#also I am currently feeling a little sick and all I’ve managed to draw lately are things that fill my chaotic heart with joy hehehe

[a-snowpoff]

Dad bod Prunsel, requested by @duskyskye

[archived-mononokeland]

ask : Yes!! show us any drawings you have. Would love to see any fan art. Do you still open your writing request? If so I want to request headcanon of the brothers reaction when they found mc fainted and sick because this mc is rather hard working and pushover one.

Currently, I have no Obey Me fanart, but I am working on an Asmo piece so I hope I get finished with that!

And yes, my requests are open until I make an announcement that I’ve closed it. Sorry I was late to do this though! I kind of get too carried away and so each character is very lengthy ;;

The brothers’ reactions to finding you fainting and sick from over-working:

[] —— lucifer  —— []

Lucifer is very surprised and concerned when he finds you passed out in one of the House’s hallway one afternoon with a temperature hotter than usual.

He picks you up bridal style and carries you to your room and sets you down on the bed.

He notices that you have dark circles under your eyes, more prominent than Belphegor’s occasional ones.

He goes to the kitchen to get a glass of water, making sure that no one sees him.

Just as he was about to leave with a note telling you to text him when you wake up, your eyes open groggily.

Once he let’s you get a grip, he asks you on what made you pass out like that.

Diavolo wouldn’t like to hear that the exchange student fainting like that, surely. But he was very concerned himself.

After you explained that it may or may not be because of the work and tasks, Lucifer felt guilty. When he thinks about it, each favor he’s asked of you, you never really did decline.

He made a note to lessen your work from now one, and that you can tell him if it’s too much for you, “Because it’d be quite the trouble if this happens again, no?”

He insists that you shouldn’t go to school and take a break because, “seeing the exchange student on less than healthy conditions wouldn’t look well.”

But of course it’s more than that, and you knew.

And he does try to take care of you, now doing his paper work in your room on your desk and looking after you.

[] —— mammon —— []

Poor boy, when you collapsed in his arms, hotter than usual, just as you opened the door for him, his first reaction is panic.

He freaks out for a good five minutes before setting you down on the bed.

He thinks you’re going to die, so he just goes out bawling for a while.

Until you wake up, very confounded to see a crying Mammon by your side.

He clings to you and rambles at lightning speed once he found that you actually weren’t dead, leaving you more dumbfounded than ever.

“Wait, Mammon, s-slow down—”

Of course he eventually does, followed by a little tangent on how, “the Great Mammon d-doesn’t care for a little human like you, no, not at all!”

You ignored all that and asked him to explain.

Once you heard his story, you admitted that maybe you’ve been overworking a bit, and that’s why you’ve declined on hanging out with him—or anyone for that matter—and why you’ve passed out.

It took a few minutes for Mammon to finally work it all out, which at that point he huffs and begins to ramble about how stupid Lucifer’s giving you too much work.

You managed to calm him down before he goes and yells at his face on your behalf, and convinces him to help nurse you back to good health.

Which he agreed in less than a second, all red and stuttering.

And while you were sick, he’d go get you anything! Just ask for it and give him a few minutes and he’ll bring it back to you.

And he’s now glued by your side, spending the night with you. He’d even begin making excuses that you were still sick so you two can be around each other.

He also won’t let anyone else come close, cause he was your first, who needs the others to take care of you!?

But oh, when you’re halfway through the healing process, he will drag you to Lucifer to complain that he’d putting too much on the human without you even managing to slip in anything.

In the end, it is thanks to this idiot demon that you were now working less than before.

[] —— leviathan —— []

When Leviathan found you just fainting mid-game while you two were hanging out, he had negative ideas on what to do!

He paused the game and just put you in his bathtub bed, making sure that there was enough pillows at the bottom so that it’s comfortable.

He sees the bags under your eyes and came up with a possibility that you passed out from tiredness. After all, one-too-many late nighters also gave him that experience.

He’d just sit there by the side of the tub awkwardly, not sure what to do.

When you finally did wake up, he’d just look at you with unspoken panic while you get a grip on reality first.

Seeing you wince in pain was also adding to the panic in his mind, so he asks you how you’re doing.

You confessed you had a headache and your throat was dry, so Levi went and got you one of his many bottles of water from his supply of ‘being a shut-in’.

He asked you if you’ve bee sleeping well, to which you answered that you may or may not have been swamped with tasks and work recently.

You can hear him mutter under his breath something about your stupid tasks and why you can’t just chill and play games.

But he quickly snaps back and decides a break would be good for you.

He sets up a comfy place and just have you lie there. Maybe if he finds you awake he’ll let you borrow some of his games. He’ll probably convince you to play something relaxing like the new Animal Crossing.

If you’re in need of food or drinks, Levi will just give you some of his stock of snacks and drinks.

[] —— satan —— []

Satan’s very surprised to find you fainting whilst you were looking for some books in his room.

He sets you down on his bed and immediately looks through his books on human health. After all, something about the circles under your eyes were telling of what you may have.

He reaches the conclusion of lack of sleep and stress, something along those lines.

Uh-oh, detective time! He might gather the information more of why you weren’t getting enough sleep. You did come to his room in hopes to find books of Devildom history and Devildom laws. And sometimes he would overhear you complaining a bit of your tasks and schoolwork, and you did seem to be doing most of Lucifer’s cooking duties…

In the meantime, he prepares a glass of water for you, and a pot of tea for the both of you.

When you wake up, he asks how you’re feeling, and suggests that you take a drink.

Once you’ve finally realized what happened, he finally tells you his theory and whether he was right or wrong.

You nod. He asks if it’s something about Lucifer giving you too much work. Another nod.

That answer alone earns a sigh from him. He tells you to go to sleep and get some rest.

And once you do, he makes sure you’re asleep and goes to confront Lucifer about it.

You stay in his room mostly, the smell of books comfort you. And most of the time, if you’re in trouble of getting to sleep, or just because either of you feel like it, Satan will read you a story with a nice cup of tea.

[] —— asmodeus —— []

Seeing you passed out in front of his door isn’t a scene that he imagined. Picking you up bridal style, he decides to set you on his bed.

The dark bags under your eyes were noticed in a second upon laying his eyes on you. That enough is concerning to him. After all, sleep is crucial to your skin!

He would’ve cuddled next to you, but he needed your consent.

… However, he isn’t that much knowledgeable of how to treat a human like this.

He will probably set up some light fragrance candles for when you wake up.

And also a glass of water, cause hydration is also important.

And when you do, the first thing he does is to scold you for not taking care of yourself.

“Sleep is important for your skin! You can’t be walking around with dry skin, can you?”

You chuckle and explained to him that yeah, you might’ve been too busy with work and school to get enough sleep.

He will have a long talk with you on how to take care of your skin, and yourself in general for a long time, until you promise him that you would.

Other than things related to beauty and looks though, he doesn’t know much about the human body. So if you need something, you have to tell him.

And he will get it for you.

He’ll try all he can to get you back to health.

If you don’t have anything contagious, maybe like a headache, he could cuddle with you to try and soothe it.

He might’ve took a picture of your while asleep. Who could blame him, you’re just too cute!

Once you’re back to your feet though, he will drag you to a salon to pamper yourself properly before you can get to work.

[] —— beelzebub —— []

It happened during Beelzebub’s late night fridge raids. You came into the kitchen to get a glass of water, then just… fainted.

The sheer amount of shock and concern was enough to get him to stop eating and check on your body. Then, he’ll bring you to his room and lay you down on his bed.

Of course, his stomach couldn’t survive for long so he’d grab as many snacks as he could and emptied the fridge, then came back to check on you.

When you woke up, Beel hurried to your side, relieved that you weren’t actually dying or anything.

He asks if you were okay, and you just answered that perhaps you were tired.

The bags under your eyes were no stranger. After all, with Belphegor as his twin, sometimes he’d see them on him.

He pressed a bit further, and that alone was enough for you to tell him that you were tired from working too hard. And the fact of how humans are such fragile creatures dawned upon Beel again.

It took him a while to convince that it wasn’t something that Beelzebub could protect you from with his strength, and that all you needed was sleep.

He’ll let you sleep on his bed as long as you’d like. He’d try to position the pillows so that it would be as comfortable as possible.

And it seems that each time his hands come near you, they’re very gentle. Like he’s afraid that too much pressure might break your bones.

He will try to make soup to help you. Try. There’s no guarantee that he might eat half of the ingredients during the process.

Similar to drinks and food that he brings. Probably about half of what was supposed to be your portion gets fed to Beel.

You promised him that you won’t get this much tired from overworking again.

From then on, you can find him sending texts through your D.D.D., making sure you weren’t overworking again.

[] —— belphegor —— []

He found you in the planetarium with a mind that seems to be half-working, your eyelids drowsing to sleep every few minutes.

And sure enough, just as he arrived to get to his usual napping spot, you passed out.

He took a look of your face. It was an easy assumption for him to make that you didn’t sleep as long as you should’ve.

And so he let you. He would’ve put you in either your or his room but… that was too much energy. So he used the pillow he had all the time and shared it.

Sleeping with you under the stars were a surprisingly elating experience for him. Who knew a human’s presence could do such a thing.

He’d soon follow you in sleeping until you woke up.

In the end, it’d probably you dragging him to your room, his room, or the attic for a more comfortable space to sleep in.

In the matters of food and drinks, Belphegor would probably rely on Beel more, as he’s too lazy to leave your side.

Sleep is the best medicine, so he’ll most likely just convince you to stay in bed and sleep as long as you’d like.

He’d probably slip in with you. To which cuddles would most likely proceed next.

A bit sad once you’re back to your usual self, now that he can’t just spend his day sleeping next to you.

However he will make sure that you aren’t overworking yourself again.

And he will tell Lucifer of your problems via text.

[recurring-polynya]

[Renji birthday] Hey, hi. What about Orihime does smt to surprise Renji for his birthday, a thank-you him helping her at New Year celebration? Include fireworks that Renji secretly enjoys? Thanks. Anything (fic, hcs, sketch..) is fine.

I’m sorry this is late, but it’s still the Renji - Orihime Birthday Weekend, so I think it’s okay!

I love the idea of the Renji - Orihime BroTP, but somehow it’s so hard for me to write, I always do a bunch of false starts or get stuck. For this round of prompts, I was trying to do the ones that inspired me the most and I liked the idea a lot more than I had ideas, if you get my drift. Anyway, I love them both too much, though, so I muscled through.

I’m sorry if this is a little ramble-y and quite silly and I didn’t manage to squeeze in fireworks (I’ve written several fireworks scenes in the past and didn’t want to repeat myself), but what it is is four thousand words long. Also, I managed to remember that Kon exists, this is possibly the first time I have ever put Kon in anything. I hope you like it!

Read on ao3 or ff.net

🎁    🎈    🎊

“Inoue,” Renji hissed. “Why am I here?”

Orihime took a quick step backwards as Keigo ran past, screaming. Ryo followed a second later, also screaming. Renji, who had served at Squad 11 for many years, managed to leap out of the way just in time. “It’s Ichigo’s birthday party,” Orihime explained. “He wanted you to come.”

“It’s not though,” Renji pressed. “It’s Arisawa’s birthday, and we’re at Arisawa’s house. I don’t think Arisawa even knows who I am.”

“Yes, she does, silly,” Orihime replied. “I told her lots of stories about you and she said she wanted you to come. There’ll probably be a football match later, and Ichigo told her we could have you on our team, as long as he got Rukia.”

“I got hauled in all the way from Soul Society for football?” Renji asked, sounding not-at-all upset about this.

“No, I told you! Ichigo wanted you to come.”

“But it’s not his birthday.”

“But it is his party. He and Tatsuki share, you see, because their birthdays are so close and they have all the same friends. It’s Tatsuki’s year to host the big friend party. Ichigo just had a little family party on his actual birthday.”

“Ohhhhh,” Renji replied, finally understanding. He nodded for a moment. “What’s a family party?”

---

Orihime cleared her throat, and tapped her in her palm. “Thank you all for coming to this very important meeting.”

Chad, Ichigo, and Tatsuki were all crammed together on Orihime’s couch. Rukia sat on the arm, next to Chad, Kon in her lap. Uryuu sat in Orihime’s desk chair, which she had hauled in from her room.

Orihime thwapped her pointer against the large pad of paper on an easel that she had borrowed from the Student Health Advisors Club. On the first page, she had drawn a large picture of Renji and written his name. “It has come to my attention that Our Friend Renji has never had a Family Birthday Party.”

“Quick question--” Tatsuki interrupted. “Is he wearing a… fur bolero in that picture? And is the bone dragon an actual thing or just...Orihime artistic spice?”

“It’s a cowl,” Rukia said, at the same time as Chad said, “It’s a stole,” and Uryuu said “It’s a capelet.”

“Thank you, that cleared up nothing,” Tatsuki replied.

“It’s his bankai form,” Ichigo said, grumpily. “His sword turns into a giant flying snake skeleton that screams like a pterodactyl. It’s super sick and he let me ride on it twice and that cape thing is really soft, actually, but he says it gets hot. As far as I know it has nothing to do with his birthday.”

“Er, no, I just got carried away while I was drawing,” Orihime admitted. “Your bankai is very cool, too, Kurosaki-kun.”

“Got it, right,” Tatsuki nodded, sounding very much like she just wanted to move on. “He doesn’t have a family?”

“I think you’re worrying over nothing, Orihime,” Rukia said, sounding a teensy bit defensive. “Many people in Soul Society don’t have families. If there’s anyone in Soul Society who’s good at scraping up friends to spend a holiday with, it’s Renji. Everyone likes him. Half the Gotei turns up at the bar for his birthday parties.”

“I know that,” Orihime said quietly. “I know that because last New Year’s, when I was lonely, he played badminton with me, even though he was very, very hungover and pretending like he wasn’t, and then he went and rounded up all my friends in the middle of the night, and before he left, he told me there was nothing wrong with making your own holiday. But family birthdays are different! Family birthdays are about the people who love you most doing special things, just for you!” Orihime set her jaw. “When I was little, Sora always tried to make my birthdays super special! We didn’t have a lot of extra money, but he would take the day off just to spend it with me and we would go to the park or watch movies or he would let me paint his nails and braid his hair. He would take a picture of me and put it in my special birthday album with my height and weight and current favorite food.” Orihime’s mouth snapped shut. Everyone was staring at her. She’d said too much, just like she always did. Her cheeks started to burn.

“When I was little,” Ichigo suddenly said, a little bit too loud, “my mom told us that we could have whatever we wanted for dinner on our birthdays. One year, I…” he paused, his eyes darting over to Tatsuki. “I had just seen Kiki’s Delivery Service, and I was obsessed with that fish and pumpkin casserole the old lady makes?”

Orihime gasped, and clapped her hands over her mouth.

Uryuu rolled his eyes. “Who wasn’t, Kurosaki?”

Ichigo snorted, but his shoulders relaxed a little. “Anyway, it took her most of the day, and I think she must’ve gotten really frustrated at some point because me and my sisters got sent over to Tatsuki’s house so the Old Man could help her. It came out kind of lumpy and huge, but it was delicious, it was exactly what I had imagined it would taste like.”

“I remember that thing,” Tatsuki added. “She made us come over for dinner because there was so much of it. It was incredible.”

“We didn’t do Birthday Dinners for a few years after she died,” Ichigo said slowly. “But then after Yuzu got good at cooking, she said she wanted to try doing it again. My dad really likes the Godfather movies and he always used to ask for spaghetti for his birthday, which it turns out isn’t that hard to make. Karin and me helped out, and we’ve been doing it again ever since. We don’t usually do fancy stuff, it’s just nice to get to pick.”

“Ichigo made me omurice on my birthday and let me use his body to eat it!” Kon announced.

“You didn’t have to tell everyone that,” Ichigo stammered, turning pink. “It’s the only thing I’m good at making.”

“My abuelo always used to sing Las Mañanitas on my birthday,” Chad put in. “First thing in the morning. Sometimes he would come into my room and wake me up. Sometimes I would come down for breakfast and he would be there, with his guitar. He wouldn’t even say ‘good morning’ until he’d sung Las Mañanitas.”

Orihime’s spirits lifted a little. “See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about!”

Rukia crossed her arms over her chest. “Renji gets up at the crack of dawn. I’m certainly not going over to his place to sing at him while he mixes up his horrible protein beverages.”

“Well, it wouldn’t have to be exactly that,” Orihime went on. “I just thought, since his birthday was coming up in a few weeks, maybe we could throw him a party here, in the World of the Living that was… I don’t know… a little more heartfelt than just going out drinking.”

“I think that’s a very thoughtful idea, Inoue,” Uryuu said.

“Oh! I was worried you wouldn’t want to help, because… you know.”

“I had a row with Ryuuken last week,” Uryuu sniffed. “I’m honestly in the mood to do something nice for a shinigami. Besides, it’s Abarai, he doesn’t really count anymore.” He paused for a moment. “You either, of course, Kuchiki.”

“You wanna have it at my house?” Ichigo offered. “Since me and Tatsuki are the only ones with backyards, and I don’t imagine Tatsuki would want to explain this to her mom.”

“I appreciate that,” Tatsuki put in. “I can help though, if you want. In my family, we like to decorate, and I still have a bunch of streamers and balloons left over from last week.” She gestured at Orihime’s drawing. “We could probably make him a banner or something out of that. It’s pretty good!”

“Oh, that’s such a good idea!” Orihime exclaimed. She should have known her friends would be helpful. She flipped to a new page on her notepad, and began to write things down.

“I can help decorate!” Kon piped up. “I am very artistic, you know!”

“I can bring my guitar,” Chad offered. “I don’t know if Abarai wants to hear me sing…”

Ichigo shoved him in the shoulder. “Shut up. We always want to hear you sing and you never do. If Renji doesn’t want to hear you sing, he’s got no taste and also, he can suck it.”

Rukia rubbed her forehead, like she felt a headache coming on. “Renji goes to all his friends’ poetry readings and community theater and open mic nights. I am sure he would be overjoyed to be serenaded by Chad.”

“What about you, Uryuu?” Orihime asked. “I know you and your father don’t get along, but is there anything that you associate with feeling special on your birthday?”

Uryuu’s face contorted for a moment. “Ah, there is, but I’m sure it’s not helpful.”

“Maybe it will give us an idea,” Chad prodded.

Uryuu frowned. “Well, when I was very small, my mother used to make me a new kimono every year. She was… a very skilled seamstress.” He frowned. “I don’t have Abarai’s measurements, and besides, he couldn’t take it back to Soul Society anyway.”

Kon perked up. “Ichigo! Ichigo, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Ichigo jabbed a finger Uryuu. “Yuzu just got a bedazzler and she has a ton of t-shirt paint! We could bedazzle him a t-shirt! For his gigai! I’ll even keep it in my closet for him with all of Rukia’s crap!”

“Kurosaki, no,” Uryuu insisted.

“Kurosaki, yes,” Ichigo insisted. “It’s like you’ve never even met the man. I’m gonna make the most Renji t-shirt you’ve ever seen and he’s gonna love it so hard he’ll make me his new best friend.”

“I want to help,” Chad put in.

“You may,” Ichigo replied magnanimously.

“It was my idea-- whoa, Rukia, watch out!” Kon cried as he went tumbling to the ground.

Rukia was practically crawling over Chad, trying to punch Ichigo in the head. “He’s my best friend, you ass!”

“He is for now,” Ichigo replied ominously.

“You are my beloved protege, but I will end you, Kurosaki.”

“Kuchiki-san?” Orihime asked tentatively. “Do you think you could come up with a way to get him to come here? I think it should be a surprise, so you would probably have to make up a story...I understand if you don’t want to.”

Rukia looked up from where she was half-hanging over Chad’s shoulder. “Of course I can do that. I love lying to Renji. He can usually tell when I’m lying to him, but he’ll go along with whatever I say anyway.”

“Oh, good!” Orihime replied, a wave of relief washing over her. She had no idea how they would get Renji here otherwise. Mr. Urahara, maybe. Maybe.

Rukia’s brows creased as she rearranged herself to sit on the back of the couch between Chad and Ichigo. “Did you think I would say no?”

“Well… it didn’t seem like you thought this was a very good idea.”

Rukia’s cheeks colored and she waved her hands. “No, no! It’s not that at all! I think it’s a great idea! It’s really sweet of all of you. Renji’s so easy-going, people always… never mind! I’ll help however I can!”

“Try to find out what meal he might like,” Uryuu suggested. Kon was now sitting on his head. “That sounded nice and I can help cook.”

“That’s a no-brainer,” Rukia replied. “He hasn’t stopped talking about Chad’s burritos since the Advance Team mission ended.”

“Burritos are easy,” Chad agreed, “especially if Uryuu helps.”

“What about you, Rukia?” Tatsuki asked. “You have a brother, right? What do you do for family birthdays in Soul Society?”

Ichigo made a Big Yikes face, and Rukia shoved him in the head again. Orihime had stayed with the Kuchiki siblings when she was training in Soul Society, and while Byakuya could be pretty stiff, she was under the impression that he and Rukia were both working to have a better relationship.

“Kuchiki birthdays are very formal,” Rukia said regally, and then frowned. “Mostly, a bunch of Honored Relatives come over for dinner and you have to wear fancy clothes and it’s kind of a pain.” She thought for a moment. “Brother gave me a beautiful set of colored pencils for my last birthday. It’s hard to buy him presents, because he’s so particular and he usually just buys the things that he wants. He writes a lot of letters, though, so I went to my favorite stationery store and bought him some pretty paper I thought he would like. I figured that if I picked wrong, he could just use it to send letters to people he hates.” Rukia’s eyes softened. “He really liked it, actually. I guess he’s not very used to getting gifts that people have spent any time thinking about.”

“Thoughtful gifts are such a nice idea!” Orihime nodded eagerly.

“It’s hard, though,” Uryuu added, “because of the whole matter conversion issue.”

“What,” Ichigo bit off, “is not thoughtful about a t-shirt covered in rhinestones?”

“If all of you help me think of something, I will buy it for him back in Soul Society,” Rukia promised. “Not sunglasses, though. I already bought him sunglasses.”

“Isn’t his birthday, like a month away?” Ichigo frowned.

“Sometimes I plan ahead! Shut up!” Rukia scowled. “Brother and I also like to make each other cards. Brother is an amazing artist, obviously, mine hardly compare to his, but he is very gracious about my efforts.”

“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea, Rukia!” Orihime agreed, writing down “cards” on her notes. She looked over her list. “I think this is shaping up to be a very good birthday!”

---

“Thanks for agreeing to come along,” Rukia said to Renji when he showed up at her front door on the morning of August 31. “How’s your head?”

“I feel great, but I hydrate tirelessly and also, I wasn’t the one who got into a drinking contest with Captain Komamura. How’s your head?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Rukia replied.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to just go? I’m sure I can-- did I read your text right? Ichigo got his soul stuck in Kon’s lion body and we have to go get him out? I… can probably handle that if you need to stay home and sleep it off.”

“Learn to read, oaf. Ichigo got his soul stuck in Kon’s lion body and we are going to laugh at him. Obviously, I wouldn’t miss that for anything.”

“Ahhhh, okay, that makes a lot more sense!”

“C’mon, we should get moving before Orihime takes pity on him or something.” She waved him inside. “Don’t worry, Brother said it was fine to use the family senkaimon.”

“Ah, good morning, Captain!” Renji said, his voice bright with nervous energy.

Rukia turned around and blinked. Sure enough, Byakuya was looming in the foyer. He had definitely not been in the entry thirty seconds ago.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” Byakuya replied. “How delightful to see you in my house on a Sunday morning.”

“Brother, we talked about this,” Rukia pressed. “We had a whole discussion.”

Byakuya ignored her and plowed on. “I did not expect to see you today, but since you are here, I have something for you.” He held out a handsome, hardcover book. Gingerly, Renji accepted it and frowned at the cover. “It is the next book in the Tales of the Iron Army series,” Byakuya explained. “You are a fan of that series, are you not?”

Renji’s mouth gaped a little. “This isn’t… out… yet…”

“The publisher is an acquaintance of mine,” Byakuya said, looking off into the middle distance. “He offered me an advance copy, so I asked for two.”

“Uh, um, thanks, sir!” Renji managed.

“Think nothing of it,” Byakuya said stiffly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am extremely busy this morning.”

Rukia stared, gape-mouthed at the spot where Byakuya had been standing a moment previous. She wasn’t allowed to use shunpo in the house.

“What?” Renji choked out.

“Sometimes people just give him things,” Rukia shrugged, trying to play it off, but secretly fuming. She had told Byakuya that Renji was coming over and to (1) not mention his birthday and (2) not be weird. 0 for 2, Brother.

“Rukia,” Renji reiterated, and when she finally looked over, he was holding up a little slip of cardstock that had apparently been tucked into the front cover of the book. On it was painted a little watercolor Wakame Ambassador. He was wearing a humorous hat. In Byakuya’s immaculate calligraphy were the words ‘Congratulations. You are now older. You will still never defeat me.’ Renji stared at Rukia, as if this were somehow her fault. “W-h-a-t?” he mouthed very slowly and deliberately, no actual sound coming out of his mouth.

“Give me that!” Rukia snapped, grabbing both the book and the card out of his hand. “I told him we were going to the Living World, I don’t know why he couldn’t have given you this when we got back. Mikan!”

Rukia’s loyal maid immediately appeared at her elbow. “Yes, miss?”

Renji blinked. “How does everyone in this house move like that?”

“Hold onto this for Renji until we get back, okay? You can put it with the, um, other stuff.”

“Yes, miss.”

“What other stuff?” Renji asked, a grin tugging at the side of his mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You just said ‘put it with the other stuff’?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You must have misheard, Lieutenant Abarai,” Mikan added sweetly.

“Maybe you should clean your ears out once in a while, dummy,” Rukia suggested.

“Are we really going to the Living World today, or was it just a ploy to get me over here?” Renji asked, doing a double take when he realized that Mikan had disappeared again.

“We’re really going!” Rukia protested, marching into the bowels of the house. “‘A ploy’, ha! You wish.”

“It is my birthday,” Renji pointed out, sounding a little suspicious.

“And we had your birthday party last night! What more do you want?”

“Nothing, actually! Very good birthday, as birthdays go!” He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Thanks for coming, by the way.”

Rukia rolled her eyes. “As if I wouldn’t come.”

Renji shrugged. “Well…you didn’t, for a long time. And those weren’t as fun. So thanks. For coming.”

Rukia opened her mouth and then closed it again. She didn’t know what to say to that.

Fortunately, Renji had a keen instinct for changing the subject when things got awkward. “Were you there when Rangiku’s boob fell out? She says that since it was the right one, it’s a sign that this is going to be an auspicious year for me.”

“I did! I was talking to Momo and we were basically at Ground Zero when it happened! I can’t believe Hisagi was in the restroom.”

“He’s probably still sobbing about it.”

They continued to recap the best parts of the party as they traveled through the senkaimon and picked up their gigai from Urahara’s, but there was something nagging at Rukia, something that had been nagging at her ever since Orihime, with her giant, squishy heart, had suggested that Renji deserved something better on his birthday, something which Rukia knew was unequivocally true.

“Oi, Renji,” she said suddenly as they turned onto Ichigo’s street. Renji was in the middle of a story about Iba’s sideburns, but she’d heard it before, and they both knew he was only telling it to fill the time.

“Eh?” he replied.

“I, uh, I just wanted to say, I’m sorry that our birthdays were so shitty growing up,” she said quickly. “Sorry in the sympathy sense, not the guilt sense. We were just kids, it’s not like there’s much more we could have done. Just... it sucked and it’s not fair and I’m sorry.”

Renji was staring at her with a look of mild horror on his face. “You thought our birthdays sucked?”

Rukia stared back at him. “They weren’t great, that’s for sure.”

Renji’s face fell a little. “Oh. I’m sorry you feel that way. We… we did try, you know. I remember stealing blankets for your birthday, to make sure we had enough for all of us. We always used to try to make sure we had something to eat that day, too.”

Rukia flushed. “I wasn’t talking about me, dummy!” She paused. “You did? Crap. Now I feel even worse.”

“My birthday’s in August,” Renji shrugged. “We didn’t need to worry about freezing our asses off. And we almost always managed to do something fun that day. Going fishing or making a bonfire or lying on the roof and looking at the stars.” Renji gave a rueful little chuckle. “You know, it’s fun when everyone gets together to get smashed on my birthday, but there are so many people and you can hardly hear what anyone is saying. Those old days… I dunno. I guess maybe they just felt a little more personal. When we were here on Tatsuki and Ichigo’s birthday, Orihime was telling me about family birthdays, and I think our old birthdays were a lot like that. Just some nice time spent with the people I like best.”

“You’re such a sap,” Rukia said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling.

“Like you didn’t know that,” Renji snorted. “I’m definitely gonna give Ichigo a hard time, but I’m actually kinda glad he managed to pull this bonehead move on my actual birthday. It’s a good excuse to come see him, and I got to spend a little quality time with you, to boot. Was kinda nice to see the captain, actually, even though he made a quick exit.” Renji sucked his teeth for a moment. “After we get Ichigo sorted, I don’t ‘spose you’d mind taking a little stroll around town and seeing what the other kids are up to today?”

Rukia had her hand on the gate that led to the Kurosaki back yard. “That… could probably be arranged.” She pushed the gate open.

“SURPRISE!”

Confetti filled the air. Someone was blowing an air horn. Everyone (except Uryuu) was wearing very bedazzled t-shirts. Even Kon, sitting on Chad’s shoulder, wore a tiny one with an even tinier lion on it.

“Happy birthday, Renji!”

“Happy birthday, you old geezer!”

“We made you burritos!”

Rukia looked up at Renji. He had one hand clapped over his mouth and his eyes were wide. “Happy birthday, dumbass,” she said softly.

“Excuse me, I will be right back,” Renji said, turning on his heel and walking out the gate.

Orihime’s eyes went wide. “Oh, no! What did we do?”

Rukia held up her hands. “Just give him a second, he’s fine.”

The Karakura kids barely had time to exchange worried glances when Renji burst back in through the gate, at full volume. “What the Hell is this?” he roared. “And where did you get those t-shirts?”

“We made them!” Ichigo shouted back, and thrust a poorly wrapped bundle into Renji’s hands. “We made you one, too!”

Renji enthusiastically tore open his present and held up its contents. “Rukia,” he gasped. “Rukia, look.”

“Chad drew the Hihiou Zabimaru,” Ichigo explained proudly. “I was the one who wrote ‘OH YEAH!!’”

“It’s so beautiful,” Renji sniffed. “Here, Rukia, hold this!” He shoved the shirt into Rukia’s arms and immediately began to wrestle off the one he was currently wearing.

“Uh… buddy…” Tatsuki frowned, trying to throw her hand up in front of Orihime’s eyes, but also unable to tear her eyes away. “That is… a lot… of tattoos…”

“It’s okay, we’ve all seen it,” Orihime reassured her, pushing Tatsuki’s hand away.

“Never mind seeing it again,” Kon added philosophically.

“How does it look?” Renji asked, once he’d gotten dressed again. He was flexing his biceps for good measure.

“It’s a little tight,” Rukia replied, but it didn’t stop her from looking.

“That’s how hot people wear their clothes, Rukia,” Ichigo informed her. “Get with it.”

“I love this so much!” Renji declared, looking down at his own torso again. “I can’t believe you all made this for me. I am so happy!”

“Brace yourself, Abarai,” Uryuu said, “but this is about 1% of the birthday festivities Orihime planned for you.”

Orihime’s cheeks turned pink and she waved her hands frantically. “Everyone chipped in, I hardly did anything!”

“We know you don’t like cake, so we put a candle in a burrito for you,” Ichigo said, jerking his thumb toward the picnic table. “Come sit in front of it, so Chad can sing you your birthday song.”

“We saved you the lawn chair without any wobbly legs,” Kon added generously.

On his way past, Renji slung his arm around Orihime’s shoulders. “Thanks, kid,” he murmured.

Orihime looked up at him. “You’re our friend and I just wanted you to know how special we think you are on your birthday.”

Renji stared at her for a moment, an expression on his face like he wasn’t sure how to make words come out. Suddenly, he tightened his elbow around his neck and crashed the knuckles of his other hand fiercely into her scalp. “I love all of you, too!” he laughed.

“You can’t noogie Orihime!” Ichigo and Tatsuki yelled at the same time, and promptly tripped over each other in an attempt to tackle him. Uryuu flung a pinecone at Renji’s head. With his typical perfect aim, it would have been a direct hit, except that Kon had leapt from Chad’s shoulder directly into its trajectory and got beaned in the face instead.

Orihime was laughing and shouting “That tickles, that tickles!” Renji was cackling. Chad stood, dumbfounded, his guitar hanging around his neck.

“Rukia… avenge us…” Ichigo groaned from the ground.

“On one hand, it’s his birthday and Renji should get to noogie whomever he wants,” Rukia declared loftily. “On the other hand, Orihime is a precious angel. On the third hand, suck it, Abarai!”

She launched herself at him.

[dibidibifiction]

Criminal In My Mind: Chapter 4

Warning: foul language

Pairing: Choi Minho x Reader Word count: 1.6k

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction made for personal entertainment of readers. The writer does not ever intend to offend her readers nor does she aim to spread false information about anyone as to pay any disrespect to the real-life persons whom the characters are based on. She also does not claim ownership to any of the images that are being used.

masterlist Chapter 3

MINHO

I tend to check up on Taemin every time I see him on campus ever since he got beaten up a week ago. So far, nobody has been following him anymore. My shift at the café has just ended and now, I’m cleaning myself up a little bit for our Landscape Photography class at three, which is in twenty minutes. 

So I hurry up, grab my backpack, bow to Manager Jinki goodbye, and head out the glass doors.

I’ve been studying at this school for over a year now and no one has attempted to befriend me but Taemin. He’s the only one who bothers to ask me to hang out with him and his friends, yet I always ignored him. This may sound cheesy but I kind of appreciate him that way. I don’t know why I’m just realizing this now.

I’m just walking to class when suddenly, I feel a cold breeze touch my skin, chills down my spine follows. A man from afar reveals himself right before my eyes, wearing the hood of his jacket over his head. 

I stop abruptly. Why is he staring at me? I’m starting to sweat and my heart decides to beat faster than it should, as if telling me to panic. 

I attempt to run the other way but I bump into Taemin. He seems frightened. Was he walking behind me all this time?

“Minho Hyung,” his eyes widen. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

“I’m fine,” I lie.

“Let’s go to class together.”

I fake a smile and glance back at the spot where I saw the familiar presence, but he’s gone.

. . .

I managed to come through during class since I have a growing passion for photography. It kind of distracted me from what I encountered earlier. 

What I love most about photography is that it’s instantly still with just a click of a button on the camera. You can edit things the way you want it and create something else out of them. But something about its steadiness gets to me and calms me down. I hadn’t known that I had this love for it until I finished high school since I lived my life unhappy and meaningless. I always thought it was too late to find my passion but if it wasn’t for my mother, I’d be wanting to kill myself today.

Now that class is over, I’m back to my fear. I swear I saw him die. Was that really him? How did he find me? How long has he been following me?

I step out of the building when Taemin calls out to me, running.

“Hyung!” He catches up. “Do you have class after this?”

“Yeah, Art History in about half an hour,” I answer him, trying to hide my sinking soul at the moment.

“Oh, okay. Do you have some time later to work on our assignment? I picked you as my partner,” he informs me, smiling.

I stare at him blankly. I must have missed something since I have no idea what he’s talking about. My thoughts are running in circles right now.

“Hyung?” 

“Oh,” I come to my senses. “Yes, sure. Come by my apartment tonight at eight. I’ll text you the address.”

“Great. I’ll buy us dinner,” he says, then runs towards his friends gathered around by the grass. 

. . . 

It’s all coming back to me at the same time. The huge dark room full of barrels, the echoing cries, all the drilling, guns firing. 

And the girl. I don’t remember her face, but what I do remember is her eyes. Her wide brown eyes always twinkled with tears. Her left iris had a distinct but subtle little white spot. I tried to look for her days after I lost her that night but she’s nowhere to be found. I just hope she’s alive and well to this day. It's a shame I didn’t get her name.

I jump awake from my deep thoughts when something thuds to the floor. It’s a book that was in Taemin’s hands. He's already fallen asleep on the couch. 

I turn to my wall clock and it’s already one in the morning. How long have we been working?

I decided to go out and buy drinks from the convenience store nearby. When I’m about to reach for my jacket on the armrest, Taemin shakes awake.

“What time is it?” he asks as he yawns, wiping drool off his chin.

“Ten past one. I’m going to the store. Do you want anything?”

“I’ll go with you. I don’t know what I want but I’m kinda hungry,” he says as he gets up and puts on his college hoodie.

So we go down from the apartment and walk to the nearest little grocery store which is just two minutes away. 

“How long have you known Y/n?” I ask Taemin, hoping to sound casual.

“She started working at my dad’s flower shop about three years ago. I was still in high school then and she was about to graduate college. My dad and I never met anyone before who is as passionate about flowers as she is. She reminds me a lot of my mom. The shop was originally hers, but then she died of ovarian cancer when I was eleven.”

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry,” I sympathize.

“It’s okay. We’re lucky to have found Y/n Noona. Aside from handling the shop for us, she has been the big sister I never ha- Holy shit, speak of the devil!” His jaw drops as soon as he sees something ahead.

I follow his eye direction and to my surprise, there is Y/n walking wobbly toward our way, the high heels of her shoes almost twist her ankles. Is she drunk? Where did she come from? And why is she alone at this hour?

Taemin runs to her and grabs her when she almost falls forward. “Noona, you’re drunk again. Are you with someone?” he says, trying not to laugh.

“Oh, there’s my little Taemin!” she shouts despite their close distance. “When did you get so strong and handsome and all grown up?”

Taemin can’t contain his laughter now. He looks my way and mouths, Watch this. “Noona, wanna come home with me?” he says to her with a matching wink.

“Fuck no! Are you out of your mind?” She pulls him away. “I’m saving myself for someone special now. Someone worth my time. Do you have any idea how many guys I’ve dated? None of them came through for me and I’m sick of it! None of them even cared about how I felt,” she starts weeping.

I can’t help but chortle at the cute sound of her cry.

Taemin frowns. “That’s weird, she usually answers that question differently.”

“Hey, Y/n!” a charming guy with short-to-the-roots bleach blonde hair rushes toward her and hits her at the back of the head. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You got me fucking worried!” He looks out of breath.

“Kibum Hyung!” Taemin exclaims. They all seem to know each other. We’re currently in my neighborhood but I feel like the outsider.

Y/n flinches as she scratches her head at the spot where she got hit. 

“Are you okay?” I ask her in concern. 

She catches my eye and giggles. She slowly draws nearer toward me, then wraps her tiny arms around my neck so she can stand straight. 

“I might be dreaming but I think I finally found you,” she whispers as her face gets an inch closer to mine.

I swallow as my heart begins to skip a beat. I’d stare back into her eyes but they’re almost shut. Something about her scent mixed in with soju is pleasurably intoxicating. 

Before I know it, she leans in and softly touches her lips onto mine. Without a thought, I’m kissing her back after two seconds when she starts to open her mouth slightly as her tongue reaches out to mine. I suddenly feel goosebumps throughout my arms. My knees weaken and sweat starts to form on my scalp. My hands turn into fists for getting this urge to hold onto her waist but, for some reason, I can’t. I'm frozen.

At some point, she falls sideways to the ground but I come to my senses and somehow catch her.

I did not expect this at all.

. . .

I went to work at six this morning to open the café for the day. I usually almost never have a smile on my face when I wake up because I don’t really like waking up so early. But today, I can’t help but find myself jumpy and smiley. 

It is now half-past nine and customers have come in and left, minding their own perspective moments under the sun. 

The chime of the entrance catches my attention as I watch Kibum walk in. Even though he is still in his home wear and hungover, he still manages to look good. Maybe he has a natural talent for staying a gorgeous man no matter what state he’s in. With his gray shorts, plain white hoodie, and a pair of gold aviator glasses. 

He approaches the counter and sees me, “Oh, hey, it’s you. I didn’t know you work here.”

“Yeah, I do. I just started last week,” I smile back. “So what can I get you?”

“Hot low-fat latté and iced black coffee. Y/n’s coming in later. She’s still in bed moaning like a grandma,” he chuckles.

“Oh, right,” I nod. “How is she doing?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s always been like that when she drinks too much.”

“Good to know,” I am relieved to know. “Go on, have a seat and I’ll get your drinks ready.”

Chapter 5

[bangfantanfic]

- “Stop telling me your okay.”

It wasn’t that this was Jeongguks first relationship— he was 22 after all. But it was his first serious relationship. Having grown up and spent basically all his teen years as a trainee he didn’t get the typical adolescent experience, not that he was complaining. He’s traveled the world, met many, many beautiful women and had a fair share of experience and experimenting. But this relationship? It was the realest he’s had. Not to mention the only one to last longer than two weeks. His most recent relationship, still hidden away from the public eye, had been going strong for the last nine months. Well, he thought so. Over the last month the conversations had become dry, and almost awkward. No matter how hard he tried to keep things running it just went sour. He would send memes, knowing how much you loved them, but instead of getting memes sent back or any kind of reaction he got a thumbs up emoji or left on read.

At first he thought maybe you had already seen every meme he had sent, despite how unlikely it was. He tried asking about your day, how your classes were going, if you were happy and he got simple, blunt responses in return. You telling him, “I’m okay, I’m busy.” Or “Yeah good.” He was starting to think he had done something wrong. Had he said something to upset you? Did one of the members say something to offend you? Maybe a fan? Or maybe you just didn’t want to be with him anymore. Each though broke his heart, he didn’t want to hurt you, or bring any sort of hurt to you. He was pretty sure  he loved you. You were everything he had ever wanted, you made him happy but it was starting to seem like maybe you didn’t feel the same.

Jeongguk had just returned from the U.S, the tour being over and a short break finally being given for the group to rest and re-energize. Jeongguk, having not  seen you for three months— not even to videochat— didn’t wait. Once the plane landed and their bags were loaded into the vans he was off. He was driven straight to your apartment, jumping out the car and thanking the staff member for the lift. Taking two steps at a time he ran upstairs, cursing you for living so high up in a building without an elevator. Finally reaching your floor, he hunched over for a moment to catch his breath. He was fit, sure, but that was just an unnecessary amount of stairs.

Now standing in front of your door, his heart was beating erratically. It felt like he was about to ask you on a first date again. His heart was in his mouth and his stomach in his throat. What if you were mad at him? Told him to leave?

Oh god, maybe he should just go home?

Pushing his insecurities and anxieties aside, he raised a shaking fist to the wooden door and stiffly hit it, his lungs going still as he struggled to regulate his breathing. Just as he went to knock again, louder, the door flung open and a figure wedged them self in the crack, blocking whoever was at the door from peering into the messy little house.

“Jeongguk?” You croaked, squinting your strained eyes at the figure standing in the dim hall. “What-why are you here?” You spluttered, trying to close the door more.

Jeongguk felt his stomach tighten. You definitely weren’t happy to see him, which isn’t the usual reaction. His surprise visits usually had you crying happily as you hugged him so tight he thought his head would shoot off his shoulders. But this time you were hidden behind the door hiding yourself.

“We just got back, I thought maybe we could hang out...” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. When you didn’t answer, only sighed, he pursed his lips and shifted his weight. “Have I done something wrong?” He asked, worry coating his words.

You couldn’t help the shocked look that overtook your features. He looked so scared, and it just made you feel worse. “What? No, of course you haven’t!” You sighed, wanting to do nothing more than pull him into your arms and hug away his worries. But you knew once he caught a glimpse of you’re current state it’d only increase his worries.

“No, you’re fine Guk. I’ve just been busy.” You tried to explain, knowing how pathetic of an excuse it was. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of your hand, bony and clutching at the door ready to slam it shut if he made an attempt to get inside.

“Please talk to me, what’s going on?” He asked, sounding desperate.

“I’m okay. Everything is fine—“ You tried to lie, but he cut you off with a frustrated grunt. Soon his much stronger build was pushing open the front door causing you to stumble back. “Jeongguk!” You yelped, using the wall to steady yourself from falling. Ignoring you’re protests he shut the door and hit the light switch, both of you cringing at the brightness that suddenly filled the space. Once his eyes adjusted, which was much before yours did, he felt his heart sink. The house was a mess— not entirely unusual but this level of mess? Out of the ordinary. Sometimes you had little bits and pieces around, books or mugs, but this? This was a new level of mess.

After taking in the filthy small apartment his eyes finally fell on you. You’re hair was a mess, some tied up, most had fallen out of what might have once been a bun? He could see how oily it was from where he stood. You were tiny, you had definitely not been eating regularly. You’re skin had gone an off white/grey and the dark circles under your eyes looked like bruises. You looked so tired.

“Why-what happened to you-“ He cut himself off, shaking his head in disbelief. You didn’t look like you. It was like a zombie version had been put in your place.

“I’m okay-“

“Stop telling me you’re okay!” He yelled, frustration setting in. “Just—Just stop saying that.” He said shakily, letting out a sigh in an attempt to calm himself.

After a few minutes in silence, Jeongguk had finally calm himself. “You’re not okay.” He said softly, his shaky hand gesturing over you’re clearly sick body. Hearing someone else say it triggered something in you, because soon fat tears were rolling down your pale cheeks. You weren’t okay. You hadn’t been for sometime now.

It all started when Guk had left for tour. You’re classes had gotten more full on, more work piled on top of more work, then on top of that you had picked up extra shifts to cover the rent that had gone up— again! You were behind on bills, behind in University and behind in life. You felt like a failure. Nothing was going to plan, nothing was working the way it was suppose to. You threw yourself into your assignments and working late nights that you had forgotten to look after yourself. And now you stood, ugly crying and rubbing your sleeve under your nose because it was leaking almost as much as your eyes were, in front of you’re boyfriend who just wanted to come home and to surprise you.

You even managed to ruin this.

“Jeonggukkie I’m sorry!” You wailed, aggressively running your sleeve under your nose. You knew you disappointed him, it was clear in his expression. “I was just— I was just trying to get things under control!” You hiccuped. Jeongguk sighed, knowing now wasn’t the time for lecturing you— even though it was killing him to not— so instead he pulled you into his chest, his grip tightening as you tried to push away.

“We’ll fix this, I’ll help you fix everything.” He promised, his big hand rubbing smooth circles on your back.

After making you shower, cooking you dinner and cleaning up the apartment Jeongguk had you sitting between his legs, you’re head leaning back on his chest, his arms hugging around you’re waist as you both watched Coco. Jeongguk was softly singing to you as he traced small drawings and words onto you’re warm, soft skin of you’re stomach. You were basically asleep, occasionally stirring when his finger tips tickled you’re skin. Jeongguk felt guilty, he felt he should’ve tried harder to make sure you were okay instead of just dropping it. He made a promise to himself that he’d try harder, but he also made you promise to talk to him about any struggles or problems, minor or major, he wanted to hear them all.

Sighing he kissed the top of your head, one hand hugging your waist and the other gently tracing over your face, drawing swirls as he softly sang to you’re sleeping figure. “Know that I am with you, the only way that I can be, until you’re in my arms again... remember me.”

[feverishfatale]

A Study in Feverish Affections (T/he G/reat G/atsby)

He seems to be in a rough sort of shape tonight. While Gatsby is the pinnacle of charm most nights, with his luxurious clothing and effortless wit, tonight he is slow, sickly almost in a manner that has dulled his personality and sapped his energy. I deign to ask what is wrong. Yet, I fear I would not get a straight answer. He is notoriously private with his manner despite the openness of his home.

As I watch he sways, dizzy, I presume. I can not tell if it's due to the alcohol he has consumed or if it is a more malevolent cause. In truth I fear it is more likely sickness as his glass is as full as when the night began.

I can't help but to feel a surge of anxiety as he breaks off his words to cough harshly into the crook of his arm. He hacks painfully for a long while before hastily excusing himself from a woman draped in a golden dress. Even across the room I can see the breathless toll the fit has taken on his already diminished person.

The woman turns abruptly from him in apparent disgust as he staggers away towards the staircase. I stare after him anxiously as he takes weaves unsteadily through the crowd.

Despite my concern, I know I must trust in him to take care of his own affairs. I take a deep drink of my wine and avert my gaze. Still, I'm taken by a sense of foreboding for Gatsby's health. I watch the party for mere seconds before my anxieties overtake my thoughts and convince me to seek him out.

I allow myself a quick glance towards him. Upon sight of him however, I almost lose my composure. He is staggering heavily up the stairs, his feet dragging, and his body swaying as if he was deep at sea. Even from a distance his cheeks are flushed crimson and the sweat beading on his temples casts a glow around his pale cheeks.

With haste, I set down my drink on the nearby table.

It seems as if the party's guests are either too inebriated or too narcissistic to notice their hosts' plight. This works in my favor as I am far from cruel when it comes to Gatsby and do not wish for him to be embarrassed in front of the socialites he surrounds himself with.

In a few strides I've met him near the base of the staircase where he has made little progress in climbing.

"Gatsby." I say quietly, leaning in close to him.

Up close he is the picture of misery and my earlier suspensions of illness are proven correct. His normally impeccably styled hair is slicked to his forehead, underneath which his cheeks burn with fever. His eyes are turned away from me but I would place bets upon them being fever bright. Even his normal scent of well refined cologne is soured by the scent of sickness.

"Gatsby, are you alright?" I inquire again despite knowing the answer quite well.

He peers up at me with glazed eyes. "Nick?" He slurs.

"Yes, indeed Gatsby." I nod. "What sort of position have you gotten yourself into here?"

He appears lost for a minute, pondering the question. Or more likely losing it in the depths of his fever drenched mind.

"I've had a bit too much to drink old sport." He finally settles on, mouth parting as to pant slightly through the words.

"I see." I pretend as if it is an accurate answer. "Would you like some help up to your room then?"

Gatsby frowns deeply at the question. He appears torn between his man's pride and the utter weakness in his limbs. "You should accompany me, Nick. We may have a nightcap together, just the two of us." He finally offers as if I am the one who is reliant.

I nod in agreement. Inside my thoughts I protest vehemently to the idea of Gatsby drinking in his current state however we have been standing on the staircase for far longer than socially acceptable and need to move someplace far more private.  

Gatsby, with my agreement, takes a shaky step upwards. He is forced to cling to the railing and the exertion beads drops of sweat on his brow.

I follow closely behind. This close to the man I can feel the feverish heat radiating from him like a coal furnace.

Painstakingly, we ascend the stairs. Each step I believe that Gatsby will reach the end of his strength. However he appears to draw on an inner reserve I secretly believe comes from his own natural stubbornness and the delirium that must be a result of his burning body.

Finally, Gatsby mounts the last step with a small, involuntary groan. I place a steady hand upon his shoulder. A support in case he faints or succumbs to the tremors racking his body.

I remain behind him as he staggers into his bedroom. The lush fall of the curtains and the luxurious furniture would have taken my breath away had I not been keeping their master from collapsing from burning up in his own skin.

Gatsby stops in the center of the room, appearing rather lost. His eyes are so glazed they appear to shine in the low light and the flush across his cheekbones shows the high degree of his temperature.

"How about that nightcap, old sport?" He says, the words edges rounding and slipping under his tongue.

"We can drink another night." I say. "For now how about if you slipped into bed."

Gatsby looks at me as if I had lost my mind. Between his shaking legs and wide eyes I could take him as much younger than he actually is, especially in the face of his confusion.

"Is the party over?" He manages to ask before falling into a fit of wretched, wet coughs.  

I hesitate. I am unsure of the sudden interest in his previously forgotten party and also do not wish to lie to him. Yet I fear the chances of him resting are slim if he believes that he is meant to entertain.

"Yes." I say. "It's almost dawn. You must sleep if you wish to attend tomorrow's events. It's far too late for a nightcap."

Truthfully, I believe that Gatsby will not be attending any sort of events for days at least, however the lie is the quickest way of convincing him of the importance of rest.

Gatsby nods sagely as if I had given him an answer to a puzzling riddle.

"I suppose I'll have a lie down then, old sport."

He fumbles at his waistcoats buttons clumsily until the material is removed from his person. Toeing off each of his shoes his body wavers concernedly. I almost reach out to steady him yet withhold at the last second. I watch as he then removes his vest and pocket watch before sitting prone over the bed.

I breathe a small sigh of relief.

On the bed, Gatsby's fever bright eyes immediately begin to droop and his shoulders lose the tension that had been holding them up all night. The crimson flush across his cheeks also appears less angry with the removal of his jacket.

Slowly, I watch as he lays across the silk sheets, lowering his head to the pillow and raising his feet heavily to the foot of the bed. Within seconds he is snoring softly.

I turn quietly to leave. He is safe in bed and I do not wish to intrude on his privacy any more than necessary. In the morning his staff will have found their master to be unwell and he will see the finest doctors in west egg.

I pull open the door and take my leave, stealing one last glance at Gatsby’s sleeping face as I exit the room. He appears peaceful in his rest and I walk softly away to leave him to recover.

[dr-astormylasthurrah]

DR:ASLH AMA (10/21/2020)

so today i decided to sit down and answer a whole bunch of questions on discord!

this DOES contain spoilers up through the end of ch5, just a warning! if you’re on mobile i’m so sorry.

Who is your favorite character?

THAT IS THE MEANEST QUESTION YOU COULD EVER ASK DID YOU KNOW THIS. This varies a lot depending on the day but usually... tied Chiyo/Tatsumaru. I love them both so much. I think Ryouji's my favorite to write, though. If ASLH were someone else's story, I think my favorite would undeniably be Chiyo, because I'm nearly always biased towards protagonists.

What’s been the most enjoyable part of the story process? Why?

Honestly? Getting to see how people react to it. It's the validation luv. Maybe it's selfish, but I really do like seeing how people are affected by my work LOL.

who is on what side of the pineapple on pizza discourse?

Likes it: Amal, Kanemori, Claude, Aster Neutral: Tristan, Tatsumaru, Sentarou Hates it: Ryouji, Chiyo, Ririka, Brendan Doesn't like pizza: Tiana, Hirono, Alexei, Tsukino, Iris Ryouji, Chiyo, and Ririka make fun of Amal.

For the trials of aslh, which trial has been your favorite so far? In terms of planning the case itself, plot beats, character developments, anything really. But which one still makes you lose it when you think about it.

That's a tough one, I don't like writing trials. I liked the structure of ch3, though. The way that the trial stops being "who killed Amal" and instead becomes "who is Aster". The Tatsu POV. The story title drop. And the way the execution just wrecks everything, immediately? Yeah, vibes.

I also feel like ch4's trial deserves a special mention because of how I wrote it while I was sick with the flu, and yet if you ask me that was still probably the most emotionally intense trial- wait I forgot ch2- and ch5- y'know what, forget it. At least it's on par!

If you could change anything about aslh on any level, what would it be & why?

In general, I think it needed more planning. I'm a very on-the-fly planner and writer, but there were a lot of unknowns I didn't consider until late-game that made it hard to bring up and resolve cleanly. It could also probably have used a little bit more clarity with regards to the lore - things like "how does the memory replacement work" weren't decided until super late in the project. I didn't have a backstory for Tatsu until I wrote ch2 or ch3, so before that point their scars were much less extensive and I think they were cut-shaped instead of burns? That was kind of important for at least continuity's sake, and it irks me.

Also, Hirono deserved better. I didn't plan out her arc as extensively as the others (she was, pre-story, the last survivor to be locked and she had traded with Kanemori), so she sort of stagnated in the story. Which wasn't a bad thing, because not everyone's going to get shoved off a balcony or watch their friend get shot, but it kind of sucks that the most "defining" moment she had was that Ririka and Iris died, neither of which she actually witnessed, or the name confession in ch4 trial which kind of got brushed over. Like all the rest of the survivors have Big Defining Moments, except her.

To be honest, ASLH is the first huge writing project I've ever completed, so there's a lot of things I could have done better. But it was also the first huge writing project I've ever completed, so I'm cutting myself some slack there.

What's your philosophy, or even your strategy when it comes to character design? What do you go for first or emphasize, where do you think you could experiment more?

Most of my designs are based around a core "ooh I want to try this thing". Sometimes I take character inspirations, sometimes it's a cool garment, sometimes I'm just redesigning characters. I mostly emphasize clothing, patterns, and colors, but I also reuse a lot of the same clothing styles and patterns. I could definitely experiment more with shape language and silhouette - usually, that's like the last thing I think about, but one of the more important things to have in an ensemble cast. Mostly, though, I just like drawing clothes.

What do you think is the crowning moment of aslh? Like if someone asked you what would be a moment that gets to the heart of the story the most. What would it be?

DEFINITELY the ch5 execution. Like, the emotional resonance? The narration shift? The drama of it all? Peak ASLHcore.

what factored most into your decision-making progress? why did you decide this death order and this mastermind(s)?

My decision making process is entirely me sitting in a fugue state mumbling out details that I need to fix and then sporadically sitting bolt upright and screaming a parallel or tangent I've pieced together.

The mastermind question is easier to put together - I'd always had in mind that this was going to be a revenge game, and that one mastermind was so difficult to take seriously it wasn't even funny and that the other decided to bail halfway through. So I built the characters around that. The points I usually pay attention to with fangan planning (these days) are: ch1 is to establish the status quo and tone of the story, ch3 is to overturn the status quo, and ch5 forces ch6 to happen. So the ch3 case revolved around Sen dying, and then I was like "how can I fuck up the status quo more" and killed Amal and Aster too.

The biggest factor in my decision making process is "what would be really cool". I tend to make a lot of decisions that fuck up the structure of what a fangan "should" be because I think it goes hard as hell when we throw out rules that the characters are unaware of anyway.

was there a draft of aslh that looks drastically different from what we ended up with?

Great question, and fuck you for reminding me!

ASLH actually started as a bullet point fangan called What Tempestuous Despair. It was a much more international cast until I was like "fangans are supposed to be mostly Japanese casts!" and changed a bunch of characters' nationalities, which in hindsight was dumb. Ririka, Kanemori, Tsukino, and Iris were victims of this. Also Amal was the protagonist and I am SO GLAD that didn't stick they are SO DIFFICULT to write the POV from.

I've spoken on a few occasions about how the cast itself changed, and I never got around to plotting out arcs (other than "Amal learns to trust people and allows themself to truly grieve Rin after holding everyone at length for so long"), but some assorted things:

The cast had a bunch of characters who were swapped out. Included in this tally are Rin Matsumoto (whose personality was recycled into Hisaichi, Ryouji's cousin, and their name was recycled into Shuichi's school friend), Leon Mercury Kahahawai (who’s in CYAH), Haywire Asturias, Puck Ganka (who’s also in CYAH), a few characters/designs who I ended up giving away... And also Hayato Kikuchi.

Iris was always a killer, because I really wanted her to have a downfall-that-wasn't-a-downfall-but-rather-a-reflection-of-the-true-self arc. This was always a lategame case so I'd have time to establish her as terrible. Originally, she killed Leon.

Tiana was also always a killer. I think he killed Hayato via electrocution, so as you can tell that's always been around in some form or another.

(Tristan killing Chiyo in ch5 in the current version, btw, was specifically to mirror Tiana's murder. While Tiana killed to get themself out of the KG, Tristan killed to get everyone else out.)

who was considered for mastermind throughout making aslh? what would their reasons have been?

The masterminds have never changed, except that the characters for them didn't exist back in WTD. But the personalities of the characters they replaced were about 1:1 anyway, so yeah basically they've never changed.

what is one thing you really loved about the beta and what is one thing you really hated about the beta

One thing I really loved about the beta was the ch3 case (which I've spoken about at length before), but other than that... honestly Tiana? Tiana's the one character that I had fully developed as of WTD, they just sprung into my head completely materialized. Their entire personality and design somehow stayed the same since conceptualization.

One thing I really hated? I would say "all of it", but specifically, we don't talk about white Tristan. That was so bad. I was trying so hard to design him so that he'd look nonthreatening and I was like "why is this so hard" and then I changed his ethnicity and I was like "oh right, white gamer boy characters just have cursed energies" and moved on with my life.

what would be an ideal day for tiana murdock. what would make them happy.

An ideal day is honestly one where they get a lot done. They're not one to relax or know what to do with free time, but they get a lot of satisfaction out of being productive, so if they manage to finish a lot of work and not end up exhausted? They're happy. They've probably gotta work on learning to enjoy their free time. They do like traveling, though, and- oh my god I should make them friends with Tsukino.

What would the cast's careers be if they lived to be adults?

Chiyo: Elementary school teacher and scifi author! Really wish I'd leaned more into the fact that she loves scifi, honestly. Amal: Journalist, probably, except they'd actually take classes in it this time instead of just writing op-eds constantly Tatsumaru: LIBRARIAN TATSU TRUE ENDING!!! Sentarou: Freelance pianist/composer. I have this whole headverse where he and Alexei are somehow friends with Claude, and together they plot to kill Enji Sekisada. Or Claude and Alexei plot to kill Enji and Sen sits there with his head in his hands. Iris: In universes where she's able to reconcile with academia, she works in ecology + chemistry. In universes where she doesn't, she's a florist. Aster: SERIOUSLY depends on the AU because every time I try to put Aster in a normal AU they're different. Jokes about becoming a flight attendant to travel with Tsukino. Claude: Secretary. No, seriously. May have something to do with killing Enji Sekisada. Hirono: Photojournalist! Photography reminds her of Ekuko. :') Alexei: Veterinary assistant for a specialized bird clinic Tsukino: Pilot, obviously Brendan: Mechanical engineer but sometime around age 30 has enough stress to just quit and become a college professor instead. Tiana: Museum docent, he's coworkers with Laurent Sinclair thanks Ryouji: He's... not sure. In normal AUs does take up food service for a while before getting uncomfortable with his family and quitting. In ASLH canon, he skips this step and goes into law with the intent of helping other killing game survivors sort out their lives. Tristan: Web designer, still makes a few games on the side with his friends. Mostly point and clicks because he ain't about this life Kanemori: Volleyball coach, because he knows a lot more about that than soccer honestly

what part of aslh was the hardest to write?

Deadly life. Always. I can crank the chapters out really fast, but I hate the case part of fangans and they're painful to plan.

For each case, what is your out of universe reason for wanting each person to die when? Like not counting the motives or anything, but why you wanted each person to die then?

- Brendan: He was the OC I had the longest. He had to die. Goodbye you little shit. - Kanemori: He was actually a survivor originally, and Hirono was the ch1 killer for the same "OC longevity" reason but then I realized I don't have anything for Kanemori to do. So... Sorry dude.

- Claude: Y'all ever notice how no one... EVER... puts plot relevant information in ch2s? Anyway. - Tiana: As discussed, they've always been a killer. Putting them as a killer here was a good balance - far enough from ch1 to build up their relationship with Tristan, but also not so far into the story that it conflicts with the general endgame fall-apart-ness.

- Amal, Sentarou, Aster: This case sprung into my head entirely materialized. Like, this was the one that BUILT the story, so it didn't change much. Mostly I just thought it'd be narratively fun to kill off the deuteragonist, the mastermind, AND the ??? in one go. I didn't plan for Chiyal to be a thing so when that became a thing this chapter got better/worse.

- Iris: I always wanted her to be a killer to really expose that "she's not a good person" stuff (she was more of a snake in WTD), but she didn't become a victim until when I was actually writing. She was supposed to have a trial and then I got sick of writing her. Whoops. - Ririka: I had arc ideas for everyone else, and it could have gone either way between Ryouji and Ririka getting that "close to my best friend who is now dead"... in the end it went down to gender balance in survivors. At the time it was Ryouji or Ririka + Kanemori + Tsukino + Tatsumaru, but then once Kanemori got swapped to Hirono just... yeahhh Ririka got stuck in ch4. Sorry. - Alexei: Special shoutout, he was supposed to die in ch4 as just an "oh no this is what happened, how sad" but then it was super narratively unsatisfying and now he's alive.

- Chiyo: For the sake of pain. But like, poignant, meaningful pain. I don't believe in making plot decisions just because they hurt, they've also got to mean something. Considering that a major theme of the story is "death before its time is a complete tragedy", and Chiyo's motifs include death... uh. Yeah... yeah. When it came time to ask myself who'd die in ch5 for this motive, well. I miss Chiyo. - Tristan: Meant to mirror Tiana's killing in ch2, as stated above, had the "selfish kill vs selfless kill" thing. Look if you're going to have a duo in a fangan and don't get to make cool dichotomy/theming what's the POINT. Ended up surviving because when there were only four survivors, there were... really no stakes for the ch6 trial.

- Tatsumaru: I just wanted them to be alive. I didn't know WHY, exactly... I just knew I needed them to live. So. I guess they're alive? Also I thought it'd be really interesting to have a killer protagonist, and a remorseful killer protagonist. - Ryouji: To be honest I didn't have a solid arc for him, aside from Ririka's death I'd decided I was going to figure it out as I went. And I guess I did? I love him. And not gonna lie, since Tatsu became the protagonist and Ryouji's still pissed at them, the perspective/dynamic became VERY INTERESTING. - Tsukino: Originally in beta!ASLH, her schtick was "gilded exterior with a heart of jerk with a hidden, smaller heart of gold" but that didn't transfer over to ASLH itself. Then when I realized "oh shit Tsukino wants to be a hero" it was all over. At first her arc was very "tone yourself down and stop rushing into things" which wasn't... ideal, I think you can still be enthusiastic and upbeat while being mindful and that was not how I had gone about it lol. Fun fact, Tsukino's survived every draft of ASLH, including the beta one - I think she and Amal were closer friends in that. - Hirono: See Kanemori, I just thought she had more survivor potential than him. The problem was that by the time I made the decision to swap them, everyone else was sort of locked by necessity, so Hirono became a survivor by default. Again, I didn't quite have an idea of what she was going to do other than get leeched off of by Iris. Ririka wasn't even part of it, we just had that cooking thing in 2-3 and Ririka was like "this is my problem now" and I was like "what?" so now we're here.

What's everyone's coffee/tea/other preferences?

Coffee: Tiana, Tristan, Brendan Tea: RYOUJI, Tatsumaru, Chiyo, Iris Hot chocolate: Claude, Sentarou Soda: Amal, Ririka Soda but only fruit flavored: Tsukino Water, thanks: Aster, Kanemori, Hirono, Alexei

What was the hardest decision to make, writing wise, for aslh? Like you wanted the story to go one way, but you couldn't force it, or a scene you felt you needed but was difficult to decide upon, anything like that?

Hm... okay see the thing is I'm generally pretty good at writing on the fly so if I make decisions I CAN force them to happen, so there's really not too much that comes to mind. Mostly this happens with trials - I make outlines for my trials and drag my cast along with it. Except they tend to go off-topic, and then I have to drag them back on topic. And sometimes the points don't make sense when you go out of order so I have to ad lib stuff. Ch4 trial was the most off-script one, it was supposed to be a lot slower and made more sense but then the cast just went out of order and I was bonking my head against the wall trying to get it to make sense.

The only real thing I had consistent difficulty with is locations. I did not fucking plan any of this shit and hate making maps so much- oh my god I need to do the ch6 map still.

who would deliberately salt their coffee and who would accidentally do it

Deliberately: Tristan, Tiana, Tsukino, Hirono Accidentally: Kanemori, Amal, Sentarou, Chiyo, Brendan, Iris "Why?": Claude, Alexei, Aster, Tatsumaru, Ryouji, Ririka

[alukaforyou]

and ALSO sry to post bs on main im mostly just talking to myself in my personal tag half the time so yolo, no need to respond to this or reassure me or whatever but these days i licherally question how much of my - sry to sound like a broken record - bs is dépression or just my shité mentality, like i rly was not designed to last, huh? physically or mentally? lol. like who gets motion sickness on swings lmao anyways. i think i give up too easily. theres a bunch of reasons y but i dont feel like saying. its a different thing to kind of kno something, and to admit / speak it (confront it). i could psychoanalyze myself all day and tell u exactly why some things are the way they are but its too unpleasant to neatly state stuff like that u kno?? like... *i kno* but im not gonna say i kno. anywho, i digress. so i give up easily and kind of have a defeatist mentality too, its so exhausting lool. actually its weird cuz duality of man, i'll be rly determined / stubborn abt doing some stuff and not care abt fear of failure with certain things but when it comes to My Life / My Future i just think i cant rly do anything? i mean that literally like i got no skillz *laugh crying emoji* not particularly good at anything, and art - the only thing im maybe arguably ok at - i dont wanna do as a career, that is art therapy for me i dont feel like commercializing it. not interested in working in my major, maybe things wouldve been different if i went to culinary or cosmetology school?? that sounds fun. or if i majored in bio cuz i was so good at that, or even if i majored in japanese language or literature or idk. but no regrets tho cuz i learned a lot abt drawing in art school which i can use for myself. and hmm i like staying home and not rly going out of my way to meet new ppl so connections what? i h8 hearing how most opportunities come through the ppl u kno cuz its true and ik like 10 ppl tops so hm very sexi of me :^) i just feel like im p much f*cked and it rly doesnt help that i have no functional dreams, goals, or aspirations nor the confidence and drive to work towards anything so ah ok cool. u kno suga's songs "the last" and "so far away" ? that p much sums up my feels minus the part abt having to deal w fame obviously LOL. its so easy being a student (for me at least) but being a good student isnt really worth a whole lot in the """""real world""""" and the current education system doesnt even rly prepare u for reality or w.e like Deep Sigh also the political climate rly lookin like shité out there like hmmmmm do i even wanna try so hard to be here anymore tho??? also going back to the self confidence thing, ya idk her LOOOOL like it doesnt very much bother me tho? i really, honest to god have no idea what my redeeming qualities even are. being nice? and my mindset re - tolerance and compassion for others, etc, ya im rly proud of that actually but besides that i mean like what can i Do tho like hm im not particularly good at anything also im hideous like uglee but thats ok too like none of this Bothers me, thats just literally how i Am so ok fine, but i feel like it makes it hard for me to exist in the world i happen to be in??? and i realize im speaking with a huge bias here cuz my brain is totally out of whack im p sure if some1 saw me / read this they would lit be like um u literally do not have it hard girl, which is fair ur kinda right actually from an objective pov, probably? its amazing how um. hard? of a time my brain is having given my relatively ok circumstances but thats just how it is ig. and if i may quote shakespeare - o full of scorpions is my mind. and its weird cuz duality of man - i actually have a lot of good times w friends and whatever i have a lot of fun, im not even very Sad or in Agony its all very a mild? sensation? but that might be because my plan b is to simply *** so nothing rly fazes me anymore lool.

its usually a v confusing emotion, im either feeling happy, or if not that, very ???? im literally that duwang quote get a feeling so complicated its just "ajdjsjsja" idk its not overly repulsive and upsetting im like :s LOL u kno wat at this point idek what im even saying anymore but its good that im writing whatever cuz im gonna need to look back on this later and organize my thoughts for presentation cuz remember i have a s.o now???? i wanna let them kno so we r on the same page, and i dont feel like im tricking them, i thought it over more and there are like 4? major cards i wanna lay out on the table early on and they are 1. im not that close w my family emotionally so do not seek their approval or expect to deal with them much. 2. personal ideology / political views like im bi lmao and pro lgbt if that wasnt obvious also i dont rly wanna be around racists / terfs etc and if ur right wing or not on that respect women juice uhhh bye.. 3. my weak ass mentality how i might Maybe *** in the future like no promise but errrr theres one more but its a little more negotiable and also too early to discuss so i wont mention it but i already got the first two outta the way so ya. theres the most troublesome of all, #3. the last thing i wanna do is traumatize someone that loves me (and i love back) with that kinda thing, its too late for my dear friends whom i love, sorry i didnt kno i was gonna be like this LOL yall already got attached but its a little different with my s.o cuz i feel like its not too late to uh.... stop getting as attached LMAO like dam i've known my girls for almost 10 years whereas i've only known my s.o for like a month.

and this is totally not gonna come across right but if my s.o very understandably desides to dump me id be SO RELIEVED LIKE WOOOO ok cool cuz like essentially what i'd be saying is you are getting attached to someone who's future is not as stable as other people, including u. *huge exhale* from the bottom of my heart, my bad lol. and then i probs wont ever get involved w. a s.o again, sorry to reference snk in 2020 but remember how e*win smith is single cuz he doesnt kno when he will ***? big mood. i have never acted out on my interests before but i was like ok for once lets go off the shits and do smth ooc, i uh... didnt expect for it to actually go anywhere tho so now im like ???? i shouldve thought it through more tho, like i felt low key irresponsible af and selfish and dumb for getting involved w. someone even tho i Know how I Am like...... Also i just lov being single and staying home and chilling alone lmao like i seriously...... never get loney....

ok so what was i talking abt? how the passage of time makes me nervous cuz idk how i can manage to keep up w it??? how i feel like i cant do jack shit???? that life is hard???? and maybe a bih just wants to rest? permanently?????? i think the most irritating part of all for me, like what i am most mad about at myself is that i have no dream. yikes. naruto, do u think thats sad? well yoongi said its okay, and what counts is just being happy, so i will console myself and forgive her and idk just try my best for the time being??

[xshatteredreflectionsx]

“If I die, I’m haunting you first.” for the DA. Because it's totally not an OTT reaction to something minor xD

(What do you mean this is two weeks late. You’re crazy. 

HOLY SHIT LOOK OVER THERE, AHWM2 *Flees into the sunset*)\

--------

If you were to ask the attorney if she got sick, she would have scoffed and gone back to her paperwork.  

“I don’t get sick.” She bit back sharply. “I get things done.”

She was an unstoppable force in the world of law enforcement. Had she the proper training, she would have been out football tackling criminals herself. As it was, she was content to tear their testimonies to shreds, and then give a saccharine smile when the judge passed a guilty verdict.  The attorney was fierce and undeterrable... when she wasn’t sick.  

Damien could hear the groans of misery from down the hall of their shared rental house in the heart of the city. He adored his friend, truly he did, but if she kept this up, she would end up dead long before she carved out a name for herself. But that was what he was there for; to make sure she didn't wind up in an early grave. Of course, Damien wasn’t any better. He currently held the “how long can I go without sleep?” Record at an impressive forty-eight hours.  Mayhaps that was why they had remained friends; they needed each other.  

Hands full of hot soup, Damien knocked on her door with the toe of his shoe before shouldering his way inside.   The attorney was all but buried under her blankets, only the shock of black curls against her pillow signifying she was there at all. The radio in her room, usually playing A & P Gypsies as loud as its speakers would allow, had the volume turned down to a whisper. If that didn’t mean that the attorney wasn’t feeling well, nothing did.  

Damien called out her name, and she rose like the dead out of her grave. Blue yes, usually bright and sharp, gazed dully out from beneath her bangs. She swept them back, revealing her ashen complexion in all its sickly glory.  Damien grimaced in sympathy,  

“How are you feeling?” He asked cordially.  

The attorney blinked slowly, then spoke in a raspy voice. “There isn’t an existing metaphor to describe how shockingly horrible I feel.”  She looked over at the bowl of soup on her bedside table, “For me?”

“Only if you can stomach it.” Damien returned. “I can also bring you some cough syrup, if you think it will help.”  The attorney shook her head and sat up slowly, reaching trembling hands towards the bowl. Damien helped, just so she wouldn’t splash hot liquid and vegetables all over herself.  

“No.” She murmured, sniffling loudly.  

After ten minutes she could only manage to eat about a third of her soup. Considering that she had gone nearly two days without eating anything heartier than saltine crackers, it was a marked improvement. “Hey, Dames?” She asked, voice muffled beneath her blankets.  

“Hm?”

“If, because of this, I die first, I am so haunting you." She said, suddenly grimly serious.  

Despite the cold chill running up his spine at her words, Damien gave her a gentle smile. "I think you've been listening to too many radio dramas, my friend. It isn’t like you to be so overly dramatic.”

The attorney hummed. “Maybe.” She said with a shrug and yawn. Damien brushed her bangs back out of her face.  

“Get some rest. I’ll check up on you in a few hours.”

The attorney hummed an affirmative and nuzzled into Damien’s hand, not unlike a cat.  

----------------------

A few days later, the situation had been reversed. While Damien’s immune system was able to combat the sickness slightly better than the attorney’s it still had effectively kept him from his work. Not for the lack of trying.  When she came into his room, her eyes narrowed at the array of paperwork that Damien had strewn across his bed.  

“Damien,” she said firmly. She then sighed, “I swear, I leave you be for two seconds...”

“This is important,” the politician stressed, not sounding nearly as convincing with the way his voice rasped.  He gathered some papers into a near pile, tapping them against his knees. “Meetings have to be rescheduled, directions still have to be given, I need to find someone who can-” His justification was cut off by a fit of coughing, which he was courteous enough to bury into the crook of his elbow.  The attorney marched over and grabbed the papers from Damien’s weak grasp.

“You realize that you have employees that can do this for you, yes?” She quirked a brow in his direction, and he slumped back onto the pillows.

“...It doesn’t feel right, thrusting all that onto my staff.”

“You mean the staff that was hired to do just that?”  

Damien groaned, running his face with his hands, and the attorney clucked her tongue. “Look, your work ethic is admirable, but you’ll be no use to this city dead.” Damien cracked his fingers apart to peer at her,

“Isn’t that something I’ve told you multiple times?”

“It is. It happens to be good advice. You should take it.”

Damien held up his hands defensively. “Touche.”  The attorney cleared the rest of his paperwork off his bed and, pointedly, held it under one of her arms. She used the other to push him and draw the covers up to his chin (He would protest at being pushed back so easily, but suddenly found himself too fatigued to do so)  

“Get some rest, okay?” The attorney urged in a gentler voice, smoothing some of his hair back. “If I come back to find you’re not asleep, I will resort to drastic measures.”  

“Should the aspiring District Attorney be threatening the prospective Mayor so maliciously?” Damien question with a smirk.

The attorney scoffed and rolled her eyes, “Now who’s being dramatic?” She muttered.  “I’ll be back in about an hour or so. Holler if you need anything.” She finished sternly, brushing imaginary dust off her sleeves and skirt before turning on her heel and walking towards the bedroom door.   Her gaze lingered on Damien as she left, and he drew the blankets closer to himself as if to show that he was going to comply.  

As warm and comfortable as it was, it took very little for Damien to finally be coaxed into a restful sleep.

[sylleboi]

𝕰𝖓𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗

Unit 8: Developing an art and design project.

For our FMP (Final Major Project), we are required to do some research activities. This includes the following;

Select an image or and object that inspires you. This could be something in your home/garden/room/journal. Take a photo of it and explain why you selected it.

Select an image of an artwork or design in a museum collection that you like.

Select a quote or textual reference that interests you. This could be a passage from a book you have read, a headline from a newspaper or magazine, text from a comic book or graphic novel, something inspirational someone has said or written, a song lyric, etc.

Afterward, we are told to ask someone that we know to do the same and to make sure to document their responses. Ask them to tell you about their choices and make a note of what they say.

Create drawings/sketches/doodles based on the research you have collected. These will be necessary for the next part.

Using all of the material you have collected, create a collage/mixed media piece/image that visualises your ‘encounter’ with the person you spoke to.

By the end, we are expected to be able to present all of the above in the first week of our FMP, making sure that it can be presented in an appropriate format such as a sketchbook, blog, production file or portfolio.

≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

01: Select an image or and object that inspires you. This could be something in your home/garden/room/journal. Take a photo of it and explain why you selected it.

For the selection of the image/object that personally inspires me, I chose plants as a general. I have always grown up around greenery, helping my parents in the garden since I was a kid. It was an unavoidable thing to encounter in the Danish countryside where I grew up. I have always found that the cycle of growth, death and surviving is inspirational to me. I have gone through many things in my life already, most of them not coming from a healthy place, but having plants decorating every possible wall and surface in my room was helped me more than I initially would have thought that it could. I felt less alone; like I had a reason to live, although it might seem little to some, I couldn’t end things for good, knowing I would completely abandon all those plants; living organisms; sending them to deteriorate with me. Although I am doing better, I cant seem to fully feel and be me without the presence of the green leaves and spiky cacti all around.

Below is a picture of all the plants I currently own:

≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

02: Select an image of an artwork or design in a museum collection that you like.

This step took me some thinking to do- I have many favorites that come to mind when thinking of artworks that I feel some sort of connection to, but I found myself coming back to one specifically, multiple times; Lucifer by Franz Von Stuck. My first encounter with this painting was in a museum in Germany. I was touring with my music school and our choir, (Ollerup Efterskole kor 16/17), in which we were allowed time off to just wander around the different cities we went to, exploring all the different corners of each destination. With some friends, we found a museum in Erfurt.

I don’t remember the name of it, but I recall it to be quite small. I picked up a magazine in there, showing different old paintings and artists, all German. That was where I found a small picture showing the work of Franz Von Stuck and the piece Lucifer.

Below is a picture of this painting:

Lucifer, Franz Von Stuck, c. 1890

I feel as if there are many different reasons as to why I was so immediately drawn into this. At the point that I was in my life when I saw this painting, I was going through some tough times. Within the magazine, around all of the colourful landscape paintings and portraits, this stood out immensely. There’s little colour and light, making for less clear information for your eyes to read, causing you to fill in the gaps yourself.

This is something I myself have adapted into my own artwork, for the main reason being how I find it intriguing and fun to twist people's minds to think and see something different every time they lay eyes on a piece of artwork.

One thing that I have found myself to have adapted since discovering this piece of artwork is the eyes; the way I draw them has changed over the years after seeing Franz’s art. Below are various examples of this:

I have found inspiration in his artwork, the darkness of it, the lighter aspects and everything in between, but it is not only his use of colour and shade that I admire but the way that he has managed to convey emotion. I personally find myself to aspire to be able to convey it as successfully as he has here; the rawness of it makes it all the better.

≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

03: Select a quote or textual reference that interests you. This could be a passage from a book you have read, a headline from a newspaper or magazine, text from a comic book or graphic novel, something inspirational someone has said or written, a song lyric, etc.

For the quote, I knew right away what I wanted to pick; a lyric from a boy band called Brockhampton, more specifically from their song J’ouvert. 

One of my favorites in this group is a guy called Russell Boring, but is better known as JOBA.

In J’ouvert, his verse goes as such:

'Til the casket drops, I will play God Fuck the world, let's start a riot Got too much, too quick God damn, I'm feelin' sick, bitch, call the doctor Don't act like I ain't been dead to ya Don't act like I ain't deserve this shit Couldn't last a day inside my head That's why I did the drugs I did Got issues with these motherfuckers Looking down from they pedestals From that petty view, on that petty shit Pray for peace with a knife in my hand Speak my piece like a gun to my head Come equipped just to blast this shit Misunderstood since birth Fuck what you think, and fuck what you heard I feel betrayed, you can keep the praise And all of the fuck shit need to get away Still ain't got the fright to the fickle-minded people I thought I knew better, wish I knew better Should have known better, wish that I was better At dealing with the fame and you fake motherfuckers Guess I'm too real

But the part that really hits deep with me is near the end of the verse, which is the highlighted part; (I thought I knew better, wish I knew better, Should have known better, wish that I was better).

This quote hits deep for several different reasons, but mostly it’s on the background of how I’ve been raised; how I’ve been taught to see and view the world, as well as myself. My parents have always been there to push me further; which I don’t see much wrong in, but well...

If I came home with a B, all that I’d get back would be odd looks of disappointment and “Huh... a B? Why not an A? or an A+?”.

Still, this ideology is stuck with me. I always feel as if I should know better, should do better and be better. - I don’t think I’ll be able to let go of this for some time, although I’ve tried countless times. I believe it’s built on the fear that If I don’t live to impress my family, they will completely cut me out of their lives; as they have done on all social media already. It used to be a go-to threat that would echo through the house a year ago.  ; “Do this, and this will happen”. - Come out to your friends as trans? Well, then we’ll force you to wear a dress while touring Denmark and Germany with the choir in your boarding school:

Ever since I physically removed myself from that place, it’s been a process of healing. In Joba’s verse in J’ouvert there is another part that applies seamlessly to what I used to feel and probably still feel quite a lot today, marked in bold:

'Til the casket drops, I will play God Fuck the world, let's start a riot Got too much, too quick God damn, I'm feelin' sick, bitch, call the doctor Don't act like I ain't been dead to ya Don't act like I ain't deserve this shit Couldn't last a day inside my head That's why I did the drugs I did Got issues with these motherfuckers Looking down from they pedestals From that petty view, on that petty shit Pray for peace with a knife in my hand Speak my piece like a gun to my head Come equipped just to blast this shit Misunderstood since birth Fuck what you think, and fuck what you heard I feel betrayed, you can keep the praise And all of the fuck shit need to get away Still ain't got the fright to the fickle-minded people I thought I knew better, wish I knew better Should have known better, wish that I was better At dealing with the fame and you fake motherfuckers Guess I'm too real

I’ve been through so much at this point, that things such as people talking behind my back, calling me names, or doubting me seems so little and worthless. I simply don’t care anymore; Don’t care what people I barely known thinks of me, don’t care what they’ve heard about me. I am who I am and no one can take that away from me, at least not anymore.

≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

04: Afterward, we are told to ask someone that we know to do the same and to make sure to document their responses. Ask them to tell you about their choices and make a note of what they say.

I chose a good friend of mine to fill in the other side of the coin for this task. I let them explain everything since I feel that it’s personal to them, and they will know how to word it the best; I simply just asked them questions.

01.2: “Why have you chosen this object, and what is it?”

“I chose this to be the object because it has great sentimental value to me, but from first glance to those who don’t know what it is - it seems ordinary. The picture is an illusion piece, by tricking your eyes to look at the pattern a certain way, the background appears to completely drop back - as if there is depth to it - and from the background, an Eagle of the same colours emerges. What is interesting about this object, is not only that it first belonged to my late grandmother who gave it to my father (her son), and then my mother but also that it appears only me and my family are able to see it. As far as I know, the illusion hasn’t been worked out by anyone else who we’ve showed it to; it’s almost like our own personal piece of art.”

02.2: “What painting did you choose, and why?”

Artwork: NIGHTMARE FUEL by Oleg Vdovenko

“This piece of art has been the center of a great deal of curiosity and confusion for many years, for me at least. I’ve always wanted to understand it, and if ever came the opportunity I would love to ask Oleg Vdovenko what exactly is happening within the piece, the story behind this strange and somehow almost religious scene. The piece is so compelling, and as a writer, it has always made me want to understand the events leading up to the scene in this painting.”

03.2: “Which quote have you chosen, and why this in particular?”

Quote 15, by Plato.

“This quote speaks to me primarily because I am someone who as a child was fascinated by sleep. I have always been interested in sleep, what happens and where exactly we go. Training myself to achieve lucid sleep was something I used to do often as a child, as well as practicing the art of being able to remember dreams. Even now in my young adult years, I still continue to write down my dreams and remember each of them very clearly due to the practice that I did as a child. Sometimes, as someone who has experienced the less desirable aspects of sleep as well (i.e. sleep paralysis and insomnia) the line between asleep and awake can become blurred. This quote really spoke to me, and made me recognizer the existential idea that we may never know if we are truly all just asleep, or awake.”

≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡ ≡≡≡≡≡

05: Create drawings/sketches/doodles based on the research you have collected. These will be necessary for the next part.

Below are some scans of some doodles and sketches that I did while just letting go and try not to think too much whilst drawing;

06: Using all of the material you have collected, create a collage/mixed media piece/image that visualizes your ‘encounter’ with the person you spoke to.

[writinginstardust]

is nikoli request almost done? or kaz?😔

Short answer? No.

Explanation (not that I’m obligated to explain but I’m nice and considerate) if you feel so inclined to read: there’s a multitude of reasons why but i’ll try to be as succinct as possible - 

1) I have and have had A LOT on my plate at the moment 

- I’m doing a shit ton of christmas fics which yes I don’t HAVE to do but it’s something that makes me happy and other people seem to be into as well so I am and obviously they have a bit of a deadline and there’s a lot to do there

- I did fictober where I posted a fic (sometimes 2!) every day for a whole month so that took a lot of time and effort and again I didn’t have to do that but I like writing as more than a hobby and it was a challenge that I really wanted to see if I could do and did

- I’m aware some of the requests were from a bit longer ago than the last couple of months but before that I was still busy as heck preparing to move across the country, on a couple of holidays (fine yeah that’s not a busy thing but a bloody needed them), and working quite frankly insane hours (6 days a week 8-12 hour days in fastfood) and that left me so physically and mentally exhausted that writing was just like not gonna happen most of the time

- I’ve started university and I’m a film student now and it takes up soo much time both with actual classes and all the work we have to do outside of them as well

- Unfortunately I have to be a proper adult now too and everyday household chores and stuff take up a surprising amount of time when you have to do all of them yourself and also clean up after a messy flatmate if you want to do anything else

- I also do a lot of drawing and it’s something I’ve recently got back into and honestly love doing so much so that takes up some of my free time too and yes this is another thing I have no obligation to do but I’m gonna do it anyway and I’m not gonna feel bad about it potentially making me take longer to write stuff

2) Specifically in relation to Kaz, I find him really tricky to write about generally especially in a relationshipy way due to the way he is in canon and how that does not translate well into a relationship setting. It takes a lot of effort to get him right and balance all the fic stuff with not writing him ooc or ignoring his trauma and it leaves me incredibly mentally exhausted so in general I’m more likely to write stuff for other characters if I have options. He’s also just generally not my favourite character to write about

3) Most of this year the books and stuff that I’ve been in love with and most excited to make content for are new things and not the grishaverse. I still love them but there’s just so much more I can and want to do in my new fandoms

4) I’ve actually received a lot of requests for fics when I have specifically said in either my bio or my request info - which I do ask people to check every time they want to request something because it changes - that i’m not taking any requests or only for a specific fandom or prompt list. I’ve been very lenient with people and agreed to take their requests anyway but have warned them every (or nearly every) time that it will take a while before I get to them.

5) Sometimes inspiration is just hard, y’know, and a lot of the fics people have requested, especially the Kaz ones, have been particularly difficult for me to figure out a plot or way to write it because words are also tricky fickle things to wrangle

6) This, I do for fun. When I stop having fun writing a fic, I’m not gonna force myself to keep going with it then and there, I’m gonna write something that I do enjoy. “But Amy, why don’t you just say you’re not doing it?” I hear people ask and it’s for one very simple reason: I still want to, just not right then. If I ever decide that I really will never manage to finish a fic, I’ll say 

7) I hope people remember that I’m under no obligation to write a request quickly or even at all. I don’t beg for requests (except sometimes with the prompt lists when I want to write everything but know I can’t), I just give you guys the option of suggesting stories you’d like to see

> Honestly I know there’s even more stuff than that but it’s late and I’ve wasted the last hour of my evening explaining all this and I’m tired and tbh I really shouldn’t need to explain any further than that. 

> Also I’m pretty sure I’ve said a fair amount of this a number of times before but whatever. I’m also sure I mentioned that most fics would be taking a back seat to fictober and ficmas for the time being and that it was unlikely much would be posted other than those until the new year.

> If y’all want to know if a fic is done/being done and when things might be uploaded there’s several places you can check on my blog very easily: If you go to my navigation section, there’s an update schedule there which I do change when I get fics finished and plan their post date, and if I have more than the 5 slots the blog theme allows then I make a post which gets linked in my bio and you can check out my ‘currently writing’ post which I keep updated and will show what’s been started and what’s been finished but not posted

Edit: Guess who just remembered another couple of reasons some stuff isn’t done?

8) I am so incredibly lucky to get a load of mental health problems which are officially undiagnosed and going untreated because my anxiety is so bad that just the thought of actually talking to a professional about it makes me feel physically sick. So quite often my headspace is just not good at all and if it’s alright enough to write, I’m gonna write stuff that I enjoy and isn’t exhausting. (it also gets worse during autumn/winter so that’s fun for now!)

9) My physical health is like really not the best either and especially in winter and especially lately I’ve barely had a day when I haven’t felt a little unwell so writing gets pushed aside and then when I am okay and write I have to prioritise and like I’ve said before, my priorities are/were fictober and ficmas

[mimik-u]

Flower Child, Chapter 11: Texts (II)

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day, friends! I'm so very appreciative of you guys. Slowly, but surely, we're edging to the heart of "Flower Child." (If I can stop being distracted by the inner workings of characters' minds long enough to focus on plot, we might just get there soon, lol.)

AO3

Sunday, 11:32 AM:

Blue: Oh, Steven. 

Blue: I’m so sorry to hear that

Her slender fingers hovering just above the touchscreen, Blue Diamond hit send prematurely and realized that she had forgotten to punctuate her text just seconds after she did. Of course, an unfinished sentence wasn’t the end of the world—not in this era of instant communication where proper grammar had been relegated to stuffy scholarly types (such as herself) and punctilious mothers over forty (such as herself).

But.

But.

The mistake shattered her anyway. 

Because it wasn’t about the sentence, nor was it about the grammar. It was about all of the other unfinished things that she had been intimately acquainted with over the course of her lifetime.

It was the fact that she had never finished Les Misérables in grad school, though she had written a beautiful essay on it all the same. It was unfinished diary entries and unfinished diet attempts, her unfinished career and the singularly unfinished look about her these days. In the mirror, she was a ghost’s approximation of a human, tall and smudged and broken. In the part of the world she once ruled with a sure fist, she was very well a ghost to all of the people who had once known her name.

It was her relationship with her mother that ended on the very day she started dating Yellow all those many years ago.

You should be ashamed of yourself, was paradoxically both a complete sentence and an incomplete one, drawing lines in sands and tearing her asunder at the same time.

And it was Pink Diamond—unfinished at twenty-one years old.

But then again, it was always Pink Diamond, everything about her—her high, lilting laugh and her freckled smile, the way she wrapped her thin arms around Blue’s waist and called her home.

It was that last unfinished fight that never ended in I’m sorry or I love you.

You’ll never let me grow up, will you?

And now, it was Steven Universe, the boy from the cemetery, the flower child, the first smile she had worn on her face in years.

Blue buried her long face in her hands and prayed to the God that she did not believe in anymore, that this child would not become another unfinished thing.

Sunday, 11:47 AM:

With a sigh that reached into her bones and hollowed them out for good measure, Pearl finished texting everyone who needed to be texted—all of their friends and family, and sometimes, the friends and family of their friends and family. The list of reassurances, blending into one another after awhile, went a little something like this:

Pearl: Thanks for checking in! I’ll keep you updated.

Pearl: He’s stable! Just resting now.

Pearl: Oh, sure! A casserole would be lovely. Thanks, Barb. Lapis and Peridot are house-sitting, so you can drop it off with them.

Pearl: Please don’t kill our cats. <3

Pearl: Thank you for the kind words.

And for the thoughts.

Prayers.

But not quite condolences.

(Thankfully, not condolences.)

Pearl: No, my apologies. Now wouldn’t be a great time to visit. Maybe later?

But at the same time:

Pearl: He’s fine! :)

Pearl: He’s stable!

Pearl: Don’t worry!

Pearl: He’s fine!

She was a broken turn table, all scratched up, repeating the same few lines over and over again until she forgot that there was such a thing as the rest of the song.

Stability was not a given for Steven Universe anymore, and fine was such a relative word.

He was fine yesterday, laughing and cutting up and inflating balloons on the beach.

He was fine a week ago, bruised and weary for sure, but on his own feet and independent of machines, giving flowers to random ladies in cemeteries.

And he was fine eight months ago, on the verge of becoming an eighth grader at the local middle school—and then he woke Pearl up in the middle of the night to tell her that it hurt to pee. There had been tears in his dark eyes.

Blood in the toilet.

A diagnosis three weeks later.

Pearl: Hello, I’m so sorry for the late notice, but Steven is in the hospital again. I won’t be able to make my shift tonight. 

The three dots appeared almost instantly, much to her clammy chagrin.

Her manager replied: so sorry to hear that! i’ll take you off the schedule. do you need tomorrow night off as well?

Pearl: No! In fact, I can pick up a double tomorrow. Two to closing?

Manager: great! 

Pearl needed to be with Steven, needed to hold his hand and press kisses into his forehead, needed to weather every tube and test, every hell and high water, but because life was perverse and they all had horrible health insurance, she needed the money to take care of Steven more.

Trying to ensure that someone didn’t die wasn’t cheap, they had learned fourteen years ago with Rose. But, of course, even that ample forewarning didn’t soften the blow of their current financial situation, which was… dire.

For a couple of months now, they’d been toying with selling with the beach house.

It was prime real estate, secluded on the far side of the beach as it was.

(It was home. How could they even dare?)

“You look like you’ve been kicked, Pearl.”

Pearl looked up from her phone to find Garnet staring at her from Steven’s bed, where she was still curled around their boy though he’d long been passed out from his latest puking spell. (Yogurt. He couldn’t hold down yogurt.) Her bicolored gaze had always been intense, for Garnet was an intense person, but now, it pierced through Pearl like an x-ray and found her wanting.

Her sadness was seen.

Keenly.

Summed up in seven quiet words.

“I’m working a double tomorrow,” she murmured, looking away, anywhere but those eyes where she was known. “You’ll have to call me as soon as he’s done with testing.”

Earlier, Dr. Maheswaran had told her that UNOS would require Steven to have nigh daily blood work done in order to ensure that he was still viable for a kidney transplant. More testing would also ensure that he remained relatively high on the list should a kidney ever become available.

Garnet nodded, meticulous to move only her chin so as not to disturb Steven and all of his tubing. One of his wire infested hands was curled tightly into her shirt.

“You know I will.” But then, with a wry smile hinting at her disdain for phones: “Or Greg will. Or Amethyst—if Amethyst will ever leave the room.”

It was both a joke and not a joke, a joke and a light admonition in that subtle way only Garnet could accomplish.

Shame was a hot trickle of dread in Pearl’s stomach, a pink blush across her cheeks.

“I went overboard last night, didn’t I?”

Another nod. The various machinery currently keeping Steven alive whirred around them in place of a reply.

“I hurt her feelings,” Pearl whispered as the night came rushing back to her—Steven pale and cold beneath her hands, the rage that snarled through her teeth as she locked eyes with Amethyst, who could only stand there and sob and apologize, and oh, how that had irritated her in the moment. “I said some awful things.”

The admission was a horrible creature, condemning her where she sat, twisting all her insides up until she felt like a monster.

“I should apologize,” she said, and then immediately added, “Right?”

Garnet—she could all but see herself in the other’s dual toned eyes, how her face was contorted in a desperate plea—shouldn’t I apologize? It feels like I should apologize, but I just don’t know anymore, and all of these decisions and words and empty texts are all getting to be so heavy. 

Please. 

Please tell me what to do. 

I’m so lost.

Garnet studied her in silence for a longer moment still, her expression as impenetrable as ever, until her dark brow suddenly relaxed, unfurling across her eyes in a softness that was meant to be a tiny kindness for Pearl.

“You should apologize, Pearl.”

All of the puzzle pieces suddenly clicked into place.

She should apologize.

“Okay,” she said quietly.

“And Pearl?”

“Yes, Garnet?”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”

Sunday, 12:09 PM:

Pearl: Hi, Amethyst. It’s Pearl.

Pearl: But you knew that, of course, because I’m programmed in your phone, and goodness, I’m already making a mess of this, aren’t I?

Pearl: -_-

Pearl: At any rate, I’m just texting to say… I’m sorry.

Pearl: I’m so sorry for how I acted last night, what I said to you and what I did. It was uncalled for in the highest order, which is to say that I unfairly blamed you for something that you absolutely could not control.

Pearl: Steven’s sick—really sick—and I’ve been trying to ignore that reality for as long as it’s been /our/ reality. When you opened that window last night, I presume you were trying to correct my mistakes when it comes to Steven. You tried to show him the truth, and that is such an incredibly brave thing to do.

Pearl: I’m proud of you, Amethyst, and I miss you, and I love you, and I’m sorry.

Sunlight leaned against her face, and exhaustion leaned against her entire body. Pearl closed her dark eyes in defiance of both of these heavy things and let her templed hands fall into her lap, her long fingers still curled around her phone.

“You did it,” Garnet murmured quietly from the bed.

“I did,” Pearl replied.

Oxygen hissed into Steven.

Wires measured the beat of his heart.

Pearl’s phone buzzed once and then twice.

Sunday, 12:11 PM:

Amethyst: love you p

Amethyst: b there in a minute?

A smile quivered across the thin line of Pearl’s mouth.

She was so happy, and she was so sad—all at the same time.

Sometimes, these two feelings felt like they were one in the same.

Pearl: See you then.

Sunday, 1:40 PM:

Connie: Hi, Mom, can I come visit Steven?

Priyanka: Mmm, for a little while if your dad will bring you up here. Don’t wake him up if he’s still napping, though. He has an early shift tomorrow.

Connie: Okay! :) We’re in the parking lot.

Priyanka: You’re in the WHAT now?

Connie: Well, I wanted to see Steven, and Dad wanted to check out that new wax museum between 2nd and 4th, so it worked out!

Sunday, 1:43 PM:

Priyanka: Doug.

Doug: Our daughter is a singularly persuasive human being.

Priyanka: Doug.

Doug: … Wax Fyodor Dostoevsky.

Sunday, 1:45 PM:

Priyanka: 4th floor. Truman Ward. I’ll meet you at the doors to let you in.

Connie: Thanks, Mom!

Sunday, 1:45 PM:

Steven: Hey, don’t be sorry!

Steven: It’s just a fact of my life, you know? I’m going to fight, Blue.

Steven: I promise.

Sunday, 1:54 PM:

Connie: Steven, I’m on my way up!

Steven: WOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Steven: Give me the play by play. I’m bored

Connie: Okay! First floor, passing the gift shop. 

Connie: Now boarding the elevator.

Connie: Contrary to everything “Under the Knife” has ever told me, there are no meet-cutes between superfluously handsome doctors in this dingy little vessel. :(

Steven: You watch Under the Knife too?!?!?!?!

Connie: Yes! It’s one of my favorite shows! (On the fourth floor.)

Steven: Who’s your favorite doctor?

Connie: Oh, probably Stebbins.

Steven: :o 

Steven: Stebbins is so mean, though!!

Connie: But he’s efficient! That has to count for something.

The three dots cropped up in a hilariously quick instant, but Connie was faster, shooting off a reply as her red converses squeaked to a stop at the double doors guarding Truman Ward from the rest of the floor. A plain, if abrasive, sign next to the doors instructed her to RING THE BELL FOR ENTRY, but the plexiglas windows in the center of the doors revealed that her mom was just on the other side, chatting with a nurse.

Connie lightly rapped on one of the windows with her knuckles to snag her mother’s attention. Attention promptly snagged, and with a visible sigh that could only be described as fond, her mother nodded and reached past the nurse to hit a button on the wall.

The doors spread outwards.

Connie barreled into her mom’s lab coated arms.

“Hi, Mom!”

“Hello, Connie.”

And then they quickly disentangled themselves, so they could study each other like the scientists they both were. In a sweeping glance, she could tell that her mom had had a rough night. Exhibit A: Her hair was in a ponytail. (It was never in a ponytail.) Exhibit B: She looked positively wispy with fatigue, all of the lines in her face frayed and fraying. It made sense. She’d been called out of bed a little after ten last night, and she’d just gotten off of a day shift a few hours before that.

Exhaustion was scrawled all over her like a prescription.

“I presume your father went to go ogle wax people?” Priyanka asked with a wry tilt of her head.

“Yup,” Connie replied, proffering a wry smile of her own. The nurse her mom had been talking to waved a polite goodbye to them both before heading out through the double doors.

“And I also presume that you’re not even remotely sorry for driving up here without asking my permission first, correct?” It was both a harsh question, and it was not, wrangled into something softer by the resignation in her brow.

Connie at least had the decency to feign shame.

“Something like that,” she said sheepishly, studying the floor and then her mother’s impenetrable eyes and then the floor again.

Priyanka sighed, but to her daughter’s surprise, hooked an arm around her shoulder.

“Well then, let’s go see Steven.”

The harsh overheads smiled coldly upon their heads as they began to walk. They passed a nurse’s station, a small girl whimpering on a gurney, swarming scrubs and lab coats. The air tasted like hand sanitizer, and the weight of where she was at, and why she was here, slowly began to dawn on Connie for the first time since she had conceived of this visit.

“Is it bad?” The question stumbled out of her mouth like an accident. Room 11030. Room 11031. They were getting close. Her palms were beginning to feel slippery. “I mean, is he bad?”

Her mother thought on it between Rooms 11032 and 11034, her frown deep, her grip on Connie tight.

“Yes,” she finally conceded, “but also no. He’s certainly in the most dire condition I’ve ever seen him, but I also think we might be close to securing him a kidney. He’s high on the list now. There’s no way that…” She trailed off suddenly, frayed and fraying, unable to complete what seemed like a consolation to Connie’s ears.

Her palm was carving itself into her shoulder.

Room 11037’s door was half-open, laughter and machinery spilling from the crack, an unlikely symphony, an oxymoron—just like him.

Him.

The disease.

His unwavering smile.

The machine.

Connie tilted her chin and found a confusion in her mother’s eyes that matched her own.

They were both problem solvers.

Mathematicians.

Logicians.

Scientists.

And here was a problem. Here was a boy who did not deserve what he had gotten.

And there was no easy solution in sight.

Connie leaned her head against her mother’s knuckles to show her that she knew, and her mother closed her tired eyes—just for a moment—to revel in the fact that she was known.

“You’re such a dork, Stevo,” Amethyst riffed from the other side of the door.

“Always,” Steven laughed—warm and bright, here and leaving.

Priyanka rapped smartly on the door.

Sunday, 1:54 PM:

Blue: You’re incredibly brave, Steven.

Steven: Aw, shucks. You’re flattering me!

Blue: Oh, I suppose I so.

Blue: Could I come visit you soon?

Steven: YES!!

Blue: Would tomorrow be a good time?

Steven: Yeah, I think so! I have a few tests in the morning, but my afternoon should be free. 2ish maybe?

Blue: That sounds perfect.

The living room was cavernous and lonely; sunlight streamed in from the floor to ceiling windows and contrarily had the effect of making everything it touched look all the more abandoned. The ornately embroidered sofa. The glass coffee table. Blue Diamond herself, sitting in her recliner, looking down at her phone. Her skin was so pale that it was stained blue by the light wash emitting from the screen.

So she was getting out tomorrow, it seemed.

To a place that wasn’t her doctor’s office.

Or the cemetery.

Or her doctor’s office.

Or the cemetery.

The action wouldn’t feel real to her until it happened, but the ache she felt for the boy on the other end of the line was raw and visceral, and it was so reminiscent of another time that was raw and visceral, that she began to think of it and her and that night and all of the empty time since and—

An involuntary cry escaped her.

She covered her mouth.

And closed her eyes. 

And did nothing as a single tear spilled over her knuckles and into the dark folds of her robe.

But crying itself was just as untenable as not crying—old-hat and tiring and destructive—so she got up as swiftly as she could manage with her hip, and with her cane clanking ahead of her, traced a familiar pathway across the wooden floor. Past the kitchen and into the hallway. Past Yellow’s study, where typing noises and intermittent swearing could be heard from within. Past ghosts of little ballerina feet scampering down the foyer. 

And Blue Diamond stopped at the door between the study and the master bedroom.

And she placed her hand on the knob, her shaking fingers disturbing the brass.

And she turned it, just a little, just enough to hear the door groan in compliance with her wishes.

And then she stopped.

She let go of the knob.

And slowly clanked back to the study and knocked lightly on the door. The typing on the other side stopped abruptly.

“Poppy?” Yellow asked.

“No,” Blue whispered, and that was all that was needed.

There was a soft oh of recognition and the creaking of a well-worn chair. The stumbling of feet. A handle pulled. Yellow Diamond was stark and brilliant, surprised and tender, in the golden light flooding from behind her. It was a Sunday, so she wasn’t in a three-piece suit, but her button-down shirt was meticulously ironed, the collar popped up around the sinewy muscles of her neck.

“Blue,” she said, quite unnecessarily, and she must have realized it because pink popped across her sharp cheekbones. She must have realized this, too, because she began talking and began talking fast. “Do you need something? Are you ill? Should I fetch Livia?”

It’d been a long time since Blue had intentionally sought her out.

Had come to her.

Had wanted her.

It was usually the other way around with them.

Blue slowly shook her head, her long braid swishing in time with the motion. Her right hand trembled on the head of her cane.

“I was thinking about Pink,” she said quietly, and Yellow’s instinctive rebuttal was clear in her amber eyes.

You’re always thinking about Pink.

But instead, because she was trying hard not to offend, simply whispered, “Okay.” 

It was a vulnerable word, or she was vulnerable today one; the distinction was lost in the small space between them. 

Yellow’s entire body was taut, a rubber band that had been stretched too far.

“And I was about to find myself in her room again,” Blue continued on, but then, seeing the stricken expression on her wife’s face, tilted her head to the side. “But I didn’t, Yellow… I didn’t chase her ghost today.”

If it’d been up to Yellow, the whole room would have been razed down. (Damn the logistics of destroying a room within a home.)

But because it was up to Blue, the room was a monument to their dead daughter. There were still pink sticky notes on her nightstand that reminded the twenty-one year old to study for an upcoming Calculus exam, books on the floor, clothes in the hamper.

Everything coated in a fine layer of dust.

Yellow swallowed thickly and looked away; even still, Blue could see every line in her face, the strain in them, how they convulsed against her will. 

She wanted to reach out to her.

She did not.

“Ask me what I’m going to do tomorrow, Yellow.”

This certainly caught her attention, a command from a woman who had not done much commanding as of late.

Her gaze flickered to Blue’s and stayed there, searching and lost.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I’m going to visit a friend in the hospital.” She said it very simply, like it was just another part of her routine, but it wasn’t, and they both knew it.

It was momentous, and Yellow’s plump lips parted in quiet shock.

“You’re… you’re,” she struggled, the words seemingly strangled in her mouth, “you’re getting out?”

“I’m going to try to,” Blue replied evenly, and then she thought on it, clarified herself. “For him at least… his name is Steven.”

“The boy you had cakes with?”

“Yes.”

“The boy who… who made you smile,” she murmured this to herself as though she didn’t believe Blue could hear her.

But she did.

Obviously.

And it surprised her.

She studied the sharp planes of Yellow’s face and found quiet anguish, tucked in the way she pursed her lips, creased in the shadows beneath her striking eyes.

Unspoken: He made you smile. I could not.

“Yes,” Blue repeated because it was also the truth, even if it was a painful one to admit.

But to be fair, all of their truths were painful these days. Their daughter was dead, and her room was empty, and Blue Diamond half-wanted to be dead, and for four years, she had scarcely cared that she was living. And Yellow Diamond liked to pretend that none of this had scarred her in lasting ways, but there were lines in her face that had never been there before, and sometimes, just sometimes, she sat her in study and cried when she thought no one was listening. And they were approaching their twilight years, and there was no turning back. The bell was rung, and their daughter was dead, and they might never be happy again, and—

That was the truth.

Yellow closed her eyes and then unclosed them, obviously trying to master her emotions into locations that weren’t words.

“Will he… be okay?” But she was only human, despite what she'd have the common person believe, so strain leaked out into the innocuous question anyway.

“I don’t know,” Blue murmured, and this truth stung with all the others.

She could be caring for this boy only to end up shattered if he died.

And the possibility of this was not lost on Yellow Diamond. Cynical. Skeptical. Practical.

It shone in her eyes, in the firm set of her jaw.

What came next, however, was not an admonition, but a small gesture. And because it was a small gesture, and because small gestures were rare between them, it was felt: Yellow reached out, slowly, almost cautiously, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Blue’s ear. Her lined palm lingered against her cheek for an infinitesimal second before falling into a clenched fist by her side.

“Well, at least he’s got a chance.”

Unspoken: Pink didn’t.

Blue Diamond found that she missed her wife’s touch.

The weight of it.

The warmth.

“Yes,” she concurred. “At least he has a chance.”

Sunday, 2:25 PM:

Pearl: I absolutely love her!!

Amethyst: we’re literally sitting next 2 each other lol

Pearl: Yes, but I don’t want to embarrass them… I’m just so happy that Steven has a new friend! She’s so nice and smart!

Amethyst: to b fair he’s also friends w/ an old lady in a bathrobe now

Pearl: Ugh, don’t remind me.

Amethyst looked up from her phone at the very same time that Pearl looked up from her phone, and then they studiously tried to not look at each other as they trembled in silent laughter. But because they were both assholes, they failed at this monumentally simple task, and locked eyes just long enough to break them both.

“Stop,” Pearl moaned, clutching her stomach in a feeble attempt of getting herself back under control.

“You first,” Amethyst shot back, laughing too hard to punctuate the threat with a shit-eating grin.

The entire room turned to look at them. Dr. M drew herself away from her chart long enough to raise an eyebrow. Garnet and Greg stared, one quite subtly and one quite openly. On the bed, Steven and Connie extracted themselves from the book they were reading.

“Whatcha laughing about?” Steven asked cutely. He tilted his head with a conspiratorial smile, and his entire oxygen getup slid sideways with him. 

“Nothing,” Pearl said.

“Cats,” Amethyst said at the very same time.

And they dissolved all over again.

Pearl placed a steadying hand on Amethyst’s shoulder, and Amethyst leaned into the touch as their bodies shook with laughter.

Nothing was right with their world, but just for a moment, they pretended like it could be.

Priyanka Maheswaran’s frown deepened the longer she stared at her clipboard.

And it positively turned into a scowl when she read Steven’s heart monitor.

Sunday, 3:18 PM:

Steven: Thanks for coming to visit me today!

Connie: Of course! I had so much fun meeting everyone!

Steven: They liked meeting you too!!!

Connie: Score!!!

Weariness was like a second skin on her mother as they walked down Truman Ward again. She said nothing, only deigning to nod at various colleagues who greeted her as they walked by. 

Connie wanted to talk about Steven, wanted to talk about Garnet, Amethyst, and especially Pearl, whom she had a lot in common with—but she bit her lip against a torrent of questions and studied the way her shoes scraped against the clinically clean floor instead.

Because she knew.

She’d seen the way Steven’s whole body was manifested with tubes and the bags under his guardians’ eyes and the fear in his eyes that he tried so hard to hide with a smile.

When they had first arrived, she had hugged him as tenderly as his machinery would allow and asked him if he was okay.

And he only shook his head and laughed like he was.

Because he knew.

And she knew.

And everyone in that room knew.

(He was dying. It was happening fast.)

As they exited the double doors, Connie reached up and tentatively took her mother’s hand.

Her mother did not let go in response.

[saltpepperbeard]

Begin Again ~A Joshifer One-Shot~

A/N: Well hello everyone! Been some time since I’ve talked to you all through an author’s note, hasn’t it? Don’t worry, I’m just as surprised as you are lol. Yes yes, I know Joshifer has become quite the irrelevant ship lately, with hardly anything going on anymore. But every time I come back to Tumblr, I always somehow manage to get a bit of that shipping spark rekindled. And I guess lately, the spark was so strong that an entire fanfiction came out of it lol!

Fanfiction has always been my way of dealing with things/interpreting real life events differently. With that being said, this is kind of my take on what could be happening behind the scenes. Yes yes naysayers, it’s unlikely, but I absolutely adore exploring the big “WHAT IF” lol.

So after a literal...what has it been, two year gap? I decided to go and get very trashy again! And I do hope you’ll give this a read, even after all this time. I’m dragging as many of you down into the dumpster with me again as I can lol! I hope you all enjoy it, and you’ll have to excuse any errors; I tried to do a typo sweep but I’m also really eager to just get this out for everyone!

Disclaimer: This fic contains mature themes such as strong language and sensuality.

And without further adooooooo....

Begin Again

It feels like an entire lifetime has passed since I traversed these shores, since I created unforgettable memories, since I established relationships I thought would stand the test of time. But just like the sand beneath my feet being carried by each passing wave, I guess everything gets swept away eventually.

A heavy sigh passes through my nose, coupled with a bitter sweet smile playing across my features. Now I know why I never ventured back to this beach, despite staying in Oahu numerous times. It’s just a little too damn nostalgic- dare I say depressing, even. It’s almost like new memories flood in with every passing step.

I can almost hear the voices of the production crew talking and laughing against the waves, the atmosphere of filming a movie still lingering from many years ago. I can picture sitting in the warm Hawaiian sun with my fellow cast mates, taking breaks and cracking jokes between takes. And of course, I can practically see my best friends sitting beside me, constantly laughing and furthering what I thought would be an unbreakable bond.

I guess time has a way of changing things.

The now-emptiness of the beach is a rather painful reminder of the direction things have gone, everyone going their separate ways. We all tried to keep in touch. We really did. But the industry was a roaring wave that crashed around us, and prevented us from communicating well. What went from texts and calls multiple times a week quickly dwindled to a few times per month. And it’s gotten even more sporadic sense then.

I kick the sand with a foot, sighing as I feel my heart sinking deeper into my chest. It never really occurred to me how much I actually miss everyone. But I do. I miss working with them. I miss being with them. I miss everything we had going.

A rogue thought, a triggering memory, begins to snake around me like a piece of damp seaweed, and I attempt to brush it off as I continue my literal walk down memory lane. It grips tighter and tighter however, threatening to completely overtake my subconscious the further I stroll down the soft white sands.

I grit my teeth and give my head a shake, attempting to literally rattle the images out of my head. Maybe it was sadistic of me to come out here. I knew damn well it was going to open up a plethora of memories. And yet I felt some kind of strange urge, some kind of draw to walk down memory lane again. It’s not so much thinking about filming that hurts though. It’s...

I shut my eyes tightly, bringing both hands up to brush backwards against my head. I can start to hear a twinkling, unmistakable laugh on the breeze. I can start to smell a scent that makes me at home amidst the salty air. I can start to feel warm hands on my shoulders, rivaling that of sun above.

Jesus Christ.

“Sad, Josh. Real sad.”

Why the hell did I come out here. I haven’t thought about her that way in months, years. I’ve attempted to move on from her, to push everything about her to the back of my brain. And here I am instantly dredging it all up again.

“No. I’m over her. I’m over her, I’m over her, I’m over her...”

I internally repeat the saying as a mantra, a constant stream of words to hopefully override the trespassing thoughts and feelings. Because I am. What she and I had died years ago. She and I have gone down our own paths like everyone else. Sure, we might have had something almost going at a point, but not anymore. She chose her own way of life, and I chose mine.

Definitely over her.

Fuck, I really need to get off this beach. It’s like some sort of sick rip current, pulling me back into the mindset I had years ago. It’s replacing all the steps I’ve taken forward with a good ten or so steps back. It’s reverting me right back to the lovesick, desperate persona I tried so hard to rid myself of on countless occasions.

My jaw clenches tightly, an outward sign of the emotions building up within me. God, I swear, she’s like a drug to me. I know thinking about her now doesn’t do me any good. I know there’s nothing really I can do about our current relationship. But that never really seems to put a permanent stop to her repeatedly nudging her way back into my life again.

It probably doesn’t help that I’m walking the same shores where my feelings really peaked for her. This is where I felt something intense for her so long ago, something I truthfully haven’t felt with anyone else, something that’s always made me feel guilty in the relationships that followed. I think that’s why she’s so incredibly hard to shake, so incredibly hard to fully rid myself of.

Because she was like...a part of me back then. She awakened a part of me I didn’t even realize I had. And I suppose once we established that deep of a connection, once we gave each other our everything, there was no erasing it. She placed a piece of herself in the inner most part of my heart.

I suddenly snap myself out of it with a hard sigh, grinding my teeth together as the pain peaks and wanes. How sadistic must I be to continue standing out here when I know damn well what the consequences are. I came to Oahu to relax like I always do. I didn’t come out here to leave feeling worse than when I arrived.

Finally, I get some semblance of self-control back, and with one last look towards the old stomping grounds, I start back towards the semi-hidden path to get off the beach. But Jesus, it’s like the place is one side of a magnet with myself as the other, because it tugs me back with a beckoning call on the wind...Something that eerily sounds just like...

“........Josh?”

I stop short and whip my head from side to side. Nothing but the sand and sea on either side, with the dense Hawaiian forest before me. I conclude that I must really be losing my mind, and with a hard blink, I pick up my pace to walk away.

“Josh...”

There it is again, this time more distinguishable, and all too familiar. It’s enough to roll a shudder down my spine, and almost enough to draw moisture into my eyes. Yeah no, I definitely don’t need my brain playing this severe of tricks on me. It’s a signal to leave and not return for a long time. But every inch of my body, every ounce of my soul, halts completely at the clarity, the urgency, the unmistakable tone that floods my ears.

“Joshua.”

It’s firm. It’s confused. It’s impossible to ignore. It’s beautiful. It’s-

Turning slowly around almost causes me to white out, what with my heart stopping and restarting itself numerous times in my chest.

It’s real.

I stand there, completely frozen, completely agape, still trying to process what I’m seeing. There still might be the chance that this is all some sort of stupid hallucination, some sort of withdrawal type thing. But then I’m meeting her eyes, looking into a deep blue ocean that makes me completely forget about the one beside us. And the teary relief that spreads across her face is so genuine, so wonderful, that I feel myself breaking down all over again.

“Oh, Joshy...It’s...really you...”

I feel like everything moves in both slow and fast motion. I feel like I still can’t keep up with what’s happening right now. I feel like I’m making this all up to cope, or dreaming, or just going fucking crazy. But all of a sudden, my whole body lights ablaze with reality as she slips herself into my arms, slips herself back into my life.

She’s real.

I don’t even know what to do. I don’t know how to react. I’m an absolute statue as the hesitance in her movements dissipates and melts into what used to be our usual embrace, her arms wrapping around my neck and her face nestling into my shoulder. Despite this, I’m still frozen, my arms two lead weights against my side as I continue to catch up with the unfolding events. But, in her typical fashion, she nudges me along and further convinces me that yes, this is actually happening.

“Hug me back, you fucker...”

I somehow manage to breathe again, and I also manage to lift my arms up to slowly complete the embrace. 

“Over her” my ass. Because the second I’m hugging her, the second I’m pulling her against me, I never want to let her go ever again. The walls I had taken years to build up, brick by brick, instantly come crashing down as the wave that is Jennifer rushes forth.

I don’t say anything back to her retort. I don’t say anything at all. I simply take a moment to silently re-familiarize myself with everything about her, everything I’ve missed so terribly without fully admitting it to myself. The way her body conforms perfectly to mine. The way she fits into my arms like just the right puzzle piece. The softness of her scent. The tickling warmth of her breaths against my skin.

God, I’m weak. I’m so incredibly weak. And it’s what’s gotten me into trouble all these years. She’s like something of a kryptonite.

I can feel her exhalations getting shaky, and I’m not sure if she’s going to cry or say something. But for what’s probably the first time in her life, she stays quiet too. We simply hold each other, silently making up for all the time that’s passed, all the hugs that could have been.

I can’t help myself. I’m at probably my absolute weakest. So I gently thread my fingers through her luscious hair, holding her even closer as I lean my head against hers. Again, I’m met with a shivering exhale, and I begin to wonder what she’s making of the whole thing.

For once though, I brush the inquiry away. For once, I don’t even attempt to read her mind. Because honestly, what are the chances of me running into Jennifer fucking Lawrence on the exact same beach we used to film on, the exact same beach that, perhaps permanently, brought us together. It has to be some type of fate or something.

A rogue wave washes high up the beach, striking our legs and pulling me back down to Earth. Come to think of it...how the hell did we both end up here together? I was just visiting Oahu by chance on a personal getaway. I know Jen visits on the occasion as well, but we haven’t been here together since...

I begin to pull back from our hug to properly talk to her, to get a good look at her. After one last tight squeeze, she slowly follows my lead, and we reveal ourselves to each other in the shimmering Hawaiian sunlight.

Instantly, it feels like my legs are going to give out. If one more wave comes by, I’m going to be a goner. Because Jen’s not standing before me- rather, a legitimate fucking angel is. 

She’s just as stunning as I remember, if not more so. Her light blonde hair falls into flawless beachy waves against her shoulders. Her skin glistens like a diamond catching the sun’s rays. Her sapphire eyes carry the same beauty, the same warmth, the same allure that they always have. Though I had every intention to talk, I’m rendered absolutely speechless.

She must take notice, but she doesn’t help my case. Quite the opposite really, because she decides to grace me with her incredibly gorgeous smile, one that sinks my composure like a rock.

“Joshua Ryan,” she breathes, her smile growing even more if that’s even possible, “God, I can’t believe it’s you...What do you have to say for yourself after all this time?”

“I...”

My voice comes out in a harsh rasp, and I have to close my eyes as I attempt to channel any composure I can find.

“Jen...”

Her name still rolls beautifully off my tongue, despite it feeling so strange to say now. Though my tone is weak and cracking, my emotions strangling it off, I somehow press on with my question.

“How...the absolute fuck...”

“-are you here right now?” she butts in, boomeranging my query right back.

“I technically asked you first.”

Jennifer snorts, giving her eyes a quick roll, before she faithfully answers.

“Business I guess. Liz pointed me this direction and told me a potential gig might be coming my way. She didn’t really go into detail though.”

I furrow my brows, curiosity and confusion sweeping through me.

“A gig?”

“Yeah. I guess she wanted me to talk to someone out here and is keeping it a surprise.”

I can’t help but jump to conclusions at her words. Because the way she put it, it almost sounds like Liz wanted her to meet up with me. It seems like a load of bull, but then again, I did inform Melissa I was going to be leaving to Oahu for a few weeks...Do she and Liz even stay in contact? Could some sort of setup even be a possibility?

Before I can come up with further theories, Jen brings me back.

“How about you?”

“Oh, uh, I was just here on vacation I guess.”

As bold as ever, Jennifer raises an eyebrow and gives me a knowing look.

“A vacation away from a vacation?”

“Hey now,” I mutter, “You know I’ve been trying to do stuff. It just gets hard when I keep hitting all these slow spots.”

Jen’s face softens again, and she laughs her gorgeous staccato laugh before replying.

“I know. Don’t take it so personally, asshole.”

I give my eyes a roll; seems like she hasn’t changed much at all. Instead of poking and prodding at me further though, she asks me a question that has my heart skipping beats all over again.

“Why don’t you tell me everything that’s been going on with you?”

“I- Right now?” I sputter.

“Yes, you idiot,” she laughs incredulously, “Do you have anything going on?”

Even if I did, I certainly don’t anymore. I couldn’t even start to prioritize anything else on this island over a moment like this.

“Not...really no.”

“Perfect. Neither do I.”

We stare at each other for a moment more, and I have to clear my throat and look away before I get totally entranced by her.

“I uh...I have some towels and drinks back in my car if you want to sit out for a while?”

Jennifer lights up in a way that makes the sun look dark, her excitement so contagious I can’t help but grin at her.

“Yessss!” she squeals, “Spongy coming in clutch!”

I laugh, both at her and the ridiculousness of it all, before beckoning her to come back to the car with me. She eagerly follows, the two of us departing the beach and heading back on the heavily floral path. We walk for a moment in silence, but just like old times, it never lasts long.

“So okay, I know why you’re here on Oahu,” Jen starts,” But now it’s my turn to ask why the absolute fuck-”

“-You were on the Kawela Bay Beach?” I finish for her with a chuckle, using her same interrupting tactic from earlier.

She gives me that wonderful laugh of hers again, before composing herself to reply.

“Probably the same thing you were doing: reliving one of the better parts of my life I guess. Walking down memory lane. Whatever you want to call it. Definitely got way more nostalgic than I bargained for though.”

“Yeah,” I snort, “You can say that again!”

She giggles once more, before quieting down. Though I’m not looking at her, instead watching my footing to make sure I don’t trip on a lone root or something, I can practically feel the warmth of her stare as she gazes at me, causing a subsequent burn in my cheeks.

“What?” I press, feeling my skin reddening more by the second.

“Nothing,” she chuckles softly, “I just...cannot believe I’m here with you right now.”

“Welcome to my world,” I snort, “When I first heard and saw you, I thought I was majorly tripping balls.”

“Jesus,” she laughs, “Happen to have anything that could do that in your car?”

“Unfortunately not. But I think seeing one Jen after all this time is the most I can handle right now anyway.”

“You’re probably right.”

We share another round of mirth, and then it’s my turn to stare at her once more, my turn to really appreciate the fact that Jen is indeed here with me. She’s just...incredible; she trumps the island’s beauty by leaps and bounds. Seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, watching her hair and sundress flutter to match my heart in the gentle breeze...It’s all so much. It’s all some sort of crazy dream.

Thankfully, my waterfall of sentiments is capped by us reaching my car. I pop the trunk and grab supplies out of it, handing Jen a towel and pack of beer before picking up the same. We quickly make our way back to the beach, setting down the towels next to each other, before opening up both our drinks and our lives.

I guess she and I must have hit some kind of weird wall due to our careers, because now that we’re in person, it’s like we never even took a pause at all. We go straight back to our jokes, our teasing, our storytelling, catching each other up with one another’s nonsense and kicking back beneath the Hawaiian sun.

Jen of course complains about all the publicity shit she has to deal with on a near consistent basis, and I chide that it must be nice to have so many gigs. We playfully bicker for some time, before agreeing to switch lives when we head back home, laughing and drinking all the while.

We then go into even further detail, talking about things such as our families, our housing situation, our dogs...Everything literally under the sun. We go on for hours, going through a multitude of stories, along with a multitude of drinks.

By the time the sun has started to drift down into the waves, my throat is incredibly dry from talking so much, a contrast to the liquid confidence flowing through me. A couple of empty cases of drinks is further evidence to how much time and alcohol have passed, along with Jennifer leaning her head sloppily on my shoulder.

We’ve somehow managed to go quiet for a bit, simply basking in each other’s company and the orange glow of the retreating light. Thank God I can’t think entirely straight, or my mind would likely be ablaze with all sorts of infatuation towards the woman beside me, all sorts of thoughts that would likely intrude on the moment. Of course, I can leave it to Jen to pick up the ball.

“Joshy?”

“Hmm?”

“Why don’t we ever do this anymore,” she whines, her voice slightly coated with alcohol.

Though I know she isn’t thinking clearly either, and is spouting whatever comes to mind far more than usual, I cannot help but stiffen slightly. I cannot help but have a few, more negative thoughts creep into the picture. It’s a reality check of sorts I suppose, a break away from the gorgeous reverie this whole day has been. It’s a reminder that, despite us once being so close, being practically unbreakable, we did indeed end up going our separate ways.

“You know why.”

“Noooo...” she whines again, and I see her lip puff out in her platypus pout out of the corner of my eye.

“We both kind of went our own ways,” I murmur,” You know that. You’ve certainly been...keeping busy.”

“Yeah, with a bunch of fucking movie shit.”

“Among other things...”

Now it’s Jen’s turn to stiffen. I should have known she of all people would catch the deeper meaning behind my words, the unintentional jealously that slipped into my statement. Maybe that was partly what pushed me away from her, some kind of fucked up possessiveness as I watched her jump from guy to guy. She’s quick to check me though, shifting herself away from me and giving me an incredulous stare.

“Josh, don’t even give me that shit. Need I remind you that you have a girlfriend?”

I shudder at a multitude of things. The mere mentioning of Claudia, the fact that my heart was constantly going every which way during our relationship and could never settle itself, the fact that I was possessive over Jen despite us going our separate ways, the fact that Jen just recognized said bullshit...

I let out a long sigh. It was a mess. It was all an incredible mess. I definitely couldn’t keep kidding anyone though. I couldn’t fully commit no matter how hard I tried. Not with part of me permanently residing with someone else.

“...We broke up.”

Jen’s furrowed brows instantly lift, her expression shifting to that of softness and surprise.

“...What?”

“We broke up,” I say again, “About a year or so ago.”

I simply leave it at that. Because despite Jen and I having an amazing reunion today, I have no fucking clue where that puts us now. And I definitely don’t have any idea how she’s been feeling after all these years. I feel like we need to focus on the aspect of our friendship instead anyway rather than dredging up relationship things, no matter how pressing they are in my head.

“Oh...” Jen murmurs.

I expect her to bury me with more questions, to attempt to figure out the juicy details on why my past relationship didn’t work out. I expect her to drunkenly tease me about not being able to put out or some shit like that. I expect her to talk all sorts of shit as she does. But strangely enough, she simply leaves it at that, staring silently out at the ocean before us.

I gaze at her for a while, waiting for her to speak up once more, but she doesn’t. Puzzled, I shift myself to follow her stare, simply taking in the sights along with her. In the small respite, my mind begins to stumble through thoughts and memories. Sitting out here, watching the setting sun with her, takes me back to when we filmed the popular “Beach Kiss” scene. I remember how we were laughing so much and giving each other so much between takes, but in the moment, I remember just being...absolutely entranced with her. 

I remember her stealing the breath right out of my lungs. I remember her pulling me deep under her spell. I remember that very moment completely solidifying my feelings for her.

I remember that being the moment I realized I truly loved her.

A long sigh blows from pursed lips, and I look down at the last of my alcohol as I continue to reminisce. It’s strange how much that time practically parallels now when I think about it. The laughing and talking, followed by the more intense thoughts and bits of passion. We’re just missing one key piece, else we’d have it all over again.

“Kiss me.”

The drink I had started to take nearly comes out in a spray as I sputter back into the bottle, almost choking at the insane segway from Jennifer.

“What?”

“You heard me,” she murmurs, “Kiss me.”

My brain goes absolutely wild, trying to work through how the fuck she practically just read my thoughts a second ago. My first, and perhaps alcohol-ridden instinct, is to pounce on her and kiss her into the next day. The very idea of getting to taste her, feeling her flower petals of lips gliding through mine, sharing such a gorgeous, intimate moment with her that I’ve been craving since the day she first gave it to me...

I physically have to clench myself to ensure I don’t do anything rash, and instead attempt to tread as carefully through this as I can. I want it. I want her. God, I fucking want her so bad. But this same kind of thing...this same kind of thirst...It messed us up so bad so many years ago. It tore a rift between us, maybe one that eventually lead us to the distanced paths we took away from one another.

Regardless, it’d be amazing, so fucking amazing in the moment, but who knows what kind of further repercussions it could cause. I feel like I just now started to get Jen back as a friend. I don’t need to lose her yet again, maybe for even longer, simply because of a drunk slip-up.

“I, wh- Jen, you’re drunk.”

She lets out a stubborn, snorting laugh, placing her hands on her hips as she stares me down.

“And?”

“And you’re not in your head right now,” I reply gently, hesitantly, “I don’t...Want to do something we might...regret later.”

She looks at me for a moment, surprise and contemplation seeming to dance across her features. But suddenly, her face goes incredibly hard, and she gives a dramatic roll of her eyes before pouting back towards the ocean.

“Such fucking bullshit...” I hear her grumble, and my head spins as a result.

“Jen. What the hell are you on about?” I ask, completely beside myself.

“You cannot tell me you don’t want this too.”

It feels like the world stops as she calls my bluff yet again, this time perhaps the most painful instance yet. I have to ball my towel up into tight fists, inhaling calming breaths as my eyes shut her tightly away from view.

Because she’s right. She’s absolutely right. I definitely want nothing more than to completely ravage her, right here and now. But I can’t. We can’t. There’s no fucking way.

Also, though it’s likely just a product of her drunken state, what the hell is Jen thinking anyway? Is she mutual in sharing my thoughts and desires? Was she also thinking back to our Catching Fire days? Has she also been missing me the same way I’ve been missing her?

It’s all such a crazy enigma, and I don’t believe it’s best to solve it by giving into each other. Didn’t help our case last time, that’s for sure.

“I...Jennifer, we haven’t seen each other in so fucking long,” I begin, attempting to go down the most reasonable route, “We barely even talk anymore. Hell, there were times I was questioning if we were even still friends or not. I feel like this is the first time I’ve really talked to you in years. So you can’t expect me to want to complicate everything all over again. I can’t do that.”

I brace myself for her to fire things at me in return. I brace myself for her to pressure me further and push me to the brink of giving in. So I’m incredibly surprised when I’m met with the crash of the waves and nothing more.

I chance a look at her, and find that she’s rested her head on her bent legs, staring out over the water again with an unreadable expression painted across her face. As I stare, the setting sun strikes her in such a way that makes her absolutely glow, like some sort of spotlight that’s directing me to her. She’s ablaze with beauty, matching the quickly intensifying fire in my heart.

Catching Fire again indeed, because just like last time, the fires within us grow to meet each other, dancing in perfect synchronization. Just like last time, everything points for us to proceed despite all other signs not to do so. Just like last time, every fucking ounce of composure, of control, of anything that would hold me back, is turned to ash and washed away by the tide.

I try so hard for one last second. I clench my jaw tightly, shut my eyes away, and fist my towel up to the point where it hurts. But her draw is stronger. Her draw wins over everything else. Her draw convinces me in a second that everything happens for a reason, and that there is nothing more standing in the way.

I let out a soft groan, the last bit of me letting go.

“...Fucking...dammit.”

And then I’m on Jennifer so quick that she barely has time to turn her head in my direction before my lips find their true place once more.

The way she matches my speed and my passion is ludicrous, but I suppose it confirms she wanted nothing more as well. Instantly we’re facing each other, climbing up one another’s bodies and pulling each other onto our knees, never once stopping the stream of sucks and glides between our mouths.

Jen’s hands find my hair, and she grasps and pulls strands as she continues on with her passionate assault. I anchor myself to her as well, cupping her face tightly with both hands and drawing her even closer, drinking in all that she is. The only things that manage to break through the connection of our lips is desperate breaths and small moans.

Everything is perfect, an urgent ballet as our tongues and lips continuously dance with each other. Some feral part of me that has been dormant for far too long awakens, and I lower myself back down against the sand without any thought, pulling her on top of me. She chases eagerly after me, biting my bottom lip the moment she’s settled atop me.

Having her this close in so many ways, after so fucking long, causes me to release a groaning sigh into our plethora of kisses. She captures the vocalization with ease, drawing both it and my bottom lip into her mouth with a sensual suck. Of course, at this level of passion, this level of raw desire, our bodies react accordingly. I can feel all the fire that we created traveling down to rage in our pelvises, with mine beginning to alight directly at the apex of my legs.

Just like that, Jen responds, slowly beginning to rock her body against mine. We both moan our approvals into each other, and my hands naturally crawl up to caress Jen’s back, aiding her with her movements.

I thought a kiss would be ridiculous, but sex would be even more so. Regardless of any kind of common sense I may have, I am just mere moments from flipping her over and pounding years of want into her. I am just mere moments from reaffirming the unshakable connection we made on this same island so long ago. 

Thankfully though, the universe sides with my feeble attempts to get my composure back, and decides to literally douse the fire burning out of control on its sands. Another rogue wave, the biggest of them all perhaps, suddenly surges quickly up the sand, enveloping our legs in rather freezing water.

Jennifer releases me with a high pitched squeal one second, and rolls off me the next, instinctually skittering away from the only undesired wetness on this beach. I’m still in so much of a daze that I simply lay there, allowing the wave to lap up to my thighs and completely put out the rampant desire I had been experiencing.

I have to take a moment and gaze skyward, panting softly and running my hands down my face. I use the silence to focus on drawing the blood away from my pelvis for a moment, to calm myself down after that taste of actual heaven.

I’m starting to wonder what became of Jen, where she ended up after the wave crashed our party. Neither of us are saying anything, so I can only pray that she’s calming herself down as well, and not regretting it like I had originally warned. She doesn’t keep me worrying long however, her beautiful, sunny, smiling face appearing in my peripheral vision.

“You never could resist me, hmm?” she teases with a giggle, hovering her face slightly over mine.

“Fuck you...” I mutter, shutting my eyes again but chuckling all the while.

We share a breathy laugh, before we travel into a comfortable silence, simply bathing in the afterglow together. Jen further chases away my fears of her being uncomfortable, as she begins to softly stroke her fingers through my hair. I cannot help but smile at the feeling, at the situation, at everything that’s happened. It’s nuts to think that hours ago I had been preparing myself to never see her again, and now we’re together, practically in love all over.

Leave it to Jen to either complete my thoughts, or read them entirely.

“Hey so don’t hate me for this; can I make a suggestion?” she murmurs.

“What’s that?” I answer softly, opening my eyes to meet her warm stare.

“Would you be terribly opposed to just...starting over?”

Now she’s got my complete attention, my head pivoting on the sand to properly look at her, to check to see if I’m not making any of this up. But no, I’m met with nothing but unbridled sincerity, her eyes a mixture of hopeful and loving.

“We’re basically there already anyway,” she chuckles softly, “We pretty much hopped right back to square one again. I just...”

She inhales deeply, giving my hair another stroke.

“I miss you, Joshy...I’ve missed you more than I ever would have imagined. Hope this confirmed it,” she says with a snorting giggle, and we share a quick laugh of agreement before she continues, “I’m...To put it simply, you caught me completely offguard, Joshua Ryan. All these years, you made me feel things I’ve never felt towards anyone. And I guess it scared me, and overwhelmed. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings. I never really did. I fucked up so many times. Royally.”

“I definitely did too,” I admit.

“So yeah, because something brought us back together...Would you be okay with giving...us a chance again?”

I gaze deeply into her eyes, and the pure adoration I’m met with earns me the biggest smile I’ve had in such a long time.

“I don’t think I would mind that at all.”

Jen’s smile is quick to match mine, the both of us lighting up and illuminating the beach in the fading light. She gently cups my face with a hand, and presses a soft but meaningful kiss against my forehead; it feels as if she’s sealing her promise into it.

“You’re going to have to give me time to catch up, though,” I laugh, “Hoooo...I’m still trying to figure out if this all a really insane trip.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t be hanging out with such a junkie,” she teases back.

“Don’t think you’ve got much of chance now, Jenny.”

Her smile runs incredibly warm at the usage of an old nickname, before she bursts into happy giggles, pulling me into a tight hug the moment I sit up.

“And I wouldn’t want it any other way, Joshy.”

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

oh dayum that spiderman fic was heavenly. could i possibly suggest another prompt? so how about peter being sick (obvs) when he's out fighting crime etc and he gets hit and thrown against a wall which quickly knocks him out (being weak from his illness and all) and his suit not only tracking him but also his vitals sends an alert to tony who comes to collect the whumpy peter

(Do u know what..despite me being all for the whump I’ve realised this is like only my second time writing injury wtf?? like the first time I did it was like barely even there lmao.. I’m sorry if this wasn’t very cohesive, I’m just back from a holiday and trying to get back into the swing of things!)

Crime was so much bigger than him.

Peter knew this. He knew it too well. He learned a painful lesson through his loss of Uncle Ben that crime was crime, and it had to be stopped. Because not doing anything causes a huge ripple effect, a devastating butterfly effect that would harm many innocent people like himself. In the past, he had been ignorant and unaware of the true consequences of his own actions or lack of, and now that he knew, it was Peter’s mission to look out for the little guy and try his hardest to make sure this wouldn’t happen to anyone else. It was a type of pain he wouldn’t have wished on his worst enemies.

Justice needed to be served. He had to push through anything and everything, because all of this had a devastating ripple effect and Peter’s job was to nip it in the bud. It was his duty. Even if he was sick.

“God, Peter, you look horrible,” Ned frowned as he walked down the corridor with his best friend as the last bell of the day rang.

“I feel it too,” Peter groaned, struggling to keep his heavy eyes from drooping down and shutting for good. He could feel his raging fever, and his body shook ferociously as he sniffled weakly.

Ned eyed him carefully, taking in his sickly features, “You shouldn’t have come in today–or went to the nurse. I guess this means no crime fighting tonight.”

Peter scoffed, tending up defensively, “Ned, you know I can’t do that! I can’t have someone die because I took a sick day.”

Ned rolled his eyes, “Peter, there is barely any crime here anyways. I bet you any comic you want in my collection that nothing will happen tonight. You can take a sick day.”

Peter sighed, coughing into his fist, “Yeah, I guess so. Well, if anything does happen, my sick day is over and I get the Death of Superman, yeah?”

Ned chuckled, “Sure.”

They walked in silence for a while, to Peter’s relief. He was glad he had someone like Ned who knew him well, he knew that Peter had a headache and needed some much needed silence. The rambunctious High School certainly didn’t do that for him.

The two best friends kept walking until they met a point where two roads diverged into different blocks. The point that separated them from their usual walk home. Ned turned over and moved to the right, and gave Peter a gentle smile, “Get better soon, Peter.”

Peter managed a weak smile back and moved left, and continued the trek up to his apartment block where he collapsed into his bed the moment he stepped into his room.

A few hours later Peter woke up to a splitting headache. He groaned, his hand shooting up to his head as he tried to soothe it.

He craved for some aspirin, and medicine to cool down this raging fever. His body felt as if it was being pinned down by a huge mound of rocks, and there was nothing he could do to lift himself off of his bed. He forced his heavy body out of bed, feeling weak to the bones.

Peter sighed and staggered out of his bedroom, to find a post it on his bedroom door that he didn’t notice when he had gotten home.

It read, “Im working late tonight, there’s money on the coffee table for dinner. I larb you! :)”

Peter smiled fondly, and tried to make it to the bathroom as quick as he could so he could find some medicine. Once he managed to get there, he pulled open the cupboard to find nothing but empty packets and medicine boxes.

Peter frowned, sighing. He figured that he would just tough it out for now, but once another surge of pain shot up his head that his body shuddered violently, he knew he needed medicine. He sighed, he needed to buy dinner anyway.

He threw on a coat and a scarf, and his backpack so he could carry his dinner, and quickly grabbed at the money Aunt May had left on the table and staggered out of his apartment, heading out onto the streets.

The cashier frowned worriedly as she scanned Peter’s medicine, as well as a can of soup and OJ. She bagged the products, eyes still lingering on an obviously sick Peter.

“Uh..you okay kid?” She asked worriedly, a little awkwardly.

Peter sniffled, looking up at her with bleary eyes and tried to register what she was saying. He felt extremely drowsy and sluggish, his brain not computing as fast as it normally did.

“..huh..Oh, yeah, I’m okay.”

She nodded worriedly, and took his money and gave him his change. She cleared her throat, “Alright, well, look after yourself, okay?”

Peter managed a weak smile and took his bag of groceries. He quickly stuffed it into his backpack and left the store. He was silent as he left, pulling his jacket closer against himself to try and insulate his body heat. It was a still night and it wasn’t hot or cold, but Peter felt as if it was the dead of winter.

As he was about to turn back to his block, a faint ringing began in his ears.

He felt a weird sensation, suddenly very awake and alarmed. The ringing increased in volume, and then he could hear it. He could hear some sort of ruckus coming from a few blocks away. His senses were heightening. He felt this magnetic urge, a strong desire boiling in his blood. It was drawing him to the only conclusion he could act upon. He had to do something, despite how awful he was feeling. It was his duty.

“Ned owes me a comic,” Peter muttered under his breath as he sprinted towards the alleyway, his head pounding, as he unzipped his backpack to retrieve his suit.

“Why are you doing this?! Who are you?! Please, just take my money!” A middle-aged man cried out, squirming beneath a much larger mans grasp, kicking desperately in an attempt to escape. Tears streamed down his face, nose bleeding and bruises shadowing his skin.

The larger man, his head oddly disfigured and enlarged, his skull misshapen and wide, snarled at him, spitting on him, his fist balling up the man’s shirt viciously, “It doesn’t matter who I am, It doesn’t matter who you are and why I’m doing this, I have orders and that is it. You are going to die, and that is all that matters.”

“Please don’t, I have a family,” The man begged tearfully, his body trembling violently in fear.

“Family ain’t jack shit,” The large man snarled, a slight twinge of a Russian accent coming through. He pulled the gun out of his pocket and raised it to his victim’s head. His fingers grazed the trigger and suddenly a flash of red knocked the weapon out of his hand. The gun flung across the alleyway, far out of his reach.

“What?!” He exclaimed in confusion, bewildered. When he looked up, he was greeted to see the Spiderman.

“You don’t turn your back on family,” Peter said in a mock Vin Diesel voice.

“Who the fuck is this punk ass kid?!” The man hissed.

“Hey! That isn’t very nice, Hammerhead!” Peter shot back, shooting a web-slinger over to a wall, swinging towards the large man and kicking him in the head.

“Go, go!” Peter yelled at the victim, to which he met his eyes which were flooding with so much gratitude and relief. The man sprinted, running as fast as he could, away from it all.

He watched as the victim ran off, a sense of relief in his system. He felt his body begin to settle down, relaxing, his body feeling a bit weaker and fainter. The adrenaline seemed to be fading, and his fever coming back rapidly and spreading.

Before Peter could think much of this, Hammerhead punched him, and Peter hissed as a sharp pain shot up his face, already feeling his eye begin to bruise up.

Before Peter could retaliate, he was being shoved towards the hard cold gravel. His brain was moving too slow, his senses horribly impaired and he couldn’t fight to the standard he was used to. The sharp little clints of the gravel digging into his spine, scratching at his skin. Peter groaned in pain, trying to pick himself off of the ground but found that his dangerously fevered body was too heavy to pick up.

Hammerhead yanked Peter up by the scruff, causing him to feel extremely woozy and dizzy by the sudden, jerking movement. His head throbbed painfully, stabbing at his brains as sharp pains shot up his head. He whimpered, a strangled sob escaping him in pain as Hammerhead punched him repeatedly, and dropping him onto the floor again.

Peter managed to stand up, his legs wobbly and shaking. The world spun rapidly, seeing double, and a sharp rush of pain flooded his senses and he gasped, collapsing on the floor. His body felt like it was on fire, as he gasped for air and clenched his teeth to try and withstand the  overwhelming amount of pain he felt. He let out a scream of anguish as he felt warm liquid soaking his suit. He could taste the salty, metallic liquid in his mouth.

Just as he tried to stand again, he was thrust upward and Hammerhead head butted him with what felt like a wrecking ball. He was thrown across the alleyway, head hitting against the concrete wall. Peter tried to scream again, and he wasn’t sure if he was loud enough, because he couldn’t hear anything. His limp body slid down the wall, dropping against the concrete with a sickening thud as his vision went dark.

“Mr Stark, would you like a report on Mr Parkers vitals?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, continuing to tweak at a piece of tech, fully immersed in his work and unavailable.

“Yeah, sure,” He said absentmindedly.

“Mr Parker has a fever of 103.6 degrees and has several bruises, is bleeding from numerous cuts and is currently passed out from a concussion.”

Tony’s heart sank. It was like time had ceased to exist as he froze, his body malfunctioning.

“FRIDAY, please tell me the location of Mr Parker,” Tony breathed out shakily, trying to stay composed as his blood ran cold.

“The coordinates have been sent to your suit, sir. He is still in Queens.”

Tony finally regained his senses and ran towards his suit, quickly donning it and was flying out of Stark Tower and towards Queens as fast as his suit could take him.

“Where are you, where are you,” Tony hissed to himself frustratedly, feeling his heart beat loudly and rapidly. He scanned the area and followed the coordinates given to him.

Soon enough, he was brought to a shady looking alleyway where he quickly landed. Tony ran down the alleyway to find Peter sprawled across the floor, unconscious, and bleeding.

“Shit!” Tony cursed, his chest growing heavy with fear as he ran towards his limp body. He scooped him into his arms and cradled him. He quickly ripped off his mask and gasped at the sight of the bleeding, sickly boy. Just a boy, not a fierce, immortal superhero. Tony saw so much of himself in this kid it sent shivers down his spine.

He was scarily white, bruises dotting his face. He was so weak and limp, Tony feared he was too late. Catastrophic thoughts clouded his mind for a while as his breathing picked up as he frantically felt his forehead, which was scorching hot. He felt for a pulse, and was relieved when he found one, but was still incredibly frightened.

“Oh my god, Peter, Peter, oh god, please be okay,” Tony whispered tearfully, running a hand through Peter’s damp locks in fear that if he were to let him go he would lose him forever.

“FRIDAY, please do a scan,” He choked nervously.

“Mr.Parker requires immediate and extensive care. I have contacted Dr.Sanchez over to the Stark Tower to see to the damage. But, if you complete these tasks Mr Parker should make a steady, albeit slow recovery.”

Tony let out a relieved sigh, but still couldn’t help the guilt pitting and gnawing at his stomach.

Peter was just a kid and he did this to him.

Tony brought him into this horrible world. Peter should be a kid, he should be a kid who went to high school and rested on his sick day. He shouldn’t be fighting crime. Peter was here because of him. He had brought him into this world and he couldn’t take him out of it. He trapped him.

Tony stood up, shakily, but had never held anyone so steadily in his life. He cradled Peter in his arms and took off into flight, trying to speed back to Stark Tower as fast as he could. His heart seemed to be racing against time, racing back home so Peter could be safe.

“Mr Stark..?” Peter stirred, eyes still closed.

“Don’t open your eyes. You need rest,” Tony said shakily. Below them seemed to be the entire world, and the world wasn’t always kind. Peter had a taste of that today, and Tony didn’t want him to look down in fear that if Peter looked down, he’d be lost and overwhelmed in the realisation that the world was so big.

That there was so much more bad out there than either of them could ever imagine.

Peter woke up to a dull ache spread across his body, and a headache booming in his temples. He groaned in pain, lifting a hand to rub his eyes when pain shot up his face as he hissed and withdrew his hand quickly. His eye was most certainly bruised.

He cracked his eyes open tiredly, still feeling feverish and was alarmed to see daylight streaming from the window. His eyes widened and he shot up, looking around at his familiar surroundings and gasping as he realised where he was.

Tony opened the door, his face lighting up as he saw the boy awake. He tried to mask the relief and joy he was feeling, but Peter saw through it.

“You’re alive,” Tony observed.

“Mr Stark–my aunt, the–”

“I called her last night. I had to talk her out of trying to come over here last night. She was really worried,” Tony explained.

He sighed, “I was really worried, Pete.”

Peter shook his head, “Mr Stark, that bad guy got away, we need to–”

“Absolutely not!” Tony hissed.

Peter fell silent.

Tony sighed, sitting down at the edge of the bed and pinching the bridge of his nose, “I’m sorry. I thought I lost you last night, Pete. I’m not sure if this is safe for you, you are just a kid.”

Tears pricked Peter’s eyes as he crossed his arms angrily, “Do you not believe in me, Mr Stark?! I try so hard, all the time! I just want to do the right thing! You can’t just take this away from me!”

Tony widened his eyes, “That’s not what I meant by that, Peter. You’re extraordinary, but you don’t deserve this. You deserve to be safe, I thrust you into this situation to your doom! You’re hurt, look at you, Pete! This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t given you that damn suit!”

“I had a suit before this one, Mr Stark! I would still be doing the same thing, with or without you! You gave me a cool suit that helped me along, but you didn’t do this to me. This was my choice, I stand by it!”

Tony let out a shaky sigh, “I’m sorry, Pete..I just..thought I had killed you last night. I couldn’t bare the thought..”

Peter softened, “Fighting evil is much bigger than me. It’s bigger than you. You know that, don’t you, Mr Stark? You know sacrifices are going to have to be made for the greater good. You were my hero growing up, still are, you’ve made sacrifices before. In the grand scheme of things, this is nothing. It’s just the small price we have to pay for something much greater.”

Tony stared at him with a mixture of fear, sorrow, guilt, but also acceptance. He managed a weak smile.

“Then I’ll join you. That way, we can help more people, even if that means one of us might get hurt along the way. We’ll be stronger together,” Tony said firmly.

Peter smiled at him brightly, like he hailed from the sun.

Tony sighed and inched closer to him, pulling Peter in for a warm hug, rubbing his back lovingly, holding him close. He felt a feeling of love in his heart for Peter who felt like a son, and it felt so nice and warm.

He let out a shaky breath, letting himself smile, “You’re a great kid, Peter. You’re really going to make the world turn and put stars in people’s lives. You are going to be great, and I am lucky to be in a world with someone like you.”

[junker-town]

We got the greatest simulated video game ending ever with our upstart college basketball team

Western Illinois starts a new era in their quest for a national championship in ‘College Hoops 2K8’. This is Year 6 and Year 7 of the journey.

Thank you for returning to Western Illinois’ quest for college basketball immortality in College Hoops 2K8. We introduced this series a few weeks back and laid the foundation for the program with our first full recruiting class in Year 1. We finally made the NCAA tournament in Year 3, winning a thriller in the Summit League title game. Year 5 saw our program win its first NCAA tournament game.

We’ll have an announcement about the future of the series at the end of this story. But first, here’s a recap of what happened in the last post:

Finished Year 4 at 22-10. Was swept 3-0 by Oral Roberts during the season, including in the Summit League conference tournament semifinals. We ended up making the NIT, where we were blown out by Clemson.

Added two recruits after Year 4: five-star JUCO point guard Damon Hendriks, and five-star JUCO power forward Dawud Byfield.

Finished Year 5 at 28-4. Lost to Southern Utah in the conference tournament championship game, but still somehow got an at-large bid to the NCAA tournament as an No. 11 seed. We earned our first NCAA tournament win, beating No. 6 Miami (Florida) in the opening round. The dream ended the next weekend against Florida State, where we lost by one damn point in the Round of 32.

Graduated my first recruiting class, led by one-time Summit League conference player of the year Bud Richards.

Added two recruits: four-star power forward Ira Willis and three-star center Burton Ballinger.

Here’s a picture of the roster heading into Year 6:

Ballinger has B potential, the highest I’ve ever had at Western Illinois. Willis — my first top-100 recruit — also looks solid at 75 overall with C+ potential. I’d love to redshirt Willis, but I would only have eight scholarship players on the roster in that case, so I decide to make him my ninth man and let him backup both forward spots. I’ll likely redshirt him a year from now.

Here’s a look at the rotation:

It feels like we’re not quite as talented as last year, and we certainly won’t have the same team unity — one of the factors teams are evaluated by based on their playing experience together. I still like what we have, though.

You already know Tracy Hehn and Wilbur Messy, a pair of four-year starters who should both be sick scorers on the wing as seniors. I’m super excited about Hendriks — my first five-star recruit as a JUCO player — and the start of his three-year stint as starting point guard. My front court is a little green, with Byfield starting in his first season eligible and Van manning the five as a redshirt sophomore. Ward, a gigantic senior center — at 7’1, 260 pounds — will come off the bench. My eight-man rotation is still pretty damn good.

My team is an 89 overall, clearly the best in the Summit League again. No other team is better than 73 — Oral Roberts and Southern Utah.

I also have six scholarships to fill

We need everything, and we absolutely cannot blow it in recruiting like we did last year when we went 2-for-5 on available scholarships. Following our recruiting struggles last season, reader James sent an email proposing I overhaul my recruiting philosophy to purposefully limit myself to 2-3 open scholarships per year. Here are his words:

As an invested fan, I wanted to volunteer one thing, considering the limited number of recruiting points at your disposal. The approach that you took in recruiting the class which included Damon Hendriks and Dawud Byfield seems like an approach you could take every year: focusing on two or three more talented guys, and utilizing the redshirt religiously. Treating recruiting and roster management this way seems like it should do two big things for WIU:

1. That you never need to land more than three guys in a given year, and can devote more attention/points to fewer and more talented guys in each recruiting class.

2. It gives you a shortcut to developing regular upper-class depth and roster balance — seven or eight rotation-worthy true upperclassmen every season AND two or three redshirt freshmen to draw from.

He then included a scholarship chart:

It’s an intriguing offer — and possibly the greatest email I’ve ever received — but I decide to recruit for all six of our open scholarships instead.

I start off targeting four-star shooting guard Lubos Hatten (No. 66 overall, No. 16 SG) and three-star power forward Denver Lane (No. 158 overall, No. 30 PF). Lane is 6’10, 242 pounds and a 45 percent three-point shooter, so I’m thinking he could potentially play three positions for me if I get him.

Here’s my full slate of offers:

Four-star shooting guard Lubos Hatten (No. 66 overall, No. 16 SG)

Three-star small forward Adham Tyler (No. 107 overall, No. 15 SF)

Three-star power forward Joseph Bowens (No. 106 overall, No. 18 PF)

Three-star point guard Armein Amous (No. 155 overall, No. 61 PG)

Three-star power forward Denver Lane (No. 158 overall, No. 30 PF)

Three-star center Harlan Fullove (No. 195 overall, No. 17 center)

First game: @ Illinois

I’m scheduling these nerds every year until I beat them. As a reminder, they whooped my ass last year. Can I get revenge this season?

The Illini are ranked No. 13 in the preseason polls and are a 95 overall. Looks like video game Bruce Weber was able to parlay that 2006 championship game run better than real life Bruce Weber.

Oh my. Blown out, 99-57. Ugly start for my post-Bud Richards era.

Next game: UW-Milwaukee. We win, 76-56. Nelke and Messy each score 15. We have local rival Illinois State after that, and get a 95-69 win. Hendriks balls out with 18 points on 4-of-5 shooting from three — his first signature performance in what we’re expecting to be a long line of them. Ward also chips in 13 off the bench against the Redbirds.

We face Texas A&M next. AGGIES GOING DOWN.

Look at my boy Nelke with a team-high 17 points off the bench. Dude is going to be a stud. Unfortunately, the feel-good vibes from that win are short-lived: Southern Utah beats us by three the following week.

Back on the recruiting front, we’re sitting pretty with Hatten but don’t land him at the end of the early recruiting period even though he’s at 98 percent interest. Now I’m going to have to waste points calling him the rest of the year, which could have went to other players. Denver Lane ends up getting an offer from Central Michigan, so I drop him. The tough week for recruiting continues when Tyler gets a UConn offer and Fulllove gets a Penn offer. I need to find three new recruits.

Big game against Michigan this week. We take a 77-74 loss. Tough. That drops us to 4-3 on the year. Here’s the remainder of the non-conference schedule:

We blow out South Florida.

Play No. 24 Duke at Cameron Indoor and lose a heartbreaker, 77-72. Damn. Hehn (18 points) and Van (13 points) both play well in the loss.

Beat Belmont by eight and lose to Ball State by four. The Leathernecks are 6-5 overall.

Back to recruiting, I’ve maxed out interest in both Hatten and Bowens. I’m praying Bowens doesn’t get a North Florida offer because he’s a Jacksonville kid and his No. 3 priority is being close to home. As long as they don’t get a surprise offer late in the process, I should have two really promising recruits locked up as soon as the spring signing period begins.

The rest of my class currently looks less convinced. I’m still working on Amous, a solid but unspectacular point guard I offered on the first week, and I’ve identified three-star shooting guard Ljubisa Copeland as a potential backup plan if I miss on any of my other guards.

Mcgee gets an offer the next week, so I drop him and set out to find a center. I settle on Jordi Geli Holden, who is ranked only No. 24 at the position but has the right mix of size and AAU production. Full blown conference play is about to start.

I win my next seven games in conference, highlighted by Messy dropping 28 points on Fort Wayne and Byfield scoring 21 on South Dakota State. We hang 101 points on hated enemy Oral Roberts the next game, with Hehn going off for 26 points and Van scoring 22 in the win. The Leathernecks are starting to find their stride at 13-5 overall. Next game is at North Dakota State, and we blow them out, behind 29 points from senior star Tracy Hehn.

We win out the rest of the year and finish the regular season on a 16-game winning streak. We’re 22-5 overall and the No. 1 seed in the Summit League entering the conference tournament.

Here’s what my roster looks like entering the conference tournament — some solid internal improvement from the guys this season. Hehn leads the team in scoring at 15.4 points per game.

Summit League tournament

We have South Dakota State in the opening around — and beat them, 78-57, behind 20 points from Hehn. Next up: Southern Utah. Why am I so nervous for this?

We get a huge win, 103-53. Six Leatherneck players in double-figures, led by Van with 19 points and 12 rebounds. Now I have Oakland in the title game.

We beat Oakland, 78-66. We’re going dancing for the second straight year at 25-5 overall.

We’re an 11-seed against No. 6 Washington in the first round.

NCAA tournament

Wow, Washington is a 99 overall. How are they only a No. 6 seed? Classic Lorenzo Romar ball, to be honest. We’re a 92 entering the tournament, with seven players rated in the 80s. My team has come along really well, but I still feel like I’m a huge underdog. Going to need the seniors Hehn and Messy to play the games of their lives.

I settle down to watch this game (reminder: I’m not playing any of the games during this dynasty, just watching the computer sim). That was a big mistake, because I’m never getting that hour of my life back.

Blown. The. Hell. Out. Season over. Memphis wins the title. I don’t even get any new coaching points.

Hehn and Messy both graduate. Love those dudes.

Now it’s time to restock my roster for the future with these six open scholarships.

Recruiting

We open spring recruiting by landing two studs: No. 66 overall shooting guard Lubos Hatten and No. 106 overall power forward Joseph Bowens. Hatten immediately becomes the top recruit in program history, replacing Ira Willis, who was once ranked No. 82 overall. Bowens looks fantastic, too. Look at that three-point shooting!

A week later, I win a long recruiting battle for 5’11 point guard Armein Amous, who is ranked No. 155 overall. Three-star shooting guard Ljubisa Copeland (No. 140 overall) is another guy I’ve been recruiting since the fall, and I sign him as well. Jordi Geli Holden, the No. 24 center and No. 259 overall player, also signs on as my fifth recruit in the class.

I decide to take a big swing with my one open scholarship: 6’9 small forward Phil Powell, ranked No. 103 overall and the No. 15 player at his position. For whatever reason, this guy has very little interest from other programs, which is just what Ricky Charisma wanted to see.

To be fair, this guy’s offensive stats were terrible in AAU — 7.4 points per game on 25.6 percent shooting from the field and 19.2 percent shooting from three. He has great size though and has to be rated this highly for a reason, right?

I land Powell on the last week of recruiting. Super excited to see what he’s rated and where his potential is at. And with that, I have filled all six of my scholarships.

That’s a six-man class with three players ranked in the top 110 and five players ranked in the top 155. Centers are always lower in the recruiting rankings for some reason, but I landed a top-25 guy at that position, too. Huge class!

Now I have to set the schedule for next year. I decide to play every team in Illinois, because why not? The Leathernecks want to own this state. This non-conference schedule is beautiful:

Ahead to my seventh season.

Year 7

Here’s a first look at the roster.

Nelke is actually an 86 at shooting guard, but we have to move him to small forward because I don’t have anyone else at that position and he’s big enough to do it at 6’6, 217 pounds. Also, my five best players are my five starters, which hasn’t been the case previously in this dynasty.

Waller is my best player despite the fact that he hasn’t been a starter before his redshirt senior year because I’ve had so much depth in front of him. He goes up a couple points when I move him to shooting guard. We’re going to have three natural point guards in the starting lineup this year, which sounds extremely up my alley. Waller, Nelke, and Hendriks are all rated 88 or better as three-point shooters, too. Give me all of the high-IQ ball handlers who can shoot with range. I also decide to abandon my plan to redshirt Willis because I need him as sixth man this year who could play either forward position.

Here’s a look at how the freshmen are rated:

C Jordi Geli Holden: 75 overall, C potential (No. 259 overall/No. 24 center)

SG Lubos Hatten: 75 overall, B- potential (No. 66 overall)

SF Phil Powell: 73 overall, A- potential (No. 103 overall)

PF Joseph Bowens: 73 overall, B+ potential (No. 106 overall)

SG Ljubisa Copeland: 72 overall, C potential (No. 140 overall)

PG Armein Amous: 68 overall, C+ potential (No. 155 overall)

I decide to redshirt Holden, Powell, Bowens, and Copeland. Hatten is going to the first guard off the bench and the last player in eight-man rotation. The plan is to redshirt Hatten next year when I have more depth. I’m also keeping Amous active this year as my ninth man, even though he isn’t in the rotation, just for games when guys get into foul trouble.

Here’s a look at the rotation:

Western Illinois enters the season at a 90 overall. With four redshirt juniors in the starting lineup, we should be even better next year.

I only have one scholarship to work with. Since I’m not totally sure Amous will be good enough to eventually lead a powerhouse team even as fifth-year senior, I decide to put a bunch of point guards on my target list. Eventually, I offer five-star JUCO Darrel Ogunride, a 6’3 lead guard from Chicago.

First game: @ Illinois

An opening night tradition of getting my brains beat in unlike any other. The Illini are already 2-0 and ranked No. 18 in the country when I face them. One time, Leathernecks?

OH, HELL YEAH! 69-63! Holy shit!

Look at those three point guards do work. I’m counting this as a program-defining win. Could I have a chance to crack the top 25 this year?

We beat UIC by 20 (Nelke: 17 points, Van: 15 points, 10 rebounds) then beat Loyola, 62-51, (Van: 19 points) to end the next week. As the early signing period begins, we get revenge on Northern Illinois with a 30-point win (Byfield: 26 points, four blocks) and then beat Bradley, 82-56 (Van: 16 points). We’re 5-0 to start the year.

Our first loss comes during one of these weird early conference games, where I somehow lose to South Dakota State, 65-62. We scored 16 points in the second half. Was there a killer party in Macomb last night that no one told Coach Rick about?

As early recruiting ends, I have a lead for Ogunride but Illinois is now hot on his trail, too:

Two local heavyweights on the schedule this week: Northwestern and DePaul. First up is the Wildcats.

It didn’t go so well:

DePaul also beats me, 68-66. I really thought we could go undefeated two weeks ago.

I got Southern Illinois next, and win, 83-62. Unfortunately, that didn’t impress the point guard I’m recruiting: we go from first to third for Ogunride in the course of one week. Bummer, because he seems super good. I drop him and extend an offer to my backup plan, Nikola Stockman, a 6-foot point guard from local Peoria ranked No. 104 overall

I beat Illinois State and Eastern Illinois by 21 points each. Waller pops off for 19-5-5 against EIU. I’m 11-3 as I get into the thick of conference play. Can I run the table?

We start out 5-0 with my closest win being 19 points. I end up winning out. A lot of red dubs on the schedule this year:

We enter the conference tournament at 25-3 overall. Van somewhat surprisingly leads the team in scoring (15.2 points per game) and rebounding (6.4 per game). Waller (13.1) and Nelke (12.0), and Byfield (11.7) are my other double-figure scorers. Hendriks averages 9.9 points per game.

Summit League tournament

We have Southern Utah in the first round of the Summit League tournament. And we win, 64-59. Uh, that was kind of tight?

I play Fort Wayne next in the conference semifinals. Another win, 65-53. The only team standing between Western Illinois and another NCAA tournament berth is my old nemesis, Oral Roberts. I’m a 92 overall and they’re a 70 overall, so I probably shouldn’t be as nervous for this game as I am.

We win, 82-61. WE’RE DANCING AGAIN.

This is our third straight NCAA tournament appearance. The team is 28-3 on the year. Could I finally get a seed that isn’t in the double-digits?

To find out, I actually watch the Selection Sunday show, hosted by virtual Greg Gumble. Remember when I said this game is, like, insanely deep in terms of features in Legacy mode? This is one of them. Even after I eventually start skipping ahead, the show still runs for over nine minutes.

Please, enjoy this ridiculous video game TV show with me:

NCAA tournament

We get a No. 10 seed — our best ever — and draw a first-round matchup with No. 7 seed NC State. Winner is likely getting second-seeded Georgetown in the Round of 32.

Before I do this, I check out my roster again. Waller is now a 90, making him the first player in program history to hit that mark. I have seven guys rated at least in the 80s.

My team is pretty nasty: lots of shooting and ball handling in my three-point guard lineup on the perimeter, my lowest-rated starter is an 84 overall, and I have two guys in the 80s coming off the bench.

I think I have enough to make a tournament run this year, but NC State looks tough.

Of course I’m watching this one. Music is again provided by my bud Patrick Cosmos from his album Tonal Rotors.

Let’s do this.

***

***

***

***

***

***

***

I think I’m going to throw up.

I asked my forever colleague Mike Prada to GIF my fucking heart breaking.

Manning absolutely killed me all night (37 points on 15-of-24 shooting), and he ends up hitting a 35-foot dagger at the buzzer to win it. Unreal. We end the year 28-4 overall. I’m going to need a couple days to get over this.

Maryland wins the title. Van wins Summit League Player of the Year as a junior. Here’s a look at Coach Rick’s resume after seven seasons:

I get offered the Wichita State job and turn it down. I only have one available scholarship and that gets wrapped up in the first week when Stockman accepts my offer.

Time to set my schedule for next year. I figure I’m going to have a loaded team with four redshirt senior starters, so give us a real test before conference play? I’m going at UCONN, at Michigan State, at Arizona, at North Carolina, at Notre Dame, and at Wisconsin.

Year Eight

This is going to be a special season. Here’s a first look at the roster.

To be continued

This is unfortunately the last post on Western Illinois’ chase for a championship at SB Nation. I’m going to continue writing the series entirely for free over here. Please sign up to follow along.

If you signed up for email updates here, you should be transferred over. Year 8 is going to run Saturday or Sunday at the new site. I can’t wait to see what next year’s roster can do. I hope you continue following along. Thanks for reading and engaging.

[hinotorihime]

@aphgenficexchange

first of all a huge apology that this is late and also not as detailed as i wanted it to be, i.e. i didn’t draw a picture for it like i planned to. the reason for this is mostly that i ended up moving with about 12 hours’ notice, but partly also because i can’t manage my time to save my life.

anyway, @nezznar, I’m your partner... again! and I decided to just take everything in your application that I thought was even remotely interesting, including:

America & Lithuania, people who ride the same public transit route OR AND penpals

high fantasy AU

epistolary format

and my favourite:

“if you’re feeling a poem as your medium, absolutely go ahead and do that.”

so here, without further ado, is

the lightning rail

i. samhain

and just like that a new year dawns: different poems, same writers and the world keeps on spinning we keep going and going just wheels on the lightning rail crackling and spitting (and chained) and ghosts walking beside us

//t.l.

ghosts beside me, leaves beneath me autumn cool and crisp inside me sun above me red and cold air weighed down with reeking smoke

--afj

a note to alfred, bless his heart

you know your life is really in pieces when your best friend in the bardic college is part of the day class and you can tell because his rhymes are so trite

//t.l.

dear tolys, you passive-aggressive shit

i guess that’s what you get for letting your best friend be someone you’ve never met outside words dropped on a lightning rail.

--afj

p.s. oh like you could do better mr night class

ii. midwinter

watch me

snow in my lungs and cold in my hair i am old, too old, for this air like steel like reels of thread trapped silk in my head mapped milky lines against the frost i am tossed through a wheel of seasons clawing for reasons in the frozen air above me

//t.l.

showoff

the frozen air above me like candles like dripping wax like pinpricks of stars like gems on my lashes (like blood on the snow all warm and brilliant and bright berry-red) like stabbing holly-leaves like dilated eyes: and so winter comes, in patterns of light.

--afj

okay that was actually pretty impressive

patterns of light patterns of thought patterns of gods-i-don’t-know-i-suppose-i-simply-- (you keep going and he asks you so-what?-so-it’s-like-that you say so-i-can’t-do-anything-else-but-go-on)

//t.l.

...are you okay?

--afj

i’m fine

//t.l.

you sure?

--afj

iii. candlemas

sure, ha, what is sure what in this world is sure i just can’t stand to watch her fall apart every year every damn year she crumbles with the snow piling up and the only thing we know how to do is carry on i suppose (there are too many supposes)

//t.l.

❤

there are too many supposes and a lot more memories: children are smarter than you think i knew. i know.

i’m here for you. you and your sister. you’ll be okay. i know it’s hard to believe but-- winter won’t last forever she’ll bloom again with the flowers with the lambs i promise. i’ve seen it. i see it.

--afj

nata says thanks

or at least she shrugged and didn’t frown which is practically applause from her you have to realize (you have to realize she’s all i have her and school and you and poetry)

//t.l.

p.s. you’d better not be showing these to anyone

what kind of asshole do you take me for?

remember old prof wang? he always used to say: learning songcraft means learning silence too. well i’m not good at one but i can damn well do the other

--afj

sorry

//t.l.

for what?

--afj

for dumping my problems on you

//t.l.

what do you even think friends are for?

you get better, you help your sister get better, i’ll be here no matter what you want to talk about, whether that’s your problems or your classwork. so stop it. you keep doing this and i’m sick of it. let people support you.

--afj

see you’re not responding because you know i’m right.

--afj

iv. alban eilir

every time i take a breath it’s like a promise in my lungs: birth and death and rebirth and redeath like all the songs i’ve ever sung at once, everything i forget and remember with the turning of the sun the seasons’ wheel sweet healing repentance and renewal and brilliant on the green

--afj

you’ve really been working at this

brilliant on the greening of the sky the bluing of the earth the browning of the land the baring of my feet and shivering of my arms (it’s still too cold for shortsleeves but who cares about that it’s spring and the snow is melting and the mud is sticky and the sun is pale-gold-brilliant)

//t.l.

thanks and also you put line breaks in weird places

sun might be pale but there’s a current throbbing through the air through the rail window i see draklings flying flurry and swoop and wheel all joy all excitement all life little scales flashing in the paleness of the sunlight (still bright enough to blind you as you watch their wings)

--afj

p.s. how’s your sister?

it’s for effect idiot

wings on dragons and wings on birds ripples under feathered skin ripples under scaly shoulders ripples off of careful words ripples in the water, ripples in the air ripples spreading cool and slow person to person fast as a thought fast as affection

//t.l.

p.s. nata’s starting to feel better. the sun lifts her spirits. she actually has energy now, can actually get out of bed.

you know you love me

fast as affection is, three things go faster: a breath before jumping dark before a candle worries when shared with a friend.

--afj

p.s. i’m really glad to hear it ❤

i do. i love you and i don’t know why you keep worming your way into my soul like a mole in turned-over soil tiny prickly claws of affection in ink-scratches dropped on the seat of a lightning-rail

you know. i’ve never really had a friend before. not like this. not this close. not this open.

...damn you.

//t.l.

p.s. she says she wants to meet you too, when we finally see each other.

v. beltain (an epilogue)

...so you know how they said we’re getting the whole week of beltain off

--afj

aren’t you going home for the holiday though?

//t.l.

my parents are traveling. i’m staying here.

--afj

fun I guess?

//t.l.

you and I will be in the same city for the entire break

--afj

oh