#although some of the authority may be more stage presence than anything

[canisbeasts-ooc]

her description has so much fucking potential wtf its so fucking cool to think of interpretations for. fuck ass massive horns because theres something wrong with me

Part of why I like her so much is that she really is an intimidating figure! On the surface at least. She has giant horns and an air of command fanned by sweeps upon sweeps of clurch and ottermom ideals. She paints herself so well in a public view as this controlled, solid presence, when she is almost anything but.

It’s part of why The Botanist met the end he did.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Howdy! I'm a bit new to tumblr having been following your Killer blog for a while and ended up with a lot of ideas and imagery that I wanted to share with you if you don't mind after all,,, I apologize in advance, this is not my native language, and some sentences may sound strange, I hope you understand

Okay, I won't delay any longer.

I love the concept of Killer, I love what the original author did with him, and I love how many interesting headcanons people have come up with for him And I won’t hide it, but it was your blog and reasoning that prompted me to do something new

So I thought about the concept and decided to… Rethink the Killer character a little, I guess Not that it became anything else, but definitely "Something new", or in this case, "Something strange" (as I decided to call the AU of this version of Killer, which could probably be considered an AU on an AU)

The main thing that was changed in this AU was the Stages, namely what they represent themselves to be.

The emphasis in Something strange is on Player andd Character interaction, and how game elements and mechanics can be used by Characters

Something strange begins the same way as Something new, perhaps with more influence from the Player (or Demon, as the Player will sometimes be called here), but everything is basically the same until the Killer kills Chara/Frisk/Avatar of the Player, after that he himself will become the carrier of the Demon and his Soul will change, which is what this AU is based on

player!Killer has 5 Stages, although ST0 and ST5 do not count for reasons of being two opposite extremes of Character and Player

The higher the Stage, the more player!Killer is a Player than a Character, and the less he cares about others as equals - Players can care about Characters, of course, but this will not be real love, but LOVE, what makes hurting those you love because you love them or because you don't care about them

And Killer has a lot of LOVE

ST0 - The Character, Killer before killing Chara, is not able to return to this stage without removing the Demon and changing the code

ST1 - identifies most strongly with other Characters, considers others to be living individuals, has all the emotional burden on his shoulders and is capable of emotions and feelings of pain. If memories of other Stages are not blocked, then he remembers what they did, but from his own point of view - and is not happy about it. At this stage has a solid LV 20

ST2 - эмоции и привязанности подавлены, сравнимы с бездушными существами вроде Флауи. Для него другие, как сказал бы Флауи, являются репликами диалога, которые становятся трудновыполнимыми после того, как они исчерпал�� себя. Эмоции фальшивы, а сам Киллер апатичен, за исключением случаев, когда происходит что-то интересное. LV 99

ST3 - a borderline stage between ST2 and ST4, where the Killer cannot be described by any word other than a Monster in the most direct human sense of the word. There is no restraint or control like Stage 2 or 4, just boundless Fun and pleasure in causing pain and suffering to others. LV 999999…

ST4 - Killer, but if only he had the full Player mentality. Or Demon. All connections and “friends” are just paths to passages, new dialogues, and games that can be arranged. At this Stage, Killer fully understands why Players and Creators do what they do. LV :)

ST5 - Demon Vessel. Player. All pretense of the Character is stopped. Not considered a real Stage

What is the difference between a Character and a Player?

Персонажи — это, ну, персонажи, от Цвета до самого Убийцы, в то время как Мы — Игроки, а Стадии — это своего рода этапы в приближении Персонажа к Игроку со всеми вытекающими последствиями. Интересно наблюдать, как менталитет сломленного человека постепенно меняется, приближаясь к бесчеловечному.

Just as described above, the Demon follows the Killer after Chara's death again, replacing the hallucinations with his presence

И вместо обычных галлюцинаций всех, кого он когда-то любил, игрок! Убийца слышит Нас и видит, что Мы делаем с миром вокруг него, когда Мы изменяем мир в соответствии с нашим представлением о реальности. Представьте себе переделку истории, пока Персонаж все еще внутри, и видя, как мир меняется вокруг него, вместе с остальными Персонажами и их воспоминаниями о том, каким должен быть мир

Therefore, player!Killer is also unsure of the reality of what he sees, not because of the hallucinations of those he loved, but because he can never be sure that his memories correspond to the current iteration of reality (as How would you feel when you know that at any moment your memories and behavior can become invalid for the world around you, but at the same time people believe that everything has always been like this because their memories have been changed in accordance with the new state of the world?) . Because of this, some people may believe that Killer has memory problems. Or hallucinations. This is all about what player!Killer remembers when the Creators changed the world

And since I mentioned this earlier, it's worth mentioning that player!Killer has a lot of gameplay mechanics at its disposal. Starting from the menu and inventory and ending with something more interesting

Например, у Киллера, начиная со 2-й стадии, слишком много Решимости, что мешает ему видеть и делает его практически полностью слепым (еще хуже при более высокой ST), поэтому он видит «с другой точки зрения», то есть камерой от третьего лица, которая заменяет ему зрение и позволяет ему смотреть на себя и других со стороны.

Perhaps a mini-map where you can set points of interest or track the movement of Characters or other Players, things like that

I also thought about Save Points, and came to the conclusion that it is impossible to use them in the Multiverse in the usual way Let's imagine that individual AUs are single-player worlds, where you can safely Reset the time and try again and again But the Multiverse is a multiplayer game where you cannot touch someone else’s world at will and rewind time, which means, as is customary in multiplayer games, when you die, the Player Character is reborn And we all know that no one will let Killer go so easily, so he will respawn again and again, or perhaps rewind the Fight (if you consider this a game mechanic that creates a small pocket world for fight) until he wins Losing is not an option for the Player, and the Killer will pay for it when his body and Soul are torn apart in a million different ways

Or maybe not, either way I think everyone will have their own version of Killer, with their own headcanons and their own Demon

I have my own collection of headcanons and ideas for both Something new!Killer and player!Killer

So I hope to hear your perspective on this interpretation! I may have explained this AU a little vaguely, but that just allows others to fill in the blanks themselves and add their own ideas, so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

(I also made a small card with what I think the Soul Stages of player!Killer look like)

Ooh this an interesting idea! Thank you for sharing with me, it seems very fun and an interesting way to explore this character and the concepts. The Stages are so creative and I especially enjoy that ST5 looks like an eye.

I would love to hear more about player!killer, whenever you (or others maybe) have any ideas to add on to it. The idea that, when out in the Multiverse, the Determination created a little pocket world when Killer is just ‘reset’/‘respawn’ after every death until he wins seems fantastic. I can’t imagine the absolute hell this would wreck on someone’s soul, body, and overall mental health and stability, though.

killers poor body is just absolutely going through hell. No wonder my guy doesn’t even consider it his. (And I would also love to hear about your headcanons and interpretations for Something New!Killer as well if you want to share. I love talking about Killer and his alternate timeline and everyone’s interpretations and ideas.)

[japparapan]

仕切りが嫌い (I Hate Shikiri)

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I hate shikiri

Crowding with your clique, inside jokes It’s seriously annoying and boring Veterans acting smug, claiming ownership, stop it “This spot, this spot, they’re all taken” Huh?

Fine, I’ll let you in  If you cooperate with me, then it's fine Why do you act so high and mighty? Why do I need to get your permission?!

I hate shikiri

The band doesn’t belong to you They’re not on stage just for your sake If you really love them, just stop it already

I hate shikiri

Pretending to be all buddy-buddy Sucking up every time, it’s exhausting Give that girl her early spot back You can’t manage anything at all

Why do I have to pay money Just to suck up to you? I’ve always, always wanted to support this band But I can’t deal with this person anymore Sorry, I can’t do it, I’m out

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In the visual kei scene, 仕切り (shikiri) refers to the act of organizing or managing the fan activities in the front rows of a show, often done by a specific group of fans known as "shikiri fans" or "shikiri-san". These self-appointed leaders take responsibility for coordinating the crowd, making sure  that everyone follows the correct furi (choreographed gestures) during songs. While some fans appreciate the guidance, others feel that it creates a sense of hierarchy or adds pressure to follow certain unspoken rules strictly.

Shikiri can exist in both taiban (events where multiple bands perform) and one-man (solo band performances). Although, it’s less common at one-man shows, shikiri fans may still maintain an exclusive "insider" atmosphere at such events. These fans often have a certain level of influence, especially if they are well-known within the fan community. In some cases, less experienced fans might feel pressured to give up their spots to shikiri fans out of respect, even if it isn't explicitly requested. However, this is more a reflection of the fan dynamics itself than formal rules.

This song critiques the presence of shikiri, calling out the toxic fan dynamics within the community that can ruin the concert experience for others. The message is clear: the band belongs to everyone, not just a select group of fans who try to control the experience. True fans should focus on enjoying the music and supporting the band, rather than on enforcing the "unspoken"rules that make it less enjoyable for others.

Mikoto-sama is known for his welcoming nature. He’s all about embracing new fans and encourages long-time fans to do the same, without acting in ways that might push newer fans away. He’s spoken openly in the past about wanting the long-time fans to be kind to newcomers. Mikoto-sama’s personality, especially his playful side, has played a big role in the band’s rise in popularity. But, of course, this shift hasn’t sat well with everyone—especially some bangya. (I'll end this here as I don't wanna get in too deep into the fandom's drama lol)

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Anyways, you can find further explanation on how shikiri works, especially in taiban, here. The author did a great job explaining it!

[etherealeddie]

Woodstock ‘99 - Part 2

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Reader

Story Summary: A hopeless romantic hippie meets a roughed up metalhead at what is supposed to be beautiful, peaceful, music-filled weekend. But even amongst all of the chaos, there may be some peace.

Part Summary: Eddie and his band of misfits finally get their big shot in the music industry, and it’s scarier than he expected, but then he lays eyes on you.

CW: Passing mention of drugs, angry/violent crowd, maybe some swearing, but I think that’s it. Let me know if I missed anything!

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy part 2! I had fun writing it, and I’m excited to see reactions and for the rest of the story to come out. At this point, I think it’ll be a 4 part series, maybe 5!

Word Count: 1.2k

Part 1 - Part 2 

Eddie knew when Corroded Coffin accepted this offer, it was a big deal. 

There’s a lot riding on how their set goes, and how the audience reacts to them. The last year has been the most successful and busy year of all four of their lives, but if this doesn’t go well, it could all end for them. 

When he called Wayne to tell him, he just said, “Isn’t that a hippie thing? What are you guys gonna do there?” 

Realistically, Eddie had the same thought when the offer came from his manager, but here they are. 30 minutes until they hit the stage, and nothing about this festival is screaming peace or love to him. They’ve played at a few rock festivals, and the crowd here was still more aggressive than the others he remembers.

When he called to tell his friends that weren't in the band, there were a lot of mixed responses. A couple of the kids just said it was cool, Jonathan offered to do photography for Corroded Coffin if it was needed, and Argyle said he might be there. Said it was his, “total vibe, dude”. 

 Steve and Robin seemed excited for him, although he could tell they were both a bit sad that they were still stuck in Hawkins. Eddie always offered to fly them out or to hire them on the stage crew but they would always laugh it off. Steve would say something about his reputation and how it would look if “King Steve Harrington was Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson’s bitch.” Even though they always say no, Eddie always offers. Some day he’s sure they’ll say yes.

-

He stands to the left of the stage with Gareth, just watching with wide eyes as Jonathan Davis works the crowd. The level of stage presence he has is insane and Eddie isn’t sure he can match it, not with this many eyes on him and with this much attention.

“I know we’ll be fine, but I can’t say I’m not terrified of this crowd.” Gareth says. Eddie is surprised he can hear him over the deafening screams. 

“Yeah, I mean, we’re going to be on the same stage that Metallica is playing tomorrow night.. It’s actually insane. How did we end up all the way here from lil ‘ole Hawkins, Indiana?”

Gareth lets out a small chuckle in reply as Korn’s final song finishes and they both step to the side for the band that’s running off the stage. They pass them quickly, drenched in sweat, and radiating with the energy from the show they just played.

Eddie nods towards the other bandmates and he and Gareth walk over to get a pre-show amp up with them while their stage crew is switching out and setting up their instruments. Taking the time to drink as much water as they can, trying not to sweat any more than they already are in this hot sun. He can’t imagine how it is in the pit right now. Hundreds of bodies electrified with energy from the music, the heat, and to be completely honest, who knew what amount or type of drugs were also fueling this audience.

Taking the last few minutes to go over their setlist, they all take a second to just look at each other. Every member of Corroded Coffin looks terrified in the most excited way. Without saying anything, Eddie just nods at them silently, and you can see them physically relax a bit. This is going to be the best performance they give. They will perform like their entire lives and careers hinge on it, because in many ways, it does.

-

“Hope you all saved some energy for this next group. They're new on the scene and ready to rock. Everybody, this is Corroded Coffin!” The announcer yells into the microphone as Eddie and the boys jog out to the stage. He takes a second to just breathe in the crowd and the atmosphere of the festival. There’s so many more people than he imagined but this stage is his home for the next 45 minutes, and he’s going to prove how much he, and all of his friends from little Hawkins, Indiana, deserve to be up here with the bands he’s idolized since middle school.

In an attempt to give his bandmates a moment to settle into their instruments, he starts his crowd work.

“How is everybody doing tonight? Ready for more music?” He yells, as the crowd roars in response.

“Oh come on, you can do better than that!” He replies with a smirk, his dimples popping out. The crowd screams in response again, even louder this time, if that’s possible. 

Eddie looks over his shoulder quickly to his friends, getting the small “go ahead” nod from each of them before he addresses the crowd again.

“Alright, let’s go!” He yells into the mic as the first chords of one of their songs pours out of his guitar. The audience responds immediately with praise, beginning their game of madness all over again.

The set, although 45 minutes, feels like 30 seconds. Maybe it’s because he’s in his element, or just drunk off the energy and approval of his vast audience, but he doesn’t care. He’s never felt so free during a set.

The atmosphere quickly changes with the last song though. The song is more angry than the rest of their setlist. Eddie had written it about the many injustices back home from his highschool days, of course it was laced with burning ire. He expected the audience to amp up a bit, that’s how it usually went at each show, but this was more than he was expecting. More than what any of the boys were expecting really.

The crowd moved in sync almost, waves of people pushing and shoving each other, throwing things, letting the anger of the song become a pawn in their human interactions. This wasn’t why Eddie wrote it, and it’s certainly not how he wants to end the set, but he’s honestly terrified to stop the song, what if it ruins Corroded Coffin’s chance? This is clearly an audience that will change its tone and opinion at a rapid pace.

By the end of the second chorus, he signals to the boys to ease out of the song. Although Gareth is upset he doesn’t get to play his drum solo, he can’t say he isn’t scared of this crowd either. He is willing to do anything to not feel responsible for them at this point. 

The song finally finishes, and if anyone in the crowd knows it’s the end of the song, they don’t seem to care. Everyone cheers and Eddie grabs a microphone, introducing the band and it’s members one last time before peeling off his guitar and exiting the stage.

That’s when he sees her.

A few rows from the front, looking as scared of the audience she is standing in as Eddie feels standing feet above and away from them.

She's the epitome of what he expects from any festival named ‘Woodstock’ after ‘69. A flower crown and what looks like homemade friendship bracelets to boot, she is the poster child of what he expected this weekend, and clearly isn’t going to get. 

You, although he doesn’t know your name yet, are the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

 Taglist:  @eddiesguitarskills @gaysludge @sidthedollface2​ @green-intervention (let me know if you wanna be added!)

[alluringjae]

queen of hearts - sjn

summary: for the first time, one of your star students hasn’t been fetched right after class. but when she finally does, you weren’t expecting such a fine man to be her father.

pairing: johnny x female reader

word count: 5.5k

genre: fluff, romance, comedy | ceo and single dad!johnny + ballerina!reader + modern day!au

warnings: mentions of an absent parent, johnny being an overthinker, sexual innuendos (ten saying dilf hehe), slight explicit language, technical terms of ballet, a mini reference to mean girls

author’s note: sooo i came in touch with my former dance life, which led me to write this. there are links for the variations i used; their names are underlined when they’re mentioned. i am going to get technical with ballet terms here (even when my ballet knowledge decreased), so to any dancers reading, i really did my best, so please don’t come for me or do correct me for any mistakes.

although one character and her dance background, plus the name of the setting, are real, everything else about it is still a work of fiction.

i miss dancing, no cap.

leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Ballet student and teacher by day, a soloist of the Korean National Ballet at night.

This was your daily routine, and it wasn’t the typical 8-5. But it’s debatable whether or not it was worse, because you’re always going overtime. That’s the thing when you’re an overachiever. Nonetheless, you loved what you do. It’s the lifestyle you gradually built since your preschool days.

Mornings on the weekdays were mostly vacant since all the kids were still in school. You’d start at 10 am for a warm-up class for the company. Before you delved into teaching and assisting, you’d train right after your lunch break. Partnering class, en pointe class, 1-on-1 sessions with choreographers, self-practice, then the company night class, that’s the organization of your week.

Now adding the teacher title, you mostly handled kindergartners to 5th graders in the academy aspect of the company. Your first teaching class would start at 1 pm. It’s when the younger students who finished their morning classes zoom into your assigned dance studio. One class would last an hour and a half, then you have a 30-minute break in between another class with the older kids. Their lesson repertoire was more strenuous due to the added across-the-floor lessons and jumps. Water was always your best friend, water refilling stations located everywhere in the company building.

You wouldn’t say you’re a strict teacher, but you weren’t shy to correct anyone from wherever you stood. You’d lightly align their arms or back properly so your students were working on the correct body parts. Compared to the other teachers, a lot of students enjoyed your kind yet frank approaches. Your former students, who’ve already gone to the higher levels, missed your lively presence and wished repeatedly that they want you back as their teacher.

“Teacher (Y/N), I miss you so much! Teacher Ten is so intense. I get the jitters especially when we’re en pointe on the floor.”

“Teacher (Y/N), Teacher Sicheng and Teacher Seulgi scare the heck out of me during partnering class. Especially when I tried to lift my partner, I keep losing focus because of Teacher Sicheng’s never-ending comments!”

Not to be sadistic, but you’d simply laugh at their minuscule complaints. Even if they’re struggling in the academy, those comments were directed to fix their techniques if they wanted to breakthrough.

“Kids, you’re going to be fine! They wouldn’t say or do those things just because they wanted to. They’re here to push you to the next level, like how I used to do with you. It’s a cut-throat industry after all.”

This was always your reply, bittersweet and truthful. Not everyone makes it, unfortunately, so if you’re really striving, you’d do whatever it takes. Throughout your career, you’re relatively impressed with how far you’ve come.

Trainee at 17, Corps de Ballet at 18, Demi-Soloist at 21, and Soloist at 23.

You’ve been a soloist for 4 years. The final stage, which was to become a principal dancer, is your running goal. Becoming a soloist was praiseworthy enough because you’ve seen so many give up in the Corps, but claiming a spot as a principal dancer has been the ultimate dream. Since you’ve watched Swan Lake for the first time at 4 years old with your parents, that’s where you found a passion for dancing and the stage. Here you are years later, practicing numerous variations daily, performing in opera houses, and mentoring all these gifted kids.

Your last class with elementary kids, which began around 5 pm, reached its end once all the students curtsied in front of you and scurried to their mothers or their nannies. The remaining plan on your agenda today was the company class at 7:30 pm, which exceeds the average hour and a half. It’s worse during show season. There have been times everyone went beyond midnight to polish every scene from head to toe.

Currently, there’s no upcoming show for the public, though the annual summer recital for the students was around the corner. Selected members of the company were chosen to perform individually in it, which was both exciting and intense. It’s also because it’s an evaluation on whether you’d get promoted in status or staying put. You’ve partaken in 3 recitals in the past, two of which elevated you from the corps and demi-soloist ranks. The recent one, however, didn’t change your soloist ranking.

It was a major first in your career in ballet, and after finding out the result of the latter, it emotionally pained you. Recalling how much soul you put into that piece, the rejection from your artistic director clenched your heart. Though in time, you moved on from it and viewed it as a stepping stone. Also, Sicheng and Ten personally stormed your apartment to pull yourself together with wine and pizza after going on a short leave.

Since you were trainees, Sicheng and Ten were your best friends in and outside the company. Working daily to occasional barhopping, that’s your youth summed up. It wasn’t because you didn’t like the girls you’ve worked with (though a lot of them were fake and bitchy), but these two were frank and humorous as hell. Together, you’d help each other with your goals rather than be competitive. Over time, Ten leveled up to a principal dancer for 2 years running while you and Sicheng were still soloists. The way you’d watch Ten take all the big roles, that’s where you want to be one day.

Back in your last teaching class, the entire dance room was vacant. Since it’s mainly used for ballet classes, you’d either run through anything you’ve practiced from the company classes and polish it or warm up a little bit more.

Except for today, this was the only free time to sew a new pair of pointe shoes because your current ones were dead. Dead in a sense that the hard shell turned soft, which won’t be able to support you when you’re up on your toes. You’re not taking any risks of minor injuries especially when you’re in the current lineup of company members performing for this upcoming recital again. You have to prove to everyone that you deserve a position as a principal dancer.

As your legs sprawled in a half middle split, your sewing equipment laid in front of you like you’re about to perform surgery, a tiny girl stood by the ajar studio doors. In her neat bun and holding on to her small duffel bag, you’re convinced everyone has gone home already since it’s quite late.

You may have your priorities as a company member, but she was still your student.

“Minji!” You shouted her name, speedily waving your hand. You’re not one to have favorites, though you couldn’t help wonder how extraordinary she was. She’s always taking charge in demonstrating the lessons to everyone and improving every session in the 3 years she’s joined the academy. “Come in! Come in!”

At age 7, she’s gotten taller through the years, above the average from how you see it. She must have amazing genetics. Her legs sauntered in seconds to you. Sitting down across you, she marveled at your setup. Specifically, at the fresh pointe shoes.

“Are those yours, Teacher (Y/N)?” She perked up, caressing its soft fabric and playing with the mini bows of the drawstrings.

“Yes, it is, Minji!” You answered while trying to insert the thin thread through the small eye of the needle. “Why are you still here? Is your nanny stuck in traffic or something?”

“My nanny went on sudden leave, so my dad’s the one fetching me. But I think he’s running late from his job.”

Oh, this was a first to know about her father. In all the years she’s been your student, you rarely caught sight of him, even in recitals. Maybe he sat in an unknown section, but you’re pretty much acquainted with all the parents of your students. Even if some were snobbier than the rest because they wanted their child to have more stage time, you still got to know them out of respect. Quite odd, if you said so yourself.

After deep concentration, the thread triumphantly passed through the eye so you tied the two ends of the thread in a double knot. Seeing as Minji attentively watched you, you tasked her to cut the ribbons of your shoes according to the trail of pencil marks. This was so she wouldn’t cut it too short or too long. While she did that, you hammered your shoes against the floor to soften the hard front, bending the shank back and forth so the arch of your feet could move without difficulty later.

Minji wasn’t expecting such loud sounds, her entire body shaken awake. Her facial expression was priceless, explaining to her, “Once you get your first pointe shoes in a few years, this is one of the basic things you need to do so your feet won’t hurt too much while dancing.”

“Will you be there to teach me how to make my pointe shoes?”

“Absolutely! Come to me first then I’ll mentor you all that I know.”

The process of sewing and breaking new pointe shoes engraved your mind since your adolescent years, with changes along the way. Inspired by some tricks from your former teachers, but there were some differing rituals you followed. There’s no definite process of it, just as long you’re comfortable to dance after.

With your feet, you stepped on the hard boxes of the shoes to soften it more, creating a popping sound. Followed by sewing your elastic bands in. For your ribbons, you liked to burn the edges with a lighter so the thread of it won’t run. Kindly asking your cute assistant for the lighter beside her, you scanned the edges back and forth the flame. In seconds, the edges had a distinct mark, fully closed. From there, you slid your feet to your shoes to make final sewing adjustments. Sewing your ribbons took you another few minutes, plus adding superglue inside the shoe so the shoe won’t collapse when it unstiffens and scratching the shank with a cutter so you won’t slip later while dancing.

Voila, the final product is done! Hopefully, it can last you a week at least.

“Wow, Teacher (Y/N), it looks pretty!” Minji applauded, collecting the mess you’ve both made to dispose of later. You, on the other hand, gave her your thanks once you applied some bandages on your big toes and put on your toe pads. Slipping inside the shoes and tying them, you rose up back to your feet and headed to the bar to break them in. From plies-relevésto forced arches, the shoes gave you the sensation that they were an extension of your feet. The ease flowed through, meaning you were ready to practice your variations.

While you stepped your shoes in rosin for friction, your curious student moved to the front where the mirror lied to watch what you’ve prepared.

“What variation are you dancing to?”

“This is the Gamzatti variation from La Bayadere.” You replied, tapping the play button on your phone and racing to your position on the side. Talking a short ballet walk, you strongly prepared your arms before the music of the orchestra takes off.

This variation consisted of a lot of jumps and turns. Grand jetés, attitude turns, chaîné turns, you needed a lot of core control and proper spotting so you won’t get dizzy. The thrilling music lessened your nerves because you enjoyed learning this piece from one of the principal dancers, smiling and letting the music guide your legs. Once you nailed 3 consecutive grand jetés, the variation ended with a sus-sous and the wrists of your hands flicking upwards.

Holding it for 5 more seconds, you landed back on your feet with heavy breathing and a need for water. But before you could, small claps and cheers from Minji in front erupted. Momentarily, you’ve forgotten her presence because dancing solo puts you in your own space. You’d never let anyone take you away from it.

“Teacher (Y/N), that was wonderful! Are you performing that in the summer recital?”

Yikes, she’s right but she wasn’t meant to see it yet. Solo performances from the company members for the recital were top secret, only unveiled during the production rehearsal. Well, you didn’t think this through, but you didn’t mind.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Time ticked a lot faster today, only 10 minutes left until the company class on the ground floor whereas you were in the second. Just a few steps down the stairs away, yet Minji was still here. You only presumed that within your hour break, her father could’ve made it already. But maybe he’s stuck in traffic or at work.

“Minji, my class starts soon. Have you contacted your father?”

“I already texted him earlier, but he hasn’t responded. This happens often, he’s a busy man.” She bowed in front of you suddenly. “I’m sorry, Teacher (Y/N) for the hassle.”

“Oh no, please!” You shook your hands so she’d stop. Because this situation was relatively new, you were unsure of how to handle it. Or that was until you remembered what Ten texted you earlier. “Minji, the blinds of the main studio are going to be lifted so anyone from the outside can view us practicing. Would you like to watch until your dad gets here?”

With her insistent nodding, she situated herself in one of the seats in the front row. When you entered the main studio, your two close companions already carried a metal barre to the center and leaned towards it while observing you walking to them in your flat shoes.

“I see we have a bit of an audience here.” Ten glimpsed at the young girl, astonished by the many dancers prepping and chatting away with their cliques from the glass barrier.

“Her dad isn’t here yet, and you did say the blinds were up today. Might as well give her a show while she waits, you know.” You lifted your right leg to the top barre, stretching it with your arms.

“Hmmm, shouldn’t her dad be more cautious though? It’s getting late and it’s a Thursday. Doesn’t she have school or something?” Sicheng pointed out, discarding his muscle tee to straighten out his leotard.

“That’s not my business though. She’s just my student, and since she’s still here, I have to entertain her while she waits.”

Before your friends said anything back, the artistic director of the ballet company strutted her way to the center of the room. It’s a common rule here that once she entered, everyone must be silent to listen and race to any free spot in the numerous barres spread out if they haven’t.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll do the typical barre, then before doing across the floor exercises, I’ll be requesting those performing solos already in the recital to dance any variation tonight as another evaluation on who deserves to perform twice.” She eyed the pianist directly beside her. “Proceed first with two demi-pliés then one grand plié. Don’t forget to do the port de bras of each position.”

As the live piano music played, your focus was divided. Partly properly executing the exercise while your artistic director roamed each barre area, partly thinking about what variation to perform. This was a first for the company, and everyone was just stunned to hear the breaking news. It’d be nice to get an extra opportunity to showcase to people your potential.

30-40 minutes flew by quickly. As the guys carried the bars to the side to clear out the floor and the girls changed to their pointe shoes, the artistic director ordered all the performers of the recitals to stand in a line in front of her. Everyone else was seated around the room, so the interested eyes of everyone were on you. There were 10 performers, half are from the corps and the other half are either demi-soloists or soloists. You and Sicheng stood beside each other, internally shaking with nerves under the intimidating eyes of the artistic director. She used to be a principal dancer for the Stuttgart Ballet in Germany before moving back to Seoul, making her undeniably capable of leading all of you.

“Okay,” From her seated position observing the 10 performers, her finger pointed at you directly. “Ms. (Y/L/N) (Y/N), you perform first.”

Your nerves intensified and more sweat streamed out your upper body. Even if going first felt more relieving, no one was ever brave enough to perform individually in front of the esteemed artistic director. Principal dancers aside from Ten that you’re close with were intimidated when they have 1-on-1 or partnering sessions with her. But anyhow, in less than 2 minutes, you’d be done. This wasn’t the first time she’s had your full attention either, so you’ll treat it like the other individual performances you’ve had.

You smiled to yourself when the other soloists left you alone, while you gave the name of the variation you’re dancing to the pianist. Running to the side to put on a practice tutu, the artistic director asked, “What will you be dancing for us tonight, (Y/N)?”

“I’ll be dancing Queen of the Dryads from Don Quixote.”

The last time you did this variation was 3 years ago during the recital that didn’t change your position as a soloist. Even if this variation hurt to think about for a while, it was still one of your favorites to watch and do. Moving on, you could only muse how powerful and beautiful you felt at that time. This isn’t an easy piece to perform in your opinion. Yet according to the members of the company, this was their favorite solo of yours.

As the starting notes unfolded, you took a deep breath and elegantly walked into the frame. You only wished you wore your fake crown again for this. Minimal smiling and light arms, you imagined yourself as an actual queen who captured the eyes of many. In this case, your fellow seniors and juniors held their breaths at the captivating sight of you.

Off you go into a series of glissade jeté developpé on relevé at elevating heights, then a fouetté arabesque and another arabesque on relevé before ballet walking again to the side to dance across the stage. Sissonne to the front, right developpé to the front on relevé, pique to prepare for a single pirouette, you gracefully did a chassé to the front twice and stood on your toes with a sus-sous.

Doing it a few more times, the climax of the entire variation was nearing. Returning to the center, you took another deep breath and lifted your left leg for the Italian fouettés. Spotting to the front and back while maintaining your balance, the variation approached its end with lame duck turns, posing with your arms were positioned at a 45-degree angle, your back slightly arched and your left leg doing a tendu derriére. Your eyes reflected at the mirror in front, surveying your alignment. Once your 5-second hold was finished, you properly put your arms down and closed your back leg into 5th position.

The applause from everyone in the room roared, Ten and Sicheng wolf-whistling even for more support. It’s a usual thing every time any of you perform individually, and no one minded it. The artistic director grinned, giving a quiet clap from the front before calling out the next performer, who was from the corps. Bowing to everyone hastily, you paid more attention to spot your student by the window. She was smiling ear to ear, waving both hands at you.

“You did amazing, Teacher!” She mouthed. Hearing words of praise from members was one thing, but hearing them from students was another. You’re so used to watching them and giving them your compliments that you often forget that you’re a dancer first before a teacher. Seeing them all delighted, saying that it motivates them more, showed that you’re doing a great job teaching them. You’re a reflection of what you pass down, and all you want was for them to be the best they could be.

From her jolly expression, a tall masculine silhouette hovered a part of the window. Her instinct of giving a brighter smile when the hand of said silhouette patted her head then carried her duffel bag again, that could only mean one thing. Excusing yourself to the artistic director, you stepped out to bid your goodbye and maybe meet her father. Minji and the tall man were about to leave the building if it weren’t for your breathy voice calling them out.

“Seo Minji and Mr. Seo?”

They stopped their tracks. Minji was fast to react, familiar with your voice and racing towards you for a sweaty hug. Meanwhile, your focus shifted once the masculine silhouette came into full view. You finally understood why Minji’s growth spurt spiked up, noticing that he was taller than Sicheng.

The top buttons of his shirt were off, yet he kept his formal blazer on. His hair was a bit tousled, some strands falling in front of his forehead. He must’ve run here. Peeking through were some roots of his scruff growing. His eyebags were almost as dark as his brown hair. Yet by the way his Rolex remained spotless, you blatantly assumed that he was more than well-off. Especially when the ballet academy was one of the most prestigious ones in Seoul.

Out of all the parents you’ve met, none of them appeared youthful like him.

“Teacher (Y/N)?” Thanks to Minji, you moved your staring eyes away from him. This was another first, since meeting only the fathers of your students wasn’t your norm. Meeting young-looking fathers, to be specific.

“O-Oh,” You ate your words, suddenly blanking out. “You’re leaving me without saying goodbye, Minji? Not polite of you.”

“My father was rushing right after watching your performance, and I don’t know why.” She responded, her finger scratching the top of her head in confusion. Speaking of said father, his strong presence appeared right in front of you. The wrinkles of his forehead creased while his eyes barely looked at yours.

“Uhm,” His fingers toyed with his Rolex. “I apologize for my tardiness. I got caught up in work and all, plus her nanny le-”

“Mr. Seo.” You halted his rambling, already aware of the situation. Like father, like daughter. “It’s fine. Minji loved watching us practice while waiting, and she wasn’t a bother either. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Phew.” He swiped an imaginative bead of sweat from his forehead, displaying his relief with his playful nature.

At age 23, Johnny Seo started his own company in the fashion scene and it grew internationally in the coming years. Then when Minji unexpectedly joined the picture, he’s been multi-tasking to make ends meet. Lately, as a CEO, he has had meetings and conferences on a daily. So, his position as a single father was always tested. It worsened when he rarely has proper time to spend any time with Minji unless it’s the weekend or late in the evening. Breaking it down, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to meet you. It was more like he couldn’t when his schedules were packed from head to toe.

Having the guilt of taking your precious time, “Seriously though, I am sorry for being late. Her nanny resigned suddenly, and I have no time to find her replacement.”

“Mr. Seo, again, don’t worry about it. As her teacher and a company member, I am practically here 24/7 so it won’t be a nuisance at all if this happens again.”

“Thank you so much, Teacher (Y/N). That is your name, right?” He planted his palm on his forehead, stressed. “Being a single parent is hard. I am always forgetting things.”

A part of you couldn’t restrain from feeling sorry for his struggle. Taking care of a child should be the work of both the mother and father, not one of them being absent. You’ve feared this would harm Minji, but she’s a strong girl.

“The fact you didn’t forget to fetch Minji despite the late time is still something to be happy over. I’m not a parent or anything, but parenting, in general, is a challenge.” You added an insight, patting the head of the young girl beside you. “Cut yourself some slack, Mr. Seo. I’m sure Minji still loves you, right?”

Minji shouted a big yes, now clinging to the leg of her father. “It’s okay, dad. Really.”

Over the years, Johnny has been doubtful of his parenting skills. He was an only child, and he struggled to ask for guidance from his own parents due to the shame of having a kid at a young age. So, he’d ask for help from his other friends and co-workers. No matter how many times they’ve reassured him that he’s doing well, he’s an overthinker who always reflected on the bad scenarios. There’s also that pressure to find someone who can fill that absent position not just for Minji, but for himself too. No matter how many girls he’s asked out or been set up with, he failed in the love department badly.

It’s the soothing way you voiced out your truth that made all these negative thoughts running through his head freeze briefly. Over the past 3 years since Minji started ballet, she always had a great story about you to share. One of them was how ballet made her a lot happier because of your influence. If he had at least an hour of his day to meet any of his daughter’s mentors, it would’ve been you.

“Do feel free to call me Johnny instead.” He casually introduced himself, taking his hand out for you to shake. “Mr. Seo makes me feel like I’m at work right now.”

Despite his informal approach, you understood his intentions and returned the action with a promising smile. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Johnny.”

“Pleasure is all mine, Teacher (Y/N).”

Earlier, the nerves from performing in front of the artistic director died down fast. But for some reason, they rose back up when you’ve spoken to this man in a matter of minutes. As someone whose feelings don’t flourish in a single glance, why did this man specifically deliver you such a strong effect?

If it weren’t for Ten calling for your name by the door, you would’ve held on to Johnny’s hand longer, which would’ve been inappropriate. Letting go first, this was your cue to return to your class.

“I must head back inside, Johnny. Don’t sweat on fetching your daughter late, though she is still a student with school the following day. Right, Minji?”

Minji nodded as Johnny kept that mind, knowing where he has to improve next.  “Yes, Teacher (Y/N). Thank you again, sincerely. I’ll definitely see you again in the coming days until Minji has a new nanny.”

“That’s no problem with me at all, Johnny.”

Soon as Johnny held his daughter’s hand to exit the studio and you were re-entering the studio with an impatient Ten, he swerved swiftly as if he forgot something.

“Oh by the way Teacher (Y/N), I saw your whole performance awhile ago. I was blown away, you deserved the applause.”

Although you could only distinguish his silhouette, you didn’t suppose he watched you from head to toe. Most parents or nannies would’ve dragged their kids out of the studio once they find them like they were on a tight schedule, so this was novel to experience. That performance showed your prime too.

“Thank you, Johnny. See you again soon.”

Giving a final nod, you led yourself back to the studio, not bothering to acknowledge the erupting heat on your cheeks and entire body. Not to sound narcissistic, but compliments weren’t foreign to you. You’re conscious of the hard work that you put in your talent and if they pointed out your greatness, why would you deny it? However, receiving one from Johnny was like gearing your engine with new fuel.

Before you could try to reject these harboring feelings, Ten was fast to pick up on it. You cannot hide anything from this man at all because body language was like another language he’s fluent in (aside from the other 5). Unlucky for you, the saga continued.

“You’re so into dilfs, (Y/N)!” He shrieked in your ear, nudging your shoulder repetitively. He placed things in his own way, yet they always shocked you because it was so inappropriate. Typical Ten for you.

“Shut up, Ten!” You objected, watching the other performers. You’ve improved in ignoring his remarks over time. That was until Sicheng sat down beside you after his solo and got up in your business. That placed you in the middle of boys from the water sign clan of astrology. They just loved getting down to your love life, going raunchy and whatnot.

“Who’s into dilfs, Ten?”

“A Miss (Y/N) beside you, who met Minji’s dad awhile ago, was basically eye-fucking him.” Ten elaborated, planting his elbows on your leg and gave you a sneaky glare. “Minji’s dad is fine as fuck, guys! I’m telling you, like a literal god! I’m surprised this is the first time he showed up here after 2-3 years?”

“How come (Y/N) is always getting students with good-looking parents? Especially the single moms.” Sicheng slumped his shoulders, attempting to get your attention too. “Is he that hot, (Y/N)?”

“Yah.” Sighing with annoyance, you’ve given up trying to appreciate one of the corps dancers with her rendition of Dulcinea from Don Quixote. “Don’t speak of Johnny like that. You barely know the man, yet you talk about him so unprofessionally."

“Oh, Johnny is his name, huh?” Sicheng sing-songed, bobbing his head. He’s certainly going to stalk him later on social media, you felt it in your chest. Like it was ESPN or something.

“Talking about being unprofessional, yet you’re here referring him as Johnny, not Mr. Seo.” Ten barked back, his lips pursed and one eyebrow lifted.

Just as soon as you could retaliate, the artistic director’s velvety voice boomed the room.

“Alright, thank you to the performers. I will deliberate with the staff and principal dancers over the weekend, and let you know the results on Monday. Now please, let’s proceed to the center.”

Everyone began to spread out on the wide floor, snatching a good position so they could monitor themselves in the mirror. Maybe you’ll defend yourself later after class because now, you needed to beat everyone else and have a crystal-clear view of yourself doing these following exercises.

In the meantime, Johnny was in the middle of driving Minji home. He had a designated chauffeur, but he gave him the night off because he wanted to spend time with Minji. Around this time, she’d be sleeping soundly, but instead, she’s boosting with so much life. She hasn’t even eaten dinner yet, which was the first thing on Johnny’s agenda now.

Playing Coldplay in the car, Minji belted some lyrics from her favorite songs while Johnny smiled to himself while listening to her attentively. Taking a breath, her thoughts reverted to her fantastic ballet teacher and shared them with her father.

“Dad! Don’t you just think Teacher (Y/N) is so cool? Ugh, I want to be just like her when I grow up.”

“Oh, to become a ballerina like her, you have to work hard every day and memorize lessons fast. Are you up for it, Minji?”

“Absolutely, dad! I want to pull off perfect jumps and turns like her one day!”

In the other after-school activities Johnny enrolled Minji in the past, none of them compared to the passion she had for ballet. Her work ethic was alike to Johnny’s: if they want something, they’ll do whatever it takes to make it possible.

Aside from being a star student in her school, she’s aiming to be a star ballerina. Being the supportive father he is, Johnny was on board to do what it takes to make it happen. Unlike his parents trying to mold him into the next heir of their company, he’s all ears to the dreams of his daughter. His only dream for her was to be live long and happy, not to merely pass on anything.

Johnny lost so much in his young life, so he doesn’t want to lose Minji in any way. As much as he loves his profession, he wanted to be an active father as much as time allowed it. He mostly received complaints from others that he’s not prioritizing his time well, but after hearing your kind words, this heavy weight on his shoulders decreased. All this doubt started to vanish after meeting you for the first time.

“Dad! Isn’t Teacher (Y/N) so beautiful?” Minji honored whilst gazing at the twinkling night sky. “She loves what she does and shines at it.”

Johnny was accustomed to his female co-workers throwing themselves at him due to his attractiveness, more than flattered even to have them feeling weak for him. Yes, there were times he used it to his advantage, some he frankly turned down. 

However, the radiance you carried whether you’re dancing or not was something Johnny couldn’t cease wondering about. Unknown to him, he’s the one getting weak. Behold, an unlocked first for the confident CEO.

“Yes, Minji. I do think Teacher (Y/N) is absolutely beautiful.”

[jeannereames]

Hello, Dr. Reames! I have a question that may be a bit out of your field of study, but I would like to ask you anyway. I remember reading once on your blog that you referenced an article and defined it as "the type of article that only a woman could have written" (Sadly, I can't remember exactly the post where you mention it). What did you exactly mean by that? How do you think the participation of women enriches the study of history? How do you think our presence has impacted the study of history since we were allowed to participate in it? It is clear that women always provide a different view of the issues they address in their studies, (take for example the approach you take of Olympias, it would be harder for a man to reach this kind of empathy and understanding of a character that is so controversial and that has been so criticized and even insulted for so many centuries). What do you think about it? In what ways can women provide a different approach to the issues that have already been studied? It seems to me a very interesting topic to investigate. Do you know any author, book or article about women in the academic field, or in the study of history, or anything like that? I would love to read something about it to educate myself more in the subject.

I thought you were the right person to ask this, since you are a woman who's made a great career in a field that is (or at least used to be) mostly controlled by men.

MANY VOICES: BETTER HISTORY

I’d like to address this a little more broadly.

History belongs to the humanities, with “human” at the center: branches of knowledge that concern themselves with human beings and their culture. It’s a deeply existential discipline about people’s experience in specific times and spaces. Humans, and human culture, come in glorious variation.

Therefore, it’s critical to have equal variation in the historians studying our past.

“Objectivity” is a chimera. We live inside skin that is wrinkled, pitted, and marred by the lived experiences of our individual existence. Ironically, the best way to achieve limited objectivity is to recognize our own uniqueness and allow for it. Different human experiences will lead to different questions, different approaches. That’s good.

Yes, women historians have yielded different assessments of women in history, but not just that. It hasn’t escaped me that the historians most likely to take Hephaistion’s contributions seriously are women. Why? I think it’s two-fold. Yes, the mostly straight guys who dominated history earlier were mildly uncomfortable at the intimation he was Alexander’s lover, but that’s not it. Not really. Many of these guys were on the liberal side, socially.

It’s that Hephaistion’s career doesn’t read like a traditional male career.

Much seemed behind the scenes, including power-plays. That looks SHADY. A court “favorite” in the negative sense, one who advanced on royal partiality (emotion), not demonstrated ability (ambition). I find this particularly exemplified in the “Philalexandros” (Friend of Alexander) for Hephaistion set against “Philobasileus” (Friend of the King) for Krateros.

In short, Hephaistion was dinged for some of the same reasons women actors on the historical stage (such as Olympias) have been dinged. He ticks “female” boxes, not “male” boxes. (This is one reason I was incensed at how Oliver Stone treated the character in his film. You will not see me do that with him in Dancing with the Lion.)

Women have been accustomed to occupying “at the shoulder” positions: support personnel disallowed more aggressive and obvious ambitions (or not without becoming “The Bitch”). Women may, therefore, be better positioned to recognize the importance of such a person at Alexander’s court—although Hephaistion was less “at the shoulder” than typically perceived. He ran several of his own mission ops.

In any case, that lay behind my own interest in him. While the possibility he was Alexander’s lover didn’t faze me, the possibility he was not Alexander’s lover also doesn’t faze me. In fact, I get impatient with the question because I want to talk about his political influence and the depth of his emotional importance to Alexander. Not whether they fucked. (Crudity intentional.)

So yes, that’s one example of how women may have a different perspective. But you know what? I bet that same perspective could be brought by other groups historically disallowed to have direct authority and open ambition.

That’s important. There can be more than one way to hobble a horse.

So, if greater awareness of women’s true agency versus apparent (legal) would seem a natural fit for women historians to dive into, that doesn’t mean others can’t see the same. And, in fact, as younger, especially white women become accustomed to greater freedom and power opportunities without experiencing serious push-back, they may have less insight than, say, an US undocumented of any gender, or a black trans-woman, or a Uyghur in China, or indigenous populations just about anywhere in the world.

We must recall that not only do shifting social mores alter who “sees” what in history, but different cultures and countries have different social structures. While it can be tempting to think in broad “obvious” groups, these are “obvious” only in certain places. And dichotomic thinking (either/or) ignores the kaleidoscope of human variety.

Again, there’s more than one way to hobble a horse.

Additionally, the unique things we each bring to the field aren’t always boxes ticked for demographics.

For instance, I spent some years doing on-call and bereavement work both inside and outside of hospitals. My Macedoniast colleagues without that background tended to regard Alexander’s mourning for Hephaistion as extreme, even stating he went “mad with grief.” Yet when I read the same accounts, I didn’t see “complicated” mourning, but normal grief at the loss of a spouse or very close family member expressed by a man with bottomless pockets and absolute power. I brought that to my article “The Mourning of Alexander the Great.”

These sorts of contributions are just as important.

Next, I want to address “intersectionality,” a current buzzword in many disciplines. I’m not a fan of fads in history. Yet I do recognize the value of having words to hang on things…sometimes just to get the attention of the ivory tower by poking it with verbal pikes through the slats from below.

Intersectionality in history helps us understand the past like an Escher drawing: aspects bleeding into each other in ways we may not have seen if looked at in more traditional views. Multiple criteria create the lived reality of any given figure or group of people in the past. And if intersectionality is usually used to describe an individual’s unique experiences of discrimination and marginalization, we can put it in the positive too. How do various criteria elevate some historical figures? Even more, what happens with status inconsistency in social stratification? Elevation in some realms, but reduction in others?

Historians who have lived intersectional marginalization, or status inconsistency, can contribute to that re-evaluation, particularly for understudied populations.

Last, I want to consider the importance of “insider” vs. “outsider” voices.

Near and dear to my heart is the importance of native voices in the history of the Americas. Indian people will read the historical record (even when recorded by non-Indians) in a different way, because indigenous worldviews are crucially different. These voices have been left OUT for way too long. History as a discipline is rectifying that, preferencing native hires for native history positions, also to speak to native students, here in the US and Canada. (I’m less familiar with Central and South America.)

Yet that doesn’t mean non-Indian people have nothing useful to contribute and should be excluded. It can be tempting to adopt a “sit down and shut up, colonizer” attitude to any non-Indian doing NDN history. Yet I was recently reminded why non-native voices are crucial, by a non-Indian historian who became interested in a particular region because his ancestor had been the Indian Agent there. He saw his work as a means of restitution, but also a way to show non-Indians why Indian history matters. A good sort of ally to have.

I’d like to see more interest in native history by non-whitenon-natives, and not only Latinx or black Indians. What could an India-Indian contribute to the field, with their experience of British occupation? Or how about a Chinese or Korean or Japanese scholar? Very different culture altogether, but what new perspectives could they bring?

Insiders are crucial. But so are outsiders.

I do Greek and Macedonian history yet have ZERO ancestry/culture from the region. Mid-France (Poitiers) is as close as I get to the Mediterranean or Mideast. I’m pretty much all northwestern European + American indigenous descent.

That allows me a certain neutrality in matters such as the controversial “Macedonian Question.” No horse in that race. Good luck pinning me to either Greek or Slavic national bias.

But I DO use my ancestry when teaching ATG and his invasion of Persia. I turn it around: How Persia was LOST, not how Persia was won. Flips the US narrative of Manifest Destiny. It’s not the same, of course. Persia had been the dominant empire who’d tried to punish/absorb Greece c. 150-175 years earlier. No nation of American Indians mounted an offensive against Europe. Yet I want students to think about it from the point-of-view of the conquered, not just the conquerors.

Classics and ancient history has a race problem. It’s glaringly WHITE. Lots of variation in other ways: always had a strong LGBTQ+ element, and women by mid-20th Century (even earlier). But not many brown faces, or first-gen students either. Languages prove a barrier if you don’t come from money.

Yet it’s critical historians represent all sorts of backgrounds to contribute all sorts of voices, who ask very different questions. Otherwise we’re just treading over the same old roads. Sometimes these differences will be measurable by traditional demographics. Sometimes they won’t. That’s okay.

Nonetheless, I’d like to see more brown faces in Classics and ancient history. It’s hard to be interested in something if nobody teaching it looks like you.

[gallickingun]

who i am today will love {whoever you are tomorrow} || s.k.

SUMMARY: Sugawara Koushi has managed to get you to fall in love with him once. He will not let a simple case of transient global amnesia keep him from sweeping you off of your feet time and time again, until he has you enraptured once more.

PAIRING: Sugawara Koushi x Fem!Reader RATINGS: T+ WARNINGS: angst. literally just all angst. a little fluff here and there. but mostly angst. some language, a little bit of relationship struggle, but nothing too intense! WORD COUNT: 6k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE: I’m not very happy with this, but this is my post for the Haikyuu Headquarters SFW collab centered around the prompt Amnesia! Please check out all of the other rad fics HERE! I haven’t written a full length fic for Sugawara yet, but apparently my first one is going to be Angst City. I hope you all enjoy 💔

Sugawara knew from the moment he saw you that you were going to be the puzzle he was trying to put together for the rest of his days.

He would spend moment after moment trying to piece together the parts of you that created this wonderful masterpiece, the prettiest picture he could never have even imagined would grace his life. He is careful with your sharp edges, the pieces of you that have been forged by years of difficult situations you have had to claw yourself out of.

There were pieces of you that fit into place easily, of course. The softest sides of you which you bared to him from the day you met him. Your smile, the color of your eyes, the way your cheeks lift when you grin. He knows these parts by heart, has run his fingertips over them countless times, until he has memorized the exact curve of them, until he can put them into place without looking.

You are like hieroglyphs from a long-lost language, something incomprehensible if only because you are so cryptically enticing, hiding pieces of yourself for him to discover throughout the years that you develop your friendship and eventual love.

There are days where Sugawara could spend every waking moment between the blinks of his pale lashes purely studying you, irises narrowed as he watches the way your body moves, the way your hands tense at your sides. He notices the quirk of your lips and the curl of your toes when you get anxious, how you gnaw on the inside of your cheek, and how your forehead wrinkles. At times, he breaks himself away from his study long enough to press a warm, gentle kiss to the crinkled skin of your forehead, coaxing you from the prison of your mind, begging you to relax under his ministration. You will reach out, fisting the fabric of his shirt as timidly as you can within your knuckles, and he feels your skin go lax.

When he pulls away to gaze down into the beautiful shade of your irises, Sugawara feels safe, like there is a nestled home tucked away in your pupils that he can retreat to when life becomes too much, too overwhelming. His heart patters within his chest and he knows that if you were to peel his shirt away, you’d find a bruise in the shape of the organ outlined in bright purple and blue on his porcelain skin, like a small galaxy of pain that represents the intensity of his love for you.

Koushi’s hands reach for you in the dead of night, his head resting on your shoulder so he can breathe in your familiarity, and the closeness of you settles in on him as a weighted blanket would. Your presence alone calms him, and the feel of your skin beneath the pads of his fingers only adds to the reverie. His fingerprints dance underneath the thin fabric of his tee shirt that is clad on your body, your body second nature to his touch, and he can map out your ribs and hips with ease. He kisses your shoulder and his eyelashes flutter shut, the awareness of your proximity making him feel safe.

Every day is a new day to find a new piece of your beautiful puzzle, Sugawara thinks as he drifts off into the realm of unconsciousness. And he cannot wait to wake up to discover the next, most unique piece in the morning.

Only, when his eyes peel back as the sun rises the next morning, his perfect puzzle has been ruined, torn apart and left for scraps, and now there is a piece missing.

“Wh-Who are you?” Your voice is a stutter, eyes bright and wild, feral in the worst way. You cower away from him, holding yourself together as though you might shatter if you breath a moment longer, “Why are you in my bed?”

Sugawara laughs at first, if only because he cannot believe that this is something more than a prank at best. He reaches for you, fingertips barely grazing the hem of your shirt sleeve as you skitter away from him. Your body falters as you fall from the bed, and the last thing he sees before you plummet to the floor is the way your irises are engulfed by your pupils until your orbs look inked out with darkness, a void quality to them that makes his heart wrench within his chest.

“Love, c’mon,” Sugawara crawls across the mattress so he can get a look at you, still clinging desperately to the idea that this is a sick joke that you are playing on him – where are the hidden cameras? What will Daichi and Asahi think of this when you send them the video?

Your jawline is trembling, your teeth clenched together so tightly that the muscles are quivering, and you shake your head, “I-I don’t know you, wh-who are you?”

Koushi clambers from the bed to stand near you, arms crossed over his chest as he looks down where you are still a mess of limbs on the floor, a blanket you found discarded beside the bed wrapped around your partially bare body. He shakes his head, his chin wobbling as reality sets in, “Sweetheart, this isn’t funny. Cut the crap. What’s going on?”

When you shout, voice in a frenzy because you do not recognize the man loitering over you like a thundercloud, Sugawara feels lightning strike his heart and shatter it into a thousand pieces. Shards of emotion lodge into his chest as you speak next, “Please d-don’t hurt me!”

He was unaware to the tears building up behind his lids until he feels the wetness of a saltine droplet drip down his cheek, collecting on his jaw before dripping onto the floor. Sugawara’s hands shudder and he reaches down for you, “I think we need to take you to the hospital.”

“I-I’m not going anywhere with you,” you are biting in your tone, a resonance to the fiery personality you have shown him all your natural born life.

You have known him since you were a child, infatuated with him since you were teenagers, encapsulated in love with him once you turned twenty-two, and now you have been married for three wonderful years.

And yet, the frightened look in your eyes, the tears that make your irises glassy, tells him that there may be no coming back from this, that he cannot rely on the years before this very moment to build back what seems to have broken. Sugawara’s hands shake and you can tell, but that does not keep your breath from shuddering in your lungs, busting open your teeth as you release the pent-up oxygen.

“Please, love,” Sugawara’s voice is broken, each syllable grating against his esophagus as he forces them through his throat, but you cannot notice past your own panic, “let’s just get in the car, okay?”

Your body warms at the sound of the pet name, but you cannot place the fondness he has for you with the devoid space in your heart, although there is a quiet voice in the back of your mind telling you that he cares for you, and you for him. Even still, you have been birthed into this place as a confused creature, someone who does not know their purpose or intentions, and the only thing on your one-track mind is to find some answers to the intimidating list of questions percolating in your subconscious.

You know that he will not rest until you listen, and so the fight or flight response in your mind begins to flare until you tame it, stoking the fire down to embers as you rise to your feet. You grit your teeth and shake your head, signaling your defiance, but stumble towards the car nonetheless. You are not sure just how you knew where to go, like a blueprint has been embedded within your mind, but somehow you find your way despite the confusion clouding your thoughts like a raging storm.

Usually, Sugawara would reach across the console and buckle you into the front seat. Only now, as you shy away from his hand that reaches for your elbow, flinching when he gets too close, he realizes that so many of his second-nature tasks will have to be stubbed to a halt until you remember that you are a piece of his heart. He recoils from you, drawing his wrist back against his ribs, as if capturing himself, “It’s okay. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do.”

You should hear the sincerity in his voice, but everything is a lie to you, even his kindness. Your body trembles as you pull the belt across your body, securing it into the latch with a gentle sound. Sugawara watches you closely, trying urgently not to seem like he is hovering over you, but the mission to keep you safe is still rooted firmly in his spine and he will not waver from it, even as you sit before him unknowing to all of the times he has done this very simple action for you.

There is this insatiable desire that sits in Sugawara’s gut, bubbling beneath the surface like a grotesque acid, tumultuous enough that he is steadily reminded of it’s presence, of it’s hungering need to keep you safe and happy, to keep you reliant on him. In the smallest of ways, such as holding your hand as you climb into the car, or buckling your belt for you, it makes him feel important, necessary. He has spent too much of his life feeling like he has been sidelined to warrant other’s have their moment to shine, and you allow him to stand center stage every day, even if the platform is only your heart.

It makes you feel special and it makes him feel strong, like a protective alpha animal. Your generous reliance on him allows his pride to swell, to balloon until his chest is held high and his chin is tilted upward. It may seem silly from the outside, but the way his torso sinks into a concave position as you shy away from him creates a void cavity in his chest that Sugawara is sure nothing else will ever fill.

He has never seen you resemble a frightened animal before, like you were too afraid he would throw you into a cage given your pensive stare and shaking limbs. Sugawara could not hunt you even if he wanted to, and the idea that you believe this is his intent makes a fresh wave of tears well up behind his lids, the heat of it all giving his face a dark flush, easy to see against his pale skin.

As you close your door, Sugawara thinks of how Daichi would handle this. He stalks from one side of the car to the other, the gears of his mind turning so loudly that he startles. A thick gulp rakes against his throat, making his neck bob as he imagines the advice Sawamura might give him in a time like this.

Daichi would not falter, would not crumble. No, the captain would not have tears in his eyes and fear in his heart, rather he would bolster his shoulders and steady his feet, holding his chin high as he did whatever needed to be done to ensure that you were taken care of. And so, Sugawara tightens the chains around his heart that have your name engraved upon them, guaranteeing the organ will not float away or sink down until there is a hole in the floor of the car.

Your newfound independence mocks him, even as you take charge in the hospital and tell the front desk nurse exactly how you are feeling. How can you be so articulate when you are so far gone from the woman he knew just the night prior? Have you truly turned into someone else? Will you ever love him the same as before?

Doubt digs into the base of his shoulders and rips his dark crows wings free. The appendages stand slaughtered at the ground, his eyes unable to waver as the doctor takes a pacing step back and forth at your bedside while he reads your charts. The part of Koushi that longs to keep you safe mocks him as his wings lay crumpled beneath his amber irises, pupils dilating to try and focus on the metaphor that has manifested in front of him in his delirious state.

He reaches out and his fingertips scrape linoleum where he expects to find wings, and he realizes that he truly is a clipped little thing, fallen to the ground with nowhere to go, no way to fly.

“It is a rare form of amnesia,” the doctor’s words reverberate in his mind relentlessly once they are spoken aloud for the first time, “she has forgotten everything prior to approximately fourteen hours ago.”

And oh, Sugawara has never wished more to be able to fly.

You are surprised as ever when he looks up at you, broken irises seeking you for answers, “Would you like to go home with me? Or I can always drop you off at your mother’s.”

The room goes quiet, and Sugawara swears he could hear a feather drift to the floor.

Your voice is trembling when you answer, “I want to go home…with you.”

It would seem the glittering diamond on your left hand, in tandem with the records the hospital has found regarding you and Sugawara Koushi, has given you some semblance of relief. At least enough to be willing to ride in the car with him again, to find solace in the home you two have built.

You toy with the ring as Sugawara looks at you with his jaw unhinged slightly, just enough for you to see the pink muscle of his tongue twitching on the bed of his mouth. You giggle, the first time he’s heard you laugh since this whole escapade began, and your eyes crinkle at the sides just how he remembered, “Well, the house is half mine, is it not?”

Sugawara cracks a smile and stands to his feet, shoulders creaking as he feels his barely-there wings begin to molt into something new. Not the same, no he will never be the same, not after this, but possibly still a semblance of the old thing, a reminder that maybe life can return to what it once was.

And so, he walks you to the car, hand hovering at the base of your spine, but not touching; he does not want to push away the small amount of progress that has been made in such a short amount of time. He treats you like a glass box, opening the door and shadowing you as you climb into the front seat. You feel the ghost of his fingertips, a heat along your spine, and you do not flinch, not this time.

“I’ll order dinner,” he says when the door has shut behind the both of you. “Do you want from that dumpling place you li-”

The words reverberate in the small space of your living room, a recollection of what once was casual between the two of you that is now something far-off and forgotten. You swallow thickly, your throat bobbing as you look away from him so you don’t have to face the fallen expression on his face when he realizes that he will have to rework his entire existence around your new condition.

Your heart freezes, clogging up your lungs and making it harder to breathe. Sugawara shrugs off his jacket and slips on his house shoes, forcing himself to move toward you, “There is this dumpling place I think you’ll like. Want to try it for dinner? I doubt either of us feel like cooking.”

Licking your lips, you turn to find him quite close to you, his hands hovering by his side. You wonder if he aches to touch you, if his fingers burn with the desire to reach forward and brush your hair away from your face. You take a short breath, collecting yourself before glancing up into his amber irises, warmth seeping from them directly into your bones through what feels like osmosis.

“Y-Yeah,” your voice catches in your throat once you take him all in. “That sounds, um, that sounds nice.”

Your body screams at you to either run away or hold him closer, and you’re not sure which part to listen to. You grit your teeth to bring yourself some clarity in the form of pain, but it only serves to make your head dizzier.

Sugawara Koushi is handsome, borderline pretty, and you are enraptured by the sight of him. You can feel the warmth radiating from his body, and the irrational side of your brain wants to succumb to the heat, to be engulfed by the flames. Instead, you tuck your arms around your midsection and pray for patience, “I’m going to go take a shower, Sugawara. If that’s okay?”

He winces at the sound of his formal name coming through your teeth, turning his head so he doesn’t show you the dismay that tugs on his features. He chuckles, but the sound is forced, “Of course, the bathroom is, uh, just through the bedroom and on the right. Towels are in the closet on the left.”

“Th-Thank you,” you nod your head, stepping past him to walk toward the bedroom. Out of what must be pure instinct, you reach forward and rest your hands on his hips to guide him away from your path.

Simultaneously, you both breathe in sharply, the oxygen piercing your lungs like a dagger.

Your eyes meet amber and for a half-second, you are overwhelmed at his closeness. You breathe in the scent of his cologne and shampoo and it brings you back to some place that was previously tucked far away in your mind. You wrap your fingers around his shirt, if only to push him away.

Before Sugawara can ask you what is going on, you have blown past him towards the bedroom, the door closed and locked behind you.

You press your back into the door, relishing in the coolness of the surface, praying that it will help to bring your mind back down to this realm from where it is floating somewhere between this universe and the next. You cannot make sense of any one stream of consciousness, begging every thread of yourself to return to the nucleus so you might take a moment to collect all of your thoughts and press them back into your head.

Clambering forward on your knees, you start the bath water, flipping the level to turn on the shower. Your body is so disconnected from your brain that you almost step into the tub fully clothed, but seeing your sock clad foot makes you pause before you soak your clothes. You swallow your inhibitions, trying to keep the tears locked behind your lids, and step out of your undergarments.

You have barely stepped underneath the steaming water before you break down into sobs and tears. You crumble to the bottom of the tub, your arms around your knees, your head tucked beneath your biceps, and you release every pent-up moment from the day in the form of salty tears dripping down your cheeks to mix with the streams of clean water from the showerhead above.

“Is this my life now?” you whimper to no one in particular, your voice muffled by your forearm. You sniffle and rub at your face, although it doesn’t much matter, given the water running down it in rivulets to hide your tears. You look at your palms, stretching your fingers in front of your face, curious if you’ve always looked like this, or if there was something different from when you woke up this morning.

The knowledge that you have no knowledge of who you were before this morning makes a fresh wave of nausea and tears roll through your body, making your spine shudder as you cry into your own cocoon of a body. A sob tears through your shoulders, and you feel like your eyes might fall out of your skull, they’re throbbing so intensely. You press the heels of your hands into your sockets until you see a full galaxy of inky planets and stars behind your lids. The pain was what you were hoping would bring you back to the present, merely multiplies the devastating hole in your chest.

This is not the first time you find yourself curled up in the bottom of the shower, your head leant against the tile wall as the water runs from searing to freezing while you contemplate your entire life existence.

Of course, Sugawara has been nothing but accommodating during this strange period of time. He has moved his items to the spare bedroom, even though most nights he favors the couch, given he finds it tough to fall asleep on his own. You have woken in the middle of the night to terrible dreams only to find the television playing a show that is trying to sell a rare set of jewelry or a stellar non-stick frying pan.

There is one night, a few months after your first visit to the hospital, when you gather enough confidence to carefully step into the living room and turn off the television. Sugawara stirs at the sudden change in light, his eyes barely cracking open, irises hardly peeking from behind his lids, but he is still able to spot you from where you are stood in front of him. He sits up as best he can, forcing his stiff body to straighten when he makes limited eye contact with you.

“H-Hey,” his voice is gruff, as if it were stuck in his throat, and you can’t help the flush of embarrassment that makes your cheeks burn at the sound. “What are you doing awake?”

You run your palm along the back of your neck, rubbing at your vertebrae anxiously, unable to keep your gaze narrowed in on him when he’s making you feel this way. Your toes curl in on one another and your socks find friction against the carpet, “Just another nightmare.”

Sugawara is at full attention now, the warmth in his irises tripling at your small voice and nervous posture. He sits so he is facing you, his palms on his knees, fingertips itching at the hem of his shorts to keep himself from reaching out to take you by the hands. He licks his lips and looks upward to try and make eye contact with you to no avail, your pretty orbs still hidden from him as you look away, “You’ve been having a lot of those lately, haven’t you?”

There is a beat of silence that passes between you before he adds, “I’ve been hearing your screams.”

This is all that it takes to crumble what little resolve is left cementing your heart together. You crumble to your knees, your hands covering your face so you do not bare your pitiful, glassy eyes to him. Sugawara is quick to react, catching you before your knees can find the carpet, pulling you close to cushion your fall. You do not care that you cannot remember what his hold felt like before you lost your memories, all that matters is how safe you feel now.

He is like an anchor to your flighty soul, keeping you bound tightly to this earthly plane instead of allowing you to float away to whatever universe your subconscious has been visiting since the day your whole world was rearranged. You cling to his shirt, your fists bunching up the fabric of his tee when you lean in closer until your temple is pressed to his neck.

“It’s okay, honey,” Sugawara’s voice is warm, like honey, and you wonder if it might seep into the cracks of your broken soul and seal you back together, “I’m right here, it’s okay.”

For a moment, you pretend that this is what you are used to. You allow your mind to believe that this is your normal, that this has how things have always been. And, in some sadistic, twisted way, you might be right. Maybe before you forgot what he smelled like and how he kissed, this was how he held you – firm and secure, sturdy as a rock and kind as a beam of sunshine. Your heart hammers in your ribs and you can’t stop the tears from flowing, from the feel of both of your hearts breaking in the small space between your bodies.

You wonder if his chest feels as tight as yours, as if your ribs are the only thing keeping your hearts from bursting directly out of your skin. The beating is loud, thunderous in your ears as you cry into his shoulder, staining his shirt dark with your tears. You sob and snot and cough, but never once does he judge you or push you away. All you hear is the gentle hush of his voice in your ear, reminding you that he is here, reminding you that everything will eventually be okay.

And for a split second, you believe him.

And without inhibition, you allow your heart to speak, your throat but a conduit for the emotions bubbling within your belly like lava.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” you admit, your chest splitting open as the lava sprays through your teeth, burning your mouth to ash, but somehow you still speak, “please, Koushi, I-I think- I think I need you.”

When you look up at him, the absolute adoration reflected back to you in shades of tawny brown, dark and light swirling within his irises until it is overwhelming you like a storm cloud. You suck in a deep breath and dive back in, tucking your head underneath his chin and wrapping your arms around his shoulders until you are conjoined, unsure of where he ends and you begin as you become a mess of limbs on the sofa.

“I’m right here,” he repeats in a whisper against the crown of your head, holding you around the waist and beneath the thighs as he stands with you still in his arms. You latch onto him tighter, curled around him like a frightened animal, and your place against his neck makes it so you cannot see the way his lips stretch into a smile.

This has been what he has craved for the past few months – a genuine closeness that you chose; you choosing him. Sugawara cradles your body as tightly as he can without hurting you, walking towards your bedroom with careful steps. Your toes curl as he settles back against the mattress, slowly guiding your body down with him so you are both laid out horizontally on the bed, your knees dug tightly into his sides and your fingertips still clutching his shoulders relentlessly.

Sugawara runs his fingers through your hair, ruffling your tresses in a soothing manner as his chest begins to rumble with a melody. Your whole body buzzes as his lips maneuver in the tendrils of your hair surrounding your face, mouth pressing warm kisses to your scalp as the humming grows louder, more confident. Tears are flowing silently down your cheeks, staining your skin and his shirt, but neither of you seem to care, rather paying attention to the way you soak one another in like you have been a person starved for water and this is your first sip after days without drink.

It takes you a few minutes, but his humming in tandem with the ministrations of his hands soothes your mind into a dreamlike state. You release your grip on his shirt, smoothing the wrinkles in the fabric, if only to give yourself something else to pay attention to other than his searching eyes. Sugawara allows you a moment of exploration before his index finger is crooked underneath your chin, tilting your jaw upward so he can look you directly in the eyes.

“Stop being so hard on yourself,” he murmurs, voice kind despite the circumstances, “you’re still learning, adjusting. It won’t happen overnight.”

“And if it never happens?” Your tone is curt, words biting. You grit your teeth together and the creaking of your molars makes your bones shudder. A wobbling chin gives way to another bout of tears, but you do not falter this time, rather looking him in the eyes than succumbing to the exhausting heave of another sob, “What if I’m never the same? What if I can’t- what if you don’t love this person?”

Sugawara’s hand drifts from your chin to your cheek, his thumb brushing along the apple of your face, swooping downward to trace your jaw. A gentle smile tugs on the corners of his mouth and you want to scold him for laughing at your pain, but the faraway look in his eyes suggests that he is thinking of another time, possibly one much more simple in nature where you were sitting on his lap just like this, but there was a stream of knowledge, of combined thought, that flowed between the two of you. You knew one another, backwards and forwards and inside out, but now there is a barrier built, one that has kept him from teaching you who you are and from you allowing him to take the chance to do such a thing.

He is kind, something you suspect he has always been, when his mouth unhinges to let his words out of their cage, “Better or worse, angel. And if this is the worst life has to throw at us, then so be it.”

There is a hesitancy in his gaze, but he leans forward to brush a kiss against your cheek despite it, “I would rather go through this with you than be in a picture-perfect situation with anyone else.”

The sight of him in tandem with the brutal, raw honesty of his beautiful words overwhelms you, like a wave crashing along the shore, suffocating the sand. You want to be the beach, to be greeted with his kissing crest each time he chooses to seek you out despite the call to the sea, and it is that thought alone that ignites your need to seek purchase with your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Sugawara’s eyes go wide, if only because he does not want you to do this out of desperation or obligation, but out of choice and choice alone.

You can tell that he wants to say something, but before you lose your nerve and before he says something that will make the both of you overanalyze, you have crashed your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

His fingers are hesitant to clutch at your sides, but once he realizes that you are not going to pull away, a familiar desperation sinks into his movements and he has you caught by the waist to anchor you to him. Your thumbs press into the pulse points on either side of his neck, like you were checking to make sure his heart is still beating. Sugawara’s breath stutters and he tilts his head so your chins bump to tear you apart, “Honey, I-”

“Kou,” your voice is quiet, seeking out solace in his silence.

Your tone is exploratory, and the sound of his given name shortened in the way you have said it a dozen times makes his head spin, but you sound awkward when you say it, as if you were taking it for a test drive and it’s not the car you were comfortable driving. You swallow and try again, “K-Kou, I want you to stay here tonight, with me.”

The edges of his thumbs slip beneath the hem of your shirt, and for the first time since he pushed his lids back earlier to take you in, he realizes that you’re clad in one of his old college tees. It was one of your favorites, a staple in your sleeping collection, a comforting item you sought out when you were distressed beyond measure. He wonders if your subconscious held on to this thought, and brought you this tattered, worn piece of clothing to give you some semblance of healing in your despondent time of need.

“As you wish,” Sugawara whispers against the bow of your lips, your mouths brushing with every syllable. He smiles, a gentle pecking kiss nestled on the corner of your cheek before he speaks again, “Now, we both need to rest.”

His words are accented by his body curling around you, turned to the side so he can wrap you up in the quilt that has been strewn across the bed in your haste of sleep. Your body is encased in warmth, a mixture of his natural body heat and the cocoon the blanket creates. The two of you tuck into one another as if you were built to be together, your pieces perfectly slotting into the spaces his body creates.

Silence stretches for what feels like hours, nothing but the sound of your beating hearts and quiet breaths to fill the air. You run your thumb along the stretch of his collarbone, gnawing on your lower lip as you work up the courage to speak.

“Go ahead,” his voice is gravelly with the desire to succumb to sleep, muffled from his position of being tucked into you, lips in your hair. “What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whisper in fear, unable to recognize even your own voice. You swallow, the heat of tears welling up behind your lids already overwhelming enough without the stumble of your words to accent your anxiety, “And I’m scared I can’t be who you want me to be.”

Sugawara surprises you with a chuckle breathed into your hair, a light, lilting sound making his throat hum, “Oh, angel. You’re my everything, how could you ever be a burden to me?”

“I-I dunno,” you can feel yourself starting to panic, the darkness closing in on you until it’s choking you from the inside out, “Wh-What if I don’t laugh the way I used to? O-Or what if, uh, what if I don’t like the same foods? What if-”

You are hushed by the warmth of his mouth on yours, stealing your frightened, nonsensical words straight from your throat as you gasp against his teeth. A firm palm tilts your head upward, fingertips grazing the curve of your jaw and neck, soothing you with a simple touch. He massages his digits into your shoulder as he pulls away, watching carefully as you chase after him for another display of affection, as if you were searching for even more reassurance.

“Hush now, love,” he settles back into you, circling you in his arms and tucking your head beneath his chin. Your knee presses between his thighs and you find your hands nudging underneath his shirt, seeking out the skin-on-skin contact. Sugawara litters kisses in your hair, almost like he were planting a garden of affection, begging it to grow as he encourages it with kiss after kiss.

You are on the precipice of sleep, your body worn down from your anxious efforts of before, when you hear his next words mumbled into the skin of your neck, barely audible even in the utter silence of your bedroom. The few syllables make your heart press stiffly against your ribcage, begging to be let free, like a caged dove sitting pretty within the confines of your chest.

“And to think,” he whispers, “I get to fall in love with you all over again, every time. How exciting, right?”

You want to laugh, to indulge him in his monologue, but your body is heavy, weighed down from the tears and the pressure of all the time before this that you can remember. Finally, you feel like you are floating, the only thing keeping you tethered to this dimension is the cuff of his arms around your waist, circling you and holding you tight, piecing back together every broken part of your soul.

Sugawara’s breath tickles your ear, and you swear you hear him snore. And you might be making up the last few words that he breathes before he is overwhelmed by unconsciousness-

“I can’t wait to fall in love with whoever you are tomorrow.”

But you pray to whoever is listening that it’s the truth.

-

a/n: wow i wrote most of this while delirious and drinking yoohoo so please don’t come for me if it doesn’t make sense. 

my original plot idea was to have reader have continuous amnesia where she forgets her memories every few years, and sugawara always manages to get her to fall in love with him every single time, but that fic would have been upwards of 20k and i didn’t allot myself enough time to write it, which i’m upset about. maybe i’ll do an extension of this fic sometime, but i just feel like it won’t be as impactful. u g h. alas, here we are. i hope that you enjoyed it! i plan to write more sugawara in the future. and thanks again to the hqhq for putting on this collab! the nsfw one is next -- i have daddy daichi for that one! 💕

[vajranam]

Dzogchen And Bodhicitta

THE UNION OF DZOGCHEN AND BODHICHITTA

The approach I take to Dharma practice is very simple, yet this approach should not be taken to undermine the profundity of the Buddhadharma. This approach is based on the instructions I received from my own root Lama, Khenchen Tsara Dharmakirti Rinpoche, the experiences I have had in my life, and many long years of study and solitary retreat.

It is my conclusion that the style of Dharma practice that the great yogis and practitioners of India and Tibet have relied upon up until now has been holistic in nature, and I believe that this approach is still the best one to take today.

Logically speaking, the Outer, Inner, and Secret Teachings are fundamentally interconnected and should be adopted and practiced as one path. In fact, they are so fundamentally interconnected that it is actually difficult to give Teachings on one without including the others. This interconnection - along with the "Union" which is the perfect, uncontrived view and the "Union" which is the nature of mind itself-is what I like to can the Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta.

Often, when people hear the words "Outer, Inner, and Secret Teachings," they want to associate them with one concept or another, such as the three vehicles of the Hinayana, the Mahayana, and the Vajrayana.

When translated from Sanskrit, the words Hinayana, Mahayana, and Vajrayana mean the "lesser, great, and indestructible vehicles," and "vehicle" refers to the method or the path used to cross the ocean of samsara.

But associating the Outer, Inner, and Secret Teachings with distinct concepts is not what I have in mind. In fact, associating the Teachings with concepts is precisely what can lead us away from putting them into practice properly. This is because as soon as we begin to talk about the Dharma in terms of duality, it becomes exclusive, such that one necessary component can easily be dismissed, ignored, or subordinated in terms of importance to practice.

This suggests that the Dharma is not holistic in nature, but instead that each practitioner may be selective about what they study and practice, thus putting some Teachings into practice while neglecting others, on the basis of assumptions made about the importance of different aspects of the Dharma.

The same thing has happened since the introduction of the Buddhist Teachings into Western pop culture. Many of the more subtle ideas of Buddhist thought, whose understanding requires deep explanations and years of contemplative experience, have been reduced to sound bites and images: simple ideas that are easy to digest and seem easy to realize if we could just remember them.

These packaged ideas appear to be spiritual in nature but have lost the essential meaning conveyed by the Teachings as a whole. One example of this is the commonly spoken idea that "I `.verything is One." '

This idea has its basis in the nature of "suchness," or reality "as it is," which is quite a profound state of realization.

However, it has been taken out of context and oversimplified. It is like a beautiful, empty shell that is not capable of pointing us in the right direction or providing us with the means for realization.

In order to truly understand the Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta, the Dharma as we have come to know it in the West has to be fundamentally reconsidered.

The Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta is the path in its totality, a synthesis of the Teachings without losing any of the meaning.

Although it is useful in other situations, for this particular discussion, associating the Teachings with dualistic concepts would only distract us from their essential meaning. We must take up the entire path as an interconnected entity of which every single part is given equal importance.

This is actually the true meaning of the word "Dzogchen," which can be translated literally as "the great perfection." Some people interpret this to mean that the nature of mind is perfect, or that the realization gained from the Teachings is perfect, and these things may also be true. But actually, Dzogchen is perfect because it is all-inclusive; it is the totality of the path that leads one to realization.

Rather than present the Dharma as a linear path as is often done in many foundational texts, I would instead like to present it here as three facets of an interrelated system whose parts must be practiced simultaneously if they are to lead to the perfect result.

These three facets are the Outer, Inner, and Secret Teachings, which are distinguished as separate elements only by the cognitive construct of words, and which completely encompass the wisdom of Tibetan Buddhism. But before I go any further, let me tell you about some of my own experiences with the Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta.

From the time I was born, my parents and I lived with a Dzogchen yogi called "Lama Chupur." He was the kind of yogi we call a drubtob in Tibetan, or in Sanskrit a siddha, or great adept-a yogi who has realized the view of Dzogchen and reached the stage of magical accomplishment.

In fact, Lama Chupur's name means "flying over water," and he was given that name after he was seen flying over a wide river near my village. He was the kind of yogi who had spent his whole life wandering around Tibet in search of the Teachings, and he had been the heart student (in other words, had received the entirety of his masters' knowledge and Teachings on realizing the nature of mind) of two of the greatest drubtob masters of his time. So maybe that can give you an idea of what kind of yogi Lama Chupur was.

Lama Chupur came to live in my village after the changes in Tibet. My parents were his students. He recognized me as a tulku (reincarnate Lama) from a young age, after which he raised me as both his child and his student.

I spent my childhood days in his constant presence, witnessing him and taking instruction from him. I remember that at first glance he did not seem to be meditating on anything special at all. When he gave Teachings, as he often did to the many pilgrims and village people who came to see him, he always gave Teachings on how to generate Bodhichitta and never even mentioned the Secret Teachings.

There was a kindness about him that is very difficult to convey with words. He had a marvelously good heart that marked you indelibly whenever you were with him.

Although his words and his ordinary appearance suggested that he was meditating solely on Bodhichitta, sometimes when I looked at him I felt something welling up inside of me.

I could tell instinctively by his gaze and the posture he assumed, as well as the clear quality of his mind, that his meditation was much deeper than that. It was not until I was older and had begun to study with my own root Lama, as well as other Lamas who were staying in retreat in Tibet, that I realized that Lama Chupur had been practicing the Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta.

Lama Chupur's story is not unique. My own root Lama, Khenchen Tsara Dharmakirti Rinpoche, was regarded by many Tibetans as the highest authority on the four sects of Tibetan Buddhism. He is the heart student of more than ten renowned Lamas and is the fourth in an unbroken lineage of heart students of Patrul Rinpoche.

Yet, many people did not realize the profundity of his meditation because of his humble appearance. Up until the time of his passing, he spent most of his time giving Teachings on Bodhichitta and always presented himself as an ordinary practitioner.

But as his heart student who spent more than twenty years under his guidance, I had the chance to experience his transformation. I can say with certainty that I witnessed my own teacher attain the fruit of the Teachings in this very life.

When Tsara Dharmakirti Rinpoche passed away at the age of ninety-two, he attained a sign called "Heart, Tongue, and Eyes," which is one of the signs of highest realization that comes as a result of the Dzogchen Teachings. In fact, it is the same sign that came when the omniscient Longchenpa passed away hundreds of years ago. Of course, I did not know the method my teacher used until he gave me the secret oral instructions of our lineage. It was then that I realized that he, too, relied on the Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta.

Finally, Tsara Dharmakirti Rinpoche once told me the story of an ordinary old man who lived in Kham, Tibet. He was a poor man with only the clothes on his back who lived in a stone house near a pilgrimage site that many people would circumambulate.

Nothing at all about this man seemed special. He was so ordinary, in fact, that until he died, no one even knew his name, much less thought of him as a great Dzogchen yogi. Each day this man would get up, beg for food, and then spend the day saying mantras and holding a Prayer Wheel that he slowly turned in circles.

I cannot tell you how shocked his countrymen were when this simple old man attained rainbow body, the sign of one of the highest accomplishments of a Dzogchen practitioner. When my teacher told me this story, I knew once again that the old man's realization had come from practicing the Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta.

In my studies, I have read scriptures about yogis who attained the result of the Teachings, but I have also occasionally come across stories of yogis who did not. I always wondered why these yogis did not attain the realization promised by the scriptures even though they spent their whole lives in solitary retreat as they had been instructed.

But as I examined further, I realized that they had neglected to practice the Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta and had fallen into the wrong view Thus, it was not their heroic effort that had failed them, but rather the view and style of practice they had undertaken from the outset.

Especially in this day and age, there are many kinds of meditation we can choose to practice. But meditation does not have some inherent quality that promises to rid us of self-attachment, which is the only way we can achieve liberation.

Rather, whether or not we achieve liberation depends solely on the type of meditation we choose to practice and the diligence with which we proceed. Thus, the yogis who did not attain liberation practiced a style of meditation that did not rid them of self-attachment, but rather led them to develop negative habitual tendencies and eventually take a lower rebirth.

Working with the mind is an extremely delicate art; we must be very careful not to make a mistake about what and how we practice.

This text presents my own holistic view of the Teachings, the Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta, as passed on to me by my Lamas, as well as developed through my own contemplative practice and study of the Buddhist canon.

In this unprecedented time where so many are able to benefit from practicing the Buddhist Teachings, I urge you to practice the Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta and attain the results promised by the Teachings. Pray this text bring benefit to beings everywhere.

-Anyen Rinpoche

The Union of Dzogchen and Bodhichitta

by Anyen Rinpoche

Translated by Allison Graboski

Snow Lion

[miraefmd]

updates & changes restructuring prompts

assuming your muse has changed in some way, be it internally or as a result of a change of the external factors around them, how is your muse different?

well... her faceclaim has changed, which i feel actually represents most of the character changes she’s had pretty well, but that is almost certainly something that only makes sense to me and is not surface-level obvious to an outsider. mirae has changed a lot less than ash has, but she’s got a little more background and journey now within her past in the industry.

firstly, i gave her dad back his hobby of singing in his little hobby indie rock band. wish mirae had that, but i removed it for silhouette mirae when she became dance focused over vocal focused. i’ve given it back to her now because i feel like it works well with who selene mirae is, which is very well-known for her stage presence and performance. her dad would drag her up on stage sometimes to his little free shows with an audience of like fifteen people, and that sparked her love of the stage. he’s still an author as how he makes money (when he makes money... his books aren’t bestsellers and mirae does support him quite a bit financially now that she has a steady cashflow and he divorced her mom).

there’s more focus on her having made the choice to keep mostly to selene without venturing too much into solo activities despite being presented several chances that she pretty much threw away over the years now (her viral fancam in 2013, parasite’s success). a lot of her changes are reflected in her established career claims, so i’ll more in depth about that in that section.

since this is the section for it, though, abracadabra soty. she wasn’t so sure about the whole era at the time because the sound was very different from what selene had been doing and was twenty and her role in the mv was quite sexual, far beyond the bounds of what she’d acted at that time. in retrospect, she really loves the era, though, because it marked the beginning of selene stepping outside of the typical idol box and the choreography is fun to perform despite its simplicity. petition for mirae to get felt up by female dancers in more of their choreographies.

version two of mirae was very ambitious and version three still is, but it’s more explicit in her background that she’s often suppressed her individual ambitions in favor of the group.

what does your muse think of their company and their group?

mirae loves selene. she very aware of the gift being able to debut within selene is. she’d been let go from her old company and dropped out of school by the time she became a gold star trainee and her family had nowhere near the money or network to secure a future for her. she had to secure it herself and she’d given everything to secure that as an idol, only for it to be ripped away. joining gold star and being put in selene was a saving grace. she would love the group to some extent even if she’d been put into a group she didn’t like, but selene’s concepts have fit her like a glove over the years. it could be argued their debut song was too sexualized, but, at the time, mirae loved it and felt it showed the best sides of her.

idol girl groups aren’t always given the chance to mature at the same pace as their members, but mirae is grateful that eleven years after debut, selene is still releasing music that doesn’t feel out of place for women in their late twenties and early thirties. she’s never grown tired of standing on stage as a member of selene and has no desire to see them disband in their lifetimes. she doesn’t know how the others feel, but she’d love to release an album when they’re in their sixties or seventies to prove they’ve still got it.

gold star is the entity that allowed selene to exist, so she’s grateful toward the company. she doesn’t have any particular negative feelings toward the company, but she’s also aware companies are companies and it doesn’t make sense to ever glorify one entirely. she has no plans to leave gold star at this time.

is your muse on their first contract or their second? if they’ve renewed, what were their feelings around that at the time and what were their hopes for their second contract? if they haven’t renewed, what are their current thoughts on the end of their eventual first contract?

mirae renewed her contract with gold star in 2017. she never seriously considered leaving the company, but she did take renewals seriously. it was around that time she realized she’d had her career for seven years and although selene had tons to show for it, mirae as an individual hadn’t shaped much of a name for herself. she’d acted in a well-received film in 2013 and gone viral for her stage presence, so her name had some weight behind it, but she’d seen others who debuted around the same time rise to cf queens or solo artists, meanwhile mirae was best known for being in selene to most.

it’s not that she didn’t want to be known for being in selene, but she’d been taking acting lessons the past four years even though she wasn’t acting and that seemed like a waste when it was something she had a passion for. when it came time for meetings about contract renewals, mirae expressed that she wanted to be able to pursue acting more consistently that she had been. it was an early step into allowing herself to have ambitions beyond selene, but a crucial one that it may have taken her longer to make had contract renewals not come into the equation.

she worried that their second contract would mean waning activities for selene as a group, which happened a little bit, but not as much as mirae had feared beforehand. right now, she’s happy with where her second contract has landed her and wouldn’t be opposed at all to signing on for a third in a few years time.

what are your muse’s goals and motivations?

when she first became an idol, her main goal was to make a living. she’d never really known financial security growing up and she was lucky to have what she did have. this, at times, conflicted with her own personal determination to do what made her happy. the topic had been a source of contention between her mom and dad for a long time, with her dad not contributing much financially to the household but being much happier with his job than his mom, who was the main source of income for the family. mirae was much closer to her dad and favored his approach to life, so whenever she thought too much about her own deep need for financial security, she doubted if she was pursuing idoldom with the right intentions, but she usually worked out eventually that if she really wanted money, becoming an idol under a fairly small company (as the one she first trained under was) was far from the most reliable way to go about that.

now, at twenty-seven, mirae is mostly driven by a desire to grow and challenge herself. she’s found financial security and it doesn’t look to be going away any time soon, so she wants to become someone who is very fulfilled personally instead. it’s a luxury she can worry about such a thing and, because of her history, she knows that. with the foundation of money solidly built, she’s turned her focus to building the foundation of a legacy she’ll have when the day comes she can’t act or sing or dance or model with the same energy and health she has now.

what is one conflict, internal or external, that your muse is currently dealing with, has recently dealt with, or will need to deal with in the future?

i’ve touched on this multiple times already, but mirae struggles with the idea that striking out too much on her own might somehow hurt selene. she’s not sure where the idea came from and if she sits down and thinks about it logically, it doesn’t make much sense, but it might come from a place of fear more than anything else. she’s dealt with hate comments for speaking her mind and being unapologetically herself for years now and she has pretty thick skin, so it’s not that, but dedicating herself to individual activities risks loneliness or not living up to the expectations set for her by all the praise she’s earned as a selene member. whenever she finds herself on the verge of a potential breakthrough as an individual, like with her acting debut or her viral fancam or parasite’s global success, she’s balked at it a little. she wants to stop doing that and embrace it if she gets another chance like that. she's trying to do that right now with her viral dance performance video from her youtube channel.

another conflict she’s dealing with is her relationship with her family, specifically her mom. mirae and her mom have never gotten along very well, and her mom never supported her in being an idol. even now that mirae’s successful, her mom doesn’t seem to approve and mirae can’t tell if it’s pride or genuine disapproval that causes that. she tries her hardest to be a good daughter to her mother like she is to her dad, but it comes much less easily to her because she’s never really gotten any kind of obvious approval from her.

if your muse has established career claims, what are their thoughts on their career so far? if they do not, how do they feel about not having individual activities yet? what would they like to do in the future, if anything? if they don’t have ambitions for individual activities, explain why.

mirae’s main area of established career claims is in acting. she made her acting debut in the film miracle in cell no. 7, which was a big success. after that, she didn’t take an acting role again for almost five years when she took on a supporting role in the film heart blackened. acting became more consistent after that with a role in parasite in 2019 and her first lead role in space sweepers in 2021. she’s only acted in films so far, although this year, she starred as the female lead in platinum’s “remember that” music video. 

in 2013, a fancam of her performing selene’s song “up & down” went viral for her charisma and stage presence. for a brief moment, she had a surge in popularity as attention turned to her skills as a performer and her visuals, but she turned down the offers that came her way for individual activities and the effect of that faded with time.

mirae’s long held an interest in fashion, so when her newfound global popularity following parasite got her an offer to attend paris fashion week in spring 2020, she took it. it confirmed for her that she wants to do more in the areas of fashion and modeling, whether through the gateway of her acclaim as an idol or actress or on her own merits as a model or style icon.

mirae’s solo activities have been spread out across her eleven year career and she hasn’t fully utilized them to the potential they had to propel her forward as hwang mirae and not only selene’s mirae, but she is proud of them and the work she’s been able to accomplish.

[autistic-girl-academic]

Hypmic OC Crew: Freestyle Angels

so I’ve seen a lot of people posting their Hypmic OCs lately, and that made me want to buckle down and finalize the details for mine!

An all-female team based out of Tokyo’s Minato Ward, the Freestyle Angels are technically an independent crew - they got together to drive out crews who were abusing their claims to the territory, but aren’t interested in winning more territory themselves. (Not that they’d qualify for the DRBs anyway, of course.) Rather, they serve as a foil/rival team to the Chuohku trio.

Sumire Kuino, AKA Queen of Street

“Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much” - Helen Keller

Occupation: Humanitarian aid organizer

Birthday: October 7th

Age: 30

Zodiac: Libra

Height: 6′0″

Weight: 165 lbs

Blood type: AB

Likes: Bargains, fixing things, dogs, birdwatching

Dislikes: Wastefulness, unpaid debts, technology, selfish people

Favorite food: Chazuke

Least favorite food: Fugu

The daughter of a corrupt businessman and his mistress. Her father was an associate of Sairo Tohoten, who helped him flee the country when he got in trouble with the authorities, leaving a young Sumire and her mother behind. Sumire’s mother, only viewing her as another mouth to feed, likewise abandoned her daughter once she’d found a new lover. Frightened at the possibility of ending up in an orphanage, Sumire struggled to fend for herself on the streets until she was taken under the wing of an older homeless man named Takayoshi. He would go on to raise Sumire as his own, with her quickly coming to call him ‘Grandpa’ and taking on his family name. Over the years, Sumire became increasingly protective of him in turn, and he and his circle of friends would jokingly call her ‘queen’ for her assertive, take-charge nature; Sumire was always exasperated by the nickname, but grudgingly grew to accept it.

Takayoshi was the sort of person who was always willing to lend a hand and always kept an eye out for those who needed it, and Sumire followed his example. After he passed away, she became a guardian for anyone with nowhere to go, spending her days building shelters, distributing food, and standing up to whoever threatened the people that depended on her. She had fleeting hopes that the Party of Words would remedy some of the ills plaguing society, but found that little changed once the H Age began. Before the formation of the Dirty Dawg, Minato Ward went through a tumultuous period where it rapidly changed hands between many crews who abused their power. Sumire stole a set of Hypnosis Mics off of one such group and began using it to defend the defenseless, forming a duo with Ageha Hinokuchi called the Rough Diamonds, then a trio once they met Kaori Sakuragi.

Her microphone takes the shape of a street sign, while her speakers are a graffiti-covered castle made from debris. Her ability, Bulwark, decreases the damage done to her allies, albeit at the cost of taking it herself. Her personal rapping style is based off of Hime.

Personality-wise, Sumire’s an incredibly caring person under an intimidating exterior; her default stone-faced expression rarely changes and she speaks very bluntly. She won’t really judge or try to control the choices of those she helps, but if she needs to put her foot down for someone’s own good, her naturally commanding presence makes it hard to not do what she says. She’s a quick learner who can fix up just about anything she puts her hands on (with the exception of hi-tech gadgets) and a highly efficient penny-pincher; show her something with a high price tag and get ready to hear a thorough breakdown of just how many groceries it could buy. Her biggest flaw is that she doesn’t always take care of herself as well as she does others, requiring her teammates to step in and force her to take the occasional break.

She deeply respects Jakurai’s work, but finds Hifumi too flashy for her tastes. She’s also helped Dice a few times in the past, but he finds her kind of terrifying and tries to avoid her. The one person who can immediately make her lose her composure is Rei; plenty of his victims have ended up on the streets, and one of them even committed suicide despite Sumire’s attempts to save them. Unless her teammates stop her, she’ll attack him on sight.

Ageha Hinokuchi, AKA HI-FLYA

“Once freedom lights its beacon in man’s heart, the gods are powerless against him” - Jean-Paul Sartre

Occupation: Fitness & self-defense instructor

Birthday: May 6th

Age: 28

Zodiac: Taurus

Height: 5′6″

Weight: 138 lbs

Blood type: B

Likes: Pro wrestling, action movies, dancing, the beach

Dislikes: Muscle cramps, energy drinks, smoking, conformity

Favorite food: Barbecue

Least favorite food: Sea cucumber

A former member of the Party of Words. As a child, she lost her parents to an armed robbery, leading her to support Otome’s goals of eliminating conventional weapons from Japan. However, she increasingly found herself unable to turn a blind eye to the ways in which the Party manipulated innocent people. Once she learned about the True Hypnosis Microphone, she attempted to sabotage the facility where they were produced, but was discovered. In the fight that followed, a fire broke out; she fell from a great height into the flames and was presumed dead by the Party members who had been trying to apprehend her. However, a friend of hers in the group discovered that she’d survived and smuggled her to safety. After recovering from her wounds, she took on a new name and face, leaving her old identity behind to become Ageha Hinokuchi.

Her goal of stopping the Party of Words remained unchanged, and for a while she was constantly on the move, collecting evidence of their crimes and trying to come up with a way to stand against them. In Minato Ward, she happened to cross paths with Sumire Kuino, who had stolen a set of Hypnosis Microphones and was using them to defend people in need. Though initially reluctant to use one herself, she was forced to when Sumire was outnumbered and lured into a trap. Sumire, who was a firm believer in always repaying what she owed, asked what she could do in exchange for Ageha saving her life. This sparked a deep bond that eventually led to Ageha divulging her past to Sumire, and they formed a duo known as the Rough Diamonds. They later met Kaori Sakuragi and rechristened themselves the Freestyle Angels (incidentally, Ageha came up with both names, the latter because she was a fan of Charlie’s Angels).

Her microphone takes the shape of a portable music player held on an armband and a pair of headphones with butterfly wings on them, while her speaker is a four-sided boxing scoreboard. Her ability, Reverb, allows her to hit her opponent twice in one go, although the second hit isn’t as strong. Her personal style is inspired by Akkogorilla.

In contrast to Sumire, Ageha is fun-loving, always wears a smile, and is overflowing with energy; this is largely due to regretting how she previously lived, as someone blindly obedient who didn’t fully appreciate the joys of life. She can quickly befriend just about anyone and is a bit of a flirt, but only to tease. All of this belies a keen observational eye, though, and she’ll play up being an airhead to make others underestimate her. She knows a wide variety of martial arts, with kickboxing and aikido being her specialties. Because she currently lives and works in Roppongi, she’s also good with foreign languages.

Ageha is a big fan of Sasara’s comedy routines. She's suspicious of Ramuda because she knows he was involved with Chuokhu, but isn’t fully aware of his nature as a clone. Likewise, she detests Rei for having worked on the True Hypnosis Mic, but is much better at hiding it than Sumire.

Kaori Sakuragi, AKA wallflower

“Be not another, if you can be yourself” - Paracelsus

Occupation: Self-employed craftsperson

Birthday: December 5th

Age: 20

Zodiac: Sagittarius

Height: 5′3″

Weight: 116 lbs

Blood type: A

Likes: Homemade things, aromatherapy, reading, gardening

Dislikes: Cameras, busy places, the dentist, controlling people

Favorite food: Croquettes

Least favorite food: Beef tongue

Child-star-turned-idol, lead singer of the wildly popular group ‘Cutie Blooms’, Kaori seemingly vanished off the face of the earth one day. In truth, years of constant media presence, overwork, and pressure to please her demanding stage mother had driven Kaori to have a mental breakdown. Unable to be in the presence of other people without suffering severe panic attacks, she shut herself up in her apartment just before the start of the H Age for two years. When a paparazzi tracked her down and began harassing her for interviews, she fled and became lost on the streets of Minato-ku, but was rescued by Sumire Kuino and Ageha Hinokuchi. Seeing them wield their Hypnosis Mics in her defense reminded her of her original love for singing, and she begged them to make her the third member of their crew.

While her teammates have been helping her work through her trauma, Kaori is still afraid of having her face or voice recognized. She keeps her features obscured by glasses and masks as much as possible, prefers to stay out of sight, and primarily communicates through a tablet that reads out what she writes; she’s very quiet and stammers a lot when she does speak. During her years as a shut-in, she learned to provide for herself in a number of ways, such as growing her own vegetables and making clothes and other handicrafts, the latter of which she sells online.

Her microphone takes the shape of her tablet and stylus, while her speaker is a greenhouse that overflows with more and more flowers as she gains confidence during battle. Her ability, Tongue-Tied, scrambles her opponent’s speech. Her personal style is based off of Haru Nemuri.

Kaori is sensitive, timid, and somewhat pessimistic, but still possesses a very strong determination deep down at her core. She despises the fake persona that was forced upon her by the idol industry and wants to “win back her true self”. The more comfortable she gets around someone, the more she shows her passionate and cheerful side. She’s also very creative and good at memorizing small details, but at the cost of sometimes getting lost in her own thoughts and not noticing what’s going on around her.

She’s an avid reader of Gentaro’s novels, having sent him lots of anonymous fanmail in the past. She’s also recently started listening to Jyushi’s music.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #15 - Ache

nothing dazzling, just some fluff and backstory

======

"How fares the matter we discussed in missives previous?"

Gaius van Baelsar paused, cleared his throat, and scanned the itinerary tablet a subordinate had passed to him. Solus zos Galvus was known to make unannounced visits to all the provinces when it suited him, but this was the first such visit the Emperor had made to Ala Mhigo since its surrender to imperial forces. Were the full truth of the matter to be known, it appeared he was finally starting to feel the weight of his advanced years. A lung ague had confined him to the palace early in the year, preventing him from attending the Magitek Academy's annual spring gala (wherein it was his tradition to personally address the crop of each year's graduating students) for the first time in over two decades.

'Twas to be expected---although, Gaius suspected, that frailty was mostly physical. The keen focus of those sharp gold-hazel eyes had not dulled. Whatever else he might be, the old goat still had all of his wits about him. Thus, the legatus did not dally.

"All is proceeding apace, Your Radiance. Reports from our forward scouts lead my tribunes to believe we can muster all forces necessary to spearhead the campaign within the next nine months. Much of Mor Dhona is either uninhabited or ruled by beast tribes." Gaius offered a laconic shrug. "They are not like to create any particular impediment."

"I imagine their eikons might provide some small hindrance," Solus said wryly.

"As you say, Your Radiance. However, lacking any forewarning, they would not have time to see to their defenses before we take the region around Silvertear Lake. We can establish a staging ground in Mor Dhona and sweep south. Frumentarium reports show the Eorzeans lack a unified large-scale force with which to resist the full might of an imperial legion. Ala Mhigo was the source of much of their military might, and with it now annexed as a province, the other city-states should fall quickly. Provided all goes according to plan, most if not all Eorzea should be under imperial control by this time next year."

"One can hope. Now, for the schedule."

"Yes, Your Radiance. There's an inspection of the Velodyna installation by transport scheduled for half noon tomorrow. After our return to the city, dining with the Thavnairian trade minister and several local merchants and assorted nobles."

"Ah, yes. Helpful turncoats, all," Solus zos Galvus harrumphed, shifting in his seat. "I suppose putting in an appearance and speaking a few pleasantries will keep them content enough. Shall there be any of our own in attendance other than yourself and your officers?"

"Unlikely."

"Very good. I should like to speak with them each in their turn if possible."

An order, not a request. "Of course, Your Radiance."

==

"My lord, you are still indisposed-"

Julian rem Laskaris shoved L'haiya's hands away with an annoyed grunt. "Enough, Elle. I don't need your mothering," he said. "And it hardly matters. An invitation to dine with the Emperor at the viceroy's request means my presence is required, not requested."

Aurelia worried at her lower lip, watching the pain twist her father's face as he braced himself upon the crutches and tried to shift his weight a third time. He'd broken his leg last month when a bit of scaffolding at the new military installation along the river had collapsed during a routine inspection. Although he had been bedridden less than a sennight, he was not yet authorized to return to the full scope of his duties and she knew it rankled him.

His temper was such that he was not like to see her interference kindly either, but she'd rather he yell at her than L'haiya. At least in her case, she could yell back.

"Aurelia," L'haiya began sharply when she stepped forward, but she went ignored. Aurelia's arm slipped under her father's to wrap about his shoulders and beneath her touch, she felt him stiffen in surprise.

"Off with you, girl. What I said for your governess goes for you also. Leave me be."

"Father, the cushions are too deep for you to stand without help. You won't get enough leverage to keep your balance-"

"I know what I said!" he barked, but other than a surprised flinch, Aurelia didn't budge. "Young lady, do not ignore me."

"If you don't accept my help, father, then you'll never leave the sofa. You'll be stuck here all night and I cannot imagine his lordship the viceroy will find that an acceptable excuse for failing to appear at the palace. His Radiance certainly will not." As usual, he couldn't look her in the eyes- although her blunt assessment seemed to have taken the wind out of his sails. The tips of his ears were pink but otherwise, he made no response. "Elle, can we have a bath drawn for Father? In the downstairs room so he'll not have to navigate the stairs. It will be more quickly done."

Mirth twinkled in the governess' eyes but she managed to keep a straight face.

"Of course, young mistress," she drawled. "Will that be all?"

"Mayhap we might have Sazha fetch his dress uniform downstairs. I think Clopas can help him dress once he's out of the bath."

"I shall see to it."

"Elle," Julian protested, "she does not give the orders around here. I do."

That assertion went unheeded as the woman immediately crossed the hall and vanished from sight. In a moment there was the loud and rushing sound of running water rattled through the wall pipes.

"Elle, I was talking to you!"

After a moment, L'haiya poked her head back through the open door. "Apologies, my lord," she called, "but it's quite difficult to hear over the bath. If you've another request I'm afraid you'll need to speak up."

Julian scowled but said nothing, and after a brief pause, they both heard the door snick shut. This time when his daughter hoisted, he went with her until he stood - somewhat shakily - on his good leg and drew the crutches in, checking their counterbalance.

"Well, father, and now you shall be prepared on time."

"I would have been prepared in any case," he said gruffly. "I said I was fine, and so I am. You should not have attempted to gainsay your-"

"Should I have sent your regrets to Lord van Baelsar after all, father? If you are too indisposed to wash properly let alone attend a dinner with the Emperor, I am quite certain he will accept it- or mayhap His Radiance might deign to call upon us while you lie in your sickbed."

This was a trick she had learned from L'haiya - needling him while remaining outwardly respectful - and it still surprised her every time it worked. Your lord father is easier to manage than you think, she had said. Like a fly. Honey, child, not vinegar.

Not that Father needed to know about that conversation.

He squinted at her and with some difficulty, she bit back a snicker.

"If you weren't thirteen summers yet, you stubborn little chit," was Julian rem Laskaris' answering growl before he turned his back on the girl and began to limp, with a pathetic sort of dignity, towards the downstairs washroom. Just as Aurelia had bid. "Next time I'll thank you not to countermand me in front of the help. You're not too old to be switched for your cheek, girl."

There was no heat in that threat whatsoever. "Of course not, father."

He knew by her tone she was humoring him. Her even tone was met with a glower that reminded her remarkably of Sazha, when he'd sulk over losing one of their games.

"I don't need your help or anyone else's to bathe myself."

"In that case, father, please let us know when you're done. One of us can call upon Clopas to see to the shaving while you dress," she said placidly. "I'll prepare some tea while you bathe. Is there aught else I might have missed?"

Her father only made a low-pitched grunt before the door slammed shut behind him. ~*~

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Her hands were on his upper back, probing gently, smooth and slightly cool. "I rather doubt you've done yourself any permanent harm, but you should consider avoiding strenuous work. No more work on the new project or the Red Baron until you've fully recovered this time."

"It's a pulled muscle, eikon-slayer. I've had plenty worse. Five years ago I would have slept this off and-" Nero grunted in discomfort as her knuckles rolled over a tender spot near his spine. She didn't even flinch. "...Perhaps it's lingered a day or two past what I expected initially but I told you I am fine."

"Of course you are," the Warrior of Light said, a little too agreeably. Something about that mild, placid tone set his teeth on edge.

"You are not my mother. Stop humoring me."

"I'll stop humoring you when you stop sulking like an overgrown child."

"I don't have to suffer this indignity," the engineer growled. "Let me up. I have work to do."

"And let you injure yourself all over again? Out of the question."

"Seven hells, woman-"

"No," Aurelia said firmly. "That's final. Complain all you like, but you're not getting anywhere near the G-Warrior until your back is improved. Not even for maintenance."

He made a loud and angry harrumph into his pillows.

"Who let Garlond name it, anyroad," Nero groused. "What a bloody ridiculous title. I'd have given it a proper name. Something that would have really left an impression."

"Oh?" He flinched sharply when she found a tender spot, his curse bitten out behind a loud hiss of pain. She paused and gently rubbed his shoulder in apology. "Like what? Dazzle me with your first impression, Scaeva."

"Obviously I'm not going to be able to think of anything while you're cracking every bone in my spinal column," he grumbled. "But it would've been something a damned sight more imaginative than G-Warrior."

"Really? My goodness. You may safely color me hypothetically impressed."

Those sharp blue eyes narrowed until he was squinting at her- or making a valiant attempt at it.

"...Are you trying to be funny?"

"I wouldn't dream of it." A beat of silence followed by a huffy sigh, and Aurelia laughed. She'd switched her attention to the juncture of his shoulders and neck, pressing with her fingertips in small and careful circular motions. "Far be it from me to lecture, but I am fair certain the reason you could shake this off with minimal attention five years past is because you were younger and in peak physical shape."

"I am still in peak physical shape," Nero retorted, no small measure of offense implicit in the words.

"That is very much up for debate, but regardless, maybe don't go clambering up three-thousand-year-old Allagan broadcasting antennae by yourself in future? Just for a sennight or so? You're not as young as you used to be."

Nero sighed, this time with rather more regret.

"Don't bloody remind me."

[nonsensicalobsessions]

Tom & the Cookie Monster Take 2

Author’s note: @villainousshakespeare , this idea came and hit me like a brick. Hopefully it did not leave any lasting damage, nor will it give you any by reading it. Anyway, you requested: “May I please have a Tom himself fic (since you are so good at those!) maybe something set during the Broadway run of Betrayal?“ I do not know if this will live up to your praise, as this is but a shortie, but I hope you enjoy, here is your promised prompt, my dearest friend:

Two male Hiddlestons made their way through the hallway towards their apartment door. One was prancing, sprightly and happy. The other was proceeding at a trudge.

Tom was tired, and he had every reason to be. It was Saturday night, which meant there had been the matinee production, as well as the evening show of Betrayal. And while the show was going extremely well, the pace was still grueling some days.

Like today. And yesterday’s. And last week’s...

He rifled through his keys, snickering as he remembered how one fan he spoke to was under the assumption he was living in a penthouse apartment on Fifth Avenue. Erm, no. He had quite a nice furnished flat, in a secure building where he did not have to be concerned any random fan could interrupt his rare moments of private life, but it was simply a nice flat. And at the moment, one of his neighbors was evidently baking biscuits, and his stomach growled.

And not just any biscuits, but chocolate chip biscuits. Damn it. Now he was hungry, and even though he knew of at least half a dozen places that would deliver even at this hour, he was tired, and didn’t feel like interacting with anyone. He wished to take his public face off, just as he had removed his stage make up a couple of hours ago, but then went and spent the time afterwards doing stage door appearances for his fans. Which he loved doing. But now, he just felt drained.

As he found the right key, Bobby was sitting at the door obediently, but Tom could see the dog was all but vibrating to be let in. “Bob, what is it, man?” As Tom unlocked the door, Bobby let out a joyous bark and sped in so rapidly Tom was grateful he had dropped the lead, or his shoulder would have suffered a hell of a jerk.

Tom walked in, his eyes bouncing quickly, dropping his bag and pulling out his phone in a reflexive action. While he had never had a fan break into any of his digs, it had happened to several of his friends, and his fingers were already preparing to call security, even as he recognized the smell of biscuits was even stronger now.

Apparently whomever Bobby had run to greet had baked for him. Which was a pretty decent thing to do, stalker-behavior aside.

“You forgot I was coming tonight, didn’t you?” The familiar female voice was amused, as her yet-to-be-seen form was bent over in the kitchen, acknowledging Bobby’s slavish adoration.

Oh, shit. He had.

He dropped his keys in the small dish she had given him to keep his keys when she learned he kept misplacing them.

“How much trouble am I in?” Even his voice was dull.

“Oh, honestly, Tom.” An arm came up from behind him, hugging his waist and brandishing a freshly baked treat, so fresh it was being held in a napkin. “If you’re so tired that you can’t even remember having given your extra key to someone for just this purpose, I think that speaks more to exhaustion than culpability. Have a cookie, Cookie. I made them just like the recipe printed on the bag, so I can’t have messed it up too badly...”

Then another hand snaked around his waist, this one bearing the body and face of none other than the Cookie Monster, who proceeded to menace the other hand’s bounty. “Delayed gratification, Hiddleston!!” Now the female voice behind him was growly and raspy. “No cookies for you, you must practice the art of...”

“Oh, fuck that,” quoth Tom, grabbing the napkin and spinning around to the laughing face of his baker-cum-stalker. “Get the hell away from my biscuits, Cookie Monster, and take your delayed gratification and get stuffed...”

“It’s a puppet, darling, I don’t think they can get stuffed...”

“No, but they can get a fist right up their...”

“Shut up, Tom, and eat your cookie! I am shocked, shocked and appalled by your uncouth behavior...” laughed Sabrina Wright, who was clearly neither shocked nor appalled.

Tom met Sabrina three months ago, when he did an impromptu visit at a children’s hospital as Loki, complete with costume. The entire event was kept under wraps and unpublicized, as it wasn’t sponsored by anyone. Chris Evans had come to the area to visit a friend who was facing surgery, and between him, Charlie Cox, and Tom, they hatched the idea. Then at the last minute, Brie Larson found out about the plan and came along as well.

The children were ecstatic and a “Marvelous time was had by all” as Tom kept saying later, much to everyone’s general disgust as they kept throwing things at him at his apartment...but Tom had noticed that while everyone, children, parents, siblings, and staff were excited and clamoring to be involved in the fun, there were a few patients that were just too ill to participate, and he and his friends made a point to leave some things aside for those kids to have, and to see if there was anything they could do for them once the furor calmed down.

There was one nurse that never joined in the carefully controlled chaos, but went about caring for, and ultimately consoling, the ones who wished to play but couldn’t, or were too ill to notice, or care. Tom saw her picking one child up, and simply rocking him in her arms in a rocking chair for awhile, rubbing his back, and apparently singing to him. He made a mental note to say hello to her as well. He knew there was always someone that had to stay behind and work when everyone was enjoying these kinds of parties, and he wanted to let her know he saw and was touched by the work she was doing with so much heart.

Once the brouhaha and the dust settled, Loki stepped aside, found Nurse Sabrina, and asked if the other children would be interested in seeing the Marvel crew, and she grimaced.

“It’s very kind of you to inquire, uh, Loki, if you and your...cohort would like to perhaps wave at the children from the doorway if they are awake, that would be fine, but that is the most I can allow. They really are quite sick.”

Chris stepped up. “Is it all right if we leave them some signed posters and things like that?”

“Cap, I know that would make them very happy, even if we have to put them up outside of their rooms, looking in...!”

Loki looked into the room where he had seen the little boy Sabrina had rocked. He seemed so frail... “Erm, that little boy...will he be alright?”

Sabrina’s face buttoned up. “I’m afraid I cannot comment on his prognosis, Loki. I will say...I wish you had healing powers. For all of these children, obviously...but especially for him. He was so distressed he could not come out and see you, in particular. He thinks you are, ah, badass. I do not bother correcting his more colorful speech. It’s not relevant.”

“I see. Is he awake?”

“Yes, he is, but I cannot allow you to go in...”

“I understand...tell this young Midgardian to expect a visit in a few minutes...”

One of the giveaway items they had was a small t shirt, which Tom had signed by both characters and actors, and then proceeded to his room.

Small Tim Curran was wondering why Nurse Sabrina had come in, and insisted that she comb his hair, and wash his face...and then...

“Midgardian.”

“Holy sh...smokes,” the little boy breathed. Standing in the doorway was none other than the OG, the badass himself... “Loki?”

“I understand you are unwell and as such I am not to enter your presence. I would not wish to undermine your recovery. However, I come bearing gifts.”

Sabrina entered, grinning from ear to ear, and showed him the T-shirt. Loki had even doodled his face next to his name. “I have embued it with as much healing seidr as possible. I do not know if it will be effective against your Midgardian illness, but I do know it will aid your prodigious courage and strength, provided you heed the instructions of Healer Sabrina, and all others who are working in your aid.”

Captain Marvel, Captain America, and Daredevil also spoke to him personally, adding what qualities they added to his shirt.

Tim was in heaven, and as Sabrina was looking at his vitals, saw he was getting over excited, and thought she would have to cut the visit short, but seeing as she was getting concerned, the actors all proclaimed they needed to depart to return to their duties.

Tim fell asleep that night clutching his shirt, and would not be parted from it. Loki would be pleased to know it did impart healing powers, because it brought the little boy so much happiness...

Tom called Sabrina the next day, and asked if there was anything else he could do for the children in the wing, and Sabrina replied they were still very excited, and he had done more than enough. She was very grateful. She was also very thankful he called to speak with her personally, not because she was flattered on a personal standpoint (although she was) but because her superiors in administration would be quick to turn it into a publicity request or worse, a financial one).

Tom shyly admitted he did have an ulterior motive for asking to speak with her personally...he wanted to know if he could see her sometime.

Something about the small nurse had gotten under his skin. Maybe it was the way she stuck to the background the entire afternoon, even when everyone was getting into the big group photo. Maybe it was the way she never asked for a thing herself, even when they were all speaking casually and privately at the end, when she easily could have. No one would have minded, and even Evans and Larson commented on it over pizza and beer later that evening, how she didn’t ask for a selfie, an autograph, nothing, even though she was as friendly and pleasant as old be...

Cox noticed how Tom blushed when Evans joked about he couldn’t get over someone didn’t want to get a photo with the man who saved New York, or the bastard that almost destroyed it. Cox noticed everything...as he was leaving for the night, he asked Tom, “Are you going to try to get Nurse Ratched’s phone number?”

Tom had flared, “Don’t do that. Don’t make fun of her.”

Cox grinned. “Ah hah. So that’s the way the wind is blowing...” and walked away, whistling.

Coffee became an exchange of What’s App phone numbers. Both of them worked long hours, so texting was a godsend. Texts became marathon phone calls at odd hours of the day, which became meetings in strange places to avoid the paparazzi, until they stumbled into each other’s arms, and each other’s beds.

Sabrina was like no one Tom had ever met: calm, compassionate, cheerful, and not giving a tinker’s damn about the industry, gossip columns, and all the rest of it. When he hesitantly pointed this aspect of her personality out to her she looked at him as though he was something of interest under a microscope.

“Sweet man, I act like I don’t care because I truly don’t. It’s completely irrelevant. Unimportant. Trifling. I have held children’s beating hearts in my hands while doctors have desperately tried to sew them back together in operating rooms because bullets ripped through their little bodies and their bedrooms in housing projects. I’ve held hysterical parents back as they’ve tried to somehow willtheir dying children back to life as they take their last breaths. I’ve held newborns in my hands as they have been only seconds old, and I have held children in my arms as they’ve breathed their last. That, to me, is real. That is life. And it comes wrapped up in tears and laughter and vomit and shit and blood and love and love and love. If some paparazzi, interviewer, man on the street, or tabloid tried to give me shit for loving you, ask me how much I’d care? The answer is not at all. It’s not going to change my mind, or my life.”

Tom knew, then, he had found his one, the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, and grow old with, maybe even have a family of his own with...the question was, would she want the same...?

“...Tom? Tom?...Earth to Major...oh, you know what? Forget about it, Major Tom has crashed, Houston, we have a problem,” sighed Sabrina looking at her lover who had fallen asleep on the sofa still clutching part of a cookie he had yet to finish.

“Well, Bobby, it looks like another night of delayed gratification for me...good thing he’s so cute, and I happen to love the charming beanpole,” she commented wryly, only to see that Bobby was also lying on the floor asleep...and farting.

“Good God, what is it with the Hiddleston men tonight, I wonder?” Laughing quietly, Sabrina got up and made sure the bed was ready (and not in the hapless disarray of clothing tossed all around, which was not usual but happened enough to be worthy of a check). She turned down the covers and made sure there was a bottle of water on Tom’s nightstand.

As she was doing this, Tom woke up with a jerk, and he looked around for Sabrina. He wasn’t quite awake, wasn’t asleep, and Sabrina wasn’t there...she wasn’t there, she had finally done it, come to her senses and left him, he had forgotten she was coming to spend the weekend with him, one the rare occurrences she had the entire weekend off, and then he goes and falls asleep on her, no, noton her, but next to her like a right pillock, as if she wasn’t even there...no, no...he knew it was going to happen eventually, she was too lovely a person to put up with him and his bullshit, the way he was so self-absorbed and caught up in his own problems and life, she was right, she dealt in the real world, and...

He put his head in his hands. “I’m sorry, Sabrina...so sorry. You deserved better, but I loved you the best I could,” he whispered. “I gave you all the heart I have...”

“What’s this then?” A soft voice, sweet like melted chocolate, soothing as a warm kiss...

“Sabrina!” His head shot up so quickly she winced at the cracking sound from his neck, and then saw his reddened, swollen eyes.

“Ah, love, what is it? Nightmare?” She came and extended her hand to him. “Come with me, you’re exhausted, and we’ll cuddle.”

“You’re still here.”

She looked at him tolerantly. “Yes, Tom. Still here. Complete with my Cookie Monster puppet, just to drive you mad. Come to bed. I’ll snuggle with you and chase the bads away, I promise. The only monster here is the blue one eyeing your cookies, and I’ve put him away.”

He took her small hand, and smiled. “There will be no delayed gratification in this house. We will enjoy the things we love, and live the one life we have to its fullest...no longer am I going to delay giving my heart what it desires most...I shall be bold, and decisive...Bobby, you have my express permission, nay, encouragement, to destroy the Cookie Monster, and anything else that dares come between myself and my love...”

Yes. He would be bold. Tomorrow, he would ask her if she would consider becoming a permanent star in his sky, he would stop living in fear of her disappearing the moment he closed his eyes, he would throw caution to the four winds, and belay any idea of delaying his happiness, and hopefully, hers, for any reason, a moment longer. There would be declarations made, and promises, and...

He tripped over his shoes.

“Careful! Harsh, Tom, very harsh...and Bobby, don’t you dare.” They turned off the lights and made their way to bed, Tom sleepily stripping along the way, making Sabrina laugh. “Ah, what the world to pay to see this strip show...”

“Quiet, Woman. This is not a strip show, this is a ritual divestiture of armor.”

“Uh huh,” she skeptically agreed, looking at the trail of clothes behind him. “So, if I was to get undressed like that...”

“Ah, now that would be a strip show, and a lovely one, indeed...”

“Sexist double standards...here, sit down, I will tuck you in...”

“Promise?”

“Tom!”

The naughty little boy expression he gave her was ruined by his yawn he could barely cover. Sabrina laughed as she quickly undressed and put on her sleep clothes, only to be greeted by Tom’s gentle snore the moment she turned out the light. He was so very tired. She was glad he could relax, and find some rest.

And while yes, it was definitely a night for delayed gratification, they had the whole weekend to look forward to sharing. She, for one, was so looking forward to bringing out the Cookie Monster puppet in the morning...maybe as part of a wake up call...

Tagging @villainousshakespeare , @winterisakiller , @vodka-and-some-sass , @lotus-eyedindiangoddess , @just-the-hiddles , @yespolkadotkitty , @hopelessromanticspoonie , @theheartofpenelope , @sabine-leo , @wegingerangelica , @ciaodarknessmyheart , @wrathkitty , @rhemasky , @catsladen​ @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ , @redfoxwritesstuff​ , @the-insomniac-cat2​ , @alexakeyloveloki​ , @myoxisbroken​ , @ladyfluff​ , @toomanystoriessolittletime​

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 292

THE BOTTOM OF THE FOOD CHAIN PLANKTON

For many authors throughout history, religion has always been a major point of interest. There are several books written concerning the creation of the world, the existence of a god or gods, and many similar religious topics. Nature and the living things in nature have been much discussed due to their ability to contribute to understanding the existence of a god with supernatural powers. Underwater creatures have been one of these species that are wondered at; creatures which attract the attention of many people. Although whales, sharks, sea turtles, and other giant fish constitute the main attraction, recent studies about the tiny organisms of the ocean have increased interest in underwater life. As the amount of information obtained about these tiny creatures of the oceans increases, the supernatural powers of God become more apparent.

These tiny and mysterious creatures of the water are called Plankton; included in these are passively floating or weakly swimming animals and plants. The word plankton comes from the Greek word “planktos,” which means “to drift.” The plankton that drifts in the ocean currents are among the most abundant creatures of the planet. A bowl of water taken from an ocean consists of millions of these tiny organisms; they cannot be perceived by the naked eye. The only way to really become familiar with these creatures is to find them and observe them with the help of a video scope or a microscope. Many marine plants and animals go through a stage in their life cycle when they are plankton, but they ultimately outgrow this stage. These types of creatures are called meroplankton. Unlike meroplankton, holoplankton are tiny creatures which live their whole life as plankton.

Plankton are also classified as either plant plankton or animal plankton. Phytoplankton is the scientific name for plant plankton, whereas zooplankton is the term used for animal plankton. Phytoplankton are usually smaller than zooplankton and it is hard to observe them even under the microscope. Most of the food chains in the ocean begin with phytoplankton, which are eaten by tiny zooplankton. These tiny zooplankton in turn are eaten by larger animals living under the water, including sharks and blue whales.

Since plankton are at the bottom of most of the food chains in the ocean, anything that causes damage to their lives may effect many other organisms. Losing large numbers of plankton may affect the abundance of krill, which is the main diet of whales. Phytoplankton produce oxygen that people breathe; therefore a decrease in the number of phytoplankton may cause problems for human beings. Most plankton live near the surface of the oceans. Pollution, especially that caused by chemical pollutants, has a direct impact on the water at the surface. This is a great threat to plankton populations. Plankton are not only critical for their role in the food chain, but they are also important for their usage in the production of valuable minerals. Ancient deposits of plankton, which were buried under the seafloor and later mined, have become important sources of oil, shale, and many other valuable minerals.

Like land plants, phytoplankton fix carbon through photosynthesis, making it available for higher trophic levels.1 The major environmental factors influencing phytoplankton growth are temperature, light, and availability of nutrients. Phytoplankton can undergo rapid population growth or “algal blooms” when water temperatures rise in the presence of excess nutrients. While increased phytoplankton populations provide more food to organisms at higher trophic levels, too much phytoplankton can harm the overall health of the oceans. During these blooms, most of the phytoplankton die and sink to the bottom, where they decompose. This process depletes the bottom waters of dissolved oxygen, which is necessary for the survival of other organisms, including fish and crabs.

Major groups of phytoplankton include: diatoms, golden-brown algae, green algae, blue-green algae, dinoflagellates and crypto monads. Phytoplankton are being used as indicators of environmental conditions within the oceans because their populations are especially sensitive to changes in nutrient levels and other water quality conditions.

Zooplankton are planktonic animals that range in size from microscopic rotifers to macroscopic jellyfish. Their distribution within the oceans is governed by salinity, temperature and food availability. The zooplankton community is composed of both primary consumers, which eat phytoplankton, and secondary consumers, which feed on other zooplankton. Zooplankton can be classified into three size classes: Microzooplankton-protozoans and rotifers, Mesozooplankton-including copepods and invertebrate larvae, and Macrozooplankton-including amphipods, shrimp, fish larvae, and jelly fish. Zooplankton, like phytoplankton, are excellent indicators of environmental conditions within the oceans, because they are sensitive to changes in water quality.

The most common animal in the plankton group is the copepod. There are more than 7,500 species of copepods. Copepods are small shrimp-like animals.

Copepods have appendages that are used like paddles for movement. They eat diatoms and other plankton and in turn are eaten by other, larger, drifters. A single copepod can eat an average of 200,000 diatoms a day.

Amphipods, which are the main diet of the gray whale, look like a cross between a shrimp and an isopod. The amphipod typically ranges in size from 2 to 50 mm, although a few may be larger. Amphipods are common in aquatic ecosystems throughout many parts of the world, inhabiting marine, brackish, and freshwater environments. A few species also live in terrestrial ecosystems.

One of the most interesting plankton species is the barnacle. It lives in the upper zone of the oceans where the water only comes at high tide. The appearance of a barnacle is rather deceptive. At first glance it looks like a mollusk, but when you observe the larva of the barnacle the truth becomes clear. Barnacles cause serious problems on the hulls of ships and buoys.

Jellyfish, which are basically nothing more than a large stomach with long tentacles, are also plankton. Their tentacles have stingers on them which they use to catch and paralyze food and then bring it to their stomachs. They move through the water by pumping their stomachs. For the most part they move up and down in the water, letting the currents carry them from side to side.

Copepods, amphipods, jellyfish, and barnacles are some of the most abundant and well-known examples of plankton. The oceans of the world contain a world of tiny organisms; most of them invisible to the human eye and yet these are the basis for nearly all the life in the sea. Our awareness of these tiny creatures will help enhance our appreciation of God’s uniqueness and greatness. The more we learn about the mysteries of the deep, the more we believe in the existence of God.

[pluto-art]

PatB Fiction - Close the Curtains

Type: Fan fiction Length: 2,320 words Genre: Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort Rating: PG-13 Fanfiction.net link: Close the Curtains

Author’s Note: One-shot. Brain is so incredibly stubborn and tenacious. This brief drab explores what the consequences might be were he unwilling to admit even his own mortality, turning from the haunting shadow of reality to block out the inevitable. To pretend it's all a dream. To close the curtains.

The pain wasn't particularly noticeable at first. It came as a delicate tickle, barely noteworthy, then graduated to a slightly bothersome nip in his abdomen, enough to earn a sharp, scrutinizing glance from its host now and again, and eventually blossomed into a deep-seated irritation that not only burned, but bit, scratched, and clawed at his insides.

Work on plans became nigh impossible, Brain only pushing through because it was the sole thing that gave him purpose - that made each day worth waking up to. Sleep was practically nonexistent, that sweet release of pain hanging on by a thread for two hours, perhaps three, at most before tossing him over the bed edge, an unsympathetic reminder that the affliction still stood close by, knocking at the door. Eating was painful. Drinking was painful. Existing was painful. It was all he could do to put on a face of complete and utter apathy in an attempt to throw his cohort off the trail, although he had an inkling that such efforts were in vain. Now and again, Pinky threw him a suspicious look or a furrowed brow, his worried, blue eyes telling all every time Brain uttered a sharp gasp or groan that couldn't be contained.

He was confronted about it, of course; many times.

"Um... Brain...? Are you sure you're all right? You've been rather quiet the last few nights..."

"I'm fine, Pinky, now... go fetch me a ladle from the kitchen. I need it for our next plan."

Not that the ladle would be of any use, of course. The kitchen was a fair enough distance away that the task would keep his curious companion preoccupied for at least five minutes. The more Pinky was not in his presence, the less he had to put on a facade. The less he had to pretend.

By the thirteenth day, things had begun to get out of hand. There was no point ignoring the pain anymore. Yes, he had admitted to his cage-mate, after he'd asked for the 152nd time if Brain was all right. He did, indeed, feel like there were several steak knives buried into his stomach at all times at this point, causing unbearable cramps and smarting like nothing ever should, but so what? None of that mattered. The world mattered - it mattered so much more than this. His comfort was secondary. Eventually, it would dissipate. It always did.

This was not the first time he'd been subjected to a particularly harsh experiment. The last time he'd had relapses this bad was after an uncomfortable bout of shock therapy to counteract the effects of... some test or other. He'd been sick for a week. Nothing out of the ordinary. He was used to this. Those at Acme Labs, or any lab, would never be satisfied until they'd squandered the absolutely most out of their subjects until they were no longer useful. If anything, he was surprised that he was still valuable. He'd expected to be dead by this point. By some miracle, both he and Pinky had evaded that fate. But perhaps he hoped too soon. Eventually, somehow and someway, they were going to get him. Eventually, one of the experiments would be too much. Perhaps this one was it.

He'd searched for the root of his discomfort, of course; poured over books and scoured the lab computers for information about what all of this might mean. But the symptoms he had were so sporadic, so unusual, so... misaligned to be explained away by something as simple as constipation or even cancer, that he couldn't locate nor pin down what it could possibly be. Whatever they'd stuck him with, whatever it was they'd injected into his system weeks ago, was slowly, painfully, killing him on the inside. He was surprised he'd held out this long, successful in hiding his torment. Or, perhaps, unsuccessfully.

Day nineteen was the clencher - the beginning of the end. They were atop the Eiffel Tower, on the cusp of a breakthrough in his latest scheme, when he collapsed, the pain so potent he could barely breath; barely see. And right when the world had just about been in his grasp. Naturally...

He didn't know how Pinky managed to get him home, much less keep him alive for all that time. Even after he'd been tenderly settled back in the make-shift sponge bed in their cage, complete with more tea and blankets than he really needed, his blurry vision still lingered, although the pain was a lot less and he could breath better. But that had been the worst. It had been the worst yet, and he wasn't so sure he'd be able to handle the next one. The next episode could kill him. And yet, as much as his soul hungered to spill everything out in one fell swoop, to tell Pinky the truth about what was going on, his ego wouldn't let him.

-o-o-o-

The twenty-fourth day of May found him stomach-up in one of the laboratory sinks, legs stretched out against the cold, wet metal, his head resting in someone's lap. He blinked rapidly at the blurriness coating his vision, a lingering pain coating his innards as he desperately tried to get a grip on where he was... and why.

Whomever had him in their lap was yelling at him, calling at him to wake up. He blinked some more, his vision slowly coming back into focus. Pinky. It was Pinky.

"Pinky...?"

"Oh, Brain! I thought you were chopped liver!"

"Pinky... Wh-What are you... talking about?" he mumbled, exhausted beyond all measure for some strange reason. Why was Pinky looking so worried, and why were they both in the sink?

"Well... O-Only big ol' pieces of food go in the disposal, Brain, and... y-you're not food..."

Only now did Brain realize that Pinky was shaking. He seemed nearly petrified. Brain turned his head slightly to the right to confirm his suspicions. Sure enough, there was the hole in the sink that led to the pipes... and the garbage disposal. He remembered now... Another unbearable wave of pain; another gasping sensation that far overstayed its welcome - the fifteenth that day. Had he really been that desperate to end it all? He assumed he must have passed out around the time Pinky grabbed him just before he plummeted into darkness. Oh, Pinky...

"Pinky... I have to tell you..."

"Brain... We can't stay here. The big men in white coats are going to come in soon. We have to get you out of this sink!"

"Pinky..."

"Don't worry, Brain. I've got you!"

And he did, indeed, have him - carried him, in fact, all the way back to the cage, and just in the nick of time. Not a few seconds after he'd laid Brain in bed... two white coats entered, each paper-laden, pens in hand and ready to take notes. And take them they did.

"What's the date?" the older of the two men asked.

"May twenty-fourth," stated the younger.

Some scribbling. Some writing.

"Subject was injected on..."

"... the first of the month."

More scribbling. More writing.

"Vital signs?"

"Unstable. We expect collapse within two... three days."

"Approximately one month for subject to reach final stage. We'll have to readjust."

The other nodded; took notes.

"All right. That's fine. What's our next subject?"

"Number 214."

"Right. Let's head on over..."

They left.

Pinky watched them go, ears perked. He had seen, had heard, but not understood. Brain still lay in bed. He had heard, and understood fully. Two to three days. Two to three more days of this torture. Two to three more days left to suffer. Two to three more days left to tell Pinky...

"They're gone, Brain! You can relax now."

Brain opened his eyes to stare sadly up at Pinky - at the mouse he'd called his friend for so long. He was going to miss him. By golly, he was going to miss him.

"Pinky..."

It hurt. It hurt so much. But he had to get the words out. He had to tell him.

"I... I need to tell you something... very important. And you need to listen, o-okay?" he stressed, his breath hitching at the last word.

"Okay, Brain. Is it about taking over the world?"

He almost smiled at his friend's naivety; his innocence. There was, at least, one nugget of relief that came with all of this: At least it wasn't Pinky. At least he didn't have to deal with this.

"No, Pinky. But... you need to promise me something. Promise me... Promise me..."

It hurt. It hurt so much.

"Promise you what, Brain?"

Pinky was on his knees at this point, at Brain's level, looking almost as concerned as he'd been in the sink.

"Promise me... you'll..."

Twenty-four days. It took twenty-four days for his emotions to finally release; for the tears to flow. Physical pain he was used to. Physical pain he could at least deal with... until it got to this degree. It wasn't simply the bodily torture that was burning him up inside, however. No. It was the fact that, by the end of this week, he'd never see this happy little mouse again. Never hear that over-joyed laugh; never get an answer to what he was pondering; never turn to his friend in triumph... or failure... as they neared the climax of a plan. His life he could lose. His life never mattered in the lab to begin with. But Pinky...? He couldn't imagine life, even an afterlife, without him. Didn't want to imagine it. And what would Pinky do without him? Would he adjust? Would he crumble to pieces? Would he be completely fine and never give him another thought?

A trembling paw slipped underneath a sweaty one, holding it tight. The latter grasped the former's firmly, not wanting to let go. Not willing to let go. He wanted him by his side. The plan didn't matter anymore. The world, sadly, didn't matter anymore. All he wanted was to be with his friend - the closest friend he'd ever had - until it ended.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, willingly trying to gain some semblance of composure. He had to get this out while he had Pinky's full attention. The next two days were going to be hell, and he didn't think he'd be able to coherently relay what needed to be said after this point.

"Pinky. Promise me... that you won't ever lose that smile of yours. It's... it's going to be hard. It's going to be very hard. But... don't stop, okay? Keep... keep smiling..."

"I... I will, Brain. I promise." He said it with tears in his eyes... and a forced smile on his face. Brain couldn't help but smile back. Already he was practicing. What a trooper.

It was the last time he'd see him.

-o-o-o-

Blindness completely took over by the second-to-last day, followed by light convulsions that evolved into much heavier episodes by the last. If he knew his death was going to be this painful he would have left the lab years ago.

Briefly, he reflected on all that he'd done... and all that he could've accomplished. It wasn't a life entirely wasted. He'd had Pinky, after all. He'd also had his pride. It had been with him, like a faithful dog, every step of the way. And how utterly detrimental of a pet it had proved to be. It whispered things - foolish things that made little sense. You don't need to do research. The problem will dissipate. You're strong enough to handle this; you always have been. You can let it go a few more days. Just a few more days. Forget the research until later. You'll be fine. You'll be fine...

Fine, indeed. In a fine mess. This is where it had led him. This is where his ego rested: on a death bed. Worst of all, he'd made Pinky suffer in the process. Yet never once did he complain. Never did he hesitate to comfort him when the pain became too much. Always was he there to lead Brain by the hand to their water bottle in his blind state. Loyal to the end.

He almost rather he'd died alone, in some corner where Pinky didn't have to see him - didn't have to watch. But his friend would have none of it. He was going to hold Brain in his arms whether he liked it or not. And as he slowly faded in and out after another batch of convulsions, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps as he felt the life slowly drain out of him, he realized, cradled in his best friend's embrace, that he wouldn't have it any other way.

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Closing Note: I'd had the "garbage disposal" suicide idea for some time and realized, as I was writing this, that it could be utilized here. Would have been a terrible way to go. What he'd do without Pinky, I don't know.

“Closing the curtains” has two meanings here. One, of course, is that it is a metaphor for death -- the end of a show; the conclusion of a story. The second is denial. He doesn’t want to admit what’s happening, and so he puts off the research until it’s too late. He doesn’t tell Pinky what’s happening ‘til the end, and he believes he has the strength to muscle past the seemingly inevitable. Could he have prevented such a terrible demise? Perhaps. Perhaps, if he hadn’t been so stubborn, this could all have been avoided. Alas, he will never know.

Why do I write such sad dang things?

[melisa-may-taylor72]

Queen's hectic days in Argentina: secrets behind the shows, the meeting with Maradona and a love affair for Freddie Mercury

The band arrived in the country in 1981. Curiosities and "pearls" of a very special visit

By Matías Bauso- Infoshow

An exultant and provocative figure, who may appear in tight white pants provocatively exposing his ass to a heated audience or who sits at the piano with a very short and tight satin pants that would blush the most enthusiastic devotee of sadomasochism, a guitarist who plays in a t-shirt with an immense Union Jack, crazed masses, street chases in search of an improbable autograph, China Zorrilla, Miguel Romano, Diego Maradona, ItalPark, the military, the repressive climate, the Rambla marplatense and even an unknown love affair. This story has everything. Queen's visit to Argentina in 1981 was much more than a musical tour.

Queen's enthusiasm - both current and retro - is a faint reflection of what happened in the country at the end of February 1981. Like the Beatlemania in the sixties, the presence of the English quartet unleashed a collective madness never before seen in Argentina.

▪Queen at Velez Sarsfield Stadium

Queen monopolized the attention for more than a week. Television news, radio programs, magazine covers, conversations in bars, newspaper supplements (not so the covers of the main ones: at that time it was still not allowed to put show business news on the cover; only Chronicle excepted for that rule).

The band led by Freddie Mercury gave five concerts in Argentina. Three in the Vélez stadium, one in Mar del Plata and another in Rosario. The public success was colossal.

The first performance was on February 28 in Velez, repeated  the next day, then stop in Mar del Plata and Rosario. The last show was again in Buenos Aires. That day the capacity of the stadium overflowed. The contagious reaction had taken effect. Those who had not gone, wanted to go; those who had already witnessed some of the shows wanted to be there again.

▪Queen gave five shows in Argentina

The regulations of the spaces in the public spectacles, in those times, were at least, morose. Just look at the photos of any grandstand in a superclassic of the early 1980s. Producers sold more tickets and that fifth show was the busiest. It is estimated that between those who paid for their tickets and those who snuck in more than 60,000 people attended that night. At one point the capacity The crowd could barely move. Whoever reached into the pocket to take out the lighter for a cigarette could set in motion a human tide that would end up crashing into a paravalanche or the barbed wire. In the field, the situation was a little more relaxed. Being the first experience in which this section was offered for sale, the estimates were more cautious. Thus, the police decided that the best way to decompress the people was to drill holes in the Olympic fence and allow part of the public to pass into the field through these improvised holes.

The magnitude of the event and its immense repercussion can be explained. It was the first time that a rock band had reached the country at the peak of its career. These shows were part of the world tour to present the album "The Game". Queen was one of the most important bands in the world and arrived in Argentina at its peak.

Although the specialized critics did not treat them very well (it was a habit that had started in the United Kingdom and had spread to the United States) the album contained several hits: Another One Bites the Dust, Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Play the Game, Save Me. The British band was a pioneer in including Latin America in their itinerary. Until then the world tours were not such, they only included the United States, Europe and Japan.

The history of Queen's Latin American tour shows why this was so. In Mexico, six of the scheduled performances had to be cancelled, Pinochet did not authorize the performance in Chile, in Brazil the Rio and Porto Alegre shows were suspended, and in Venezuela two more due to the official declaration of mourning for the death of an ex-president. However, the band's bet, beyond these improvisations, unthinkable today, (in times of presales, early birds, insurance and armies of lawyers), was more than successful.

There was a precedent in the country of an international star appearing in a stadium. In 1973 the Mexican guitarist Carlos Santana played with his band in old wooden stadium of San Lorenzo. But despite his reputation and fame, Santana did not have the repercussion of the English band and at that moment in his career his musical search was turning towards fusion, towards jazz-rock. The lack of experience made the stage stand in the middle of the arena and there was no audience in the field. The closest spectator was, hopefully, 40 meters away from the artists. The sound - the lack of it - was another problem.

In 1981 Queen came to the country with only that antecedent. The show they brought was unlike anything seen in the country. A huge stage, consoles of moving lights, an impressive sound power, fireworks and tricks, a worked scenic staging, immortal hymns and a performer like Freddie Mercury.

Queen's vocalist's ability to perform - but especially on stage - exceeded expectations. There he was, in front of more than 50,000 people, imposing the rules. What he wanted was at stake. A game that had no public exposure in the country, that was silenced and repressed. He did not modify his proposal despite the repressive climate, the censorship. One of the particularities of his performances in the country was that at the five of them they played a song that was somewhat lost in their discography and that many Argentinians did not know: Get Down, Make Love. It was a carnal, erotic and explicit song, with direct references to oral sex.

▪Diego Maradona and Queen

Queen did not show any major itching in regards to those who ruled in the places where they performed. This South American tour was a good example; in its initial schedule it passed through three countries governed by dictatorships. Years later it was also presented in South Africa despite international sanctions due to Apartheid.

It is often claimed that Queen's musicians met with Argentina's president, Roberto Viola. The truth is that Viola had not yet assumed that role. He was a member of the military board, Chief of the Army, but the president was still Jorge Rafael Videla. His investiture would take place weeks after the visit of the British.

Viola had a more political profile and believed that a slight opening was convenient. In that plan, and instigated by his son -who had been a football player-, he met at home with Freddie Mercury, Brian May and John Deacon. Roger Taylor, the drummer, missed the appointment. Today, almost four decades later, many affirm that his absence was due to his political positions, even though he neither at that time nor now has issued any opinion on the matter.

▪ The band met with Roberto Viola, one of the members of the Military Board

The memories of several of those involved - members of the band, technical staff, manager and even the photographer - are impregnated with political valuations that seem to have been concocted with the passage of time and do not represent what they thought and felt at the time. If so, it can be said that they had a unique capacity for dissociation, almost constituting multiple personalities. The presence of military and police personnel was strong. That was because the arrival of the English band had unleashed an excitement rarely seen. Every movement, every displacement was followed by hundreds or thousands of fanatics. And no one wanted any disturbance to happen or the musicians to do any harm.

The repressive vocation of the Argentine military forces of those times does not need to be underlined or exaggerated. For example, the correspondent of the American Rolling Stone magazine described the ditch that separates the South stalls from the playing field at the Stadium as a key to the Argentine dictatorship.

This interpretative excess (most of the Argentine stadiums built in the forties and fifties have a ditch) is combined with certain data, with images of police and military forces repressing whoever approaches the musicians, violently liberating their path. Around the Sheraton Hotel,  teenagers stood guard to try to and get in touch with their idols.

▪ Another of the Argentine magazines that showed the presence of the group in the country

In Mar del Plata, the musicians stayed at the Provincial Hotel. Freddie Mercury's movements were limited. Enclosed in his room, the best in the hotel, he let time pass watching the movement of the Rambla from the window. So it was that one afternoon, that habit turned into a love split. His partner at the time, Peter Morgan, offered him to go shopping around the city. Freddie explained that it would be impossible for him to go ten meters without being buried under the youthful enthusiasm. A couple of hours later, the artist saw from the window of his room his partner talking to a young man on the Rambla. The jealousy was immediate and so was the breakup, despite the fact that Morgan denied that he was the one who was walking with another young man on that Mar del Plata sunset.

This concert was the worst of the five. The security was very bad, thousands of people entered the stadium without tickets, the mounted police attacked the public in the same field of play of the World Cup Stadium. To continue the tour, the musicians demanded that the security issue be adjusted. The condition was fulfilled.

 ▪ There were strong police operations to “protect” the band

The press and the local public were dazzled by the performance of the quartet. The visual proposal was unique, Freddie's vocal and histrionic abilities, May's musical skills, the solvency of the rhythmic base, the impact of the staging. However, international critics still treated the group with disdain. The Rolling Stone critic gives them no more merit than a pub band. He even mocks their incompetence. Only the dedication in each show and the enthusiasm of the Argentine public stand out. One of the events that most surprised the local public, beyond the almost perfect succession of invincible hits, was Mercury's display and magnetic attraction. The local rock leaders were static, even somewhat modest.

As their stay in the country continued, the musicians received more and more affection from the public. They were amazed by the reaction of their fans to each song, how they knew the lyrics, how they participated enthusiastically and actively in the show. The peak was unfailingly produced in Bohemian Rapsody and, almost on the other side of that opulent and operatic work: Love of My Life was played with Freddie on the piano and Brian on the guitar. The audience sang the entire lyrics, without pauses. In the video recordings of the song you can see the mixture of surprise and joy of May and Mercury.

For the last concert of the tour in the country, they returned to the Vélez stadium. In the encores came the surprise. Freddie re-entered with the Argentine National Team shirt and addressed the audience in English: "I want to introduce you to a friend of yours: Maradona". The pirate recordings allow you to hear the roar of the crowd, you even hear some "Maradooo, Maradooo". Diego with his tight, high curls came on stage with sweatpants and a blue t-shirt. The footballer spoke fluently: "I want to thank Freddie and Queen for making me so happy. And now “Another bites the dust”.

Deacon and Taylor start Another One Bites the Dust, the group's latest hit.  Then would come the famous photos in the locker room. Freddie with the light blue Argentine T-shirt from Diego (in the show he used another one), and Maradona with a T-shirt with a big British flag that covered all his torso, similar to the one worn by Brian May in some part of the concert. That photo, would have been unimaginable a year later (Fauklands's War). At the time of the concert, although today it seems unreal, Queen was better known worldwide than Maradona.

 ▪ Miguel Romano, one of the stylists of the moment, together with the musicians

Journalist Juan Manuel Cibeira says that in a barbecue at the Argentine producer's house, Mercury announced that he would go out with the Argentine t-shirt. The Argentines present tried to dissuade him. They had a hard time explaining the situation to him. Rock and football in those days were two worlds that in Argentina had no point of intersection. For the rock people, football was something without brightness, without any evaluation. Any reference to it or the adoption of any of its rites or symbols was frowned upon. Mercury, more accustomed to the crossing of these two popular passions by what he saw in England, did not listen to the advice. And, in this way, he produced one of the first contacts between football and rock in the country, a situation that became naturalised in the mid-nineties.

Maradona was not the only local celebrity who came into contact with Queen. In Youtube circulates a video of an interview that the actress China Zorrilla did to Freddie Mercury. The Uruguayan actress in perfect English speaks about the answers of the singer, monologue, almost does not ask questions and forgets the simultaneous translation, thus a bizarre truncated dialogue of more than three minutes in English takes place in central time.  

Local Journalist Juan Alberto Badía, on the other hand, was the one who interviewed the musicians for Channel 9, which broadcasted the first live concert for the whole country and for Brazil ( it made very high rating peaks). The presenter was also the one who introduced them in the stadium. In the magazines of the time you can also see how the stylist Miguel Romano cut Mercury's hair before the last show and how in his free time, Brian May took his family to Ital Park, playground where several generations of citizens spent their childhood.

Queen's five concerts in the country marked an era, pioneering the arrival of great rock figures to Argentine stadiums. Many years would pass, the monetary convertibility and a much more global structure of the record business so that international stars would take the country as a reasonable place for their presentations.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

The Stories Scars Can Tell

Summary: A 'Hiccup left Berk' whump fic. When Hiccup left Berk for Toothless' safety five years ago, he hadn't thought about how hard life as a solo Dragon Rider would be. He hadn't realized it either, until a year after his reunion with Berk and the new Dragon Riders want to learn more about his scars.

Rating: Teen and up

Words: 6 452

Author’s Notes: This was supposed to be a 'Hiccup left Berk' whump fic one-shot, but it got way out of hand. This part alone is already 6k words long and I have other parts in the works, all of which are about Hiccup's misfortunes.

Constructive criticism is appreciated.

Enjoy!

Ao3

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"Is-is that from an arrow?"

Hiccup's honest question caused Astrid to take a pause. She'd been undressing herself, but she didn't get past her pauldrons before Hiccup asked her. They were left on the ground next to the hot spring they were planning on diving in.

Snotlout, Fishlegs, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut were all here as well and in several different stages of undress. Three of them pretty much threw their clothes off before jumping straight in. There were some surprised yelps of the water being too hot followed by Fishlegs chastising them for not taking their time to get used to the spring beforehand.

Usually, they'd be wearing nothing at all. Viking bathhouses were communal and these five young adults were familiar with each other as well. But having previously been somewhat hesitant to join them, this was the first time Hiccup was here with them, at one of the many bodies of water this island provided.

In the months since they came to live here with Hiccup, Toothless, and all the other dragons that called this place home, they had been trying to gain his trust. Hiccup's presence at the hot spring with them and without his very protective Night Fury was a sign that they were successful. As to not immediately scare him away again, the Thorston twins may or may not have compared Hiccup to a very skittish dragon more than once, they had decided to keep at least one layer of clothing on them.

It took Ruffnut a lot of convincing to go through with their plan.

It seemed to be working. At the very least, Hiccup wasn't wearing his armor, made out of Gronckle iron and dragon scales. His tunic and leather pants he did still wear. Much like his usual outer layer, they were dark in color. He had once explained it was because Toothless, a Night Fury, was a stealthy dragon. Hiccup just didn't wish to stand out on his back by wearing green or bright red.

That this was the first time was also the reason why he hadn't seen Astrid's scar before. It was located on her left shoulder, a very light pinkish line on her front. A similar one seemed to be present on the back parallel to the first one.

When Hiccup asked her about it, she glanced down at it.

"Oh yeah! In through the front and out through the back! Got it from some Dragon Hunter Viggo sent before the mysterious Dragon Master showed up to save Berk from his clutches." Astrid wasn't at all bothered as she talked about what was probably originally a very painful wound, sending Hiccup a smile when she mentioned this mystery figure. She even flexed her left arm and showed her scar with pride.

Hiccup smiled back at her, lightly shaking his head. Of course, Astrid would see her scars as achievements. That would be so like her.

The Dragon Master's war with the Dragon Hunters and Viggo uncovering his identity is what had lead him to Berk. The Grimborn brothers launching raids on the Viking village, capturing fishing boats, and cutting off their trading routes is what had then resulted in Hiccup returning to Hairy Hooligans for the first time since he had left it and his true self to be revealed.

Some hearts were broken, some were mended, there were some loud shouting matches, it had been a difficult few weeks for everybody, but in the end, Berk had been saved and Hiccup gained five new friends. Human friends.

The real reason behind the dragon raids and why they had suddenly stopped was known by now too and, needless to say, the Hooligans loved watching him come for a visit a lot more than they liked watching him leave.

"Must've been painful, though." Hiccup made a statement and cringed at the thought.

"Oh, it was! And... to be fair, I can't quite lift my left arm past my shoulder, but the kids on Berk haven't noticed. That is what matters." Nobody would ever think Astrid Hofferson, of all people, to be good with children, but the tiny Hairy Hooligans seemed to love her. A flash of regret did pass by on her face, but it was gone before Hiccup could speak of it and so he chose not too.

So that was somewhat of a sore spot to her, that she lost some of the range she used to have. She hoped her little fans would never find out their favorite warrior couldn't lift one of her arms all the way.

Astrid continued to work on the rest of her clothes. An extra pair of eyes did not make her waiver at all. She wasn't ashamed in friendly company she was close with.

An old crush and a want to still respect her decency got Hiccup to look away, even though she wasn't entirely in the nude.

This made Hiccup the only one still fully dressed. Something he was quite okay with, although he had agreed to join them at the springs this time.

Snotlout, soaked from head to toe, came stomping out of the water. Attempting to pretend like he wasn't freezing as he left the heat of both the hot spring and the steam, he took on a confident pose. Hiccup and Astrid's brief exchange had sparked inside of him the want to gloat.

"Pff! That puny thing? Let me show you a real scar!" He invited himself into the conversation. Propping a foot up on a nearby rock, he smugly pointed towards a jagged line on his inner thigh.

"Do you see that here? Got this one when I took a harpoon to the leg." Snotlout's ego simply oozed out of every spoken word. He was gloating and it looked like he had been waiting to do so for much too long.

"You did not!" Always ready to knock the Jorgenson right off the pedestal he liked to put himself on, the Thorston twins exited the spring as well. It was Ruffnut who spoke.

"Yeah, you got that scar when you accidentally destroyed that armory and that harpoon, that was just lying there, fell on you." Tuffnut followed swiftly.

"I did not! I-... Shut up, Tuffnut!" His pride hurt, Snotlout crossed his arms and looked away.

The twins grinned mischievously.

"Now check this out!" Both Ruff and Tuff pointed towards a particularly ugly-looking scar on the brother's side that didn't appear to be all that old. They were particularly happy with this one.

Walking closer, Hiccup couldn't help but notice something.

"Is that from... a Fireworm?" He asked, slightly worried.

"Uh-huh. Found some, tried to roll with them. You know how it is, being the feral dragon person that you are. Turns out they-"

"Have skin hot enough that it can melt flesh, yes, I'm aware." Tuffnut's exciting recount of the event did not help settle Hiccup's concern at all. If anything, he made a mental note to tell them which dragons to touch and which ones they should stay away from as far as humanly possible.

Or he should make that list in reverse. Knowing those two, Ruffnut and Tuffnut would absolutely seek out the ones they shouldn't ever come in contact with.

"And oh, Hiccup!" Ruffnut pulled on his sleeve excitedly before pointing towards her leg.

"And then there's this one I got on my leg from a fishing hook, that weird looking thing right here that I got when Tuff and I went Gronckle tipping-"

"That was you?!" Fishlegs' outrage was heard in an instance as Ruffnut decided to list each one of her own scars. Her body was quite littered with them.

"Yes, it was, Fishlegs! Pay attention!"

Hiccup didn't get to hear the end of their conversation as Astrid grabbed his shoulder to turn his attention towards her. She had taken note of Hiccup's stress levels rising significantly with each little anecdote Ruffnut shared and decided to save him before he bolted back towards his den where he could think of a way to "twin-proof" the island. She could see the want to do so on his face.

"You know, I had my suspicions, but they really haven't changed at all, have they?" Hiccup asked her, thankful for the save, and Astrid nodded.

"Unfortunately, they haven't. But don't worry about them, Fishlegs and I are keeping an eye out for them. And now you are too. They couldn't possibly be in any safer hands." Even after all of these months getting to know them after their reunion last year, Hiccup still wondered where this supportive side of Astrid had come from and why. He also wondered if she knew how much he appreciated it.

It made him remember that sometimes having other humans around could feel good.

There were the Defenders and the Wingmaidens, but Astrid, Fishlegs, Snotlout, Ruffnut, and Tuffnut came from a tribe that weren't originally on good terms with dragons. Dragon people were far and wide in between, at least in the far North, and sometimes a little reminder that the majority of humans weren't bad was a welcome perspective.

"I'll, uh, do my best to help." Hiccup gave her an awkward smile.

They had come here to live with him, after all. After some talking with their parents and Berk's Chief, they were here to help Hiccup and Toothless protect the dragons under their care and save the ones held captive by those that would do them wrong. They were living his life with the sole purpose of understanding it.

Although, Hiccup was well aware that there were some other, more hidden, intentions behind their actions. Hiccup knew for a fact, for example, that Stoick hoped his estranged son would reach out to him again. He wanted to reconnect, but so far he was respecting Hiccup’s need for space and time, which Hiccup was quite certain Gobber had something to do with.

"No! That one is so embarrassing!" Fishlegs yelped as he physically removed himself from Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston.

After the twin had run out of nicks and blemishes on their person, they decided to point out the Ingerman's. Ruffnut had taken this opportunity to say how "disappointingly untouched" he was.

It sent shivers down the spines of everyone present and Fishlegs already decided that he would spending that night with Meatlug in her nest.

"What about you?"

"Huh?"

Snotlout's question surprised Hiccup and he drew his gaze away from the three Riders.

"Do you have any scars?" Snotlout clarified his inquiry, he wasn't too happy that he needed to do so.

Hiccup was once again the center of attention, like he had been many times since the new Dragon Riders had come to live with him on what they called the "Better-than-Berk Berk".

Awkwardly, he gestured towards his prosthetic leg.

"Ugh, besides that! We know the story behind that one!" Jorgensons were often known for their temper and Snotlout was already annoyed.

Hiccup tugged on his tunic in discomfort, straightened it out as if possible crinkles mattered to him. They were all waiting on him and gazing at him expectantly. It had been a long while since he'd last felt this uncomfortable with his own body and yet the wave of embarrassment was a familiar one.

Dragons didn't care about his body. At least, the ones here didn't. He knew Toothless didn't. The Night Fury was never bothered by how weak and scrawny his partner looked, not even back when they first met. As a result, Hiccup never needed to care either.

But humans... Humans cared. A lot, from what he could remember.

"I don't..." Not even his hands quite knew what they were trying to say.

"You don't have to show us anything." Astrid decided to speak up as she took a step forward. Her hand was on his shoulder again.

"Oh, come on!"

"Is this about being scrawny? You're not that scrawny anymore! Honest!"

"And you're tall, H! Tall, handsome, and... Broad's not the word I'm looking for." The protest was instant. The only one who wasn't opposed to Hiccup listening to his boundaries was Fishlegs.

"Hiccup doesn't have to show us if he doesn't want to." Astrid hissed, unconsciously grasping for an axe that wasn't there with the way her fist clenched. She scolded the three of them. The other Riders muttered and two of them crossed their arms in disappointment. One even pouted.

Next to Astrid, however, Hiccup sighed and silently nodded to himself. He came to a decision and grabbed the back of his tunic to remove it.

"Hiccup?"

"You've shown me yours, I show you mine, right? It's only fair. And I'm doing this of my own free will. So don't worry about it." Though Hiccup tried to reassure her, Astrid's slight unease did not immediately fade away.

She felt compelled to look away at the slightest show of skin. It was unlike her, but as the tunic came off and all that remained was the leather pants, she didn't think there was any other choice.

"Damn, Haddock! Dragon riding did you good!" Ruffnut instantly piped up and Fishlegs even nodded in agreement. Snotlout was speechless, which was a feat in and of itself, and Tuffnut said something along the lines of having found someone even hotter than the skin-melting hides of Fireworms.

"Ah, thank you?" Hiccup hadn't expected any positive reactions, he'd expected neutral ones at best, but he would take it. It did his self-esteem some good. At least, for the time being.

Daring herself to look, Astrid finally willed her gaze to fall back on Hiccup and she saw what they all saw.

There were the tons and tons of freckles they already knew he had, but what was new was his figure as it was no longer scrawny as it was more toned instead. His muscles definitely weren't defined, but they were still unmistakenly there. Deceptively powerful in a lean and sleek design, that is what Astrid's keen eyes saw.

And something else that they knew weren't there before were the many, many scars on his body. For the amount alone, he had them all beat. Even Ruffnut!

As that sunk in, Astrid grew quiet while the others were delighted. Ruff, Tuff, and Snotlout in particular. As a warrior, she had numerous imperfections of her own, but she could at least say that none of them originated from a brutal whipping.

The marks on his upper back, she'd seen them before on other people and she'd heard their stories.

How vicious had it been that it created wounds that scarred? Like that especially? And more importantly, how old was he when he got them? The mostly straight lines were white, meaning they have probably been there a while already.

"So, huh, which- which one should I talk about first?" The overwhelming attention made Hiccup flush, hands not knowing what they wanted to do. And it was, for once, not in an entirely bad way. If anything, it encouraged him to open up to them even more.

Astrid pushed her new realizations to the back of her mind for the time being. She would approach the Dragon Master about them later. In privacy. The others didn't need to know that particular story in case Hiccup didn't want them to know. And if he didn't want her to know either, then so be it. She was willing to accept that.

Another reason was that Astrid didn't want this fragile trust he had in them now to break simply because they were asking questions for answers Hiccup may not want to give.

So she came to stand in front of Hiccup and scanned his body from head to toe, searching for a tale he may want to share.

Meanwhile, Hiccup needed to tell himself to breathe as she looked him over. Once upon a time, he had made himself believe he'd gotten over his crush on Astrid after leaving Berk, but her stay here certainly disproved that.

"Let's start with... These! On your hands!" Astrid suggested and took Hiccup's hands into her own. He splayed them open, palm up. They were certainly calloused from years of blacksmithing, a skill he had continued to sharpen as he did have his very own forge here on the island. But besides the callouses, the surface showed small burn scars as well.

"Oh, these!" Seeing them, Hiccup's awkwardness melted away and the biggest grin appeared on his face. It was the brightest expression they'd seen him wear thus far. Astrid and Fishlegs smiled in response.

"I've told you guys about the hatchlings Toothless and I sometimes take in, right?" They all nodded simultaneously. If there was something Hiccup liked to boast about it were his hatchlings. Some of which were still here on the island with them and others which occasionally dropped by for a visit.

"There was this one abandoned little Nightmare that we hatched and raised. She was late, so I think her parents had given up on her. This one day she discovered she could light herself up on command and... Well, I was holding her at the time." Hiccup chuckled at the memory. That same Nightmare was one of those that had taken up residence on this island.

"It scared her so bad because she thought I was fireproof this whole time and Toothless scolded her for so long! Ah, the burns were terrible, but I couldn't stay mad at her, you know? I named her Fiery because of what happened." He was going to end it there. If he didn't, he would still be talking about her hours later. He loved her so much, just like every single other dragon juvenile he'd ever taken care of and raised by hand.

But just because he wouldn't talk about Fiery, didn't mean he wouldn't talk about a different dragon of his.

"And this one," He pointed towards a bite mark on his right arm. It wasn't particularly big, but it looked like it must've once hurt, but the smile on his face didn't vanish. This one was another good memory.

"I got this one from Trouble, a Zippleback. They loved playing growing up, but then one of the heads got a little too playful during a play-fight and bit me instead of just nipping me. It was an accident, but they kept bringing me fish for an entire week as an apology." A joyous laugh escaped him.

"You could say he got a little... bitey." Snotlout was very proud of himself, but his pun was not a welcome one. Nobody laughed, they just stared.

"Shut up, Fishlegs."

"I didn't even say anything!"

"Still, shut up!"

Astrid rolled her eyes and Hiccup shook his head, but more so out of amusement. Meanwhile, the twins needed to be stopped before they started a contest of puns just to show the dishonorable Jorgenson who the real pun masters were. There was no room on this island for more than two masters in the art of wordplay.

"Ooh, what is this one?" Fishlegs was the next one to speak up. He only had eyes for the strange scarring on Hiccup's right. They looked like veins, or like red lightning etched into his skin. Like a tattoo. It started on his shoulder and went down his chest.

"Oh, that one! Yeah, I, uh, I got hit by lightning this one time when Toothless and I got caught in a thunderstorm in the middle of the ocean. Yeah, so... that- that happened." He was slightly more awkward about that one and Snotlout was wholly disappointed a mark as cool as that didn't come with an equally awesome story.

He muttered a silent "geez". That was how much he felt let down. A corrective punch by Astrid followed swiftly.

The twins were slightly more excited to have heard about that one incident that had turned their fellow Rider into a human lightning rod.

"Oh yeah, I imagine the two of you need to be careful. You both carry a lot of metal with you as you fly." Fishlegs added helpfully. Hiccup had told them of how metal was naturally attracting to lightning. It was something he had found out the hard way and more than once, apparently.

"So what about the scar here?" Tuffnut asked, pointing to the rather ugly one on the other's chin. Hiccup didn't know when the Thorston had pulled his pant leg up.

Or where his boot had gone for that matter.

Either way, Tuffnut figured Ugly marks were bound to have a nice and gruesome backstory.

Hiccup’s smile, that first appeared as genuine and then became more awkward, made way for a cringe. Just the thought of what had caused this particular blemish on his person made him wince. His slightly hunched posture told of his nervousness.

It was still very pink in coloration, indicating that it couldn't have been that old yet.

"Um, we, uh... We crashed. Some strong winds caught Toothless' wings. I broke my leg. The bone was out. Needed to set it myself, but couldn't. So Hookfang did it for me. It was very painful." There were no details, his sentences were short and to the point, and still, the faces of everyone present pulled into a grimace.

"That... could not have been a fun time," Ruffnut stated and the others agreed. Even she got goosebumps just imagining what that must've been like.

"Couldn't walk for so long. I actually just got back up on my feet when you guys sent me that T-mail asking me if you could come live here with us." Just thinking back to the time spent in bed simply because the dragons forbid him from getting up made Hiccup feel restless. Like he needed to strap the saddle to Toothless and go for a flight with him right this instance.

This, however, explained some things to the Riders. When they had first moved to the "Better Than Berk" Berk, Hiccup did seem to fatigue easily at the beginning of their stay and there had been no news of any recent rescue missions that had taken place before their arrival.

Usually, they heard about all sorts of rumors from seafaring merchants and such. That Hiccup needed some time to recover would be one reason why it had been strangely quiet on the grapevine concerning the Dragon Master.

"Is it...?" Astrid pointed to his leg.

"Oh, don't worry about it! It's good now! I'm good now! It just hurts when I run for too long."

"Define how much "for too long" is."

"Anyway, anything else you guys want to know?" Instead of answering Fishlegs' query, Hiccup gazed at three of the other Riders, who had been surprisingly silent.

Hiccup took a seat on a nearby rock. It most definitely didn't have anything to do with what they had just discussed.

Attempting to shrug away the tension that hung in the atmosphere, Snotlout and the twins circled him and looked him over. It was slightly uncomfortable for Hiccup, but if there was something they wanted to know, he was willing to share.

Fishlegs and Astrid had heard enough for the time being, though they did not leave.

"These!" Snotlout picked next.

Hiccup looked over his left shoulder to look at the scars Snotlout was referring too. He could barely see them, but he knew which ones the other was talking about.

"Got those from a dragon. Which I'm sure is quite obvious. This one time Trouble had wandered into a different dragon's territory and they weren't too happy about it. It was a Monstrous Nightmare and a very territorial one at that. She was about to nest and she didn't want any competition." Hiccup rubbed his shoulder. That Nightmare had found a good den and thought Trouble and Hiccup had come to steal it.

Many dragons Hiccup had met in life were good and kind beings, but there were some rotten apples he was unfortunate enough to come across. Most dragons did not hurt young juveniles.

So Hiccup remembered that incident with some unease, but Snotlout, meanwhile, looked back at those scars and was stunned.

They were claw marks that ran from his upper back all the way down to his hips. Had the claws responsible been just a tad bit more to the right, they would've taken Hiccup's spine.

Just like Astrid and Fishlegs, he was starting to have enough.

Hiccup seemed to notice. Snotlout didn't have any comments, he was now uncharacteristically quiet. But Hiccup had promised he would tell, so...

"What's this one?!" Ruffnut asked. Not having lost her curiosity just yet, she wanted to continue this interrogation as she poked at what once must've been a large gash on his right side, where his ribs were.

"That one I got from an axe, believe it or not! Got in over my head with some Dragon Hunters back when this one guy called Krogan was still alive. He was... a very cruel man. Said that, if I wanted to live like a dragon, I needed to be put down like a dragon. But I survived! So that's good!" Hiccup was slightly hesitant as he answered. His apprehension grew when he watched true horror appear on the faces of even the twins.

Suddenly, listening to Hiccup talk about several different incidents that each lead to horrific injury after horrific injury wasn't as appealing anymore.

Hiccup thought to himself that it was a good thing he wasn't naked, or they would've seen some other disfigurements he was still hiding.

Tuffnut raised his finger, as if he wanted to speak, but then lowered it again. It seemed like even he had enough by now. Hiccup wasn't kidding when he promised he was ready to tell them everything they wanted to know. And there were still quite a few scars they hadn't asked about.

Such as that thin vertical line on the right side of his abdomen. It wasn't all that short either. There were those odd spots on his lower back that looked like burns, but who knew what could cause a pattern such as that.

The Riders looked at one another, a look of new understanding on each of their faces.

Thinking of this lost Berkian as some crazy feral vigilante dragon-man had always been fun. After the years away, having fully devoted himself to dragons, he had adopted many draconic mannerisms. It was kooky, but amusing. As for the power he showed in battle, he and Toothless were like their own two-man army, you'd be an absolute fool to stand in their way. When he had first returned to Berk, they had been blown away by how much he had grown.

But now the Riders understood the kind of toll achieving such a strength and loyalty had on Hiccup, the pain he must've endured in his solo career as the Dragon Rider.

He had his dragons and they used their claws and fiery breath to keep him safe, but he didn't have any humans around. Each new injury Hiccup had to tend to himself, no matter how life-threatening.

He had human allies, such as the Defenders and the Wingmaidens, but they were never around. They didn't travel as much or as far as Hiccup did. In this manner, Hiccup was almost like their scout, their eyes in places they could not see. In return, they were a safe haven Hiccup was always welcome in, but couldn't always reach.

So Astrid figured the question she was about to ask was a fair one. Considering all their friend had gone through already in his short life, she didn't feel like she could rest easy without knowing that he was okay.

She came to stand before him while everyone else had moved away, her hand ghosting over a considerably large gash on his front that could only be caused by another dragon. It was another horrible tale, another stain on what they thought for so long had been a happy-go-lucky life without any care, stress, or worry. It would remain untold until the day the Riders got the heart to learn more.

Hiccup pushed himself back up on his feet, brows furrowed in concern.

"Hiccup... Are you sure you won't come back to Berk with us? Come back home? For good?" It was quiet at the hot spring. By now, they had all forgotten why they had come here in the first place. Something about going swimming and reconnecting with someone from their childhood.

Hiccup didn't know what to say as this question was asked. His gaze traveled to look at the others and he could see that they shared this sentiment with her. They wanted him to move back to Berk with them, permanently, and leave the home he had built here.

Some of these injuries were received after Hiccup had first returned to Berk. He could've been out there fighting with them, injured, and they would have no idea. He could've been suffering from fevers and infections while they had been in their cozy homes, enjoying the company of friends and family, of people with opposable thumbs who could help should trouble ever arise.

Tonight had been a revealing one for them.

But Hiccup already knew his answer.

"I... can't."

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Later that evening, with the moon high in the sky, Hiccup sat on the ledge of the entrance to the den he shared with Toothless, a knee pulled up to his chest.

It was a considerably sized cave in the side of a mountain that they found when they had first come to this island. There were very clear signs of both a dragon and a human living here. While it stayed mostly untouched, there was a large stone slab covered with piles of fur, there was a wall covered in paper with sketches and blueprints, there was a desk filled with parts and tools, and so much more.

It was quite high up from the base and the way there was steep too. Without a flying reptile for a best bud, it was hard to reach. That is what made it so perfect.

Fully clothed again, Hiccup had retreated here after a very tense dip in one of the hot springs with his human friends. Not feeling like sleeping yet, at night he was usually awake after having grown accustomed to Toothless' way of life, he was instead staring up to the sky and the stars.

He contemplated the events of the day, the things he'd said, and the Riders' reaction to them.

He thought he was doing the right thing by telling them all they wanted to know. He kept his life the past five years mostly hidden even when the others had come, he thought finally coming clean would strengthen their bond as the Dragon Riders. Instead, he got them to worry for him.

Honestly, he had never realized just how hard life had been on him. Even with all physical reminders blemishing his skin.

Toothless dropping his head heavily on Hiccup's lap pulled him out of his thoughts. It had been done on purpose. He crooned in question and looked up to his Rider.

When he only smiled and then proceeded to stroke the top of the dragon’s head, Toothless figured a more direct approach was needed to get Hiccup to talk.

So he picked his Rider up and all but threw him off the ledge and into their shared den. Hiccup landed with a grunt. Dragons weren't known for their gentle nature. Especially when they happened to have a close of a bond as Hiccup and Toothless had and regularly played rough with each other.

“Toothless!” Hiccup rubbed his backside.

The Night Fury gazed at him and roared in protest. It was his way of asking him what was up.

Hiccup let out a sigh as he crossed his legs. Toothless moved closer to sit down in front of him. He was quite a bit bigger than the human. Hiccup looked like he was contemplating something and Toothless wasn't pushing him. He knew his Rider would tell him when he was ready. There was hardly anything the two kept from each other, even during times when what they wanted to say to the other could not be said.

Hiccup looked up to his best friend.

"I think I did something bad, Bud. It's- it's nothing serious. I was... I was just thinking."

Toothless gave him a look and seemed to be saying "when you think it's always serious." It was an expression Hiccup often saw.

"Okay, fair point. I guess." Hiccup shrugged.

“I-I... You knew they wanted me to join them at the hot springs, right? They asked me about my scars and- and it made them really worried for my safety and..." He grew silent again and swallowed a lump in his throat.

"Do you, um... Do you think we should go back to Berk, Bud?” Hiccup finally spoke what was on his mind. Toothless cocked his head to one side.

“I-I mean, we only went back because of Viggo. And then we kept coming back whenever they needed us and-and then whenever there was a celebration or a holiday and they asked us to come... And then the Riders decided to come live here and see things from my perspective… And...” He let out a deep sigh and looked back up to his dragon, who gazed back at him with a look of understanding. He was allowing him to let it all out first.

"We have it good here, Bud. We worked so hard on this place. We can't just leave it behind."

Toothless gave him a look and a purr. With his nose, he dove underneath Hiccup's tunic to nudge the long scar on his abdomen and Hiccup's sighed deeply. Another one he hadn't told the Riders about and it didn't have such a lovely tale either. It was the one Astrid had not dared to touch.

It was caused by a Skrill they once had a scuffle with. She had been exceptionally cruel, like a dragon version of Krogan, and had come to their island in search of trouble. She had come specifically to challenge Hiccup and Toothless, this pack's alphas.

The Night Fury and the Rider won, but it had been a terrifying battle. She had been big, strong, and relentless. The fight had not ended well for her, much to Hiccup's regret. Though, he knew she left them no choice.

Hiccup was beginning to realize nearly every scar's story was a scary one. Toothless was right, the Dragon Riders did have a reason to worry for him. Hiccup knew he would've if any of them got hurt as often as he did.

He pulled a knee up to his chest and wrapped an arm around it. He looked off to the side.

He shook his head.

"No, we can't leave. This is my home, Toothless. It's our home. I-I can't leave." Toothless was comfortable with that answer and he wasn't about to argue with Hiccup. Whether on Berk or here, he wanted to be wherever Hiccup wanted to be.

That was wherever he was the most comfortable and it was clear he wasn't ready yet to return to the human settlement he was born and raised in.

Hiccup's history with fellow humans was not a good one. Toothless knew this.

He brushed with his cheek against Hiccup's as an approving gesture. Hiccup smiled. He could count on Toothless for anything.

"I'm gonna go to bed, Bud. I'm beat." As if on cue, Hiccup let out a loud yawn. After getting used to Toothless' sleeping schedule, trying to stay up during most of the day for his Riders and then the night for his dragon was proving to be a difficult feat. He was tired, exhausted. For once, he longed for his bed.

Toothless seemed to agree. As Hiccup got up to his feet, the dragon pushed him forward with the flat of his head. The former chuckled as he made his way over to the furs and promptly dropped down on top of them on his back.

Lifting his leg, Hiccup undid his prosthetic before moving further up on the pile to curl up and Toothless, who had been staying up together with him, wrapped himself around the other. He was tired as well.

Hiccup smiled up to the Night Fury and received a lick on the entire right side of his face. He groaned, but it didn't wipe his grin away as he wiped the slobber off. Grabbing Toothless' chin, Hiccup briefly touched Toothless' forehead with his own and the latter closed his eyes and purred. It was their good night and their good morning.

Rolling back onto his other side, Hiccup rested his head on his arm.

He tried to close his eyes so he could sleep, but found that something was keeping him awake. Smile replaced by a frown, he couldn't stop thinking about his evening with the Riders.

He wanted to stay, he really did. This island was his home, a place for both him and his dragons where they would all be safe. It was high up, a place only those with wings could reach.

And yet, something was nagging at him. Something was bothering him and he wasn't quite sure what.

It wasn't necessarily moving back to Berk that troubled him. He wasn't so keen on doing so, but it wasn't his main concern.

Was it the realization that his life, so far, had been difficult?

He feared water because of the sheer amount of times he had nearly drowned so far. He still avoided many human settlements and even contact for all his bad experiences with them. Berk, at some point, included. His friends even compared him to a "very skittish dragon" when they thought he wasn't around to hear it. It was true that, for as much as Hiccup trusted the Riders, he was still often cautious around them.

Rolling onto his other side to face Toothless, Hiccup scooted up to him. Without a single word spoken, the Night Fury wrapped himself tighter around him. He was already half asleep, but Hiccup coming closer wasn't lost on him.

Once comfortable, Hiccup figured he should follow his lead, and yet he still found sleep to be much too far away, in spite of his exhaustion.

He didn't want to go back to Berk, he really didn't. But this wasn't his first sleepless night, even with Toothless there to keep him safe.

He had to admit, far too many stories had been engraved into both his body and mind.