#funky space bandage

[hurtcomfortguaranteed]

All the best Avon and Blake whump/bromance moments leading up to that climactic admission of trust across the first two seasons of Blake's 7.

[hoardingpuffin]

Funky Details about tonights lore than I am chewing on [obviously, spoilers]

Elwood having been without a binder for a long while now, without having had the chance to mentally prepare for it, their dysphoria having been bad enough for them to resort to the much less safe binding with bandages. Him knowing it's not very safe but not being able to go without binding at all any longer. Him hunching over, having to stop as he walks up and down the staircases when usually he doesn't.

Him having to reassure himself, re-state again and again that yes, this is his office, this is his space, this belongs to him [even if he doesn't yet think of the library as his], and him straightening up in pride. Yes, this is his office. His.

Them feeling like they don't deserve the title of being Armor's brother, or anyone's brother, but at the same time feeling safe enough with Armor to talk about his feelings that he himself doesn't fully understand. Feeling safe enough to be vulnerable, to say out loud that he wants to be Armor's brother.

Chewing on it.

Armor having been the first person to ever call Elwood 'El' - or any not-mean nickname for that matter.

[slippinninque]

🏃🏾‍♀️Nosey🔎

You end up in some business that's not exactly yours...

Jatemme Manning x blackfem reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of violence and some torture (not to reader) soft!dark!Jatemme, long fic

-----

There were times where the job could get messy.

Vision blurring at the edges and pain shooting down your side, you continued through the alleys. The siren’s call and rushing cars filled the air, you could hear the gunshots as your tails met each other.

Lungs burning and legs screaming, you hoped the worst for both of them.

You went next to the double dumpster of a vegan spot and slid into sitting down. Your head swam with the growing pain, you knew you had to keep moving but you couldn’t keep bleeding.

‘Love's is gonna kill me.’ You couldn't help the little laugh that slipped, knowing the man was going to go nuclear.

Right now, all you could was try to fix your shoulder.

You ripped off your bloody shirt and tore a strip around the slash in your side. The other, you wrapped as best as possible around the left shoulder where there could be a bullet still lodged in there.

Groaning and re-shouldering the pack, you zipped up your hoodie all the way and tossed up the hood. After a moment to guess where you were beyond Funky Fresh Vegan Bistro, you pushed towards the mouth of the ally.

In the backpack were a handful of USB drives that held some pretty compelling information about a few families in the underground and high-crust.

All of it set to be given to the police in the the work of a mole. Multiple moles, a syndicate across turfs. Proof and promises for smaller sentences, complacent public figures, receipts for cleaned money, audio files—oh, they had it all.

Now you had it. Though not much time came with it now that half the city was looking for you. Still, it was well worth the nasty fall you took in getting the hell out of dodge.

You just had to get to your turf. A neutral space, either one of the bars or pawnshops owned by your cousins maybe?

A bullet ricocheted from the metal post of the fence, startling you and causing you to bolt.

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

Four men naked and taped to their chairs. Every sound uttered that wasn't information cost a tooth. With that sort of currency, Jatemme had to get creative after a while.

They were pleading and leaking from all over but Jatemme wouldn’t let any of them die until one of them finally told him what he needed to hear.

Asthma knew this special mood was from a very specific source. Namely one the exact size of a foxy little smooth talker that's been missing for nearly 24 hours.

Jatemme didn’t look at Asthma as he rounded to this table of tools, picking up a potato peeler as he spoke.

“Did you find her?”

“She ran into one of our laundromats. Eddy and Chris was there to meet her after a tip about her running from the Opps spread through Southwest. They said they're taking her to see Doc.”

Jatemme stood slowly and fixed a dark gaze onto his captives,

“Was she hurt?”

“Banged up good but heard Doc say she had worse.” Asthma didn’t come closer, didn’t move away from the door. Whoever those men were--they probably didn't have long left.

“She had something with her you might want to see, though. Eddy came through to drop it off."

When Jatemme looked over at him, Asthma wordlessly held up a well-worn Crown Royal bag.

….

You felt like you were ran over by a pack of trucks. Or suplexed by a Silverback gorilla—but you were also satisfied.

You stole enough leverage to keep the skies clear for years.

“I have to say, you’ve been doing pretty good. There was a time I’d see you every week.” Doc returned with fresh bandages. You began sitting up and he hurried to get you to lay back down.

“With the way you used to chew my ass out, I've been taking my chances with the lil' sewing kit at home.”

“Explains all these wobbly-ass scars then.”

You snorted, pain jolting with your amusement, “Yo, not too much on me! I learned from watching you, old man!”

It was Doc’s turn to laugh as he peeled away the stained bandage on on side. The puncture was pretty deep and the healing was going to be a bitch, but you were lucky enough it didn't reach anything vital.

“I won’t recommend falling onto a fence head, it’s not as quirky as the TV makes it seem.”

"Girl, what the hell are you watchin'?"

You rambled on and tried to ignore the way the pain killers churned in your empty stomach as you wated for them to kick in. While you knew Doc was being as careful as he could, you still winced.

It's actually been a while since the last time you had stitches.

“Little more and then you can sleep it off, champ.” Doc grunted as he emptied a syringe into you, “Rusty metals are a bitch after all."

“And how…”

Your eyes closed. Took deep breaths and soon enough, the room stopped spinning and Doc was putting a fresh bandage onto the worst of it. He's been stitching you up since you got into the streets, you've slept on his cot more nights than you can count.

Wasn't long before the absence of adrenaline invited the presence of reality.

Jamal finding out you went snooping without permission--that you could sort of handle. Jamal would be more than appeased by the blackmail and leverage you dug up.

If Jatemme saw how badly you fucked yourself up over a ‘side quest’, then that...would be worse.

“Say, Doc, when can I—uh--get on out of here?”

Doc looked at you as if you spoke to him in Klingon, “Leave? Girl, give the good shit time to kick in, at least! 'Sides, you’re going to be here at least until morning. That ankle of yours alone—woah, wait!”

You were already dizzy from the sudden movement of you sitting up, but you had to get home. You didn't want Jatemme to see you as you were, it was too bad--too soon.

If you could make it home, you could buy some more time for the worst of it to go away. You stood from the bed with a yelp, unsteady but trying to move away Doc’s worried hands.

“Suddenly, Doc, I feel a while ‘lot better. So much, so much better. Think I’m gonna finish healing up at home, y’know?”

“Is this about Manning? Sorry kid, but the cat’s out the bag—he knows.”

"Aw shit," You groaned, arms going around your stomach as it thundered. The pain rocketed down your side, Doc hissed something as he reached out to steady you.

“I-I still wanna go home. I'll be more comfortable there..."

"C'mon now, kid--

"Shouldn't you be invested in the quality of my healing? I'd be waaay more comfortable there, old man..."

“Hear me out, let me get you as patched up as a can to last—yeah?”

"I'm fine...”

“I think you should listen to doctor’s orders.”

You went still. Doc made a relived noise prodded you towards the cot, you went stiffly. He helped to lay you and you gave a great, big sigh as you finally faced the figure blocking the doorway.

“Heeey there, Love...”

Jatemme came and took Doc’s seat when he stood at the sight of him in the doorway. Jatemme unpinned his stare from you and looked to the older man.

“Tell me what we’re looking at, Doc.”

You swallowed as the list was rattled off in alphabetical order. Bruising, gunshot wound to the left shoulder, multiple lacerations, and a rolled ankle.

Jatemme stared at him, eyes endless and still. You picked at the loose thread of the cot's scratchy blanket when Jatemme finally dismissed Doc to turn his eyes on you.

The silence was thick enough for you to eventually wince beneath it. Jatemme sighed, deep and heavy as he stood. You looked up at him in time for him to catch your chin as he came to sit closer to you on the cot.

Jatemme pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, then another. You felt like your could implode, or maybe pass out.

He pulled back enough for your noses to touch, “I heard you almost got killed..."

Your giggle was a bit intense, nervous and excited as always when he was near. Jatemme’s smile was small as he pointed his finger directly in the center of your forehead.

“Do you know what I'd do? If I missed you?"

Not for the first time--you wondered just how far Jatemme would be willing to go.

“Hm...probably want to give me one of these?" You darted forward a stole a kiss, “Or maybe one of these...?”

You tried to get another kiss but Jatemme moved back at the last moment, catching your head between his palms. All traces of humor gone in his face as your ears struggled to pick up is next words.

"Tell me what happened. Now."

So you did. You didn't work for Jatemme, you didn't work for anyone, but you were meddling in his shit. The least you could do is tell the truth.

Jatemme had relaxed his hold on you by the end of the story. His hands went from your head to one resting on your thigh and the other in his pocket.

“I told you to leave it be. I was gonna press Gavin to see who the connect was.”

“Wasn't no 'leave it be', I'm telling you. Gavin was gonna go tonight, as soon as he left from here with his tail.”

You put your hand over his, thumbing over all of his knuckles.

“If I would have left it there? I swear we would have been booked by noon tomorrow, Love. "

Jatemme stared. While he took in whatever he needed, you took in the pleasure of his handsomeness and the slow numbness that was taking over from whatever the hell Doc gave you.

“Don’t be a danger to yourself.” Jatemme said quietly after a while, “I will put you up somewhere if something like this happens again."

"All I hear is that you liiike me, you wanna kiiisss me..."

"You playin' too much. Don't think I won't, brat.”

You didn’t doubt it. Jatemme could make a lot of things happen, you've seen it firsthand. The only problem is that it didnt' scare you. It caused quite the opposite effect.

If Jatemme wanted to hoard you all to himself--it was in the public best interest to let him do as he wanted, right?

"I know, Love, I know."

Jatemme leaned in slow and you were eager to meet him. He kissed slow and soft, pinching your cheek before pulling away. Jatemme stood to ease you back into the pillows, grabbing the throw blanket that Doc kept.

“Chill here for now. I’m going to make a call and then we're going to head out.”

You nodded and suddenly felt so tired. The worst of it was over now, even if Jatemme was plotting on a lesson when you were in better shape. It was a good save, no one could take that from you.

With that thought, you dropped off into a mildly-comfortable doze as you waited for the pain meds to take over.

Jatemme lingered until you fell asleep. The bunching in your brow smoothed out and your breaths were deeper, not as if you sucked on pain every inhale.

Your hair was a mess of braids and he saw a the bandage above your brow was already stained red. You slept like you didn't fall a few stories onto a iron fence and weren't the source of Jatemme's headache.

He heard what Doc said about your ankle and thought about the talk he still had to have with Jamal. It was too late in the evening to even consider the bodies still in his workshop.

‘Gave us plenty of work, didn't you?' He thought, looking at the blood beneath your nails. Pulling out his phone and then your bag of snatched evidence, he texted his brother.

Then sent a follow up asking for him to bring a bottle.

-------

✨ending notes✨: this one was rattling around my brain for the longest and have definitely been taking up space in my drafts! I think this is a bit different for me 🤔 I'm looking to make a more chaotic reader and I think she may do well with Jatemme! 🤣Thank you so much for reading! Tell me what you think! 💜✨💕

💕taglist💞: @megamindsecretlair @blowmymbackout @thadelightfulone @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sageispunk

@kindofaintrovert @satoruya @harmshake @miyuhpapayuh @ms-angiealsina

@cocochannelmoi @hunnishive @last-lost-one @yasminsqueendom @flydotty

@henneseyhoe

[ckret2]

GAH I MEANT HYPERBOLOID LIKE BILL "It seems like your thylakoides are funky"

Doctor, mildly exasperated because he has given up on trying to teach the newbie the right tetms: "Funky HOW, Pete." (Pete Agora)

Ahh, I can understand what "like Bill" means lol. I've been calling them "spherical shapes" since they seem to conform to spherical geometry rather than Euclidean geometry, but like the exact mechanism is up in the air.

You're not wrong about that, I've got one of the early incidents in the budding career of Child Psychic Bill Cipher being looking at (inside) a visitor and going "Why's there a black rock inside you?" And that's how Uncle Rectangle learned he has ✨cancer✨ and everyone's in awe of what little Billy did. 

Also in a couple chapters I've got a few upcoming passages like

Space and all its vast emptiness was oh, so close, so achingly close. Pressing against everyone's bodies, breathing over their organs, lighting up those tight-coiled fibers beneath everyone's skin, shining on the bloody bones and thin muscles. 

and

He'd seen grotesque injuries and rotting bodies before—he'd been in hospitals and seen through the bandages, been in graveyards and seen into the coffins, unable not to see though the doors and walls and tombs. He'd seen the way the skin came off, the way it split into hairy filaments as it loosened from the body, bristly around injuries or sloughed off whole from the long dead.

So yeah—seeing inside bodies (and the practical applications thereof) is definitely a thing!

Also if your little child shape can see into the third dimension, don't take him to a funeral

[audio-luddite]

You cant fix a recording in your system.

It is obvious that once a recording is published it is fixed. Analog or digital makes no difference once it reaches your system it is what it is. If it is flawed there is little to do. Oh you can use a multiband equalizer (shudder) or a dynamic range expander (for some recordings) but that is a bandage on a broken thing. It will not fix the stereo image if it is not there.

I tripped over a nugget of information at the online TAS blog. My attention was snagged by yet another half million dollar speaker then diverted by this other thing.

I played the two tracks, A & B, as instructed and quickly chose B as preferred. It was recorded with a single stereo microphone. If you read all the blah blah on either side of the demo you get the idea.

I listened with cheap earbuds plugged into my computer. It was a very noticeable effect.

Single mike recordings are rare as it is easier to do multi mikes into huge mixing boards so things can be tracked and mixed. Faster, easier to fix mistakes and all that.

Audiophiles will spend big money and judge the quality of their system on its ability to produce a good image. This small nugget shows the basic image quality is not in the playing, but in the recording.

As an aside the funky speaker in the photo is a Linkwitz open baffle behemoth that sprays sound all over the room front and back to artificially create ambience and presumably image. I think the concept is deeply flawed.

So what does this mean? Two very good examples of single mike recordings are Trinity Sessions by Cowboy Junkies, and Jazz at the Pawn Shop (sort of). Pawnshop was recorded with several mikes but they were arrayed as ORTF pairs which are two close set angled outward and each pair is lets say a quasi-single mike. Trinity was recorded with an Ambisonic mike that has 4 cartridges arrayed in a tetrahedron. The example B was done with a Blumlein stereo mike with two cartridges at 90 degrees to each other in one case. The main thing is the actual space and phase information that captures the "image" are preserved with a singe mike. That is why they sound so good.

One is a legendary pure analog recording the other is pure digital.

The brilliant Mercury Living Presence recordings are not single mike, but otherwise minimalist with just three mikes, L, R, and Center.

It is possible in the mix and processing to fake image. Those Supertramp albums have cool effects like a saxophone moving from the back to front and left and right. But that is all studio magic.

Qsound and Dolby Atmos create effects to mimic a sound stage. There are other methods that in your system feed out of phase information through each stereo speaker to cancel out some sounds from the other side and create a virtual headphone effect. These are all fake and frankly work only for a limited listening position. Headphones work too.

This resolves down to getting recordings that are done certain ways to get a good honest image. You may like a given musical performance but the image can be real or fake. An example of a good fake recording is "Diana Krall in Paris." Listen to how the image is portrayed in the mix then look at the photo of the band on stage.

Oh another anti-example is Getz / Gilberto. Very Naive recording some studio ambiance, but Astrud's vocal is hard to one side. Weird, but that is the way it was made. Actually not stereo. I think the original release was monophonic and Stereo was so new.

Fool me once shame on me.

[transbeamrooikat]

oc drawings from yesterday

[genshxn]

anon asked:

hi there, ur blog theme is hella pretty🥺💕! was wondering if i could request how will xiao react when he stumbled upon his s/o bandaging their wounds they've gotten from a commission (the injuries are serious but not too serious to endanger them). the two then starts to argue until xiao confessed he's scared to lose them- sorry if its too specific aksjs but have a great day !!!

SNDNJD THANK YOU :,,,DDD

also dw dw it’s fine lmao

【ｘｉａｏ】

he finds his s/o bandaging their wounds and gets into a fight with them until he confesses he’s scared of losing them

warnings ; injuries, arguing, shouting, angst

- Archons, that was a long commission. Those mitachurls were far too persistent for how they normally were. You managed to finish up the commission, but not unscathed. You were covered head to toe in all sorts of bruises and cuts. Some particularly large ones were on your leg, and your upper arm.

- Luckily most bleeding had stopped, so you weren’t in any danger, and nothing opened up if you walked. It was a bit painful to get back to Wangshu Inn, but you’d manage.

- Xiao wasn't due to return for a while, so you should be able to deal with your injuries before he gets back. You don’t want to worry Xiao too much since he already deals with so much. Needing to worry about you is the last thing you want for him.

- You take the elevator up to the top of the Inn and climb up to the attic where you and Xiao share a living space. Xiao has a hammock sort of bed that’s hung from the support beams on the ceiling, while you sleep on a mattress on the floor. You’re roommates of sorts. 

- You find the crate filled with bandages and other sorts of first-aid items. You unfortunately can’t do too much for your bruises other than put some cryo slime packs on it. You clean the rest of your injuries, wiping off any caked blood and dirt after pretty much drowning them in some saline water. (You made it yourself with the handy old alchemy table in Liyue)

- After sticking some funky sort of gauze you got from Bubu pharmacy, you bandage up your wounds. You’re sort of a seasoned veteran at it since you’re often ending up with all sorts of scratches and cuts.

- Right as you were about to finish bandaging one of the last major cuts you had, you suddenly hear rustling from behind you. 

- "Xiao?" 

- You twist around from your place on the floor and find the adeptus standing behind you in silence. The fear in his eyes when scanning your wounds is enough to make your heart wrench. He almost instantly drops down to a crouch and firmly grabs your arm, analyzing the cut.

- "Dammit, you’re badly injured." 

- Xiao suddenly snaps, his voice still quiet but with almost a growling quality to it 

- "Xiao, I’m alright. This isn’t the first time I’ve been hurt." 

- "Yes, but you mortals are fragile!" Xiao begins to raise his voice at you. 

- "You never know when an injury could be your end!" He harshly shoves your arm back against your body. The sudden force against your battered arm makes you wince in pain, accidentally making you let out a pained noise. Xiao flinches at the sound, instantly becoming more emotionally charged.

- "Leave it to me to do the fighting! It’s my only damn purpose." He hisses, seething with self-hatred and fear. 

- You curl into yourself out of fear. You know Xiao wouldn’t hurt you, but he’s still terrifying when angry. 

- "You mortals are so damn delicate. I’ve seen so much bloodshed of beings far more powerful than you. If they can die, so can you, just like that!" Xiao’s fists are bunched at his side, eyes welling with tears. You had only seen him cry once before, and when he spotted you, he instantly disappeared. Like a fleeting memory. 

- "Xiao, I’m alive, aren’t I?" You say quietly, reaching out your hand to hold his. 

- He grabs it and brings it up to his chest. Tears are falling from his golden eyes. "You are, but I’ve seen so much death that I don’t want to lose you to!” He instantly stops in his tracks and his eyes widen. He didn’t mean to say that, but it was already out in the open now. With a growl, he aggressively wipes his tearful eyes with his wrist.

- Without a word, you pull him into a hug. Xiao stiffens up initially, but simply lets himself go. Tears don’t stop streaming from his eyes in a cluster of buried emotions. Everything that he had buried deep down was just surfacing again. But this time he wasn’t alone.

- “I’m not going anywhere, Xiao. I’m right here.” You hug him close and mutter to him softly.

- Please just hold him there for a while. The poor guy needs therapy.

[prettyboykatsuki]

♡ GENSHIN IMPACT + HOW LOVE FINDS THEM ♡

➳ ft. kaeya, diluc, zhongli, tartaglia

➳ tags ;; tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol as a coping mechanism, a little angst but happy endings always, extreme kaeya bias ngl, spoilers for kaeyas story, nonsexual nudity, gn!reader 

➳ a/n ;; first time writing for genshin so if the characterization is funky.. my fault 

➳ summary ;; genshin impact characters and how i think love finds them when they find you 

ZHONG-LI

Sometimes, he admits to himself, it feels forbidden to love you. 

When love finds him, it is on the stairway of a small cottage, tucked into a corner of Liyue. It is quiet and unassuming, more importantly shared. A place you’ve decided to spend hefty mora on to live in. 

There’s a backyard and a space for a garden and there are sweet flowers that always seem to regrow after you pick them. On the walls are weapons and hunting gear but in the drawers are spare clothes and change. It’s got two stories but it’s not big. It’s a home, still. 

You’ve invited him inside, an adopted street-cat at your feet as you make dinner. Zhong-li is a working man, but he spends his days off here. You are an adventurer, strong with a big heart and bigger dreams. Your silhouette makes up all the shadows that dance on the wall and you sway to the beat of a soundless song. A smile makes the corners of your lips twitch up and you stir the pot of whatever you're making with boundless enthusiasm. 

Zhong-li would not wish godliness on anyone. He thinks about it often. Where Rex Lapis ends and where the human, the mortal Zhong-li starts is a blurred line. Humanity is a grieving thing. People live and are happy and then they pass and it is the only thing someone can guarantee. You will be born into the world tearful but you will pass silently - like a wind. 

Godliness means little is forbidden to you. Reality is something you fumble with in your clumsy hands and hope you can get right and humanity is a grieving thing. Always in that order. He knows there is no such thing as love that is truly forbidden - feelings like love and sadness and joy are things that cannot be settled by contracts or understood. They simply exist as if they are their own religion. 

Zhong-li watches you pick up a white furred cat and let it’s nose rest against yours for a brief moment. You hug it and sing to it like it is a child and when you’re done, you let it fondly nudge against your legs.

“Stop being bad and let me cook dinner,” you’ll say, like it knows. And maybe it does - Zhong-li thinks to himself that it might. It prances off and sleeps in the basket you’ve bought, covered in blankets and linens. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes dancing down your silhouette.

There is something remarkably human about love. Perhaps love is the one thing gods cannot truly get their hands on. This greed, this loneliness, this tender feeling - so soft it might fall apart in his hands. In all of his years of living, he likes to believe he has known love. For his companions and for his people. 

But this affection that soaks his bones, greedy and aching to be cared for, must be something only a human could get their hands on. He thinks he could only love you like this with his mortal body, his beating heart and dry mouth. With golden eyes that blink at you, curious to know what you’ll do or say next. If humanity is grieving, perhaps love is acceptance. Reconciliation. Maybe the reason no human complains about a short life is because they, at least once, have loved. 

He thinks he understands it briefly. If redoing everything meant he couldn’t be with you, even once, he would keep it all the same. What a sentiment. He smiles at you as you dance and the sunlight hits the bare skin of your thighs, buried in the expanse of your skin. He longs to be so close to you too. 

Remembering he can choose to be so close to you. That he can act upon this insatiable desire to be loved. It feels forbidden and unreachable. 

But it isn’t. 

He holds out his hand to you and you pause, tilting your head before taking it. He stands and wraps his arms around your waist and stares down at you with so much affection you falter. His lips press against the crown of your head. You’re warm and real.

When love finds him, it is just like this. Under the setting sun of Teyvat, harbored in his mortal body. 

TARTAGLIA 

You never wrap his wounds with care. 

The process is rough and not very quick. It must be comfortable for you to put your hands on him because you never seem to show him any mercy. He’ll enter your quarters with something like a wince. A wound - red and bleeding in his shoulder. He’s got his blazer dragged down his biceps, an uneasiness on his face as he drops into the room. You’re clearly busy doing something, but that’s never stopped him before. 

Wordlessly, he drops himself into the chair to the left of the little table in your room. He sits in it before dropping his head back, looking at you upside down. A frown etched into your features, eyes low and exasperated. You give him a look of discontent that he returns with a shit-eating grin. His heart stutters when you stand but he says it’s blood loss. You shut your book and place it on your bedside table. 

Underneath your bed is the first aid kit, which you grab - swift like ocean waves. He scoots back until he’s facing you. You stare down at him for a long while, brow furrowing. He gives you a dizzying smile. 

“You’re staring,” ― he proclaims, brunette hairs sticking to sweaty skin ― “Do you like the view?” 

You ignore him. Instead, you place your first aid kit with a slam onto the table and rummage through it. Nimble fingers quickly take out clear vials of alcohol, bandages, a pair of small scissors and some creams of your own making. He thinks you’re brilliant and he wants to tell you as much but the words feel too unruly, too soft spoken from his mouth. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes so forlorn by your lack of attention that you speak.

It’s a sigh first like the wave of a white flag. 

“Take your shirt off,” 

“Take me for dinner first at least,” 

You give him an unimpressed look. 

He replies by sliding his shirt off his shoulders with a little grunt. Worry plasters itself all over your face and you don’t make any attempt to hide it. He watches as you walk towards the opposite end of the room - grabbing a towel and a bowl of water. You clean the wound by pressing on it, even though it seems like the blood has dried. It’s rough - you’re rough with him. A sharp inhale of air makes its way through his teeth. 

You don’t apologize, nor do you want to. He watches as you clean the blood off and then inspect the wound for a long while. Afterwards, you mumble underneath your breath, speaking mostly to yourself than to him. 

“No stitches needed.. that’s good,” 

You sound so relieved his heart aches. There’s a brief moment of silence where neither of you know what to say and Tartaglia stares at you with soft eyes. There is always this longing feeling. A constancy to his need for your touch that brings him to his knees, weakens his resolve until he’s stumbling to your bedroom instead of going to see a doctor or a god. He needs you before he needs forgiveness or life. For him, loving you is an act one can only describe as selfish 

He knows this because he still comes to you like this, body bruised and battered. When your worry filled eyes look over his skin, he feels like a second rain has come. Your concern is it’s own addiction, intoxicated by it. It is selfish to want you to worry, even more so to make sure of it. 

But how else can he hold your love if not to make you look at it? How else can he know love if it’s not in the furrow of your brow or the way you push him so hard. When you get angry for him and at him. What is love if not a violence? If not teeth in the nape of his neck or your fingers on his bruises?

You rub alcohol in his wounds to clean them before taking your fingers and dipping them into a cream. It smells like mint, making his eyes water. You do this step with care, running your hands over fierce marks and scars with heartbreak written all over your eyes. 

Love must be a violence. It must be - this stinging feeling in the way you look at him like he is a dead man walking. Love must be a hurricane that rips through him. A storm, an uncentered and reckless devotion. He thinks, even if it was your hands who gave him this wound, he would ask you again to heal it. 

Tears spill at your lashes. He softens, smiles. 

“C’mere” 

You relent, give in. Exhaustion settling in your bones you let yourself be wrapped into his arms. He holds you to him, lets you be frustrated with him. He is too, would you know?

Love finds him like this, in your room. Begging you to look at him, getting drunk off the taste of your devotion. You squeeze his heart in your palms and he lets you. He would let you a hundred times over. 

KAEYA 

Sobriety is a fragile thing. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like being sober, but he spends most of his time around liquor. It’s comforting - the smell, the rush of heat - not scorching but warm, the dizziness. Kaeya doesn’t drink enough to have a drinking problem but more times than not, he wonders if there are answers at the bottom of a bottle. If maybe he chases the end of the pint, he can find answers on his own misery. 

Sobriety is.. fragile in that way. So easily he could drink himself to sleep but he has duty and responsibility. A life to live and sins to atone for but the laundry list of them just keeps growing larger. Bigger than his dexterous hands can cover for. It’s not that he’s miserable or lonely, but there is this lingering hollowness in his chest. 

On his fathers birthday, he sits on the rooftop and drinks. He takes about 3 days off, every year, just for this. He’ll sit on the rooftop of the tavern day of, legs swinging off the edge as the world becomes an array of color beneath him. His thumb is over the mouth of the wine bottle, and he moves it just to drink. 

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him, but it makes goosebumps appear on his skin. He’s clad in a thin white dress shirt and it prickles as the breezes brushes by him. His chest is warm as you drop yourself down next to him. 

At first, all you do is sit silently. Leaning back on your palms, you watch the stars and constellations shimmer like they always do in Teyvat. He smells strongly of alcohol but it’s nothing to scrunch your nose at. He takes another drink. Unsure of how to handle his misery, his grief gracefully at all - he gives you a strained smile. 

“Has someone come to join me in my demise,” ― his voice is raspy when he speaks but he doesn’t miss a bit ― “How apt,” 

Wordlessly, you take the bottle from his hands. He’s about to argue with you to give it back but instead, he watches you take three long gulps before pouring the rest out. Shocked, he watches it drip down the tile and onto the concrete below. 

“Why’re you...” 

You don’t reply with words but instead, lay back and drag him down with you. He can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. He lays down anyway, back hitting the tile as he blinks. 

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

There’s no hidden meaning to your words. They are straightforward and laced with nothing but honesty. It makes him choke back a sob, the way you ask. Without much left to give, he cracks a barren smile. 

“What could you possibly mean?” 

Normally, you’d laugh at his despair. At his attempt at nonchalance. But you don’t, turning to your side to look at him. You reach your hand out to rest on his chest and he grabs your hand, shutting his eyes. Tears pool at his lashes but he laughs anyways. 

“Kaeya,” ― you say, rubbing his chest and scooting in close to him. He turns to face you, for real, for the first time ― “How long, Kaeya?” 

He doesn’t sob. Doesn’t cry or let himself be hurt. He gives you a misty smile and laughs as tears falls horizontal on his cheeks. You can hear his heart rate, erratic but slow. 

“When it feels like enough.. when I’m forgiven,” he tells you. 

“Whose forgiveness will it take? Dilucs?” 

He shakes his head, unsure. You press your hand onto his skin, golden even in the cold blue of night. His cheeks are in your palms, he shakes his head. 

“I don’t know,” he confesses. You sigh as you wrap an arm around his waist, loose. You bring his body to yours, letting your fingers rest in his scalp. In the nape of your neck, warm tears rolls down your shoulder. Your body is a safety like a brick house - like no wind or storm and disaster could ever take him from you. When he lets his cries turn into sobs, he mourns. 

A life he doesn’t remember but atones for. The only family he ever had. For Kaeya, love finds him like this - grieving. A loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, frayed and long forgotten. Love comes to him while he is in tatters, offering itself to him. 

“I forgive you, Kaeya,”― you repeat to him, over and over like an incantation ― “I forgive,” 

This is how love finds him, in your arms. Forgiven

DILUC 

He rests his head against your knee, body stiff after a long day. It’s a wordless evening - sky painted with a layer of pink and orange. It pours into the room in heavy waves, paints his pale skin with a warn shade of pink. His skin is warm from the heat as his shoulders slump in exhaustion. 

You drag your fingers down his scalp before letting them slip beneath the hairtie that keeps his red hairs up. You drag it slowly, carefully down his back until it’s free. Red and unkempt - tangled from days out in the wilds. You give it a quick brush through, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. 

There’s not a proper bathroom here - far out and away from the city. It’s an old house with an outhouse and dusty floors. After a particular difficult encounter with an Abyss Mage, you’d found refuge into the abandoned location. Without a bathroom, it would be hard to freshen up but you gave Diluc a playful half-grin. 

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,” 

He thought you were kidding but now the two of you are out by the lake. And this is too intimate for two people who are really only supposed to be working together. It’s too gentle, the way your fingers comb through his red hairs and the little bottled shampoo you keep in your bag. 

There’s something about the way you touch his scalp so careful that is too intimate. His shirt is somewhere inside, over the back of a chair. Pale skin that’s hot to the touch as your fingers work through each individual hair. A long, tired sigh leaves his mouth. 

“So much hair,” ― your murmur under your breath. A blush turns him hot. His father was a good man.. affectionate and caring and proper. But this is different. Too much, even ― “But it looks good on you,” 

You say it so easily. Just like how you touch him - unconcerned for what it means. For Diluc, the idea of romantic love is something awkward. It is clumsy and confusing. Love, has always been something that hurts, more than it has healed. 

But his head is resting on your thigh and you’re touching him like he’s precious. As if he’d break if you’re too rough with him. There is an intimacy in it. A well-meaning and innocent love in the shape of your fingers and how they drag against his skull. 

“...You’re so forward,” he tsks. You give him a gentle laugh, running your hands down his jaw and tilting his head back so he’s facing up at you. Your hands cradle his face with delicacy, thumb dragging across his jaw bone and admiring him. You’re being sincere, but he can’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t like it?” you ask him. He grabs your hands and puts them away, huffing under his breath. He is childish like this, with you  and only you. No longer the Dark Knight or Master Diluc. Easy to jealousy and even easier to agitation, the kind of man who the world stops for seems to crumble at your feet. 

“No,” he replies, unusually dishonest. 

You lean forward until your arms are wrapped around his barren shoulders. He can feel your skin against his, the way your heartbeat sounds, the fanning of breath of his throat. It’s too much but he can’t move as your arms wrap around his shoulders. You know too much, see too much. There is something so all-knowing about the way you love him. How you tease him. 

Love is a worship when it finds him. You are the closest thing to heaven he has ever believed in - sheer bliss in the way your eyes linger on his silhouette. Diluc is a devout lover for you, a follower in your all-knowing religion of love. Of affection. He leans his head back again to look at you as you look down at him, smiling. 

“You’re troublesome to love, you know that?” he admits to you. You bend down to meet his lips in a kiss. Chaste. Holy 

A smile parts your lips that Dliuc finds himself mirroring. 

“Of course I do,” 

Love finds him like this, in your arms - skin to skin underneath the summer sun. Alone in the fields of tall-grass and wheat. Love finds him like a religion, so much devotion and prayer for you to keep him in your heart always. He knows he would do anything for you. 

[misty-wisp]

9, 13, and 24 maybe :3?

9. Do you prefer Headspace, Black Space, or the Real World? Why?

Ughghghgh part of me REALLY wants to say Headspace because it's such a cool funky little RPG world....I love it...so much....but the fact that it's just an escapist's dream world to run away to is what stops me from going with it.

Nothing beats reality! I loove how the fact that it's real life is reflected in the few times we see the RPG mechanics: The only way to heal is through bandages and first aid kits, emotions only happen on a whim, the fights themselves are a lot more difficult...

I really really love Black Space, too. It's inspired by Yume Nikki, but the vibes it has are more akin to .flow(which is a yume nikki fangame lol) which makes it SO much cooler and I was really close to going with that one lmao

13. Do you have any Omori headcanons?

None that I can come up with off the top of my head. Whenever I have a headcanon, I try to root it in canon as much as possible...

...Anyways, asexual biromantic Sunny. Don't argue with me.

24. Scene or moment in-game that shocked you the most?

OH. EASY.

THE ONE DAY LEFT TITLE SCREEN.

See, by the time I made it into Black Space in the game, I read up on every scary thing that happens in the game along with every Black Space area there is to make sure I was fully prepared to go through it with no issue. I was streaming it to my boyfriend so he could comfort me while I was playing, because I am but a weakling who cannot handle spooky games.

I managed to get through all the required doors without freaking out by turning down the game's volume and playing shitposty music with a discord bot. Me and my bf also joked around to keep me calm. It was fun. I got through the entirety of Black Space, witnessed Basil fucking die, and made it to One Day Left in reality.

It was 5 in the morning. I decided we should head to sleep. I saved, fully relieved that the scary things were over, and went to the title screen.

big. fucking. mistake.

I swear, seeing that red background and hearing the screeching behind it(thanks omori ost 151 listening+screeching) is nightmare-inducing. I knew that Black Space got its own title screen, but I completely forgot the same went for One Day Left. I literally screamed when I saw that shit, and somehow it didn't wake my family.

So uh. Yeah. Title screen did it. Not any actual jumpscares.

Pain. Suffering, even.

Ask me about OMORI

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

I just read the TWST! Hercules one, so would it alright if I ask for TWST! Meg meeting (Y/N) by the lake or river while he's wringing out his hair or uniform?

(✨ w ✨)

(Y/N) scowls to herself for losing her cool. The Ramshackle dorm leader was supposed just have a normal day with You and Grim. But the idea bursts into flames once Grim picked a fight with a student because the student cutt in line for the cafeteria food. Then Yuu suddenly got in the cross fire and got a small scratch from one of Grim's flames. Overtaken by rage and tiredness, (Y/N) punches the student in the gut and drags Grim out of the lunchroom by the collar, with Yuu following them out seconds after.

Thankfully, no one told the teachers or staff about what happened. But when it was class time her day got a lot worse. (Y/N) was just trying to keep steady on the broom with Grim alongside her. Then the broom starts go haywire and the two find themselves in a tree. Grim was okay, yet (Y/N) did not greet the same fate. Now here she was, her right cheek covered in two bandaids and her nose being blocked by a gaint bandaid.

Another above her right eyebrow, bandage wrappings on her left knee and lower right leg. Licking her chapped lips, she sat cross legged near a pond located in the woods next to Night Raven. She was deciding whether to shove her head in the water for fun or not. While lost in her decision making, she fails to notice a man walking out from the river. His clothes soaked to the bone, not a single ouce of dryness.

The male spills out not funky fresh words as his wet hair falls on his face. Stepping on the dry land, he sees the girl spacing off and decides not to bother her. (Y/N) sees him but doesn't say anything, she watches him dry off his hair slowly. (Y/N) blinks in realization and turns her head away. Hoping her nose wasn't bleeding again, but this time, not from falling from a tree.

Turning her head back to him, he looked about done trying to get himself dry. Feeling bad for him, (Y/N) gets up from her spot. Walking over to him, she taps his shoulder and gave him her NRC jacket. Blushing slightly and looking away from him. The dude scoffed, yet taking the jacket anyway, placing it over his shoulders.

(Ask box is open! No gif cause you already provided one! 👍)

[thedreadvampy]

well if I get nothing else out of it my recent obsession with Melanie King has caused me to learn a lot about enucleation surgeries

anyway I think I assumed empty eye sockets would be more out of shape but it turns out there's a lot of Stuff in there that isn't eyeball, who knew?

I find eye surgery fascinating which is unfortunate because for a lot of people is one of their biggest squick points. but like the structure of the eye and eye socket are SO INTERESTING they're so MECHANICAL

anyway if you're interested I'm like 90% sure the Melanie surgical details are more or less as follows: (warning I'm trying not to be gross but it's potentially a bit graphic if eye stuff or surgery stuff is a Thing for you)

DISCLAIMER I haven't had any experience with this surgery, I'm not blind/partially sighted and I'm not a doctor, I'm just googling and reading a lot of patient advisories

In an enucleation, they effectively just sever the muscles holding the eye as close as possible to the eye itself, peel them back, then carefully sever the optic nerve and pop the eye out.

depending on how extensive the damage was, the most likely surgery for this type of eye trauma is eye removal. this could be enucleation, which is where the whole eye is removed (including the sclera and optic nerve) but the muscle, fat, connective tissue and eyelids surrounding it are kept. it could also be an evisceration, where they just remove the innards of the eye, but either way post-surgically they look pretty much the same.

If she managed to fully blind herself, regardless of how badly damaged the eye is, they'll consider removal. Advice says 'if the eye is blind to light [ie fully blind] and painful, removal should be considered'. Removal really substantially reduces the pain in most cases.

It's not a long procedure - the NHS says to expect a 48 hour stay but that's standard overnight observation for surgery requiring general anaesthetic

After the eye is removed, they'll put in a plastic or organic spherical implant to fill the space and hold everything in place. it's made with a bone-like tunnelled surface so that the tissue of your eye socket can graft onto it and give it some of the motion that an eye would have, and they just suture the muscle back into place and leave it to take

In an evisceration it's similar except instead of severing the muscle and nerve, they cut into the sclera (the tissue making up the surface of the eye), open up the eye and remove all the Bits (the lens, cornea, vitreous fluid etc), then they put the implant inside the shell of sclera and suture the sclera and conjunctiva back up over the front.

Evisceration is the preferred method where possible because it's a lot simpler and less invasive. So whether or not Melanie had an evisceration or an enucleation depends on how badly she damaged her eyes (I imagine mostly whether she went in far enough/roughly enough to significantly damage the sclera/eye socket)

There are other eye removal surgeries that remove stuff around the eyes (like the lids) or that don't allow for implants, but those are much more for very extensive damage (or tumors/aggressive infections) not really the sort of targeted damage Melanie inflicted.

After surgery, your eyelids are stitched together for the first few weeks to give them time to adjust. it's a single stitch that's removed after 2-3 weeks. behind that they put a 'conformer' which is a piece of clear plastic to prevent the eyelids contracting as they heal.

It should stop hurting after a couple of days, but for the first few days you may get a lot of headaches and nausea (eyestrain symptoms, basically)

It heals pretty fast (you're meant to be back to normal activity after bit over a week, although you shouldn't rub or touch your eyes for a fortnight). you have to wear bandages and pads for the first week to keep the swelling down, but after that you wouldn't expect to have bandaged eyes.

while your eyes are stitched closed you are going to gently wash them in boiled water periodically to clear up any mucus or dried blood. once the stitches come out you're going to have to do antibiotic eye drops for a while to keep it clean and safe while it heals

It takes 2-3 months for your eye socket to heal well enough to start fitting a prosthetic (I'm not sure what the time scale is with Melanie's situation bc I don't know how long has meant to have passed between MAG154 and MAG160, but my sense is that since 8 weeks is the minimum to start the fitting process and the actual prosthetic production can take a while, she probably didn't have time to get set up with prosthetics)

Prosthetics are an aesthetic choice not a health one. your eye will be fine without one, the glass/plastic prosthetic eyes aren't structural bc you've got that implant they put in during surgery too fill the space of your eye, they're just a cover that fits over the front of the implant to make it look more like an eye (sort of like putting in a giant contact lens). before you're fitted for a prosthetic you're going to keep wearing the conformer to help your eyelids keep their shape.

The implant (sans prosthetic) doesn't fill the whole of the same space as an eye, if I'm understanding right, because the prosthetic has to fit snugly behind the eyelids. Natural eyes aren't spherical, they curve out at the front with the lens and iris sitting on top of the orb, and the glass eye takes up that space.

Because of that, an enucleated eye without a prosthetic in doesn't push against the eyelids the way a whole eye does. There's still a curvature to the lid - you can still see the orb behind it, they aren't falling back into the socket like with a non-surgically removed missing eye - but if the eye is open the lids are likely to be a bit slack and droopy compared to before the enucleation. to me it looks a lot like a severe lazy eye - often very nearly closed and with a downward slant. the eyelid often needs surgical correction even with a prosthetic in to look the way it did before losing the eye.

in the open eye, you can see the implant clearly. when it's healed it will be mostly overgrown with conjunctiva (the tissue that you can see around the rim of your eye and on the backs of your eyelids). this means it's pinkish-red, with fleshy tissue stretched quite thinly over the the white of the implant. then a prosthetic will go over the top of that if it's worn, between the conjunctiva on the outside of the implant and the inside of the eyelid. the fact that the conjunctiva is covering hard white "bone" rather than skin means that the implant looks a slightly lighter pink than the rims of the eyes and has a somewhat different texture.

Light won't cause pain (sunglasses would, again, be an aesthetic choice not a practical one - it's not like some surgeries that leave you very light sensitive, you haven't really got anything to BE light sensitive) but early on moving your eyes too much or rubbing them might hurt.

Unless you get an injection you shouldn't need much physical followup beyond getting your stitches out, but the NHS provides counseling services to help you adjust to losing the eye (and I assume this is more substantial for something like Melanie's case where you go from being fully-sighted to fully blind in a sudden and traumatic way. I'm struggling to find anything about what to expect from bilateral enucleation and I imagine that's because the circumstances that require removing both eyes are fairly limited, since surgical enucleation is pretty rare anyway and usually it's because of an accident or a cancer which are likely to mostly affect one eye)

once you get a prosthetic, it stays in most of the time - you don't remove it to sleep, swim, bathe or anything else. you take it out and wash it once every few weeks. it can be uncomfortable to start with and feel too tight behind your eyelids. you pop it out with a wee plunger and put it in like a giant contact lens.

this means unless she really screwed up her blinding and had to have drastic surgery like removing her lids or muscles, which I don't think is likely to be the case, her face probably won't look super different by S5 except that her eyes will be droopier and more half-closed than before (if she's not wearing prosthetics. if she is wearing prosthetics they'll probably look normal she just won't be able to focus on anything or like. see. but visually the lack of focal depth should be the only tell). what you can see of her 'eyes' probably won't be the classic symbol-of-blindness Empty White Orbs - they'll be a similar shape to an eyeball and a similar colour to the rims of her eyes/her tear duct. she might be wearing sunglasses but she probably wouldn't bother in the apocalypse unless it really worried her how she looked. she almost certainly wouldn't have bandages, pads or patches over her eyes. she might well be wearing a conformer if it's up to a couple of months after the surgery, which will make her 'eyes' shinier and from the looks of photos, maybe look darker/redder? if she's got a prosthetic, it will probably be a standard one (because custom ones are really expensive) which means it may not perfectly match how her eyes looked before and will probably not be anything funky like rainbows or idk, cat eyes, however fun I think that would be. if she's wearing a prosthetic or conformer she's likely to want to use eyedrops because they can be a bit dry and itchy on the eyelids.

[firaknight]

Follow up of Adeleines opinions on the helpers :) (stuff in parenthesis is the ability they have)

Blade Knight (Sword): 7/10 Mysterious little dude:

He’s cool! He’s kinda hard to understand at times (he’s got a thick accent, idk what kind), but he’s very nice! He’s got a lot of standards when it comes to swordsmanship and is very strong! He’s working on showing Adeleine the proper stances for sword fighting (it’s possible for her to emulate that style with her paintbrush, minus the cutting ability of a real sword).

Chilly (Ice): 9/10 Snowed Man!!

Snowed man friend!!!! He’s very serious about things but he’s a good friend! Only problem is he has to stick around Adeleines Ice Dragon drawing to prevent the poor guy from melting (they’re working on finding an eternal ice that won’t melt so he can stay cold!). He likes to make snow cones!!! (Which are hella good btw)

Bio spark (Ninja): 8/10 Speedy!!!

One of the fastest helpers around! They’re speedy, sneaky, and all around a mysterious little dude! They have a habit of showing up so quietly that nobody notices for a good couple minutes before they’re just like “I wasn’t even hiding I’ve been standing here this whole time.” Overall, odd but kind little friend!

Birdon (Wing): 7/10 Soft birdie!!!

They’re just a little birdie!!! Birdons probably the most carefree helper out of the bunch, and they like relaxing really high up (much to Adeleines dismay). They tend to make stuff out of the feathers they shed (and they shed very often), so they’re always giving friends bracelets, headgear, jewelry, and such made out of their feathers. Adeleine actually has a coat lined with their feathers and it’s SUPER warm! They’re a little strange (and Kawasaki keeps trying to cook them [see: Star Allies title screen skits]) but they’re a wonderful buddy!

Wester (Whip): 9/10 Yeehaw man!!!!

Dude is legit just a very small cowboy. He cannot help his smallness... He’s agile and absolutely has an accent when he talks. He’s a little chaotic, but has a good heart. Probably taught Adeleine how to mount and ride a grizzo just for fun. She’s got a cowboy hat he made for her!

Plugg (Plasma): 10/10 Old friend!

She’s known Plugg since Crystal Shards! The two are good friends and Plugg likes to paint with her! He’s got some... interesting ways of painting (sticking his entire face into paint and then running facedown on the canvas), but he’s a lovely friend! He likes to run around a lot tho, probably because he’s constantly generating electricity and needs to burn it off so it doesn’t overload him. Will absolutely charge electrical devices without a second thought.

Como (Spider): 6/10 Spider...

While they’re similar to Taranza, they have a lot more spider tendencies, and therefore kinda scared Adeleine. She’s tolerable of them (more so than Susie), but tries to keep her distance. They’re helpful and are very very very sweet!!! They just tend to do creepy spider things and it freaks her out...

Bugzzy (Suplex): 7/10 Massive bug dude

He’s like... huge. Closer to, if not taller, than Adeleines height. He has very sharp pincers on the front of his face, and they can be painful when used, so he either wraps them in bandaging or puts rubber caps over them! That way he can grab and hold friends without harm! He’s oddly cuddly and likes to carry people around (not neccisarily throwing them) in his pincers. Overall, big doofus bug who has lots of love.

Broom Hatter (Clean): 8/10 Clean freak

Literally cannot handle dirty shit. At all. Has the urge to clean everything. Perks are that they keep the base everyone hangs out in super duper clean! Adeleines taught them to draw and it helps them not want to compulsively clean everything. They make really pretty art!

Poppy Bros Jr. (Bomb): 9/10 Funky lad!

He’s got an older brother of the same name (Poppy Bros Sr.) and he’s a boss in training! One day he hopes to be just as good as his brother! Dude is ultra high energy (which is why he’s always hopping around) and tends to be a little obnoxious. They can’t entirely help it, they’re just energetic! They’ve taught Adeleine how to yeet explosives and she’s genuinely good at it!

Rocky (Stone): 7/10 He is literally just a rock

Sentient rock! He’s a little slow and can’t really talk, but he’s a buddy! He likes to just turn into his stone form and just sit like that. It’s comfy and feels like home to him. Will not hesitate to use himself as a step or a seat for someone if needed. He also gives everyone hes friends with a special rock! Adeleines has marbling to it and looks absolutely beautiful!

Waddle Doo (Beam): 8/10 Funky little man!

He’s got only one eye and therefore has poor eyesight. You’d think one eye would be better, but nope! He wears essentially one huge contact lens to help! They’re buddies with Parasol Dee and Bandee!!! Doo is on the calmer side of the group, and tends to not be so insanely high strung. He’s still a little anxious, but he’s better at covering it than the other. He hangs out with Wester sometimes (whip-like attack squad)

Chef Kawasaki (Cook): 2/10 Hes creepy and I don’t like him.

He has this weird... unsettling energy about him. He’s tried to cook both Coo and Birdon more than once and she genuinely doesn’t like being around him. He makes good food, which has stopped him from being a 0/10 in her book, but thats it. He’s only there because Kirby thought he’d be a nice addition and everyone knows that if Kawasaki crosses the line he will get booted on the spot. (Kirby has standards too!)

Gim (Yo-yo): 7/10 Hes just a robot huh.

He’s kinda strange, and doesn’t appear to have a lot of feeling, but Gims really nice! He likes to show people all the tricks he can do with his yo-yo (which is surprisingly a lot) and gives all his friends a yo-to so they can do the tricks along with him (Adeleines is teal with red and black stripes. It’s also got a couple paint splotches on it that we’re added on purpose).

Burning Leo (Fire): 8/10 Toasty heater child!

They’re small and warm!!! All the time!!! They like to be held and snuggle up to cold stuff because it’s the same feeling as snuggling up to warm stuff for humans. REEEEAAALLLYYY wants to hug Chilly but there is the very real possibility that Chilly will literally melt so he holds off from that. Adeleine tends to be cold and likes to hold Leo like a hot water bottle. He’s learned how to make his head fire harmless so people can hold him and not get burned!!

Driblee (Water): 9/10 Oh my god they’re adorable!

Sothisispartiallyjustmebecauseilovethewaterabilityimsorry They’re a little lizard mermaid! They adore swimming more than you’d think and hold pool parties!! They hang around Chilly because their water tends to be on the colder side and Chilly can use them to reform melted bits of Adeleine can’t get Ice Dragon to do it. They’re actually made entirely out of water! They can literally transform back into water by going into water. This also means that they can conform to spaces not meant for them like bottles and containers. They like to make drinks for people since the water they use for attacking is some of the cleanest water out there! (It also tastes super fucking good)

Bonkers (Hammer): 7/10 Kinda scary...

He’s big, taller than Adeleine (especially if he stands fully upright), and has an intimidating look, but he’s all bark and no bite! Dude is literally just a ball of sunshine! He likes to carry people around and will 100% shield someone from attacks (he’s sturdy!!!). He’s helping Adeleine with her strength because she’s fragile and a little scrawny and he’s all muscle (shes gotten a lot better!). Shes got her own lightweight hammer he lets her use so she can get a little stronger!

Sir Kibble (Cutter): 9/10 Smol knight!

He cannot help his size... but he’s tough! He also has no fucking braincells and does not think but he’s a good boy! He likes to headbutt people but his helmet poses a problem (it literally has a blade attached to it) so he puts a padded pool noodle over it to protect others (the padding is so the noodle doesn’t get chopped from the blade itself when force is applied). He’s just a little dude with no thoughts... head empy...

NESP (ESP): 4/10 They talk too much and know stuff about me that I never told them.

Strange and not very cool :( They have a tendency to read other people’s minds because they purposefully don’t tune their thoughts out and therefore know a lot of stuff they really shouldn’t. They also don’t know how to keep their mouth shut. Thankfully they’re just funky from psychic power and on a good day they’re kinda nice to be around!

Vividria (Artist): 10/10 THATS MY ADOPTED SISTER!!

They’re siblings. Drawcia adopted Adeleine as one of her own and that makes Vividria her sis! They paint together and Vividria kinda sticks up for Adeleine in more dicey fights because of Adeleines low HP. They’re the bestest of friends and are super cool with one another! She’s still growing and is one day gonna reach Drawcias size!! (If we put it into normal heights [Adeleine being 5’3” and Kirby being 1’8”] Drawcia is over double Kirby’s height. Probably closer to 3-4 feet)

Parasol Waddle Dee (Parasol): 9/10 Oh my god they’re just a smol friend...

Dee is literally almost as high strung and anxious as Bandee but they’re so sweet!! They like rain!! They also give parasols to all their friends! (Adeleines is teal with paint splotches!) They tend to nap a lot and will totally join cuddle piles. On hot days they’ll utilize the chumbrella as a big shade for everyone in the nap pile. Just a squishy little dee!!!!!

Knuckle Joe (Fighter): 10/10 Hes super supportive and nice!

He saw how fragile Adeleine was and said “aight so I may not be a master but I’m gonna teach this kid how to fight” and didn’t wait for any objections. Once a week he goes out into the forest with Adeleine and shows her how to fight like him! Physical combat is important!!! She can’t fire off energy blasts or deal lightning speed punches, but she’s getting there! He’s ultra supportive of everyone and loved to teach people stuff!!! He care about everyone!!!!

Beetley (Beetle): 8/10 Why is he so angy!!

Always grumpy. He says it’s because he keeps losing to Bugzzy but it’s just because he’s super small and gets picked up like a burger all the time (if you didn’t wanna be held like a burger don’t be burger shaped idiot). Isn’t aggressive but will headbutt people with the blunt end of his horn when he’s being extra grouchy. Adeleine likes picking him up because he gets all stiff like a ferret (when you pick them up and they stick their feet’s up all stiff).

Jammerjab (Staff): 9/10 Funky but fun!

Was originally really wary of them because of the whole Void Termina thing and their assosciation with the bad guys wasn’t a good thing but they’re super cool! They’re graceful and like to stand on their staff a lot. They also help the smaller helpers get stuff up high (they themselves are small but their staff can extend a lot so they can use that for extra height). They let Adeleine use their staff and she’s not that good at it (she always whacks herself in the face while trying to use it) but it’s a nice gesture! They know a lot about the Jambastion and like to tell people all the wacky secrets it holds (like how Hyness has an entire room full of just robes that all look the exact fucking same or how theres a specific set of hallways that move and change to get trespassers lost in them). Honestly a fun little guy to be around

[witchofthemidlands]

okayy this might be the absolutely labeless fermenting whiskey talking but larry trainor, okay. look, im probs behind on the comics. I got like ten of them on the shelf that ive had for years, ive read them all ive seen small metal baby cliff. I know stuff but idk what the comic end for larry was, idk if he dies (he better not) or if he & keeg emmergrate to space to get away from the shitshow that is la earth but on the off chance that dear larry gets to live peacefully with keeg & the plants, i genuinely think it’d be nice to see the man explore the outside world a little, perhaps even find a causal boyfriend of some kind. I know dear larry is not great at flirting even though he has some killer dance moves & a good singing voice i mean boomers cover of heaven is pretty much the second coming of christ but larry has character he’s a decent guy when all’s said & done, he deserves to have some kind of action in his golden years. maybe keeg could give him some tips, they probably have experience. idk how it would go down, that’s larry & keegs business because it’s not like larry can just ignore the lil funky spirit inside him. so he’d have to come across some pretty awesome dude. someone who’ll treat larry well or keeg will hunt them to the ends of the earth & yeet them off the face of the planet. honestly it wouldn’t be straightforward but honestly would be pretty nice for larry to find someone who just strikes up a convo with him, like this dude doesn’t even care if larry has bandages or not it’s just another dude talking to a dude & they talk about each other’s hobbies & stuff just something pretty mundane & gentle whilst everyone else is getting attacked by whatever the universe wants to throw at the doomp patrol that week. yeah larry’d bring up the bandage radiation situation but he’d have found someone chill who just accepts him for who he is & keeg for who they are because they’re not going away & deserve to be loved too. maybe this guy can even be a fellow decent singer so they can do causal duets with each other. someone completely normal might not work yes but itd just be nice to see larry get the love & appreciation he deserves to get after all the years of pain. like someone hug that guy.

[greekowl87]

This might be mean but I'd really love to see what you can come up with for Happy birthday, Mr. President 😁

A/N: Field Trip fluff? Seem appropriate given the state of things these days. Apologies for the typos. Written during a bout of insomnia.

Scully shifted uncomfortably in the hospital bed, her lungs hazy from the funky fungus that she and Mulder recently escaped from. The dreams they were still sharing were bad enough. Her and Mulder...was it his or hers? Their dreams were interesting. The latest one had her dressed like Marylin Monroe singing, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” to Mulder, who was dressed like JFK.

Scully was certain that was his dream and not hers. Her skin still burned beneath the bandages and was rough. She tried to draw a deep breath and focus and, like a spark, her blue eyes shot open. Mulder was awake.

The quarantine unit that UNC kept them in was spacious enough; they had been worse. The doctors had them in a suite with adjoining rooms and a common space, almost like something like a college dorm. She ventured out of bed, the white scrubs feeling itchy as her bare feet slid against the cold floor. She twisted the doorknob and closed the door behind her. Mulder sat on the couch flicking through the television restlessly. 

“You drift off?”

Mulder jumped at the sound of her voice. “Scully? I thought. You were asleep.”

“Not when someone dresses me like Marylin Monroe. Happy birthday, Mr. President? Really, Mulder?”

Scully sat across from him and folded her legs. “I didn’t dream about it.”

“I bet. I certainly didn’t dream it.”

Mulder hummed and closed his eyes. “We’re still sharing dreams, aren’t we?”

“Seems like it. Is there something you are trying to say, Mulder?”

“Nothing, Scully.”

In the darkness, she watched the television’s light flick across his face. “Mulder.”

“What? Nothing.”

“Mulder,” Scully smirked. 

Quarantine was driving her crazy. Of course, this wasn’t the first time. She had been through it before. The thing that always got to Scully when she was in isolation. She was used being alone; except when it came to Mulder. This quarantine took things to a new level. 

He opened an eye and whispered, “What?”

“Admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“Say it?”

“It was your dream.”

“Fine. It was.” Both eyes opened. He smiled lazily. “How many rules did my dreams break, Agent Scully?”

“Mulder, we’ve had this...connection…” Scully motioned between them with two fingers. “Have this connection more than ever. Just say it. Quarantine. Stuff happens.”

Mulder smiled and held out his hand. “You know how I feel.”

“Mulder, this time in quarantine has been different, huh?”

“Just come here, Scully.” She took his hand. Almost like guiding her in a dance, Mulder smiled as she fell next to him. “Must be the mushrooms.”

“Piss off.”

As Mulder flicked through the channels, Scully curled up next to him. “What’s changed,” he whispered.

She tapped lightly against his heart. “I know how you feel.”

“Happy birthday, Mr. President?”

“To start.” She wrestled the remote from his hand to flip the channels to Comedy Central and the show South Park. She curled against him “I mean, we’ve been sharing dreams...I'm sure we could reenact some.”

Mulder felt his cheeks burned. “Reenact?”

“To start.”

Mulder grinned and hugged her closer. She didn’t shy away. He nuzzled her hair. “How about a movie?”

“I get to pick.”

“Deal.”

“Comfortable?”

“I’m good.”

Mulder smiled, found a thin blanket, and pooled it around them as Scully nestled next to him and flipped through the channels. Maybe quarantine and giant hallucinogenic mushrooms weren’t so bad. Scully sighed contently. Yes, Mulder concluded, things were going to be okay.

[the-quiet-winds]

Bonfire Clouds

[angst. inspired by true events]

As a general rule of thumb, Anna was very used to being alone.

During her time spent in Germany and England, after being divorced and sent away with her pockets lined and some fancy new palaces to live in, it was easy for her to get so lost in the crowds she was hopelessly lonely. Schmoozing with other royals, smoking pipes with courtiers, and dancing until the light drowned and came back up for air again.

She may have been always around people, but she was always so alone.

Which is why, when she was brought back to life again, she always kept her problems to herself.

It’s a nasty habit, one she tries to shake time and time again, but when everyone else has suffered far worse than she, it’s all but impossible to not bottle up her life and stuff it on a shelf.

So when Anna begins waking up with dull pains in her back and her knees around the turn of winter, she doesn’t say a word about it. She pops a few Ibuprofen and moves on with her day.

It’s usually enough. Combine it sometimes with a little ice or a little heat, and she’s right as rain by the time the show starts.

But as December comes crawling in, it starts to not be enough.

No one notices until they’re backstage at the show. She plops into her makeup chair and lets out a quiet grunt, which attracts the attention of one of her roommates.

“What’s got you down?” Aragon asks, giving her a half-critical look through the mirror’s reflection.

“Funky cramps,” Anna says. She shifts in her chair, attempting to give herself some much-needed relief from the pain, but none comes.

“Did you take anything?”

It’s not Aragon this time, but Jane, her voice soft and caring as she passes into the room.

“Earlier,” Anna counters. “I took some painkillers, but nothing worked.”

Jane creases her eyebrows. But before she can suggest anything, Anna speaks hastily. “I’m sure it just means my period is coming. Nothing bad.”

She knows it’s a lie, but she doesn’t want to concern Jane more.

“If you don’t feel better, promise you’ll come and talk to us?”

Anna agrees.

She knows she’s lying.

The next morning the pain returns, and it’s more obvious now. Enough so that Jane notices the moment Anna walks into the kitchen the next morning.

“Come on,” she says without hesitation, “back upstairs with you You’re not performing tonight.”

“But-“

“No buts,” Jane says, voice softer this time. “You need to rest. Maybe we’ll get you a massage.”

Anna agrees half-heartedly, sleep and anxiety mixing in the space behind her eyes to create a horrid sort of drunken tiredness.

She is out before she even hits the pillow.

---

The knee pain went away, and the back pain began to lessen over the following two weeks, and Anna felt greatly relieved.

The week leading up to Christmas sees her at the doctor’s office for a routine check-up and flu vaccination.

“You seem healthy, Miss Cleves,” the doctor says, “is there anything you wish to discuss with me?”

The absence of her bandmates seems to bolster Anna’s confidence. Talking to the doctor was nothing, right? Just alone again.

“I’ve been having some back pain,” she says.

Those six words were what landed Anna in an MRI machine two days later. She had told the other queens she was just “going out.” She couldn’t let them worry.

Turns out there was nothing to worry about at all. Her back was knot-free and disc-free.

“My best guess is a repetitive motion injury, or maybe some sort of unhealed strain,” the doctor says. “Take some time off, maybe a few days or so.”

“But I have a show,” Anna protests. “I can’t take time off.”

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says. “But you need to heal.”

Anna leaves with a doctor’s note, mandating her to not perform for four days, effective immediately.

Of course, Katherine is incredibly concerned.

“Why didn’t you tell us?!” She demands, teary-eyed and clearly upset. “You should have told us!”

“I know,” Anna concedes softly, “but I didn’t want you all to worry.”

“Anna.”

She looks to Jane, who takes a step closer and rests a hand on her shoulder. “We’re family. We want to care for you, so please, let us.”

The next four days are incredibly repetitive. Anna wakes up to find Jane and Aragon waiting by her bed with breakfast and coffee. Sometime mid-morning, Anne comes in to watch game shows on the small television on Anna’s dresser.

“Stupid!” Anne exclaims with a laugh, watching a contestant guess an answer horribly wrong.

“Like you could do better,” Anna jests, batting Anne about the ribs with her elbow.

“I’d be so good at these shows,” Anne says proudly. She puffs her chest out and makes a posh face. Anna can’t help but laugh.

“If you say so.”

Katherine always brings her lunch, and Parr supplies her with a fresh book or two each afternoon before they all leave for the show.

It’s a lovely routine, and Anna genuinely believes the bed-rest is helping.

When Christmas comes, the pain has lessened in her back, which was the greatest relief in the world to Anna. She can walk, dance, and perform in a way she hadn’t in months.

They’re mid-show, fresh off the holiday break, when Anna breaks.

She’s just finished her number and is dancing her way through Katherine’s when she feels a sharp sting and a biting aggravation in her left hip. It throws her off balance and down to her knees, but she manages to play it off as merely a misstep in the choreography.

The remaining twenty or so minutes of the show are blinding, unbearable Hell. Anna feels she can barely stand, but doesn’t let it make her falter, although she knows she grimaces with every step.

She barely makes it off-stage before she collapses to her knees, holding her side tightly.

“It’s okay,” Jane murmurs. Her arm securely wraps around Anna’s waist. “We’ve got you.”

None of them go to the stage door that night, obviously. As soon as they’re dressed, they’re in the car and headed back to the hospital, where Jane and Aragon support a barely-walking Anna through the door before she’s whisked away.

They examine her hip, even taking x-rays, and determine she managed to pop it out of socket.

The scream of pain as they reset it is so loud, the girls can hear it from the waiting room. A doctor writes Anna another note, saying she was out for performing for a week, and if the pain continues, she’s to return for additional tests.

The pain continues, and she returns for additional tests.

“Miss Cleves,” the nurse pages, and she limps into the office. Alone. Of course, being the lone wolf she is, she didn’t have the heart to tell the others the real reason she was back here. She just said the doctor wanted to check on her progress.

“Welcome,” the doctor, a different doctor, says. “I am Doctor Thalia Browne.”

“Anna of Cleves.”

“Ah, the famous Anna of Cleves,” Doctor Browne muses with a soft chuckle. “It’s not often I see patients older than this hospital.”

Anna laughs herself, half-pained. “So I guess you know.”

“How couldn’t I?” There’s a quiet, albeit excited nature to Browne’s words. “This whole regeneration business you all have going on, it’s quite amazing. I also saw your show, October I think? Absolutely wonderful.”

Anna warms up to her new doctor very quickly, and she finds herself in conversation with her as she gets comfortable in the MRI machine (well, as comfortable as she could get).

“I’ve been to Germany on many conferences,” Browne says as the images start bleeding through. “It’s quite lovely.”

“The winters were brutal,” Anna laughs softly as Browne’s voice buzzes its way through the static-filled headphones she wears. “But gorgeous all the same.”

“Luckily I’ve only ever been there in the spring. They know not-“

As soon as she stops, Anna knows she’s in trouble.

“Doc?”

More silence.

“Doc, you’re scaring me,” Anna says, a very nervous laugh in her words.

“Can you lay on your back for me?” The joviality in her voice is gone, replaced by stoic professionalism.

Anna does as told, ignoring the biting pain in her hip as she does so.

The machine roars around her, Browne’s voice no longer able to drown it out, and Anna feels hopelessly alone.

It feels like an eternity before the machine slowly bucks her out. It’s even longer before Browne enters the test room, holding a few of the images in her hands.

The fact that it couldn’t wait sets every nerve in Anna’s body alight.

“Your hip is fractured.”

Okay. That’s not bad. That can be fixed.

But one look at Browne’s face and Anna knows that’s not all.

“What is it?”

---

 January 19th, Anna writes on a scrap piece of paper, still trying to figure out how to tell the others what’s wrong.

She crumbles up the paper, rips it into pieces, and throws it in the trash.

Time to rip the bandage off.

Five minutes later, the queens are gathered in the living room, staring expectantly at Anna.

“I have cancer.”

The air is sucked from the room, leaving behind five lost souls staring back at her. 

“What?!” 

It was Anne who’d finally spoken, an angered outburst coming out as barely a choked whisper.

“I have cancer,” she repeats. “Lung cancer.”

“But you don’t smoke,” Parr says, obviously and somewhat dumbly.

“I did,” Anna admits, “in the first life.”

“How do you know?” Katherine asks, voice tiny and childlike as she clings to Jane.

“They were examining my hip and the image… it just barely clipped my lung. They saw it.” She swallows. “They did more imaging of my back.” She looks to the floor. “Doctor Browne said if she didn’t know, she’d think the images were of completely different people.”

“You had those images done three weeks ago,” Aragon says bluntly.

“That’s how fast it’s progressed. I have more tumors than they know what to do with.”

“How long?”

Jane has finally spoken.

“Six months without chemo, maybe a year with,” Anna barely whispers now. “I’m not surviving this.”

She can’t bring herself to reach for Katherine when she detaches from Jane’s side and runs upstairs.

Parr stands up and slowly paces the room. “It’s in your bones, isn’t it,” she states. “It fractured your hip.”

Anna nods.

“Are you going to do chemo?” Aragon asks.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Why not?!” Anne’s anger is back, tears in her eyes again. “You have a chance for a whole year.”

“At what cost,” Anna says hollowly. “It won’t be pleasant. It’ll be missed shows and sickness and pain.” She shrugs. “Maybe I’d like to enjoy my time left.”

“That’s pretty fucking selfish,” Anne warns.

“Maybe it is. But it’s my choice.”

“What you do affects all of us. You can’t just drop this bomb and expect us not to react.”

“Never said I did.” Anna’s words are empty as she stares at the floor. “I just want to enjoy what’s left of my life.”

She opts to not do chemotherapy, but does have the surgery to repair her hip.

That’s two and a half weeks later.

It goes well. 

They put her hip back together and promise her she’ll be walking very soon. 

She spends three days in the hospital before being brought to a rehab center. 

That Saturday is the first time the queens have seen Anna since her surgery. They wanted to be there with her in the recovery room, during everything after, but Anna was far too loopy for anyone to be there. So they were forced to wait.

They sit in the library of the rehab center and wait some more. Jane and Katherine sit on the couch, Kat clinging to Jane’s arm, Aragon and Boleyn are hunched over in armchairs, elbows on bouncing knees, and Parr is alternating between pacing and leaning against the chess table.

Finally, a nurse rolls in Anna.

But it’s not Anna.

It’s a hollow, broken shell of the fierce German queen. There’s an emptiness in her eyes that gapes into her mind. 

Must be the pain medication.

“Hey, Anna,” Parr says softly. 

Nothing.

“How are you feeling, love?” Jane asks.

Nothing.

“Can she hear us?” Katherine suddenly panics.

“She’s still very out of it,” the nurse says softly. “High doses of meds.”

They try to coax words out of Anna, but all they get are somewhat pleading looks, as if there were words trapped in her head that her teeth wouldn’t free.

Throughout the entire meeting, which lasted roughly an hour, all they got were some noncommittal hums, an occasional ‘yes’ or ‘no’, and Anna managing to ask Jane what was on her shirt.

It was a pun.

When they get home from the last show of the week the following night, their phone are overflowing with messages from the hospital.

Anna had suffered a stroke and was bleeding into her brain.

The next five days are some of the worst in all of their lives, either lives. It’s a constant wonder of, ‘is Anna still alive?’ and ‘what if she dies without anyone there with her?’ But between shows and rehearsals, they don’t have a choice.

They fought, they truly did. They wanted to cancel shows for the week, all but live at the hospital as they wait for Anna to stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time.

But there were bills to be paid, specifically hospital bills and rent bills, and they had to keep performing.

Finally, Friday rolls around. And finally, they’re given a show off. So they all go to see Anna.

Well, not everyone.

Jane Seymour can’t do it.

It’s too real. If she goes, it’s real. Anna is really dying. Anna is really going to die from cancer.

She doesn’t go.

She takes a long, hot shower instead, furiously scrubbing through her hair as if to wipe the events of the last month from her head. 

By the time she steps out of the shower, cries into her towel, brushes out her hair, cries a bit more, and manages to get dressed with shaky hands, it’s well past midnight.

And there is a text waiting for her, from Parr.

Time of death 2:12am, February 17th. Probably spread to the brain. See you later.

When Jane Seymour manages to fall asleep, her face is stained with tears, as is the pillow, and her dreams are more like nightmares as she sees Anna.

And Anna is once again alone.

———————————————————————————————————–

tag list: @percabeth15 @kats-seymour @qualquercoisa945 @jane-fucking-seymour @a-slightly-cracked-egg @justqueentingz @annabanana2401 @wolfies-chew-toy @broad-way-13​ @tvandmusicals @lailaliquorice @aimieallenatkinson @sweet-child-why03 @gaylinda-of-the-upper-uplands @funky-lesbians@thinkaboutitmaybe @hansholbeingoesaroundzeworld @anaamess @beeskneeshuh @prick-up-ur-ears @theartoflazy​ @justqueentwo​@brother-orion @paleshadowofadragon @lafemmestars @beautifulashes17 @jarneiarichardnxel​ @idkimbadwithusernamesandstuff @sixcago @mixer1323 @boleynssixthfinger @aimieallen @elphiesdance @boleynthebunny​ @krystalhuntress @lupin-loves-chocolate @bellacardoza16 @bluify @second–butthole @katherines-choker

[amora-recs]

aristos achaion┊jeon jungkook┊01

des: The Gods themselves have named him the best of the greeks. (college!AU combined with greek!AU)

note: although this was so hard to come up with and plan out, I LOOOVE it so much! I think this one might be one of my favourites. I tried really hard to not make it too Percy Jackson so I hope it’s ok!! anyway please enjoy <3

word count: 1.5k

 Snitches get stitches. Those three exact words have been preached over for far too many generations at Faraday Institute. Especially when it came to the Ares kids. Those same words also applied in this situation, everyone silently watching as Jungkook kept hammering away at one of the boys’ face. The room felt suffocatingly stuffy, only a few grunts and groans were heard over the party music playing in the speakers, although at the time the funky tunes were nothing more than white noise as no one dared interfere with the altercation going on at the time.

 It hit him all at once the moment he stood up. His head was starting to spin, the metallic taste of blood, an all too familiar tang to him now, filled Jungkook’s mouth as his left eye kept pulsating in pain. He could barely feel his hands, knuckles covered in dark red blood. He could already hear people whispering, making his insides coil in disgust. Couldn’t they just leave? No one asked them to stay and watch him beat up some dudes. His eyes turned around toward his audience, scanning the room for Jimin. Stupid frat parties, he should have never accepted the invite. With no sign of his one companion in sight, he walked out, wincing as the chilly early spring breeze brushed over his bruises.

“Dear Gods, what a fucking psycho. Did he have to overdo it?” asked one of the girls, throwing a few regular glances towards the guys on the floor. “Wasn’t he recently titled Aristos Achaion?”

“Yes, actually,” emphasised Taehyung, one of the Apollo kids, taking another sip of his drink. “The Gods themselves have named him the best of the greeks.”

 It was true, Jeon Jungkook owned the title of best of the greeks and just like Taehyung said, the Gods, also known as the College Council, themselves gave him that name. It was almost absurd how much power those two words held on campus. The moment everyone heard a son of Ares was the one to become Aristos Achaion many different opinions were shared, most of them bashing on the council for making such a mistake. But just like after the fight, Jungkook preferred to ignore them, accepting the title with a big smile. A smile that slowly but surely was disappearing.

 It was a beautiful night. Everything was silent except for the few grasshoppers and although the air was still chilly, the way the breeze scraped his wounds felt pleasant while the simplistic palette of blues and black the sky was tinted in offered him comfort as he walked alone in the dark. The tranquillity of it all allowed him to sort his agitated thoughts.

 That, or he was just giving himself an awful migraine.

 A sigh escaped his lips as he knocked three times at the door of his best friend, trying his hardest to straighten up his posture. A bashful smile took over his features as soon as the door opened. Along with his smile, his blush also grew wider as he studied her attire. She was wearing a large grey t-shirt, probably bought from the boys’ section, that reached her mid-thighs. His heart started beating just a tad faster as whether or not she was wearing anything under that shirt crossed his mind. He immediately made a mental note to slap himself later. Sleepiness coated her eyes, still not taking into consideration his appearance. No words were exchanged as she welcomed him inside, already searching for the first aid kit. She was more than used to have Jungkook all beat-up knocking at her door. She became his nurse, as he liked to call it.

“Y’know,” Jungkook grunted as he took a seat on the couch. “You shouldn’t open the door dressed like that.” her response came in the form of a yawn, cleaning the bruises on his face first with a wet cloth.

“But I knew it was you knocking.”  

 For some reason, it felt good to hear those words. It made his heart flutter. “Yeah right,” he mouthed, looking down at his injured hands, now cleaned up by her.

 A comfortable silence surrounded them shortly after. Seeing her in front of him made memories from earlier come back in a rush, making Jungkook scrunch his nose in disgust at the repulsive thoughts. The way they dared talk about her made his blood boil and, though painful, clench his fists. He should have mutilated them after what he heard came out of their mouths –

“Why did you pinch me?” he whimpered in pain as he took a hold of his wounded right cheek.

“You were spacing out again.” she simply stated with a smile, gently taking his hand off his cheek. “Now, be a good boy, and let me disinfect your cheek.”

 The antiseptic stung, but like the good boy he silently promised to be, Jungkook said nothing, distracted by the very little distance between them and the flowery smell of her shampoo. For once he was thankful for his swollen cheeks.

“Seriously though,” she stood up, throwing the cotton ball into the bowl she brought. “Aren’t you taking this son of Ares charade too seriously?”

“I can't help it.” he sighed, enjoying the sensation of the band-aid over his wounds. “I mean, it is apparently in my blood.”

 He didn’t need to look at her to know she was giving him the look. And the look only meant one thing. “This whole blood thing seems like a bunch of bullshit to me.” she scoffed, adjusting the last bandage over the knuckles of his right hand.

 Jungkook groaned in exasperation. As much as he loved her, he knew she was still mortal. She wasn’t anything special, a certain chosen one, nor did she possess any sort of sixth sense. She was just a sceptic. A very stubborn one. And who could blame her?

 Demi-gods usually don’t own any fancy otherworldly powers as one would believe. The only gift they were blessed with was their eyes. Or rather their eye colour, to be more exact. A deep shape of brown, able to bore into your soul and warm you up in the best and worst way possible. That was Jungkook’s eye colour and the only way one could tell he has godly blood flowing through his veins.

“Just because you believe it’s bullshit that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

“But is it worth it? Everyone hates you.”

 Jungkook suddenly couldn't find his words. He knew he would be lying if he said that wasn’t true. Abhorring the children of Ares became an unspoken tradition. Many believed they were too violent, barbaric even, and always looking for a fight. And like with any other stereotype, that wasn’t true.

“You don’t seem to hate me.”

“How can you be so sure? Maybe I’ve been plotting to kill you this entire time.” she raised her eyebrow with a smirk plastered on her lips.

“For three years?” his question made her giggle, breaking character. It was soft and sweet and it made his ears feel ticklish.

 For Jungkook, times like these were far and rare in-between. Every smile, every laugh, every shed tear, he held it all dear and close to his heart, relishing in the mere joy of the moment. It made him think that maybe, just maybe, not everyone hated the Ares kids.

“Gods,” she sighed dramatically. “Patience, something I’ve noticed you’re quite lacking, is a virtue, my dear child.”

 The next morning he realised he was wrong. It wasn’t unusual for Jungkook to be greeted by an awful amount of scowls first thing in the morning. Nonetheless, hearing all the gasps and whispers made him feel uncomfortable. It felt suffocating and stiff, making his chest hurt. He was in the centre of attention, making him feel conscious about his appearance, his attitude, his everything. Perhaps beating the shit out of those guys wasn’t his most brilliant idea, but skipping class sure seemed like one. Just before he was about to prove his theory, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Jungkook? Are you alright?” asked Jimin, a smile brightening his face. He could already hear the whispers dying down. “Come on, let’s walk together!”

 Not many people liked talking with the children of Ares, let alone befriend one. But Jimin was different. He was nice, charming and caring. He was a son of Aphrodite through and through, and everyone loved him for it. “Yeah,” Jungkook mumbled, silently thanking his friend. “But shouldn’t you head to your own classes?”

“My course doesn’t start until later today, don’t worry.”

“Then what are you doing here?” he didn’t need to look at Jimin to know he had one of the corniest smiles on his face.

“I’m on prophyte business!” he winked, making Jungkook roll his eyes. “Anyway, where did you go last night? I couldn’t find you anywhere?”

 His question made Jungkook turn his head away from him, trying to avoid eye contact. Although only a shade lighter than his eyes, Jimin's eyes held the same intensity, vivid with passion and allure. He knew that if he'd look into his eyes he would start talking in no second. It proved to be a futile attempt as his silence gave Jimin the answer he hoped he wouldn't have to hear.

"You went to her place again?" Jimin whispered, knowing fully well just how much-unwanted attention this would bring.