#but i remember wayside school being similar to it

[b0ylik3r]

school is hard. wish i was in a fictional 2000s story where the school is comically spelled 'skool' on the front, where all my classmates are archetypes or the type of person they are is obvious based on their appearance, the world is wacky and things dont really make sense ever, almost everything that happens is cuz it's funny, also im a middle skool boy and i have no problems other than the episodic ones that move the story along. REALLY wish that was me.

[oncetherenowhere]

Bad rumination day today. I've been utilizing different techniques to ease the rumination, but some days, it happens so strongly that it leaves me frozen. Writing about it helps; reminding myself that this IS just rumination helps. It's just hard, coming face to face with the worst moments of my life on what should be a decent day.

Because today is fine. The weather is beautiful. I am safe. I got myself a decaf iced coffee with blueberry syrup- it is absolutely delicious.

I had another bad dream last night- I think that's why I'm in such a state.

I have been thinking about deleting my Instagram. I never post there. I used to use it to keep up with people, but I don't do that anymore either. Logging onto the app just makes me feel sad. It feels like a constant reminder of my failure to make friends.

Being autistic is one thing; combining that with a serious mental illness makes my life extremely hard. I've never known someone who gave me grace because of it- except H. I have been around people with similar problems, and I've seen them get second chances, and forgiveness, and patience, and, as self-pitying as it sounds, I've noticed time and time again that I am not given the same treatment.

I hate being self-pitying. I feel like if anyone I knew read this, they'd roll their eyes. It makes me feel so defeated. All my life, I've been begging people to take my problems seriously. My parents, teachers, peers, doctors, therapists...I don't understand why I am thrown to the wayside. It has to be the fact that I am autistic. I feel like it gives me some sort of aura to allistic people, "don't take this person seriously!", and like...

Having my personhood doubted...always being doubted in every capacity, throughout my life, in big and small ways...at a certain point, it makes me feel like I'm living in a psychological horror movie.

I have been through serious trauma- I have had more than one life threatening experience. I have been through some seriously fucked up shit. I remember after the worst night of my life, I had this grotesque hope that finally, FINALLY, someone would show me sympathy, someone would care, things had finally gotten bad enough to warrant love and patience, and life went on as normal. I went to school the next day. Nobody questioned my bruises. I had school security called on me when I broke down sobbing in class.

H thinks my brain sabotages me on good days. I think he's right. Every time something goes well, I am terrified. Things going well means an awaiting punishment.

So, on this gorgeous spring day, where everything is fine, my brain ruminates. Pain is comfortable. Expected.

The best rebellion, the best healing, is to keep going despite it. To fight for happiness and comfort. To keep practicing self advocacy, self care.

I will not give up. I will not give up.

[yeehawhan]

Competitive Skater!Tino Väinämöinen

pls tell me if this sucks lmao I was listening to my old skating music and got sentimental and decided to take it out on finny boy-

replies: open

Competitive Skater!Tino  Väinämöinen x anyone (1045 words)

Tino had been skating for as long as he could remember. His parents often joked to friends that he was skating before he could walk, which wouldn’t surprise him much. He was better on his skates than he was on solid ground. Sure, maybe he didn’t have the typical skater physique, curves in all the right places, thighs a bit thicker, tummy not as flat as some of his competitors. That didn’t stop him any, he loved being able to stand out a bit more, especially to the judges. As he got older and his talents grew along with him, he threw himself more and more into his art. 

School fell to the wayside, it wasn’t one of his top priorities compared to the prospect of making it to international competitions. He easily made his way through the ranks, frequently beating competitors twice his age. At the age of 14 he placed on the podium of the Junior Grand Prix, solidifying his place among the elites in his sport. He was scouted by multiple trainers, and was off to Ottawa, to live and train there in hopes of becoming an Olympic prospect. It was a terrifying change, but one that came with a larger rink to practice in, professional advice, as well as classical dance lessons. He loved his new life. Leaving everything behind was scary, of course, but he really couldn’t want anything else with where he was now. He’d been sponsored by his rink, which was nice because it allowed him solo practice time, a private room, and the ability to decorate the place however he wanted. Before moving to Canada, back in Finland, Tino was a pretty big fan of Elton John. Though now that he was in a bigger city, one where bands and musicians frequented, he was able to see him in concert and fall even harder for the man and the music. He admired the way the man was able to express himself the way he did, and even let that come through in his own skating outfits. While most men tended towards the simple, yet beautifully made tops and simple pants, Tino’s skating wardrobe leaned towards that of the women’s skaters, form fitting, frilly, over the top. He loved how beautiful he felt in them, and this of course came out in his skating. Now that he was living on his own at 19, he was more open with who he was, letting himself explore his options in terms of style, and occasionally love. Though, being a professional skater didn’t quite leave time for the latter, he did his best to at least make a few friends with similar interests and views as he did. Seeing Elton in concert only pushed his passions farther, signed posters and vinyl records on display in the sitting area, behind a small piece of glass to protect them. He spent a majority of his days there anyways, so why not put them where he could appreciate them?

He’d been on the ice for about two hours already, his typical music playing over the speakers around him as he did some little touch ups on a few jumps. Rocket Man was the song currently up, and so the blonde caught himself singing every now and then as he let himself drift around the rink. He’d be taking a break soon for breakfast, opening the rink to the public for a while before his practice resumed. Most of the regulars knew him, and his typical music choices, and were fans right along with him. They were his major supporters as well, coming to view his practices before performances to cheer him on and to help critique. He turned to look at the clock on the metal wall, seeing he had about fifteen minutes left before he’d take his break. He moved to his phone to start up the song for his next competition, taking his place in the center of the rink as it slowly started. His trainer had picked a Wild West themed outfit and routine, and despite thinking it was a little silly, Tino couldn’t help but think the whole thing was pretty cute, and made him feel pretty cute, too. It was fun and fast paced, full of spins and jumps, and allowed him to keep a quick speed through the entirety of the routine. So, why not run through it in the time he had left? There were a few people starting to trickle in, so he figured it would be best to run it once before giving himself to figure out what he could improve on. And so he started, the familiar start of Hell’s Comin’ with Me by Poor Mans Poison starting over his speakers, letting his feet follow in the slow beginning pace of the song. His movements were fluid and elegant, matching the tone of the first minute or so of the song. Though at the pause he stopped, and the energy changed. Everything was much faster, an dusing his toes to kick off he quickly sped up, using every last inch of ice he could get to. He built and built, using a few different spins here and there to build up his speed before it got to his favorite part.. “I am the righteous hand of God

And I am the devil that you forgot,”

Tino could hardly wait for this part every time, as he threw himself into two back to back jumps, a Quad Toe Loop followed by a Triple Axel, the challenge they presented gave him goosebumps nearly every time he did it, and even more so when he pulled them off. He caught himself with ease as he landed, finishing off the last thirty seconds of the routine before he found his way back to the center, a fast paced ten second spin getting him to the end of the song. He stopped himself with his toe, a hand lifted in the air and the other to his chest. He panted for breath, but the adrenaline flowing through his system made it oh so worth it, as it did every time before that. This would be the routine that got him to the Olympics, he would make sure of it.

song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9oDxynh7rG0

[twh-news]

Interview: Makeup Artist Douglas Noe on Loki’s Looks Through the Years & Creating Anew for ‘Loki’ [EXCLUSIVE]

Douglas Noe has been in Hollywood for three decades. An award-winning makeup artist, he’s worked on projects such as World War Z, Planet of the Apes, Spider-Man 3, I Saw the Light, and Birth of a Nation. On top of these impressive credits, he’s also been Tom Hiddleston’s personal makeup artist since joining the MCU in The Avengers, designing all of the looks for Loki’s subsequent appearances.

Noe has been nominated for three Emmys with one win, and five Makeup Artist and Hairstylist (MUAHS) Awards resulting in two MUAHS awards. His skills include creating making natural and period looks, prosthetics, hair, and tattoos.

Along with being the head of the makeup department for the most recent Disney+ series Loki, Noe is also creating looks for the new Netflix comedy series True Story starring Kevin Hart and Wesley Snipes.

We had a chance to chat with Douglas Noe about his work on Loki, The Avengers, the incomparable value of teamwork on set, and most importantly, Richard E. Grant.

Nerds and Beyond: So you started your Marvel journey with The Avengers, but what drew you to your field in the first place? And how did you get your start?

Douglas Noe: Star Wars was a huge influence to me as a young boy, both sketching and drawing, and a little bit of sculpting but not much. Cut to 1983, Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” comes out and I find a magazine called Fangoria on the newsstands where I can order blood and wax and pencils and fake hair. So, I started playing with these things. I was also taken with the horror movie craze that was happening in the early 80s — Nightmare on Elm Street and Friday the 13th, and others, obviously.

In High School, in 1984, I joined choir thinking I would get an easy credit, but my voice had not changed. So the choral instructor had been waiting for a boy soprano to do a theatrical opera presentation. So with that I sang the lead, I quit choir after that, because my peers were merciless, but, I learned the world of theatrical makeup which I hadn’t been introduced to.

I did years of theater. I went to a performing arts high school — it’s called Fort Hayes School for the Performing Arts in Columbus, Ohio — graduated, went to beauty school, and continued working in Ohio doing industrial, commercial, theater, and opera [makeup]. Worked for Maybelline and Revlon, got restless, worked in Cincinnati on my first film in the summer of 1990, it was July so 31 years ago, A Rage in Harlem. And my boss said you come to Los Angeles, I’ll make sure you get on your feet.

Nerds and Beyond: So you mentioned that it’s been about 31 years since your career started, what’s changed over the course of those 30 years in your field?

Douglas: How much time do we have? I’d say the biggest, biggest change would probably be the way we make these things now. Although another large change, more specific, would be the materials that we use. There’s a constant evolution and reinvention of almost all aspects of the materials that a makeup artist uses. That said, I have to shine a light on the way we do things now with the onset of digital and digital cameras. Shooting on film now has almost completely fallen by the wayside. Film was very forgiving, quite frankly, and now it’s not so forgiving. And because of that, the bar has been raised. The wonderful thing about this journey is watching my peers just get better and better and better, my colleagues rising to meet the challenge of not having anything to hide from with this new way we make films.

Nerds and Beyond: So, sometimes you kind of throw prosthetics to the wayside in favor of a more traditional makeup. How do you make that decision on which one to go with?

Douglas: That’s an excellent question. The decision is based purely on what are we going to see. That’s where I start, what is the lighting? I have a conversation with the director of photography and I find out what is the dynamic. Obviously, I know from the script whether it’s an interior or exterior, or if we’re exterior but we’re going to be on a stage, if it’s day or night. These variables all play into my decision as to whether or not I should rely on my theatrical experience and ability to paint 2D to appear 3D, or go ahead and make small prosthetics and put them where I need to put them and use actual prosthetics in lieu of paint.

That has everything to do with lighting, locations, logistics, and because most of his [Loki’s] wounds appear on his arm and some on his face in the Void, it’s all very moody and very dark. And again, the theatrical quality of the paint is not going to be altered by the changing light, it’s just going to react the same way the rest of the face is going to react. It’s purple light, it’s going to make everything have a purple hue. There was no accounting for any correction that didn’t need to be done. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. It’s real.

Nerds and Beyond: So, you did make up for not only Tom on Loki, but you helped plan out the looks for everybody?

Douglas: Yes, what I do is I surround myself with strong talent. It’s all about team. I designed Wunmi Mosaku, Gugu Mbatha-Raw, Sophia DiMartino, and Tom [Hiddleston]. Regarding the rest of it, Neil Ellis, both Dennis Liddiard and I, added to the elements of his scars and wounds, which you would only see in close-ups.

The rest of it, the parameters are set — Blade Runner to Mad Men — and stay in those confines. And obviously, I choose color palettes for the women and there are parameters set for the men, but then it’s about team. I’m a big one on a team and not putting my thumbprints on other people’s work, but rather build other people up so they feel like they own what they’re doing.

My team consists of artists that also have stronger resumes and quite frankly, skills that exceed mine. It’s the mutual trust that allows us to keep a high level of artistic integrity in every aspect of the job. It also means I get the very best from my team, and it shows on the screen.

So, I didn’t have every look in my hand. Dennis Liddiard designed the Mobius character and I had Ned Neidhardt run with Gugu and turn up the volume on some of the elements that she already possesses that we can play with. Her eyes and lips, I think Ned turned the volume on both. And because we’re shooting in order, it’s a progression in the makeup you did.

Nerds and Beyond: When it came to Sylvie and Loki, when you when you’re doing those, did you try to kind of plan them both to have any similar things to give them a Loki look?

Douglas: It’s a fair question, but the answer is no. So again, I think the characteristics and traits that were going to be similar among them, aside from wardrobe and costume hints, were all character driven. And I did nothing with the makeup and hair to try to make them look or even closely resemble each other.

Nerds and Beyond: I want to kind of back up a little bit to Tom in the first Avengers film. That was by far one of his most standout looks. Can you tell me anything about what went into the creation of that absolutely tormented, haunted look that he had throughout that entire movie?

Douglas: Yeah, and that’s probably one of the elements that, because the character has evolved, we kind of left with Avengers because by the end of Avengers, and we carried it into Endgame, he does have a bit of an edgier look in Avengers, and not many people pick up on it. But the reality is he’s a little sculpted in Avengers.

I remember sculpting his cheekbones and temples, and doing a little play on his forehead for when he’s in the cell on the Helicarrier carrier with all that overhead lighting. I did like a little devil horn shadow, which is so subtle. The only person who’s going to notice is anybody who looks back at it and having read this and knows what to look for, but it is so nuanced and so subtle. And that’s the only place I think we did that. But the rest of him is very much chiseled and sculpted, but it’s a light touch.

And I think, again, as he evolved through the Marvel Universe and into the other movies that was something that was easy to leave behind, because I think that look played directly into his evil desire to rule over Earth. We rested that design element with that storyline.

Nerds and Beyond: It’s very clear too and I’ve always loved looking at that, because I’m a huge fan of the character. I’ve always loved kind of comparing how he looked in that movie to the rest of them.

Douglas: You’re on to me!

Nerds and Beyond: I’m not! I swear [laughs] So, what’s your best method for making the actors comfortable in the makeup chair? And with the final outcome?

Douglas: It’s dialogue; listening, talking to them, talking to their representation, whether it be an agent or a manager, and doing my homework and doing my due diligence to find out what’s going to make them comfortable the moment they walk through the door. I do my homework on them. It’s not just IMDb, it’s an internet search. So, I spend some time on the web and find out who these folks are, and if I find out, for example, they’re not one that likes to talk a lot, well, the writing’s on the wall, we’re not going to talk a lot, we’ll cut to the chase and get to the point. But also, it’s about building a rapport and building a relationship. Also, knowing that, I’ve said this in previous discussions, knowing it’s necessary to get out of the way.

Like if, for example, I’m not a proper fit for somebody, I have to be plugged in, I have to be aware enough to understand that it may not be working before somebody says to me, “Hey, this isn’t gonna work.” So it’s just about being open, especially as Tom’s personal on these projects and running the department, knowing that I don’t get to do everybody. I don’t get to put my thumbprint on other people’s work. Because not only is that disrespectful, it’s very often unnecessary, because I hire good people. I hire contemporaries and peers. Truly, you’re only as good as your weakest crew member. I surround myself with good people.

So, take Owen Wilson, for example, it would have been wonderful to do Owen’s makeup, but there were times when he was not going to be shooting with Tom and I was going to need to be ready for Tom or available to Tom, so it didn’t make sense. So I never touched Owen, I had Dennis Liddiard design that look and run with it. And then Ned Neidhardt took over that look when Dennis had to depart. That’s just one example of not trying to do everything.

Another one was the Classic Loki. I wanted to do Richard E. Grant’s [makeup] so bad, I can’t even tell you. I’ve been a huge fan since 1987. I wanted so badly to bring that full circle, didn’t make sense. It just didn’t make sense. So again, I never touched him. It wasn’t necessary. Ned was always there. And I think the same thing happened to me on Ragnarok reshoots, which I ran in Atlanta again with Dennis Liddiard. I wanted so badly to do Sir Anthony Hopkins makeup, but it didn’t make sense. So I was happy to hand it off to Bill Myer.

Nerds and Beyond: Oh man, I loved Richard E. Grant in this show so much.

Douglas: He’s amazing.

Nerds and Beyond: He’s so good!

Douglas: He really is. And he’s that good in person. He’s just so fun and interesting and alluring and attractive. He’s such a wonderful, wonderful person and, of course, a phenomenal actor.

Nerds and Beyond: I was watching little videos that he posted and he just seems like the warmest person.

Douglas: You know, just one last tidbit about Richard Grant is he’s got wonderful stories and as he’s telling them he’ll often stop and pause and just laugh. Just laugh, not for the sake of the stories or for anybody that he’s telling the story to, but because recounting the story brings him true joy. So he’ll stop and embrace that joy. Oh, it’s so wonderful.

Nerds and Beyond: That’s so amazing to hear. What is the most memorable job that you’ve done?

Douglas: The most memorable … That’s a tough one because I have so many fond memories of so many projects. The first Avengers film was memorable because there was a buzz, there was a vibration, a frequency, that was in the air when we were shooting that. We kind of knew we were making something big and something special. I don’t think any of us knew how big or how special it would be, but that certainly is one of the most memorable and most special projects.

I’m pretty good about focusing on the positive aspects of all these things, regardless of how difficult the project may be for whatever reason. The pros always, always heavily outweigh the cons, but I have a lot of wonderful, memorable experiences. Another one, it’s the polar opposite only because of the conditions in which we shot, but Birth of the Nation was one of the most memorable and exceptional experiences of my career. I was on the wrong side of 40, had 25 years of experience, and had still never worked so hard in my entire life. We did a 50-day shoot in 27 days. So proud of the work we did.

It was 100 degrees with 99 percent humidity, we shot it in the summer in Georgia, in Savannah, so it was hot, humid, and just getting the makeup necessary to be on individuals to stay put was its own challenge. And then the other challenges only added to that. But Nate Parker, the director, writer, producer, and lead actor, he is a special human being. And he was inspiring from start to finish. Usually, the first people in are the teamsters, transport department, and usually I’m second. He beat me in almost every single day. He’s in three hours before he needs to be. That was a very special experience.

Nerds and Beyond: Finally, are you excited about the news of Loki Season 2?

Douglas: I’m beyond thrilled! I invite being in the dark a little bit, I kind of like surprises and I like not knowing, so I suspected, but hearing the news confirmed, I was thrilled, naturally. What are they going to dream up? This is amazing. How do you top season 1 of Loki? That’s the burning question.

[nasaty]

Forget me not

Aizawa-Sensei x Y/n-Sensei fic

TW: (eventually) violence, discussion of past death, just some bad feelings all around.

Part 9/??

——————

“She’s got a decently bad concussion. She should start feeling more normal soon but then the pain is going to hit her. I’m going to have recovery girl come in and help her a bit, but you still need to keep her awake for a while. She can sleep in small segments but don’t let her sleep for more than two hours at a time for the next twelve hours.” The doctor gave Shouta a sheet of paper with instructions and a prescription for pain killers. They discharged you after that.

Shouta had called Nemuri to have her come pick you both up and take you back to the dorms.

“Oh honey…you got fucked right up.” Nemuri said as she opened the back of her van.

You heard Shouta talk to Nemuri and explain the situation. He leaned down towards you.

“Is it okay if you stay with me tonight so I can keep an eye on you?” He asked

“…oh…we can have a sleepover.” You said, still a bit dazed.

“Hah…yes we can have a sleepover. Nemuri is going to take us back now.”

“Thank you, Nem.” You gazed at her, and she ruffled your hair softly. Aizawa lifted you up into the seat of her car and sat on the other side. You laid on his shoulder and he whispered to you sweetly, not that you could tell what he was saying.

You took a short nap on the way back to UA and when Nemuri parked you woke up, feeling a lot more clear but you had a splitting headache.

“Oh wow this sucks.” You stated. As you got out of the van, hand in Shoutas hand for support.

“Hah…yeah it does. Do you want to take some medicine to help?”

“Yes please”

Shouta mouthed a sincere ‘thank you’ at Nemuri and she mouthed, ‘you owe me’ back.

As he was unlocking the door to his room, Midoriya appeared in the hallway.

“Aizawa-sensei? Y/n-Sensei?”

“Go to sleep, problem child.” Spat Aizawa.

“Oh don’t be so mean to Midoriya.” You defended.

“What’s going on?” Midoriya rubbed his eyes.

“Y/n-Sensei has a concussion. We ran into a villain tonight.”

“Are you and Y/n-Sensei dating?!” You both forgot you were wearing dress clothes rather than your usual casual or hero costumes you wore to school.

Aizawa sighed, “Go to sleep, Midoriya.” He ordered and you giggled.

He let you into his room and lead you to the couch, made you some tea and gave you a couple pain pills.

“Thank you for taking care of me Shouta.”

“I didn’t do anything.” He said.

“Yes you did. You saved me and you took me to the hospital and you’re taking care of me.”

He hummed.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help.”

“You saved that boys life.” He stated.

“The student?”

“Yes. He was from Shiketsu. If you hadn’t been near him when that villain hit you both, that blow would’ve broke his neck.”

“Oh….”

“You’re not really confident in yourself as a hero are you.”

“Yeah….not really.”

“You should be. I mean you beat me sparring, it’s not like you can be that bad.” He smirked.

“Yeah but I can’t do anything when it counts. Just in practice.”

“Your intuition kept that kid alive. I wouldn’t say thats nothing.”

“I just happened to be there though, it’s not like I helped.” You looked Shouta in the eyes and saw tears welling up in his eyes. “Shouta??”

“I would’ve done anything to have someone like you with me and Oboro. Maybe he’d still be alive. That isn’t nothing.”

You vaguely remember the news story about Oboro Shirakumo when you were in late middle school, the year before you started at UA. Your parents brought him up to try and get you to not attend, and you thought that was disrespectful.

“You we’re with Oboro?” You asked.

“Oboro was my best friend. Me and Hizashi’s.”

“Oh….wow….” Your eyes traced the ground frantically thinking of what to say.

“You saved more than that boy tonight, believe me. A whole community of people have their friend tonight. Their colleague, their family member. That’s because of you…. Please understand that.”

Tears streamed down your face and Shouta grabbed a tissue to dab your cheeks. He kissed you above both of eyes, and you fell asleep in his arms.

———————-

Shouta woke you up a few times in the middle of the night as he was told, and you continued your conversations. He’d let you sleep for an hour or so and then gently nudge you awake and you’d stay up, talking where you left off before. He kept notes on his phone to remember the things you talked about so he could bring it back up when you awoke again.

“Sometimes I feel like UA failed us.” You said.

“It’s gotten a lot better since we’ve returned.” Shouta observed.

“Fair. I just was thinking about the whole general studies/hero course thing because of Shinso and I was irritated. I was forced into the hero course but they never taught me the things I needed to do to actually work in the field, to keep myself safe. They acted like I had a strength quirk or something but then when I couldn’t measure up, they just ignored me.”

“I can see that. It was similar for me, but I decided to only pay attention to physical and practical hero work after Oboro passed and let everything else fall by the wayside. But they seemed to think that was fine because I was strong.”

“They needed to teach us how to work together more. And rely on each others strengths.”

“You’re right about that one. I’m hoping we’re doing better with that now.”

You fell back asleep.

——————

“Shouta why haven’t we worked together before? Like hero work? Not like….tonight… but like in general. We both have stealthy quirks, I feel like it would work well.” You asked.

“You want to know the real reason or are you just suggesting we team up?”

“Both I guess.”

“I realized recently I was ignoring you and being rude because I really liked you. I was trying to make my feelings go away but I couldn’t….so I just kinda gave in.” He admitted. “But we should do hero work together. You could find the villains with your quirk and I could erase them before they even know we’re there. And we’ve finally learned how to communicate so maybe it would work out…heh.”

“Did we really learn how to communicate? Or did we just stop being shit heads.”

“Same thing.” He smirked.

——————-

“I like the dress you wore tonight. Even thought it’s a bit destroyed now…you looked nice.”

“Oh but I don’t look nice anymore?” You teased.

“That’s not- I didn’t-“

“I’m kidding Shouta. Thank you.” He sighed in relief, and you continued. “So do you only have that one blue tie?”

“HAH yes. I bought it for the one press conference I had to do.”

“I knew I’d seen it before…you looked nice in it though. We should get you some more.”

He blushed at your use of ‘we’. “I’d like that.”

———————

“Shouta what kind of smells do you like?”

“What….kind of smells?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. I was putting on perfume and tonight and I didn’t know what you would like.”

“Um…I guess I don’t really know. Never thought about it.”

“What cologne do you wear?”

“I don’t…? I’m just hygienic I guess..?”

“So you just naturally smell like sandalwood?!”

“I don’t know what that is.” He chuckled.

—————————

“Have you just been wearing that suit this whole time?!” You realized it had been hours and he was just sitting with you.

“I…..didn’t want to leave you alone while I found something else to wear.”

“Shouta.”

“What.”

“Go find something comfy to wear! I’ll be right here, I’ll be fine.”

He left the room for a moment and came back with a dark t-shirt and bright pink sweatpants on, another big shirt folded in his arms.

“Oh. My. God.” You bursted out laughing.

“Okay okay get it out of your system. Zashi bought these for me as a gag gift years ago... but they’re really comfy.”

“I love them. This is fantastic.”

“I brought you a change of clothes too if you’d like.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with me borrowing your clothes?”

“What kind of a stupid ass, irrational question is that?” He joked.

You gasped, “I’m serious!”

“Please wear my shirt.”

You giggled, “okay.”

——————

“Shouta.”

“Hmm?” He replied

“Do I have to work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“Oh thank god,” you sighed and he snickered. “Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“I took the day off. I thought I would just hang around and make sure you’re okay.” He said.

“You‘re sweet, Shouta.”

“I’m glad you think so. Sorry for….the way I treated you before.”

“I’m sorry too. We were both stupid.”

He laughed, “yes we were.”

———————

“Shouta.”

“Yes, y/n?”

“Was this date…and like the time in the showers…all a one time thing?”

His smile fell. “…did you want it to be a one time thing…?”

“No…I want it to be a lots of times thing.” You giggled and looked away.

“Oh…good.” His smirk returned and he kissed you on the cheek. As he pulled back you took his face in your hands and gave him a deep, loving kiss. You felt the tension release from his body and he threw his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. “It’s a lot’s of times thing, then.”

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #497

Top Ten PC Games No One Talks About Anymore

Blimey, Quake is rather good, isn’t it? Have you heard about it? I really hope so, because it’s only twenty-five years old. I mean, Jesus. What’s up with that? Quake is meant to be the future. It’s full of true-3D polygonal texture-mapping and real-time dynamic light-sourcing. Fancy it being a quarter of a century old. That’s ridiculous. “Old” is for things like, I dunno, Space Invaders or The Godfather or I Wanna Hold Your Hand. Stuff that our parents heard about before we were born. It’s not – it’s absolutely not – used to describe something that people bought 3D accelerator cards for. It’s not used to describe a game that popularised online gaming.

But old it is, getting silver anniversary cards and everything. No longer the angry, hungry young tiger, devouring its ancestors and growling at upstart rivals like Duke Nukem 3D – sure, you’ve got non-linear levels, interactive scenery, and toilet humour, but we’ve got grenades that bounce with real physics – Quake is now an aged beast of the forest, resplendent, battle-scarred, weary with gravitas. Quake is the game that shaped the now, but it does not represent the future anymore. In fact, arguably its greatest rival – Unreal – is the game with the lasting, living legacy, its progeny building the next generation of gaming with one of the most popular and impressive engines around, the framework underpinning everything from Gears to Jedi to Fortnite. Quake blew us all away, but arguably it ceded the conflict, secure in its status as one of the most important and influential games of all time. Quake II got plaudits for actually having a proper story and an engrossing single-player campaign (and coloured lighting!), and its immediate descendants such as Half-Life changed the nature of what FPS games could do, but in a funny way it feels like Quake has long since retired. A sleeping titan. It got old.

So it’s great that they rereleased it on modern systems! The version of Quake released last month is basically the game I remember, but tarted up a little around the edges, with texture filtering and dynamic shadows and other stuff that I couldn’t manage on my Pentium 75 back in the day. It plays great – it’s slick as anything, and you go tearing round the levels like a Ferrari with a nail gun, blasting dudes and ducking back around a corner before you get hit with a pineapple in the face. It’s the first game I’ve played in a long, long time that evokes the feel of classic PC first-person shooters of that era – which, y’know, kinda makes sense as it is a first-person shooter of that era. But that style of fast-paced run-and-gun, circle-strafing gameplay has gone out of fashion now, with FPS games usually favouring slow, methodical, tactical combat, or larger-scale open-world warfare usually involving vehicles. Whether it’s a straight-up no-frills blaster like Quake, or a game that takes you on more of a linear, narrative journey, like Quake II, or even just a multiplayer-focused arena shooter, like Quake III Arena, it does feel like a dying artform, like a style of gameplay that could do with a resurgence (and, to be fair, there are games on the horizon that look like they’re harking back to the era, so that’s cool).

But it’s not just first-person shooters like Quake that I feel have slipped from gaming’s shared consciousness. Maybe it’s my age (it’s definitely my age) but there seems to be quite a lot of games that were a big deal twenty or so years ago that are utterly forgotten now, whereas some – Doom, Duke Nukem, Command & Conquer, Age of Empires – are often namechecked or rebooted (even before the full-on 2016 reboot, Doom must have been one of the most re-released games of the last thirty years). But there are lots of others where sometimes I feel like I’m the only one that remembers it. And that’s where this list comes in: inspired by the excellent re-release of the Quake franchise, here are some other great PC games of that general era that I feel still need shouting about, even if I’m the only one doing the shouting. Maybe they don’t all need a full-on remaster or whatever, but it’d still be nice if they got a bit of modern gaming love.

No One Lives Forever (2000): coming at a time when most FPS games were still Doom-style blasters with little in the way of real plot, NOLF was different: stylish and funny, genuinely well-written (as in the dialogue), with interesting objective-based missions and a cool female protagonist. It skirted similar ground to Bond and the then-white-hot Austin Powers franchise. Two games were made and then, as far as I’m aware, it evaporated into a mess of tangled rights, hence no sequels or remakes. A shame, because it was great.

MDK (1997): the next game from the people who made the multimedia phenomenon that was Earthworm Jim, MDK was a really cool slice of sci-fi style, all sleek level design and intriguing features. It had a supremely bonkers plot which bled through into a game with a sense of humour, but mostly it was the run-and-gun gameplay and innovative use of a scoped weapon – possibly (don’t quote me on this) the first sniper rifle in a videogame. An even wackier sequel followed, but despite its cult status, that was it.

Star Trek: The Next Generation – Klingon Honor Guard (1998): it’s probably fair to say that Star Trek has not had as many great videogames as Star Wars, perhaps because Trek’s historically straightlaced earnestness just didn’t translate as well as bashing someone up the chops with a laser sword. Honor Guard shook things up by casting you as a Klingon, showering levels with pink blood and going Full Worf. It was the first game to licence the Unreal engine, and had a cool level where you walked along the outside of a ship like in First Contact. Also: shout out to the Voyager game, Elite Force (2000), which was another really good FPS set in the world of Trek, with intriguing gameplay wrinkles as you fought the Borg. It also let you wander round the titular starship between levels. Trek deserves more quality action games like these.

Earth 2150 (2000): the nineties on PC really saw RTS games come down to those who liked Command & Conquer or those who liked Warcraft, but as the decade drew to a close other titles chased the wargame crown (including Total Annihilation, which would have made this list, except I feel like the Supreme Commander franchise is a sequel in all but name). 2150 was notable for its Starcraft-like mix of three factions with contrasting play styles, and its use of 3D graphics and the ability to design and build weapons of war that could lay waste to armies and bases with spectacular results. I think the genre has ossified into something more hardcore, and this was probably an inflex point where idiots like me could still get a handle on things.

Midtown Madness (1999): Microsoft has a history of building up great racing franchises and then abandoning them, but their “Madness” line of games in the late nineties/early noughties was terrific and much-missed. Back when tooling round actual 3D cities was still new and exciting, this was a no-holds-barred arcade racer, with some gorgeous shiny chrome effects on the cars, and very nippy handling. It was great fun smashing up VW Beetles and the like. It was surpassed, I guess, by Project Gotham on the Xbox, and sadly the whole franchise was then forgotten, despite the ascendent Forza franchise mostly shunning city driving.

Commandos: Behind Enemy Lines (1998): part tactical war game, part puzzler, Commandos was famous for its gorgeously intricate graphics and its difficulty – I mean, it was way too hard for me. But its beautiful top-down design and its slow, methodical gameplay was compelling, as you evaded Nazis and solved missions with a team of unique units with special skills. Sequels followed, and western spin-off Desperados, but there’s not been a true follow-up for quite some time, despite promises; and few games have echoed its style or look.

The Pandora Directive (1996): okay, so really this is just a placeholder for an entire subgenre of game that appears to have been forgotten: interactive movies. I know, there are flirtations with this from time to time; and many of these games featured obtuse puzzles and relatively little gameplay strung between FMV scenes. Pandora was great though; a first-person 3D game with loads of old-school adventure aspects, as well as FMV, it was a noir-tinged detective story but set in the future. The Tex Murphy series (of which this was the fourth instalment) has had sequels – the most recent one was sadly cancelled only this year – but many other games of a similar ilk, such as Phantasmagoria and even Wing Commander – have fallen by the wayside. With in-engine graphics now allowing the fluidity and expression of cinematic renders of old, shooting movie inserts doesn’t seem like it’s worthwhile; but I still always loved a point-and-click game that featured digitised actors milling about. Toonstruck, anyone?

Marathon (1994): before Halo there was… Marathon! Back when I used to lug my Pentium round my mate’s house so we could play different games on different machines side-by-side, he’d bang on about this Mac-first series of games, like Doom but better, with an intricate plot and complex levels. And y’know what? He was actually onto something. There’s a style and an earnestness to the Marathon franchise, along with many concepts that would be refined in Halo years later. With Bungie now seemingly committed to Destiny, and Halo in Microsoft’s hands, I’m not sure what could possibly become of this, their forgotten FPS forebear, especially as it shares so much DNA with its offspring.  

Outlaws (1997): LucasArts are famous for two things, really: their Star Wars games and their adventures. But they made loads of other stuff too – including this intriguing Western shoot-em-up. Back when Western games were rarer than Western movies (which were rare at the time), this quirky and difficult cowboy-em-up saw you rounding up outlaws in typical oater locations such as saloons, trains, and mines. It had great music and a really intriguing set of weapons, including (don’t quote me on this) the first sniper rifle in a game. Sadly Outlaws’ success could be described as “cult” and it never got a proper sequel. and, weirdly, despite the success of Red Dead Redemption, we’ve never had a bit Western-themed FPS again. Which is really odd.

Soldier of Fortune (2000): I pondered whether to include this one, as if I’m honest I’m not sure I want this licence brought back. But I can’t deny the game was a huge deal and has seemingly been forgotten. A relatively gritty and realistic combat game with a huge variety of excellent real-world weaponry, its big hook was its incredibly detailed damage modelling, that could see you blowing limbs off enemies, or splitting open heads, or disembowelling them. Whilst its OTT violence made headlines, the granularity of its systems meant you could be more tactical, shooting weapons out of hands. But really its biggest controversy should be its association with a big old gun magazine.

There are many, many other games that nearly made the list - I almost had a Top Ten of just FPS games, for instance. Little Big Adventure was here, till a sequel was announced the other day. Hexen and Heretic I think still have a place in FPS history. Toonstruck, although without a sequel, was only really a cult hit at the time, and I feel the people who’d love it already know about it. I do tend to overthink these things, y’know.

So maybe not all of these could make a comeback, but all the same I don’t think they should be forgotten, and it does make we wonder what games will fall by the wayside twenty or more years from now. That game about the big green space marine dude in a mask – what was that called again…?

[rsmrymnt-tea]

MC's place is at Solomon's side!!! You're so right!!!

(obviously it differs with each specific MC) but for the MC of the game being a protector of Earth with Sol is a logical end for them??

They're introduced to the Devildom and by consequence the magical side of existence, they find their magic and its powerful stuff, they make pacts which just amps up their power even more, and then end up apprenticed under Sol.

It's not a stretch for them to dedicate themself to working with him!!

Suddenly the student council member thing is looking very self-indulgent (though who's been asking for that I don't know). Really I think if MC has to be apart of the government they should be working as like an ambassador type?? Not just like general government who is in charge of the actual citizens to some degree.

Student council member!Dola!!! I was considering if Sol would be a better candidate than MC because of his lifetimes of experience, but then I was thinking his reputation might get in the way. But maybe Dola becoming a member later in her life? When she's well established as a sorcerer (doe she prefer sorceress?) and perhaps the relations between realms are further along? Yes please??

(oh and yknow I've seen people with MCs who are minors!! - playing platonic 'routes' obviously. Imagine Dia asking a 14 y/o to become a part of the council I-???)

Oh also how much does this council member thing change the status quo of the game? I've got an inkling that beyond it like perhaps allowing them to get around the No You Can't Marry thing it's gonna fall to the wayside. No lore on how the government works. No great affect on how the MC's life goes.

- 🐝

Who's the audience for MC joining the student council? Diavolo of course lmao maybe Lucifer too since this means you get to toil through Diavolo's work together /hj

But for real, I agree that if there is any position at all for MC in the Devildom's government it's some kind of ambassador-like one with perhaps a hint of advisorship? Considering that Dia's said at some point (I think somewhere at the end of S2?) that he wants MC as some sort of 'guiding light' for achieving his goal to unite the realms. Anything else just doesn't seem right? They have so much else to do between their apprenticeship, whatever they have going on in their life in the human world, and spending time with the brothers lmao

Because yeah. I think being an ambassador/advisor is connection enough to warrant frequent trips to the Devildom while they continue their magical studies under Solomon/at RAD? There's probably a point where studying with Solomon's just more efficient than at RAD and then it'll be a thing where MC freely travels between realms to manage both responsibilities, which imo still allows MC to spend plenty of time with the brothers without the restrictions that come with having to formally attend school >.>;; I just really don't think a position where MC would need to stay in the Devildom for forever is a good thing.

(And I really would prefer if this idea didn't come up for Dia because the brothers want to marry MC?? This is an idea that should've been in the works regardless imo like what else would this spiel about wanting them to be in the human world have been for??)

(Also, yeah, I don't really think much is going to change when MC's part of the student council either. Maybe we'll actually get to hear what goes on in meetings that aren't all about Diavolo's more frivolous plans for everyone? Stuff like... World building? Lore? Rules of the universe? Stuff similar to the guidelines for summoning that I remember them discussing during the start of S2... Please, I hunger for some canon lore [just so I can scrutinize if I like it or not, then proceed to make up something I like more lmfao])

Oooooooh hmmm re: Dola the student council member, she'd totally be up for it in her later years when she's got a good among of knowledge and wisdom in her brain, because oh boy is she not going to be into the idea of being a government figure at the age of what... 25?? She's barely learned enough about the world, about magic, and all that by then and she knows it.

If I were to fit this part of the S4 content into Dola's canon, Diavolo proposing that she become an ambassador of sorts comes in much, much later, and has been something that he's been planning and hoping to ask ever since she became an apprentice for Solomon... So it's an idea that's been stewing for like a century or so lmao he's just been waiting for the right time >.> And I think while they'd both be his main consultants for anything regarding the human world, it would just be Dola he'd offer ambassadorship to because Solomon has his own hands busy focusing on stuff in the human world. He's apparently pretty popular in RAD, but I like to think that a lot of the demons he actually has pacts with have beef with him and would oppose having him take any sort of seat in the Devildom's government?

(And as an aside... Considering the sheer power the brothers have and their mastery of magic from being alive and trained for like thousands of years vs the handful that MC has, isn't it unfair of a lot of levels? Unless Diavolo tones it down for MC's sake, but that's not very good for his or MC's image either? Thinking too much about the logistics of this hazing makes it even harder to buy >.>) Also omg the minor!MCs... I can imagine them all breaking down from the sheer pressure of what Diavolo's asking for :( RIP this season's gonna be wild for them I guess

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 3)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1 Here, Part 2 Here. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey everyone! So thank you so much first and foremost for the love you guys have shown this fic. I have been so excited to write this and have been waiting ages to share it all with you. This is the kind of fluff and cuteness I personally need in my life right now, and I know a lot of you probably feel the same. Strap in for my usual dose of CS feels, and yes, for those of you asking, this is the moment CS will meet. Hope you all enjoy and thank you all so much for reading!

“And you’re sure you’ve got everything?” Emma asked, looking at Henry and knowing that he was ready to head into camp. They’d been over this numerous times, and at this point they were already out of the house and in front of the hall where campers congregated every morning. Still, Emma couldn’t help trying to soak up the moment with her kid just a little bit longer, and if that meant running through their list once more, so be it. “You have your lunch?”

“They give us lunch there, Mom.”

“Oh right,” she said, still shocked at how much was provided seeing as this program was free through the University. The children of all faculty and students were allowed to come, and it completely eradicated a need for her to find alternative childcare. Back in the States they had nothing like this built in anywhere. Getting Henry to camp previously either took a funding miracle, an insane amount of luck, or extra shifts at a second job. Usually he stayed with Mrs. H and Emma tried desperately to make it up to their neighbor. But now community sponsored help was becoming a given way of life, and every kid in Montenarro, no matter their background, seemed to have at least one path to a bright and happy summer.

“You’ve got your bag? How about water?”

“Yes and yes. We ran through this already, remember? I told you everything I had while you made breakfast.”

Emma smiled, knowing he was right, as crazy as it sounded. It was wild to her that on a weekday she would have the time, the patience, and the extra bit of cash to afford the spread they ate together today.  They had eggs, fruit, bacon, oatmeal and there were fresh pastries if they wanted. It was like their special holiday brunch, which happened on Christmas or on one of their birthdays, but they’d had this or something similar every day for nearly two weeks. It might seem over the top, but between the later starting hours here in Montenarro, her reduced work schedule with a generous stipend, and the fairer prices at the markets, Emma finally felt like she could give her son what he deserved. For years they’d chowed down on discount cereal, and now, in an attempt to enjoy themselves and resemble their new neighbors, they were taking a slower, and far and away more luxurious approach.

“I remember, kid. So I’ll be back here at four, and if I’m a little late -,”

“I just hang out a while longer, I know,” Henry said, looking to the doorway. A grin appeared at his face as he spotted one of his new friends. The other young boy waved in their direction and Henry waved back, causing Emma’s heart to melt. Her son not only had friends here, he was thriving. He was so happy, and seeing him this way made her happy too. “You don’t have to rush, Mom. I know your work ends early now, but maybe you could do something just for yourself.”

“Are you trying to tell me you’d rather stay later?” Emma asked, and Henry looked embarrassed for a moment before nodding.

“Not too much later, but Michael and Talia stay until five, and we’ve got this cool game going that we made up yesterday. It’s kind of hard to explain. But I can come home at four still. It’s okay, I’ll just -,”

“No, no, Henry, I am thrilled that you’re having a good time. I’ll be here at five.”

“Cool! Thanks, Mom!” Henry exclaimed, giving her a quick hug before heading for the door. “See you at five!”

She watched him get in safely, and the director of the camp who she’d met last week wished her a fond hello as she checked in Henry. Her greeting was pleasant and polite, and Emma knew if she had time the woman would talk her ear off about what it was like to be from America or the upcoming summer festivals. As it was though, Emma had to get going. She wasn’t late for work or anything, but she was eager to get there. Her work at the JR foundation was shaping up to be amazing. She was learning a lot, but she already felt like one of the team. Everyone who was there appreciated her, not just for working and helping out, but for her ideas. They were so responsive to suggestions, and always willing to try out any new concepts Emma had only really read about in books.

Their director, Marco, wasn’t like a normal boss. He didn’t hover or micromanage or come across as inaccessible. In fact, despite all the other calls on his time, Marco was with them all helping the kids and participating in their activities as much as he could. That leadership was so amazing in a space like this, and from everything Emma had experienced, the precedent he set was entirely reflective of the culture at large. Every person at the institute was determined to do right by these kids, and the children, despite the sad circumstances surrounding most of their lives, were doing so well and seemed so happy despite it all.

It was only a few city blocks from Henry’s camp to the center, but Emma let herself linger in the walk. She moved more slowly, matching the pace of the people around her, who never seemed to rush, and instead just enjoyed each day as it came. People were always smiling and laughing, and even the fighting was good natured. The streets were bustling but not full. They were cleaned regularly, maintaining the gorgeous cobblestone walks and the beautiful vintage architecture. It was warm here – a quintessential coastal retreat in the Mediterranean that she’d only ever imagined in her dreams or seen on travel TV. Everything considered, it was the opposite of New York, and despite having lived in the city she and Henry called home for more than ten years, Emma had to admit she didn’t miss it… at least not as much as she thought she would.

Don’t get too attached, Emma. This is temporary. Enjoy it while you can, but your real life is nothing like this.

The voice in her head was negative, but had a point, and Emma had no choice but to heed the advice. She would enjoy every bit of this she could, but she couldn’t get too comfortable, otherwise she’d miss this when they left. Even thinking of the heartbreak that may come if Henry continued to love it here so much left her reeling, but Emma carried on, pushing down that worry as she made her way past the institute’s front gates. It was important that she be in the right headspace when walking through these doors. The kids deserved her at 100%, and that was what she planned to be for them. Shaking off the worry from moments ago she moved inside, and as soon as she arrived, she was greeted by the sound of children running and laughing.

Some people might look at this place right now, apparently filled to the brim with kids who were wired and excitable now that it was officially summer and the school term was over, and think that this was chaos, but Emma knew better by now. Every child here ranging in age from six months to sixteen was attended to and accounted for. They had a large brood of kids, with sixty-seven at last count, and this was the biggest home under the JR foundation, though there were half a dozen more around the small country. Many children who were here would eventually be adopted, or would merge into part of a nationally funded fostering program, known for being one of the best systems in the world. In their last two years of school, older children went to special homes or foster placements designed just for them, to give them the attention and time they needed (instead of leaving them to the wayside for the sake of younger, needier children), and to prepare them for life outside of the system. Emma would eventually shadow a center that worked with those young adults, but for now, she was enjoying the hustle and bustle of the general group.

“Look, Char, it’s Emma!” one young boy named Thomas proclaimed to his little sister Charlotte from across the room, and in seconds every child had turned and was excitedly greeting her. Some of them came right up to hug her or give her a high five, but at the very least they all nodded in her direction and chirped out a fond hello.

“Good morning everyone,” Emma said, noticing the bags along the doorway and how the older kids were dressed in a uniform of navy colored shorts and florescent green shirts. “Did I miss something?” Emma asked aloud, not really to anyone in particular, but an answer came from one of the institute’s most trusted sources.

“Flora is taking the older children to the seaside today for a science lesson.”

The woman who filled Emma in was named Elsa, and despite the humidity in the air and the exuberance of the children all around them, she was totally put together and looked completely unstressed. Her hair was tied back in her usual braid, and her turquoise colored summer dress flowed in a way that looked poised for a summer catalogue. Elsa was effortless in an enviable way, but she was so kind and eager to be of help that Emma couldn’t begin to muster jealousy. In a short time Emma had begun to consider Elsa a friend, but though the two of them were roughly the same age, Emma was still a student and Elsa was a fully-fledged child psychologist who lived at the institute full time. She, and her sister Anna, who also worked at the institute, but as an activity’s coordinator, were two peas in a pod, but they’d done everything they could to include Emma and help her get her bearings in this new world.

“Lessons? In the summer?” Emma asked, not surprised that the institute was providing supplementary schooling year-round. She’d seen as much since starting here, but she was more taken aback at how excited these kids looked. Every child aged ten and older was gathered down here, no doubt waiting to fill the two institute vans out back. Still, how fun could a science lesson be?

“We use the term lessons lightly. For the rest of the morning the children will explore the tide pools at the national endowment’s shoreline about an hour north. There are some very unique ecosystems there, and so there is a whole lot to learn. But Flora will have them break for lunch and Anna takes over in the afternoon.”

“What’s she got in store for them?” Emma asked and Elsa shook her head.

“Well I can’t exactly say, as I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” Her smile grew at how silly that sounded, and she looked over her shoulder to check for Anna, but gave a little more when she saw that the coast was clear. “Let’s just say it’s going to be a jam-packed day that will go out with a blaze of glory.”

The emphasis Elsa used on the word ‘blaze’ made Emma think that there would likely be a beachside bonfire included, but before she could get confirmation, things started moving quickly. The older kids were summoned to the shuttles to go out for their day, and Emma meanwhile saw the clock and realized it was time for her to report to Marco’s office to get her assignment for the day. Moving through the playroom and the sunroom, which had the younger children and the babies respectively, she finally found her way and after knocking she walked into the brightly lit hub of all things here at the institute.

“Ah, good morning, Emma,” Marco said with a big smile, waving her in and gesturing that she should take a seat beside one of the other workers at the institute, Marie. Marie was Marco’s second in command, and though she never used the phase herself, the children had taken to calling her Nana. She had a maternal way about her, and every child seemed to love her as they might a favorite grandmother. “You’re here just in time. I’ve been talking with Marie and we think that today would be a perfect opportunity to try one of your intervention measures.”

“Really?” Emma asked, surprised, but excited at the thought. This would be the third that they had tried, and the last two had gone off without a hitch. “Which one?”

“The ‘Music Makes Me…’ one seems like a good choice. We have a few children who, to now, have been less responsive to our normal socializing measures. Their either shy or hurting, and we’re hoping to help them open up. Elsa’s our counselor on shift today and she’s eager to help oversee this. You’ll take the lead, but she’ll be there for any help you might need. We realize it’s a long-term project,” Marco said, looking down at a piece of paper to check his facts. “You wrote here three times a week for eight weeks. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Ideally. Positive identity work can start yielding results as soon as three weeks, but the Princeton Psychology Review did a study this winter that showed children’s habit forming reaches its peak effectiveness after the eight-week mark.”

“And this is one of the projects you modeled off of your own parenting experience, correct?” Marco asked as Emma nodded. Her throat grew tight at the genuine emotion behind this tactic, but this was a place with people she trusted not to judge her. As such, she shared what sparked the idea.

“When Henry first started school, he was one of the only kids that wasn’t in a two-parent household. Even the other single parents had some sort of family behind them, like grandparents, aunts and uncles, or other kids. I’m not exactly sure how long he struggled with being different in that way, he’s an independent kid and he kept his pain over that closed in, probably to spare me from being worried. But when his teachers gave me their assessment and told me what they thought was happening, I set something not dissimilar to this up. We tried painting and crafting to express his emotions, but the music seemed to help so much more.”

“It’s really remarkable, the way you’ve melded your experience with your son and your own past in with all of this cutting-edge research. It’s one of the many reasons we’re so thrilled you’re with us this year,” Marie said cheerfully and Emma warmed at the comment. Telling the story of her son’s pain at not having a father, however vague she had kept it, was hard, especially because Emma lay awake many nights wondering if he was missing something fundamental by not having a father. She wondered if it may hurt him in the long run. But she was reassured by the fact that she always did her best for Henry, and that her experience could help not just her son, but the children here who had no present parents at all.  

“Given that it’s rather late notice, do you think you can manage? We’ve got a window right now for a few hours. Elsa’s already selected the children who may need the intervention most. She kept it in the 5-8 age range as you suggested.”

Emma immediately assured them that she could pull this together, as the concept was not hard. Basically what this practice/exercise included was playing music that was grounded in emotion. Some that were happy, some more subdued, some fast, and some slow, and encouraging kids to do what they wanted when they heard that. For Henry he’d always loved to run around and dance at the fast-paced songs. Then the slower ones were always more interesting. Sometimes he picked up a favorite toy, drew a picture on the supplies she left out, or created his own little imaginary game. All the while, however, Emma’s job was to engage, support, and ask questions.

The questions always started mildly. What’s your favorite color today? (she’d learned early not to box her son into ultimate favorites). If you could have any snack in the world what would you choose? What animal makes the funniest sound? Then the questions would evolve. Her son, like many kids, was a vivid dreamer and Emma often asked about those night time visions. Sometimes they meant nothing but sometimes they told her a lot. She wanted to include that with these kids, but also include more focused questions to them about how they felt here at the institute, what they felt like when they told people from the outside about living here, and what they dreamed of for the future. She’d always ended each session with Henry in two parts. The first was to ask Henry what his biggest wish was for someone else, and the second was to ask his biggest wish for himself. Kids at his age were filled with wishes and wants, but Emma knew from personal experience, that that may already be flickering away in kids without parents. She’d been seven years old when her hope truly started to fade away, and she believed if she’d had these kind of positive affirmations and people who were working to see her happy and well situated, her relationship with the world and herself would have been much easier.

In the end, Marco, Marie, and Elsa decided that there were five best candidates for today’s intervention. Stella and Timothy were a biological brother and sister who had been at the institute for about a year. They were eight and six, and both of them were doing pretty well despite their parents losing custody of them from continued problems with substance abuse. They were likely moving into a fostering situation by the end of the summer, but they had been here a bit longer than normal because they were bonded together and making that accommodation took patience and the right placement. According to Elsa, Stella’s teachers a few times had mentioned her shyness, especially when people brought up her home life. Malek was a seven-year-old boy from a similar situation, though his father was in the process of getting clean for his son. The institute was always cautious for replacement with parents who struggled, but if his father could demonstrate stability and stay clean a full year, the legal system would grant him custody again. Malek, understandably, had mixed feelings about going back, and Emma wanted to try and help him with those through this process. Carlos, meanwhile, was a rambunctious six-year-old who had been given up at birth. He was shaped by his status as an orphan, and had a few close adoption calls that ultimately fell through. Luckily, though, a new family with sincere interest and the means to take care of him was stepping up, and they had exactly eight weeks before the system would process their filing for adoption, a perfect amount of time to help Carlos with some of these image issues before he settled into his new home.

The final child in Emma’s care today, however, was Cecilia, or as the other children called her, ‘CeeCee.’ Cecelia was a newcomer to the institute, and at just barely five years old, she was the youngest in Emma’s group today. She was quiet and withdrawn, but given her background that was all to be expected. At such a young age Cecelia had already been through so much. When she was two her parents had tragically passed in a car accident, and she’d moved in with her grandmother. Her grandmother was loving and did everything she could for her, but she was in poor health, and was now in need of care herself. Emma wasn’t here on the day that Cecelia came to the foundation, but Elsa had mentioned it with tears in her eyes a few days prior.

“I’ve seen so much heartbreak in this job, but watching that little girl realize she was being left behind… It was awful. She cried so quietly and for so long. It took us weeks to get her to say anything at all.”

Even now Cecelia was always quiet. She’d blended in a bit more with the other children, but she wasn’t particularly bonded to any of them. She had grown to be more trusting of the adults, but not in a really promising way. With Emma she’d always been sweet and well-tempered, but Emma hoped that this process might help her, and might get her to a place where she could be better socialized and cared for.  The next few hours proved to be even more promising than Emma dared to hope. All five children not only had fun, but made good steps towards progress. They all confided a little bit in Emma and Elsa, and they all responded well to the method. When Emma asked them if they’d like to do this again in a few days, all five of them were thrilled, and little Cecelia, who was normally so shy, was the biggest shock of all. Over the course of the few hours she’d opened up so much to Emma, and by the end of the session she was holding Emma’s hand tightly, intent on going with her through her day. Emma was so happy to see this little girl doing so much better, and she had to admit she was invested in this child, perhaps more than any other she’d met so far at the institute.

“Do you think it’s all right?” Emma asked, motioning downwards, but not saying everything aloud. The last thing she wanted was for Cecelia to not feel wanted when she’d made such tremendous progress, but she was worried about what might happen if she grew too attached.

“This happens sometimes. Kids have a sense for safe spaces. She was already responding really well to you before,” Elsa said, crouching down and waving at Cecelia, sharing a soft compliment for the toy rabbit she was carrying with her today, which made the little girl smile and chirp out a gentle ‘Thank You.’ Even that little show of gratitude and the genuine smile was an improvement, and Emma felt a burst of pride seeing this young girl come out of her shell. “We’ll keep an eye on it, but I think it’s best to see where it goes. She’s showing no signs of dependency, and hopefully you’ll be the perfect gateway for her to let the rest of us in.”

Emma hoped that Elsa was right, and as everyone in the center gathered for lunch, Cecelia stayed close by. Emma did her best to stay attentive to all of the kids who choose to eat with her today, but she also wanted to lead this lost little girl towards others who may be her friends. She was making good progress with another five-year-old named Ava, who was eager to be friendlier with Cecelia, when Marie approached, appearing frazzled and a little shaken.

“Is everything all right?” Emma asked, careful to keep her words calm and her tone even so as not to scare the kids. Her instincts were that something bad must be happening, but Marie shook her head, quickly dispelling her of that notion.

“Everything is wonderful, dear. We just have an unexpected visitor – actually I guess visitor is the wrong word. He’ll be staying on here for a while to work with us all. It’s a bit unexpected, but I dare say it’ll prove a delight in the end, for us and for the children.”

“Who is it that’s coming?” Emma asked, and Marie looked poised to blurt something out, but then caught herself and weighed her words carefully.

“One of the members of the family who run the foundation.”

Emma now began to understand the sudden rise in stress. Whatever JR stood for, and whichever family it was that could afford to spend so much on these resources, they must be both terribly rich and powerful. Being so new here, Emma didn’t know any background about the endowment, but she hoped that whoever was coming would be a help and not a hindrance. Surely they’d come here and see how much good work was being accomplished. She hated to think they’d be coming to make cuts or roll back funding.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Emma asked and Marie shook her head.

“Oh no dear. You’re doing a wonderful job. This isn’t an assessment of any kind. I believe it’s a genuine act of charity. You see he’s been in the military, and now he’s come home. His family’s no doubt pushing him towards some kind of occupation, and he’s chosen this as his pursuit.”

Emma wanted to ask more, about if this mystery man had any experience with kids or why, even if he was so very rich, Marie displayed school-girlish enthusiasm at his coming, but the older woman moved on to handle something else. Instead Emma waved Elsa over and asked her if she knew the man who was coming.

“Of course I do, everyone knows him,” Elsa said, thoroughly adamant that this stranger was of some notoriety. Then her features softened and she took on a thoughtful expression. “Well I suppose we know of him. We’ve never met, you see. But it’s impossible not to know him.”

Emma nodded, but she was still somewhat surprised. To this point she hadn’t gathered a sense that the family who ran the endowment was exceedingly involved in the day to day of the center. But then again, Elsa had been here far longer than her, and so she probably needed to keep track of the important players who were their most generous donors. Emma could have remained hung up on the strangeness of it all, but instead her mind wandered to the few details she did know. He was a military man, newly home, and he was coming here to make a difference. She thought about that and what that meant, and she found that she already liked him, or at least his attitude. Serving in the armed forces meant a life of service – to come home from that and still want to help others was admirable, and she hoped it would provide a good role model for the children, no matter what his actual child life background might be.

From the window in the great hall where all of the children and staff took their meals, they could all see down the back drive where a second entrance to the center was located. At that moment three black SUVs began their ascent, and the children’s attention immediately perked up as they ran to the windows. Emma felt the growing anticipation at the new arrival, and she wondered why there would need to be three SUVs. It reminded her of the protective details that sometimes came in the city, when big time politicians made their way to city hall where she worked for some sort of meeting or photo op. But what would be the reason for such a display today? Why would anyone need one of those when coming to a children’s center? It was hard to grasp, but then she questioned her instinct. The men who exited from the vehicles weren’t in high profile suits. They were more casually dressed, just like any workers here at the center. She wasn’t able to see all of them, but soon enough there were voices in the hall. Marco and Marie greeted the newcomer, and Emma only caught a snippet of the conversation.

“We’re thrilled to have you here, Sir.”

“Killian, please.”

“Killian. Right, sorry. That may take getting used to.”

“Not a problem. We have time.”

Emma was caught up in the sound of the new voice. It was distant, but even from here she felt an impact at the gravel in the tone and the lilt of the accent. It washed over her, sparking a sizzling sensation that was foreign to her, and after weeks in this country she’d always found the accent pleasing, but never responded like this. She found herself wanting to know what this man looked like, to see what kind of appearance could go with a voice that enticing, but she was getting ahead of herself. What did it matter what he looked like? He was going to be a coworker, right? This was hardly the time or place to be interested in someone. Still her stomach swooped with the tell-tale flutter of butterflies and she shifted in her seat. The action, along with the new voice in the hall, sparked something in Cecelia to change from comfortable to tense. The young girl grabbed at Emma’s shirt, latching on for a sense of perceived safety. Emma’s heart reached out to this poor, sweet girl, and she took her hand gently, trying to assure her as swiftly as she could.

“It’s all right, honey. You’re safe here. I promise.”

“I don’t like strangers,” Cecelia said and Emma tried not to get misty eyed at the sense of uncertainty this little girl held so tight.

“I was a stranger once, wasn’t I?” Emma asked and Cecelia considered that before nodding. 

“But you’re nice to me. You read us stories and play us music. You’re my most favorite friend.”

“And you are my friend too, honey. So let’s wait and see what kind of person he is before we decide if we like him, okay? You never know – he could be your favorite too.”

Cecelia looked skeptical but ultimately agreed, and Emma was glad to have that sorted. She had been so focused on curtailing Cecelia’s worry that she forgot where they were. Now she noticed everyone else was standing, children and staff alike, so she helped Cecelia down from her seat and stood up herself. The sounds of people walking in played out around her, but Emma took a moment to make sure her young charge was settled before looking back up. She patted Cecelia’s hair and brushed her full brown curls from her face, with care. Only then did she look up. But when she did, she never could have expected what would happen. 

As her eyes took in the stranger, their gazes met, and she was struck by a sense of recognition and realization that she’d never felt before. Something clicked for her in that moment, in the first few seconds of their seeing each other, and her awareness grew stronger and stronger. So much bubbled up to the surface, emotions and feelings and desire and interest. It was like something was opened within her, and she felt drawn into this man and unable to resist. This stranger had blue eyes, intense but warm all at once, piercing in a way that they seemed like she knew them and they knew her. Instinctively she looked to the rest of him - Killian he said his name was - but it didn’t help her sense of disorientation. His face was remarkable, strong and sure. His hair was dark, and his figure was no doubt honed for the expectations of his years of military service. She felt herself taking him all in, and then caught herself and thought about what a scene she was making. This wasn’t appropriate. Oggling this man just because he was hot – okay more than hot, he was… god was it lame to say perfect – oh Christ she was doing it again. She needed to stop, but when she looked up at him, she caught him doing the same thing to her. It was incredible to feel his interest, and for a moment it was like the world stopped spinning so the two of them could find each other. 

Find each other? Jesus, Emma, get a grip. The thought ran through her head as Marco began to address them all.

“Everyone, this is our newest friend here at the institute, Killian.”

“You’re big,” a boy named Seamus called out, unceremoniously and for a beat Marco and Marie looked concerned, but Killian only laughed.

“You should see my brother.”

“Is he coming too?” Marie asked, looking like she might actually be done in by the news.

“No, ma’am,” Killian said with a small smile and Marie let out a sigh of relief. What was that about?

“Why do you stand so straight?” another boy asked and Killian explained.

“I was in the royal navy.” This was met by a chorus of oohs and aahs, from the girls and boys alike.

“Are you a good person?” someone asked, and only after a moment did Emma realize it was Cecelia. She was shocked at the display of bravery from her little companion, but then that was compounded by Killian’s movement towards them. He split his looks between Cecelia and her, but when he approached he crouched down so as to be eye level with the little girl.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“Cecelia.”

“Cecelia. That’s a beautiful name,” he said honestly and Cecelia swayed side to side a bit with the compliment. “Now as for your question, I certainly try to be good.”

“But you’re a stranger,” Cecelia said, looking at him with a furrowed brow, as if this was some kind of simple math he should understand.

“For now I am. But not forever, I hope.”

“My Emma was a stranger too. She’s a good person. Are you like my Emma?”

Now Killian rose to full height and he addressed Emma as much as he did Cecelia. “I do like her.” Emma’s heart skipped and then she watched his face shift in embarrassment as he realized what he said. “I mean I hope I’m like her, lass. But only time will tell.”

“Miss Emma, does time talk?” Cecelia asked and Emma bit her lip to keep from laughing as her eyes caught Killian’s again.

“No, honey. It’s an expression. It means that with a little bit of time you will know if he’s a good person. You just have to be patient.”

The look Killian gave her in that moment was packed with so much. Gratitude, interest, and something more. There was a charge between them that she just couldn’t deny, and she could tell he felt it too. But before he could say anymore, Marco called everyone’s attention again.

“Anyone have any ideas as to how we should welcome Killian?” he asked and a chorus of answers came flooding in.

“I know! I know! We should show him our giving tree.”

“No! We should show him our playground!”

“I want to show him my pirate ship!”

“We should feed him the turnovers Cook makes. She hides them in a secret spot but I know where they are!”

“Well that all sounds brilliant, especially the turnovers. Why don’t we do all of it?” Killian asked, before looking to Marco who nodded readily. The kids looked excited, and were eager to go, but before things got too crazy, Killian looked back at Emma and grinned.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Emma.”

And with that, and with so much swag and sexiness it made her a little dizzy, this mysterious new man set off, throwing himself into the deep end with these kids, and showing them all that he could hold as own, just as surely as he could hold her attention.

Post-Note: So there we have it! I know, I know, you’re probably mad I kept their meeting so short and waited until the very end, but next chapter I am planning to include this first meeting from Killian’s POV. This story, as much as any of my stories can, has a bit of a slower build, because there are a lot of elements I really want to include, but I promise there’s plenty of fluff in store and a lot of cuteness that yet to come. Thank you all so much for reading, and I really hope you’ll leave a comment or a review. I’d love to see what you all think and what you’d like to see going forward in this new fic. Anyway, I will do my best to update soon (probably next weekend), but in the meantime I hope you’re all well, safe, and happy in this uncertain time!

[duker42]

💜Loss💜

Cobalt blue eyes stared down helplessly at the hospital bed where his son lay. Erwin had never felt so helpless. He wasn’t able to do anything more than pray for a miracle.

Y/N was across from him, her own gaze focused on the other bed in the room. Where their other son was also laying.

Their boys. Their bright beautiful, energetic thirteen year old boys. Laying in hospital beds, fighting infections that didn’t seem to want to respond to antibiotics. Wyatt and Garrett were fighting for their lives and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

They were twins. Identical in looks, but so different in personality. They both had their father’s blonde hair and blue eyes. There was a small scar over Wyatt’s left eye, a battle scar from a fight he and Garrett had gotten into with Levi’s son.

Wyatt was brash and bold, the type to take charge and defend the brother that was actually two minutes older than him. Garrett had a personality similar to Y/N. He was softer, more tender hearted. But when pushed, he was a scrapper as well. Both of them had kept Erwin and Y/N on their toes during their childhood.

Erwin reached out and brushed the hair back from Garrett’s face. The poor boy had just fallen ill at school a week ago, the school calling both Y/N and Erwin from their jobs as an ambulance raced him to the hospital. Wyatt had fallen ill later that night, collapsing the hallway as he waiting for word on his brother.

He wasn’t a man that prayed as often as he should. He took religion for granted, letting his faith fall by the wayside as life had gotten busier. But he prayed for a miracle. They would find something in the tests they were running. Some clue on how to beat the illness that wracking their little bodies and could potentially take their sons away from them.

A hand on his shoulder made him look up. Y/N was staring down at him, her own face creased with worry as she motioned for him to swap with her. They had practically lived at the hospital, each one taking turns by each boy’s bedside. Talking to them while they lay silent and still. It was perhaps the longest time each one of them had been still in their entire lives.

‘Dear God, Please help my boys. Please don’t take them from their mother and me. I don’t know if we could survive it. Please, help them fight this.’ Erwin closed his eyes as he grasped Wyatt’s hand, the methodical beeping of the heart monitors the only sound to be heard in the room.

~~~~~

Dreary. It seemed like everyday you buried a loved one was dreary. Grey skies that matched their souls covered the graveyard.

Those same blue eyes were bloodshot and somber as they stared at the shiny mahogany coffin. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. A man wasn’t supposed to bury his son. Another wave of grief rushed over him as he reached blindly for Y/N’s hand.

The picture standing by the grave was mischievous. A rare sight for Garrett, but it was one of their favorites. Erwin remembered taking the picture, coming up to the boys as they were messing around in the garage, building a skate ramp that Erwin knew he had told them not to. In the end he had a great picture and an afternoon helping the boys construct a better ramp for tricks. It was a memory that had him blinking back tears as they threatened to fall.

He felt almost numb as the minister said a few words. His gaze falling to the boy in the wheelchair between him and Y/N. Each parent had a hand on Wyatt’s shoulders as he cried heavy tears. Survivors guilt at being the one to survive and the mourning of the fact that half of him had been ripped away.

He knew it was going to be hard on his son. They were twins. They had shared Y/N’s womb. Grown together in a small space for nine months. Been together everyday of their lives, until the moment Garrett had taken his last breath. He just hoped he had the strength to help him through it.

He moved over to the coffin. Kissing the lid one last time before the boy he had read stories to, tucked into bed and battles space invaders with was lowered into the ground for final rest. The handful of dirt Erwin had let loose to cover the lid had killed a bit of his soul, making him want nothing more that to jump into the hole in that moment and follow Garrett to the afterlife.

~~~~~

Post funeral receptions were a waste of time. Erwin had always thought so, but today more so than ever. The only people he really had given a shit about being there were Levi, Mike and Hanji. Them and their respective spouses had herded guests and kept the curious away when the room had gotten to stifling.

It was how Erwin ended up in his room. Sitting on the bed that had last been made by the boy that would never sleep there again. His large hands holding a small toy he hand found on the floor. Garrett had always been a bit careless about picking up his toys. He couldn’t remember the number of times he had stepped on a damn action figure as he came to check on him in the night. Muttering curses and hopping on one foot as Y/N giggles behind him.

Movement in the doorway let him know he wasn’t along. A brief glance told him that the tear stained face of his wife was watching him closely. He jerked his head softly, motioning her over to him.

She moved quietly. The past weeks having taking a toll on her as much as him. He sighed as he reached for her. One large hand engulfing her smaller one. A sob caught in his throat as he tired to speak.

“I...I don’t know how we are going to survive, Erwin.” Y/N breathed, her own voice wavering in her grief.

He looked down at he toy in his hand, then back up to the picture of the twin, their arms thrown around each other as they grinned for the camera. Their faces sticky with the ice cream they had just eaten in the hot summer sun. He wished they could go back to that day, where they had were a happy and whole family.

“Together, Y/N. We will deal with our loss together.” Erwin said. He might not totally believe those words, but he needed to. He had to for Wyatt and Y/N. Even for himself.

Mobile MasterList

[chaosintheavenue]

Some random memories and musings from my first primary school, which for some reason I’ve been thinking about today (warning: it turned a bit venty in places). For the record, when I first transferred I thought my second primary school was incredible... then over time started to realise that my first one was just plain weird. If anyone is familiar with the Wayside School series, I get similar ‘unhinged’ vibes from the school in that, but this was like... the bad version. Oddly enough, it was called ___side School too!

Monday mornings were the headteacher’s ‘nagging assemblies’, during which she’d complain about everything that had gone wrong in the school the previous week. The very first one I remember is her acting utterly outraged that a pupil called Joe had traded a bag of crisps for a friend’s cupcake, then- and I quote, because this line has been utterly etched into my brain- (imagine the most dramatic tone possible, as if she was talking about Joe eating a small animal or something equally awful) ‘Joe ate the cupcake, then took the bag of crisps back’. For some reason she felt that announcing this to the entire school and lowkey implying that Joe was a bully because of it (which he was not) was the solution

Nagging assemblies sometimes featured her complaining that there weren’t enough funds to buy cool new sports equipment that she would show us pictures of on the projector. There was also a stuffed toy called ‘Penny Pig’ that people could have a chance at taking home for the weekend if they got their parents to donate to buy this equipment, but from my possibly inaccurate perspective, it seemed that this later turned into kids being given the pig before making a donation, and therefore their parents being forced to cough up money on Monday morning without warning. When the money was eventually raised, they instead used it to plant a bunch of trees in an area of grass in front of the school that students weren’t even allowed on. When I was back in that area a few years ago, I saw that said trees had been inexplicably cut down to stumps. I was at the same school for two years after this, and the sports equipment never materialised

I distinctly remember that a verse about having cancer was added to an otherwise normal hymn that I can’t quite recall (possibly the ‘oil in my lamp’ one). I was about five or six years old, this was the first time I’d heard the word ‘cancer’, and I was told off for asking my regular class teacher what it meant and ordered never to say that word in her classroom again. For years I thought it was a swear word

The school uniform policy was utterly unenforced, and even the official clothing bought directly from the school came in four different colours (red, green, grey and blue), all of which were the same as other schools in the area... which sort of defeats all of the supposed purposes of school uniforms lol

I was chosen (against my will, might I add) for the school choir, which meant being kept in school until after 6:30pm on a Friday night (for context, I was at this school from the ages of four to eight, and after-school activities in every other primary school I’ve known of end at 5pm-ish at the latest) and made to sing the same handful of Christmas hymns all year round until it was perfect. The choir didn’t perform a single song to an audience even once in the year or so I was a member. Oh, but we got given special uniforms for it (which we could wear as our everyday school uniforms), which once again didn’t match anything else school-issued

A kid once fainted mid-Silent Night and hit his head on the wooden floor, and the choir teacher ignored him and continued directing the rest of us as if nothing had happened

One of the many Year 2 teachers we had randomly started yelling at us for being too loud or something, but it turned into a rant about how her daughter Emily was born with ‘major breathing problems’ (another phrase that is burned into my brain in the precise tone) and ended with her running from the classroom still shouting about Emily and how we were ungrateful or something, never to be seen or mentioned again. I still think about her a lot for some reason. Bonus: when I thought back over this when I was a bit older, but still a child, I thought that Emily must have had some sort of serious disability after her birth, which would have made some sense with the rest of what the teacher yelled. But when I was in a high school in the same general area, there was a girl called Emily [teacher’s name- not a common surname btw] in the year above me. One day I somehow worked up the courage to ask if she was that teacher’s daughter, and it turned out that she was. She didn’t seem to have any obvious after-effects from the aforementioned breathing problems, and her birth clearly hadn’t been recent at the time, so to this day I have no clue how we somehow managed to break the teacher in that specific way

At every Christmas fair, there was a baby doll stall. Children were explicitly not allowed to buy the baby dolls. Looking back now, there’s a chance that this stall might have been owned by a reborn doll maker, with the babies being warped into forbidden toys through the lens of my younger eyes, but to my brain it’s lumped in with the other... peculiarities of the school

In Year 1, we were taken out to a staircase and taught how to walk up and down it, being informed that it was extremely important that each step was only touched by one foot (these were pretty steep stairs for five year olds, by the way). From that moment on, it was a school rule, and if you put two feet on the same step at any point and a teacher saw, you’d be made to go back to the top or bottom of the staircase and walk back down ‘sensibly’

Every classroom had a computer in the corner, and one by one students would be excused from the lesson for a while to use a program called Starspell (or something similar gsdfsdgd). That was cool and all, but the volume on every single computer was set so loud that the sounds from the program would physically hurt, make me jump, and blind me for a moment. There was no way to turn it down, and I would be told off for removing the headphones (there was no meaningful sound in the thing as far as I can remember, just sound effects) or flinching, so Starspell time was not the highlight of my day

I was assigned ‘gifted and talented’ when I was in Year 4 (my last year there), which was supposed to mean I was given extra work when I finished. What actually happened is that I was given this bonus work as my only work to do, and when I inevitably finished this before others in the class finished the regular work, I would subsequently be allowed to stand up and walk around the classroom, eat playdough and rubbers, draw on the wipeboard, and dstract my friends in various ways (I was a strange child)... who would then be blamed for becoming unfocused, not me. One teacher would make smug comments to me whilst helping my classmates, such as rolling his eyes and saying ‘we’ll show them, hey, Chaos?‘. This led to something of a superiority complex that I’m not at all proud of, as well as isolating me from my peers even more

Just before I left, there were new designs being put onto the playground (a snake, a caterpillar, etc). A man was literally using some sort of heat tool that was warping the air around it to melt these designs into the ground feet away from where kids were playing during break time

Most annoyingly for me personally, nobody was at all suspicious that the child who ate stationery supplies, spent breaks alone tapping the fence bars and flapping their hands, flinched at noise, rocked in their seat constantly, described the fruits involved in tasting sessions in bizarre ways (’I don’t like coconut, it tastes too much of Tuesday’ etc) , and repeated phrases said to them over and over miiight not be neurotypical

Just visited the school’s website now out of curiosity, and the unmatched uniforms and tree stumps are right there in the photos. Still no sign of that fancy sports equipment 🙃

[yet-another-greek-myth-gay]

Since I am currently very deeply invested in Hogwarts Mystery, I’ve been spending an inordinate amount of time developing my version of Jacob’s Sibling in my mind. I’m kind of proud of the character I created, so I figured it wouldn’t hurt to put her out there in the character universe of Hogwarts Mystery OCs.

Now, full disclosure, I’m not an artist. I don’t have any beautiful drawings attached to give you an idea of what I’m visualizing (at least, not any I drew). More or less, this is just going to be a bunch of word vomit about the character I’m crafted, and I’ll probably go back and edit it a bunch of times as I think of more details. If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d love to hear people’s opinions of her! Thank you to anyone who reads, and I hope you like her as much as I do!

BE WARNED THAT THIS CHARACTER SHEET CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR HOGWARTS MYSTERY.

FULL NAME: Helena Winifred Bancroft.

NICKNAME: Most people call her Nellie; only her mum calls her Helena. She also occasionally gets Nel, and Jacob used to call her Pip, short for Pipsqueak. Her and Rowan also had unique nicknames for each other, with Nellie calling Rowan “smart girl” and Rowan calling Nellie “sweet girl.”

DATE OF BIRTH: March 11th. She’s a Pisces.

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood.

FAMILY: Nellie’s family consists of her mothers, a pureblooded Auror named Juliette and a muggle school teacher named Carolyn, and her half-brother Jacob. (Juliette is mum, Carolyn is mama.) Both her and Jacob’s respective fathers were muggle men that Juliette was involved with in the past, and neither are involved in their lives. The Bancroft bloodline is matrilineal, and while not necessarily famous, prides itself on producing particularly powerful witches.

BACKGROUND: She grew up in a small coastal community, where she was an avid swimmer, frequent visitor of the beach, and overall just a total water baby. Her family was comfortable financially, but chose to live fairly humbly, and Nellie was content with that. While she occasionally played with the local muggle children, most of Nellie’s time was spent either following Jacob around like a little shadow or playing with the fairies that lived in her mama’s garden. (She spent all her time telling them how pretty they were, so they tolerated her.) Unsurprisingly, she was a bit of a loner.

HOUSE: A proud Hufflepuff, just like Jacob.

DREAM: First and foremost, to find Jacob. However, in the long term, she’d really like to own a Hippogriff sanctuary and work as a breeder (with entirely moral methods, don’t worry). They’re by far her favorite creature, and she wants to spend the rest of her life working with them.

DEEPEST SECRET: That she wonders all the time if Jacob is worth saving. Growing up, he was her best friend and her hero, and there was no one she loved more. But watching how he changed in the last year or two prior to his disappearance, and hearing some of the stories at school, she honestly wonders if the loving brother she remembers exists anymore. And if he doesn’t, is the boy he left behind someone she wants to bring back? 

She’s also been hiding a growing resentment toward her mum. While Jacob’s disappearance took a toll on them all, she sometimes feels like her mum’s put so much of her emotional energy into missing Jacob that she doesn’t have enough left to love her anymore, and she secretly hates her mum nudging her to find Jacob, even if it’s at the cost of her own happiness and safety.

...sometimes she wishes it had been Ben.

MOST TREASURED OBJECT: For years, it was her seashell locket, a gift she’d gotten from Jacob for her sixth birthday, with the little sculpture Barnaby made her for their Valentines Day date coming in at a close second. Now, it’s a spare pair of Rowan’s glasses, which Nellie had kept on hand since their first year, given how often Rowan misplaced hers.

WAND: Nellie’s first wand is ten and a half inches long, made of pear wood with a unicorn hair core. Her second, which she purchases in her fifth year, is eleven and a quarter inches, with an alder wood base and a phoenix feather core. Lastly, her third, which she gets after she graduates and keeps for the rest of her life, is ten and two thirds inches long, built from beech wood, and possesses a unicorn hair core.

PATRONUS: An African Bush Elephant.

ANIMAGUS: A Kooikerhondje dog.

BOGGART: Jacob’s corpse, shambling towards her like a zombie, sobbing about how she failed to save him.

BEST MEMORY: Jacob trying to teach her spells when he came home for his first break in his first year of Hogwarts. She would’ve only been five—they’re six years apart—so it’s a faint memory and she couldn’t do any of them anyway, but it was still happy enough to stick with her.

WORST MEMORY: The year Jacob disappeared, their mum mandated that he come home for breaks. (He’d been staying at school the past few years, but with everything that was happening, their mothers wanted to keep an eye on him.) He was on edge the entire time, bitter and aloof, and when Nellie tentatively tried to get him to play, he exploded at her about wasting his time. In that moment, his face twisted and red with rage, his tall, lanky body looming over her, Nellie didn’t recognize her brother at all, and that scared her more than anything. For the longest time, that was her worst memory.

Now, her worst memory is being in that forest grove, staring down at Rowan’s unmoving body, her gaping mouth and empty eyes. Even decades later, Nellie has dreams about it. Certainly, no memory will ever be worse than that one.

QUIDDITCH: After being trained by Skye, Nellie played as a Chaser for two seasons and a Beater for one, before retiring to a reserve chaser. There just wasn’t enough time, and she didn’t really have the competitive spirit for it. However, she remained friends with Skye, Orion, McNully, and Erika, and still enjoyed training with them to keep her skills sharp.

GREATEST STRENGTHS: Nellie is an overwhelmingly compassionate person. Her mama likes to joke that Nellie could spend all day waiting for a scoop of her favorite ice cream, and she’d still offer it to the first gloomy person she saw on the street. (Basically, if there’s a little pink heart next to a choice, that’s the one she’s making. Empathy is definitely her highest stat.) She never fails to go out of her way to help people, even if it’s to her own detriment. She just has a very warm energy, which makes it easy for people to feel safe confiding in and depending on her.

GREATEST WEAKNESS: Unfortunately, Nellie’s compassion is a bit of a double edged sword, and she can be guilty of stretching herself too far trying to please everyone and, subsequently, letting herself fall to the wayside. She’s also embarrassingly naive (a negative consequence to her desperate belief in the inherent goodness of people), and has a tendency to get a little too emotionally invested in things. She also stakes a lot of her personal value in her ability to keep others happy—if she isn’t capable of keeping those she loves safe and content, she feels she has no value at all.

APPEARANCE: In short, Nellie is about as far from intimidating as any one person can get. She never surpasses five feet tall, nor does she develop past her scrawny adolescent physique. Her face is round, with a little button nose and big ocean blue eyes. She’s covered from head to toe in freckles, and has a slight case of buck teeth with a tiny tooth gap, though nothing she considered worth getting braces over. She also has a scar on her thumb from the time her mum tried to teach her how to whittle. It didn’t go well.

However, her most defining physical characteristic is her hair. Curly and sandy blonde, she grew it long for the first fifteen years of her life, only cutting off the occasional inch to keep it healthy. It was very carefully maintained, because although Nellie doesn’t consider herself a vain girl, she loved her hair, which grew to reach her thighs at its longest. It was the only feature of hers she considered genuinely and objectively beautiful, and she prided herself on it. In the summer after her fifth year of Hogwarts, she chopped all that treasured hair off into a bob, her only reasoning being that it was more practical. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Rakepick had grabbed her by her exceptionally long braid when she’d tried to run to Merula’s aid in the Buried Vault. 

STYLE: Nellie dresses exactly how you’d expect a stereotypical Hufflepuff to dress. She favors bright, pleasant colors, likes embroidery and floral print, and values comfort over anything. Her current favorite outfits both involve overalls, with one consisting of denim overalls with embroidered butterflies on the chest pocket and a white t-shirt, and the other being a pair of faded overalls that she personally painted with flowers, despite being an absolutely terrible artist, and a yellow turtleneck. She pretty much always wears a pair of light weight, embroidered boots, and is never seen without her seashell locket.

VOICE: I picture her sounding similar to AnnaPantsu. There’s a reason she was able to make the choir, after all! (Even if she ultimately surrendered her spot to Merula.)

BEST SUBJECT: Unsurprisingly, Care for Magical Creatures. Her kind nature and respect for all magical beings makes her a bit of a natural. She’s also proven herself to have a knack for Divination. She’s no Seer, but she’s pretty good at deciphering omens and swears that she does sometimes see visions in crystal balls. She’s also decent at Transfiguration.

WORST SUBJECT: Anyone would suck at Potions if Snape spent the entire class glowering at them the way he does at Nellie! It’s awfully hard to focus when your professor is breathing down your neck, staring dismissively into your cauldron like you’ve already made a mistake. She also just has a really poor memory, so any class that requires her to follow a sequence of meticulous steps is going to be one she struggles with. She also has difficulty in History of Magic for a similar reason—all of those dates and names just go in one ear and out the other.

BEST FRIEND(s): Rowan. Nellie loves every member of her eclectic group of friends dearly, but Rowan was her first friend, and will always, always be her dearest. For whatever reason, they just clicked perfectly, and completely got each other. Her death changed Nellie irreversibly. For at least a year after Rowan’s death, Nellie wore the spare pair of glasses she’d kept for her everywhere. Even once she stopped, they were almost always in her bag. Nellie was eventually able to manage again, but she never really moved on.

The runner up was undoubtedly Bill. He completely adopted her as (yet another) younger sibling, and they never quite lose that closeness, even when Jacob comes back into the picture. After all, Jacob can’t replicate the experiences Nellie had with Bill. While he was doing his part to protect Nellie as best he could, and that’s admirable, it wasn’t him that was by Nellie’s side throughout every trial she faced at Hogwarts. It was Bill, and Jacob would never be able to imitate the connection that gave Bill and Nellie.

In the wake of Rowan’s death, Nellie also develops a surprisingly close friendship with Erika Rath. They’d already been developing a friendship, but Rowan’s passing was the catalyst for them growing closer. During one of her training sessions with Erika (which Erika had told her she could sit out of, given the circumstances, but Nellie insisted), Rowan’s glasses fell off, and cracked. The damage was minor and entirely fixable, but Nellie had a complete breakdown, allowing herself to cry for the first time since Rowan had died. And Erika sat there with her, holding her tight, the entire time. While the rest of her friends were tiptoeing around her, not sure what she needed and scared of saying the wrong thing, uncomfortable in the face of such overwhelming grief, Erika took everything Nellie threw at her in stride. The fits where all Nellie could do was scream and cry, the anger that had her beating her fists against the ground and snarling threats brutal enough to make her sick, the guilt that left a hollow pit in her stomach and made her wish it had been her instead. Every ugly thought, every wave of emotion, Erika stuck with Nellie through them all, keeping her grounded her during a time where she felt she could completely drift away. It’s impossible to describe the sort of bond that gives people.

WORST ENEMY: For a while, it was Emily Tyler. With Merula, at least she has qualities that Nellie can respect—her ambition, her bravery, her fierce determination—and they’ve had a few moments where it feels like some genuine bonding has occurred. She may not approve of a lot of Merula’s behavior, but at least she can sort of understand her. But Emily Tyler is just so superficial and mean spirited, and Nellie simply can’t stand her. Now, though, it’s easily Patricia Rakepick.

LOVE INTEREST: Barnaby Lee, though not at first. Nellie housed an absolutely fierce crush on Skye Parkin for a while, but it quickly became apparent that Skye didn’t return her feelings. To Skye, Nellie was like the sister she never had, and Nellie didn’t want to jeopardize that. There was also some sort of tension going on between her and Merula in their fifth year, but nothing ever came of it. After the events that transpired in the Vault, Merula decided Nellie wasn’t worth the trouble. It’s one of her biggest regrets. 

Barnaby was actually crushing on Nellie long before she had any romantic feelings for him—ever since that first duel, actually, when she completely whooped his ass while apologizing after every blow. (A scene I actually explored here.) It took a little while, but Nellie eventually fell for Barnaby’s good heart and noble nature. He may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but he never fails to make her feel cared for. He can make her laugh when nobody else can, and although she’d loathe herself if he got hurt for her sake, it honestly feels a little nice to have someone trying to protect and take care of her for once, instead of the other way around. They also both love magical creatures, so a lot of their “dates” just consist of them hanging around the Care for Magical Creatures paddock and feeding whatever they find. Random little fun fact, Nellie’s pet name for Barnaby is just to say “Barnaby dear” as though it’s one word, and it never fails to make Barnaby feel super giddy.

PETS: Whoo boy, Nellie’s pets. First and foremost, there’s Astrid, her Lesser Sooty Owl. A remarkably intelligent bird, Astrid is usually found occupying the rafters above Nellie’s head, watching over her like a worrisome mother. She usually sleeps in Nellie’s dorm, rather than the owlery, and has a habit of picking at knots in Nellie’s hair (and, surprisingly, Rowan’s as well) with her beak as though she’s trying to straighten them out. 

While she adores Nellie, Astrid is notably less fond of Klepto, her mischievous Niffler. If Astrid is like Nellie’s mother, Klepto is like an obnoxious toddler, always causing trouble and fussing for her attention. He’s remarkably clingy, enough so that Nellie’s taken to hiding him in the dorm rather than keeping him in the grasslands. (She can’t help it! He throws a fit if he can’t sleep pressed against the soles of her feet!) 

Then there’s Flora, a particularly slothful fairy who has taken to riding in the pockets of Nellie’s robes, content to spend the rest of her life being carried around and lavished with compliments and sweets. Her and Astrid have a sort of tenuous truce, since they both have a bit of a fierce streak when it comes to defending Nellie. 

There’s also a Hippogriff and a Common Welsh Green on the grounds, both of which Nellie is determined to befriend, but that’s still a bit of a work in progress at the moment.

FUN FACTS:

• Nellie ends up going grey—or white, rather—fairly early. Her hair’s almost entirely white by the time she turns thirty. She’s insecure about it for a while, then decides to just embrace it. It looks elegant, and Merlin help the person who tries to tell her otherwise.

• Given how incredibly physically affectionate Nellie is and how much she adored Rowan, it’s no surprise that she almost always kissed Rowan on the top of the head when saying goodbye. Just like she did in the forest grove, chest tight with anguish but eyes painfully dry.

• Barnaby and Nellie are married by the time they’re twenty. Maybe it’s a result of almost dying young on multiple occasions, but Nellie wasn’t keen on waiting. She didn’t want to take the risk of never getting the opportunity.

• Nellie has always wanted a big family. After how fractured hers became when Jacob disappeared, that desperate desire only increased. Fortunately, Barnaby, with his tiny, miserable family, wanted to create a large, happy one just as badly.

• On that note, they end up having five daughters: Ivy (Ravenclaw), Jade (Ravenclaw), Miri (Hufflepuff), Aurora (Slytherin), and Rowan (Hufflepuff). Many were surprised Nellie waited until her last child to name one after Rowan, but the truth was, she just wasn’t ready. She’d always known she wanted to, but it always felt too soon.

• As a frequent visitor to the Burrow, Nellie grew close with all the Weasleys. She actually babysat Ron and Ginny a far bit after she graduated Hogwarts.

• Bill and Jacob never get along. Though Bill can logically understand that Jacob was trying to protect Nellie, he can never really forgive Jacob for the distress he put Nellie through. And while Jacob understands that Nellie needed support and he wasn’t there to provide it, some part of him resents that Bill stepped into his role as Nellie’s brother.

• Although they were once close as sisters, Nellie and Skye’s friendship definitely changed for the worse in their sixth year. The drama surrounding Nellie getting trained and befriended by Erika all occurred in the month leading up to Rowan’s demise. Having Skye—someone Nellie considered a close friend—be so caught up in her own grudges and jealousy that she called off their friendship in a fit of anger not even a week after Rowan had died, while Erika—a friend she had only just started to make—acted as her rock throughout the whole grieving process, really changed Nellie’s perspective on Skye. To be fair, Skye did eventually apologize, and they picked up the pieces as best they could, but things were never the same.

• While Nellie focused more on the changes her friends went through after the events in the Buried Vault, there’s no denying that she changed as well. She hardly slept her entire sixth year. She cut off all her hair, and she jumped with every loud noise. Her naivety, one of her defining traits, withered, and left only wariness behind. She went from trusting everyone, to trusting no one. Then Rowan’s death came, and she crumbled completely. For a long time after it, she couldn’t function at all.

Thank you to @treebels​, for the lovely artwork.

[luki-fanfic]

Dr. Stone Fanfic: Crossed Your Mind - Part 1

Yes I know, it’s not KHR.  But I’m liking this fandom and it’s proving frustratingly effective at distracting me from my other works, so bear with me.

WARNING: suicide of OC, and some minor manga spoilers (end of the stone wars)

—

“Remember Gen, you must always give them enough reason to doubt.”

It’s the mantra his grandmother had uttered every day, before he’d head to school. They’d lived on the outskirts of the town, inside a traditional Japanese home, and the family bitterly held on to every acre around them they could find, no matter how good the offer that came.

It was so isolated, you could almost pretend you were the only one for miles.

Almost, anyway.  And Gen enjoyed the quiet.  It certainly didn’t last long when he had to walk into town, and sound started to echo in his head.  While the citizens and his fellow classmates kept their voices low and polite, their inner voices were no such thing.

‘God, when is he going to call me?’

‘Okay, so if I get A Meal today and the C Meal tomorrow, maybe I can afford two B meals-’

“Ugh, I’m so not ready for that test today.  I’m so screwed!”

‘Dammit, I’m going to be late again!’

Gen winces and resists the urge to cover his ears.

Physic powers are a real burden sometimes.

—

In a place like Japan, filled with overpopulated cities, telepathy is not so much a gift as it is a curse.  It normally runs down his mother’s side, but Gen happened to be one of the lucky males to have it passed down. While movies and comic books might suggest to the common man on the street that having real life super-powers would be cool, Gen will quite happily tell them otherwise.

For one thing, it doesn’t turn off.  It’s a sense, as much as sight and taste, and Gen’s only saving grace is that his own seems to be limited to hearing range at the moment.  His grandmother hears significantly further, and his mother…

Well, she’s not hearing much of anything any more.  But it had been far.

His father does the best he can, raising Gen with his grandmother.  For someone without mind-reading, his father had been a rock.  A psychologist, who worked regularly with police, and had studied ESP as a hobby.  It’s how he’d met his mother, and his days spent analysing witnesses and criminals made him a natural at reading people.  

“If I didn’t know he couldn’t read minds, I’d honestly think he could,” his mother had told at age five, in one of her better moments.  “He knew everything I was thinking just from a smile and a twitch of my hand.”

She wasn’t wrong, and it’s quite frustrating to grow up when both of your parents are impossible to lie to.  On the plus side, they couldn’t lie to him either, and his younger memories are fully of happy moments.

Unfortunately, those became a lot less when his mother’s gift spiked.

—

It gets worse in your mid twenties.  That’s the one thing that seems constant. While the radius remains almost tolerable through childhood and the teens, by 25, the mental reading spikes.  How far varies, but both his mother and grandmother had been brutally honest on what his future entails.  

His grandmother is the only one in the family with the gift to make it past thirty for generations.  And she hasn’t left this house since she was 23.  Not even the threat of bombs during the war had pried her out.  She’d tried to get her daughter to do the same, but she’d ran off to university, positive she could handle it.

At first, she’d been fine.  She’d studied, she’d met Gen’s old man – who found her ability fascinating, and could keep up with her despite his lack of it.  They’d been married in six months, and Gen came along a year later.  When he was two, they learned he’d inherited his mother’s gift, and celebrated his luck.

He was five when his mother started screaming, with the entire city suddenly pounding into her head, and they’d all packed up and moved to the house in the forest while her sanity bled out her eardrums.

Her mother had seen it coming, and tried to help traditionally.  Meditation, and long walks into the country.  Gen, his mother and father, would spend their weekends hiking in the forest, camping in the wild, trying to find areas that were isolated enough to make his mother’s headache tolerable.  Gen is not the outdoors type, but he appreciates the lessons as things he’ll need to learn for his own safety.  If he’s honest, there’s something soothing about the wild – while it frustrates his father, he likes to take off his shoes and wander barefoot when he can.  It genuinely makes him feel at peace.

Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for his mother.  The trips only help so much. Japan is a populated country, and it’s nearly impossible to find yourself outside of civilisation.  While Gen might find it quiet, neither woman ever finds true success.

His father had tried to help her through modern means.  Reduced his hours and thrown himself into parapsychology.  Prescribed any medication that might possibly help.  Sometimes it did.  But she kept getting stronger. Sometimes, the voices were so loud, she couldn’t even tell who was saying what.  Her mental state is so bad at times, his father sometimes thinks to himself she might have genuinely developed schizophrenia.  Which is a dangerous thing to think in a house of telepaths.

On the worst nights, his mother will attack his father, both with her fists, and her words.

“You hate me!” she screams, hands trying to claw at his father’s face.

“I don’t, I love you!” his father screams back, pinning her hands down.  

From his room, Gen just turned and fell into bed, burying deeper into his pillow, pretending that would drown out the words not being spoken.  

Once upon a time nobody in his family ever thought to lie.

But that was a long time ago.

—

If there’s one thing Gen’s ability has taught him, it’s this.  Everybody lies.

It’s a universal constant.  A lot of people don’t even seem to know they’re doing it, but you can’t hide your true feeling from him.  He learns quite young to never trust a smile, or a tear.  He sees and hears first hand someone uttering words of affection while screaming abuse in their head, seen teachers feign affection for eager students when they’re mentally begging them to vanish so they can go drinking.

‘I like you.’

‘It’s no trouble at all.’

‘It’s not that impressive, really.’

‘Gen, I promise, I’ll never hurt you, my baby boy.’

Lies. Lies. Lies.

—

When Gen was eight, he woke up to hear his mother singing in her head.  A happy, ditzy tune, that almost made him hopeful that today was a good day.  That this set of drugs had finally calmed down her hysterics.  In the back of the house, he can hear his grandmother thinking something quite similar, and they laugh to themselves at their need to be hopeful. It’s a thought that stays with them, right up until his mother’s musings cut straight out, leaving frightful silence.

His grandmother screams out loud.  Gen doesn’t, merely jumping out of bed and running towards his mother’s bedroom.

She’s in the cupboard.  She’d used a scarf.  Gen thinks it might have been one he gave her for a birthday, once upon a time.  His grandmother tries to usher him away, but the same thought is going through her head.

His father was away during the incident, and after the funeral, starts looking at Gen differently.  He doesn’t say why – he doesn’t have to.  Gen doesn’t need telepathy to know that his father has suddenly realised his son has a bomb trigger in his head, and his police work falls to the wayside, focused completely on looking at psychic research, looking for something, anything, that might save him.  Gen leaves him to it – it means they speak over phone while he travels, and it keeps things quiet and less depressing at home.

His grandmother has always been the bulk caretaker for him, and that definitely doesn’t change when his mother passes.  If anything, life becomes easier, because they don’t have to worry about her episodes.  A thought that makes both of them feel overwhelmingly guilty, so they never mention it.

To recover, his grandmother teaches him meditation and yoga, ways to calm his mind, and digs out decks of cards to show him tricks.  Given their natural talent, some of ancestors were known in the magic circles – when the world was smaller, and their skills not quite as strong – they worked as magicians, or magicians assistants.  She’s happy to give Gen a hobby that keeps his mind of…well, his mind.  Playing the magician is what allows their family to survive in this modern era - a way for people to explain away their uncanny ability to know all.

Then, his grandmother dies when he’s fourteen, and he’s the only voice in his head for now.

—

When he turns sixteen, he moves to Tokyo, and gets an agent.

His father thinks he’s an idiot.  Begs him to reconsider.  In this day and age, Gen can still be home schooled, and go to university online.  He can have an entire life without ever having to leave their little corner of the world.

Gen is mature enough to admit he might have a point – both of them understand that he has a very tight deadline on his life.  But he wont live like his grandmother, caged in her own house for her own sanity.  And his mother had done everything right and still ended up the way she did. Why spend years studying for a job he might not have the mental faculties to do in a decade?  If that’s his inevitable fate, he’s at least going to enjoy the time he has left and spend it being rich and adored.  

Knowing that people lie, is his strength.  Knowing precisely what they lie about, is something he can use.  While his father might suggest using it to better society, Gen won’t take the risk.  Too many dark and dangerous people to interact with, and the concept is still laughed upon in a lot of enforcement agencies.  Entertainment is far safer – he won’t even be the first in his family to use his skills this way.

The term is ‘Mentalist.’  An entertainer who feigns mind reading or other psychic abilities.  His grandmother had taught him some family methods and the basic card tricks, so he has a pretty good base to start on.  A natural talent at mental tricks, and long, painful hours in a cheap apartment, trying to block out his neighbours voices until he can manipulate a deck backwards and forwards, get him his first gig.  His attractive features, and a knack for knowing just what to say, get him his first TV performance.

A year later, and he’s doing full on shows to a sold out crowd.  Up to a thousand people, all watching him.  All loving him both in their applause and heads.

It’s a drug.  A beautiful, wonderful drug that makes up for living in one of the worlds most over populated cities.

Granted, there’s always a few that don’t enjoy it.  Gen takes pleasure in trying to seek them out whenever he needs an audience member to help him.  The ones that are looking for the trick – Gen does try to keep his act within the realms of possible most of the time.  There needs to be some way for people to guess how he does it, but every now and then, he’ll show off.  Get the biggest disbeliever in the room on stage, and mentally take him apart.  The look of shock, of horror, and astonishment, as this simple being had their entire world view shaken.  When the revelation that they can’t tell anyone because they won’t be believed crosses their mind.  It’s a beautiful thing - Gen thinks he’s personally made at least a dozen sceptics full on psychic believers by this point.

On one occasion, it’s another celebrity.  He’s been booked for a special on exceptional young Japanese citizens, and he’s there for both his psychology and magic credentials.  The piece was fairly run of the mill, with one exceptions – a teen by the name of Shishio Tsukasa.

Although ‘teen’ is a bit of stretch – muscles like that shouldn’t be possible on someone that young.  He’s attending as an example of psychology in fighting – how the state of mind can improve anyone’s abilities. During his own display, Gen can’t deny he’s impressed.  Tsukasa’s mind is calm, and focused, and terrifyingly powerful.

But he also doesn’t believe in magic.  He looks over Gen with the usual polite respect that one in the media masters, but his dismissal of Gen’s talents rings clear as day to him.

As such, when the show cuts for a break, and the two of them are alone in the green room, Gen hides a vicious smirk behind a glass of water, and gets to work.  After a few moments of quiet contemplation, trying to block out the voices around them and focusing on Tsukasa’s own thoughts, he’s ready to go.

“How is dear little Mirai?”

The reaction is beautiful.  He waited until Tsukasa was drinking, and he has to fight back the smirk as the taller teen chokes on the liquid, hand trembling as he drops it to glare over at the mentalist.

Gen gives an innocent smile.

“It’s quite an impressive feat, to soldier all those medical bills on your own.  For what it’s worth, I can completely sympathise.”

That’s not even a lie.  Throwing yourself into work, desperately putting money together to help a family member that has no hope of ever getting better?

Oh, Gen can definitely sympathise.  Tsukasa however, doesn’t seem amused.

“How do you know about Mirai?” he asks, voice low.  Gen completely understands – the teen has gone to extraordinary lengths to keep his little sister’s state out of the media.  There’s only a handful of people who know the Strongest Primate High Schooler even has a sibling.  

“It is my business to know, Tsukasa-chan,” Gen offers, leaning back and resting his hand on one cheek.  “I make a point to know everything about everyone I deal with.  You’d be amazed at the secrets I know.”

“Is that a fact?” Tsukasa asks, body tense, and Gen grins.

“My dear Tsukasa-chan, my entire career is built on reading people,” he says.  “I am young, I am pretty, and I am new to the game.  On the one hand, it works for my brand, but on the other, people always think they can use me for their own good fortune.  If I don’t learn how to manipulate, how to get into the heads of people, I’d never survive.”

He flashes Tsukasa a dark smirk.

“I’m sure you understand this as well as I do.  This world is not fair one, but if you know that, you can still come out on top.”

Tsukasa stays silent, but gives a nod of comprehension, and Gen settles back, satisfied that the indifference in the fighter’s head has been quite firmly replaced with respect.

—

A few months later, Gen is sporting a new black and white hairstyle, and is running through a stage performance to a regular audience.  It’s a small crowd, and there’s nobody he can pick up that’s not genuinely enjoying his act, so there’s no need to psychologically gut anyone in the finale.  Everyone seems happy, and he’ll give them the best show he can to reward that.

Next week, he’ll probably show off, because his father will be attending.  Right now he’s in America, attending some medical conference.  Gen has only seen the man in person since he left for Tokyo three times, but they call regularly.  He’d come to see Gen perform twice, and once come just to yell at him, having taken great offence at Gen’s ‘psychology’ book, especially considering Gen hadn’t even finished High School – but Gen could have seen that coming without psychic powers.  No doubt, he’ll roll his eyes when Gen publicly dissects the biggest sceptic in the crowd for his finale, but then he’ll laugh, and take his famous son out to dinner, before going over the newest research he has in how to keep Gen’s mind sane.

Gen looks forward to it.  Even though he already knows his father has no faith whatsoever that they’ll find a cure in time, no matter what words he might offer.

He’s just completed his final act, one of the more standard ‘magical’ aspects of his performance, where he escapes from a box stabbed with knives, basking in the approving minds, when something dark and ominous hits him like a sledgehammer.

‘What’s happening?’

‘Ohmygodohmygodohmygod.’

‘Am I dying? What is this!’

His smile falters as the voices scream inside his head.  But before he can process the danger, his arms stiffen, his vision vanishes, and he has nothing left but the voices.

Oh god, there’s so many…

‘Is this part of the act?  I don’t like this!”

‘Mom!  I want my mom!’

‘Can anyone hear me!  Help me!’

‘Please!  I’m scared!’

‘HELP!’

He wants to scream. Wants to run away from this darkness and their screams.  But he’s as frozen as everyone else.

Has it finally happened?  Has he succumbed to his family’s curse?  He’s only 19, he supposed to have time left…

But there’s no answer, and the crying, sobbing, frantic minds don’t let up for hours.  But eventually, they start to quiet, and Gen becomes even more alarmed when he starts to realise he can pick out individual voices – the crowd thinning for unknown reasons.

It should be comforting, but with nothing to see, hear, smell…those voices are the only thing keeping him sane.  He cries every time a voice tapers off.

‘Stay!  Come back!’ he begs in his own head.  ‘Don’t leave me alone!’

He doesn’t know how long it takes for the last voice, a young woman whose last thoughts are of her fiancé, to drift away.  But the time after is horrifying.  He’s never been so alone.  There’s always been someone on the edge of his head.  This silence is terrifying.

So, when his own mind starts to drift away, its nothing but a relief.

—

Several thousand years later, he meets Shishio Tsukasa again.  The teen is even more impressive, and the army of stone behind him does not fill Gen with confidence.  Neither does his mental state –and Gen suddenly becomes exceedingly grateful his father would have been in America and is far, far away from him.

He is given clothing, which to his surprise is slightly more elaborate than everyone else, and based on traditional Japanese garb.  It’s the style he’s admitted in interviews and TV appearances to being his preference, and it doesn’t take much to realise he’s being buttered up.  Better clothes to elevate his position in Tsukasa’s new world.  The girl who made them is torn between being happy at making something creative, and being terrified of Gen’s existence. She knows exactly why Gen’s been revived, and she’s not happy about it.

Granted, Gen also knows why he’s been revived, but he can’t tell Tsukasa that.  Any more than he can tell him the one called Senku is still alive.  At this point, he’s not even supposed to know the scientist’s name, so he stays mum.

He’s given a tour of Tsukasa’s kingdom, the strange caves utterly alien to him.  It’s difficult to imagine that this is where Tokyo once stood.  Or that this simple little cave holds the key to their revival.  It’s there that he finds something truly phenomenal.  The date.

Tsukasa had told it to him, but he was still wrapping his head around the concept of what happened that it didn’t register.  But here it is, written on a tree, plain as day.  

Gen’s reeling. Someone was awake during the petrification?  The whole time?  And stayed coherent enough to keep track of the date?  Gen had stayed conscious longer than everyone because he had mental stimulation, and even he’s still iffy on exactly how long he was functioning.  The mental feat this must have taken…

He laughs long and hard in his head when he realises Tsukasa has revived him to track Senku down.  A man Gen suddenly realises he has to meet, no matter what.

So he plays along, trailing after Tsukasa, acting the role of shallow egoist, looking at his options and realising Tsukasa was his key to success in this new world – the person Tsukasa, and most of the modern world, believed he was – looking over Senku’s abandoned hut, and being directed to where Tsukasa had once left a strange blonde girl, only to return and find her missing.

Gen is given a fortnight to hunt down Senku or the village, or Tsukasa will send out a rescue team.  He’s rather surprised that Tsukasa is willing to let him go alone, but then again, a more censored version of his family’s hiking trips have also made it into his biography, so perhaps it’s just rationing resources.  And it does make Gen’s plans so much easier.

—

Once he’s stepped into the forest, and Tsukasa’s mind is no longer close enough to be heard, Gen immediately kicks off the primitive shoes he’d been offered, and sits in the crook of a tree to process what’s just happened.

The world is so quiet.  That’s the first thing he truly registers.  Now that he’s out of the Kingdom of Might, and away from the half dozen people up and running, it’s truly alien at how quiet his head is.  There is nothing but the sounds of wildlife in his ears, and not a single stray thought in his mind.

He hasn’t been this alone in years.  It’s kind of soothing…normal people don’t know how lucky they are, to have this every day.

But as much as he’d love to bask in this quiet, he somehow needs to track down this now infamous ‘Senku’ over untamed wilderness, and figure out a way back without issue.  While he has some outdoors experience, he had modern clothing and supplies on hand, and there’s no markers to help him out, or minds to pick up.

Thankfully, Senku and his blonde friend didn’t do much to cover their tracks. They’re faint from time, but he does manage to follow a trail, finding an old campfire, and then wheel tracks.  He also stumbles across a hot spring, which he admittedly spends a day at before moving on.

Between marking a trail, and his wrong turns, it takes four days before he comes across civilisation.  A beaten mud path that’s probably used by hunters, and when he follows it, he picks up the sound of an instrument, too melodic to be natural.  A few minutes later, he rests at the top of the hill, grinning at the village on the water.

The grin gets wider when he picks up an amazing smell too.  It’s not perfect, but that’s definitely ramen.  And the idea of eating something he didn’t have to gather himself is too good to pass up.

When he walks out of the forest, he settles on a grouping of rocks, just out of sight.  A passing glance at the locals make it clear his getup will stand out like sore thumb, so he needs to stay in observation mode.

Most of the village are hoarded around a bamboo cart, and everyone’s thoughts are filled with only one thing.  How phenomenal this strange food is. They’ve never tasted anything like it.

But there’s one mind that’s running at a frantic pace.  Gen’s almost taken aback – it’s practically speaking another language compared to the more simplistic thoughts around him.  The owner is going over the components of ramen, a string of insanely long chemical components, and most curious of all, counting seconds almost subconsciously.

Gen smiles.  

Hello Senku.

Now, how to approach?  The last time Senku met a fellow modern man, he was supposedly killed.  Gen can’t imagine he’ll be received with much trust.  Gen himself has gone and put together makeshift armour just in case the reaction is more extreme than he expects, so he should expect Senku to be at least that paranoid.

He’s still mulling it over, when an utterly adorable slip of a girl wearing a watermelon on her head hands him a bowl of ramen.  She’s so focused on handing food out, she doesn’t even seem to realise he’s not a villager. Or perhaps that mask is obscuring her eyes?

The ramen itself is…well it’s a painful example of why MSG is in so much food, but the sensation of eating something cooked, that’s been even a little bit processed, is a glorious feeling.  The general aura of delight and joy surrounding him definitely sweeten the bowl too.  One girl even thinks about how they should stretch the rules to get the stranger into the village if he cooks like this.

The teen that can only be Senku is starting to slow down at his cart, and the crowd is dispersing in order to eat, so Gen makes his move.  Something that will get Senku’s attention, but wont appear threatening.

“This ramen is making me wickedly thirsty,” he says with a smile.  “A cola would be great…”

[deathspeaker]

JJ Abrams

I think I finally understand, at least in part, why I hate JJ Abrams as a filmmaker so much. He’s clearly studied a lot of great movies, and really badly wants to be the next Spielberg or similar but... he doesn’t understand what makes the movie greats... great.

Super 8 is an excellent example of him aping Spielberg, hardcore, and failing miserably. You have the child protagonists? Check. They’re film geeks? Check. Something supernatural is happening and the adults don’t get it? Check. It’s like someone wrote down ‘How to Make a Spielberg Movie’ bullet point by bullet point and he tries SO hard to follow the formula but he fails miserably. The movie did well when it came out but now, x many years later no one talks about it. Its no one’s favorite movie, no one seems to remember it exists.

Part of the problem is that he doesn’t seem to understand how to write a coherent story. He loves setpieces, looooves them. Big explosions and crazy things happening are his bread and butter (and he’s often pretty good at it, the train crash is pretty well done!) but when he tries to tie the whole story together it falls apart.

He wants to have both a monster movie and the alien is a monster, (So is ‘man’ well... the government really) and a feel-good kid movie at the same time. Towards the end of the movie, the alien finally is making his craft and escaping and the framing, the music, the scene is SO disjointed from the rest of the plot because not 10 minutes earlier the monster was EATING. PEOPLE. It had hunted people, hung them up for snacks and was just... eating them like they were apples off the table but the scene of the alien flying away is framed like ET going home. The characters tear up, they hold hands, they look so proud and happy for this monster!

It doesn’t work.

He is not a good filmmaker, sometimes he makes good scenes but he absolutely has no idea how to make an actual good movie. A coherent, quality movie. All he can do is try and ape better filmmakers and hope to fool people. It’s why his movies are so forgettable and just... fall by the wayside. He has no style of his own (beyond being BIG BIG BIG! STUFF HAPPENING! LOOK AT THE STUFF!) and fuck, at least Michael Bay has an actual recognizable style. Yes. I’m saying Michael Fucking Bay is a better filmmaker.

It’s why his Star Wars movies are such disjointed messes. In 30 years' time, no one is going to be studying his movies in film school unless they’re specifically talking about bad movies.

[statusquoergo]

I really don't like the direction they took with Marcus. In the beginning, Marcus seemed like a positive influence in H's life, they really gave the impression that H was just too busy/self absorbed to visit him a lot but they got along ok. I remember in the early seasons all the hinting that Mike reminded H of Marcus ( I believe even Scottie said something of the sort) - which would have been awesome ( considering the heteronormative pairings), as it gave us a real reason why H suddenly 1/

2/ wanted to hire M, it would’ve been interesting to see. Instead we get a selfish and profiting man who doesn’t at all fit with the descriptions we had.Couldn’t they give H one family member that truly cared about him? He takes lily’s side and sticks to it and if it hurts H well he has to get over it otherwise he’s an immature child. When he appeared in season 8 with the whole divorce debacle, how he made his kids lie for him and use H I thought “ man the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree”.

3/ i think they really missed an opportunity to do something interesting with Harvey and Marcus’ dynamic, which could have influenced H&M’s relationship and accentuated the message of found family of the show. It would have enriched Harvey’s character to stick with the original plan. I wonder why they changed it?

From “War“ (s02e16), Scottie is explaining to Mike that Harvey used his law school tuition money to pay for Marcus’s treatment when he first got sick:

“I didn’t even know Harvey had a brother.”“You’d like him.He’s like you.”

If Mike reminded Harvey of Marcus, that could certainly go at least a little ways toward explaining why Harvey hired him in the first place. I wonder if the writers originally intended for that to be part of the explanation, but it fell by the wayside as that plotline disappeared. Or maybe they forgot.

I think that overall, Marcus suffered the misfortune of being introduced in person in Season 4 (“Not Just a Pretty Face” s04e16), which was around the time that the quality of the show started to tank. At the time of the introduction, we don’t actually know much about Marcus but that he’s Harvey’s brother, and he “got sick” and needed expensive treatment, which Harvey went out of his way to provide. And, of course, that, according to Scottie, he and Mike are alike somehow. (Of course, this is the same episode wherein she calls Mike “Baby Harvey,” so…make whatever you want to out of that.)

So Harvey has a brother he’s quite fond of who hasn’t had much development up to this point, and oh no! Harvey needs an emergency dirty history with Charles Forstman for some Drama, Extra Spicy™! Well here’s a previously-mentioned-but-still-fairly-blank slate lying around for the writers to pick up and draw all over with some very conveniently-timed backstory we haven’t heard a bit of prior to this moment. Given the writers’ lack of foresight when planning individual seasons (“Most of the time, and I would say most years, we have planned out the beginning of the year through the first 10, not that solidly but fairly solidly, and then the back six are like, ‘What are we going to do now?’”), let alone multi-season arcs, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if they never originally planned to introduce Marcus as a recurring character and didn’t think at all about what it would mean to make him a recovering addict.

I quite agree with you that Marcus’s character development is a major missed opportunity. I had a similar thought during his whole divorce arc; admittedly my immediate reaction was more along the lines of, “Man these writers sure do recycle old plot lines,” but the apple not falling far from the tree was a close second. But on a more interesting note, what would have happened if Marcus had, for instance, lived closer to New York and been able to have more of a presence in the show? What if he had gotten to know Mike? Why did Scottie say Mike and Marcus are similar, what does that mean for Mike’s relationship with Harvey? Why is Marcus so determined to always side with Lily, did something happen when they were kids that effectively divided the family in half? How did Marcus and Harvey reconcile?

I imagine that the writers didn’t answer any of these questions because this show isn’t big on backstory and emotionality in general. Harvey’s mother cheated on his father when he was sixteen, it defines his character. Mike’s parents died when he was eleven, it defines his character. Rachel doesn’t want to be treated differently because of who her father is, it defines her character (until she becomes Mike’s girlfriend, at which point that defines her character). Donna is Harvey’s secretary, it defines her character. Everyone gets a main trait and then scattered additional details as the plot requires. Even the “found family” motif comes as goes as necessary; sometimes found family is the most important thing (e.g., “Harvey, you didn’t just give me my dream. You gave me a family” [“Faith” s05e10]) and other times blood relative are the most important (e.g., Samantha’s sudden determination to find her birth father [“Scenic Route” 09e07]).

Basically I think the writers had really poor foresight. And also were not very good at writing.

[elven-oracle]

devotion |t.h.|

moodboard by @astral-parker

warnings: death, drinking, depiction of drunkeness, car accident

pairing: frat!tom x sorority!reader

word count: 2.2k

On your 51st wedding anniversary, you admitted to yourself that you were not married to the love of your life. It wasn’t an easy thing to admit, and it was a secret that you would hold with you until you died, but the concept of the truth setting you free was no exaggeration. You stared at your husband, old and deteriorating, and didn’t feel the same way you did when you married him 51 years ago. You had been so naive and young that it had clouded your vision slightly. Sure, you were happy. Your life had been fulfilling enough, but reaching its fullest potential would be far from possible, even when you had gotten married.

You met the love of your life in college. In 2018 you had started your second year, and you still had those bright eyes that were ready to take on the world. This year you moved into your sorority, Delta Delta Delta, and felt confident that this decision was one of the best you had ever made. Greek life was the absolute opposite of what you anticipated. Your sisters lifted you up and encouraged you to be the best person you could be, and you were determined to do the same for them.

On the second day back, before classes started, Greek row threw parties galore, but strictly in the fraternities. Those were the only Greek houses that allowed alcohol for people over the age of 21, but that was a rule that was rarely paid mind to. You had no idea what to expect at this party but attempted to feel as confident as you could when walking into Sigma Alpha Epsilon. The frat was notorious for having good-looking men, and you wanted to flirt tonight. After a few drinks, the warm feeling in your stomach fulfilled the confidence you needed, and your body made its way to the dance floor.

By the end of the night, you hadn’t really talked to anyone of particular interest, and you were starting to lose hope that there was someone here for you. Drunkenly grabbing your coat and heading for the door, a finger tapped you on the shoulder, and you stared into the face of someone that you hadn’t seen at all that night.

“Miss, can I walk you home?” he gave you a half smile that reminded you of the way people awkwardly smiled when passing in a hallway.

Your eyes were half open, “Yeah, sure, just don’t like, take advantage of me or anything,” you could feel the slurring coming out of your mouth. Your tongue felt like it had a weight on it.

He laughed, “I’m sober brother tonight. You have nothing to worry about.”

You didn’t. You woke up the next morning hardly remembering anything past that interaction, but a glass of water and two ibuprofen sat on your bedside table. Whoever he was, he definitely took care of you.

Rubbing your head, you downed the water and the pills and opened your phone to see if you had missed anything. It was 11 am on a Saturday, the day that all the first years arrived on campus. You were supposed to help them move in, but your talent of sleeping through your alarm had prevailed, and it was almost over by now. A kind text from your chapter president notified you that you had nothing to worry about, just be sure to feel better. You must have made an entrance coming home last night.

That wasn’t the text that had you concerned though, it was the other from an unknown number.

Hey! My name is Tom. I’m the junior that brought you home last night. You insisted on me texting you when I got home last night and shouted your number repeatedly at me, so, I’m home! Have a good night!

You snickered. It was normal for you to be more concerned about other people when you were drunk. This wasn’t the first time you insisted on someone texting you when they got home, only to not see it until the next morning.

The following week you found yourself going on a date with the friendly frat boy who had so kindly taken you home. Apparently, you hadn’t made a complete fool of yourself on that walk from ΣΑΕ. It was only coffee, but you hadn’t been on an actual date since high school, so you had a natural enthusiasm that came with infatuation.

It was the best date you had ever been on, to say the least.

There was something about the conversation that flowed. You had anticipated the date to go for about an hour, but you both had enjoyed each other’s company so much that it went for two and a half. As he dropped you off, you almost wished that you didn’t have homework.

“I had a great time,” you smiled, opening his car door to leave.

His dark brown eyes almost looked like they sparkled, “I did too.”

The story of you and Tom falling in love was so typical, you felt like you were in a rom-com. The cute texts, the meticulously planned dates, the way that he looked at you, it was all surreal. You took care of each other. Your sophomore year of college was slowly becoming the best year of your life thus far, and you basked in every second of it.

One morning, you felt a knock on the door to your room. Glancing over at your roommate who was sound asleep, you peeled yourself out of bed and opened it to find Tom, standing in the door frame with a bouquet of sunflowers. He flashed a smile at you.

“Tom what-”

“Happy Saturday, I’ve got our whole day planned. Can you get ready in an hour?”

You smiled back at him, trying to push down the tears of joy welling up in your eyes, “Yeah I can.”

You took the flowers, him kissing your cheek, and hurried to get ready. You strategically layered your clothing, not knowing what precisely you would be doing, and tied your hair into a braid to keep it out of your face. When you walked down the stairs, the look on his face would forever be ingrained to your memory. It was how you wanted to be looked at on your wedding day, except that this was just a Saturday morning date, and you had thrown together your appearance as quickly as you could.

It was magical. The morning was still slightly frosty, being early March, but the sun shined through the car window to give a nice ounce of warmth on your face. You felt like a flower stretching out towards the sun. You looked down at your interlocked fingers and felt butterflies flurry into your stomach. Even after 7 months, Tom still felt like a breath of fresh air.

He took you to the coast, where he had already packed bagels and fruit punch to eat. Laying out a blanket, you both hugged your coats to your body, ate your food, and leaned on one another, letting the sound of the waves crashing on the shore sooth your ears.

“So is there a reason you brought me here today?” you jokingly broke the comfortable silence you both had been sitting in.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, “Yeah. Actually, there is.”

You hadn’t expected there to be, you were just creating conversation. Your immediate thought was the worst case scenario, and that this was the end of it all, and Tom was about to be the love that got away.

It was precisely the opposite.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, pulling out a piece of jewelry. On a chain sat the letters of his fraternity, Sigma Alpha Epsilon. ΣΑΕ. It was his lavalier.

Traditionally, for students in sororities and fraternities, there was a step between dating and engagement, and that was the tradition of the lavalier. Giving your significant other this pendant was a true confession of a man’s commitment to the woman he loves and holds above everything. You gawked at the pendent, your lips parting in shock.

“I know it’s only been seven months, but I’ve never felt more right about a decision ever in my life. I want to give this to you, and I understand if you don’t want to accept it, but I just want you to know that my devotion to you is endless, and I-” you heard his voice break, and he cleared his throat. “I love you very much.”

You laughed, still in utter shock, “Tom, yes, oh wow. I feel the exact same way-” you cut yourself off, placing your lips on his. It was a passionate, deep kiss that felt like it sealed the deal. You wanted to stay there, with him, for the rest of your life.

You loved the way the letters felt on your neck. You loved being able to announce that he had given them to you at a candle passing ceremony for TriDelta. For your entire life, it felt like that in everything you did there was a tunnel vision. You had been so caught up in your studies that love had put on the wayside. Now your view was opened up. You had more than one thing to live for.

A month later, the night before spring break, ΣΑΕ held another party similar to the one where you had met Tom. This time, you traveled over to the party excited to relax and be yourself. You had gotten to know many of his brothers over the course of the past seven months, and you felt as if you knew what you were getting yourself into as you walked up to the house.

“Y/N! Good to see you! Go grab a drink. I think Tom is in the living room, he’s sober brother tonight.”

You smiled, nodded, and headed to the kitchen to pour yourself a whiskey and Pepsi combination, leaning heavier on the whiskey. Joining Tom on the couch, you slinked into his side, letting him wrap his arm around your shoulders.

By the end of the night, you were in a similar position as you were the night you two had met. You were giggly and excitable, making sure you bothered your boyfriend just the right amount. Through your dizzy and drunken state, you could tell that Tom was still giving you that loving gaze, brushing your hair out of your face every time you leaned over him to laugh.

“Miss, can I drive you home?” he finally said, kissing your forehead and tying your hair back for you.

“Drive? Drive?” the concept seemed insane to you. You only lived a three blocks away!

“You’re a little too...gone for a walk. I would rather just drive you the few blocks and carry you inside,” he stood, offering two hands to get you on your feet. You pulled your heavy eyes to meet his and laughed.

“Yeah, I guess that’s...fine.”

You didn’t think twice about it. His logic was much more sound than yours, anyway, but it was this moment that you would always remember vividly. The choice that changed your life forever.

It was only three blocks. A short, three block drive. Tom was absolutely sober, and there was nothing that should have gone awry. As you cruised slowly, you were about to tell him something.Three little words. It was a fleeting thought that you had told him over and over that night, but meant it every time. He approached a stop sign, looked at you and started driving again, returning his eyes to the road. You looked at him, his puppy dog eyes focused, his brown curls slightly off from you lovingly running your hands through them so many times, and the last thing you saw was the crook of his nose before everything exploded.

They told you it was a drunk driver. They had ran a stop sign going 60 miles per hour in a residential area, and that he was killed on impact. There was nothing they could do for him. You were lucky you made it out alive.

You barely made it out alive. The car had flipped onto its side, and you were dragged out by an EMT. By that point, you blacked out to wake up three days later. A broken hand, three broken ribs, and a fractured collarbone, eight stitches in your lip and 13 in your forehead. Months of physical therapy. A lifetime of mourning.

You never took off that lavalier.

When you were 30 years old you met someone that loved you, and someone you cared deeply for. You said the words “I love you,” but in your heart you held them for someone else. He would always be there, sitting on your heart in the three letters that bought you together.

Three letters, three words.

You sat, age 81, on your anniversary. Your spouse looked kindly into your eyes as you began to let go, walking into the light, leaving all aspects of your physical being behind. It felt like the shedding of a layer of clothing upon entering a warm, comforting room.

You opened your eyes to see the universe. Lights surrounded you, blinking, somewhat resembling a skyline. When you turned around, you saw him. That look. That loving look that you found solace in. The gentle gaze of the person you loved above all else.

“I told you my devotion was endless.”

M A S T E R L IS T

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[joshuabarrett124-blog]

ECL310 Prompt 1:

A book I recall reading in Primary school was the “Wayside School” stories, by Louis Sachar. These were read to the whole class by my teacher when I was in Grade 2. I distinctively remember these books in Primary School as my teacher had gone to so much effort into making a class focus on this book within some most classes. As this book is based on a class in a ‘wacky’ school- we based the characters of the class in the book, on students in our own class, so each student in our class got a character in the book- being included and involved in the story (eager to see what their person did).

Each chapter of this novel was based around one student in the story- different in each chapter, a new student and their role in the classroom was explored within Wayside School. At the beginning of each story we’d discuss prior who it was about, what we thought it was going to be about and whoever’s character was in the story- got to sit up the front with our teacher whilst he read it to the class (like a stage- similar to drama classes). My teacher went to the extent of covering our English books in pictures of each of our characters (incorporating areas of art for him and us), recalled instances of the book and placed them into daily classroom activities, as well as associating our characters with our own personalities and classroom relationships. This teacher was hilarious and really made this topic and book one to be enjoyed – definitely one that I will take into my future classroom for students to enjoy. He made these stories feel real, like these characters were actually our class, his hard work definitely paid off! This book and experience has taught me to enjoy reading to the class- even if it is only a small amount per day. Students love it and can be involved, sparking interest as well as developing knowledge and enjoyment