

feels its weight. imagines rope.

please don’t, atsushi said earlier.

and dazai is trying, and trying, and trying, and—

is it enough?

is he enough?

will he be enough?

“odasaku,” dazai says, hums it under his breath like the wind will take it, bring it where he needs it to go, “would i have made you proud?”

(dawn)

fat droplets begin to pour out of the dark clouds. there are no stars out. yokohama glimmers under the thin sheen of rain.

nearby, a child hurriedly grasps his father’s free hand as he digs into his bag for an umbrella, and the little boy goes, “papa, the sky is crying!”

and maybe the sky is. maybe the man sitting behind the gravestone is.

but there are two sure things about rain:

one, that it washes away any and all things if you let it.

two, that it will always, somehow, at some point, stop.

(morning’s just beginning)

dazai gets up on his feet, with just a little sway from all the alcohol. but the night’s still young, and there are better stuff to drink than whiskey out of a bottle. he looks back at the grave with eyes promising he’ll be back soon, a little better, a little wiser than he is, and then off he goes, into the city he far-too-well knows.

maybe he can bother someone into treating him to some good, expensive, old-fashioned wine.

[almondeyes-biased]

Can you do a neighbour!jacksongot7 where you guys always see eachother around the building and have mutual friends but never really talk. but one day, he sees that you need help with building new furniture and offers to help and you guys have a nice long conversation. after that, you guys are closer and eventually date? THANK U

Of course, here you go❤️ I am so sorry for not writing and uploading this earlier 🙏🏻 I hope you like this a lot! Also, I changed a bit the part of "long conversation" for... scientific reasons 😌 ENJOY ❤️

.

.

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Pairing: Jackson Wang x reader

Genre:fluff, neighbor!au

Warnings:none really, just some good ol'fluff ahead ❤️

Your life had never been anything out of the ordinary, just waking up, grabbing coffee, heading to the office you were currently working part time to earn some more money until you’d be over with your post graduate degree, then studying, and some evenings of the week there were some night outs with friends from work and uni. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing could actually disturb the boring course of things every day. No one was around to do so, anyway.

Well, almost no one. Cause there was Jackson. 

Jackson had been your neighbor for more time than you could think, and recently, at one of your nights out at the local café he was seemingly working at, you found out you even had common friends. You spoke here and there, exchanging hellos at mornings and wishes at celebrations. You even had coffee together at his apartment right next door that day you got locked out of your apartment and waited for the specialist to come and change the lock, but other than that nothing. You just had that typical neighbor relationship.

So the days passed with you behind your large university books and your laptop, along with some decoration magazines, as you decided you wanted to change the decoration to your apartment, for actually the millionth time that year as you got bored of everything really quickly, and add another library to your living room, no matter if there were already three of them. Books were never enough for you, and this was not going to change now. 

And the day came when your new library arrived, and you were super excited. You thanked the boys that climbed the stairs with the huge package on their backs and, paying, you unpacked the parts and started building it. 

It was harder than you remembered, dammit. Almost one hour had passed, you had already beaten your hand multiple times with the little hammer you used, and scratched it even more, and all you had come through was the sides and the first shelf. You sighed, poured a glass of cold water and changed your shirt because it was drenched in pure sweat. You had to take a break. You opened the windows in the house for fresh air and got out to the balcony to get some yourself. It was some hours past noon, and the sun had already started setting, as it was almost 6. The whole city was at your feet, as your apartment was in the most central part of it. It was the third city you had moved into during your (age) years, and this was the one you liked the most. 

Caught up in your thoughts and daydreaming, you never noticed the figure standing at the balcony next to yours, gazing at your and smiling.

“Hey,” a familiar voice got you out of your thoughts. You turned around and came face to face with Jackson.

“Hi!” you cheered. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I noticed. How are you?” he asked, kindly as always – another reason to have you smiling that day.

“All good, nothing new. University, work, home and then all over again.”

“Anything breathtaking taking place in your life?”

“If you wanna know about the literature book I am currently reading, then yeah, but if not, actually no,” you answered, making him laugh.

“Where do you put all these books of yours? You don’t know how many times I have counted that I have stepped into you carrying new books to your apartment,” Jackson said, and now it was your time to laugh.

“Sometimes I wonder too. But hey, with four libraries in the house you can never lose. In fact, I might have actually ordered a new one and trying to build it.”

“Right now? Do you need help?” he asked caringly.

“No need to, I don’t want to put you in trouble…”

“But I want to. I’ll be there in seconds.”

And with that he disappeared. No more than 10 seconds passed, and your door bell rang.

“Show me. But before we start, please put some music on.”

You smiled, chose a chill playlist from your spotify account and started working. After another half an hour, the library was all built up and placed where you indicated. You sighed and looked at him.

“Thank you so much, I think I would have still been trying to get this over with.”

���No need to, my pleasure. It was even a reason to have a little chat, it’s been a long time since we last caught up. How’s everything, how’s your degree courses going?” he asked with a smile.

“Oh it’s good actually, I will be finished by the end of the year I guess. Then I’ll try to find a work on what I have studied,” you answered. “You? How’s work? Anything new?”

“You know, good old same stuff, everyday work, serving, noisy clients, but still I like it. I get to spend time around what I like - that being coffee. It also gives me much time to do other stuff I like, home or not.” Jackson’s voice sounded steady. And it came in complete opposition with your heart, that all out of a sudden had started beating fast, with that familiar feeling growing in the pit of your stomach. How come you never had noticed the way his eyes curled up when he was speaking, the way his lips formed a little smile even when it wasn’t his intention to smile? How he cutely tilted his head the left while talking, or how his hands were always gesturing towards whomever it was that he was speaking to. He was really handsome, being a little taller than you, with a firm body and strong gaze, the type of guy you would turn your gaze towards on the street.

Before you got to say anything, his phone suddenly rang. He looked at you, and then reached for his cellphone in his pocket.

“Sorry, I have to get this, it’s my brother. See you another time, yes? Don’t disappear again,” he said and winked, then got out of your door.

   ~*~

Three days had passed, and you hadn’t seen Jackson again. He was probably caught up with work and stuff, you’d think. But still it was a bad feeling. You know, that feeling you have when you miss someone, even though there is literally just a wall separating you. 

It was just another regular day of waking up, taking coffee, staying inside to study cause you didn’t have any lessons at uni, eating and now, early afternoon, resting listening to music. You sighed, looking at the clock. It was just 4 in the afternoon, and you really felt like doing nothing. Suddenly, an idea crossed your mind. You quickly shoved it away, but it came back immediately. And you just got off the couch, got dressed in a pair of plain black jeans, a white sleeveless shirt, slipped in your converse all stars, grabbed your keys and walked out the door, to the café Jackson was working.

Walking in, the strong smell of freshly grounded coffee hit you right away. You smiled. No other smell could calm you down the way this one could. And there he was. In a black shirt and black trousers, a n apron tied around his waist, Jackson was serving two clients while softly humming at the song that was currently playing on the stereo. When he saw you, his face lit up. He smiled, and you nodded that you would be sitting on the table right across the bar. From there, you could observe him best. His firm arms, the way they were moving around like coffee was art and he was the painter, the way he greeted every one that was walking into the café and the big smile that would offer to them, his soft and a little raspy voice when he was singing to his favorite songs on the radio, it all gave you a heart-warming feeling and a sense that you couldn’t simply shove away. 

You smiled when he approached you and sat en face of you. 

“Hey,” he said. “What a beautiful surprise.”

You smiled.

“Well, I didn’t see you around these days and I thought I would come and say hi,” you said and he nodded.

“Nice one…You know, I’ve been wanting to invite you over after the weekend but I never got the chance, got caught up with the café and stuff,” he said.

“Actually, I never thanked you for helping me the other day, and I was wondering if...Well, if you wanted to go and  get some coffee or ice cream, some day that you won’t have much work?” you asked him with your heart beating louder than ever. This was the first time you were taking such a step, and you didn’t know how to comport yourself.

His smile and the excitement in his eyes calmed you down almost immediately.

“You ask just the perfect time, the day after tomorrow I have a day off we could use! But hey, you’ve been for coffee with me. How about…I don’t know, maybe go and get some drinks, maybe a cocktail would sound more…Interesting?” he proposed, and you nodded.

“Yeah, I…I would love that. So, Friday afternoon it is?”

“Does nine sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

“I’ll come and pick you up, it’s not much distance anyway,” he said and you laughed. He softly bit down his lower lip and looked at you with something in his eyes you would translate into excitement suppressed into hesitation.

“So, it’s a date?”

“It’s a date.”

[thedungeonsbat]

Muggle Love (Chapter 6)

A/N: I know Severus does not own an owl but I wanted to add it so I hope you don't mind. And I haven't edited it that much as I've been busy these days. Enjoy!

Chapter 6

"He did what?" Severus asked Dumbledore, both astonished and angry, when he was unexpectedly called by him late one evening. He was informed that the famous Harry Potter, thirteen now, had blown up his aunt. He made her swell like a balloon apparently.

"Yes, Severus. It is right, but he did not do it willingly." Dumbledore told Severus who still wore a slightly astonished expression, he in turn just scowled. Dumbledore, on the other hand was not as amazed as he was. He was aware of the Minister's opinion upon the matter.

He added, "The Minister is ready to forgive him for he is in danger with Black on the loose… The boy, for the remaining weeks will be staying at The Leaky Cauldron."

"But he could have been spotted! That boy shows no regard to the wizarding world and its secrecy!"

"Severus, there is no need to lose your calm. The boy is still in grave danger, Black will not back down. He is after the boy…He must be taken care of and that is why I asked you to stay at Privet Drive for some time." Dumbledore was now seated in his armchair, he was as easy-going as ever whereas Severus was still grimacing over the happenings.

"But I am curious, Severus," Severus, who couldn't believe Harry's nerve, jerked his head to see Dumbledore. "You planned to be in the Drive that evening, what happened that made you alter your plan?" He asked, his eyebrows raised. He was waiting for an answer from him. Severus broke eye contact, he would not be able to lie to him looking him in his gleaming blue eyes, it all happened the night when the incident with you happened. Did he know? Did he know about you? He was the all-knowing wizard after all.

"I..just got..busy.." Severus replied slowly and in the same old cold voice.

"Busy how? You do not have any essays to check during the break of course." Dumbledore replied cheekily with a small smirk spreading over his lips.

'Ugh, I hate this!' Severus thought but he could not possibly just ignore his question. He knew he could not get away from him now. Dumbledore always gave him this nasty feeling that he knew all that was going on with him which would be obviously, for anyone, uneasy.

"Albus, you of all should know that living in the muggle world is not as easy as it seems. There are...situations..to be managed." He replied trying not to lose his calm.

Dumbledore hummed in agreement but he really did not quite agree, he was expecting some other answer, the truth. "Very well, Severus, if you say so." He said with a sigh which made Severus wonder if Dumbledore really knew, perhaps he has been keeping a close eye on him, he knew from his look that his answer wasn't satisfying enough.

______________

It will soon be time when Severus will have to go to Hogwarts for the next term, being a Professor he had to be there before the term's beginning and the students' arrival. He'd be gone for many long months which meant that you could not see him for all that time. This was gonna be so hard but obviously you did not know about his life in the wizarding world or him being a wizard, you were eagerly looking forward to meeting him again.

You were kept so busy by your work that you barely had time to just go for a walk outside. You began taking your studies more seriously than before, it was not just a degree, it was for your career, your future. Sometimes you wished that things were simpler and easier. You wondered how better life could have been if magic existed. You were, like all the other muggles around you, unaware of the magical world that existed hidden from the eyes of millions.

After what felt like an extremely long and tiring day, you decided to have a walk outside in the park that was located just in front of your building. It was a starry night, it was simply beautiful.

As you stepped outside, a cold wave of the soothing breeze hit you gently making you shiver slightly.

The night was cold and darker than usual, the starry sky reminded you of him. Everything felt like him, you had even changed into his t-shirt. You occasionally wore it because it felt very relaxing, you always felt as if it all had happened just yesterday.

You sat on a bench and stayed like that for a long time. You did not want to get up now, it was so quiet there, no one to disturb you and you knew that there was nowhere else you'd rather be at the moment. This was one of the very few moments you felt truly peaceful and calm at your heart. The last time was in Severus' arms.

You slowly closed your eyes and felt the gentle air blow and listened the rustling of the leaves. It was so calm and pleasant, almost magical.

Your eyes closed, a blurred vision appeared and you saw him there. It became more usual now, every time you would sit to relax or decide to do nothing for a while, you thought of him. You wanted to contact him again. But there was no way, he did not seem to own a telephone and if he did, you did not know his number.

You opened up your eyes, feeling way more relaxed than before and sighed, it was time to go and rest, tomorrow would be a long day too.

But just then an idea popped in your head. You were gonna contact Severus first.

________________

It was almost time for Severus to go, go back to his life as Professor Snape, 'the most terrifying one at Hogwarts' as many of his students called him. He did not like to live among muggles but at the same time did not like being annoyed by those 'dunderheads' he taught.

He had already prepared what was gonna be taught to the students, the first years' syllabus was particularly hard to make as many of them seemed to make a mess of very simple potions too. 'The wreck they make', he muttered while at work.

Many events of the ex-first years and even some of the senior students causing a wreck all the time reoccured to him. Checking their essays and marking them was another hard job, going through all the junk many of them wrote just to fill the parchments seemed to be the only real way of passing the time there. While the other professors enjoyed the feast and had a laugh, he would finish off early and make his way to his quarters and read some book, mostly Potions or Dark Arts related.

He went to bed and within no time, fell asleep. However, before sleeping his thoughts wandered and he thought of you. You were probably the last person he thought of before sleep (Psychology says that the person you think of before falling asleep is either the cause of you happiness or sorrow).

The next morning, he opened his front door to take the newspaper but he also noticed something else. It had never happened before. He received a letter.

Not some owl post a normal wizard would receive but a letter in his mailbox, no one has ever done that before. For a second he thought it was just a mistake but as he took out the letter from the mailbox, he was a bit surprised. It was indeed a letter addressed to him in a very beautiful and neat handwriting. It was from you.

He should have known but why would you mail him?

He went inside, the Daily Prophet and your letter in his hands. He placed the paper on the table and sat down on his armchair to read your letter. Just holding it in his hand made his heart feel warmer. He opened it gently, careful not to tear it from anywhere.

What was written in the letter, made him feel something new because no one has thought of him in this way. Never in his life has anyone had the urge to see him again like you did except for the times he was needed by Dumbledore.

It read;

"Dear Severus,

I know you definitely were not expecting a letter from me but I have been wanting to write to you. I noticed you did not own a telephone, so I figured I will just have to mail you. You should buy a telephone though, it's easier to stay in touch with people. Let me know your number if you do buy one.

I have been very busy lately and I know you must be busy with your work too but I hope you find time to fulfil a humble request of mine. I wanted to invite you over for dinner at my place as a 'thank you'. Now, don't frown, you told me not to thank you again and again but I would love it if you'd come. It's not some sort of payback but just a friendly treat from me. I might not be able to make some tasty soup as yours but I am certain you'll enjoy it as I have a speciality in cooking myself.

I understand if you're busy and that is why I thought it best if you chose the time of the meeting and it is fine if you do not want to come over. I won't feel bad but just send me a reply.

Your friend,

(Y/N) (Y/L/N).

P.S. I have really missed you."

There was a little smiley face drawn at the end and also your address was mentioned in case he decided to come.

He smiled as he folded the letter and put it on the table. 'She missed me.' It was more of a question than a statement in his mind. How could someone miss a person like him, besides your last time together wasn't so pleasant either. He was amazed yet delighted to receive a letter, or rather an invitation.

Your request kept him befuddled, should he go or not? You were not asking much but what would he say? He wasn't the 'dinner-type' guy, he did not like socialising with muggles, at least.

He sighed, he was aware of the fact that he, himself, could not really help thinking about you. He had missed you too but he would probably never in his lifetime admit it. He never wanted to accept that you had some impact left on him. Even though he found you utterly annoying, he kinda enjoyed your presence and all the silly things you thought of.

He made up his mind. He would go, just out of courtesy. He was not gonna dine with you because he might regret his decision everyday at Hogwarts if he did not. He won't go because he looks forward to meeting you or he wants to see you for the last time before his long months at the school among those students who seemed to hate him. He did not find you even a teensy-bit less annoying than the others, of course not, or so he told himself.

He decided to write back to you, now. He went up to his study and took his quill and parchment. He carefully dipped the tip of his quill in the black ink and began writing. He was careful not to blot the parchment anywhere, his writing was neat and all his words seemed to be perfectly arranged.

A smile spread over his face as he finished with the letter. He was actually writing to you, accepting your offer and he was actually gonna see you soon.

_______________

The following days you kept waiting for his letter. You also doubted if he even got the letter. Maybe he would have never even read it, he never seemed to check his mail. Or worse, what if he was ignoring it?

In the day, you would attend all your classes and sometimes had spare time to give to your friends. Carl seemed very upset that you had been too busy for him but you had to study hard. You tried giving him a bit extra attention after his complain, you went out to have a walk and talked about your hectic schedule. He asked about the reason for your unusual 'happiness' (after the stay at Severus') but you only blushed and he chuckled. You always tried to avoid questions about him.

Every now and then Severus would pop in your thoughts and distract you. His silky, cold voice would echo in your ears and you were desperate to hear it again. You wanted to feel his air again. You longed to see him but you, just like him, never admitted it.

Three days after the night you had written to him, your long waiting came to an end. His reply came but it wasn't some ordinary post, it was an owl which delivered it. A black owl. You had never seen one of the like before. And that too, in broad daylight.

There was a roll tied to its feet, you let it in and untied the roll of paper. It was indeed his letter but why did he send it by an owl? How did he even manage doing so?

[reidandweep]

Tattooed, Pierced, and a Runner?

Thomas x Reader  Hey guys. My name’s Hollie. I am not new to the Maze Runner fandom. I have actually been a part of it since 2012 (books and movies) but I just never posted any fan fiction that I’ve wrote. But I saw a prompt request by @labyrinth-of-thoughts that really interested me. So here it is. My first published fan fiction. Hope you like it. P.S The tattoos mentioned (except the Star Wars one) are actual tattoos I have.

Word Count: 2622 words.

Contains: Mentions of nipple piercings, broken bones, and balls.

Prompt: Anyone want to write a fic of Loki, Steve, Thomas (Maze Runner), Gally (Maze Runner) or Stiles and a curvy, sporty chick with tatts (a star wars one too) and piercings (including nipple piercings)

It was the tenth day of the month which meant supplies and the day the new Greenie would come up in the box, had arrived. Since Thomas had come up in the box, he had been loaded with information. He’d been told the rules by Alby, introduced to some fellow Gladers, learnt somethings about the Maze from Chuck, pushed to the ground by Gally, and now here he was, at the Bonfire, next to Newt. Thomas didn’t like this place one bit. Nobody was answering his questions with the answers he needed. No one except Newt. Thomas was sat next to Newt, leaning against a log, talking about the runners. “you see those guys? There, by the fire? Those are the runners. That guy in the middle there, that’s Minho. He’s the Keeper of the Runners.” Newt told Thomas. Thomas looked over at the group of Runners. He could see Minho surrounded by multiple guys, all dressed in similar clothing; long sleeved tees, cargo pants, and running shoes. Next to Minho was a girl. “Who’s the girl?” asked Thomas, not taking his eyes off her. Newt chuckled, taking a swig of Gally’s juice. “That is Y/N. Came up her around a year ago now. Not like the rest of us you know. For one, she’s the only girl here. Second, she came up in the box, leapt out and punched Gally right in the face. Broke his nose and spent her first night here in the Slammer.” Thomas looked at Newt with disbelief.

“I didn’t just break his nose, I bust his lip open too.” A voice from behind Thomas stated. Thomas jumped with fright, clenching his chest from the sudden voice. Y/N quickly sat down next to Newt, taking the drink from his hands and gulping the rest down in one. “Oi, I was going to bloody finish that you shank” Newt whined. Y/N laughed, rustling Newt’s hair with her unoccupied hand. “Sorry Newt, you know I’ve been running all day. Been looking forward to this bonfire and, dare I say it, Gally’s homemade drink”. Thomas looked between the two, feeling slightly out of place. “You’re right love. Next time, I’ll get you a drink ready.” Newt said to Y/N, both sharing a smile. “So how long have you two been a couple?” Thomas asked the pair. Y/N quickly burst out laughing, holding her stomach as tears fell from her eyes. Newt looked at Thomas like he had just said that he had an extra leg. Thomas was confused, not knowing what he said that was so funny. Newt chuckles lightly. “Y/N and me? Mate, were like brother and sister that would be like- ““Incest” Newt and Y/N said at the same time.

Thomas let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t know why but he felt a lot happier knowing Y/N and Newt weren’t together. Y/N wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Greenie, I’ve been here nearly a year now and not one of these shanks have caught my eye. I know I’ve caught most of their’s, but just cause I’m the only girl in this damn place don’t mean I’m going to be treated like klunk. You got that?” Y/N said to Thomas, pointing a finger towards his face. Thomas gulped shaking his head up and down. Y/N pulled back her finger and placed the mason jar onto the ground. Looking around the Glade, Y/N’s hands pulled the elastic out of her H/L, H/C hair. She tied it into a bun, wiping her forehead with her sleeve. “Aren’t neither of you shanks hot? This bonfire making me sweaty as hell.” Y/N complained. Thomas looked at Y/N’s face taking in her glistening features. Her E/C eyes were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. It appeared he had been staring for too long as Newt nudged Thomas, knocking him out of his trance. Thomas looked at Newt, a blush covering his cheeks. Newt smirked towards Thomas, quickly turning to face Y/N. “If you’re so bloody warm then take of that dirty long-sleeved top you’re wearing. You’re wearing your tank top underneath anyway. The shanks know not to stare. Not after you kneed Ben in the balls.” Y/N chuckled looking towards the two boys. Shaking her head, she lifted the long- sleeved top over her torso. Once it was completely off, she tied it around her waist and sat down with her legs crossed, facing the two boys and leaning on to her arms to the side of her. Thomas didn’t mean for his eyes to wander but they did. Her body was curvy. It was clear that she ran and took part in other fitness activities as her arms and legs both showed evident muscles. Her arms and collar bones were covered in tattoos. These caught Thomas’ attention. “What are they?” Thomas asked pointing towards some of Y/N’s body art. “Full of questions aren’t you Greenie?” Y/N said. Newt chuckled, wiping his hands on his trousers. Standing up he turned to face the two Gladers on the ground. “I’m going to bed. With the amount of tattoos Y/N has you’ll be here all bloody night hearing about them.” He said. Y/N and Thomas both laughed. Newt turned towards Thomas “Tomorrow you start trials to see which job you’ll fit best in. Don’t stay up too late Greenie, you need to be up early.” Turning around Newt waved goodbye, leaving Thomas and Y/N alone by the fire.

Thomas turned his body so that he and Y/N were now facing one another. Y/N scooted closer to Thomas. He could now see her tattoos more clearly. “These are my tattoos.” Y/N began. “I came up here in the cage just like the rest of them. Only I couldn’t remember my name. I actually didn’t remember it for another four days. But I did remember what all my tattoos were and what inspired them the minute I woke up.” Thomas pointed to the first tattoo he saw. It was a large tattoo on her left forearm. “What’s this one?” Thomas asked. Y/N looked down at the tattoo that Thomas had asked about, a large smile growing on her face. “That is my Star Wars tattoo. Before you ask what, Star Wars is, Star Wars is an epic science fiction franchise consisting of multiple movies, novels, comics, and tv shows. It is way too complicated and too much to explain if you’ve never seen it, but it is amazing. Thomas smiled at Y/N. He admired the way her eyes lit up as she spoke about something she loved. “It’s something that I am so happy I remember but also sad that I can’t share it with anyone else in here. I know Newt and Chuck would love Star Wars. Maybe even Gally would too. I could see Minho having the hots for Princess Leila because she is the most beautiful person in the galaxy.” Even though Thomas had no idea who Princess Leila was, he could argue against her statement. He was looking at the most beautiful person in the universe, let alone the galaxy. Y/N looked at Thomas to see if he was paying attention. “You listening because I’m just going to tell you about my other favourites and you can learn about the others another day, okay? Or else we will be here all night like Newt said.” Y/N stated. Thomas smiled. “That’s fine. We can talk more about the others another day. Tell me about your favourites. I am all ears.” Thomas told Y/N. A soft smile took over Y/N’s face. The idea that Thomas wanted to learn about all her tattoos made her happy. No one else except Newt and Minho had took time to listen to her ramble about them.

Y/N sat up and moved even closer to Thomas. Both of their legs crossed and bodies facing each other. “You ready?” Y/N asked Thomas. Thomas laughed and shook his head. “Yes, I’m ready.” He answered. Y/N pointed to her left wrist. “This one was my first tattoo. I remember that. I remember the pain I felt getting it but also how happy I was after. It says ‘Carpe Diem’ which means ‘Seize the Day’. It’s a quote from one of my favourite movies called “Dead Poets Society”. It reminds me to take every day and make it my own. I look at it when I am out in the Maze. I want to make my time in their important.”

Y/N moved her left arm and pointed at her right forearm. “This one is another movie tattoo. It seems that before the Glade, movies were an important part of my life. This one says ‘To die would be an awfully big adventure. I’m petrified of the idea of death. We don’t know whether we come back as something else or if that’s it. Maybe we just become worm food, or we end up becoming soldiers in the Great Skeleton War? Who knows? But having that on my arm. Seeing it everyday whilst living in here with these shanks. I know if I died tomorrow, my life would have been worth it.” She looks down a sad smile on her face. A single tear falls down her cheek. Without realising, Thomas immediately wipes it away. He pulls his hand back quickly and apologises. Y/N looks up at Thomas and wipes away her tears; replacing the sad smile with an enthusiastic one.

“We will discuss one more and then I’m calling it a night. I’ll even let you pick.” Thomas gulped. His eyes searched the visible tattoos across Y/N’s body. The one that caught his eye was on her left collar bone. Y/N took note of where he was staring. “That one says ‘Ohana means family, and family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten’. Seems as though I’ve always cared about family. Everyone in here is now my family in different ways. Newt is like my over protective brother. Alby is like a father figure. Chuck and Minho are those annoying brothers that you love and hate. Frypan reminds me of a grandfather figure. He may be young, but he has an old soul. Even Gally. Gally is that cousin that your forced to hang out with and pretend to like.” Thomas let out a loud laugh. Y/N soon joined in. Once their laughter died down Thomas asked Y/N, “Who am I?”. Y/N looked at Thomas. She looked deep into his eyes. They stared at each other for a long time before Y/N spoke once again. “I don’t know yet but you’re going to be part of this family as much as everyone else. Like I said, I don’t leave my family behind or forget them. Hard to forget the shanks in this place.” Y/N stood up stretching her back. Thomas followed her actions. Looking around he realised that all the other Gladers had headed to bed. The fire in front of the still burning. The began to walk side by side to the Homestead.

“Do you know where your bed is?” Y/N asked Thomas. Dread covered Thomas’ face. “I can’t remember. Chuck showed me, but the Homestead looks different in the dark.” He answered. Y/N turned to Thomas. “You can stay in my room for the night. I have one separate from the boys. Just in case any of the shanks try anything at night. Follow me.”  Thomas didn’t deny Y/N’s offer. Just simply choosing to follow. Y/N walked towards the Deadheads. Just to the side of the entrance was a small hut. Y/N entered with Thomas following behind. Inside the small hut was a bed, slightly bigger than a single, a wardrobe, dressing table, and a lamp. “You can sleep in the bed. I’ll take the floor.” Y/N told Thomas, grabbing a pillow and throw blanket for herself. Thomas walked towards Y/N. “You take the bed. You’ve been running all day and had to deal with me for the past few hours. You deserve the rest.” He told her, grabbing the pillow and blanket from her hands. Y/N quickly snatched them back. “And you Greenie, have had a very traumatic day. Coming up in the box, learning all this shucking information, and dealing with not only Gally, but me talking your head of about my klunking tattoos. So, you’re having the bed.” “No. You’re having the bed” Thomas argued. The pillow and blanket continuously being tugged between the two Gladers. Both refusing to sleep in the bed for the others comfort. Y/N placed a foot back and pulled with all her strength, but Thomas one stronger. Thomas tugged the blanket one final time, getting it out of Y/N’s grasp. Only for Y/N to lose her balance, falling onto Thomas and knocking them both to the ground. They landed in a twisted pile of limbs and blanket. Trying to untangle himself, Thomas moved his arms; his hands brushing against something hard and small. A gasp left Y/N’s lips. “Hey Greenie!” Y/N shouted. Thomas looked over their tangled limbs and towards Y/N’s face. “Stop touching that.” She told him. Thomas looked very confused. “What is it?” He asked. Y/N rolled her eyes. She quickly untangled herself and pulled Thomas up. “That Greenie, was my shucking nipple piercing. It’s sensitive so don’t touch it you klunkhead.” Y/N told him. Thomas’ face turned a deep shade of red. He quickly fumbled with the blanket, picking it up from the ground. Y/N turned around and climbed into the bed, moving towards the side of the bed that was against the wall. “As neither of us is going to give up the floor, we will both sleep in the bed. No funny business and keep your hands to yourself. Now get in here I’m tired.” Once again, Thomas didn’t argue. He was already embarrassed enough. His first day and he had already fallen over trying to escape, gotten knocked down twice by Gally, and now he accidently touched the only girl Glader’s nipple. How shucking fantastic?

Thomas climbed into the bed, staying as far as possible from Y/N. He slowly began to close his eyes. They quickly opened again once he felt his arm being tugged. Y/N pulled Thomas into the middle of the bed. Their faces only separated by a few centimetres. She placed the blanket over the pair and tucked the pillow under her head. Silence surrounded them. Y/N closed her eyes. Thomas soon broke the silence. “Do you only have one nipple pierced?” Thomas asked. “No” she answered. “Two nipples pierced?” he asked again. Y/N still had her eyes closed. “If not one, then of course two. I haven’t got three nipples.” Thomas became red once more with embarrassment. “Now go to sleep.” Y/N told him. She snuggled deeper into the pillow. Silence. Until…. “Did it hurt?” Thomas spoke again. “Go to sleep.” Y/N demanded. Thomas took in a deep breath. Before he could ask the question once more Y/N cupped Thomas’ face. Her eyes open once again, moving herself till there were only a few inches between them. Thomas’ eyes moved between looking at Y/N’s eyes and her lips. “If you go to sleep right now.” Y/N said. “I will answer all your question about my nipple piercings and tattoos tomorrow. I promise. Now go to sleep.” Y/N pulled her hand back from Thomas’ face only for Thomas to grab it with his hand, intertwining their fingers. He placed their entwined hands between their bodies. “Okay.” He said with a smile on his face. Y/N closed her eyes, a faint smile taking over her face as well. Both slowly falling into the deep sleep they both need. “Maybe this place won’t be too bad.” Thomas thought before sleep finally took over.

[hvsafstanzi]

When dance is your air

So I’m really not that good with keeping up with the notion of having my tumblr as my blog. I always keep writing that I’ll do better but then I don’t! Sorry for that. However I am now starting with a blogpost once a week (apart from posting links of the uploads on my YouTube channel).

I as a person love art - all type of art. I love to paint and sketch with pencil. I love to design and sew. I love going to the theatre or to a concert. I absolutely love visiting galleries and museums. But few things exhilarates me as dance. To watch dance is something that activates every fiber in me. It’s like my brain is actually sending signals to every part of my body. I sit still watching yet I feel every movement as if I was doing them myself. It is an amazing experience.

More to it though is to dance myself. As a creative person I lived most of my life being creative in my head. I’ll paint and design too, but most things happen within me. That unfortunately was the thing that ruined any possible prospects to ever dance professional. I could dance in my head for hours or physically dance around alone in my room. Why I never voiced it aloud to my parents I genuinely don’t know? My sister danced for a few years. I can’t imagine my parents would have been opposed to me doing that too. Sure I did some dance with friends at school when I was about 10-12 years old, but that was more playing than actually taking classes.

But suddenly I was 20 and I decided that I wanted to properly learn to dance. Previously I had only observed and imitated. I looked online and found ballet classes for adults. So I started to dance. I loved it, 3 hours a week I’d practice in class and all the other days I would spend at least 2 hours dancing at home (I had a spacious living room at that time so it was really easy to work at it at home). I heard form my teacher that I had nice legs for ballet and a good drive. Yet I knew I was to old.

When I was 26 I suffered an injury to my right shoulder (not due to dance). More specifically to a nerve on the right side of my neck. The injury affected the whole right upper side of my torso. My neck, my chest, my shoulder - it all pained me horribly and after numerous doctors and about a year later they found what was probably causing the pain. A lot of physical therapy later and that aria is still very sore and it pains me every moment of every day. I have full mobility back in my arm, though some movements I have to take real slow. Strengthwise I can lift 2kg with my right arm before it raises the pain level. Yet, throughout the day the pain level can vary from one moment to the next. One minute I’m cooking and the next I can’t even lift my teacup! But when it comes to the physical therapy training. I can lift 2kg and that might not be that much for most but it’s taken me a long time and I’m really pleased about it. Sure I would love it if my recovery would go faster. And maybe if I had a different financial situation I could search for specialists and have more tests and stuff done to make the process faster. But as far as my reality goes. This is all I can do for now.

Obviously, when I got my injury, I could not do any of the dancing. No dance training whatsoever! Finally at 30 I hoped I had enough strength back in my core, shoulder and arm to try dancing again. The excitement, the nerves. The anticipation. It had been 4 whole years without any dance at all! I had my pointe shoes and gear. I had my will and I had my few years of dancing before the injury to rely on. I let both my dance teachers know that I had an injury and that I would be doing what I felt I could muster. They both understood and very much kept an eye out to make sure I didn’t do to much or pushed myself to hard. They were, and still are, amazing teachers and human beings (yes Natalie and Cristian I am referring to you two). I love them dearly and that is what you get form dancing. People who make sure that you learn, progress, and work at those things that are specifically each dancers challenges. They keep an eye on you and support you in a way that, unless you do dance, I don’t think you can ever understand. It is very vulnerable to express yourself through movement. One is so exposed and yet there has to be a total trust that your teacher will help you achieve any goal that you set up. 

After my (unwilling) 4 year brake form dance, due to the injury, I started very slow in class. And only returned to pointe once Natalie and I believed I had built enough strength. My balance still remained a problem, and when I write balance I mean my back and my core strength. Due to the injury my entire right side had been left rather weaker. For day to day stuff, sure my left side can compensate for most things. When you are dancing however, your left side can’t do that. I have to be able to hold myself just as strong on my right as I do on my left.

Why was I suddenly inspired to write any of this? Well dear reader, I just started to watch World of Dance. The massive flow of inspiration and plain awe for these peoples talent suddenly made me realize that the blogpost I didn’t know what to write about was right there, in dance! So here I am writing. And I am not much for competitions. On telly or otherwise. Fine, I enjoy the Olympics, rugby (seriously, I love watching rugby) and I quite enjoy tennis too. But competing, like at school, was never my thing. I like pushing myself to be the best I can be (at whatever it may be) not push myself to be better than others. Fine sometimes pushing yourself you might end up being better than others, but at other things you might not be. Why sweat it! I’ve always had that mindset - push myself for my own sake and that alone. So would I, with that in mind, made it in the competitive world that it it to be a professional dancer had I started when I was a kid? I will never know - and I won’t cry about it. I would have loved to have had the chance though. I’d be lying if I wrote/said anything else. But I can’t change how it all turned out. All I can do I enjoy every moment I get to put those pointe shoes on and escape for a few hours through movement.

I’m 32 now, I have currently taken a break from classes, four dance classes a week is expensive and as a student I have had to give the classes up for now, but I work at my ballet every day at home and in the gym. Can’t wait to get back into class though, seeing the teachers and the other dancers - I miss them.

So what is it like to dance? Have you ever seen Billy Elliot (the movie)? When they ask him what he feels when he dances. I love that movie. For me, it is a liberation. Not only can’t you think of anything other than dance while you are i class. There is really no time to start thinking about “did I remember to buy milk?” or the like. You have to have 100 percent concentration in what you are doing and in what you are about to do next. How is my body, is my foot doing the right movement? Do I have a full extension on the leg? Is my arm position right? Are my hips squared? Are my fingers positioned correctly? Shoulders parallell? Don’t arch the back!! Remember your neck! And turn that head at the right moment. If you are not a dancer then this is genuinely what every little position and movement requires. Full consciousness of what every part of your body is doing. Through training we learn how it is supposed to feel like and it becomes second nature. Actually I think that for most dancers it becomes first nature! Everyday life apart from the dance studio is second nature. When you are a dancer it does consume most of you. But it’s not a bad thing. It just means that one might prioritize differently. If I know I have to workout at 6am then I will leave your dinner party at 10pm the night before. If I travel to visit my parents, then I will bring my full dance bag because I will do my stretches and work through positions everyday during that weekend. When I can’t bring it, or on those rare occasions when it does become impossible to find the time to do any dance workout. My entire body feels wrong. It wants to at least stretch for a good hour if I can’t do more. To dance is like life itself. I can’t really put into words how I feel when I dance. There aren’t any words that I know of that can truly express the euphoric relation between when your mind makes your body dance. But it is the closest I come to feeling art. This is why there has to be disciplin, why we train so much. So that we get to a point of where we can totally rely on our muscle memory to do those things we’ve trained and re-trained in class. That is how we can dance to our fullest and actually become art. And as I wrote in the beginning, I love all kinds of art. Yet when I dance it’s like I can see a painting, and be each colour in that painting, and I can watch Othello and feel every inch of Desdemonas struggle for life, I can hear Beethovens piano sonata (any and all of them) and play it at the same time, and yet “all I am doing” is dancing. It’s as if every artistic expression can be felt trough the movement of dance all at once. It is one of the most amazing feelings and it fills me and completes me like nothing else does. It is the love of my life but like any other relationship, it requires constant work to make it flourish.

I’ll say good night now. Because as I write this I still want to see another episode of World of Dance and it’s already 10pm. And guess what, I have to be at the gym at 6am tomorrow (no joke). For me dance is as vital as air, I need dance to live!

Stay amazing,

x ~Stanzi

Stretching whilst baking, It’s a dancer thing, we find any place an excuse to stretch!

[punkwhodrinkstea-blog]

Super Sick and College SUCKS!

There is no right way to begin this blog post. I swear I’m dying. Every week at college is a nightmare where I barely survive and am on the brink of a depression attack almost always. I am falling asleep in classes and on the bus, but not in my bed. I am overwhelmed with everything everything as it all piles up. And finally I am now sick. I’m on the brink of vomiting and everything hurts along with having no energy.

So folks I noticed around my class that I’m not the only person suffering on a daily bases. I also noticed that the college advertises things like, counselling and mental illness help stuff. So I figured I’d do some research on the topic and turns out the college workload has drastically increased since 2007-2017 and even more drastically since 1997-2007. I started to wonder about this when I was simply pushing myself to barely finish all my assignments, never mind taking your time to make something of quality. But instead it’s all about quantity over quality. There is a consistent pattern in each assignment’s requirements that has nothing to do with the quality of your work but instead it simply tells you how many, concepts or thumb nails or number of mediums you must have. The assignments are marked with very black and white requirements when art or design can’t be.

Also something that bothers me is that we are told how to do our rough work. It’s dumb. For example for one of my projects we had to design a linear picture that had to be 15x15 inches. Now an artist/designer knows what they would do to make such a thing. However in college we have to follow a very specific order and fill certain requirements. We had to make 100 thumbnails… 100! Then after that we had to make 3 concepts (not a lot but still useless in my opinion) and finally we get to make the linear design “rough” copy. We also had to have printed out pictures of different ideas, a rationale. Then finally we make the final copy and hand it in. It was ridiculous, I mean if I were to do this at home I would have thought of a few ideas then maybe draw a quick rough copy of each and then pick my favorite. Lastly I’d do it. No strings attached, it’s not suppose to be filled with so much extra work. Anyway I’m done.

So some universities in the USA did a study on mental health and mental illnesses of the students who attended their school. They found that there has been a 70% increase of students who suffer from Anxiety as an illness, a 30% increase of students who suffer from depression as an illness and lastly a 10% increase in suicides. This is without a doubt due to overwhelming expectations, work loads, pressures and the classic media telling us what we should be like. From my experience with college I can’t imagine anyone ever not thinking about suicide while at college. I mean we wake up early, go to school most of the day and then do homework all night. The only reason I have time to write this blog post is because I am too sick to attend class today. School is hell on so many levels. Highschool and college aren’t much different either. However in highschool you can half ass a project or skip class with hardly any consequence. You can even fail 2 classes and still be able to graduate with the rest of your age group (you wouldn’t get spares though). Also Highschool is free, actually highschool is forced on you which sucks. But paying thousands of dollars and having that weight held over you is worse.

Next up is some stuff I found from what teachers have said about how the school system and students have changed. Apparently and not so surprising, students seem to have no self confidence… gee ain’t that relatable. That could be easy helped if the classes were small so that the teachers could have more one on one time with students and with smaller classes it’s easier to feel safe if you fail. Another teacher said that the students haven’t changed much over the years however the parents have. Apparently years ago in the stone age parents could have rational discussions with teachers and would understand when a teacher gives a bad grade or disciplines a student. However these days the parents fight the teachers because they believe their kid is the best. Next a college professor said that students back in the day used to go to school to better themselves and improve for the sake of their career, however now students hardly have a choice and if they don’t finish a 3+ year program they aren’t likely to get a job. There’s a difference between a student who wants to be there and one who just wants a future.  I’m can relate because sadly I’m in college because I want a future and it’s hard to get a decent job these days unless you go to college. However the skills I’m learning can help me with my art as well so I do my best to focus on the reasons as to why I want to be there instead of the fact that I don’t have much choice. Anyway moving on to “trust”. These days no one trust younger folks. If you’re in your early 20’s or younger, you must be irresponsible and not be able to take care of yourself. I get this all the time from my folks. I mean they tell me to feed the dogs every day...I’ve had dogs for 16 years… 16 years and the one is still alive! I feed my dogs everyday but do they trust me to remember? Nope. Can I go outside when the sun is down? Nope… I’m 20 years old folks. My parents have no faith in me.

Anyway folks I’ve gotta go, I have to try and get healthy. However I don’t want to go to school tomorrow… school is hell, as you can tell I am not enjoying it. There is nothing good about it. Everyday in a new nightmare, every week is a new “worst week of my life”. Just yesterday I had a “depression attack” all day. I cried on the bus ride to the college, cried during my first class and then cried during my lunch break and I was freaking out for the entire day. I was in physical pain and I just wanted to cut myself or die. It was awful. I don’t know if this will continue to get worse or what. But I don’t know how people do this. I mean there are people with worse depression than me and people who suffer from both anxiety and depression. How are they suppose to survive this crap? I have no idea. I mean college has to become your life and you have to somehow enjoy it or find a very effective way to cope with it. But honestly there is no way to cope with it because it takes too long to cope with it and then you’d fall behind. DAH! Anyway like I said, I’ve gotta go. Good luck and have fun… I know I won’t.

[suchabeautifulbrokensmile]

Didn't post yesterday bc I didn't have a good day and I didn't want to do life, but here's the summary Day 17 It was okay until dinner time. I talked to Krista, she asked me about my fear foods, and my weekend, and it was just good to talk to her. Her and Christine are literally my fav people in that place. Without them I would not be where I am right now. Krista is the reason I get though all my meals, literally. Her advice have helped so much, I am so thankful. Then I saw Christine and I had to sign a contract that I won't drink or use drugs or self harm, and I will reach out and not act when I feel suicidal. Now I feel like it had gotten serious, I don't break promises and that is just going to bother me forever and ever. Meal planning was okay, I just watched Danielle teach Christine how to knit it was fun. And I also pretended to plan my weekend meal... So much fun. Oh Krista gave me another assignment, I have to write down all my cognitive distortions about food and nutrition, then evidence to challenge it. It will be interesting, very interesting. I'm almost out of my meds and I called my doctors office and they said I would've to come in if I want a refill.. I'm at treatment everyday, I can't just make an appointment. So I told Tracy but I don't know I won't have any on Friday sooooooooo, we will see. Family group was were everything went down hill. Beth Ellen was talking about the crisis number and how we should only call it if there's blood ((( tbh at that point I would be calling 911 not them but whatever)) about two weeks ago I called at 230am bc I couldn't stop binging and purging, I literally did not stop until I was purging blood, literally. So I felt like shit. Bc she literally said "...do not call at 230am unless it's an emergency..." Like thanks should've just @ me. Yesterday during psychotherapy Christine said the complete opposite, we should call whenever we need someone. So I brought it up to the girls afterwards bc it was eating me alive. And what is a crisis to me, may not be a crisis to you, and that is ok, just make sure you reach out and get the help you need to get out of that spot. It always helps to talk to them, I just felt so uncomfortable I wanted to run out. She was literally talking at me. Then we had dinner ((I was already shaky from family group)). I walked in the kitchen and they gave me one of my fear foods. Pasta. I started to eat it but I literally felt the food coming up, Mia and Ed kept screaming at me and, I stopped. I had a panic attack, couldn't breathe, dizzy, racing heart beat, and all I wanted to do was look in the mirror to see where those few pieces of pasta went. Touching my collar bones help, it makes me feel like I'm still somewhat skinny. As long as I feel them I'm okay Mia says. I didn't my meal so They gave me ensure. I was disappointed at myself, I was doing so good in the kitchen. After dinner my panic attack just got even worse and during wrap up I told Christine that I couldn't breathe, and she said "are you serious?" I just felt shitty, it just felt like everyone was coming at me today for no reason. I sat in her office by myself for 30 mins. I didn't do anything. I'm just glad to be home in my bed. I don't want to get up tomorrow but I know I will, so I will just try to make the best of it. Tomorrow is Jalexis's 20th birthday and I had to go to Wegmans and buy cake and ice cream I had the time of my life. Lol Today, Day 18 I didn't want to get up this morning, but I did. Then there was no hot water bc everyone in my family wanted to shower, so I was already irritated. I got to treatment and I didn't want to talk to anyone. I was just angry from yesterday still. So I asked Christine if I could talk to her, and I did, and I felt better afterwards. So much better. Then of course she told Beth Ellen :) but I hesitated to talk to her one on one idk why but I was afraid. Art was rough, I was just not feeling creative, I was still angry. But slowly throughout the day I got back to myself. Recovery skills was okay, the usual. Meals were fine. Today was Lauren's last day. Ever since Razia and Jessie left, I became soooo close to Lauren and Jess, and cannot forget Shekina!! We literally have the best times together and can always count on each other to laugh. We all relate and are very good encourage each other, specially in the kitchen. We just have a really good relationship. I am honestly so happy I met them. Bc before this treatment I never though I was going to be able to laugh again. Lauren wrote us little quotes, and then gave a tiny speech and I couldn't help it but cry. I'm truly going to miss her and I hope she does great in residential. I know she will. We said we were going to send her mail and keep her post it on everything. And I plan on doing that. I do. These are the kind of people that I want in my life. Therapist don't agree, but we think otherwise. We all struggle but we all get through it. Today wasn't as horrible as I thought it would be. I do have homework for Krista and Christine but I'm excited to do it, I'm literally challenging my own head and it's fucked up but fun. Never knew I could argue with myself this much. I want to take a hot shower and go to sleep, for some reason I am extremely tired. I don't get it. Oh Beth Ellen Christine and I met, we talked and then during community meeting she apologized for not explaining herself well about the crisis line. Now I am truly over it. I guess I took it too personal. I am learning so much lately I just feel like my brain cannot handle it but I like it. In a weird way, I mean I hate it every 10 mins but at the end of the day I appreciate it. And I can finally say I fully trust the treatment team.