#dance slump

[looosey]

Lucy's DDR #1: I Love Dance

My parents and friends think I love to dance. They know without me saying it. In fact, a conversation I had with two NH Medlinks (i.e. my Desmond friend and his H4 friend) went like this:

H4 friend: Oh how do you know (NH4 girl 1) and (NH4 girl 2)? Do you dance? My friend: Does she dance? All she does is dance. H4 friend: Oh cool! Are you in ADT?

Which I found very fonny. No I am not. But alas, for the past two years till now, I have always been dancing, and I really really enjoy it, and I want to get better, and I think I do really love it!

But sometimes, it's hard to love it.

Today I want to talk about a big thing I see in dancers at MIT around me, which is that they have a very stressful relationship with dance. "I might quit all dance next semester," and "The MIT dance community is so toxic," and "I don't know if I want to do <xyz advanced team> next semester or just quit" are phrases I hear often from friends who always end up dancing anywhere from 3-9 hours a week.

They love it, but they hate it. The feelings are so extreme, I think, because dance is a social activity. You make friends, close friends, through dance troupe, ADT, or teams. But with dance, you're also auditioning, getting evaluated and cut, watching yourself side by side with others, being recorded, being talked about, and talking about others. It's a social activity.

And if you start thinking about how good your other peers are compared to you, the deep deep blackhole of dance-is-the-devil is slippery and treacherous. Despite them coming in with more experience, or putting in more hours than you at the expense of grades, sleep, or social life, or having been an athlete before, etc. All of my fellow friends who started dance in college, we've talked about this shared anxiety, but yet. We're all still dancing.

Dance. Dance. Four total semesters now. Why?

My favorite semester ever dance-wise was sophomore fall. Coming back from Korea, where I took a class a week at the famous 1Million and JustJerk dance studios, I was made pretty well aware that MIT was just a spec in the dance world. Thus, I was on my own journey to enjoy the art form and become professional grade good, whether or not MIT's competitive teams wanted me as a dancer did not matter. So, in September, I joined MissBehavior, did a DT dance, and took an MIT Theater dept. class in Hip Hop Dance History and Practice.

McKersin, the lecturer, taught us the history, shared the culture, opened my eyes to the Boston scene. He became the first person ever to tell me... "you need to practice" in an objective but well-meaning way. Previously, choreo workshops and Dance Troupe were fun and good to me, but in the vacuum of no-feedback-ever, I remained convinced that I was great at dancing, and thus was so confused all the time when I got rejected from competitive auditions. Now I was beginning to know.

I practiced freestyle dance and learned choreo from videos on my own, late into the night at BC dance studio. Recording myself, and gritting my teeth as I watched my own recordings. Yuck. Dumpster trash on fire, the stench coming from those videos.

But the way my dance progress became my own? So valuable to me. Thus, I improved.

I'm on a team now, and slightly deeper in the "dance as a social activity" thing both in MIT and the Boston community. Many times, I also struggle. I think I suck, look at that guy who probably only started this year he's so much cleaner than me. And that puts me in the worst bottom of the barrel mood for an entire day. Literally, makes me feel physical pain. But I never hate on dance. It's usually myself that I hate, which is not any better.

I write this on a special day: my first day ever being picked by a choreog in a workshop. You know? As the first subgroup to record? It means you're good. It was an affirmation that I'm doing okay, after a recent wave of self-hatred, actually. Even if I don't hate dance, I struggle a lot with comparing myself, and thinking I'm actually trash and not getting better, which is the root of my friends' problems too. I'm trynna overcome this and share a positive view of dance, like the energy of today's choreographer: it's fun to do and it's safe here.

This post is a reminder to future Lucy that actually, this journey has been one of great memories and progress. So, don't hate yourself, or the art. Be kind to yourself and others. Dance. Dance. Revolution.

[megumiluvv]

Yuji comes home from school one day with a flier for a “mother-son” dance at his preschool. Choso knows how badly Yuji wants to do these events and feels sad that he can’t really dance with his mother.

“You want to do this, Yuji?” He asks his little brother.

“Yeah, but… no mom.” The defeat in his voice makes Choso’s heart shatter.

He texts you and begs you to go to the dance with Yuji.

I will pay you extra or something, please do this for Yuji.

Relax, Choso, I’d love to do this dance for Yuji.

You smile the day of the dance in a nice dress, and Yuji’s all cute and dressed up in a tiny suit.

“Oh, is this my handsome dance partner?” You smile and wave goodbye to the speechless Choso who hasn’t really seen you in a dress before.

You get to the dance venue and see Gojo’s doctor friend dancing with Megumi. You smile as Yuji runs excitedly to his friend and you talk with Shoko.

“So, you and Choso?” Shoko grins.

“Ah, not exactly, just a favor for him, I guess…”

“Yeah, I’m doing a favor for Satoru.” She sips the drinks offered for the dance and goes to dance with Megumi again.

You dance with Yuji and he’s having the time of his life, it’s a little heartbreaking. To think he’s never gotten to have these opportunities before because his mother died when he was a baby, it’s saddening and it makes you want to be there for every mother’s event you can.

You help Yuji slow dance and he grins up at you. He tries to spin you and the two of you just have a great time.

On the way home, you and Yuji stop for ice cream.

“Did you have fun?” You ask Yuji.

“This has been the most funnest night!” He grins excitedly.

“I’m glad, I had fun too.” You laugh.

“You did?”

“Mhm, had a really great night with you.”

Yuji pokes at his ice cream and seems a little hesitant to say something.

“…I wish you were my actual mom…” Oh.

You pick up Yuji and head home with him. “I’ll be your mommy anytime for events like this, okay?”

“…Promise?”

“Of course I do! You’re such a sweet kid, Yu. I love you as if you were my child.” You rub his back and continue walking to the apartments.

As you walk into Choso’s apartment, Yuji’s asleep in your arms, and Choso smiles to you two.

“Have fun?” He smiles as you lay Yuji down.

“He said this was the funnest night he’s had. Did you miss us?” You smile.

“Only a little.” Choso laughs and goes into the kitchen with you. “I genuinely owe you.”

“I enjoyed it. I want to do more things like that. I told Yuji I’d be his mom for any of those events.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He told me that he wished I was his actual mom, it was pretty heartbreaking.”

Choso’s expression softens and he glances at Yuji’s room.

“Yeah, it’s sad that he never got to know our parents. But to be fair, I never got to do those dances either.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I guess I wasn’t top priority for our mom…”

You frown and pull up some slow dance music on your phone and hold your hand out to him. He tilts his head.

“What’s that for?”

“Dance with me.”

Choso feels a flutter in his chest and takes your hand. The two of you slow dance in the kitchen, the moon lighting up your face and hair in the most perfect ways. He’s a little stumbly with his movements, but he gets the hang of it and twirls you.

The two of you dance through most of the night and you fall asleep, Choso laying you on his bed because he refuses to let you sleep on the uncomfortable couch. He stays up the rest of the night and keeps an eye on you and checks on Yuji occasionally.

He wouldn’t mind if you were Yuji’s mother figure, as long as he gets to be the father.

Masterlist

[lurakha]

FAR CRY 5 (∞)

[dxppercxdxver]

hourly comic day '25! featuring the Woes Of A Theatre Major and ooh ouch oooooh ouchy

[dontyoufinditstrange]

From Under The Cork Tree Lyrics That Alter My Brain Chemistry

Our Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldn't Get Sued

"the ribbon on my wrist says 'do not open before christmas'" "we're only liars, but we're the best" "its just past 8 and i'm feeling young and reckless"

Of All The Gin Joints In All The World

"i used to waste my time dreaming of being alive, now i only waste it dreaming of you" "we're sleeping through all the memories"

Dance, Dance

"tonight it's 'it can't get much worse' versus ' no one should ever feel like'" "i'm two quarters and a heart down" "and i don't wanna forget how your voice sounds" "these words are all i have so i'll write them so you need them just to get by" "this is the way they'd love if they knew how misery loves me"

Sugar, We're Going Down

"i'm just a notch in your bedpost, but you're just a line in a song" "a loaded god complex, cock it and pull it" "isn't it messed up how i'm just dying to be him?"

Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner

"i keep my jealousy close cause its all mine" "hand behind this pen relives a failure every day" "so wear me like a locket around your throat, i'll wear you down, i'll watch you choke"

I've Got A Dark Alley And A Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song)

"we're the kids who feel like dead ends" "and the poets are just kids who didnt make it and never had it at all" "force our smiles, baby, half dead, from comparing myself to everyone else around me" "please put the doctor on the phone cause i'm not making any sense" "blame everyone but me for this mess" "and my back has been breaking from this heavy heart" "i'm hopelessly hopeful you're just hopeless enough"

7 Minutes In Heaven (Atavan Halen)

"i keep tellin myself, i keep tellin myself i'm not the desperate type, but you've got me looking through blinds" "trying to forget everything that isn't you" "i'm not going home alone, cause i dont do too well on my own"

Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year

"cause i swear i'd burn the city down to show you the light" "no matter what they say, don't believe a word" "cause i'll keep singing this lie if you keep believing it" "take our tears, put em on ice" "ashamed of the way the songs and the words own the beating of our hearts" "got a sunset in my veins" "i need to take a pill to make this town feel okay" "i need to keep you like this in my mind"

Champagne For My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends

"you are a getaway car, rush of blood to the head" "we only do it for the scars and stories, but not the fame" "at least everyone is trying, everyone is shining, everyone deserves the flames, but its such a shame" "the sounds of this small town make my ears hurt" "the tide's out, the ship's run aground, we drown traitors in shallow water"

I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me

"you're the only place that feels like home" "i'm the first kid to write of hearts, lies, and friends" "i am sorry my conscience called in sick again" "i've got arrogance down to a science" "they call kids like us vicious and carved out of stone" "but for what we've become we just feel more alone" "so progress report: i am missing you to death"

A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me"

"you're just the girl all the boys wanna dance with and i'm just the boy who's had too many chances" "i don't blame you for being you, but you can't blame me for hating it" "write me off, give up on me, cause darling what did you expect?"

Get Busy Living Or Get Busy Dying (Do Your Part To Save The Scene And Stop Going To Shows)

"we never stood a chance and i'm not sure if it matters" "i'm mailing letters to addresses in a ghost town" "i know this hurts, it was meant to" "it's mind over you don't, don't matter" "it must be said again that all us boys are just screaming into microphones for attention because we're just so bored" "we never knew that you would pick it apart" "i'm falling apart to songs about hips and hearts"

XO

"i left my conscience pressed between the pages of the bible in the drawer" "love never wanted me, but i took it anyway" "choose love or sympathy" "loose lips sink ships"

[fictional-worlds-are-exquisite]

does anyone ever get a second of 'i'm going to pass out' before your body snaps back to normal or is that just me

[pennyserenade]

i got high to write but now i’m listening to 70s dad music and feeling it intertwine with the very fabric of my being, like god intended

[chaoticattt]

I want to throw something so bad rn my dad loves AI and my brother agrees and my mum thinks it is inevitable. I hate this. I hate it so fucking much. The art industry has always been my dream job. When I was little whenever someone asked me my dream job it would be art related. I have poured my heart and soul into it. And this is wrecking everything I have ever cared about. It is stupid (the situation I mean) They don’t understand and they don’t care and I am sick of crying to myself at 1 am over it. I am sorry for ranting. May take this down later

[ansy-tea]

Y'all ever stopped listening to your favorite bands for about 2 years for reasons you don't even know yourself. Maybe it's because you're busy. Maybe it's because you thought you've acquired new tastes. You really don't know. But then suddenly you listened to one song of theirs again and now you're sobbing over how good the songwriting was? And now that you're not a dumb High Schooler without much experience you understand the lyrics even more?

Anyways that's me with Fall Out Boy right now lmao. It's high time I listen to their new album later.

[whysamwhy123]

Dear God, I'm actually doing it.

I'm putting Daniel in Situations that he cannot dance his way out of.

I mean, it wasn't much, to be honest. I haven't gotten to the Situation or the dancing yet. But it's a start. And considering how I hadn't written a single word in over a month, I'm pretty damn happy that I got 800 words down today. So I'm gonna take the microscopic W on this one.

[dyna-myght]

My legs hurt and I feel like I’m gonna throw up but I also haven’t felt this exhilarated with an activity in a while.

[charliesinfern0]

auughh

[brupt]

I need a tiny goth mama to drool, pet me, and clap like a seal lion excited to see their favorite beach ball as I move on to my 5th bowl of pasta. She suppresses a gaspy moan as I pop the top button on my pants in order to maintain momentum shoveling Alfredo into my gullet.

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 4: Dazed.

Previously // Next - (chapter list) / (AO3 ver)

Jack sat slumped on the living room couch with a TV remote in hand, the screen flicking from one channel through the next. With his attention still mostly focused on the man in the bathroom, his ears twitched as they picked up the noise of the faucet being turned on.

He sniffed. That sharp, metallic tang of blood clung stubbornly to his nose still.

Jack had already called in sick earlier, using last night’s downpour as a convenient excuse. The few days off will give him some breathing room and time to watch over his new guest, though he couldn't help but feel a little guilty about shifting his workload onto his colleagues. They're good people, he knew they wouldn’t hold it against him, but still, the nagging thought lingered.

His nose itched. “ACHOO! Oh!” Jack sneezed loudly, startling even himself. He rubbed his nose, muttering a soft “bless me.”

The apartment felt too quiet now. Jack glanced toward the hallway leading to the bathroom. He sighed, sinking deeper into the cushions as the tension from earlier lingered. The encounter had left him feeling a bit more muted than usual, but at the same time, he knew he wouldn’t have acted any differently.

“What have I gotten myself into…?” he mumbled under his breath.

His dulled eyes fixated on the TV screen, though the flashing images barely registered in his head.

"What now?”

Some Toon actor was bouncing around, spouting catchphrases in a voice too cheerful for his current mood. Jack's thumb hovered over the remote, but he didn’t bother changing the channel. The noise was better than silence at least.

He supposed he should be grateful the Grim hadn't turned this situation into some Toon-Noir crime scene, though he was surprised it hadn't already, especially with what happened earlier. Still, how long would this last?

The thought made him groan softly, dragging a hand down his face as his impulsive decision slapped him in the face once again. "Sweet," he murmured in frustration, though it was mostly directed towards himself. "Just wing it with a literal Grim-mob-boss-looking guy in your house. No big deal."

The flickering light of the television danced across his face, but his expression was devoid of any response, like the static had seeped into him. The thoughts churning in his head felt distant.

Why does he always have to care so much?

Sure, the Grim guy looked like he was on the verge of death when Jack found him, but wasn’t that all the more reason to take him to a hospital? Or the authorities? Somewhere, anywhere, better equipped to deal with a situation like that? Jack had no business dragging him back to his apartment like this!

The memory of that night was blurry, tinged with adrenaline and rain. Jack’s fingers twitched slightly at the thought of how cold the man’s skin had felt, his weight on Jack's back as he carried him through the downpour, the blood that seeped into his suit. His decision had been made in a split second; impulsive and reckless.

What if the Grim man died in his apartment?

The thought settled over Jack like a heavy, suffocating blanket, but even that couldn’t stir much from him. His breath came out soft and steady, not quite a sigh but close enough.

What would he have done if the man's blood had soaked into the floor and left a corpse behind? Call the police? Try to explain why there was a Grim dead in his apartment? Would they even believe him?

What if it was him who got killed? Shot in the head with that gun in the man's suit, the one Jack took away and hid from him when they arrived in his apartment.

If he had, mummy and daddy would be sad if they heard about it. He felt apologetic when he thought about how his parents would react if news reached that their son had been left for dead in the city they thought had been the safest for him. He knows not to worry them, yet here he was.

Thoughts continued to circle lazily in his mind, but none of them seemed to matter all that much. Not really. None of them had mattered back then either. It had been raining, he saw someone dying, and he’d acted. That was all there was to it, even if the decision felt dumb now. Still, was it the right thing to do?

The TV show's laughter filled the room, a stark contrast to his blank stare.

Jack was pulled from his spiraling thoughts by the faint sound of footsteps. Turning his head toward the source, he saw the scarred man standing in the corridor entrance.

The clothes Jack had left for him were a tad bit tight on the mobster’s muscular frame, but he didn't seem bothered by it, which was good. The Grim's sharp eyes looked around the apartment, taking in every detail with the same wariness that hadn't left him since he woke up.

Jack snapped out of his pondering, and offered him a tentative smile. He rubs the back of his neck, feeling a bit embarrassed. "Ah, sorry if the place looks a little… unkempt," he said, his voice lighter than he felt. "It's usually a bit more put together, I promise. Just haven’t had much time or energy lately to clean up."

The man didn’t respond right away. His gaze lingered on the coffee table, where a few cans of beer sat among scattered wrappers and an empty cup of noodles. They looked like they hadn't been taken out in a while. Then, his gaze shifted to the bedroom doorway where Jack had hastily cleaned up the remnants of the spilled food from earlier.

His eyes finally met Jack's. The Toon resisted the urge to shrink under the weight of that gaze. Instead, he smiled at him. "My place ain't much, but make yourself comfortable."

The silence stretched between them as the Grim's expression didn't change and went back to looking around the small room. It wasn’t exactly the warmest start to a conversation, but Jack supposes he should start getting used to that.

Still, something about having the Grim man standing there, alive and fully clothed, was oddly grounding. It's a bit amazing seeing him able to get up and walk around in that condition, actually.

Jack's smile faltered, slipping away as he found himself staring at the man without realizing it. His gaze trailed over his big frame and drifted to the scars etched across his skin. He'd seen them while he was tending to his wounds, running along in numbers from his face down to his ankles.

How does someone end up with scars like that? It was the kind of curiosity that gnawed at him, the kind he knew better than to voice aloud. Whatever had left those marks behind probably wasn’t the kind of thing the Grim would ever want to talk about, let alone to someone like Jack.

Noticing Jack's staring, the man’s sharp gaze shifted, landing back on him. Jack blinks, realizing he’d been caught staring. He mustered up a sheepish smile, just a slight upward tilt of his lips that teetered on the edge of awkwardness.

“Uh. There’s food in the pot,” Jack offered. He gestured toward the kitchen with a quick nod of his head. “And some leftover rice in the rice cooker. Help yourself if you’re hungry, okay?”

The man said nothing, his expression impassive, but his attention lingered on Jack for a moment longer before finally glancing toward the kitchen. Jack's smile fell once the man’s gaze moved away.

He had put together something simple earlier, something that wouldn’t upset his injuries or require much effort to chew. The deeper cuts were across the man’s stomach and sides, they looked like wounds that would make eating anything too heavy or dense a painful experience, or so he assumed, at least. He's honestly never done anything like this before, he only recalls the first aid training and recalls none of the book stuff.

A basic porridge seemed like the safest option. Rice simmered in broth until it was soft, with just a bit of shredded chicken and a few vegetables tossed in for flavor. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was warm and filling. He hoped his guest wasn’t a picky eater.

He noticed the man lingering in the corridor, as if debating whether to follow Jack’s invitation or retreat. Catching on, Jack decided to turn his focus back to the TV.

He lazily changes the channel and the screen flickered with images of a car accident somewhere near the city, the voice of the reporter droning on about casualties and road closures. Jack wasn’t really paying attention.

He’d never been exposed to a Grim before. Were they all this unfriendly or was it just this one?

Jack yawns, a bit groggy. Maybe he was overthinking it, or maybe he wasn’t thinking enough. Either way, he was exhausted, especially after spending the whole night awake taking care of that man.

His body slowly slid down the couch, lying down with an ungraceful sprawl, his consciousness slowly slipping into sleep. _

Previously // Next - (chapter list) / (AO3 ver)

[proxycrit]

Decided to write some oneshots! Less focus on Zelda and Link, and more on FAMILIAR FAMILIAR’s building blocks.

(Mineru and Naborus’s slow dance are interrupted by the horrors of war.)

(Fic under cut)

——— The First Act (Naborus)

Mineru seems to be actively trying to woo Naborus, and to her disgust, it works.

The zonai woman seems to haunt her steps, with a sly smile and cheeky wink. She slips next to Naborus during morning drills with foods meant to entice, and into evening bouts of paperwork with her little machines, fiddling and tinkering and always ready to help. Even her haughty hat she faffs around with is all but seared into the back of Naborus’s eyelids every time she closes them.

“You do understand,” she tried once, and only once, “that I am a gerudo chief and you are the last of the zonai, serving under the hylian empire.” She enunciates these hylian words as clear as she can, careful with this new language she forced herself to learn within four grueling months.

“Of course,” Mineru responded back in a heavily accented Gerudo. “But I still want to try.”

Naborus has always had a soft spot for fools. She doesn’t bring up their allegiances again, but Mineru redoubles her efforts. Naborus doesn’t explicitly accept them, but she doesn’t refute them either. She even finds herself automatically bringing two mugs of heavily steeped tea to her study one night. Mineru was waiting for her, eyes bright and ears perked.

It’s Ganondorf that ultimately cuts through the stalemate.

“You like her,” he accuses.

“I tolerate her,” Naborus grumbles. “She’s at most a desert lizard I water from time to time, so she doesn’t die.”

Ganondorf gives her a truly bombastic side eye. Naborus doesn’t mention his strange dance around Rauru, even though she’s tempted to point out his hypocrisy. Her soft spot for fools is a weakness.

“She’s working for the princess,” he warns. “We need time to ratify the treaty, and she’s a distraction.”

“She’s a guest,” Naborus responds, temper flaring. “And I don’t see you crunching the paper recently, little brother.”

They glare at each other, bristling like desert cats, before ganondorf’s shoulders slump. He’s been sleeping less and less lately. The dark circles under his eyes have been becoming more and more difficult to hide.

“It’s not safe,” he repeats helplessly. “There’s always a cost, with the hylians. You know this.”

“I know this,” Naborus responds wearily. “But Princess Sonia is different from her mother. Not because of any legends,” she adds, before her brother can protest, “but because she’s reaching out first. The zora and rito are perfectly happy. We have to trust the same amnesty will be given to us.”

“It’s different,” Ganondorf spits, “when their legends don’t constantly paint us as thieves and war mongers.” And Sonia, despite her stature, is part of that legend. That damned sword speaks to it.

The hylians want the great gerudo burial site. They want it for the precious minerals crystallizing deep under the sands, that glow green from the dead. They need it, for the war against the rising tide of undead monsters that threaten them all— gerudo, hylian, all the races of hyrule really. It already took most the zonai.

Naborus knows, deep down, she can not let the gerudo be the next.

But it hurts, to see their culture be trodden underfoot for this. And it hurts more, to hear Ganondorf’s urgent whispers that the Hylians will not stop.

Mineru and Rauru are the last of their kind. Surely there must be other zonai, hidden in pockets deep below or up in the sky, but the zonai (the only zonai) Naborus knows are her two guests. They don’t remember their mother tongue. They were raised by the Goron and Zora and eat hylian food and wear hylian clothes and practice hylian alchemy.

For all intents and purposes, they are hylian. They are what will lay in store for the gerudo, either it be through ganondorf’s terror of a slow cultural death, or naborus’s terror of a steady massacre.

And then Ganondorf finds those ruins, and it all goes to shit.

And then he tries to kill Sonia. Tries to infect Rauru with that malice. Becomes unknowable to her, and calls her traitor, as if he didn’t throw everything away for their shared dream.

Five days later, she arranges for a meeting.

Six days later, Sonia and Rauru show up at her doorstep.

“You can have the burial grounds,” Naborus says, and finds the dull ember of delight in Rauru’s flinch. Good. See him remember his own damned past, and let him know of his crime. Mockingly, she inclines her head to Princess Sonia. “At your behest, your highness.”

Sonia looks back. Implacable. Stone. She’s four heads shorter than Naborus, and yet her presence is crushing. Is this who you love, Naborus wanted to ask Mineru. Is this who you serve?

The rest of the negotiations is a blur. Rito will come help gerudo civilians escape the bombed remains of her city. Her people will find shelter along the coast, if they so wish. All Sonia needs is the Zonaite, and willing hands to take up arms and fight.

Fight who, she does not specify. But judging from her gaze flickering to the empty spot next to Naborus, it’s not difficult to infer.

When Mineru hesitates in front of Naborus’s door later that night, Naborus finally snaps. That dull apathy and shock suddenly becomes a monsoon of rage and betrayal, and she grabs the mug and throws it as hard as she can at the wall, an animal scream rising in her chest.

Mineru flinches back, ears pressed against her head. Naborus sinks, gasping for air, and curls into a wretched ball on the floor. Thin hands carefully encircle against her, and she leans into mineru’s chest, and weeps for her stupid baby brother, for her foolish naive self, for hoping for a beautiful future.

Tomorrow, the gerudo will have the war Ganondorf predicted. Tomorrow, Naborus will bow in front of the Hylian regency.

Mineru mumbles something into her hair, that she is unable to catch. But the zonai’s grip is tight, and she hums a song slow and low.

“What is that?” Naborus croaks, head still pillowed in Mineru’s arms.

There’s a shift of muscle under Naborus as Mineru readjusts herself into a more comfortable position, and then— “my mother taught me this.”

“Ah? I thought gorons are all men?”

Mineru laughs. “In hylian, yes they are called men. But no, I’m talking about my birth mother.”

“Oh,” and because Naborus has little filter, “what’s her name?”

Mineru went silent at that. Naborus feels a rush of self hatred. She shouldn’t have asked. She presumes much from somebody who isn’t even her citizen.

“I don’t remember,” Mineru says. She smiles at Naborus, eyes half squinted. “I just called her Mah. Zonai baby teeth give us terrible lisps, and young children don’t really know their parents as people, per say. Just protectors.”

“I’m sorry,” Naborus says. She wants Mineru to hum that song again, but doesn’t know how to ask.

“It’s okay,” Mineru says. “I don’t remember her. Its hard to miss what you don’t really know.”

“No,” Naborus protests. “It’s not okay at all. You shouldn’t have to-“ she back pedals, looks for anything to say at all, and settles on squeezing Mineru’s waist. “You deserve more than just a song.”

Mineru starts to hum again. Seeing Naborus unwilling to continue, the zonai sighs, cutting into the wound if the situation.

“You did the right thing.”

“Did I?”

“You want to save lives. There is no shame in that.”

“And what of the children who won’t remember their mother’s names?” Naborus asks, hurting. What of her people’s history?

“They’ll be alive to wonder, won’t they?”

Mineru’s voice sounded flat and far away.

And Naborus has nothing to say to that.

(Mineru tells herself this is for the best, and that she and Rauru turned out perfectly fine.

It’s a lie she’s grown comfortable with.)

———— The Second Act (Mineru)

When Ganondorf cuts her throat, she can’t bring herself to be surprised.

Scared? Yeah. But surprised? Not really.

She took his sister from him. She represents hylian royalty. She’s collateral to Rauru. A sort of message, if you will.

You took my sister. I will take yours.

Fucking idiot. Naborus will never forgive him now, and neither would Rauru. He has single handedly severed any remaining goodwill, any chance of recollection, with this stunt, and the worst part is he probably did it on purpose.

Ganondorf looks different. His eyes are tired. The infection from his arm has spread to under his jaw. Baby Dragneel’s been practicing magic, she sees. He reaches down and gently plucks the secret stone from Mineru’s neck, and suddenly it’s worse.

She’s never going to be able to tell Naborus her secret. She’s never going to be able to give that stone to her beloved. She-

A scream splits the night air. It can’t be from her, because all her air is being stolen from her throat before it can reach her tongue, which tastes like iron. It can’t be from Ganondorf, who’s mouth is clenched shut, secret stone (alchemist’s stone) shining in his hand.

Ganondorf is blasted back by a wave of light.

The world is greying. Mineru feels the burn of Sonia’s time magic entrap her, freeze her. It hurts. It hurts more then her throat. Everything is tinged yellow and Mineru can’t move, and this must be what death is— caught between a peaceful slumber and agonizing living. She’s suffocating slowly. She’s scared.

Rauru’s face comes in focus. His hands are shaking. She can feel him pressing desperately against her as in the distance, Sonia, still clad in her white dress, chases the shadows away.

Mineru’s eyes slip close.

When she wakes up, she is surprised she’s not dead. She tries to say something, but the searing pain stops her, and her muffled jerk causes the lump at her feet to quiver. Rauru looks up, eyes bloodshot.

“Mimi?” He asks, voice hoarse. Mineru tries to say something, but the pain flares and she settles for a thumbs up. Rauru’s eyes start watering, and he presses his face into her hands.

“Mimi,” he whispers, and mineru pets his ears, like they were children again. She didn’t mean to scare him. She waits for him to collect himself, and takes the chance to look around the room.

It’s a nice room. The architecture is distinctly zoran, with luminous stones embedded into the walls for light and kelp thread curtains for privacy. It smells like fragrant lotus root and medicinal herbs. There’s a small study in the corner, filled with papers and a single potted specimen of a sundelion.

Rauru’s study, she realizes with a rush of fondness. This must be his room, when he was apprenticing under that Zoran healer.

“I…”

Her attention snaps back to her brother. At her attentive look, he quails. It’s not right. Rauru rarely quails, and mostly preens, like a peacock. At her impatient look, he closes his eyes, and Mineru’s stomach sinks.

“Ruta’s afraid there might be complications,” Rauru continues in a rush. “You’ll be on observation for possible lung clots and brain damage and infection.”

Mineru breathes.

“We couldn’t save your throat,” Rauru confesses, looking small. “Ruta cleared up your lungs and I managed to stabilize you, but. We couldn’t, your.”

That’s okay, she wants to say. I’m alive. That’s more than I expected.

But she can’t say that.

With her nonanswer, Rauru bows his head. Mineru grabs on to his hand before he can flee, and squeezes.

After a moment’s hesitation, he squeezes back.

Mineru doesn’t take her new found muteness well. She struggles with hylian sign, and finds a near apoplectic rage in being unable to quickly explain her thoughts.

Writing isn’t the same, she wrote in harsh angry scratches with her chalkboard she’s taken to carrying around.

Naborus, bless her, has fashioned a straw for her with glass when they meet up for tea. Mineru used to haunt Naborus, enraptured by this woman and her no nonsense attitude and her unexplainable kindness. Now Naborus haunts her with bedding and sustenance.

They should be on the battlefield. The malice has overtaken another settlement, Mineru heard. But when she dug, she was sent away.

“More pillows?” Naborus asks, and Mineru holds up two thumbs for an aggressive agreement.

Can you get me construct f12, she writes when Naborus comes back wielding two cream pillows. Twinges, can fix, she slashes quickly at Naborus’s frown.

“You’re working?”

No time, Mineru scribbles. And at Naborus’s hesitant glance, she adds: bored.

“You should be resting.”

Can’t.

She will have nightmares again. Rauru promises the sundelion specimens he’s working on will stop the malice from taking hold, but she still dreams of that red pulsating mass, infecting her, burrowing into her.

She underlines Can’t twice, and hopes Naborus will get it.

Naborus drags a hand down her face, and exhales roughly. “Shit. Okay. I’ll go get your construct, but if you need any help at all you tell me, alright?”

At Mineru’s flat glare, she grimaces. “Sorry. I’ll get you a bell.”

The two sit in companionable silence after that. The construct mineru chose is a small, light weight thing. She is considering adding some sort of projectile weapon when she hears the low rhythmic hum of a song.

Oh, Mineru thinks. This is the song my mother taught me, and I taught you. Oh, Mineru thinks after suddenly overwhelmed with the realization— she will never sing her mother’s song again. She will never be able to join the chorus that was her last, remaining link. She will never-

Mineru wipes her eyes angrily. She can learn how to play a harmonica. Or a flute. The option isn't actually gone, just changed. She should just be glad she’s alive.

Doesn’t stop the tears, though.

When Naborus quietly holds her arms out, Mineru doesn’t fight the pull and slumps into her friend’s arms, and tries not to think of how Ganondorf stole not only her project’s notes, but her history from her too.

He’s Naborus’s brother.

She hates him more, for it.

[radiance1]

By all accounts, it shouldn't have worked.

By all bloody accounts, that should not have worked.

Constantine will repeat.

That, by all accounts, should not have worked.

The warehouse was shitty. The materials were shitty. The summoning circle was shitty. The chanting was shitty. The magic was shitty.

By all accounts, the summoning should not have worked.

So Constantine couldn't give much of a shit about really stopping it because the summoning was so shitty it shouldn't have worked by an means possible.

So what. In the ever-loving fuck. Was the Ghost King, known tyrant of the Infinite Realms. Standing in the middle of the circle and not, last he checked, imprisoned?

That was another thing that he thought would have made it fail, actually. Because the Ghost King was incapacitated, asleep, gone, unavailable, nada.

So what. The fuck. Was he doing. Here?

Constantine knew the day was going to well to stay that way but wow. The universe loves to fuck him over, apparently.

Or the Justice League in specific.

Or both.

Doesn't matter, because now he has to bullshit his way out of this or get ready to brawl for his life.

Good thing he's good at both of those things, then.

Mostly the bullshit-

"Phantom what the fuck are you doing-" Constantine wheezed out, watching one of their newest members-a ghost going by the name Phantom-fly over in front of the known tyrant and-

Oh.

Oh, holy shit this won't end well.

Ghost King.

Phantom. A ghost.

Well, shit.

This is fine. This is totally fine. He just needs to bullshit his way out of this or face two powerhouses.

This is fine.

He's done worse.

"Sup War" Phantom said, floating around the summoning circle that contained the king of all ghosts like it wasn't a problem. "Didn't expect to be seeing you here."

"Ward." The Ghost King inclined his head slightly, eyes trained on Phantom. "I would not have come here if not for Time's insistence and I have been meaning to..." The King paused, hands gripping and ungrasping the pommel of his sword. "...Check in... on you."

"Aww, were you worried about lil old meeeee?" Phantom, ever the little shit and holy shit did Constantine want to go over there and shut him up, said. Floating around until he was staring upside down in the Ghost King's face. "Didn't know you were so soft, pa."

"I am not soft." The King huffed, flame dancing at the edges of his hair. "I was merely... concerned. Over how you would be acclimating to your circumstances. This world's League of Justice covers far more than your small haunt."

"Weeeell, it's not that bad honestly." Phantom admitted. "Haven't really done anything too big yet just some smallish things here and there. So, you know." The ghost boy shrugged, swinging back in the air to turn upright and crossing his legs. "Nothing too bad."

"Good." The Ghost King nodded, shoulders slumping so slightly that if Constantine wasn't looking, he wouldn't have seen it. "That is good. Yes. Good." The King slightly cleared his throat, grasping and ungrasping the pommel of his sword.

Silence echoed in the warehouse as the King seemingly looked for words to say.

"Would you..." He cleared his throat again, squaring his shoulders and standing up straighter. "Would you like to join me and Time for a meeting? It has been some time since you had last joined us." The King shifted slightly before adding. "Of course, if you're busy you do not have too."

"Sure." Phantom said, rolling back and forth in the air as he hummed. "Been a while since we've had some family time-"

"Family time?" Constantine caught someone-who he thinks was Green Lantern-say. He was just as bewildered.

"And if Time sent you here then it must be important." Danny paused before shrugging. "Or maybe not, can never know with him. But yea, sure. I'll come."

"Wonderful." The Ghost King smiled. Smiled. At Phantom. "Then I shall. Leave. Now. To do. Things. Yes. Things." The summoning circle flashed a familiar green, the same green when the King was first being summoned. "Goodbye, ward."

"You can call me son, you know."

The King paused for a moment, blinking slowly before hesitantly nodding.

"Then goodbye. Son."

The circle flashed and just like that. The king was gone.

"Kid. What the fuck." Whoever said- okay wait no that was Constantine, him. But yea fuck it he agrees with himself. "What the fuck." He repeated.

Phantom, the brat, only gave him a shit eating grin and a peace sign before disappearing on the spot.