#Do not collect Doctors named Dread

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter four)

18+ 4.2k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, eventual smut. gif credit | fic directory | AO3

Lovesick and giddy, Homelander makes quick work of sharing the news of his freshly established relationship. Meanwhile, you're left alone in his penthouse with one goal in mind: escape.

Homelander’s absence is like a too-heavy coat slipping from your shoulders, allowing you to breathe again.

You shake the tension out of your hands as you walk back down the hall, thinking more clearly than you’ve been able to all morning. It’s 8:30 now, which means you have a little over six hours to figure out something that might help you escape.

There is a balcony, but you shut the door to it as quickly as you opened it once you realized there aren’t any railings. The concrete slab outside the glass door is more like a ledge than it is a balcony, and the roar of the winds outside instantly made you feel like you’d be knocked clean off of it if you stepped outside.

Definitely not an option.

You do find a landline—who keeps a landline anymore?—but when you bring the receiver to your ear and press a few buttons, the line remains silent.

The phone is plugged in, every cord connected, the little green light in the corner lit, but there must be some kind of mandatory input in order to dial. You slam the receiver back down with a frustrated growl.

Prowling through the penthouse with the urgency of a caged animal, you check every drawer you come across. Every cupboard.

You run your fingers under the edges of furniture, and—seeing his absurd collection of annotated law reports and Oxford dictionaries—resort to tugging books from their resting places and flipping through their pages, hoping you might trigger some secret switch or find a hidden compartment.

Instead, a slip of paper comes loose from one of the volumes, fluttering to the floor by your feet.

You dip down to pick it up, brows pinching. It’s a photograph of a little blonde boy, maybe five or six, standing next to an older gentleman with a partial crown of thinning light hair around only the sides of his head. He’s gesturing to a spot on the wall next to the boy, who holds a blanket to his chest. 

You squint, tilting the photo, as if it might help you see what the man is pointing at outside of the frame.

There are a handful of crayon drawings scattered on the stark white walls, though the quality and age of the photo make them difficult to interpret, and hidden in the spaces between—and presumably beneath—them are what look like crisp black scorch marks.

Looking back to the boy, you realize there’s a distinct crimson gleam to his eyes.

Homelander…?

He looks frightened. His little face pinched in an anxious expression like he might cry at any moment, but he’s holding it back.

You try to imagine what sort of life experiences would cause a child so young to be so disciplined with their emotions. Flipping the photo over, you see that it’s signed and dated.

Dr. Jonah Vogelbaum “Project Odessa” 1986

Unsettled by the image, you carefully slide the photo back between the pages of the book.

If Homelander had the kind of destructive powers he has now at such a young age, it isn’t a stretch to imagine he would have needed to be carefully cared for and observed. Taken to some sort of facility.

What average parent stood a chance against a tantruming child with laser vision, or the strength to flip cars?

Still, you can’t shake the awful feeling of dread the photo gives you. Just what the hell does “Project Odessa” mean? Why name the doctor, but not the poor boy in the photo?

You’re lonely, he’d said. You don’t have to be.

How personal those words had sounded. You’re not sure now that he was actually talking to you, even if he had been right. You are lonely at times—but doesn’t everyone get lonely? Loneliness has been a recurring theme in your life for as long as you can remember. You’ve never been tempted to kidnap anyone over it, though.

Taking a breath, you haul yourself back to your feet and dust off your knees, frustrated with the wealth of questions and dearth of solutions you’re left with. You’ve already spent over two of your allotted hours combing both floors of the penthouse.

Now what the hell do I do?

There’s a pep in Homelander’s step as he strolls through the halls of Vought Tower.

“Hiya, Danny!” He greets merrily, startling a young PA so badly that the man nearly drops the tray of coffee he’s carrying. “Whoa-ho, hey, watch it, kiddo,” he laughs, giving Danny a swift pat on the back.

“Th-thank you, sir,” he says belatedly, watching Homelander continue on with a look of thorough bewilderment.

Maybe even awe.

He doubts the chump ever thought Homelander even knew his name—which he didn’t before now. He just so happened to catch a glimpse at his name on the lanyard dangling around his neck before he said anything.

He’s having a good day, which means Danny may as well, too.

Everyone should have a good day today because for once, life is finally headed in exactly the right direction.

He’s still thinking about how you felt in his arms all night, how soundly you slept against him. He’s thinking about the smell of breakfast and how beautiful you looked cooking breakfast in his kitchen.

Every bit of it exactly the way he envisioned. Not to mention the fact you finally showed him a little gratitude. He grins to himself, eager to share the excellent news. So eager, in fact, he can’t stop himself when he catches a flash of red hair disappearing into an elevator.

Well… Maybe not everyone deserves a good day.

He barely manages to shove his hand into the closing doors, allowing him to step inside before it descends. He grins broadly at his target—who he’s now got nice and cornered—and Maeve offers a withering look in response.

He can’t help but laugh, sidling up next to her. She looks tired, black flecks of makeup smudged under her eyes, and he can smell booze on her breath.

Christ, it’s not even 9:00am.

“What?” She asks preemptively, her tone sharp.

“Golly gee, Maeve. Good morning to you, too! Someone shit in your pillowcase?” He asks, knocking his eagle pauldron on her shoulder. His tone is bright, his smile even brighter.

It’s been over a year since things ended between them, and he’s been able to smell every twink and whore she’s rubbed herself up against like a bitch in heat since. Finally, he has something to rub her nose in.

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “What’re you so chipper about?”

He leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “I met someone,” before he pulls back, his shoulders and brows lifting with barely contained giddiness.

It’s an odd expression that comes to Maeve’s face, some muddled mixture of surprise, disbelief and wariness. “Someone I know?” Her tone is guarded. As if he’d bother with the nobodies she keeps her bed wet with these days.

He waves his hand dismissively, blowing a raspberry. “No, no. Please. The only people you know these days reek of jizz and methamphetamines.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s just an excuse to break eye contact. To hide from him. “Well. My condolences to them,” she says, crossing her arms. If she were any more sardonic she’d come full circle to genuine.

“Ohhh, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve. Is that a note of jealousy I detect ?” He purrs, bringing his face close to hers.

She leans back, scoffing a laugh that’s more disdain than humor. “Oh, please. Get over yourself,” she says, but there’s something odd about her tone. She actually sounds relieved. Even her shoulders are less tense.

“You’re the one who’s gonna have to get over me,” he says, feigning a sympathetic tone. “She’s perfect. Sweet, affectionate, loves to cook. In fact, she made me breakfast this morning,” he says, lips spreading in a slow Cheshire grin.

Maeve is quiet for a beat, staring at him like he’s more puzzle than man, working out the truth of what he’s saying. He twists side to side, cape swaying lightly, reveling in how bewildered she looks by his joy.

Did she really think he’d never find anyone after her? Fuck, he could sing aloud for how sweet this victory feels.

“Huh,” she says at least, looking away from him. She laughs softly, a more genuine sound than anything he’s heard from her in a long, long time. “Well, thank God for that.”

He blinks, confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. She’s done nothing but desperately try to fill the gaping hole of misery in herself with drugs and liquor and sex ever since they broke up.

The only reason he allowed it is because it felt more like a self-imposed punishment than anything else. The news that he’s found something real should devastate her.

Jaw tight, he turns to properly face her, itching to wrest back control of the conversation. “This means no more moping around the tower soaked in whiskey, hmm? You’re supposed to be a hero, for god's sake.”

“A hero,” she echoes incredulously, the word somehow rotten coming from her. “You know what?”

She meets his challenge, turning to face him head on, her hands on her hips. “I’ll get right on that,” she says, her voice dripping with condescending sarcasm, though he can’t help but see some spark of genuine relief in the wicked slant of her unkind smile. “You really do know just what to say, captain.”

The elevator comes to a stop with a ding, and Maeve takes a step forward as soon as the doors open. Quick as lightning, he snatches her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She whirls on him, fist coiled like she might strike, but she has the good sense not to.

“I’m serious, Maeve,” he says, tone severe, his smile vanishing. “Get your fucking act together before you embarrass us both any further.”

He lets go and she takes two steps out of the elevator, lingering there a moment before she smiles viciously back at him, lips pressed tightly together. She turns around, and the doors close on the image of her walking away from him.

His gloves groan with the tension in his tightly coiled fists. He exhales a shaky breath, anger hot in his chest.

When God closes a door, He opens a window, he reminds himself, looking to the rows of elevator buttons. He presses floor 99. 

Next stop: Madelyn Stillwell’s office.

Eventually you opt for taking a shower, figuring it’s best to do it now while Homelander’s out.

Before stripping out of your pajamas, you give the bathroom a sweep, testing the mirror and checking for cameras the way they always warn you to do when you stay somewhere strange.

Glad to have turned up empty handed in this particular endeavor, you twist the shower knob—a golden eagle’s head, unfortunately—and shed your sleepwear, feeling exposed in the large glass box he calls a shower.

Nonetheless, the hot water still helps you feel better than you had before. The fluffy navy towels you wrap around yourself afterwards are soft and oversized, every luxury carefully thought of.

It doesn’t make you feel any less like a captive. Just a pampered one.

The clothes you choose fit just as well as the sleepwear did, the fabric sleek and comfortable. The opulence of them evokes the same wicked spite from you that breakfast did, though a distant part of you does quietly enjoy the feel of them on your freshly cleaned skin.

You wander around the penthouse a while longer inspecting the statues and the paintings, reading any slips of paper you find, checking under the blank trophies you can’t identify, but there’s no grand discovery.

No miraculous code for the door hidden somewhere.

You’re well and truly stuck.

Plopping down on the couch with the weight of defeat heavy on your shoulders, you pick up the television remote from the coffee table and stare at it. Its buttons are riddled with logos: Vought+, Voughtify, Voughtoons, VNN, all of them cluttered looking on the remote.

However, one familiar logo in particular catches your eye: two red overlapping O’s. It’s Vought’s web browser, OperaGX. Your heart jumps into your throat as you quickly flick the television on, pressing the button immediately.

All televisions are Smart these days, connected to the internet in order to provide this myriad of streaming services.

Even the fridge is hooked up to the wi-fi.

If you can access an internet browser through the television, you should be able to log into your email or one of your social medias and get a message out to someone.

The reality of your situation will probably be more believable to your friends and family than the notion that you suddenly decided to go “off the grid” backpacking through Europe, though you’re not entirely sure that you love what that says about your life.

You nearly shout with triumph as the screens on the wall flicker to life, the browsers home page displayed clearly. You ignore the headlines plastered all over the different boxes and dive straight for the address bar, tapping in vmail.com as quickly as the remote allows for.

Christ, is there any aspect of your life not tangled up in Vought? You’d never realized until now.

You smash the enter button, and the little icon in the corner of the tab spins for what feels like a millenia, loading. 

RESTRICTED

The smile drops sharply from your face. Dread replaces your fleeting elation, and you fumble with the remote in your haste to type in a new address.

RESTRICTED

You try progressively more obscure social media, forums, anything you can think of that might have a means for posting or messaging.

RESTRICTED

RESTRICTED

RESTRICTED

Tears well in your eyes.

Come on, there has to be something not on this stupid list of restricted sites!

You try again and again and again, but every single time you’re met with the same message. Of all things, something as innocuous as a parental block of all things stands between you and potential freedom.

This time you do shout, but it’s in frustration as you hurl the remote at the collection of screens. Part of you hopes that the impact shatters it, but so meager is your outburst that it simply bounces off of it, the message stubbornly persisting, mocking your upset.

You have nothing. You are nothing. Homelander has the powers of a god and all the measures that wealth like his can afford to take at his disposal.

The tears that roll down your anger flushed cheeks burn, and you wipe aggressively at them with the backs of your hands.

As you simmer, you come to the conclusion that it isn’t so much that certain sites are restricted, but that only certain ones are allowed. The connection has been narrowed exclusively to what might entertain you, but not allow you any form of outside communication.

Tucking your legs up onto the couch, you bury your face in your hands and let yourself sob out the horrible feeling of defeat.

“Gooooooood morning,” Homelander practically sings as he strolls into Madelyn’s office without so much as a knock, smiling brightly. He swings the door to her office shut behind him.

Arching a shapely brow, Madelyn looks slowly up at him from her work, leaning back.

Her blonde tresses are nicely curled, the ends of them barely brushing her shoulders. She’s wearing a patterned button up blouse tucked into a high waisted skirt. Her lips are painted in crisp red lines, and she takes her glasses off in a fluid motion to look at him.

She always looks like this—perfectly unobtainable.

“You’re in a good mood,” she notes, a detectable edge of suspicion in her voice despite the warmth of it.

“Sure am,” he says evasively, downright giddy to play this little game with her. It’s so rare that he has the upperhand between the two of them. He meanders about her office to admire the photos on her wall. Most of them are of him.

Her ruby lips spread in a patient smile. She rests her elbow on her desk and interlaces her fingers atop it. “Any particular reason?”

“I met someone,” he says too soon, too excited to draw the game out properly. He looks at her, eager to see the change in her expression, whether it be displeasure or—if he’s lucky—clear cut jealousy. He’d accept either. Instead, he finds her expression doesn’t change much.

“Is that so?” She asks in her same gentle way. He meets a lot of people every day. It’s part of his world. But they both know he means something more than a miscellaneous encounter. “Tell me about them.”

“She’s beautiful,” he says, turning his back to Madelyn. He strolls idly about, feigning indifference as best he can while his delight bubbles irrepressibly in his chest. He wants to rub Madelyn’s nose in it. To make her regret keeping him at arm's length.

Fuck, he’ll relish it.

“Clever. Funny, too. She likes to cook.”

“She sounds like a dream,” Madelyn says, sounding distracted. The tell-tale sound of papers shuffling punctuates her response. Turning around, Homelander frowns. She already has her glasses back on, her expression downcast at the documents spread out on her desk.

“She is,” he says, his smugness giving way to defensiveness, and then derision as he continues, “I’m sorry, did I catch you at a bad time? I was under the impression we have an appointment.”

“We do. These are your talking points for the gala on Friday, and these are your notes for your save this afternoon,” she says, lifting a handful of the documents towards him. 

His lip gnarls into a sneer. “Are you even listening to me? I said I met someone.” 

“And I’m very happy for you,” she responds, her level of patience enduring. She places the papers down on her desk, the corners hanging off the edge, inviting him to take them.

“Is she one of our supes?” She leans back in her seat, observing him in a way that always makes him feel small.

“No,” he says, jaw tight.

She hums, her calm serenity becoming maddening.

“Do you intend to be seen together?” She continues to press, and all at once he understands the angle she’s coming in from.

She doesn’t care a lick about what he’s doing, or who with.

All she cares about are the optics. Like he’s no different from The Deep fucking everything with a wet hole. She thinks you’re just another mess she’ll have to sweep under the rug.

“And if I do?” He presses, seething. Anger is easier than hurt.

“She’ll need to be vetted,” Madelyn replies matter-of-factly. “Likely have her socials expunged of anything that could be damaging to your image. What’s her name?”

He hesitates, the cold sting of regret lancing his gut. Looking Madelyn in the eyes, he suddenly doesn’t want her to know anything about you.

She could tell him to get rid of you.

Worse, she might choose to do it herself. This was a stupid and impulsive move, and he could swiftly pay the price for it. He hates how easily she unsteadies him.

“You’ll learn it when you meet her,” he says, forcing aloofness into both his tone and his body language, crossing his arms.

Madelyn’s look of tolerant reservation softens. She slides her glasses off and stands in a fluid motion, walking around her desk. “You know I’m only being protective of you, don’t you?” She asks, putting a hand on the jut of his elbow.

He purses his lips, gaze flickering away. He stares stubbornly out her window, fighting the urge to melt into her touch. She’s so busy these days. It’s made her even more withholding, and he has to cling tightly to his upset in order to keep himself from folding into her rare displays of warmth. 

“You know that I only want for you to be happy,” she continues to coo, voice low. Gentle.

He closes his eyes, inhaling a deep breath. When he looks at her again, there’s a note of defeat in his expression. He doesn’t know how true that really is these days. He doesn’t feel it. He had to go out and find his own happiness—and you have brought him that.

The feel of your body against his as you slept made him happier than he’s felt in years. He hasn’t been able to stop daydreaming about your silhouette this morning as you cooked for him in his once vacant, soulless kitchen.

You’re the spark of life he’s been desperately missing.

“Then you’ll let me have this,” he says, an underlying stress behind every word that makes something in Madelyn’s gaze shift.

“Okay,” she says with an air of reluctance. “I can see that this is important to you… You’ll have to let me in eventually,” she says, stroking his arm in slow, disarming movements.

“I will,” he says, eagerness slipping into his voice in the wake of her acquiescence. “When I’m ready.”

She smiles, but not in the way that she does when she’s pleased with him. This smile is an hourglass, and her patience is the sand falling through.

Her hand slips away and he feels the loss of it like a physical blow, immediately aching for more comfort. Instead he’s offered the notes she tried to give him earlier.

“So long as you’re where you need to be when you need to be there, what you do in your off time is your own business,” she says, and though her tone is placating, he can’t help but feel that he’s disappointed her. 

Hurt her, even. 

This isn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted her to care beyond the metrics, beyond the work they do. He wanted her to ask him to be with her instead so that for once, he might be the one in a position to withhold.

He takes the papers while Madelyn watches him, the judgemental weight of her gaze leaving him feeling cold, childish, and terribly small. Reading through the talking points she prepared for him, he frowns.

“Something the matter?”

“I mean… C’mon, this whole Kumbaya schtick?” He lightly slaps the page with the back of his hand. “We should be showing strength, not our bellies. People want leadership, not this–this noncommittal PC garbage. It’s not even saying anything!”

“It’s saying exactly what we need it to.” Her nonchalance sets his teeth on edge.

“We need to commit,” he insists, lowering his tone.

“We need to appear moderate,” she counters. “You aren’t only addressing your audience. Every dove and Democrat in Congress is going to be there, and it’s your job to make us look good to them, too.”

“I’m a fucking superhero, Madelyn!” He snaps, but there is neither strength nor anger in his voice. It’s a petulant desperation that sounds sour even to his own ears.

Her calm rebuttal of his every thought makes him feel powerless in a way someone of his caliber has no right feeling. His fists clench.

“They should be on their knees! Not deciding whether or not I’m worthy of their fucking votes!”

Her hand settles on his cheek. The warmth of it startles him, tampering a measure of that building indignant anger. 

“I know. I know it isn’t fair. Someone like you… you’re above these silly games,” she says, taking a step closer to him. 

“But that’s why we need you. It’s why Vought needs you. You’re the one who’s going to show them the truth. Show them that you are the future,” she says, her thumb lightly stroking back and forth on his cheek. “Just give them a little time to catch up, okay?”

He deflates under her touch, gaze dropping to her lips, her throat, her chest, where her heart beats steadily in his ears. Every inch of her she does not first offer is off limits to him. 

If he is all she says he is, how can she be so content to watch him starve?

“Okay,” he yields flatly, rolling the papers slowly into a tube. He bounces it off of his temple in a half-hearted salute, desperate to save face. Her hand falls away, leaving the spot cold. He swallows those empty feelings back like bile and clears his throat.

Defeated, he heads for the door, his tail tucked firmly between his legs.

“And Homelander,” Madelyn calls just as he reaches for the knob. He turns, looking at her with uncertain eyes. “Let’s keep this between you and I for now, okay? This little… acquaintance of yours. It would be a bloodbath if the press got a hold of her before we could prepare.”

“I told Maeve,” he admits right away, guilt and shame making his voice quiet.

“I’ll take care of it,” she assures him, though it does little to make him feel better. “Be good today.”

“Okay,” he says again, gut churning with a tumultuous mix of emotions. Stepping out of her office, the last thing in the fucking world he wants to do is plaster on a smile and let himself be blinded by a thousand camera flashes.

What he desperately wants now is you.

( chapter 5 )

[thelifeofchuckmovie]

When it comes to ending the world, Stephen King is a repeat offender. He has brought life as we know it to a brutal conclusion several times over the decades, usually highlighting the cruelty and desperation that erupts among the last to go. But his 2020 story “The Life of Chuck” uses doomsday to evoke some unlikely sentiments: Wistfulness. Gratitude. Even joy.

The idea of creating an apocalyptic version of It’s a Wonderful Life is what led filmmaker Mike Flanagan to call dibs on the rights to the novella more than four years ago. The breakdown of society, extinction-level natural disasters, and the disintegration of reality itself is explored through the lens of one relatively meek and mild accountant, played by Tom Hiddleston, whose memories and choices are mysteriously connected to these tribulations. Retirement posters congratulating him on “39 great years” pop up everywhere. But who is this guy? What job does he do (or did he used to do)? And why does it matter so much to the fate of the world? This apparent nobody named Chuck Krantz has lived larger than anyone thought possible.

Having explored King country before in 2017’s Gerald’s Game and 2019’s The Shining sequel Doctor Sleep, Flanagan got involved after reading an early copy of “Chuck” before it was published in the collection If It Bleeds. The Haunting of Hill House and Fall of the House of Usher creator produced the film independently, believing it might be too offbeat for risk-averse studios to greenlight. He even secured a waiver from the striking Hollywood guilds last year to move forward with the shoot while the rest of the industry was stuck in the work stoppage. Now he and Hiddleston are ready to reveal the finished version of The Life of Chuck as it heads to the upcoming Toronto International Film Festival, where it will screen for potential distributors.

Among the skeptics about this adaptation was King himself, according to Flanagan. “His initial responses to me were a little like, ‘Oh, okay. Yeah. If you think that’s a movie…,’” he says. “He did say several times that he thought it would be a challenge to get it supported through traditional means.”

King has now seen the finished movie and no longer has doubts. He described it to Vanity Fair as “a happiness machine.”

“Well, he’s written something very tender and very wise,” Hiddleston says. “I think there is a great wisdom in the soul of the story, which is that it takes courage to hold on to what is good in a world that feels like it’s falling apart.”

Flanagan hopes others see it that way too, although the overpowering dread that begins the story may be more immediately relatable. “I’ve heard it said that every generation feels a little like the world is ending at some point, [but] I still feel like it’s different for us,” the 46-year-old filmmaker says with a mordant laugh. “Institutions we took for granted as propping up our society are failing left and right. Our politics have degraded spectacularly. The sense that it’s breaking down, that the world is moving on, has been increasingly palpable. When I talk to my parents or members of older generations who have been through their own turbulent times, the thing that strikes me is that they’re like, ‘Oh yeah, this is really bad.’”

But…it’s not entirely bad. And that’s the underlying message of The Life of Chuck as its various mysteries play out. “There’s no sense of terror in the way that King drew it,” Flanagan says. “Even as the world feels as though it’s ending, people become introspective, they reach into their past for loves that have left their lives for one reason or another. Strangers engage in open and fearless communication.”

It’s an indie-film variation on the big-budget cataclysm story. “A disaster movie has people meeting the end while running from tidal waves, and this story has people sitting quietly holding hands looking at the stars,” Flanagan says.

The key to it all is Chuck himself, although he doesn’t turn up onscreen until the second segment of the three-act story, which plays out in reverse chronological order.

The beginning is actually the end, as the whole world circles the drain. Caught in this spiral is Chiwetel Ejiofor (12 Years a Slave), a school teacher trying to apply logic to the planet’s troubles; Karen Gillan (Guardians of the Galaxy) is his ex, a hospital worker determined to save everyone she can; Matthew Lillard (Scream) is a construction worker neighbor who finds zen amid the chaos; and Carl Lumbly (Alias), plays a funeral director who has dedicated his life to easing people through death.

The end of the movie is actually the beginning, showing young Chuck (Benjamin Pajak) when he was a boy being raised by his grandparents (Mia Sara of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and Mark Hamill). The insight of these two—coupled with the otherworldly revelations he finds in an eerie room tucked into the peak of their Victorian home—help him learn to seek out bright spots when life is marred by sorrow and darkness.

In elementary school, young Chuck discovers some important things about himself thanks to guidance from a brusque dance instructor (Samantha Sloyan), and a kindhearted English teacher, played by Kate Siegel, who gives the boy (not to mention the audience) some important information that serves as a code breaker for the story's more cosmic puzzles.

As for the middle of the film: It’s a dance number. That’s when Hiddleston steps in.

Compounding the peculiarity of The Life of Chuck is the question: Why is this song and dance sequence so important? The answer is for the movie to reveal, but it matters a lot. “The life of every human being is a constellation, as expressed in this film,” Hiddleston says. “There are certain moments which will burn most brightly as individual stars. Sometimes it feels like the world is going to hell in a handcart, and it’s full of pain and suffering, and it is—but there are moments of deep joy and deep connection.”

Hiddleston shows the audience this single moment in the life of a buttoned-up fellow who somehow controls the destiny of the world. It’s not necessarily the most important day in his life, but it’s a memorable one involving a street drummer (Taylor Gordon), a lovely stranger (played by Annalise Basso), and a fateful decision to cast aside caution and cut a rug. “It’s a reminder to do whatever it is that expresses whatever gives you that feeling of being alive,” Hiddleston says. “Whether it’s music or dancing or math or writing or creativity—do it. Do it now. Those moments are what you’ll remember.”

Flanagan considered casting a relative unknown as Chuck to “give the audience the experience of ‘Who the hell is this person?’” as the peculiar retirement signs begin to appear in the midst of the apocalypse. But he felt the promise of the Loki star would build more curiosity as the world falls apart. “You grow an enormous amount of anticipation to finally spend time with an actor like Tom, who can be a literal god in one story, and then an everyman in another,” Flanagan says.

A TikTok video of Hiddleston getting his groove on sealed the deal. “He had a completely unfiltered joy on his face,” Flanagan says. “He was a good dancer, but that wasn’t what struck me. I wasn’t amazed by the technique so much as the degree of happiness that was radiating off of him. The look on his face made me smile the same way I smiled reading that particular portion of the book.”

The resulting scene was created in a month-long collaboration between Flanagan, Hiddleston, Basso, choreographer Mandy Moore (So You Think You Can Dance, and La La Land), and Gordon, a real-life percussionist who performs under the name the Pocket Queen. “Taylor was there for all of the dance choreography. She wrote that piece of music for that performance. They built it together,” Flanagan says.

Hiddleston rattles off the lists of influences: “I had to learn in six weeks the full regime of any dance training. We did jazz, swing, salsa, cha-cha, the Charleston, bossa nova, polka, quickstep, samba. We were trying to tip our hat to anything that might have influenced Chuck. It might’ve had a bit of Gene Kelly or Fred and Ginger. Certainly moonwalking—Stephen King is very specific about the moonwalk.”

Precision was not the goal, exuberance was what they sought. “We need to always bear in mind that this man is an accountant. We needed this to be an earnest, escalating explosion of joy, and a remembrance of who he was,” Flanagan says. “It’s a chance to step back into the skin of his younger self, not caring that his feet are going to kill him the next day, not caring that he’s going to wake up with a horribly stiff neck.”

A surprising thing happened while shooting the scene over the course of several sweltering afternoons in the deep South. “I burned holes in my shoes,” Hiddleston says. “I was dancing out on the asphalt in Alabama, and by the time we’d finished, you could see my socks through the soles.”

The sequence begins awkwardly: Chuck is self-conscious as he first hears the busker’s rhythm while walking back from a banking conference. That feeling quickly gets shaken off. “Tom was very committed,” Flanagan says. “He was like, ‘If I look silly, that’s fine. As long as I look happy.’”

Flanagan remembers being in a bad place when he first discovered “The Life of Chuck.” Then again, everybody was.

His copy of the manuscript arrived in March 2020. “That was just as the world shut down for COVID,” he says. “We had been a week away from starting principal photography on Midnight Mass in Vancouver and had fled across the border before it closed to make it back to the States. We were hunkered down in our homes and had no idea if this was going to last for two weeks or if this was going to last forever.”

With everything halted as the lockdown set in, Flanagan had plenty of time to do nothing but read. The new King book seemed like the perfect escape. Except…

“The first third of ‘The Life of Chuck’ just rattled me,” he recalls. “There’s no way he wrote this before the world ground to this bizarre halt—but he did. And the feeling of anxiety, and uncertainty, and that everything was falling apart came roaring out at me. I wasn’t sure I could finish it. It just felt too close to the anxiety I was feeling.” But he kept turning the pages. “By the end of it, I was in tears, and incredibly uplifted, and convinced I’d read maybe the best thing that he’d written in a decade. I just was floored by the thing,” Flanagan says. “So I fired off an email to him right away saying how much I loved the story, how incredible I thought it was, how meaningful, and important, and how it had really tattooed itself on my heart and said, ‘It’s the movie I want to make so that it’ll exist in the world for my kids.’”

King’s response: Not so fast. Flanagan and his producing partner, Trevor Macy, had at that point secured the rights to King’s fantasy saga The Dark Tower through their company, Intrepid Pictures. The eight-book series is threaded throughout King’s other works, and adapting it was a massive undertaking that Flanagan is still working to make happen. Other filmmakers had either abandoned the project, were canceled midway through, or bombed miserably. The author didn’t want him to be distracted. “He doesn’t like to give the same filmmaker more than one thing, because it typically means one thing is not advancing at all,” Flanagan says. “He said, ‘Well, let’s focus on The Tower and I’ll try to keep this one available for you for later.’”

The quest to The Dark Tower remains a priority for Flanagan, but a number of disruptions to that epic undertaking led him to reapproach King last year about Chuck. Intrepid’s deal with Netflix, where they had created Hill House, The Haunting of Bly Manor, and other shows, had come to a close, and Intrepid signed a new development agreement with Amazon. That meant starting over on The Dark Tower. Meanwhile, the threat of a double-barreled strike by writers and actors was on the horizon, stalling nearly every major new project. The industry plunged into another production-halting lockdown, this time over contract impasses rather than a virus.

Since The Dark Tower was suddenly further off on the horizon, Flanagan saw a chance to make The Life of Chuck happen in the short term. “It’s so rare that I get to approach any project that just has not an ounce of cynicism to it. I just really believed in this thing,” he says. “But it was also clear that we would have an incredibly uphill battle bringing the story to any major studio. They would try to make it as familiar as possible, instead of leaning into what makes it so different.”

King gave Flanagan his blessing to proceed. “I was off like a shot,” the filmmaker says. “I think I turned in the draft to him before he got around to sending the formal agreement.”

For everyone involved, The Life of Chuck became a bright spot in an otherwise dismal time, which matches the theme of the film. “There is a profound optimism in this story,” Hiddleston says. “As the world is spinning off its axis, there are moments of magic.”

[casualheizouenjoyers]

- secrets i have held in my heart

featuring: jing yuan, bailu, yanqing, reader

warnings: a bit angsty ig, hanahaki au, blood, sickness, throwing up, coughing and just general sick stuff

Orchids grow where others cannot.

This phrase reigns especially true when orchids begin to grow in your body. Scratching your throat and clogging up your lungs. 

You try to laugh it off as a small cough, a small sickness, as if the whole thing didn’t fill you with dread when you thought about the invasive plant infesting your every breath. 

It isn’t until finally you violently cough over your sink that a bloodied white orchid petal came fluttering out.

Were… you some form of mara struck? You wondered in confusion at the collection of petals that grew with each hack of your lungs. 

The high elder —Bailu— immediately takes up your case. Which is potentially concerning as you’ve gone to about possibly any doctor that will see you for some kind of explanation to your floral fever and none of them have had anything good to say. 

In fact, they have nothing to say about your illness. No one knew what was causing the orchids to bloom, making a home of your decaying body; a pretty parasite taking you ahold. 

The little Vidyadhara girl frowned upon seeing the collection of whole flowers and crumbled petals, all coated with a splattered layer of dried blood. 

Bailu’s eyes squinted as she observed the floral. 

Perhaps, it was some kind of achievement that you had every doctor and healer on the luofu stumped at your conditions? 

It isn’t until you’re coughing out another flower, this time red covering it was still vibrant and liquid, that the healer decided you were some form of mara struck and needed to be monitored closely. Even as she wrote out her prescription and made you promise to come back the next week, you could tell she wasn’t too sure about what she was saying.

That did absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. 

You go home after collecting your prescription and puke out leaves and stems along with the flowers. 

Despite your sickness, work is work, you decided, and working as a tutor was fulfilling for you. You hope —prayed— that the sight of your favorite student, Yanqing, would bring you some form of joy. The lesson went smoothly, though it was clear your student’s mind was up in the clouds, but you didn’t comment about it as yours was rooted deep elsewhere. 

With the closing of the textbook, Yanqing’s eyes light up. 

“Can we swordfight now?” The teenaged boy asked.

You almost said no.

You had realized early on that Yanqing would do his work and pay attention better if you found a way to relate it to swordsmanship, or if you promised that the two of you would spar a little after a lesson. 

There was a growing weakness in your body. It seemed that describing the flowers as a parasite wasn’t inaccurate, as every day went on you felt them drain the energy out of you. 

Yanqing waited for your response.

You nodded, standing up and picking up your sword from where it rested on a wall. Once, you had used it as a cloud knight, now it only ever saw use when teaching the blonde boy. 

Yanqing excitedly ran to the other side of the room, drawing his sword and getting into position. He paused, looking over at you.

When did your eyes become so sunken in? Your hand shook as you held your sword up and it became increasingly clear to Yanqing that you were in no position to swordfight. 

Your student called out your name, a hint of concern in his voice. 

“I— Give me a moment—” You called out, placing a hand on your head as a sudden headache came, making your vision blur and your legs lose balance as you head tumbling for the floor.

Yanqing tossed his sword far away as he slid to catch you. 

Bailu is halfway through her yearly appointment with the general when you come in with Yanqing by your side.

You mumbled apologies for the interruption and swore on your life you were fine. 

You had honestly not realized how bad things had gotten in the few days from the last time you had seen the healer.

Your heart fluttered at the sight of Jing Yuan.

The orchid also fluttered out of your mouth in a set of coughs that leave you out of breath on the ground, Yanqing down at your side again. 

There are multiple voices speaking but your mind can focus on none of them. 

Jing Yuan helped you up and you feel your heart clench up as a choke comes to your throat.

More orchids. 

He whispered to you in a soft voice, trying to help you through this coughing fit as Yanqing explained the situation that had happened just a few minutes before. 

Bailu watched this, shock painted on the girls face as she realized two truths.

You were indeed mara struck, just with a rare mutation that had gone out thousands of years ago. 

You were also in love with the general

and it was going to be the death of you.

[cosmicmunsonwrites]

reader giving birth and jj is being so supportive, telling her she’s doing such a great job, not leaving her side, etc. and once baby is born he just can’t stop crying— ugh dad!jj >>

melt with you

pairing(s): dad!bf!jj maybank x mom!gf!fem!reader

warnings: pet names, descriptions of birth, praise

summary: jj stays with you through one of your hardest moments.

authors note: thank you for the request love!! enjoy :)

not edited

do not copy my works. i do not condone rewrites, translations, or edited versions. all my content is my content that i wrote.

not my gif

“you’re doin’ so good, sweetheart. almost there, just a little more,” jj encouraged, letting you squeeze his hand as hard as you needed.

you were exhausted. your legs were aching, your stomach hurt, your whole lower body was in pain. you knew it’d all be worth it but you were so over the pain you were feeling. “i can’t. i can’t push anymore,” you said breathlessly. it hurt too much to even breathe.

“yes you can, baby. you’re almost there. you got it, i know you do. ‘s just one more,” he replied softly, kissing your sweaty forehead.

so you mustered up all the strength you could find and pushed that one last time. the doctors began to rush around the room, like they were looking for something.

then they said the words you were truly dreading. just one more. you thought the last one was the last one.

jj held your hand tighter, moving your hair from your forehead and murmuring soft praises into your ear and you squeezed your eyes shut and pushed for what you hoped was the very last time.

crying then filled the room.

your eyes stayed shut, too tired and utterly exhausted to open them and take a look at your baby girl. you took a few deep breaths to collect yourself, then opened up your droopy lids to see the baby being placed into the arms of your boyfriend.

you noticed his eyes become glassy as he lightly bounced back and forth and whispered soft words to her. then he looked up at you, a tear rolling down his rosy cheek. “holy shit, is someone cutting onions or something?”

you couldn’t help but let out a tired laugh.

[peachesofteal]

So hiiii this is 🫔 Anon once more! I'm glad the A/B/O angst was a hit and here I bring more angsty thoughts

So Dead Disco AU where Darling is pregnant but this time nothing bad happens!

You're pregnant and despite not being able to have your meds, the guys and and you manage around it. Picture them randomly kissing Darling's forehead in passing and Simon listening to the baby's heartbeat when he has insomnia. Pampering you: rubbing your feet when they're achy and swollen, standing right behind you, carefully lifting your belly, relieving some of the pressure on your back. Running for late night snacks because you're craving pickles and cheese. Telling (and showing) you how gorgeous and hot you are because you are feeling insecure once you start to show. On base, right beside Darling's photograph in their quarters there's also the picture of an ultrasound that's replaced whenever you have a new appointment with the doctor.

Everything's fine. You're just two weeks away from giving birth and this is the last op before they use all their saved up leave to care for you and the baby. You can still remember how happy you felt watching Johnny paint the nursery in green, while Simon assembled the furniture. You giggled at the thought of Simon collecting every plushie he saw that ended up on the dresser. Or Johnny thinking about every possible name for the baby.

Everything's fine, your obgyn has the team for the birth ready, you already have a bag ready to leave for the hospital. You're just waiting for Simon and Johnny to return.

And then. Someone knocks at your door, early in the morning. Something dreadful sits in the pit of your stomach because who the hell would knock on your door so early, but you try to convince yourself the guys forgot their keys. You try.

But then, when you open your door to John Price standing there with a mournful look on his face, you can only comprehend few words in between the ringing on your ears:

... Simon... MIA... rescuing... Johnny... MIA

Hope you're having a good day Peach, k now I'll go, byeeee

– 🫔 Anon, currently running away from the scene

🏃🏃🏃

I have absolutely zero bandwidth to write anything for this right now and I’m pretty sad about it. However I would hate to deprive everyone else of 🫔 anon’s incredible brain, so please enjoy this beautiful suffering.

Okay I lied a little, I have some bandwidth I guess. A tiny amount.

I just think about Price being the one to have to deliver the news. Your knees buckle and he catches you, trying to hold you while you completely lose it, sobbing into his starched uniform about how he better be lying, and how could he let your guys go missing, and why isn’t he out there right now looking for them. The stress triggers early labor, and then you’re fully panicking, terrified of having to do this without them, while also being terrified they’re never coming back.

Maybe they do.

Maybe only one of them does.

Maybe they don’t.

[oldtvandcomics]

Book Shout-outs for Pride Month #2:

Asexual edition.

Row One: Stand-Alones:

Asexual Fairy Tales by Elizabeth Hopkinson: Exactly what it says on the tin, a collection of asexual fairy tale retellings. Hopkinson has written two more collections like this.

Space Cadets by Robin Banks: In a dystopian future, five cadets are the only survivors of a cruel space battle. They take their ship and run, and have to consequently figure out, what to do next.

Baker Thief by Claudie Arsenault: New in the city, a police officer chases after a thief who broke into her home and stole her expensive power source, only to stumble on a conspiracy.

Row Two: Series with two books:

The King's Peace/The King's Name (Sulien series) by Jo Walton: Arthurian retelling set in an alternate universe. The main character and narrator is the equivalent of our Sir Lancelot, the King's best and most trusted general. She narrates the story from their first meeting to after his death.

Dread Nation/Deathless Divide by Justina Ireland: Alternate history where the American Civil War ended in a zombie apocalypse, and people of color are being forced to fight the zombies. The asexual character, Katherine, is there from the beginning on, but only becomes a POV character in the second book.

Row Three: Series with more than two books:

The Dreamhealers series by M.C.A Hogarth: In a space fantasy world with many different species living together in harmony, it follows the lives of two psychology students (later doctors), who form a mental link and become platonic life partners.

The Margin Street Zeroes series by Robin Banks: Follows the lives of three (later four) very broke, very neurodivergent and very queer university students who are also harassed by gods and magic. They form a found family that actively defies societal expectations. The asexual storyline only starts in book 3, but one of the two asexual characters, Ben, is there all along. The other, AK, also only joins in book 3.

I probably could scratch together some more, especially if I add in my TBR list, but these are my go-tos.

[sasster]

Walking on Glass

And I do solemnly swear that this is the last set of new trolls I make for a long while.

So what’s the Colmea guy’s deal, anyway? [doc]

-- “Now you’ve really done it.” The child, and she can’t be more than five sweeps old, smiles around a juicebox from her perch. “He’s not going to be happy about this one little bit.” Her warning fills you with just enough dread that it roots you in place.

The he in question is, for the short time that you’ve known each other, very particular of the fungal colonies that throng throughout the lab like a great big web. Some of them in larger terrariums cobbled together and the others in their much smaller quarantines. He was more protective of these small quarantined batches than he was of anything else, even the aquarium that sits nearly ceiling to floor and across the back wall of the lab, housing a handful of species of jellyfish, with the largest, and need for such ample volume, being his overgrown lusus. Nemopilema nomurai, he once whispered into your ear when he caught you staring at her.

She is quite the daunting thing, with what must be a ten or fifteen-foot diameter and countless feet of long sprawling tentacles, tendrils, and tangles of some sort of marine fungus weaving around and within them. He never offered a scientific name or approximate for it, and to be fair, you never asked.

Conversations with the man always centered around his research, his precious colonies, that you’d been helping him with. The science he always mumbled, mostly to himself, was difficult to parse on a good day, on a bad day he stopped pretending to try altogether.

Your role, as far as he was concerned, as far as you understood, was only a very small part.

A collective consciousness. The only colony that survived the interaction with your mutation to the point that you started to become one. Once again, the science of it all was lost on you, something about parasitic symbiosis or some other, but the piece of it he’d gotten into you somehow took root and you’d found yourself actually talking to it.

Making decisions with it.

It was only natural you’d want to get a closer and better look at it, right? 

“It was a mistake.” Is all you can manage, staring at the ground that almost glitters with the way the ambient lights of the tanks shine off of the glass of one of the smaller, now shattered, terrariums that litters the floor. Many of the stray shards lance through the colony in places that look fatal even to the untrained eye.

“It was a mistake.” She mimics, not quite getting the cadence right, but the road work is there, so there’s maybe a future in ventriloquism for the kid. “I think he’s gonna feed you to Big Mama.” She indicates the tank with the massive jellyfish in it, punctuating the thought with the insufferable sound a straw makes when it reaches the end of a drink.

Colmea couldn’t be that unreasonable, could he?

As if summoned, and you don’t think she sent for him, the door opens as soon as the fear creeps up on you.

There is a severe way that the doctor has about carrying himself, a stern expression attached to whatever it is he lets his gaze fall on. Right now that is solidly on you. The gravity of the situation and the weight of the girl’s words leave you incapable of removing yourself from the scene of the crime, after all. You’d only reached a harmless hand in to touch it, how could you predict this outcome?

“It was a mistake.” You whisper desperately as he fully enters the room, the picture of serenity, taking in the scene before him. He does not regard you or what you’ve had to say for yourself.

Even if the colony was not sliced through as it was, the abrupt displacement from its aquatic habitat would have done enough on its own to paint a grim scene, splattered across the floor like an abstract painting. He surveys the damage quietly, a ponderous god, visage poisoned by the blue and pink glow of the lights within neighboring tanks. Now his gaze flits about from shard of glass to shard of glass, as though looking for answers in the mosaic they make up on the floor.

Everything in the lab has become remarkably still, even the girl in the corner has ceased vacuuming the bottom of the juice box in favor of savoring the silence that smothers the room, deafening even over the bubbling of the surrounding tanks.

Colmea does not rush in, ready to collapse to the floor and mourn the loss of his experiment, instead he is carried further into the room by slow and deliberate steps, each one a soft tap against linoleum that crushes the glass beneath it. The answers to questions that he does not bother voicing slotting into his mind as he advances, and if those answers change any part of his expression, which you suspect it doesn’t, it goes unnoticed when his contemplative steps take him into the shadow of his colossal lusus.

Far too long passes before he is standing directly in front of you. Very briefly, a crack in his veneer provides a view into the ever-feared high blood rage bubbling beneath the surface.

“Myriad,” he addresses the girl, still up on her perch by the edge of the jellyfish enclosure. “The colony?”

Myriad makes a face like she is seriously concentrating, an expression you’ve come to understand means she is reaching into her mind to find her natural connection to the fungal colonies that surround her. Not as a member of the collective, but as an eavesdropper. Her game goes on for too long and it is clear that she is only playing up the dramatics, reveling in your dread, when the pensive god clears his throat.

“Dead as a doornail!” She reports, cheery as she was when she delivered her taunts moments before his arrival. It should hurt, but you already knew. You felt it, a part of you, die the second the tank hit the floor. “No survivors, wiped out!”

The ghost of something horrific crosses behind his eyes.

He nods.

His demeanor does not betray him and there is no warning when he strikes, just the stinging feeling left behind by a backhand that causes you to lose your balance. With a hideous crunch, your knees fall into the ruin below, the salty remnants from the enclosure mingles with the fresh wounds and sends a significant shock through your system. So significant in fact, that you make neither a move nor a sound. 

Colmea shakes his hand loose, the anger that boils just beneath but never quite breaking the surface places a dangerous dose of malice behind his eyes.

“Myriad, find me a broom.” He commands, and as soon as it leaves his mouth, her feet hit the ground right behind you with a crunch that makes you wince. A stifled giggle followed by her plodding along tells you it was an intentional assault on her part.

His hand is wrapped up in your hair before the door closes behind her and he lifts you up to meet his eye line, all the while winding more and more of it up until he finds scalp, as though he is handling something that weighs about the same as a stuffed animal. 

There is no growling, no deep orange eyes signaling danger, just a furrowed brow and a deep sigh. “I had such high hopes for you.”

“I,” you start to plead your case, tears welling at the corners of your eyes at the realization that your mutation did not make you special enough, but he does not give you the opportunity to continue. Instead, your face is acquainted with the glass of the aquarium with such force that it rattles the base of the enclosure and causes some of the smaller species of jellies inside to send off bright sparks of light, in hopes of startling whatever predator they assume has invaded.

All they really succeed in is disorienting you all the more, your face making contact a second and third time before stars start to decorate your vision and the edges begin to blur. Something cracks, and it is not the glass.

Still, the angered god does not growl or snarl. Nor does his reflection, warped by a myriad of things between the forming concussion and the glass of the aquarium, broadcast anything beyond his mild indifference.

Your face hits the glass a few more times before the girl returns from her quest and he finally relents, dropping you to the floor with a sigh. In the same moment, the stars in your vision become angry black splotches, eagerly rushing out to meet those blurred edges.

[idyllic-affections]

HELLO!! YOUR BAIZHU WITH CHRONICALLY ILL READER IS THE BEST THING THAT'S EVERY HAPPENED!!! I've never seen a blog that does only platonic things, and as an aroace person, IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY! I wasn't too sure if you requests were open or not, but I was wondering if you could make either some headcanons or a fic where the reader (from that series) has a flare up or gets sick and Baizhu takes care of them? I'm unfortunately sick right now (just in time for when my final school assignments are due, slay 😍) but found family and hurt/comfort are literally the best thing ever, and, if put together, I'm pretty sure will cure me /j. If you requests aren't open, then please disregard this message!

Anyway, I gotta go sleep before the fever messes up my brain (if it hasn't already); so good bye, and thank you again!!

a slip of the tongue.

summary. how does baizhu care for his junior herbalist when they fall ill?

trigger & content warnings. flu-like sickness, lighthearted mentions of death.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. hurt/comfort-ish. baizhu & reader. 1.1k words. they/them pronouns for reader. this post is an expansion of invisible disability? it's rather visible to me & contains vaguely implied spoilers for baizhu's story quest.

author's thoughts. hello lovely!!! thank youu <3 i am slowly collecting people that like this series like how i collect shiny rocks. its great to get a request related to it. i hold this series very dearly, so please (and this goes for everyone reading this!) never be shy to send thoughts about it or requests related to it. anyway, i love catering to aroace folk, you all are so special to me. im on the aro spectrum myself, so i get it. i know from experience that it can be super frustrating looking for fanfic content that's non-romantic. please remember to take care of yourself! i totally understand the feeling of needing to finish final assignments while being sick. me and you are in the exact same boat LMAO... my requests are always open btw! ive no intention of ever closing them. in the end, i went with our poor reader being sick rather than having flare ups, since i already briefly touched on that idea in employee benefits.

how does baizhu care for his junior herbalist when they're sick and out of commission?

baizhu is most often the first to know when they're sick or otherwise unwell. he's so impossibly attentive to their bodily condition, simply because their health is partially his responsibility. he's their teacher. what kind of mentor would neglect to take care of their apprentice? a bad one, that's what kind.

(he also feels somewhat indebted to them—even though they're chronically ill, they're always doing anything they can to help him recover after his "secret art" treatments. even though he's the doctor, they've helped care for him on more than one occasion. he has to return the favor whenever he can. just because he's older doesn't mean he gets to freely take advantage of their kindness.)

if he's not the first to know, he's the second, because the only instance where he wouldn't know first is if they woke up ill at home.

he'll always end up being the second to know, at the very least. someone will inform him of their condition, whether that be a parent or a sibling or another family member. sometimes a friend of theirs may tell him, such as xingqiu, chongyun, hu tao, or xiangling.

in hu tao's case... she may be distrustful of him, but she does tell him when they aren't well. [name] is a childhood friend of hers. she cares about their health and, surprisingly, doesn't want to put them in the ground just yet!

even though she dreads the path they've chosen to walk down... she still cares for them, very much so.

(junior herbalist!reader's lore drop is finally here?!?!?)

regardless of how baizhu finds out, they'll end up being cared for at the pharmacy.

though he could prescribe them medication and let them be taken care of at home...

he often wants to care for them himself.

gui has asked why in the past, and baizhu really has never had a good answer for him.

he's really not sure why he wants to be the one to monitor them. perhaps it's because it gives him a sense of calmness and reassures him that they're recovering well.

after all, if their condition were to rapidly decline for any reason... he could fix it.

(to some others, his concern might seem overprotective. unnecessary. however, something as simple as the flu has been known to take lives. he worries that, because of their chronic illness, they may be more susceptible to a severe case than others are.)

he has the means to save them if something like that were to happen, and undoubtedly, the life of his sweet and kind apprentice is one that deserves to be saved and protected.

perhaps it's also because it seems to put qiqi at ease; baizhu's noticed that she gets fidgety in [name]'s absence during work hours, but when they're ill and being cared for at the pharmacy, she functions very well and often even remembers to check on them herself.

sometimes when they have a fever, qiqi may sit by their side for minutes at a time and just press her little cold hands on their forehead to cool them off. she also ensures that they stay hydrated.

both baizhu and gui find this behavior very endearing. qiqi cares deeply for her big sibling (despite the fact that she's technically older...). her bond with them is something very special and sweet to bear witness to.

bubu pharmacy's work environment is familial and tightly knit by nature, so it isn't too hard to imagine that something would feel wrong if one of the four herbalists were gone for whatever reason. even those who don't work there are affected by the absence of one or more of the pharmacists.

overall, baizhu takes very good care of them when they fall ill.

he monitors them closely, hand-crafts their medicine depending on what they need, makes sure that their fluid intake is maintained...

he dotes on them tbh.

"Ugh..." they groaned, blearily blinking up at their mentor. Baizhu's hand against the feverish skin of their forehead was cold; they couldn't help but lean into the gentle touch. "Bàba?"

He didn't point it out. He hardly even acknowledged their words, as if he were somehow used to it. He only smiled, hand stroking tenderly over their disheveled hair, taming the defiant strands no doubt caused by restless sleep. "So sorry to wake you, dear."

Even Changsheng was quiet—she only hummed thoughtfully from her place around Baizhu's neck. Normally, she'd find something to tease them about (usually because they started it!), but now... she seemed to know that it just wasn't right to tease them in their hazy state of mind.

Gui was quiet, too. He was surprised. He had never heard them address their mentor such an... informal way, let alone with familial terms. He did once briefly think that the dynamic they had with Baizhu was awfully family-like, but...

It was still unexpected.

"Come, now. It's time to take your medicine again, and then you can go back to sleep, okay?"

Gui watched, still silent, as they hummed in absentminded acknowledgement, rubbing their eyes ever so slightly. It didn't seem to help them come to at all; their gaze was still distant and unfocused and they didn't even realize how they addressed the doctor. If they did... they'd probably apologize, embarrassed, but they showed no such emotion. Baizhu gently guided them into a sitting position, rubbing small circles on their back.

Gui handed the cup filled about halfway with herbal medication off to the doctor. Baizhu gingerly guided it to their lips, knowing very well that the guidance was needed; they looked half-asleep sitting up. Archons know they were in no condition to successfully do it themselves. They took the medicine without so much as a whine about its bitterness—they only grimaced slightly after swallowing. Gui supposed that they never really were one to complain about it, even when fully coherent. 'I think it would set a bad example for others if I complained,' they once told him. 'Plus, it's not like Dr. Baizhu gets some kind of sadistic pleasure from giving medication to me, so there's no reason to complain. It's herbal. There's nothing to be done about the taste... I know he doesn't like taking it either. Hehe. It's kind of funny, actually, like we're hiding some kind of company secret. Herbalists who don't like the taste of herbal medicine.'

It was only after he left the room with the doctor that he pointed it out:

"They called you bàba."

"Hm?" Baizhu hummed, turning to Gui. "Oh. Yes... [Name] has done it quite a few times, actually, whether that be because of fever delirium or a slip of the tongue. I don't mind it. It only means that they feel safe enough to be vulnerable here. Qiqi has done it a few times, as well. Those two are only children, so... it is to be expected."

Gui then smiled, nodding. "It's cute."

Baizhu couldn't help but agree, his lips tilting upwards into a little smile himself. "It is."

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

[canadiankazz]

ABOUT ME

Hi! Call me Kazz.

Cis. Het. She/her. Mid 30's.

I am a dual Canadian/Australian citizen currently living in South Australia. I grew up in the 90’s, so 90’s nostalgia is my jam. My husband and I have been together since 2011. He is in most of my same RP games. I work retail in a grocery store and have a (useless) bachelor of arts in English and History, a Graduate Diploma in Education and a degree in Library Studies. Orcas are my favourite animal, although I’m also partial to cats, dogs, red-tailed hawks, Australian magpies and guinea pigs.

I’m currently the owner of three guinea pigs named Sable, Neil and Buzz. Check out their side blog HERE.

My hobbies are writing fanfic, playing RPGs, video games and cross stitching.

Link to my Fanfic on Ao3

Link to fuckyeahlabynight Tumblr's largest collection of everything to do with LA by Night and NY by Night.

Link to my Cross Stitching Side Blog

My CURRENT Fandoms include (but are not limited to):

Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss

LA By Night, NY by Night and Vampire the Masquerade in general

Critical Role

Dropout.tv

Doctor Who

Good Omens

I also love SMOSH, Dropout.tv, Last Podcast on the Left (and other true crime/spooky/disaster podcasts,) Disney, Shakespeare, Norse, Greek and Egyptian mythology, most films, musicals and theatre in general. My favourite musicals include Cats, Phantom of the Opera, Little Shop of Horrors, Six, Beetlejuice, Hadestown, and Les Misérables. I also love the Starkid musicals.

Past fandoms include Pirates of the Caribbean, The Dresden Files, Star Wars, the X-Men, Spider-Man, Marvel and the MCU, Batman and the DCU, Hellsing, Hannibal, Dracula Daily, Animorphs, Discworld, Game of Thrones, Supernatural, Smallville, Harry Potter, Team Four Star, Achievement Hunter, Death Note, Wolf’s Rain, True Blood, How to Train Your Dragon, Steam Powered Giraffe, Lord of the Rings, Rifftrax, The Sandman, American Gods, and Transformers.

My favourite video games include Dead by Daylight, The Sims 4, Wingspan, Power Wash Simulator, Hunter: Call of the Wild, Stardew Valley, Jackbox Games, Unpacking, House Flipper and Steamworld Heist.

I prefer watching streamers play horror games rather than playing them myself. (I make an exception for DbD, as I’ve become a killer main and that’s a lot less scary than playing survivor.)

I’m also into reading runes/tarot cards and doing some magicy stuff from time to time.

Current RPG games I’m Gming or are playing in:

Vampire the Masquerade 5th edition

Scion

A homebrew game called "Becalmed" using the nWoD system. 

RPG Systems I have played in the past include:

Most New World of Darkness systems. (“Vanilla” WoD, Vampire: the Requiem, Werewolf: the Forsaken, Changeling: the Lost, Hunter: the Vigil and Mage: the Awakening, while also running games with Geists and Prometheans.)

Call of Cthulhu

Dread

Exalted (2nd and 3rd ed.)

Dungeons and Dragons (3.5 and 5th edition)

Spirit of the Centaury

Pathfinder

Neon Genesis Evangelion

Monster of the Week

The Buffy the Vampire Slayer RPG

Apoc World

Shadowrun

Only War

Star Wars: Edge of the Empire

Marvel Multiverse RPG

Please note that though I used to love a lot of things that have *problematic* creators, that does NOT mean I support or condone the actions of those creators. I may still reblog things from those fandoms from time to time.

[scarymonsters-andsupercreeps]

The Miracle We Need

Prologue + Chapter 1

next->

After overcoming her sickness, Holly develops a Stand of her own and seeks to join her family in Egypt.

Read on AO3 here!

Warnings for: nightmare sequence, illness, mentions of death

Prologue

Suzi craned her neck to see better out the car window. They were coming up on Holly’s house and she wanted to see if her daughter was out in the garden. Unfortunately it was a school day today, meaning she couldn’t see Jotaro right away. It had been several years, and she was curious to see just how tall he’d gotten!

Suzi received a call from Joseph a few days ago saying he was going to be gone longer than he expected on his business trip to Japan. He didn’t give an estimate, which was odd for him. Usually he kept her informed.

She was a little miffed about that, and she felt like doing something spontaneous—so here she was. She booked the soonest flight to Japan despite the protests of her butler, Roses. She was excited to surprise Holly with her visit and hopefully see Joseph.

As the car neared Holly’s house, though, Suzi’s heart dropped and an acute feeling of dread settled in her chest. The driveway and streets around were full of vans and SUVs, some marked with decals she vaguely recognized. She’d seen Joseph dealing with people that had that logo: “SPW.”

She got out of the car quickly, marching up the driveway. At the door, a young person in scrubs stood with a clipboard. “What’s your name?” He asked. “Gotta check if you’re authorized.”

Suzi frowned. Authorized? This was Holly’s house, not some kind of military base!

“I’m Joseph Joestar’s wife. Does his name ring any bells? I’ll have you know he sent me.” She stuck her chin up, trying to sell her lie and praying these people were aligned with Joseph. They had to be, right?

The nurse looked at his clipboard. “You’re not on the list.”

“Is Joseph?” She asked. The nurse nodded, so she continued. “Well, as I said, I’m his wife, Suzi Joestar. He sent me here. Did you miss the call from him? I’m sure you don’t want to be the person who has to answer to him about who kept his wife waiting.”

“I…” the nurse wavered a bit. “Fine, go ahead.” He reluctantly stepped aside.

Suzi quickly elbowed past him before he could change his mind. She took off her shoes at the door and looked around. The front room was strangely empty, but she could hear voices a few rooms down. There were probably more doctors here.

Usually she would check the kitchen for Holly, however, this time she had a sinking feeling that her daughter wouldn’t be there. Suzi followed the sounds until she rounded a corner and saw a door propped open.

She approached slowly, her knees starting to feel a bit weak.

Inside, a hospital bed and heart monitor had been set up. There were multiple side tables with supplies, as well as an IV drip hooked up to the person in the bed—Holly. She was currently asleep. When she got closer, Suzi saw how pale Holly was, and the sweat shining on her brow.

What had happened? Suzi pulled up a chair and reached for Holly’s hand. She was burning up and her hand was clammy. Suzi sat there for a moment, taking deep breaths to try and collect her thoughts. What could have possibly occurred that would lead to such a sudden illness? Suzi had spoken to Holly on the phone just a few days ago. Worse yet, what illness would Joseph not tell Suzi about? Why did they bring all the medical equipment to Holly instead of just taking her to a real hospital? The more Suzi thought about it, the angrier she got.

Holly stirred and Suzi snapped out of her angry haze, realizing she had been gripping Holly’s hand too tightly. She leaned over and fussed with Holly’s hair. Clearly the people who had laid her here had no regard for her hair—it was a mess.

As she worked out the tangles, Suzi thought about the situation more. She needed to get ahold of Joseph. But how? Maybe the strange doctors would know.

She reluctantly stood, leaving the room. Now there was a doctor and a few nurses there, hovering to see what she was doing.

“Hey, you!” Suzi said. “Can you get me on the phone with Joseph?”

The doctor nodded. “Yes…but who are you?”

“I’m Suzi Joestar! Joseph’s wife!” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh, of course. Right this way.” The doctor briskly led her to the landline, seeming to sweat a bit. Suzi liked how effective name-dropping Joseph was.

At the phone, the doctor dialed a number swiftly and then handed it to Suzi, scuttling away before she could say anything. On one hand, she didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot with the doctors keeping her daughter alive, but on the other, she didn’t trust a single one of them.

The phone rang for a long while, and she heard the call being redirected a few times. Apparently the doctor didn’t actually know where Joseph was and the call was being sent through a few operators from within this mysterious organization. Suzi wondered if it would work.

Who cares about that? She thought. Who are these people and this company? What do they have to do with Joseph? Why does he trust them? Where is he? And will he even pick up?

But then he did.

“…hello? What is it?”

Suzi never expected to feel such mixed emotions upon hearing her beloved husband’s voice. One part of her was relieved he was okay, and the other part wanted his head on a pike for keeping this from her. She took a breath, trying to organize the tornado of questions flying around her head.

She must have been quiet for a while, because he said hello a few more times. She pursed her lips.

“Joseph Joestar,” Suzi hissed. “You’d better have an explanation ready for me.”

Chapter 1: It’s a Miracle

A dark figure, enshrouded in tendrils of smoke yet backlit by a sickly yellow flame. Golden curls cascading down his back, skin as pale as death, and flashing white teeth—no, fangs. He should have been beautiful, but there was something wrong. His neck came into the light. On it was a jagged, half-healed scar ringed with irritation, as if his head had been spliced back onto his body. His shoulder bore a purple birthmark in the shape of a star. This was a Joestar birthmark—meaning his body was stolen.

DIO.

Holly thrashed in bed, now trembling in fear.

A broad back wearing a black coat. Broken cogs. Bloodied glass shards. The boy in black hunched over, blood pouring from his mouth, shadows obscuring his face completely. The boy again, laying curled up in a circle made of knives with his face hidden in the crook of his own elbow. He was somehow still familiar. A faint heartbeat sounded in the distance. Complete and utter darkness. A lock of black hair fluttering downwards as the heartbeat got louder. Then it stopped. A glimpse of lifeless sea-green eyes, stagnant as a puddle.

Black eyelashes. Thick brows.

Jotaro.

Holly jerked awake, crying out in terror. Her hair stuck to her neck with sweat. She couldn’t stop shaking. Her breaths came in labored gasps.

Her head swirled with the need to protect Jotaro. It was so strong she could almost taste it.

After the adrenaline started to wear off, Holly looked around. Next to her, an EKG screeched in time with her racing heart. She was in a relatively professional-looking hospital bed, although it was set up in the guest room of her own house. Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains and the dividers. What had happened? Why was she being tended to at home?

Given how high her heart rate was, a nurse would probably be here shortly for her to interrogate. She sighed heavily, leaning back to try and process the dream she’d had. As she calmed down, she remembered more and more of the details, and it threatened to make her panic all over again.

The first person she saw was without a doubt DIO. She recognized him from the spirit photos Joseph had taken. She had been comforted by what she had somehow subconsciously known was Jonathan’s body. She didn’t want to think about DIO, nor did she know why she dreamt about him. The image was still vivid in her mind, and it made her shiver.

More concerning was the second vision. That one was Jotaro, she just knew it. Its meaning wasn’t as clear as the first.

The last image haunted her. She knew by how glassy his eyes were that he was dead in it. Why did she dream about her son dying? Just the thought of it made her tear up. She was certain something bad was going to happen to Jotaro, and she was certain she had to stop it.

Just then, the door opened and a nurse trotted up to her. He was closely followed by Suzi, who was in a nightgown with a hastily donned cardigan over it.

“You’re awake!” She exclaimed.

Holly nodded absentmindedly as the nurse poked and prodded at her, sometimes asking questions or giving orders. “Where’s Jotaro?” She asked, her voice betraying her anxiety.

Suzi hesitated, and that told Holly everything she needed to know.

“He’s gone, isn’t he? Is he with Papa?” Holly started to shake a little. It’s another dream, she thought. It can’t be real.

“Yes. Joseph said they’re after…DIO? They thought you were going to die of this sickness so they left in order to save you.” Suzi sighed. “He wouldn’t tell me much, and what he did tell me didn’t make sense.”

“How long have they been gone?” Holly almost didn’t want to know the answer to that one. The nurse finally got done with her and scribbled on the clipboard attached to her bed before leaving quietly.

“Around a week. They left the same day you fell ill.”

Holly gasped. “I’ve been asleep that long? I need to go, now! I need to warn him!” She threw her legs over the side of the bed and immediately saw stars. Suzi grabbed her and laid her back against the pillows. Holly barely struggled, her energy quickly fading.

“Don’t do anything dumb, Holly,” Suzi scolded. “You need to get your strength back.”

“Time is of the essence here!” Holly said, trembling again. “Jotaro could die!” She recalled the vision again. It made her sick to her stomach to think about the horrible things DIO might do to Jotaro. Would DIO steal Jotaro’s body if it came to that? She remembered her wonderful great-granny, Erina. How had she been able to bear it when Jonathan was killed by DIO? And then his body stolen? Erina was much stronger than her, Holly thought.

“You could die if you keep pushing yourself like this!” Suzi shook her head, gently smoothing Holly’s hair. “You’re starting to act like Joseph! I couldn’t get him to sit still for the life of me. Those burns he got were more serious than he gave them credit for! You’ve been asleep with a fever for a very long time. Your body isn’t ready to move, okay? Don’t be like him!”

Holly thought of her father. The burns all over his arms, face, and torso. She remembered when she was little she would hold his hand, and it would be so hard and rough. Callouses, burn scars, the works. She would always ask for him to take off his glove so she could feel his skin. His hands were always warm, seeming to radiate life. Even his prosthetic was gentle in a way. She hoped he was okay. She needed him to be, so she could hold his hand again.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Suzi said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Holly nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat. “I had such a horrible dream…I saw Jotaro…I saw him die.”

As soon as she spoke it aloud, the tears came. She couldn’t imagine what her life would be like without Jotaro. He was all she had, ever since Sadao had divorced her in every sense but legally. She hadn’t seen her husband for so long she barely recognized him when he was in the news last time.

She had already lost him, but at least he was alive. There was a chance.

If Jotaro died for her she would never forgive herself. She bit down on her lower lip, trying not to spiral into hysterics.

“Don’t cry! It’s just a dream, alright? Jotaro is a very smart boy, he’ll be fine!” Suzi said with an encouraging squeeze of Holly’s hand. “The guy they’re after…he’s strong, but it’s a whole team against just one of him.”

Holly could tell by Suzi’s tone there that she didn’t believe that. Whatever Joseph had told her made her aware of the gravity of this situation, and the low odds of survival.

“I know, but something about the dream was just so real. I have a feeling that it’ll come true.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “I’m scared, mama…”

“Try not to worry about it right now. There’s nothing you can do for him in your condition. The only thing that will help you is rest, okay?”

Holly nodded, drying her tears. “Okay.”

Suzi leaned over and kissed Holly’s forehead. “It’s the middle of the night, how about you try and get some sleep? Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No, it’s alright. I need a minute.”

“Alright. Sleep well.” With that, Suzi left, closing the door behind her.

Holly rolled over and settled under the blankets, but as soon as she closed her eyes she saw Jotaro again. Dead on the ground. Curled up in agony. She tried to think of something else, anything else.

She remembered when he was little, he used to ask her to push him on the swing and—

It wasn’t working. She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling for a while. Why was this happening to her?

A few nurses came in to bother her some more.

No, that was mean. They were making sure she was okay after her fever broke. It was their job.

She rubbed her eyes, internally embarrassed for being grouchy.

Holly needed to talk to Joseph about these dreams. He always knew what to do, especially in strange situations like this.

She started to wonder where her father had even gotten all of his near-encyclopedic knowledge of the strange and occult. Come to think of it, he went on a suspicious amount of “business trips.” What could he possibly need to travel that much for?

If Joseph’s excursions weren’t for his job, what were they for, then? Was he some kind of ghost hunter?

Is that what those “Stands” would fall under? She trusted Joseph’s judgement, but she definitely didn’t blame Jotaro for thinking his was an evil spirit.

Jotaro’s Stand was scary, and not just in appearance. She recalled his flashing blue eyes, the same as Jotaro’s but colder and brighter. Harsher. He radiated power and sheer intimidation. But even more frightening was the thought of him allowing her son to hurt someone on accident. Jotaro said he had trouble keeping him at bay. Holly wondered if he would ever spiral out of control. Joseph certainly couldn’t do anything against this Stand—Hermit Purple wouldn’t be a match at all.

Hermit Purple had been strangely beautiful. The resonant sound it gave off was very soothing to her, maybe because it was her father’s Stand. She had liked its violet light.

And then there was Magician’s Red. Holly was glad Avdol was on their side, even though he had to rough up Jotaro. But something about watching Magician’s Red and Avdol work together was captivating. They were completely in tune, and Avdol had exact control of his flames. Maybe Avdol would be the key to getting Jotaro’s Stand under control should the worst happen.

Holly knew her son, and she knew that with power like that he would he even more self-sacrificial than usual. She wondered if he’d learned to use his Stand to its full potential yet. If he learned as much control as Avdol had, Jotaro might just have a chance against DIO. She knew he could do it. The thought offered her a small bit of comfort.

She wondered what her son was up to right now. Was he sleeping? She hoped he wasn’t having bad dreams like she was.

***

A couple of days had passed since Holly woke up, and now she was eating light portions of solid food and even walking for short distances. Last night she had cooked dinner for herself, her mom, and the nurses on graveyard shift. She was proud of her accomplishments, but worried she wasn’t improving fast enough.

This spike in her motherly instincts was making her very antsy. She didn’t like sitting around. She felt the need to help Jotaro, but she didn’t know how. She would just be a hindrance—any enemy they would face was far above her pay grade.

Holly wanted to talk to her dad; she missed him sorely. Suzi wouldn’t tell her whether that was possible. When Holly had asked why, Suzi had hedged until she gave up.

Were both of her parents now keeping secrets from her? The feeling was maddening—She just wanted to know what was going on.

Right now, Holly was talking a lap around almost the entirety of her house with the help of a walker the nurses had given her.

Her strength seemed to ebb and flow. Every now and then she could almost walk by herself, but other times her legs would be rubber and she could barely even stand. She was doing fairly well this time, although not having to concentrate on walking meant she was free to worry.

Today she just couldn’t shake the writhing clump of apprehension in her chest caused by Jotaro’s absence.

On her walk, she came to his room.

The door was slightly open and she could see the vase in his windowsill where she always left him flowers. The ones she had given him before she got sick were still there, now shriveled and brown.

Suzi had weeded her flower beds for her earlier and brought in a few hibiscus. Holly went and grabbed one out of the dining room, returning and switching it for the dead flowers. What had they even been before they dried up? She couldn’t remember.

The curtains were drawn, so Holly opened them. The flower would last longer that way, and with water.

Now that she could see better, Holly noticed how much of a mess it was in here. Jotaro never let his room get messy…he must have been in a hurry to pack. A few of his band t-shirts were thrown over his bed, and his school bag had been emptied.

Holly didn’t have the strength to clean for him right now. She felt guilty, but Suzi would have her head if she walked in on Holly cleaning.

She stopped beside his desk to throw away the old flowers. In the trash were very many pieces of paper, which she initially assumed was scratch paper from homework.

However, she saw English writing. Jotaro’s school didn’t teach anything in English that would need scratch paper. Not to mention the words:

“Dear mom,”

Holly’s heart skipped a beat. Had he tried to write her a note? With shaking hands she pulled it out of the trash, smoothing out the creases. It was written in a hasty scrawl, with several words scratched out or replaced.

“Dear mom,

We’re leaving to go after DIO. It’s me, the old man, Avdol, and Kakyoin. I don’t know if you’ll be awake to read this, but if you are then try not to worry. We’re flying straight to Egypt and we’ll have a long time to get ready once we’re there.

I don’t know how it’ll go. I don’t know enough about DIO to give you an honest guess about whether we’ll live.

I don’t even know why I’m writing this. If we lose you won’t ever see it. But on the off chance you might, I wanted to tell you I didn’t mean to take you for granted. You’re a good mom. I’m sorry I turned out the way I did. I’m”

It ended mid-sentence. Holly put a hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. Hot tears streamed down her face. What had stopped him from finishing the note? Her vision blurring, she grabbed the rest of the papers. They all had variations of the first paragraph written with varying degrees of care.

She knew he was terrified. He had to be to write like that. If he was in any way confident he wouldn’t have written it like a will towards the end.

She cried harder. Jotaro had packed up his belongings without question and set off to another country in order to fight the person causing her illness. He did it for her. Because he loved her.

Her son, not even of age yet, was fully prepared to sacrifice himself to save her and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

It made her sick with fear.

Holly forced herself to take deep breaths. She needed to be calm. Think.

She couldn’t. Recalling her dreams made her panic even more. She could remember it with perfect clarity, down to each hair on DIO’s head. She sat down so she wouldn’t fall and hurt herself.

She reached to grab one of the papers, but stopped. What was that?

It looked like her hand had been engulfed in green, thorny vines bearing holly leaves and too-bright berries.

Was she hallucinating now? The vines looked shimmery and were transparent in places, like they weren’t really there. She could hear a soft resonation that was familiar but that she could not place.

Holly turned her hand over. The vines had formed tiny spirals over her palm and each fingertip. She felt compelled to touch something with that hand.

Nervously, she reached out for the paper again, brushing her fingers against it.

A jolt shot up her arm, making her recoil back. It wasn’t painful, only surprising.

What did she just do?

She distinctly felt the sensation of touching the paper again, even though her hand was nowhere near it.

She wanted it to stop, and it did. She tried to make it happen again, and it did. This strange vision was under her control.

Was it not a hallucination, but a Stand? It would make sense; these vines had a striking resemblance to Joseph’s Hermit Purple. Now that she thought of it, the sound was similar as well.

Holly froze. If she had a Stand, that meant she might be able to help Jotaro directly. She might be able to save him. She had to tell Joseph she had a Stand now, that she could help.

Who was she kidding? No matter how powerful her Stand was, Joseph would never let her anywhere near DIO. She had to take matters into her own hands.

She stood, her fear now banished by resolve, and brought out the Stand again. This time there were more vines and they went further up her arm. Had it gotten stronger just from her using it?

It needed a name.

She turned her arm a few times, trying to let ideas come to her. The vines shimmered and sparkled, as if excited for her to decide.

This Stand…it was a miracle. The physical form of her beating the odds as well as her sickness. It could have killed her, but she had overcome it by the strength of her desire to protect her family. She felt connected to her ancestors, to Jonathan. She had received this Stand because of his body. She hoped her actions would make him proud.

Holly’s Stand would be called The Miracle. Its name would remind her of what she had done in the past, and what she was capable of in the future. It would make sure she never forgot what her goal was.

***

After she was done exercising, Holly sat down to rest for a moment. She used to see her dad breathe a certain way after he did something tiring, but whenever she imitated it her chest would hurt. Was that another of his occult practices or was he just strange? Holly laughed a little.

Once her energy returned, she closed her eyes, extending her arm to bring out The Miracle. She needed to figure out exactly what its ability was.

Most importantly, could she fight with it in any way? Or at least be of help? She intended to go to Egypt regardless of what her Stand ability ended up being, but a fighting ability would help her make her case to Joseph.

She was dreading that, actually. She didn’t want Joseph to be disappointed in her. She had to prove herself to him, so maybe he’d take her seriously.

The Miracle shimmered and shifted, its vines coiling around her fingers and snaking up her arm.

Holly touched the leaf of one of her houseplants. No jolt this time, but she did hear a faint click. Now pulling away, the sensation remained. The Miracle was able to catalog sensations, then. Out of curiosity, she tried to feel the paper from earlier again.

It worked. It was just like touching the object, but her hand contacted nothing but air.

Would it work with her other senses? She stared at the plant, focusing in on it. She closed her eyes like a camera shutter, hearing the click again. Now opening them, nothing changed. Holly turned her head so her view was different and tried to see the image again. It was a bit like trying to wiggle one’s ears, but eventually she figured it out.

Her houseplant, in perfect clarity, right in front of her eyes.

What about hearing? She listened closely to the clock ticking in the other room, captured it, and replayed it with no issue. It was jarring to hear the clock ticking over itself, but it meant she was getting the hang of her new ability. It gave her hope.

It didn’t seem capable of combat, but reconnaissance would be very effective with this Stand.

Now that she knew a bit more about The Miracle, it was time to talk to her mom.

Holly found Suzi sitting in the living room crocheting something.

“Mama?” Holly said, sitting down on the coffee table to face Suzi. “I’m gonna ask you something, and I need you to not question me.”

She nodded, so Holly continued. “Is there any way you can help me reach papa’s group in Egypt? I have something that’ll make beating DIO easier.”

“…I thought you might ask that. I’ve been listening for anything that might be able to help you.”

“Really?” Holly said, her shoulders sagging with relief. Finally, she was making progress.

“Yes. Joseph let it slip that the Speedwagon Foundation is trying to round up another person to join his group. He said the person they’re after is hard to get, so it’s taking longer than they expected. I think with enough luck I might be able to get them to let you go with him.”

Holly was on the verge of tears. “Thank you—“

Suzi cut her off. “One thing. You’re not strong enough right now. You have to rest, and eat, and exercise. Promise me or I won’t help you.”

She nodded vigorously. “Of course, I have been.” After a moment of thinking, Holly continued: “why are you doing this?”

“You have a chance to do something I never could. I wasn’t strong enough to go after your father when he left to fight the Pillar Men. I had to wait back home in Italy and just pray no one died. I felt so useless. I don’t want you to have to go through that, and you have the opportunity not to. Your Granny Erina and I would have wanted this chance more than anything. You have to take advantage of it for us.”

“Mama…” Holly said, taking a breath. “Thank you. I promise I’ll keep everyone safe.”

Suzi pulled her in for a hug. “Let them keep you safe as well, alright? Erina wouldn’t want me to let you go. Make it count so she won’t be angry with me forever.”

Holly hesitated. She didn’t think she would be able to let Joseph and Jotaro put themselves in harm’s way for her. They had already done so much.

“Alright?” Suzi urged. “You can’t let yourself act like anything other than a team. I know you love them, but you have to be careful as well. No self-sacrifice, and definitely no arguing! As soon as you join their team and fight together, you can’t act like everyone is your child.”

Holly sighed. “I’ll do my best.” That was probably a lie. She didn’t know how well she’d be able to control herself if things got too bad.

“Make sure Joseph comes home to me.” Suzi said quietly, and the depth of her sadness struck Holly like a wave of ice water. “I know you can do this, dear.”

All her life, Holly had gotten a sense that there was some kind of history her mother never told her about. Finally now she got a small taste of it. She realized Suzi was intimately familiar with this special kind of helplessness that followed the Joestar women, like the shadow of an early grave that followed their men.

“Mama, what is it? Did something happen with Papa?” Holly said.

“We fought, but I’m sure you already knew that. I doubt anyone could be civil after what he kept from me. I may be starting to forgive him. But I don’t care how angry I am at him, I don’t want him to die.

“Your father and I have a policy of never ending on a fight. Whenever we get upset with each other, we have to stop and say ‘I love you’ before we leave to calm down. Well, when I first got here I just hung up on him. I was so angry I forgot about our agreement. I haven’t been able to get ahold of him since, and I’m so scared he’ll get himself killed before i can say I’m sorry.”

“I’ll tell him, okay?” Holly said. “You know Papa can’t stay mad at you.”

“I know…I just don’t like leaving things like that.” Suzi looked down at picked at her crochet project.

“It’ll be fine! Papa won’t die so easily. They haven’t even found DIO yet.” She said taht as much for Suzi as she did for herself.

Suzi sniffed. “How do you know? What if DIO got to them first? What if he died right after he talked to me? What if—“

Holly cut her off. “Mama. Listen, please?”

Suzi nodded, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.

Holly’s hand went to the birthmark on her shoulder. “I promise Papa is alright. He’s probably not mad at you, but if he is, he’ll get over it. You had every right to be upset. He loves you, remember? Something like this isn’t enough to get him to stop. Haven’t you two been through worse?”

“You’re right. We have.” She finished drying her tears. “Your father has defeated powerful enemies before, but this is just on another level. I don’t know if his Hamon is enough.”

“…Hamon? Is that the lightning?” Holly thought back to the times she’d seen Joseph do something that seemed improbable—they were all accompanied by the crackle of yellow lightning. She thought she’d just been seeing things.

When she was little and the adults would be talking, sometimes she would hear that word be passed around at their table. She never knew what it meant, but they always talked about it with such reverence. Even as a toddler she knew it was sacred and dangerous.

“Yes, and I’m sorry we never told you much about it before. Hamon is a special breathing technique that allows someone to harness life energy. Joseph was rigorously trained by an amazing coach, but…” Suzi trailed off, before straightening up abruptly. “Oh, that’s it!”

“Huh?” Holly said, staring in confusion as Suzi quickly got up and rushed to the phone.

“Holly, you’re going to learn Hamon! I know you can!” Suzi punched in a number, holding the phone to her ear anxiously.

Holly racked her brain. Who could Suzi possibly be calling? Who else used lightning?

Suzi jumped as someone apparently picked up. “Lisa Lisa! Please, when are you able to come to Japan?” She listened as the person responded. “Perfect! Please hurry! You must come and teach my daughter Hamon!”

Another response that made Suzi frown. “It’s life or death! Joseph will die without Holly’s assistance! You have to come help!”

Suzi listened for longer this time, and her face showed she was getting orders. She touched her chin. “Are you sure? You showed me how to do it, but I’m not sure it’ll be very effective.” Suzi nodded after a pause. “Alright. Whatever you say!”

“Holly, dear, come here for a moment,” Suzi said, covering the phone.

Holly obliged, still completely lost. What was—

WHOOF!

Suzi suddenly stabbed her hand into Holly’s diaphragm with the force of a sledgehammer, evacuating all the air in her lungs at once.

Holly doubled over, trying to get her breath back. When her vision stopped swimming, she saw that The Miracle had come out. Why was that? She stood back up shakily, grabbing onto the doorjamb for support and searching her mom’s face for an answer.

Suzi beamed, immediately picking the phone back up. “It worked, Lisa Lisa! She’s using Hamon!”

I am? Holly thought, looking up at her hand.

Where it contacted the wood, Holly’s hand was causing it to grow branches like it was still alive. She pulled away and the yellow lightning fizzed out of her hand. Just like Joseph’s. Was it that easy to learn this Hamon?

Looking back at Suzi now, Holly saw she was vigorously nodding as she received more orders.

“Sweetie, does your chest still hurt?” Suzi said to Holly.

“N-no…” she said, shocked. She touched the spot Suzi hit her. Surely that would be painful, right? It would at very least leave a bruise.

Suzi bounced on her heels. “Wonderful! Lisa Lisa, she healed herself!”

Healed herself? She used Hamon to do that? Holly supposed it made sense. Suzi had said it was life energy, after all. Whatever that meant.

After a bit more talking, Suzi said goodbye and hung up.

“What was that? Holly said. “Who were you talking to? Why did you hit me?”

“Do you happen to remember your grandma Elizabeth?”

“Yes, what does she have to do with this?” Holly said. Immediately after it passed her lips she realized. Elizabeth. Lisa Lisa.

“Grandma can use Hamon?” She tried to recall any evidence of this. She had met her grandmother maybe twice, both when she was very little. Her memory was foggy at best. All she remembered was a shining red scarf and expensive perfume.

“Use it? Lisa Lisa does more than Use! She was a Hamon coach! The finest one you’ll ever meet, in fact. And she’s coming out of retirement just for you!”

Suzi seemed to trust Lisa Lisa completely—any trace of uncertainty had completely evaporated once she contacted her.

“Her training style is intense. You’ll wish you were never born,” Suzi said. “You have to stay determined. She almost broke Joseph, and he’s the most stubborn man I know! She went easy on me during my training, but I still felt like mush when she was done.”

“You trained under her?” Holly echoed. She was a little surprised. Joseph told her stories all the time about how much of an airhead Suzi used to be, so Holly wasn’t sure exactly how that worked.

“Not nearly as extensively as your father, but yes, I can use a bit of Hamon. Lisa Lisa wouldn’t be caught dead with a maid who can’t defend herself! I dropped out, but I know you can do better than me.” Suzi grabbed Holly’s hands.

Holly looked down at her arms, The Miracle making spirals up her wrists. “I promise I will.”

Thank you for reading!

I received fanart for this chapter! Check it out here

[yakuzabrainrotlive]

SO; turns out the reason I've felt like a dying woman for days on end is that I have had bronchitis this whole time! Don't wait for 10 days to see a doctor if your lungs feel funny! ✌🏻😌

Anyway, more gameplay! Finished Saejima's part ^_^

I love how openly and unashamedly Saejima expresses his emotions. It feels like a nice change of pace. I adore stoic characters like Kiryu as well, but this is very refreshing.

I admire Saejima's bravery in how he yelled at those bloodthirsty people and refused to budge under pressure. This is clearly a man who thoroughly sticks to his code of honor, no matter the consequences. He was willing to let the Florist's information that would take him closer to reuniting with Sasai, slip through his fingers, just to stick to his beliefs.

Saejima is honestly climbing the ranks to be one of my top favourite characters - and I feel like I barely know him yet!

Oh, okay. We're doing this now. I'm fine!!! I'm not scared!!! I'm SOOO ready for this!!!

....not. SEND HELP.

Actively chewing on my fingernails in fright like a cartoon character. What I wouldn't give to hear Majima's thoughts right now...

First with Kiryu in Y3 and now this? Majima really loves to flex the sheer amount of manpower his family has, huh?

Okay, I truly do believe that this is to keep the cops away, just funny to me how this is the second time we see the entire family surround the perimeter of a building in a vaguely threatening manner.

Ouch... he does NOT want to have this discussion right now. Or maybe he does, but he's trying to collect himself a bit. Can't get a good read on Majima right now. I really wanna see this chat happen but I also dread it.

Saejima.... what a man. He could have let his rage take over, take Majima's whole "Yeah, I betrayed you" at face value and... idk? I don't think he would have killed him? Then again, they made that promise... but I don't see it.

I love how much emotion Saejima has and shows, but he also has a cool enough head to wanna hear Majima out instead of immediately lashing out.

Majima looks so... peaceful? here. Like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. And it's really no wonder - Saejima decided to hear him out, he still calls him "bro" and they're already kind of joking around.

I can already tell I'm gonna LOVE the dynamic between these two. As long as Saejima doesn't end up in the Side Characters We No Longer Need Void™, that is. But I kind of doubt they're gonna pull that with him.

YAYYY!! I CALLED IT!! Welcome back, Puppy Eyes Detective!! I hope you're as good as I'm expecting! Glad to be able to put a name to the face. I'm eager to see how you fight!

[ijustkindalikebooks]

Anyone else a Yoongi bias? August has been a long month for the Suga biases in my life, but life indeed does goes on, and the reading is an excellent distraction from the media frenzy about falling off a scooter (cos you know there aren't more important things to discuss right now smh).

I had a goal this year to read 365 books and I suspect I will complete it around the beginning of October going by current reading speeds, of course this depends on some people's view of what reading is, but this month I read novels, novellas, manga and poetry that accumulate to over 30 books and I will be sharing those I loved the most over the last thirty days or so.

The Bloodaxe Book Of Contemporary Poets edited by Jeni Couzyn - A collection of eleven poet, this book covers a good range and though I think it lacks diversity (I mean no Jackie Kay? No Claudia Rankine?) I think this is mainly due to when it's published than anything else. A fantastic array of styles and poetry, I really appreciated reading this while working on the counter in the shop I volunteer in and definitely a collection I need to back and tab as I loved so many entries in this book.

Blue Exorcist by Kazue Kato - As this series nears its end (and I feel like it's in the right space to do so at this point) it has really got to a point in the plot that keeps you reading it, I won't deny that. Though I feel the story sometimes well, dawdles I do appreciate the real moments of emotion that appear in this series and the development of Shiemi's story arc within this series. There are things that I find frustrating, but volumes 27/28 were in particular, very very good.

Bloom Into You by Nio Nakatani - I really appreciate the representation in this book from Maki as an aro/ace person as an ace person and of course LGBT stories that do not end in someone dying, that's always great - keep that happening. I do feel there are elements of what the hellery in this book, and I would check on triggers for this as in reflection there seems to be some issues around consent but as the series goes on I feel alot of this is unpacked in the story and makes for a wonderful ending.

The Girl From The Other Side Vol. 6 by Nagabe - I am not going to talk much again about this as we're now at the mid point of the series and if you've not read it then it will be spoilers for you, but this series tells a story I can never ever predict where it's going ever and an art style that is reminiscent of Grimm's Fairy Tales in the best way possible - it's a dark fairy tale told at it's very finest and if you enjoy manga I do highly recommend picking this one up, I trust Seven Seas so much with the series it picks up and decides to share.

Finger Bone by Hiroki Takahashi - A novella about Japanese soldiers fighting in Papa New Guinea, Finger Bone isn't a book you love, it's a book that lays around in your brain and makes you think about it for days. The story of a Japanese soldier relaying the experience of a warzone that for them is sinking into despair, hunger and misery, the ending of this book left me feeling so many things. Named after the bone that doctors remove when a soldier passes away, this was 97 pages of a creeping sense of dread that reminded me of 'All Quiet On The Western Front'.

What have you been reading this month? Do you have any recommendations for me? I always love to hear feedback from you!

Thanks again for reading,

Vee xo.

[captainhearteyepierce]

hey guys did you know that Scott Street by Phoebe Bridgers is actually about post-war Hawkeye Pierce in Crabapple Cove trying to reconnect with Trapper. hear me out:

Walking Scott Street feeling like a stranger With an open heart, open container

So Hawkeye's back in Crabapple Cove, wanting desperately for his life to go back to normal now that the war is over. He's going for a walk through the familiar streets, bringing a drink along to ease his nerves, but the time he's been away is an almost tangible thing and the familiar place feels off now.

I've got a stack of mail and a tall can It's a shower beer, it's a payment plan

Maybe Hawkeye stops at the mailbox during his walk. Collecting his mail from the mailbox is such a mundane thing, a true sign that his life is in fact "back to normal", but despite this he still feels wrong, out of place. He turns again to drinking as a coping mechanism, just as he did in Korea. Even drinking in the shower. (Not good, Hawkeye!)

There's helicopters over my head Every night when I go to bed

This is perhaps my favourite line because of how fitting it is, and it is actually the line that planted this whole analysis in my head in the first place. Hawkeye is haunted by the war - hearing phantom choppers at night, unable to sleep thinking about the horrors he experienced in Korea. He's struggling to slip back into his old life, plagued by the effects of PTSD.

Spending money and I earned it When I'm lonely, that's when I'll burn it

Remember the episode where Hawk and the other surgeons complained about their pay, comparing it to doctors back home with cushy private practices who were making fortunes, and Hawk even tried to bill the army for $38,000 as compensation? Since Hawkeye's return to the states, he's been able to pick up his old job, now making the amount of money he believes he deserves, not to mention he's not performing meatball surgery under fire anymore - but he finds the money doesn't matter to him anymore, it doesn't mean anything. He's been too changed by the war, aged beyond his years and traumatized, and it makes him feel so alone and alienated from the world.

Do you feel ashamed When you hear my name?

His loneliness gets him thinking about his old friend Trapper. Trapper who carelessly left him without so much as a goodbye, never even writing a goddamn letter. Does he feel any remorse for what he did? Hawkeye wonders. Suddenly, all he wants is to try to reconnect with Trapper, fixating on getting back what they had at the beginning of the war.

(This is definitely some sort of coping mechanism of Hawkeye's, an attempt to bury the loneliness and to cease the sounds of war in his head.)

I asked you, "How is your sister? I heard she got her degree" And I said, "That makes me feel old" You said, "What does that make me?" I asked you, "How is playing drums?" You said, "It's too much shit to carry" "And what about the band?" You said, "They're all getting married"

This whole verse I've grouped together because it's not the individual lines that apply but rather the sentiment of the whole thing.

So Trapper comes to visit Hawkeye in Maine and they spend time talking, catching up, but it's clear that their time away from each other - Hawkeye in horrible Korea and Trapper cozy at home - has changed them and their relationship. Just like with Crabapple Cove, things feel different to Hawkeye, and the casual tone Trapper takes with it all in opposition to the sort of dread it leaves Hawkeye with leads me to this next line:

Do you feel ashamed When you hear my name?

This time, Hawkeye is repeating this in his head whilst talking to Trapper. As Trapper sits there talking about everything and nothing, Hawkeye wonders, Do you feel any remorse for what you did? Leaving me behind the way you did without so much as a goodbye? Looking into Trapper's eyes, Hawkeye thinks not. Trapper meant so much to him, and it hurt Hawkeye so much when he left, but here he sits, pretending nothing happened, like he didn't just leave Hawkeye in the dust.

The instrumental part that follows I like to think of as a sort of sad realization tinged with nostalgia, that yes, things have changed. The train and the bicycle bell are the comforting sounds of home, and yes, he's finally home! But you can't erase the things he's seen and done. This three year war has aged him a decade. The Crabapple Cove of his childhood is like a jigsaw puzzle that's missing one piece, and Hawkeye is that piece, except it's been stepped on and bent and creased and although it completes the puzzle, it doesn't quite fit anymore.

Anyway, don't be a stranger

(And finally, the line that makes me sob like a baby whenever I listen to this song, in any context!)

To me, this is sort of a continuation of the sad acceptance represented by the instrumentals, except as opposed to being centred around Hawkeye's home, it's more about Trapper. As they part ways once again, Hawkeye contemplates starting something, bringing up the elephant in the room, but he's done with anger, tired of fighting. He's had enough. So he resolves to accept the distance between him and his old friend and move on, with the hope that they will one day see each other again, maybe when the open wound that the war left has healed into a sort of jagged scar.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk, hopefully it made a bit of sense as I sometimes am not very good at putting my thoughts into the right words, and I hope you enjoyed the angst! In all honesty I can't tell if post-war Hawkeye would actually decide to start something with Trapper or not about him leaving without a goodbye and not writing a single letter. I feel like Korea Hawkeye would for sure, because Korea Hawkeye was under so much stress and was angry at everyone for the war and it wouldn't take much for him to lash out about something, but we never get to see how Hawkeye is outside such tense circumstances so I'm not too sure. That being said, I really think the man would be too tired and strung out by the war to bother picking a fight and would just let it be.

All that being said, I really hope Hawkeye and Trapper are actually together somewhere drinking martinis and causing mischief because the thought of them not getting along drives me up the wall insane!!

[enruint]

surprisingly ariadne was as excitable    within the paramaters of her laboratory    as she was outside of it,    but only if there was a chance to discover something anew.    something to prickle that dangerous mind of hers,    always on the cusp of simply teetering over,    it's engine revving    &.    revving until it all would come to an explosive stop.    whether she went out into the field to witness the prowess of her weaponry    ( organic or inorganic  )    or simply ventured amidst    the fallen and the slaughtered to collect body parts and viscera    for whichever insidious idea would occupy their mind for the day    ━━━    one thing was certain:    they never came back empty-handed.    every step a purpose,    every path taken one carefully structured,    nothing was ever left to chance.    discovery was chance.    yet ariadne was above that.    if there was luck to be had they would manifest that into opportunity,    wield it to their hand,    there was no such thing as chance.

humming softly under her breath does    the wraike doctor    move languidly among the slaughtered    ( soon to be ushered into her lab    for eternal testing    if it was up to her ).    there is a certain rhythmic quality to her movements,    a sway,    heeled boots barely touching the ground filled with blood and gore.    her posture had always been awful,    bending over slightly,    leaning sideways,    as if she was always on the cusp of falling down.    a leaf in the wind.    with arms wrapped around spindly frame do they bend over the corpse of a fallen creature,    not as mauled or torn apart like usual,    but robbed from it's life by something much preciser.    hooded eyes,    a watery grey,    search for the true cause of death and when they find it    their smile is ever telling.

ariadne eventually opts to squat down,    gloved arms wrapping around knees,    eyeing the demon    ( that's what the woman called it )   with renewed interest.    the inquiry in who ariadne was answered swiftly.    the weapons-maker    never truly cared for upholding mystery    where there was need for none.    therefore her affiliation with    the sanctum order    is given without divulging her own name,    looking over her shoulder at the rapier wielding stranger as she did so.    like this,    with the moon's pale glow illuminating those snowy locks,    the hunter appeared almost like something quite divine.    

❝   the sanctum order  ....  yes,    that name sounds familiar.    ❞   lumina's tone accounts recognition,   but there's also a faint tinge of uneasiness behind it. that recognition,     after all, is followed with something more negative than anything else.    she's had some   ....    not so great encounters with some of the people associated with the organization.    evident in the way she seems to immediately be on guard;    not just that,    but something about this    ....    person made a shiver run down her spine.    especially in the way she eyed some of the fallen demons that lie dead at their feet already;    the blood on her rapier proving their demise fell on its thin blade.    ❝    i'm not sure what your goal is here,    but i must ask that you stay away from here.    it's    ...    dangerous. ❞

❝   dangerous  ?  ❞    drip.    drip.    drip.    droplets of crimson blood hit    the already soaked ground    akin to a clock ticking down it's dreadful seconds.    she's still hunkered down,    looking up at @holyscorch,    capturing those bright azure hues within her own,    much colder steel.    this vision is one ariadne is certain they will remember for days to come.    the marriage between beauty,    mystery and ever cruel death.    she slowly rises upwards,    remains of organs squelching underneath her boots,    sloshing against the dark material as she took a few steps closer towards the maiden.    ❝    they're all dead.    sadly   ━━━   i wished to have taken at least one alive.    well,    what's happened has happened.    ❞ shrug of shoulders to accompany their supposed disappointment.    ❝    having said that: you've killed them all.    if you worry for my safety,    while incredibly sweet,    it's not needed.   ❞

ariadne takes a step back,    body dipping into    a deep bow    but not before she takes the maiden's hand within her own,    lifting it towards    black coated lips    and pressing a kiss upon knuckles.   ❝   i thank you for your concern,    my savior.    ❞    it's whispered against knuckles before she stands upright again. perpetually hooded eyes flicker towards the stranger's visage,    committing it to memory.    could it be that    she belonged with those group of hunters    mathieu spoke of   ?    or was she a mere independent hunter  ?    ❝    can i at least get your name before i go then  ?   well,    not before taking    a few lovely souvenirs    with me of course,    but do tell.    i would loathe to leave this place without knowing the name of my savior.   ❞   she smiles then,    her web of fortune already unraveling before she would patiently weave it all together    ━━━    like the patient spider she was.

[illarian-rambling]

Some Illarian name lists because I thought the idea sounded fun!

.

Halawemavria is the term for all selkies collectively (halawemavar and halawemavish). Halawemavar are scale selkies who live in the swamp. Halawemavish are the seal ones and they live on icebergs. The only linguistic difference between their names are that halawemavish names are more vowel heavy. Proper pronunciation is very important to halawemavar especially, much to the dread of their human neighbors.

Feminine halawemavira names: Kezjhai, Aumajri, Iakaval, Ezjema, Kauje, Nazja'hana, Dazkē, Izjwa, Vishad

Masculine halawemavira names: Lishvan, Mnakal, Dzo'edo, Tsavat, Aliokoa, Kizmac, Revis, Kaokē, Dwekada

Non-gendered names: Raluheh, Tsāmaka, Vikō, Kezdwen, Iznani, Lai'paea

Surnames: Hadokoroaea, Azjkankri, Menatakana, Vejo'okero, Kazikurat, Nazjōnoitaia

.

While the Skysheerian dialect of Elvish is largely based on French, Nabafyrian is sort of a thing of its own. Nabafyrians are southern, warlike elves, and generally have serious beef with their northern cousins. They don't differentiate names by gender. They do have middle names as a precaution against fae, but these are usually very long, convoluted, and never revealed to a stranger.

Given Nabafyrian names: Vyzka, Rizokiyr, Marla, Byrtana, Heshkisy, Tiany, Cyballa, Jesyro, Chiyrisi, Iyskavin, Kaiyra, Viyntyro, Syrkaska, Siadyla, Kany, Rokyiryo, Vazkanriy, Biyo, Mandiuarey

Surnames: Firmark, Pinetorch, Barredflight, Redwrought, Treewalker, Wickwail

.

Robot culture is one of my favorites on Illaros, mainly because it's so new, yet already so independent. Robots tend to take on names that are abbreviations of either their chosen career or something else important to them. These are always spelled phonetically. The only surname a robot might keep would be a serial number.

Chosen robot names: Cee'es (court scribe), Cee'aye (college instructor), Ar'es (rune scholar), Ef'dee (family doctor), Es'cee (street cleaner), Ji'ay (graffiti artist), El'es (lead singer), Dee'es (desert sky), Aech'ef (home free), Vee'es (virtuous soul), El'bee (lover of beauty), Bee'bee (badass bitch), Ti'em (trouble maker), Es'ti (story teller), Dee'be'dee (day by day)

.

Feel free to use any of these if you find one you like! And have a bitchin day <3

[flames-unicorns-and-sentryguns]

Blu team headcannons - heavy

Note: I have two different backstory ideas for Demoman so until I Pick One I'm pushing his back again. I'll Try to get his out soon because it is one of the backstories I have more or less fleshed out.

His placeholder name is Dimitri because I am bad at picking names.

The oldest of three brothers. His parents fell sick some years ago so he had to be the bread winner. Younger than Red Heavy and had to drop out of college to earn money.

His second youngest brother/ the middle son is trying to balance Caring for their family and earning money to help with expenses.

Their youngest brother is in college and they're working on making sure he finishes.

Blu heavy knows he Has a very important task that only he can do so he doesn't complain. Or rather he doesn't let himself complain ( out loud).

Enjoys cooking and learning how to cook different dishes.

Was shocked by the whole respawn machine but it allows him to accept the whole killing and getting killed as Not as much of a Danger/ treat the job as a weird sense of stress relief.

Also enjoys exercising because he can just Not Think about whatever troubles might be in his head and just focus on what he's doing.

will sing to himself in privacy but absolutely will not in front of others. Idk if cassette players are a thing in this time period but I like to think he's got a small collection of them.

Misses the time when his brothers were younger and the general carefree nature of childhood. Will sometimes get nostalgic about stuff, see something and think about how one of his brothers would have loved it. Wants to brings his family over, his family is split on it.

He worries about them every day and dreads the day he finds out his parents have passed.

I feel like he would find sheep amusing for some reason. Just look at their faces and the fact you gotta Shave them.

for those wondering what his relationship with Blu medic is, it's not as intimate as their red counterparts but he does find his presence comforting. They both talk a lot outside of work. Genuinely curious about his work- it's good to be friends with the doctor. And blue medic asks stories about his past.