#i know who you wish was fucking you in prone bone :3

[kisstoru]

who would kiss your forehead while fucking you in prone bone?

(there’s only one right answer)

the first person that came to mind was suguru … are we twinnected

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 5

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language Warnings: None Summary: Local soulmates finally reach the "friends" in "enemies to friends to lovers". A little softness goes a long way. Nice, mostly gentle chapter to make up for the previous one's angsty ending. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly, 4: Portraits For Ghosts

5: Heart Of The Matter

“This is embarrassing,” you mumble, refusing to look Cassandra in the eyes. Softly, she runs her fingers over your chest, spreading the medicinal salve. There’s an unspoken judgement in her expression. Minor movements are no less painful than major ones, so you try to sit still, as much as you’d rather be with anyone else. “Can you hurry up, at least? I don’t care if it takes longer to heal in the long run, I just want to get out of here,” you snap. For a split second you think Cassandra’s going to hit you in response, with the way she looks at you, and you involuntarily flinch. But the hit never comes, merely a sharp sigh.

“If you didn’t want to get treated, you shouldn’t have started a fight- especially not such a pointless one,” she says, continuing to rub in the medicine and evidence alike. At this, you shrink into yourself, hating the harsh sting of truth. Yeah, you think, she’s got me there. Victory is a fast fading feeling, dearly missed in the wake of the growing shame in your chest. Why had you given in to your impulses? Why had you broken the only peace you had known in weeks? It’s a thought that snags on the corners of your mind, weighing down your cognition, leaving you unpleasantly distracted from the present. “Almost done. Then you can go sulk in private, somewhere you can’t bother me, alright?”

Nodding, you accept your fate with what little grace remains. What more could you even do? Ask her to stay by your side? Hardly. But as soon as the last bandage fits into place, and her gentle yet calloused hands smooth the last edge, a whisper of an ache springs into your heart. It’s not a yearning for Cassandra specifically, merely a reminder of your unwilling loneliness. When the door closes behind her, you stare down at your hands, wishing to hold some meaning within them. Maybe I can find Daphne around here somewhere, you think. Then you slowly rise to your feet. Better to sit with a kind stranger than a harsh familiar face.

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

That night, you find yourself cautiously approaching Cassandra’s room, feeling like a death row inmate on their way to the executioner. Every step is begrudging, and you almost can’t bring yourself to open the door. But you manage, in the end, stepping in with your eyes downcast. No voice, grumpy or otherwise, greets you. One glance tells you that your soulmate is already asleep, and you mentally thank all the gods you can name. It doesn’t take long to get ready for bed. It does take a minute to slide under the covers, careful not to wake Cassandra. This time you don’t move closer to her, or wrap your arm around her waist, too… exhausted to try anything along those lines.

When you dream, it is of an ever familiar room, shrouded in darkness, stained with the blood of hundreds. Someone’s laughing- a woman, maybe several. Down here, someone is always laughing. You try to laugh with them. It’s a lie, a small deception, that lets you pull your thoughts away from your misery. But they don’t appreciate it when you join their cacophony chorus. Their cackling shifts into screaming, bitter lungs sending waves of ear-splitting sound. Over and over, it gets louder, unbearably so, and closer, closer all the time. Just a few cells away. Just a few more fucking seconds and they’ll be right on top of you. This is a dream you’ve faced down before, yet the ending is unknown. They always get louder, always barrel down the path, towards you, howling endlessly.

They never reach you. No, they’re always coming, always so fucking close. Never in your sight. Never digging claws into your chest. But the anxiety does not fade- you are tipping back in a chair, never falling, never able to find your balance.

When you wake up, it’s with a flinch, teary eyes snapping open. A hand rests on your cheek, brushes away the stains. Whispered words drift through the air, too hushed to be understood, daring to lull you into a relaxed state. It’s Cassandra, of course. Even in your tired state, you know this, know that she’s trying. What you don’t know is whether or not she’s awake enough to process what she’s doing. After all, you hardly are, and her touch is the gentlest thing you’ve ever felt. But you do not get to enjoy it for terribly long. Soon enough your vision fades, the embrace of slumber overtaking you once more.

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

For a few days, there is relative peace. Meals are delivered to Cassandra’s room, where you mostly dine on your own, though she occasionally joins you, even if you do not speak. Every evening she ensures your wounds are treated, often handling it herself. When she does, you do your best not to meet her gaze, for you cannot stand the traces of affection you see there. Try as you might, you find yourself unable to taunt her the way you had done the first day. The way she’s changed her behavior, adapting to your trauma’s revelation, haunts you to no end.

“Drink this,” she says one day, before bed, holding out a steaming mug. Of course you don’t take it, of course you stare at her with an eyebrow raised. Acceptance was never an option. “It’s just tea. Bela says it might help. With nightmares. Not-” she paused to frown, unsure if she even wanted to finish the sentence- “that it helped me. But you’ve been… tolerable, lately, and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try.” Then she’s reaching out again, expectantly. Blushing ever so slightly, you finally take the mug, giving her a quick nod before taking a sip. There’s a hint of sugar, just enough to make things interesting.

“Thanks,” you murmur, after swallowing the lump in your throat. Already Cassandra is turning away, focusing on getting ready for bed. You want to say more, to actually hold a conversation with her for the first time in days, but your mouth feels oddly dry. So you just sip your tea in silence. Of course, you think, I’m only ever improvising a monologue, or tripping over my own tongue, as if it were a resting place for my chattering teeth. At least the beverage wasn’t as bitter as your thoughts. By the time you’ve finished your drink, Cassandra is in bed, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Need something? Or just waiting for the poison in my drink to kick in?” You ask, surprising yourself.

“Finally remembered how your mouth works, hmm?” Cassandra teases. Again you’re blushing, having expected her to be more annoyed than amused.

“I never forgot. I simply, you know, uh… figured that you needed a break, after my last demonstration,” you counter, remembering the way your vocal chords had complained, and the way her arm had felt around your throat. It’s not the direction you meant to take the conversation in, but she doesn’t seem to mind. If anything… she’s blushing. For a moment you’re confused, then you finally recall the ‘incident’ in the tub. Oh fuck, you think, that’s worse. Maybe. Probably? What should I say? In the end, the words leave your mouth in a rush, as they were prone to do. “Based on how red your cheeks are, I’m going to assume you don’t need another reminder. Let’s just get some rest now, yeah?” Next thing you know, there’s a pillow flying towards your face.

Still, it’s better than nothing, and the impact serves only to make you smile wider. When you climb into bed, you find yourself face-to-face with Cassandra. She’s never laid like this with you before. It’s unexpected, even more so when she shifts forward, less than an inch away from your face. Understandably, you end up blushing more than you’d like to admit.

“What was that about red cheeks?” She asks, voice low and breathy, knowing exactly what she was doing to you. Before you can think of the ‘smart’ thing to do, impulse kicks in, making you go in for a quick kiss. It’s supposed to be a joke, a counter to her teasing. But she leans into it. She kisses back. Both of you are blushing hard when she pulls away, a few moments later. You’re trying to stutter out a response, clever or otherwise, and she’s rolling her eyes, rolling onto her other side, putting her back to you. Words fail you. In the end, you are forced to try to sleep, regardless of what just happened. When you dream, there are no nightmares this time. Just a warmth you had thought forgotten.

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

More days pass, with your tongue slowly loosening up, fueled by playful banter with Cassandra. Neither of you dares to mention the kiss. Nor do you ever speak for too long, as if knowing that your mind still resisted peace. Most evenings are still filled with nightmares, all mimicking your trauma, and you are left to wonder if the tea had even worked that first night, or if something else had helped. In the hopes of more success you drink a mug every day before bed. Admittedly, Cassandra does bring it to you, meaning that forgoing it would require turning her down. That was… harder to do, these days.

When she asks you to join her for lunch, you don’t hesitate to agree. But as you’re waiting in her room, casually reclining on her bed with a book in your hands, a distant scream echoes through the castle. Instantly you’re panicking, wondering who was in trouble. It reminds you so much of the dungeon that you can’t move. Was one of the servants being punished? Had someone merely forgotten to close the door to the basement, and you were hearing the same cries that caused your nightmares? Even though the screaming does not last for long, it renders you helpless, shaking in every bone. It’s not until the door opens that you can think again.

“Change of plans,” Cassandra announces, stepping into the room. There’s a worried expression on her face, and her voice tells you she’s distracted. When she sees the state you’re in, however, she’s quick to sit next to you. “Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about. It’s Daniela that does. She- her soulmate-... it’s bad. That’s all we know. One second she was fine, the next she’s howling in pain, and there’s a huge scar on her back. We’re going to have a ‘family lunch’, per mother’s insistence, in case it helps Dani think about literally anything other than what just happened.” With that, one of her hands moves to your own, giving a reassuring squeeze. To her surprise, you’re quick to return the gesture.

“I can come with,” you blurt out. Then she’s raising an eyebrow at you, wondering why the hell you’d ever offer to spend time with her family. The family that had imprisoned you. And, of course, intended to drain you of blood, or dine on your flesh. Even you weren’t a hundred percent sure. “This has got to be hard for her. I… I knew someone who went through something similar. Strange as it is, I want to show my support. If you’ll allow me, that is.” There’s neither a pleading tone nor a hint of anger in your voice. But Cassandra still hesitates, eying you, clearly questioning your motive.

“Alright, fine,” she says, after a deep sigh. “If you do anything to make her feel worse, I can’t- and won’t- stop my family from killing you, blood bond be damned. They’ll make it painless, for my sake, but that’s the only kindness you’ll get. Got it?” You nod, giving her hand another squeeze. “Good. Now let’s get going, I don’t want to make Dani wait.”

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

It’s quiet. Awkward, even. Daniela is clearly still shaken up from her experience, with red eyes, makeup staining her cheeks. No one seems to have the slightest clue of what to say to her. Even you are silent, unable to find a good opportunity to lend your advice or sympathies. Which makes it all the more painful when you find Daniela watching you, eyes narrowed, a tremble to her lower lip. Both Cassandra and Bela seem to notice, pausing their eating to wait with bated breath. Part of you swears you can hear their thoughts of please don’t say anything, please don’t say anything, for the love of everything good in this world. So, naturally, Daniela does in fact say something. But it’s not directed at you- rather your soulmate.

“Did you really have to bring them? Huh? Felt like pouring salt in my wounds?” Her throat is obviously sore from crying, or screaming, likely both. This certainly wasn’t how you wanted your first meeting with her (or her mother) to go. So you summon the best of your courage, replying before Cassandra even opens her mouth.

“I asked to come. I wanted to show my support,” you reply. There’s a pause, with Daniela glaring at you, before she speaks slowly and with unveiled rage.

“Don’t make me laugh. You really thought I’d want to see my sister’s soulmate right now? Alive and well? God, you’re perfect for her, absolutely clueless,” she growls, smacking her fist against the table. Things have gone from bad to worse, but you don’t give up, deciding to take a risk as best as you could. After all, Cassandra had made it clear that your life was on the line.

“Tell me, was the pain bad enough that you passed out?” You ask, ignoring the way your soulmate kicks your feet. She’s desperate for you to shut up, especially now that Daniela’s too angry to even respond. “Are you still in pain now? Answer the question and I’ll either explain, or let you use my bones as toothpicks.”

“Fuck you!” Daniela cries, rising to her feet. Instantly her sisters are standing as well, though it’s unclear what ‘side’ either of them are on. For now, their mother remains sitting, staring at you intensely. When you refuse to back down, the tension in the room flickers, fading a tad. “The pain lasted ten minutes. It’s stopped. They’re…”

“They’re not dead, then. Reason to celebrate, yes?” You suggest, raising your glass before taking a long drink from it. Everyone is eying you with visible confusion. “When I was younger, I was with my best friend during the worst hours of her life. She had met her soulmate at age twelve, three years prior. We had just been… hanging out. Talking. The next thing I knew she was screaming like her blood had turned to acid, sobbing her eyes out. Then she blacked out. By the time she came to, we were at the hospital, and we ran into her soulmate’s family. She asked them what was wrong, why she was in so much pain. I, uh, I think you can guess the answer. Not the specifics, yeah, but the general gist of it. It took twenty four hours for the physical pain to stop. According to the doctors, that’s pretty average. So your soulmate isn’t dead. Chances are you haven’t even met them yet, and someday you’ll see that scar on their back, and you’ll know. I know that this doesn’t make everything okay, but I hope it helps. At least a little.” When Daniela finally brings herself to reply, having sunk back into her seat, it’s with a soft voice, hardly more than a whisper.

“It does. Thank you.”

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

Later, you’re walking back to Cassandra’s room when she suddenly pushes you against a wall, staring at you with fear in her eyes.

“What you said earlier. About your friend. Was that true?” You’re nodding, quickly, desperate to get her to release you. But she doesn’t. Instead she’s looking at you with concern, tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes. “Goddamnit, you better not ever fucking die on me then, alright? Promise me. Right now!” A thousand thoughts go through your mind, a thousand jabs or otherwise cruel remarks, but when you speak, it’s with a hushed reverence you cannot describe.

“Same to you. I know you’re practically immortal, but I don’t fucking care. Don’t die on me. Don’t- just don’t. I promise, but you better fucking mean it too, alright?” You say, openly crying, ignoring the way Cassandra’s expression softens at your words. As soon as you’re done speaking she lets you go with a nod, turning back to the hallway, already walking towards her room. You’re not entirely sure what just happened… but you know you’re glad it did.

[bump1nthen1ght]

Thicker than Water (Demon x Reader) Chapter 1

Pairing: Female Reader x Gender Fluid! Demon

Genre: High Fantasy

Warnings: Arm Injuries, Several mentions of blood

Word Count: 1870 Words

Summary: A summoning gone awry ends up in your favor

Chapter 2

A/N: Alright, I know I literally just posted a demon story but this post showed up on my dash and my god if I have never been more inspired to write a fic. I legit wrote this in 2 hours in a frenzy. Also I plan this story to be multi-chap, but still rather short, so maybe 3 parts in total

Before that night, you had never known what nearly-passing out felt like.

Your mother had done it, once or twice, usually after a particularly stressful day at the shop. If you didn’t check on her between your studies she may forget to eat entirely, your father as well. But you had been lucky; Someone had always been there to catch her, to cradle her head and spoon-feed her strength back.

On the forest floor, surrounded by the smell of your own blood, you have no such luxury.

The black spots flickering in your vision blend into the desne canopy above you and your tears only muddle your sight. The iron and copper of the summoning circle drawn around you drown out the scent of fresh pine and grass, while your ears can only focus on your own heartbeat and the bickering of the four boys.

Oh, that’s right, they’re still here.

It seems you had lost more fluid than you realized, probably because of your incessant crying. You had tried to stop the flow, but your brain was losing coherent function with every second. The boys conversation sounds far away and hollow, bouncing off your eardrums and confusing your sense of direction

“You idiot, I told you not to go for the arm!”

“We needed a lot of blood!”

“But she needs to read the ritual dumbass! She can’t if she dies!”

Ah yes, the ritual, it all is flooding back to you now.

Having received a private education from your father at your family’s apothecary, you were already prone to isolation as a child. It didn’t help having no siblings, nor a lacking natural talent for friend-making. Although you had lived in the city all your life, the young people your age knew very little about you, and you them.

You knew they had rumors about you, The daughter the apothecary hides away; That your gaze can turn people to stone, that you can curse and poison people with a couple words and the right ingredients.

The truth was you weren’t so glamorous. You knew your way around a medicine cabinet, sure, but nothing about poisons or magic spells. You didn’t have any special abilities to compensate or explain your reluctance for socialization. Just some overprotective parents and a shy disposition.

So when the handsome postmasters-son began to pay you special visits, you let your guard down. You let him walk you to and from the market, memorizing your weekend route. You let him in for a bit of tea late at night, especially when it seemed so cold, and told him where the spare key was kept. And yes, you even told him about your favorite secluded spot in the forest, where the sounds of civilization were far away, where you could be alone.

And here, in these last moments of your life, you can’t help but feel so naive.

“Hey, hey!”

A boot taps your cheek, shaking you out of your revelry. Your glassy eyes look over to your right.

It’s one of the local merchant’s boys, you think his name is Nicholas? It doesn’t really matter. All you knew about him was that he was a bit rough around the edges; always nicking things from pockets, looking up ladies skirts, and skipping his lessons. That’s what your dad complained about anyway.

A page is shoveled in front of you, dangling over your face. Your eyes take a while, but focus on the words. Nicholas’ boot heel digs into your neck.

“Read it out loud, or we’ll kill you.”

Clearly I’m going to die anyway dumbass, why should I help you?

You might’ve retorted, if you were in such a physical condition to do so. But instead, you do as you're told, and start speaking.

To your left, the postmaster’s son, Richard, sucks in a breath with anticipation. Any false composure he had while luring you here is gone, his feet tapping with excitement as he holds your left arm and lef bound spread eagle.

Holding your right leg is Markus, another merchant boy. He picks at his teeth.

“What are you guys going to wish for?” He whispers. It goes in your ear and out the other, too focused on forming coherent sentences.

“A full-harem of babes, obviously.” Simpers Hunter, the son of a landlord. He isn’t ugly, only a bit plain, and has enough money to boot. Compared to the other bachelors in town however, he has had little luck in procuring a courtship.

“A million coins could get you that and more, idiot. That’s what I’m wishing for.” Whispers Richard.

“What are you going to wish for Nic?” Asks Markus

“Oh my gods, will you guys shut the fuck up?”

Nic snarls, unconsciously digging his heel back into your throat. You choke and stutter, but keep going. The runes around you, written in your own blood, begin to glow.

All of the boy’s eyes widen and they step back from you. Your limbs sink like dead weight as the words begin to flow out your mouth with no thought. The paper with the chant drops to the ground, out of your sight, but it's like your brain has been reprogrammed; You know the rest, know it in your bones.

The grass begins to simmer and burn under the summoning circle, smoke swirling into formation above you. When the final word whispers out of you, you feel your body go lax. You don’t even remember tensing up

I guess this is it. Sorry Mom, Sorry Dad.

You clench your eyes, just hoping the demon will be quick. That it will at least leave a recognizable corpse.

“Holy shit.” You hear muttered, unsure by whom.

Your eyes are closed, body teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, but your senses are still intact. A hot wave of breath washes over your face and the ground below you trembles with heavy footsteps. The boys are quiet but you can hear their hearts pounding. They thrum with life, while yours slowly fades.

“Why have you summoned me, mortal?”

Even half-dead, your muscles tense in fear. The demon's voice is deep and resonates like a crowd talking all at once. It reeks of inhuman power and cracks like thunder.

A brief silence passes, before Nicholas finds his courage.

“We have come to ask for a wish.”

Later, when recounting the story, you will mention that the demon looked over to Nicolas, unamused, despite never seeing it yourself. The demon huffs, the heat of it blowing over you once more.

“I don’t believe I asked you.” The demon mutters. The cacophony of voices blend together into one, bland and emotionless. Even in your state however, you are able to decipher a couple of louder tones which overpower the others. They seem...angry.

“But...you…”

“I asked….”

Your eyes snap open as a wet droplet lands on your cheek. Lingering above you, drool seeping from their unnaturally sharp teeth, is the creature. It’s face resembles that of a goat, but sharp fangs stick out from their lower lips. Their eyes are golden and shine in the night, piercing right into yours. Despite the part of your body screaming out in terror, another part feels oddly….comforted. It’s why you don't startle when they brush a hand against your cheek, their thumb wiping away your tears. Their palm is warm, not like a blistering flame, but like a thick quilt. Like hot chocolate on a rainy day.

“......What do you need of me, little one?”

Their hand, padded and calloused, slides down your arm, closing up the large gash on your inner bicep. In another movement, they do the same to the other. Power and vitality seems to sink back into your body, drip by drip.

Words escape you, but not Nicolas.

“Excuse me, demon, but we're the ones who summoned you.” The sarcastic tone of his does little to hide the quivers of his fear, especially when the demon's neck turns toward him at an unnatural speed. Still, he persists. “Not her. And we want-”

“Do you take me for a blind fool?” The voice bellows, sending all the boys to their knees. Markus clutches his ears while Hunter whimpers on the ground. Nicolas falls back to the ground, eyes widen.  The demon stands to their full height, several feet above all of you. “Do you think I was born without smell, without sense?” The step away from your body, swiping at the ground with their fingers, taking a small bit of your blood with it.

The demon sticks their thumb and forefinger in front of Nicolas’s face, causing him to yelp and fall onto his back. “Is this your blood which forged the connection? Was it your words that spoke me into existence? Was it your body which came to the brink, wrenched open the door and pulled us both through?”

Nicolas, trembling like a leaf, shakes his head no. The demon’s eyes jerk up to the others. “And was it any of these young men?”  

Richard furiously shakes his head, while Hunter stays collapsed on the ground. Markus pushes himself away, hands still clamped around his ears. The demon sneers, before turning and walking back to you.

The demon kneels before propping your upper body up with a gentle touch. A comforting claw rubs your lower back while another paw rubs the tension out of your shoulders.

“Now, mistress, what may you ask of me?”

Your muscles may no longer tire from blood loss, but your mind truly feels like it’s on the brink of breaking. The demon, with fearsome fangs and a soft look, looks to you for an answer.

“I-I…” You mutter as the demon continues to massage your back. They hum.

“Take your time, it is alright. Rituals are difficult, I can only imagine the toll your body feels.” The mass of voices have synchronized, fading from a hundred to a single, harmonious tune. It is cavernously deep, but pleasant. It reminds you of the portly older man who used to read stories aloud every holiday.

You feel your body unconsciously turn towards your captors. Nicholas stays stuck to the ground, the whites of his eyes almost glowing in the darkness. The others have slowly moved to their knees, all terrified with shaky limbs, and look like they might make a run for it. Markus is slowly inching towards Nicholas’ shoulders, trying to lift him up to his senses.

For the first time in your life, a deep, boiling hatred burns your skin.

Cowards. You sneer, with all the malice stored in your reserves.

“I want-I want…” You stumble as the anger bubbles out of your belly. “I want them to hurt. To feel humiliated.” Nails bite into the palm of your hand, letting out blood as you clench knuckles. “I want everyone to know what they’ve done, who they are, every fault they’ve ever been guilty of. I want them alive, but I want them to burn.”

The demon smiles, pulling you in for a hug. You collapse into their embrace, keeping your eyes locked onto the boys, those rats. The demon hums a contented tune as they rub your back.

“As you wish, my master.”

[thiefakefia]

TKB: Post-Dawn of the Duel

So, because I’m going to be referring specifically to how I choose to write TKB, and how my TKB responds to losing, I will call him Akefia/Kef throughout this post. This is how I write Akefia in my main verse, when dealing with waking up in a new world. I’ve sorta structured this around the 7 stages of grief, but changed the order as appropriate, because it resonates. He is grieving the loss of his village (properly, without the hyperfocus on revenge), and he is grieving the loss of everything he’s worked for. He’s also grieving for his previous view on the world, in a way. He felt he was right, and now in the silence, he has to face what he’s done.

I should probably point out at this point that I don’t subscribe to the idea that TKB was 100% right in what he did. Neither does my Kef (although it takes time for him to accept it). Was his anger justified? Absolutely! Was the chaos justified? Not at the extreme it went to. Not with the innocent people that got involved. I don’t believe it was meant to go that way - and TKB’s confusion as to what was going on when Yami Bakura lets control of him go says a lot to me. He was a pawn - but I don’t believe he’s innocent, either. I think his anger fuelled so much of what happened.

Stage 1: Shock and Disbelief

I mean... what do you do when you’ve revolved your life around a plan of vengeance for so long and now it’s just... gone? There’s a serious sense of shock that goes through him. Everything that’s happened hasn’t caught up with him. He’s not even begun to analyse it - if he was wrong, or right. He’s numb, and lost. 

Stage 2: Denial

He’s already a touch removed from the circumstances, having been possessed for a significant portion of it. The way I write him, Kef remembers the majority of it (but later describes it like he was watching it happen, more than controlling it). That sense of derealisation from it means he doesn’t really believe this is happening. His next instinct is to find a way home and effectively fix it. He doesn’t believe he’s lost - and he certainly doesn’t believe it’s over. He will drive himself positively nuts, trying to find a way back.

Stage 3: Anger

Anger at everything but himself starts to settle in his bones. This is the Pharaoh’s fault- those damn Priests- the Gods- this city- these strangers in the streets. Somebody has to pay for it, and Akefia erupts in violence during this stage. Whilst my TKB has a strong history of violence, his anger reaches a level of pointless overkill. The sense of derealisation continues, and he’s removed from his victims as a result. He’s not seeing them as people, but fictional ghosts in a world that isn’t real, which allows the violence to escalate further. This stage tends to be shorter under a good influence if he meets someone. Seeing just one person in his new world as a real, genuine human being allows him to realise the other people are actual real humans he’s harming. 

Stage 4: Guilt

This is the longest stage for Akefia, as he battles with what he’s done. The reality of living a new life is starting to sink in, and it begins with the guilt for what he did during the anger phase. It’s only then that he starts to analyse his past behaviour, and picks apart the battle and what he remembers of it. Left to his own devices... this is a pretty long struggle where he swings between stubborness of “not my fault” and realisation of “I really messed this up.”. With the help of a friend he feels comfortable sharing with, it’s a lot easier for him to manage the negative feelings that come with this stage. By himself, it delves into “Am I bad person?” to an extreme that isn’t productive.

He will absolutely settle into the conclusion that he’s responsible for everything that happened - even picking apart what he remembers of the connection between Y!Bakura and Ryou and holding himself accountable for the devastation of Ryou’s childhood. If left to come to his own conclusions, he will take on responsibility to an overwhelming amount to a degree that begins to cause panic attacks and a level of anxiety he has never experienced before. There is no fixing those mistakes - and he has no idea what to do with them, or any idea how to conceptualise a new life after this.

He swings rapidly between feeling he deserves the punishment of being dumped in a new, confusing world, and wishing he had just died and feeling he should have.

With assistance, he’s able to parse through a little better. Whilst still taking responsibility for everything involved - and absolutely refusing to accept anyone telling him he isn’t, or that everything he did was justified - he is able to manage his own feelings better with much-needed comfort. He’s able to maintain some level of calm and composure, rather than being completely overwhelmed by his own negativity. During this stage, he’s also inclined to ask vague, often nonsensical questions and get frustrated when the other person is confused. His ability to function around other people is not yet at a level where he can actually verbalise what he’s thinking/feeling properly. 

There is also the added difficultly of feeling he doesn’t deserve assistance and, as he realises more and more that he Done Fucked Up, worrying that this person really shouldn’t be involved with him - and would they if they knew everything he’d done? Akefia, although he will share bits, is hardly the most forthcoming about everything with the majority of people.

The guilt goes on so long because it has so many layers to it. Right from the very beginning, there is a survivor’s guilt from Kul Elna. To guilt for things he had to do to survive before Dawn of the Duel. To the damage he did to Ryou’s life - a completely innocent child. To the innocent people who got swept up in his attempt at vengeance. And in spite of knowing he shouldn’t have let it get that far... the guilt at feeling he failed his village, even so. It, frankly, would take a professional to sort it through with him properly - but Akefia will never do that much to his own disaster (frankly). I know I could personally go deeper into this but I feel like I would never stop!

Stage 5: Depression

I mean, I think this is self-explanatory given what he goes through with the grief stage. That’s a LOT of emotions to swallow, and it causes him to become withdrawn and depressed. Akefia, who has never wanted to laze in his life, who has always enjoyed being outside and hates feeling trapped... now wants nothing more than to retire to bed, pull a blanket over his head and block out the world. Having previously only woken up crying with nightmares, he now finds himself prone to random fits of tears.

He never ‘gets over’ this stage, so much as it becomes episodic as he learns to feel things other than anger and frustration, and how to handle those emotions. The depression never fully goes back in its box but it becomes shorter periods of times, days or weeks rather than months where he refuses to do anything but lay down. He becomes disinterested in food, water or any form of caring for himself - which is also very uncharacteristic of my Kef, who has always prioritised surviving over emotion. 

Stage 6: Reconstruction

Akefia starts to see his new life as an actual life - not a prison he’s trapped in. He begins to focus on any connections he’s made and how he can move forward with them. Rather than obsessing over whether or not he deserves them, he starts to search for ways to earn them. This isn’t always healthy for him, and he needs help moderating it as he learns to interact with people around him after a lifetime of refusing to engage with them.

It’s messy, it’s chaos and it’s full of emotion Akefia has no experience dealing with. It’s also... beautiful (to me, anyway). From an intense hyperfocus on vengeance to actually finding joy in life. To enjoying the things he’d considered stupid, and pointless. Whether it’s platonic or romantic, Akefia learning to live a new life with other people in it is not always simple but it’s usually worth it for both parties involved.

Stage 7: Acceptance

Although his past will never be forgotten, Akefia accepts every bit of it as his story. He’s more honest with himself, and others. To the right person, he’ll answer more questions honestly, and he’ll bring up more stories when he trusts someone to give him insight into his own behaviour.

He starts to fully engage in his future, looks to make actual plans and learns more about the world, and people, around him. Instead of only showing interest enough to find a way to survive, he becomes curious and invested in the world around him. He mellows as he begins to fully accept life for what it is - and for what it was. As previously mentioned, he continues to battle periods of depression (and anxiety), and he, unsurprisingly, is traumatised from many of the events in his life. It’s not always an easy life he lives, but he does find his centre, and often a slice of happiness he never thought he could have. 

[crystalirises]

The First Correspondence (The Walls of Illusion Part 3)

I finally wrote the third part ;-;

I’m so sorry it took so long, I’m just really not good with long stories. But I will try to add more to this story as well as Safe and Sound. Anyway, hope you guys like this! It has a bit of the third one-shot, but I changed it around so that the original ending is different.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30512157/chapters/83057647

“Well, it seems you’ve gotten a fever. Not surprising since you oh so insisted on going on a nightly swim while you were out.” Fundy pressed his aching head into the soft pillow, holding back an exasperated groan as his dad paced at the foot of his bed. He did not need to be lectured when his body was threatening to kill him. “Honestly, Fundy, if you would just listen to me一”

“Dad…” His eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion clinging to his aching bones as he tried to calm his breathing. Why was his room so fucking hot? Fundy knows he sleeps in it but he can’t be that devastatingly hot, right? He chuckled at his joke, his laughter caused his dad to stop pacing. His dad probably thought he was bordering on delusional now. He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that his clammy hands would be enough to cool his burning skin. Fuck Dre. It’s his fault that Fundy was sick and suffering. “Can you murder me with your words later… please… dad?”

“You worry me, Fundy. You’ll kill your old man with all this worry.” He heard the creak of footsteps move closer, the bed dipping as a hand settled at the top of his head, soothing his frazzled hair. Fundy leaned into the touch, sniffing as tried to move towards his dad. There was a soft chuckle from beside him, a low hum from his dad as the hand in his hair disappeared. He whined at the loss before a pair of arms wrapped around him, pulling him into a comforting embrace. He nearly yipped as he sluggishly threw his arms around his dad, pressing his face into his dad’s chest. “I was worried sick last night. If anything happened to my precious son, I一”

“Shhhhhhh…” His hand landed against his dad’s shoulder with a thump, his body too numb to really cause much of an impact. Fundy wished his dad stopped talking. He’d rather not have his dad’s droning voice in his head by the time he’s fallen asleep. Fundy burrowed his face into the crook of his dad’s neck, sleep seeping into his hazy mind. “Dad… song… please?”

---

Wilbur chuckled at his son’s request, honestly content to forget the events of last night as he began to hum the lullaby he’d composed when Fundy was but a kid. Fundy curled closer in his arm, a soft smile on his son’s face as he tried to hum along, stuttering off into silence as Wilbur changed to the next song. Fundy hadn’t heard this one yet. Wilbur glanced out the window, recalling a familiar river and remembering his first and only love. It was a song meant for her, to the woman he’d loved so dearly. Wilbur had never told Fundy about Sally, frightened that it would only lead his son to the same fate that had befallen the mother. Wilbur held Fundy closer, quelling the rising panic in his heart. His son was in his arms, safe even if he was sick. Wilbur shook his head, amused yet worried by his son’s constant need for adventure in a cruel world.

“I promise. I didn’t build the walls to cage you. I have my reasons, son. I will not lose you too." Fundy’s eyes fluttered open, despite the fever-haze in their gaze, he could see the doubt dancing in those golden flecks that reminded him so much of Sally. Wilbur ran a hand through his son’s hair, wincing at the way the strands stuck to his fingers. Fundy needed a bath, but they’d have to wait until the fever died down. Wilbur didn’t want Fundy to get even worse. He held his son closer, the memory of last night still fresh on his mind. He knew he was unreasonable. He knew anyone would call him a bit mad for being so protective. But they didn’t know his history, didn’t know the dangers that lurked. “Until L’Manburg is free, not a single one of us is safe out there.”

It pained him to be so strict, knowing that Fundy missed the man who’d willingly give in to his little son’s demands. Wilbur couldn’t help it. He loved his son, enough to give him some peace and a piece of the world. L’Manberg will be safe, safer than any country that dared to exist in Dream’s realm. It will be a nation for the free and for those sickened by tyranny. A nation for all.

Fundy was too young to remember when the walls were built so he’d always assumed that they’d been there ever since he was a baby. His son thought that Wilbur built the walls, and in a way, he did. It was his idea, in the end. It was his order that was followed. But he wasn’t the hand who built those walls. Wilbur could never tell Fundy the truth, lest Fundy gain any rebellious ideas about them. Wilbur couldn’t. How could he ever tell Fundy the truth of their creation? Wilbur placed his head on his son’s hair, the fox hybrid whining as Wilbur pressed a soft kiss against his head. Fundy was still conscious enough to be embarrassed by Wilbur’s affection. He chuckled, pressing another kiss to Fundy’s forehead. Sometimes he forgot how old Fundy was. His little champion was growing up, but to Wilbur, Fundy would always be his and Sally’s little fox kit.

Wilbur knew he’d have to leave Fundy alone by the time he’d fallen asleep. War was not merciful to a father who only wished to care for his son. He had a plan for the day, half of which he’d have to move for the next day since he’d spent half of the morning taking care of Fundy. Wilbur laughed, a mirthless noise that caused Fundy’s eyes to flicker open. He quickly shushed his poor son, lulling him back to the edge of sleep. As Fundy snuggled closer to him, he pressed the back of his hand against Fundy’s forehead. Shit. This wasn’t going to be a normal fever.

“Don’t fall asleep yet, baby. Don’t sleep yet, Fundy. You should drink a healing potion first一”

“No.” Wilbur sighed through his nose. Too late. Fundy had fallen into what they both called ‘The No Stage’, which was one small step away from ‘The Clingy Stage’. He frowned, pulling the potion from his inventory. Fundy needed to drink it or else he’d never get better. He held the back of Fundy’s head, tilting it up a bit as he pressed the potion to Fundy’s lips. “No! Gross!”

“Fundy… This is for the fever. You don’t want to be sick forever, do you?” Fundy groaned underneath his breath, sticking out his tongue before finally drinking the potion. Wilbur sighed in relief. He couldn’t really bear to see Fundy so sick. “There. That was pretty easy, huh champ?”

“I… don’t like you anymore. Your potions suck, all I ever taste is melon.” Wilbur pouted at the comment. He’ll have his son know, he was a master at potion making. His father and mother had always said he was born with a talent for it despite… Wilbur sighed, pressing a soft kiss to Fundy’s forehead as he slowly lowered Fundy back onto the warm bed. He reached for the thin quilted blanket that Tommy had created when Fundy was just a kit, draping it over Fundy who then promptly kicked it away. Wilbur chuckled, shaking his head at his son’s antics. As much as he wanted to spend the rest of his day caring for his sick son, they had a war to win, he couldn’t stay for long. Wilbur turned to leave, “Don’t leave, dad…! I-I was lying! I didn’t mean it…”

“I know, my little champion, but dad has to make sure L’Manburg doesn’t lose the war.” He placed a hand on his son’s ginger curls, a discontented groan rumbling through his son’s prone form as Fundy tried to bury his face beneath the pillows. If Wilbur didn’t leave before the fever progressed, he’d never be able to. Fundy wouldn’t let him leave, his poor baby... Wilbur didn’t mind the clinginess, but Fundy had to understand that he couldn’t stay. “I’ll be back by lunchtime, alright? Besides, we wouldn’t want to leave Tommy in charge, now, would we?”

“No…” Fundy let out what sounded like a choked laugh, settling underneath the warm covers as Wilbur finally pulled away. A small frown climbed its way to his face. Fundy had barely eaten at breakfast, how could Wilbur just leave his poor son to suffer? A sigh slipped past his lips, he’d have to ask Eret to watch over Fundy. As much as the thought sent a bitter taste down his throat, Wilbur could trust no one else in the army to watch over his son. With one last look at his son, Wilbur turned to leave the room, pausing at the doorway when he realized one other agenda on his list for the day. He threw a short glance towards Fundy, hesitating before realizing that Fundy hadn’t fallen asleep just yet. He should have been asleep already though. “I’ll be sending a letter to your Grandza later this afternoon. Would you want me to relay anything for you? A ‘hello’?”

“Mmm… Tell them I said hi… or something…” Fundy groaned, placing a pillow on the top of his head. Wilbur took that as his cue to leave. Fundy may be insistent on sleeping now, but that won’t last soon the moment Fundy decides he’d rather have someone to cuddle. It was times like that where Wilbur asked the gods why his son had been blessed with fox traits. He loved Fundy, he really did, but the fox instincts were worse when he was sick. Wilbur chuckled to himself, slowing down as he went down the stairs. It was nearing lunch, and he could only hope that Eret, Jack, Tommy, and Tubbo had been training in his absence. He headed towards his small office underneath the stairs, a cozy spot that looked more like a lounging area than an actual office.

He and Tommy had tried to make it look more professional, but by the end, it turned into a space where anyone could lay down and rest. A safe place to pretend that the war wasn’t at their door.

Today, he wasn’t alone. The crow cawed at him impatiently, jumping here and there at the little coffee table that served as Wilbur’s desk. He didn’t bother to sit on the couch, choosing the carpeted floor instead. The crow, in its eagerness to return to its master, had already placed a bottle of ink and a few letter papers on the table. It tapped its beak on the wood, cawing again.

“Impatient! What? Is the old man going to keel over at any moment now?” Wilbur petted the top of the crow’s head, nearly losing a finger in the process. He huffed. On business then, or perhaps this crow wasn’t too particularly fond of him. The crow was new, he could tell. All of Phil’s crows absolutely adored him, well, what was there not to like? He picked up the quill. Still, if Phil sent a more serious crow as his messenger, it meant Wilbur that Phil wasn’t asking for news on the rest of his family’s well-being. His father wanted a report. “Trouble in the Antarctic?”

The crow cawed, its feathers ruffling.

“I am not being nosy, I am simply asking a question.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, though a smile played on his lips. The crow’s rude behavior didn’t upset him one bit. It probably wanted to return home as soon as it could. Wilbur couldn’t blame it for that. He missed home sometimes too, and he could only hope that one day Fundy would be able to see the Antarctic, their home.

Wilbur reflected on any significant occurrence in the past month. Dream and his closest allies - George and Sapnap - had nearly burned down the forest near L’Manburg a few weeks prior. He didn’t need to be a strategic genius to realize that it was Sapnap who had instigated that attack.

He pressed the tip of the quill to the parchment:

‘To His Majesty, the King of the Antarctic Empire…’

---

He awoke to the sound of scratching. Fundy groaned, burying his head deeper under the covers. His fever had gotten better, but his head was still killing him. He wasn’t going to move from the bed, not even if the house decided to spontaneously combust. The scratching grew louder, more insistent, more demanding. He scowled, pressing a pillow to his ear. If it was Tommy and Tubbo pulling a stupid prank on him, well he’d have to get even with them later. So long as his head didn’t decide to kill him right then and there. After a moment, he started to fall asleep again…

Until he heard the screech, the glass shattering against impact. He shrieked, rolling off the bed in fear that they were under attack. It was cowardly, but he remained on the floor, barely moving.

He wondered where his dad was. If he was alone in the house. If another had broken out. If his dad was dead in a room somewhere nearby. He shuddered, pausing once he realized that there was scratching coming from the bottom of his head. After a moment, a familiar face popped up from beneath his bed. He blinked. The fox from last night sniffed at his clothes, sneezing and pawing at its nose after taking just one whiff. Fundy rolled his eyes, it could smell his sickness.

“You little shit.” He took the fox into his hands, pausing once he realized there was a letter tied to its leg. He gently took it off, the fox curling into his chest despite initially showing disgust at the faint sickness that rolled off Fundy’s entire being. Fundy petted the fox, its tail hitting him on the face. He laughed, adjusting the fox so that it wouldn’t keep hitting him. It was clearly very excited, squeaking as it urged Fundy to open the letter. Fundy took his sweet time to do so.

He thought back on the events of the night, his face heating up at the remembrance of his brief night of freedom. Of course, it would be the night he’d meet someone other than his dad, his uncles, his pseudo-parent, and Jack. Someone from outside L’Manburg. He should tell his dad about the encounter. But it was his secret. Eret once said that it wasn’t wrong to have secrets, so long as it wasn’t really harming anyone. He took a deep breath, finally opening the letter.

‘Dearest, acquaintance of mine,

I apologize for where this letter may find you, though I hope it finds you well. The previous night is quite different from the life I’ve grown accustomed to, though whether that bodes well or not depends on fate. You’re an interesting individual, and if the gods allow it, I’d like to know you even more. This could be the start of a beautiful friendship… or a trainwreck waiting to happen. I don’t know which one it will be, but I do want to try. I know not of your residence, so perhaps we may meet again at the lake. If you wish to. Though, perhaps not tonight or the next night as I do have other business to attend to, and I assume that you do as well. So, on another night then.

There is a large rock by the lake. You could leave your letters there if you ever wish to meet up. I go to the lake most nights when I wish to unwind from the troubles of the day. I hope to meet you again near the lake, though that may take weeks. Otherwise, Zigzag - that is the fox’s name, he was previously named Zagreus but a friend of mine changed his name to Zigzag - would be our little messenger. He likes berries. If you could, do give him a treat for being a very good boy.

Until our next correspondence. I will remember the night we met with fondness, or perhaps regret depending on the future outcome of this relationship. Do promise me, though, that you refrain from telling anyone of our encounter. I… I prefer to remain mysterious and enigmatic :).

Sincerely,

Your M.F.C. (Aka Masked Forest Creep, Aka Dre) :)’

He blinked, his laughter escaping him. Zigzag sniffed at his wrist, little eyes stared up at him in interest. Fundy would read it out loud, but it would be just his luck if Wilbur were to pass by and hear him. He’d think Fundy has some… creeper (not the monster, and that would not be very preferable since they were terrible at conversation) after him. He couldn’t believe that Dre remembered the nickname - playful insult - that Fundy had given him during their goodbye.

He climbed back onto the bed, his bones arguing against his mind, but eventually he was able to get back under the covers. Ziggy licked his cheek, curling up beside him. He held onto the fox, glad that he wasn’t alone. Fundy looked over at the broken window, his mind racing to come up with an excuse. His dad would freak if he thought Fundy had been attacked. If he was lucky, maybe he could convince Eret to help him fix it before his dad ever found out. If he was lucky.

Fundy sighed, slowly shaking his head, the letter was still in his hand.

Somehow, reading the letter made him feel somewhat better.

Though his aching head still wanted him dead.

He petted the back of his Ziggy’s ears.

He’d have to get Ziggy a few berries, and write a letter.

He looked at Dream’s letter again.

And tried to ignore the misplaced comma.

---

“Awwww, Dreamy has got a little cwush.” He scowled, sliding the letter back into the envelope before tossing it into an open book. Sapnap had snuck behind him, much to the masked man’s chagrin. He didn’t know how long his friend’s been there, glancing over his shoulder as he read the words Fundy had written. It was very short, nothing all too damning, but Sapnap must have assumed another meaning since he was mocking Dream with kissy noises. He playfully pushed his friend away, standing up from his seat. He blinked in surprise, it seemed like Sapnap wasn’t the only one who had entered his room undetected. George was by his bed, reading one of the draft letters he’d made. “Dude, what’s with the secrecy? Scared I’d steal them from you?”

“You’re not their type.” Dream snatched the letter from George’s hands, his friend sticking his tongue out. Dream found it to be quite childish, which is why he returned the gesture. He picked up the rest of the draft letters, intending on burning them on a pyre that afternoon so that Sapnap wouldn’t get his grubby little hands on them. “We’re… acquaintances. Possible friends, Sap.”

“You don’t give acquaintances letters.” George spoke up, a passive look on his face. Dream could never tell what his friend was thinking, though it was the same for him. Sometimes he wondered how Sapnap dealt with the two of them, his best friends who hid behind their masks. George laid further on the bed, resting a hand against his head, his other hand splayed against his cheek in thought. Sapnap - ever the man who could never stand still - suddenly jumped onto the bed, breaking George out of whatever thought he had. George scowled, shaking his head, but there was an amused smile playing on the edge of his lips. “You were out last night, weren’t you? On patrol. I read a bit of the letter… you met them in the middle of the forest? So… a hermit?”

“Didn’t know you liked the feral, haven’t-taken-a-shower-in-years type, Dream. But I guess you wanted someone like you—” Sapnap shrieked (like a girl, might Dream add) the moment Dream threw a pillow at him. George sighed, ignoring both their antics. “But seriously, who are they?”

“No one of concern.” George raised a brow at that, lips pursed. He wanted to ask, wanted Dream to elaborate, but he kept silent. Dream took a deep breath, “You don’t need to know. It’s…”

“Dude at least tell us if they’re… smoking hot! Great personality? Something, dude! How the hell am I supposed to figure out who they are!” He refrained from throwing another pillow at Sapnap’s face, though it was quite tempting. He sat at the edge of the bed, one foot on the bed and the other on the floor. He rested his arm on his knee, his head leaned against the wooden frame. He couldn’t tell his best friends. Because they’d either do something stupid, or… tell him that he was stupid for picking the one person who fate would never let him be friends with. And that’s all it was! They were friends, no, acquaintances. Just… acquaintances… An acquaintance he’d invited over to the lake. A hand landed on his shoulder, a look of genuine concern dancing in Sapnap’s gaze. “Dream. I’m just joking, man. But… we never keep secrets from each other.”

“Yeah, man. I get it.” He patted Sapnap’s hand, waiting for the blaze hybrid to pull away from him. His friend hesitated but eventually moved his hand away. Dream stood up, wiping his pants despite the lack of dirt on them. George said it was a force of habit, and Sapnap jokingly teased him about it whenever he could. Sapnap kept quiet this time. George followed after him. Sapnap stayed on the bed. He and George gave him a pointed look. Sapnap groaned, rolling off the bed before collapsing on the ground. Dream watched as George pulled Sapnap up by the arm, barely even breaking a sweat despite Sapnap’s heavier stature. “They’re just a potential friend, dude.”

“Whatever, man.” Sapnap shrugged, leaning against George who looked extremely eager to let him faceplant on the carpet. Dream wheezed, placing a hand on both his friends’ backs. They had to train for the coming days. They still had a war to win, after all. He led them to the door. George didn’t complain, exiting the room without even a single glance back. Sapnap paused, furrowing his brows at Dream. “If it doesn’t work out… Tell them that I’m always available—”

“Out! What the hell, Sapnap!” He slammed the door, Sapnap’s laughter bouncing off the walls of his room. He shook his head, relishing in the silent aftermath. Dream still needed to meet them at the training grounds in an hour, but until then, he had a few minutes to himself. He made his way to the pile of drafted letters, feeling a rush of heat climb to his cheeks. It wasn’t his fault! He kept accidentally writing Fundy’s name, and he couldn’t let anyone know of their correspondence. Dre wasn’t… the best cover name. He is a bit surprised that Fundy didn’t connect the dots… or maybe he did. He groaned, running a hand through his hair. He unclasped the mask, letting it drop to his hand before tossing it onto the bed. Dream made his way back to the desk, reaching down to pet Zigzag who had fallen asleep after a few berry treats. His good little messenger fox.

He grabbed the letter again: 

Dear “acquaintance” (we’re friends now, lol don’t call me acquaintance),

Thanks for the letter and I would like to meet you again. The lake is nice, but bring Zigzag, I’ll only meet you if you bring Zigzag with you. I will also, hereby, call him Ziggy because Zigzag is stupid and so was Zagreus :p 

 Sincerely,

Your S.F. (Aka Strange Fox, Aka Fundy)

P.S. Thanks, also, for getting me wet. Now I’m sick! >:(‘

Dream groaned, putting his head in his hands.

WHY DID FUNDY HAVE TO PHRASE IT LIKE THAT?!

[queen-swagzilla]

So Much Worse Than A Phantom Limb, Chapter 1 (BakuDeku)

Katsuki gritted his teeth against the noise bouncing around the classroom walls. The class was chattering animatedly as they waited for Aizawa, who was already ten minutes late. He was trying to go over his English homework, but he couldn't fucking concentrate—partly because of all the goddamn noise and partly because Deku was late too, and hadn't texted him to inform their homeroom teacher like he usually did.

He was trying to ignore the second point. After all, maybe he'd texted his nerd squad instead.

Aizawa dragged himself into the classroom at the twenty-minute mark. Iida even started to scold him until he recognized the haggard set of the teacher's face. He looked even worse than usual.

"Midoriya was involved in a villain attack. He is currently in the hospital. No one is permitted to see him—" he paused, eyes sliding to Katsuki who tensed immediately. "Except you. His mother requested your presence specifically."

Katsuki, who had gone deathly still, nodded once.

"Excuse me, but why him?" Uraraka asked, voice saccharine but shaded with barely discernable malice. "They can't even be in the same room together without fighting."

"It's what Mrs. Midoriya requested, and therefore the final answer. If I hear that any of you try to see Midoriya against his family's wishes, you will be immediately expelled." He stated, dark glare cutting across the room to the most likely perpetrators.

"Sensei," Bakugou called his attention back. "Do you mind if I call my mother to make sure she knows? Auntie shouldn't be alone in the hospital until I'm done with classes." Katsuki spoke, face carefully blank—almost bored to a careless observer. Aizawa was not a careless observer. He took in the rigid set of his shoulders and tight press of his lips and clenched fists and paling features and read the fear and concern in his student like an open book. After months of observing his two most problematic problem children, it wasn't a surprise to him. The rest of the class seemed shocked that he even had a considerate bone in his body.

"Of course. Take your time." Aizawa gestured to the door, and Katsuki hurried out, ignoring the shock on his friend's faces or Uraraka's steely glare. 

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

Auntie Inko had enveloped him in a hug as soon as he'd walked into Deku's hospital room. She was shaking—a violent full-body tremble that belied her fear. He could hear his mom speaking, but wasn't really processing her words because over Auntie's shoulder he was staring at Deku's prone form.

He was hooked up to a ventilator. There were dark purple bruises under his eyes. Katsuki had seen him less than twenty-four hours ago, and he already looked emaciated and pale.

Something was seriously wrong.

Aizawa was with them, discussing the minutiae of Deku's clearly serious quirk incident. He wasn't listening, because Deku was so still and quiet that if it weren't for the monitor, Katsuki would think he was dead. 

Dead.

An intrusive picture flitted across the back of his mind—an image of what life would be like without Deku. He shoved it aside.

He couldn't think about it. Not in front of Auntie Inko.

But then he finally heard what the adults were saying. Took in every detail about what was wrong with Deku. And he thought about it anyway.

There was a buzzing under his skin and a tightness in his chest. Lesser mortals would call it panic—or maybe terror. But he was the strong one. He didn't even panic when he'd been kidnapped. If he panicked now, everyone else would break.

He didn't have that luxury, but he supposed that was the price of being the strongest. Only one person could handle the full weight of his fears.

He could panic when Deku woke up. 

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

Deku was in a coma.

A fucking coma.

On Friday, the nerd left to see his mom for the weekend. On Monday, he was in a goddamn coma.

With a concussion. 

And two skull fractures. 

And a shattered tibia.

AND under the effects of an unknown but obviously deadly poisoning quirk. 

Thankfully, Aizawa had been there and had gotten that information first hand, so he wasn't responsible for relaying it. Unfortunately, the eighteen other idiots he lived with didn't see it that way. 

"Any news?" Eijiro asked him before he'd even taken his shoes off. 

"His medical care is confidential. Fuck off, Shitty Hair." He grumbled, beelining for the kitchen where every-fucking-one else was waiting. He bit back a growl of sheer frustration and exhaustion and powered through. He needed to eat like...six hours ago. 

"Bakugou! How's Deku doing?" Uraraka called as soon as he was in sight. "Fuck off Round Face." He grunted, grabbing his leftovers from the fridge and slamming the door behind him. 

"C'mon! If you're the only one who's allowed to see him, you gotta tell us how he's doing!" She insisted, crowding him. 

He's fucking dying. He thought vitriolically. And there's nothing I can do. "I don't have to tell you shit. Get the fuck away from me." He snapped, moving to stalk past her.

She grabbed his arm. "Hey! Don't walk away—" 

He detonated the hand she wasn't clinging to right next to her face. "Get the fuck off me." She dropped his arm immediately. "Let me leave this fucking kitchen or I'll blow up the fucking building." He snarled.

He stormed into his room, shoulder checking anyone who tried to stand in his way or ask him fucking questions. He knew they were curious and worried, but fuck why were they putting the responsibility on him to be the bearer of disastrously shitty news? Did he seem like the type of person who handled emotional bullshit well? 

He slammed the door to his room behind him as loudly as possible without actually breaking the door, ate his cold-ass leftovers, and dropped himself onto the bed.

And finally—finally—he cried. 

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

Eijiro was waiting for him when he opened his door the next morning. He almost slammed it shut again at the look on his face.

"What."

"Walk to class together? I can help fend people off." He offered. Katsuki studied him skeptically. "I heard you last night, man. We share a wall." Fantastic. Shitty Hair had heard him crying like a bitch. Spec-fucking-tacular. "And you're right, his business is confidential and it's not your responsibility to keep us updated."

"Like that'll stop the nerd squad from prying anyways," Katsuki grumbled, pulling his door shut behind him in acceptance of Eijiro's offer to be his human shield. They walked in silence most of the way, but fuck Eijiro was a good friend, so he knew what was coming next. 

The redhead stopped him just outside the main entrance. "I'm only gonna ask this once because I know you'll blow me up if I go overboard," Eijiro stated. Katsuki tried hard not to crack a smile. "Are you okay?"

Katsuki stared at him for a long moment, considering his options. He could lie. He could tell him to fuck off. But Eijiro was a good friend. "No."

Eijiro looked surprised at the admission but schooled it down quickly. "Anything I can do?" Katsuki shook his head. "Well let me know if that changes, okay? I'm here for you Bakubro."

Read the rest on Ao3!

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[emerald-amidst-gold]

*kicks door in* Did I hear OTP asks?? Is it a chance to be nosy about the dragon and his wolf that I sniff in the air?? *dumps box full of questions on the floor*

Who has the most nightmares and how do they deal with them?

Thoughts on each other’s family?

Who has awful taste in music?

And

The most important question: Who can rap better?

💖

*jumps up from the couch and gasps* Nosy?! Oh, friend! You can be nosy all you want because you couldn't be nosy when faced with a wolf and a dragon who act like lovestuck fools?! >:D

Who as the most nightmares and how do they deal with them?

Eheh, I can safely say that both and Solas and Fane are pretty equal when it comes to the amount of nightmares that they each harbor. Fane's nightmares are just more...volatile due to how tangible they get. Solas, I believe, is so used to enduring his own that he's able to conceal just how unnerved they make him, but there would be moments where he'd split.

Fane usually deals with his nightmares by reaffirming solidity to his teetering mind. He searches for shapes (squares, circles, rectangles, triangles, etc.), and he'll rip open his balcony windows to literally gulp in as much frigid air as he can muster. He does the latter to try and stave of either a panic attack or a bout of retching. Sometimes it works, but most times, Fane can't stop his stomach from expelling what's inside. His nightmares do die down in intensity once he and Solas start to share quarters, but the first several weeks are...rough.

---

“Nightmares?”, Solas’ voice finally came in a murmur, tone laced with sleep even as stormy, moonlit orbs shone with awareness and gentle sympathy.

Fane grimaced a bit before nodding. “...Yeah.”, he said after a bit of hesitation, shifting his gaze away as the sight of more concern made him even more tired. Why couldn’t he get through one night without an interruption or seeing the sky reflect sorrow and guilt? “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

The command was brusque, mildly clipped and he cringed a bit as he heard his own tone echo. He needed to sleep, damn it! He knew he was being harsh, being childish, but he couldn’t take everything that was going on right now. In short terms, he was overwhelmed and for once, he didn’t know how to mitigate what was flowing through him! He never knew how to control this blighted form! He never knew anything beyond whining and--

More shifting of the covers had Fane’s ears twitching and sticking a wedge between his thoughts and the spiral they wished to delve into, but not turning his gaze back, keeping it glued out the frosty windows. Maybe the sight of ice and snow would help get his mind to shut. up. Not likely, but it was worth a shot at this point. Anything was worth a shot. Anything, anything, any--!

“Vhenan.” A gentle call, one used for moments like this and one that once again pulled his mind back from the edge, but Fane still kept his gaze turned, beginning to trace shapes along the stained glass of the upper windows. Maybe his ritual would work if he kept trying. He just had to keep trying. Try, try, try!

“Why are there always so many squares?”, Fane asked rhetorically and with a dry air, eyes slowly darting along jagged patterns and equally as jagged lines. “I should change the design. Maybe the Qunari one?” He sneered a bit. “...No. That one has more squares. I’m tired of squares.” The word for exhaustion made his eyelids feel dry and unfathomably heavy, but they still wouldn’t close. He really wished they would close. Why wouldn’t they close?! Why wouldn’t his mind be sil--!

“Fane.” Another call, this one more firm, but still just as well meaning as a warm hand came up to touch his cheek, beckoning him to look back at the sky. “Look at me, ma’isenatha.” A light stroke of fingers against his jawline made Fane shiver, even as his body rose in temperature.

“No.”, Fane said, even as he subconsciously leaned towards his beacon of comfort and warmth, the palm softly coming to cup his cheek. “Just go back to sleep, Solas.”, he practically begged, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good.

Solas was as stubborn as he was clever, and more prone to worry than Fane was in regards to the other. They often butted heads due to their collective protectiveness, each arguing that the other needed to be more concerned about themselves whether in battle or not, but grudges were never held once they explained the situation or what made them panic so severely. Knowing that, Fane wanted to look to the sky, he did, but yet, he wouldn’t. He couldn’t bear to see more worry. Not right now. However, another warm sensation, not from a hand, against his cheek had him almost abandoning his squares. He was so, so childish…

“Ma’isenatha..”, Solas murmured against where he had placed a kiss upon his cheek, gentle concern making a normally smooth voice somehow smoother. “Talk to me.” A plea with a double meaning that had Fane sighing.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Solas.”, Fane muttered, gaze shifting downwards to the floor. “It wasn’t that bad. I didn’t puke, I didn’t tear from bed like a madman, but I can’t sleep. End of story.” The dismissal curt, but sufficient. For him, anyway.

---

This is a little snippet kind of showcasing how Fane deals with his nightmares when Solas is around. This is kind of early on, when they just start sharing quarters, so Fane is highly dismissive, but only because he doesn't want to keep worrying Solas about things that he thinks doesn't matter. *bonks the dragon on the head*

I think Solas would be very much the same way in terms of dismissing, but would be more likely to cave when faced with the fact that Fane understands. Cue crying!Solas because the world needs more of it! >:3 Fane would definitely offer Solas a sanctuary, opening his arms and silently waiting to see if the mage would take it. If Solas does opt to seek shelter, then Fane wouldn't utter a word, knowing that he can't say anything that man hasn't said to himself. Really, all Fane does is reassure Soals that he isn't alone.

Thoughts on each other's family?

Sooo...does the Evanuris count as family for Solas? I like to kind of think they do in some capacity! As such, Fane fucking despises them! Especially Elgar'nan! :D

Elgar'nan: "So this is a mighty white dragon? How disappointing."

*Fane slams his massive tail upon the palace floors, shattering the marble and crystal with a hard expression*

Solas: "And now?"

Yeah, fuck that guy! :D Seriously though, Fane's feelings towards Elgar'nan are...justified. I mean, his feelings towards all of the Evanuris are justified, but Elgar'nan was the one that made Fane leave his sky. *smiles*

Solas and Mhairi start of a bit...rocky. Mhairi tries to reach out, tries to connect with him due to being highly intrigued by his knowledge of the Fade and the elves, but since Solas is...Solas, he does the whole, 'Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you would wish to regale me with luminous tales of the elves. You are Dalish.' Solas actually tried that line on Fane and Fane just goes, '...Presumably. Who knows?'

But back to Mhairi and Solas! Mhairi and Solas eventually warm up to each other after Adamant, around the same time Fane and Solas become an item, and he begins to teach her how to control her magic a bit better. There's actually a mini short story I want to write that shows a huge development between Solas and Mhairi where he literally becomes another brother to her. Get caught by templars and having to think of clever ways to survive and use your magic without getting silenced would endow two mages to grow close. You get me? Especially when one becomes extremely terrified from the mere sight of the Templar insignia due to a traumatic incident where they were silenced. *smiles again*

Solas ends up caring for Mhairi very much, as much as Fane does actually. And obviously, Fane is extremely happy by that. Even if betrayal is in the future, it's nice to see his sky take every moment of joy that he can.

As for Fane's father... *laughs nervously* I'll just say this: a wolf's bite is worse than their bark. I'll let you envision that because fuck does Solas want to let the beast within take hold and tear until there's naught but bones left. It'll be the one time that the Dread Wolf comes out to hunt, to kill. And if I play the 'power couple' card? *sips teas delicately* Then I'll play it in earnest. >:3

Who has awful taste in music?

I think both Fane and Solas are fairly good about choosing music! They both lived during the time of Elvhenan, so gentle cadences and calming refrains would only make them both long for what they lost. Fane enjoys Maryden's songs, too! He'll stand up with Cole in the tavern and listen to them with the spirit, humming each note under his breath since he'd be a fool to try and sing.

Also, Fane can actually coax a melody or two from Leliana if she isn't too closed up. Solas ends up giving his dragon a tiny, tender smile when he comes waltzing down the stairs with a look and smirk that asks, "How'd you enjoy that show? Pretty good, hm?"

...They are such dorks. I'm awful. *cackles*

Who can rap better?

*stares at this question like the pikachu meme*

I...honestly don't know, to be honest! X'D Like if I had to really, really choose I would say Solas because the man already speaks in iambic pentameter, so he's got a flow going already! PFFFT! I know it's not anywhere close to the same thing, but it's all I can think of to justify why! X'D

Fane isn't...wordy enough for rapping. He would seriously short circuit at a request of such a thing and just go, 'No. The fuck?' He's 5,000 years old. He don't roll with the kids and their words. *cackles before coughing violently*

*neatly shuffles all your questions and places them back in the box with the answers* There you are, my dear friend! Thank you so much for stopping by the mailbox for the dragon and wolf! Do come again! >:D

[jq37]

The Royal Report– A Crown of Candy Ep 6  Chaos in the Cathedral

Candians v. The World

As sure as the sun rises and sets every day, a D&D session that starts with the DM telling everyone he loves them is a D&D session that’s going to end in tragedy. 

We begin with the stakes as dire as they’ve ever been. The PCs are in the Cathedral with 7 Tartguard and none of their other allies. Amethar has just been excommunicated from the church for adultery, stripped of his title, and ordered seized as--technically speaking--Candia is now at war with the rest of the Concord. They are surrounded on all sides, outnumbered, and there’s no easy way out.

And Jet decides to charge the Pontifex.

She grabs her water dagger (8d6 to Candians, 4d6 to everyone else, plus the poison cocktail Amethar suffered and only 1 Use--clearing up Keradin’s statement about there being 3 daggers) and says, “I’d rather be a bastard than a fool who believes in a bulb.” If she wants war, the Rocks family will bring it. She provokes an opportunity attack from Bonathan (the french fries fighter) but Theo blocks it and joins in on the heresy with a, “Fuck the Bulb!” The Pontifex screams as she takes 28 damage--though she burns a legendary resistance (which she apparently has) to avoid the poison effects.

War dog Amethar immediately starts looking for exits. He hears the guards on the other side lock the big, main door and he sees that there are these big, glass windows, but they are reinforced with crossbars that need to be broken for anyone except maaaaaybe the kids to squeeze through. He yells for the Tartguard to hold off the Imperial soldiers before running up to Jet and begging for her to cooperate for once in her life. “Please, do not die for me.” He physically picks her up and--on a Nat 20--throws her right up to a ledge where one of the big windows are. Once she’s up there, she sees that there are priest-archers in hiding, waiting to snipe them.

(Emily/Jet: You don’t have to worry about me.)

(Ally/Liam: We’re fucked. We’re absolutely fucked.)

The archers go, getting a shot at all three kids, including Nat 20 on Jet for an arrow in the back.

Liam (after considering an entirely different course of action that gets ret-conned away) Hunters Mark’s Bonathan and crossbows him. As he does, a familiar figure rounds the corner--Keradin, unshackled and bearing his mace.

“Witch. Is that the spell you cast on me?”

He goes to town, dealing a full 31 points of damage, bringing Liam down to 6. Theo also takes a beating this round, getting 27 points of damage from Plumbeline.

Lapin at first tries to goad Basha into joining the fight against the church by prodding at his pride but only a Nat 20 would entice him to take that bait and Zac doesn’t hit it. He did however hit a Nat 20 last week to find out more info about the Bulb and Brennan gives him the first piece of info now: The magic of the Bulb isn’t different from the magic of the Sugarplum Fairy. Power is power. A warlock is a cleric is a warlock. It’s a difference of semantics. With the rest of his turn, he casts Fly on Theo so he can get the kids up to the window and he stands in front of Liam to protect him (tossing him 2d6 of healing).

“I misjudged you,” says Theo.

“Oh, shut up,” says Lapin.

Ruby, twinning as always, decides to also attack the Pontifex, doing 28 damage with her grasping arrow (which also forces the Pontifex to stay in place or take damage).

On his turn, Theo (who is under strict orders from Amethar to save his kids) gets both Liam and Ruby up to the window--and still has the time to flip off the whole church and say, “Long live the Sweetening Path.”

The Chaos Continues

The knights attack Amethar. Amethar attacks the Pontifex. Grissini, filled with grim determination, attacks the Tartguard (5 go down). Jet chucks a crossbow priest off the ledge. 

Amethar grapples the Pontifex and declares, “I have your leader. Will you not defend her?” But on a 9 Intimidation check, everyone can hear the panic in his voice. Fine. Reckless attack: 14 damage. Onionpatch, weedy though he is, is able to break the grapple on his turn.

Liam tries to break the bars on the window--which Brennan has stressed several times is a very high DC to hit (Liam would need a Nat 20) and needs to take at least 20 damage at a time for it to stick at all--but doesn’t do it.

Keradin rains down blows on Lapin, the pretender, and Lapin goes down (the Fly spell on Theo going down at the same time). As he goes down, he has the second revelation about the Bulb gleaned from his Nat 20 from last session: the Bulb exists and it is powerful but it is mindless. It’s a pure source of power with no agenda or wants or desires. They’re worshiping a battery or a nuclear reactor. He rolls a death save. Failure.

Ruby gets out her rope, gives one end to Theo, then uses Mage Hand (which is invisible but, in reflection, can be seen as her Aunt Lazuli’s hand) to send the other half down to Amethar before casting Fog Cloud to make him harder to hit. 

Theo tries to drag Amethar up with the rope, but Amethar hasn’t had the chance to grab it yet so it just slips his grasp. He tries to break the bars on the window but fails. He wants to Compel Duel with Keradin to take the heat off Lapin, but he’s out of range.

The Pontifex heals herself, undoing many turns of effort. Amethar takes 9 points of damage from various knights. The remaining Tartguard go down. A Ceresian soldier tries to hit the prone Lapin but rolls a 1 and a 2, missing him entirely (somehow). 

Jet--who, as you might have guessed, has been very “Not Without my Father” all battle despite Amethar’s orders--attacks one of the priests and then uses her Maneuvering Attack ability to let Amethar move half his movement without provoking Opportunity Attacks--an ability that works despite the lack of line of sight caused by Ruby’s protective Fog Cloud. 

Amethar climbs the rope and gets to work on the window--hitting both times but only doing damage on the second. He does 22 points of damage but the bars have 30 HP so it’s gonna take another hit. The priest fighting Jet tries to disengage but her Sentinel ability activates and she slices him through, dead.

Liam sends Preston down to help Lapin with his death saves and then unsuccessfully tries to break the bars. Keradin immediately starts wailing on Preston and does 28 points of damage, dropping him.

Lapin has his second death save. Failure. 

Ruby tries to attack the bars but fails. She tries unshackle Manta Ray Jack (who was chained and tortured to get Amethar’s secret last episode) and fails even harder on double Nat 1s.

Brennan throws the gang a bone and says that the bars will now break on a 19 or 20 since Amethar weakened them and, what do you know, on his very next attempt, Theo rolls a 19. BAM, he rushes the window and immediately falls out. Jet grabs Liam and jumps out, taking most of the falling damage herself. Amethar throws Ruby out the window, looks back at Lapin’s body, then jumps out himself. Theo catches him, negating the damage that would have dropped him.

Lapin’s Big Day (Part 3)

Lapin is left alone in the church, Preston’s body still beside him, the Pontifex and Keradin above him, consciousness slipping away. He has one last death save and, on a 20, he’ll pop back up to 1 HP and get a turn. It’s absolutely his only chance. He rolls.

13, for the rabbit whose luck has run out. 

He does an Insight check on the Pontifex and, on a 14, he gets the sense that she doesn’t know the true nature of the Bulb and she doesn’t care. She just cares about power.

“Heretic, apostate, warlock of the Sugarplum Fairy. You mock all that which is bright and shining. Do you have any last words?”   

And, legend to the end, Lapin says, “The Bulb cares for no one.”

The Pontifex tells Keradin to end it but, before he does, Lapin hears a voice in his ear.

“They wouldn’t have survived this without you. My final wish is for you to come home.”

And Keradin dashes Lapin across the stone of the cathedral.

In Memoriam

I knew last week that I would be writing a eulogy for a piece of candy today, but I had my money on the wrong piece of candy (or pieces of candy rather). 

Lapin had the most to lose in this fight, and the easiest out. He was still, at least on paper, aligned with the church. He could have just hung back and let the others escape while he did nothing or sent an Eldritch Blast flying that purposefully missed its mark. There was a path out of this for Lapin in simply doing less. 

But he didn’t. He had exactly one proper turn all fight and he used that turn to turn the tide of the entire encounter. If he doesn’t step up to protect Liam, Liam absolutely drops. If he doesn’t cast Fly on Theo, Ruby and Jet are screwed. If Ruby and Jet can’t get that Fog Cloud/Maneuvering Attack double team, Amethar is screwed. He saved everyone. He’s *always* saved everyone. That is the entire story of Lapin in this game. The grumpy but loyal bastard whose last words to the party are, “Oh shut up,” when he’s told he’s been misjudged.

Lapin’s game was cut tragically short but, man, did he cram so many epic moments into the time he was given. From single-handedly keeping Ruby and Amethar up during the Ambush to his skillful manipulation of damn near everyone he came into contact with at the Tournament and then his heroic sacrifice in this ep, and getting to meet death with defiance for his enemy and praise from his patron. 

Many mid-campaign deaths are unceremonial and just kinda random, like in real life, but Lapin’s death really did have a poetry and a sense of closure to it. He was told he needed to protect the Rocks family. He was told boldness would be required. He said if anyone found out about him he would die. Check, check, and check. And death even came for him on the third fight--I absolutely live and die by the rule of three and, apparently, so does Lapin.  

To die in the stronghold of the church he infiltrated, secret out, more knowledge about the inner machinations of the religion than possibly even the Pontifex herself, secure in the thought that with his death, he bought his charges enough time to make a run for it is, I think, a lot more closure than a lot of characters get. That’s a full arc. 

Plus, he got one more sick one-liner for the road. 

And, let’s not forget, our baby boy Peppermint Preston who fell taking blows meant for Lapin, sent down by Liam who earlier that week was convinced that Lapin hated him. It seems like a waste, but that’s only because it’s how the dice shook out. How badass would it have been if he’d drawn the attacks and Keradin had whiffed them or if Preston had dropped, but Lapin had rolled a Nat 20, popped back up, scooped him, and left--healing him on the way out? It could have been great. 

But it wasn’t. It was just brutal. 

So, RIP to our boys. May they be doing shots with the Sugarplum Fairy in Candy Heaven.

Things I’m Concerned About

The Candians were pretty screwed no matter what they did in this episode, but man they truly decided to burn all their bridges with all the F the church talk, blatant magic, and attacking the Pontifex. They are fully terrorists at this point. 

None of their people (besides the Tartguard) were in the church when this happened. What happens to them? Do they have time to alert them? Are they all just dead?  

I wish Jet hadn’t used that knife on the Pontifex. Like, it’s the least of their worries but not only was it a waste, it makes it seem like the attack on Amethar was a false flag which would also make the attack on the road seem like even MORE of a false flag. That was tactically Not Good. 

Because of the way the information was tortured out of Manta Ray Jack (sidenote--are they, like, gonna kill him?), it seems like the Candians might still have allies in the Dairy Islands (as in, they know the Candians were railroaded and didn’t attack first) but this is such a crappy position to put someone in and the Dairy Islands are already weak. Plus, there’s at least one known bad actor there. Who knows who can be trusted at this point?

Where do they even go from here? The rest of the map is at war with them. If they can make it home, war will follow them there too. What is the victory condition here? Dismantling the entire church? If so, yikes.

And, speaking of, the church was really wilding out just having Keradin come out to fight the PCs. Does this mean he’s off the hook? Alfredi too? It seems like they very well might be now that their actions can be retroactively “justified”. Still curious about whether they were working under the church’s direct orders or doing their own shady thing that happened to align with the church’s goals. 

THEY HAVE NO HEALER. Like, unless Zac’s next character is also a healer, the party is now in the most precarious position they’ve ever been in with no healer. Hands down, the worst person who could have gone down, party comp-speaking.

Five More Things

There’s a rule in law school called the laugh test and it says that, before you make an argument, say it out loud and see if you can get through it without laughing. And there’s a part in this episode where Siobhan is proposing some BS but I don’t even know what it was because she just fully breaks herself and can’t get through it, and that’s the best illustration of that rule I’ve ever seen in practice. And, while we’re here, the other two A+ Siobhan moments this episode were her face at her double Nat 1s, and, to Lou for reminding Brennan that attacks on him get advantage, “You’re a good man. I’m gonna miss you so much.”

Man, how painful is it that Lapin got to see into the Matrix and figure out the Bulb and then he had the knowledge immediately die with him? Absolutely brutal.

The tension at the table this episode. The ominous music that felt bad until it would cut out completely, which was infinitely worse. The burying of heads into hands and leaning on each other for support. This episode was a LOT. I can’t IMAGINE having been at that table. And I had a week to make my peace with the idea that someone was most likely gonna die. To have to deal with this right on the heels of last ep? Geez.

Hearing on Adventuring Party how Zac planned to have Lapin give a bad guy speech and Thunderstep out with Liam if Initiative had shook out differently really makes it hit home how D&D is really about those in the moment things you can’t control. This could have been a very different encounter but was Jet supposed to NOT try and stab the Pontifex? Of course not, she HAD to. She’s JET. And she got to set the tone of the fight because she rolled highest. 

Can you imagine if Amethar had jumped out the window, taken that damage, and just dropped? And failed his death saves? And they had no healer? 

Just as a final note, I have to give major props to the whole cast for this episode. We’ve known that this was the “actions have consequences” season since it was announced, but this is really the first time we’ve really gotten to see the extent of the consequences and everyone handled it very well--the PCs staying true to character, even it wasn’t optimal, but still playing smart, and Brennan for facilitating such emotionally difficult scenes. This is peak D&D y’all.

[theteenygemthief]

The Things That Weigh On You: Chapter 3

Rating: Explicit   |   Word Count: 4077  |  My Hero Academia | HawksxOCxDabi

Warning: The Things That Weigh On You features Sexual Themes, Violence, Drug abuse and touches on topics of personal trauma, mental illness and assault. Reader discretion is advised.

Credits: The image of Hawks is a screenclip from the anime. 

It’s just as easy to justify being a hero when everyone excuses your actions with the amount of glamour and power that comes with it. The media covers all of your triumphs and failures. You get endorsements. It’s almost second to being an A-List celebrity. But what happens when hero’s fall and suddenly, the justification leaves? What happens when ones own inflated ego gets the better of them and how do they bounce back from the rubble?

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

The rise and fall...

      He had been watching from a distance in interest as their fingers interlaced with one and other. A curious yet dissatisfied glint shimmered in his eye as he leaned against a telephone pole with feigned relaxation. The bullet train that had arrived earlier had long since sped away and the announcer had been making her afternoon calls. His lips pulled into a thin line and he could feel himself bristling as his brows pinched together. His downy mess of sleeked back blond hair moved with the breeze as crimson feathers were near difficult to keep in one place. When he went to his old prison, he had crept in through the window, seeing that she had still kept his room clean, still setting his favorite books out to read as if he were going to be studying for some big exam. He saw how she tried to keep things the way she thought he liked them. She did the same things for her little sister, despite her leaving some time ago. As if it would be enough to bring both of them back.

    Edith, had always referred to him as though he were a little brother.

For a while, he ran with it to make her happy. He didn't mind. Hell, he even thought it would be a great idea for him to stop in after four years to show how big of a name he had made for himself. Make his supposed adopted older sister proud of him by saying “Hey look, I'm a big deal now!”, and what a better way to do that than showing up as a surprise guest at a gala? If only he'd known the extent of his emotions when he saw her standing at the balcony with a glass of champagne in hand. Her Crimson eyes staring over the veranda in deep thought as the light from the inside reflected off of the rhinestones of her midnight colored mermaid gown. Her lips had been painted red for the occasion and her arms had been covered in lace opera gloves. Open caplet sleeves and a bare neck and single ponytail adorned with pearls and crystals gave a regal air about her. Almost like the stories about the queens or goddesses they would read together when they were young.

    If he could laugh at himself.

The man he had seen her with had been far beneath her league with his leopard print suit and tacky alligator shoes. Yet her calm and calculated demeanor with him at least meant that she tolerated the bastard. He wasn't hardly a notable hero to say the least. Just some schmuck with an extension quirk and nothing more. Someone who was prone to get handsy if one wasn't too careful, and yet he felt that she had completely and totally forgotten about him. So he decided it would be best to dip out without a hello, stop in and say hi to little sister Daphne and be on his merry way.

As it turned out, the man had been a renowned serial killer and it had put Edith in a kill or be killed situation, where she had to resort to defensive execution. The police wouldn't have gotten there on time to find her alive. Pictures from that same night spread all over the news over the span of three days. “Susanoo Kills” or “The Fall of Fukuoka's Battle Queen”. The paparazzi went into a complete and utter frenzy attempting to obtain details of the incident and why a pro hero resorted to murder rather than call the police. She was a small town hero who lived under his old handlers big name. And after it all died down, he found himself watching as her little sister left. Leaving her to come back hours later to find a note that was left on the dining room table. And he would watch as she left the note, pour herself a drink, come back to it and read it again, leave it on the table, repeat. Until finally, watching her had become too painful.

   She fell as he rose.

   And he wasn't sure if he was supposed to feel dirty or proud.

His thoughts were pulled back to the present as he watched Dabi pull Edith close and he straightened. He could feel his irises shrink to thin rings as he beheld the sight of the taller of the two claiming her lips and watching her melt into them. He could feel his breath catch and his heart race as he proceeded to stand and watch intently at the two. His distance wouldn't blow his cover to say the least but the ache that he felt, the sting was beyond what he had been used to.

   “Ed...” He whimpered. “Ed, what are you doing?”

The winged hero Hawks could feel his face twist into a tight grimace as his teeth clenched. Every fiber of his being told him to look away, yet he still stared at the two in the distance. Watching. Waiting for something to happen. He knew Edith was a person of her own convictions. He was fully aware of her need for independence. And if this situation was forced, she would make a move. She would punch him. Stab him. Do something. Anything.

   Nothing.

And as he watched as another bullet train pulled in, he could see the intimacy in both of their eyes. The intimacy that he so desperately desired. He continued to watch as Edith turned, only to be pulled into what seemed to be another earth shattering kiss. He felt himself grow week as her knees buckled and Dabi entered the train with her, there was need in her eyes as she looked at him and Hawks continued to feel an ever growing twinge of jealousy. Wishing that he was the one who could do that.

   But he digressed.

He wouldn't get into something like that for a while. Instead, he would bide his time and see where the path ahead would lead him.

      She was pushed into the bathroom stall as greedy fingers trailed beneath the hem of her shorts. Hungry kisses consumed her throat and collar bone as a familiar click could be heard from behind her companion. His eyes were ablaze with a bestial need that longed to be quelled from their earlier encounter in the shower and the low rumble in his chest only signified the urgency of his desire. She parted her lips to say something, yet all words were chased away when his lips crashed against hers in a searing kiss. Soon, Edith's jacket would be stripped away. Her black turtleneck crop top would be nudged over her breasts with the black lace bralette she wore beneath, and she would be fighting everything in her power not to make a sound as Dabi slowly sunk between her thighs. Her back arched as his tongue slowly dragged along her inner folds, teasing her entrance for just a brief moment as he balanced her quaking body on his shoulders. His voice emitted vibrations against her clit  as he growled, encircling his tongue around the nerve.

   “Look at you,” He teased. “You are trying so hard not to come undone. You have fallen so far and yet you still worry so much about your image, little girl.”

Edith's eyes flared with mild irritation as her fingers dug into her companions scalp. She knew he was making attempts to get to her. See what made her angry. She knew the psychological evaluations that he had performed on her during their conversations were far from judgmental, but they had still been irritating. He wanted her as more than just a casual fuck buddy and she wouldn't deny that the feeling was mutual. Their relationship had been developing for a while, and he had challenged her. She still feared the day he would decide it wasn't worth coming back. Decided that she wasn't good enough or that she wasn't worth his salt.

Her thighs tightened around his head as she hummed lowly, pressing her hips tighter against his maw and seething as he accepted her.

   “Not all of us are born without expectations, Cinders.” She mocked, bucking her hips harder and throwing her head back as his teeth grazed the nerve again.

He wasn't going to correct Edith on the expectations bit. There was no point. He wasn't going to tell her about his childhood or his father. He had made a point of reinventing himself to set himself apart from it all. So instead, he rolled with her punches in this instant. Grinning to himself about how adorable he felt her momentary ignorance was. She would eventually learn about his past, yet that would come about at a later time. Depending on whether or not the situation required it. Dabi pulled away as he felt her quake against him, knowing full well how close she was and set her back on the floor, steadying her against him as he knelt down to pull her panties and shorts back up. He with held a teasing laugh as she whined at him to continue and looked up at her with a raised brow. Did she really think she was going to be let off the hook for her assumptions that easily? He slowly rose and towered over her, sealing his lips against hers for a brief moment so that she may taste herself.

   “I don't plan on finishing until we get back to your place, fangs.” He crooned. “Consider it punishment for mouthing off to me.”

    The house had nearly been encased in a shroud of darkness as Dabi and Edith crept in through the back. Doing their best to avoid attention from prying eyes. During their trek, it had been obvious that someone had been following them. The occasional flurry of fabric or movement in the corner of their eye had set them on edge, and the fire starter of the two knew that he couldn't return home for the evening. Edith did not mind at all.

   “Relax.” She reassured.

   “I can't.” he argued.

He stared out her bedroom window as she lit candles in the background. He'd been watching her from the reflection of the glass and doing his best to keep it a secret. Her bedroom had been minimalist to say the least. She kept a coffee table in the middle of the space to entertain guests or close herself off from the world. He wondered how often she closed herself off. How many bad days or weeks she'd had when he wasn't around? He couldn't focus on what they had been doing earlier knowing that she had let her fall get the better of her. Sometimes, he wondered if she felt any conviction to being a villain. Vigilante had been a strong maybe for her. She didn't have it in her to blatantly kill anyone based on their conversations. She was still too much of a goodie good. As much as it annoyed him, it was sweet that she tried. His eyes wandered down to the garden, watching as a couple took the back road home in deep conversation. Had he been able to live a normal life, that might have been him and the woman behind him. The idea of the two walking home arm in arm, deep in conversation on the way home from the grocery store, possibly expecting a child on the way as they hypothesized the quirks they would have was a fantasy that could only afford to be lived in a dream.

   Villains didn't get that reality.

    SMACK!

The sound in and of itself was enough to start a small fire in the bedroom as he jumped and spun on his heal. His hands cast aflame while his cool blue irises glowed with white hot embers. He had been ready to kill in that moment, only to find Edith's hand curled into a fist around a rolled up KEIRA magazine. Her fists had paled along with the rest of her body as if she had seen a ghost.

   “What happened?”

   “I had to kill a roach.”

Suddenly, all of the tension he had been holding on to had disappeared as he saw his former fuck buddy, now lover, standing like an actual god of war over the corpse of a roach.And the sound that escaped from him had been far from human.

       He spun around in circles as he moved to and fro in his swivel chair. His agency had been calling him several times to receive updates regarding his entry into the League of Villains and it was safe to report that no one had suspected him of anything. At least, so long as he was able to maintain that lie. One person in particular had recognized him and she had been standing behind one of their lieutenants in the shower as her eyes met his. He recalled how the curve of her hips had barely stuck out from behind Dabi as he tucked her protectively in the corner. Something told him that if the Fallen Hero Susanoo had been co-mingling with the league, he would have orders to kill her. He knew just how fast his quirk worked compared to hers, and just how intimately it would effect her if she dared to turn it on him. Then he would have no choice.

His fingers rapped on the edge of the computer desk as he tried to make sense of everything. Tried to figure out how to remove her from the equation in a way where she wouldn't get hurt. Otherwise, he would have to make a decision as to whether or not it was worth being a superhero himself.

   “You seem rather transfixed on the files in front of you, boy.”

There it was. The voice he had been dreading all night. He turned to face a man who had been an idol to him since he was small and smiled gleefully, acting as though he had been greeting an old friend as he slowly stood. In comparison the man stood at about six foot four and the fire that he donned on his suit could easily be used as a torch in a dark cave. Perhaps an ignition for a gas pocket if he trekked deep enough. But in that moment, his cold blue eyes were trained on reading him. Looking for a hole that he might have failed to cover up as he looked around the room. His spiked red hair added a menacing touch to his demeanor as he towered over him with folded arms.

    “I'm just planning my movements four steps ahead, Endeavor.” He replied, coolly. “With this type of organization you can never be too careful. The information they have is valuable and could potentially cost thousands of people their lives.”

Personally he wished he could turn his back on those people. He didn't understand what the point was in protecting a public who treated you like a damn movie star when you did absolutely nothing for them in their daily lives. Matter of fact, his public face was nothing more than a farce to keep up appearances for the top ten. It may as well have been a pissing match to see who was better at being a self righteous asshole.

   “I noticed that you've been to Fukuoka, recently.”

   “I have.”

There was a long pause that had run his blood cold. He knew what the other pro hero was about to ask as he did his best to keep his mask on.

   “Did you pay her a visit?”

Hawks could feel his stomach turn and twist as the trick question fell upon him. He had to think of an answer as quickly as possible to avoid suspicion, or some sort of confused reaction. He didn't want to bring up what he saw by the train station earlier in the day, nor did he want to confide in a man who could incinerate him right then and there.

   “Who?” He asked, keeping a stupid smile on his face.

If playing the fool could fan the flames of rage on a man who only very recently took the top of the hero's roster any more than it did in that instant, he would make it a personal hobby of his. Endeavor was so easy to manipulate in to a state of frustration, and like a jenga tower, his composure was so easy to set off balance. Unfortunately, the smaller of the two men facing eachother was not so easily swayed. He could keep a clueless smile on his face while knowing exactly what he was doing in the midst of danger, all the while his opponent would reveal their hand in thinking he wouldn't use it to his advantage.

So as the flame hero threatened to torch the entire room to ashes, the avian took note of the fire extinguisher in reach.

   “Takeda Nonoka's grand daughter, you stupid little...” Endeavor trailed off in a flurry of growls and curses at the smaller man.

   “Don't remember her.” Hawks said blankly.

   “Fallen hero, Susanoo.”

   “Nope.”

He really didn't know why they continued referring to her as Fallen Hero. She had stated in several interviews that she had killed in self defense. He watched as reporters hounded scoop after scoop on the matter, given that the serial killer she had executed was also a superhero.

   “Bah!” The older man finally grunted, leaving without another word.

Hawks listened carefully as his stomps disappeared down the hall and waited at least an hour before leaving.

He needed a reprieve.

     Edith slowly wandered up and down the aisle, collecting ingredients for a stew she had learned how to make when she was young. It was simple, nothing too big and was easy to send Dabi home with while leaving enough for leftovers. Hopefully no one would try and take his food. She remembered sending him home with lamb curry one evening and received a message more than two hours later regarding him having to make it again himself. And when she hadn't responded he had called her ten minutes later to apologize for not eating the food she'd sent him home with. And now, he was waiting for her to get back home with the ingredients and asking if she wanted him to prep anything, or clean any important dishes. It was a temporary paradise that she could live with.

Temporary being till the moment he went back on his words.

   “Don't forget the eggplant.” came a voice.

   “Oh believe me.” She said without thinking. “Grams would kill me if I forgot the eggplant.”

   “And the potatoes?”

   “Already at home.”

She turned to the person speaking to her with a smile, only for it to fade into the abyss. A woman just a few inches taller stood beside her as long wavy black hair fell over her shoulders. Her white trench coat hung down to the middle of her calves as black heeled boots lifted her heel just an inch off the ground. Brown eyes studied her intently as she peered past black spectacles at the older of the two. Her calm demeanor ensuring that no one would pay attention unless the younger of the two made a scene. The basket in Edith's arm nearly fell and as she moved to catch it, she looked up again and the woman was gone. Every muscle in her body had tensed. She wasn't sure how to react and her mind had filled with questions. Questions that would follow her until she sat down for dinner.

She knew Dabi had been watching her. Picking her apart like some science experiment in a psyche ward that continued to make the same mistakes over and over. Perhaps the issue was her. Maybe she was the reason why so many people went away. And if that was the case, how could she change it? How could she turn herself around and make herself more likable? Were there likable villains? No, if there were, they would be endorsed by big corporations and given assignments like heroes were. Her fingers clutched at the table cloth as her mind pondered why a woman she hadn't seen in years had suddenly been showing up after so long. Why would she appear at a grocery store of all places and how did she possibly know that Edith was there? These sorts of things raised questions as to what she needed all of her life. Or if being a villain was a birthright of hers.

   “Fuck.” She cursed.

     Her hands covered her face as she tried to hold back all the emotions that had been hitting her in that instant. Another hand had gently landed on her arm and though she didn't dare herself to look up, at least some semblance of relief washed over a part of her.

   Screams had echoed throughout the building as bodies littered the ruins of her hometown. Bomb sirens sounded off, she had been hiding beneath what remained of a fallen building and her heart had been racing. Crashing and explosions could be heard in the distance as she was currently one of the standing few. A ringing noise in her ear caught her attention as laughter mixed in with the sounds of someone screaming. Fire and ash entered her view and her heart began to race. She couldn't use her quirk. She had no weapons or anything to defend herself against her unknown adversary. And she grit her teeth as she felt helpless with the whole situation.

“Look out!” Cried a voice.

Edith barely had time to think as a force sped into her side, lifting her out of harms way and stealing her breath altogether. Shock had begun to overtake her. She was only a small time superhero who had little experience with life or death situations. She knew the reality of it all, she understood, but she had never had to deal with a situation so intense.

“I'm here.” The same voice reassured. “Just hold on to me, okay?”

Her breath began to settle as she nodded and looked up, the sun flashing in her eyes.

     She was whimpering in her sleep again. It was times like these where he felt helpless and incapable of doing anything. When she had returned, something had very obviously shaken her and he knew it. You can't shake quarts without chipping at its roots. And his lips drew into a thin line as to what exactly her roots were. He knew that her mother was a supervillain who expressly showed little interest in her development, though nothing that her grandmother couldn't make up for. However, unlike him, her trauma came at a later date. A later time and even though she had decided to become a hero as a child, the psychological damage she had gone through was pretty apparent. As for the physical...well, based on her scars, he could see that she had barely been through the ringer. Yet there were still those who could sweet talk their way out of a situation or be a complete and total wise ass where it was inappropriate.

He guessed she did quite a deal of sweet talking.

His icy blue eyes landed on a discoloration on the back of her shoulder and his mind slowly tried to make sense of it. As he ran his thumb over the mark, he had found that the skin in the area had smoothed over and thickened just slightly over time. Not like a flesh wound, but like a burn scar. Dabi's eyes narrowed into slits.

   “Was this the intent to punish or the means to kill?” he mused.

Sure, he'd seen the mark many times before. No one would even notice it just by a passing glance, and he had been certain that she'd forgotten all about it. He knew full well that he couldn't stop her from whatever decisions lay ahead. She would drink his blood and kick his ass with his own fire if he tried. But in the very least, he could dress the wounds and even stay beside her as she healed. That would at least be enough, wouldn't it?

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Chapters:

P-1, CH2, CH3

[hookedontaronfics]

Honky Dancer - Chapter 9

Chapter title: Recovery and Reconciliation Read the previous installments here: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3  | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Rating: M Pairing: Taron x OC Warnings: Mentions of an eating disorder, medical drama, subtle mentions of sex A/N: I know you all have been waiting to know the outcome of what happened after the cliffhanger I left with you last chapter. I truly apologize it took me so long to put this together, and I hope it lives up to all of your expectations. There’s not a lot of action in this, but there are a lot of emotions, so I hope you hang on for the ride. When things get dark, the people we love truly are the lights we keep fighting for. Always remember to be someone else’s light; it may save their life. X

Soft sheets, but not soft enough. Maybe the industrial-produced kind. A quiet whooshing noise. Dim light. The smell of antiseptic hanging heavy in the dry, static-filled air. When I first assumed consciousness, it hurt to open my eyes, so these were my first impressions of the world around me, from what I could sense. But while I could try to analyze the stimuli around me, I had very little sensation coming from my own body, and that concerned me more than anything. Of course, I was probably on strong painkillers, but the absence of pain made me feel no longer grounded. Instead, I just felt drained and lethargic, like it would take far too much effort to even lift my arm.

Where was I? What had happened? I fought through the mental fog clouding my thoughts as I tried to remember. We were filming, on set, of that I was certain. Flashes of dancing played behind my still-closed eyelids. I remembered how hot it felt that day, the shimmers of heat bending the air. I didn’t feel well, but I’d pushed through like the stubborn fool I was. I had… fainted? Collapsed? Given up? I wasn’t sure entirely, but now here I was, prone in a hospital bed and not sure what was going to happen next.

I groaned slightly and felt the need to move suddenly, shifting uncomfortably, slowly becoming more aware of the weight of tubes and wires snaking across my body. A low moan escaped me and then a voice asked “Juliette?”

I instantly popped my eyes open, the room a wash of white. I knew that voice, of course, but it wasn’t the one I’d been hoping to hear. “How are you feeling?” Markus asked concernedly.

“I’m stuck in a hospital bed, Markus. How do you think I feel? Like shit,” I said bitterly.

“Of course. Dumb question,” he said, not even blinking at my tone.

“Why are you even here?” I asked, staring at some point on the wall above his head. “And where is Taron?” I asked softly, despite myself.

“Your lover has been here already, but he couldn’t stay. He had obligations beyond you. He brought your phone and purse, they’re over there,” Markus sighed, running a hand through his hair. “But what happened to you, it concerns me too,” he said, not unkindly.

“Concerns you? Like you give a rat’s arse about me,” I said, angry at him, and angry at myself too. Angry at the world, really, but for what I couldn’t even define.

“It...affects me. Alright? I had a fucking personal stake in this whether I wanted it or not,” he said, his voice a bit choked up.

“What are you going on about, Markus?” I asked.

“The baby. Our baby. You … lost it,” he said, and I instantly felt my blood run cold.

“What?” I asked, struggling to sit up. 

“When they brought you to the hospital, you were dehydrated, and malnourished, and miscarrying. You lost the baby.”

No, no, it couldn’t be true. It couldn’t be real. I was still pregnant, I had to be.

“You didn’t take care of yourself, so you caused this. You killed our child,” he continued, his words turning sharp, ruthless, cutting deep. The pain that blossomed through me, no drug could touch.

“No,” I whispered, horrified at this new reality. A reality I wished I hadn’t woken up to. I felt sick to my stomach, hitting the call button for the nurse, certain I was going to puke in my own lap. The tears threatened at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to cry in front of Markus. He didn’t deserve my tears.

“You didn’t even care. You wanted me to get an abortion. How is this different? Why are you using this to hurt me?” I said, gasping for air, feeling like my lungs were seizing up in my chest.

“Oh, Juliette, it’s just simply what you deserve,” he said, those steely eyes of his as closed off as a mask. He delighted in my pain, a pain I couldn’t escape. I slowly smoothed my hands over my stomach, my hip bones protruding prominently, feeling empty in a way I had never known, not even in my darkest moments before.

“No,” I said again, feeling the grief compounding in my chest. I hadn’t known I was pregnant for very long, but that didn’t matter. The bond had been instant, the hope for this baby immense. I was its mother and now I had nothing - I would never hear its cry, I would never be able to nurse it, I would never sing it lullabies in the 3 a.m. dusk. There wouldn’t be belly laughs and first words, rounds of patty-cake and jars of baby food. There wouldn’t be tiny fingers and tiny toes to kiss, the sweet smell of milk breath, the discovery of new things. And I wouldn’t be able to experience those moments with Taron either. I felt a pang so deeply in my soul for him, an ache, a longing for him just to hold me in that moment. But there was distance between us now, and I didn’t know how he would respond to all of this either.

A nurse with a kind face and brown hair pulled tight in a ponytail swept into the room after knocking. “Glad to see you’re awake,” she smiled brightly at me, but I couldn’t return it. She seemed to notice my distress right away. “Oh honey, let’s make sure you’re more comfortable,” she said, checking all of the med levels on the IV machine before checking my vitals and sitting with me as I fought off the urge to puke, clutching a bucket to my chest. Markus was silent through all of this, scrolling through his phone like he hadn’t just caused me this torment.

“I’ll see if I can get the doctor in here shortly to talk to you. You’ve had a rough go of it but we’re going to get you back to normal, sweetie, I promise,” the nurse said kindly. While I tried to appreciate her kindness to me, it was hard to pull myself out of the depressive pit I was sinking into. I could feel the wave of hopelessness clutching at the edges of my psyche.

“Markus, could you leave me alone for a while? I need to rest,” I made sure to say in front of the nurse, hoping this would mean he’d have no choice but to leave.

“I can sit right here while you sleep,” he said, almost smugly, but that just made the panic rise in my chest. I could not be left alone with this man again.

“No, please, just go,” I said, clutching hard at the blankets.

“Perhaps it would be best if we give Juliette some space,” the nurse said, reading my distress and emphasizing the last word. She stood up and looked expectantly at Markus, who sighed and stood up himself after a beat of awkward silence, shoving his hands deep in his pockets.

“Good luck with everything,“ was all he said before striding out, and I felt both relief and also more alone than ever.

“Do we need to put a security alert out for him?” the nurse asked sympathetically, but I shook my head.

“Not necessary. He won’t be back. He’s my ex and, it ended painfully,” I said, wiping at my eyes quickly.

“He doesn’t seem like a very kind man,” the nurse observed. “You’re better off without him, honey.” After promising, again, to get a doctor in to visit me as quickly as she could and making sure I was otherwise comfortable, she left me with my thoughts, which were veering toward a dangerous place.

I finally had the space to let out the tears, crying so hard I knew I was leaving snot all over my pillow, but I didn’t have the capacity to care at the moment. Fat, hot tears rolled down my cheeks, unbidden, though I tried to keep the sobs that wracked my body as silent as possible. I could now place a finger on that empty feeling in my body; I was no longer pregnant, and I couldn’t hide from that harsh truth. The abyss of pain yawned wide in my chest, beckoning me into its darkness. I didn’t feel I had much to live for, and maybe non-existence would be better than this pain.

But then there was Taron, and if I had anything to keep fighting for, it was him. I couldn’t leave things the way they had been. I couldn’t allow my mess of a life to ruin his. This wasn’t how things should be. I sniffled slightly, trying to calm myself down. I’d spent my tears already, and now my head was throbbing and my chest hurt and my nose was congested, and I really didn’t feel any better. I saw a box of tissues on the nearby bedside table and grabbed one, wiping away my tears, my fingers brushing against a tube taped to the side of my face. I followed it to my nose, and realized, with a sickening shock, that I had been fitted with a nasogastric feeding tube; they were forcing nutrients into my starved body, and for some reason that made me angry. Who’s right was it to decide that?

But, rationally, that’s what had landed me in the hospital in the first place. That’s what had cost me my baby in the first place. They were trying to save my life, but was it worth it? That question would haunt me for a while.

I managed to doze off for a bit, exhausted by my emotions and my depleted body, but my sleep was restless, my dreams troubled. I woke to a very different presence in the room. “Taron.” I could barely make my voice work, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes already just to see him there.

He looked tired - no, exhausted, his hair a mess, probably stuck under a bald cap and wig all day, but there was only concern in his expression. Concern for me, but I’m not sure I deserved it. “Hey, I’m here now,” he said softly, reaching over and gently taking my hand in his, careful of the IV lines.

“Are you sure that you want to be?” I asked hesitantly, and Taron’s brow wrinkled like I was being ridiculous.

“Of course, why would I be anywhere else?” he asked softly, sweetly brushing my hair out of my face, his fingers coming to rest under my chin. “Seeing you fall put some things in perspective. I don’t want to hold onto my anger any more. So those things that happened before, they don’t matter to me.”

“But they should, Taron. They should. I lied to you, about a lot of things. I was scared, yes, but that doesn’t excuse it,” I replied weakly.

“And I’ve forgiven you, and it’s as simple as that. People say they forgive each other all the time but it’s not real if you still hold a grudge, if you still hold it against them. Real forgiveness takes trust and courage. All I know is that losing you isn’t an option for me. So first, we focus on your recovery. Then, we can work on the rest of it. Okay?” he said gently. I found it hard to meet his beautiful peridot gaze.

“But… You shouldn’t be with a baby killer, you’re too good for that,” I said resentfully.

“What?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“I lost the baby. Markus said it was all my fault,” I whispered.

“Markus doesn’t know shit,” Taron replied instantly. “We both know he’s an idiot, and he doesn’t know the situation at all, so don’t you dare believe a word he says. I spoke with the doctor myself. The baby had a genetic defect, Juliette. It was never going to survive. Maybe the malnourishment contributed to this all happening at the same time, but love, it wasn’t meant to survive. You didn’t do this, okay? It’s sad, and it’s awful, and we’re going to mourn it, but please don’t take on that guilt as yours. It’s not,” he whispered, his eyes growing watery too. He paused to wipe quickly at his eyes. “I had hopes for this too, you know. I was excited for what could be, for us. I’m not going to let you feel alone in this. The baby is gone, yes, but you are still here, and you are what I have to focus on. I need you to get better.”

“I just don’t know if I can,” I said, closing my eyes and sighing heavily.

“What, get better?” he asked, knitting his brows together again.

“Move forward. I’m not strong enough. I’m not sure I deserve anything more.”

“Hey,” he said, “that’s not true. You’re one of the strongest people I know, next to maybe my mam,” he added with a cute laugh. “I’m sure right now it doesn’t feel that way, but I know you. I see you. It’s going to take time and it’s going to take as many steps back as you take forward, but you can move forward, and you do deserve to be happy again. It’s painful now, yes, but not impossible. You have so much to look forward to still. You have me.”

I opened my eyes again and gazed at him for a moment, feelings tumbling and crashing through me, the depression and grief clashing with the hope and love I felt for Taron. That was definitely something I think we took for granted in life; that emotions weren’t simple, black or white. They didn’t come to us one at a time, perfectly lined up so we could deal with each one in its time. No, life was much more complex than that, and oftentimes we were battered in a sea of emotion, in a constant battle of contradiction. How did anyone ever figure themselves out?

“One day at a time, Juliette. I just need you to fight for you right now,” he continued after watching me wrestle with my inner turmoil.

I nodded and closed my eyes again. “Just so tired,” I murmured softly.

“You should sleep. I’ll be right here,” he said, pulling the blankets up around me again. I couldn’t help but smile over his tenderness, something he still wished to bestow upon me despite everything we’d been through. I felt myself slowly sliding toward sleep again, and gratefully surrendered. 

I wasn’t asleep for long, though, as a doctor arrived finally to advise me of my condition. He explained some of the obvious, corroborating what Taron had told me about my miscarriage, and also some of the less obvious problems, the dehydration and malnutrition that had caused my collapse and an acute kidney infection resulting from it, which I was now on heavy antibiotics for, and a concussion from hitting my head on the concrete road. My bloodwork levels were incredibly out of sync, and my body had been crashing hard when they rushed me into the ER, which was likely why I felt like shit now, lethargic and headachey and exhausted. I was also assigned a therapist, whom I was going to have to have consultations with over acute anorexia nervosa and depression. In other words, I was a complete and utter mess.

But somehow even worse than all of that was the fact that I’d managed to sprain my ankle too when I’d fallen. My leg was bound in a heavy plastic boot, which I discovered when I hastily yanked the covers back. I gasped and shook my head in disbelief; this directly threatened my livelihood and I didn’t know how I was going to cope.

I tried to not have a meltdown in front of the doctor and nurse and Taron, but I could feel it clawing at my brain. I grabbed my phone to try and distract myself, surprised by the many text messages from other dancers and my friends who knew what had happened, at least. I tried to respond to those as best I could after the doctor and nurse had excused themselves. I had several voice messages from Zayn and my mother, and I realized I needed to let them know I was going to be okay. The production, of course, had already contacted them, as was protocol in an emergency situation. But to hear from me would probably be good.

Just as I was dialing my mum’s number, though, a knock came on the door and she popped her head in. “Mum!” I nearly cried, struggling to sit up and nearly getting knocked back into the pillows by her embrace.

“Juliette, my darling, darling girl,” she said into my hair, running her fingers through it before holding me out at arms length and looking at me. “Don’t you ever, ever do that to me again. You scared me half to death. I had no idea you were so sick,” she said, tears running down her face. “Why didn’t you talk to me, honey? I could have helped you, I could have…” she said, her words cut off by her sobs.

“Oh god, mum,” I said, also tearing up and trying to hug her again. “Mum, I’m fine. I’m going to be okay. I promise,” I said, my voice breaking slightly.

“I know, honey. But I feel like I should have seen it. I should have noticed you were hurting,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed, careful of my leg, which was resting on a pillow now.

“Mum, I hid it from everyone that ever loved me. I’m still sick, you know... in here,” I said, pointing at my head. “But I have people in my life worth fighting for, and I know that. Clara, you … Taron…” I smiled over at him, caught up in the emotion I saw there in his face. “It’ll be alright,” I whispered softly, finally laying back into the pillows, already worn out but happy to have my mum there.

We talked quietly for a while, and I’m pretty sure I went in and out of sleep, at least until the nurse came back to check my vitals and suggested I should eat something. I had no desire to eat but knew this was a major test I needed to get over if I was ever to get this damnable tube out of my nose. So I would have to pretend until it was no longer pretend, until my brain didn’t see food as the enemy. I ordered something off the menu that sounded remotely palatable, but when it arrived even the smell made me want to throw up.

Still, with my mum and Taron there to support me, I picked up the applesauce and slowly peeled back the lid. “You can do this, Juliette. You need to do this,” Taron said, watching me carefully, a supportive hand on my knee. My hand shook slightly as I picked up the spoon and dipped it into the applesauce, staring at it for probably uncomfortably long before finally putting the bite of applesauce in my mouth. It tasted okay, and my stomach even gave a small rumble, realizing, even if my brain didn’t, that I hadn’t eaten in over 24 hours.

I managed to swallow that first bite, and then it was like something inside my brain snapped, and I wolfed down the rest of the applesauce without another thought. I was hungry, absolutely starving, and no matter how much I worried about calories and being fat, I couldn’t deny the almost-nauseous pain in my stomach any longer. Soon after that applesauce, I dug into the other food on the tray, eating greedily and not seeing the looks my mum and Taron were exchanging, words being said without a voice.

“I need to pee,” I finally spoke up, pushing the food tray away from me.

“I’ll call the nurse,” my mum said, reaching for the button.

“No, I’ve got it,” I grumbled slightly, peeling off the covers and awkwardly swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

“I think we should get some help, babe,” Taron said hesitantly, instantly going to support me, as I was a bit precarious on the edge of the bed. A wave of dizziness passed over me, likely a result of my concussion, but I wasn’t willing to let that win.

“I have to try,” I said, gripping the bed railing tightly and slowly lowering my feet to the ground, the boot making a clunk on the cold tiled floor. I winced slightly, aware that my ass, clad in a massive pair of mesh granny panties to absorb the blood from my miscarriage, was open to the world in the starchy hospital gown, but my bladder was insistent. My mum carefully unplugged the IV from the wall so we could wheel the tower into the bathroom, and I carefully shifted my weight into my feet. Despite the support the boot gave, a sharp crack of pain ran up my leg, making me cry out and reach for whatever was nearby; thankfully, that was Taron, and he kept me from falling to the floor.

“I think we should have waited for help,” he said, as he clutched me tightly to his chest, helping me hobble to the bathroom before I had an accident on the floor. I had to admit he was probably right, as I sat there on the toilet, groaning silently as I relieved myself. Taron leaned in the doorway, his soft, caring, gentle eyes taking me in. He wanted to fix this all for me, I knew, but he couldn’t.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, if I can’t dance,” I whispered softly, blinking in the harsh fluorescent light of the bathroom. “I’ll lose Rocketman, and my classes at the Academy, and then what am I? I’ve defined my life by dance.”

“I think right now is not the time to worry about the what ifs to come. You have a road of recovery ahead of you, and you are more important than any career. Besides that, most of the major dance numbers are already done, and you if you focus all of your energy on getting better, maybe you’ll be back in time for Bennie. But regardless of that, the most important thing is you right now. Your career can, and will, wait for you. You’re more than just a dancer to me, you know,” he said with a small smile. “You’re my girl, and I love you.”

His words hit me straight in the chest, and I cried for what felt like the 80th time that day. There I was, sobbing into a wad of tissue paper, goosebumps on my arms because it was cold, propped on the toilet and losing it over everything; it was not my finest moment, but no one was there to make me feel guilty over it either.

My mum had ended up calling the nurse, and she’d brought some crutches for me too, because I wasn’t supposed to put any weight on my leg for a while. After I managed to get myself sorted out, I hobbled back to the bed, and gratefully crawled in, exhausted by even just going to the bathroom. I really had done myself in, and it saddened me. I didn’t want to need help doing even basic things; I wanted to tell myself to get over it, to stop being so weak, but my body didn’t have a choice. I’d abused it, and now I was paying the price.

My head had started to throb by now, and my body ached everywhere. I was due for more painkillers, though, so the nurse changed out my IV bags so I could rest a little easier. She suggested my company give me time to rest, but I didn’t want Taron or my mum to leave just yet.

I asked after Troy, but my mom reassured me that my dog was with Madison and would be just fine. She had also contacted the Academy to let them know of my situation, and they had been nothing but concerned and understanding, which gave me a little bit of relief. Another knock on the door turned out to be Zayn, holding a bouquet of flowers, and Clara, who instantly ran over to me and launched herself into the bed. “Mummy!” she squealed as she flounced down beside me.

“Clara, be careful!” my mum chided, but I was happy to pull my daughter into my arms and hug her tightly.

“Oh, my Clara Bean,” I said, kissing her on the top of her head and smelling the sweet fragrance of the strawberry shampoo still lingering in her hair.

“We came as soon as we could,” Zayn said, setting the vase on the bedside table and kissing me lightly on the forehead.

“Thank you, those are beautiful,” I smiled.

“How are you feeling?” he asked quietly.

“Not great at the moment, but I’ll be okay,” I replied, watching as Zayn and Taron shook hands and greeted each other with pats on the shoulder. Zayn really had come a long way in just the past few months, I had to give him that.

We talked for a bit but the heavy arm of sleep was beckoning to me like a warm, cozy blanket, and I couldn’t fight it off any longer. I’m sure at some point they all figured out I had dropped off, and the next time I woke up, it was quite late and I was alone in the dark room. There was a note on the bedside table for me, scribbled in Taron’s handwriting, promising he’d stop by in the morning before going to set; I couldn’t begrudge him wanting to shower and actually get a good night’s sleep. My body was on fire, but I hesitated to hit the call button, figuring this pain was a sort of penance to be paid for all the wrong I’d done in my life.

I wasn’t a bad person, no, I didn’t believe that. Deep down, I’d always had good intentions. I loved the people around me, but when you’re a broken person, the way you love is broken too. And I knew Taron saw that, and understood that, even more than me. He was patient and kind in ways I didn’t deserve, but he gave that to me anyways. The only way I could begin to make amends, to try and fix the pain I’d caused him, was to try and love him the best I could. And that started with me, with fixing myself. I decided, then and there, that no matter how painful it would be, I would let the therapist dig deep, deeper than I’d ever let myself go, into the places I’d long ago sewn shut, the things I’d tried to forget. If I was ever going to heal, I needed to discover how deep the wounds were, and forgive every single person in my life that had caused that pain, and apologize to the little girl I was who lost her innocence long ago.

I slept fitfully for a while, waking up from troubled dreams, dreams full of memories of my father before he left, when he was drunk all the time and shouting and breaking things, scaring my mum and me, the times I hid in the bathroom cabinets, clutching my stuffed patchwork bunny until my mum would tearfully come find me, long after dad had passed out on the couch.

I’m pretty sure the nurse gave me more painkillers at some point in the night, because I woke from a deep, dreamless sleep the next morning to Taron’s sweet kisses peppering my face. “Morning, love,” he said with that adorable boyish grin of his. I smiled, happy at least to see him freshly showered and awake. I still felt exhausted, but that was probably how it would be for a while, until I recovered some more.

“G’morning,” I murmured softly, trying to shake the sleep out of my eyes. I had a dull headache but otherwise felt a little better than the day before. I had no idea when I’d be able to leave; there were more tests to be done before being discharged would even be considered. I giggled when Taron barged his way onto the bed, scooting me over gently, ever-careful of my tubes and wires. He cradled me in his arms, and I was all too happy to lay my head on his chest, hearing his heart beating.

“I think this might be against hospital protocol,” I said, actually laughing.

“Fuck the protocol. I’ve got this hot babe in my arms, so I think I might need treated too, for heatstroke,” he smirked.

“What? That doesn’t even make sense, T!” I giggled, but he didn’t care if it was stupid, he was just happy to see me smiling and laughing again. I was even hungry in the morning, so I ordered eggs and fresh fruit and Taron sat with me while I ate, finishing off my toast when I didn’t touch it.

He hated having to leave me but I didn’t mind so much, just grateful that he wanted to be there with me at all. “Go on, go be Elton and be great at it,” I smiled. “You know where I’ll be,” I smiled as he left a sticky jam kiss on my cheek.

“Of course. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And with a wave, he was gone, but I didn’t have very much time to be bored. After posting something to social media and responding to more texts and chat messages, I had another steady stream of visitors, Leah and Pietre and Dennis included, and several other dancers I had come to call friends. I was touched by the outpouring of love and support. My mum visited again, grateful to see me in better spirits than the day before. And of course Madison came, bringing a massive bouquet that was so large it took up an entire corner of the room and perfumed the air with its floral fragrance.

“You’re ridiculous,” I said, but couldn’t help but laugh. She painted my nails while chatting about all the drama I was missing at the Academy, and if I closed my eyes I could very nearly pretend we were just sitting on my couch with wine and containers of Chinese takeout spread out before us. It made me feel normal, and not just like the “sick girl.” She even made me promise that I’d get better or she’d kick my ballerina ass, and I was grateful she didn’t pity me because pity wouldn’t get me through this.

So between visits and further medical tests, mostly to rule out any other issues, the day passed on quickly, and I received some good news by the evening. The doctor determined that come morning I could be sent home, where they were certain I’d be more comfortable, with one caveat; I had to keep the feeding tube for a few more weeks at best, until I could prove I was no longer a danger to myself. But I had been clear to the therapist that I was aware of my shortcomings, the control issues and painful past, the things that drove me to try and control my food intake in the first place. I wanted to get better, and that was crucial; you couldn’t make someone change if they were unwilling to do so. And I genuinely wanted to do better, even if trying to convince myself that my worth was more than my waistline would be an uphill battle.

Taron, of course, did his best to convince me I should hole up in his house with him, where he could keep a closer eye on me, and I didn’t have the energy to argue. So the following morning, after being instructed on how to prepare the feeding pump and bags, and getting me back into my real clothes, I happily signed the papers for dismissal. There would of course be follow-ups and therapist appointments, but this small step in my recovery was important. My mum had promised to keep an eye on my house for a while, and after stopping by to collect more clothes and toiletries and my phone charger and anything else that might be useful, Taron got me settled in on his couch with free reign of his Netflix. It wasn’t a bad arrangement, and I felt much better after I finally got a proper bath, with only a little help from Taron getting in and out of the tub with my bum leg.

While he was away filming, I decided I wasn’t just going to be this invalid in need of his total care, so after hobbling to the kitchen and snooping around in his fridge, I decided to make a curry for when he came home. It took a while to figure out a rhythm with the crutches, but eventually I had a skillet full of lean beef and green curry simmering away and a pot of rice steaming too. I’d just set out bowls and a basket of naan bread on the table when Taron came home again, surprised, of course, by my surprise.

“What is this, babe! You didn’t have to. I’m supposed to spoil you, you know,” he grinned.

“I dunno, I wanted to,” I said as he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me gently. “You didn’t have to do any of this for me. You don’t have to earn your way back into my good graces,” he said, gently tipping my face up to look at him.

“I want to give back. I feel like all I do is take and take, and all I’ve done is manage to hurt you. I want this to be an equal relationship,” I tried to explain.

“I don’t think you take and take from me and give nothing back. You make me happy, Juliette. You make me laugh. You support what I do, and you believe in me. You’re not here for my money or good looks,” he said sweetly.

“Well…maybe the good looks,” I teased lightly, making him chuckle.

“Giving back to me doesn’t have to be tangible goods. I don’t operate in black and white like that. You give back simply by being perfectly imperfect you.”

“Yeah, but you are perfectly perfect, so I feel inadequate all the time.”

“What? I’m not perfect. God… I have my flaws. I’ve been jealous, and angry, and bitter over things. I’ve been distant and cold to you too. I drink too much and don’t get enough sleep and sometimes let my house go to shit. I’m not perfect, I just try. I make the effort. It’s high time you had someone in your life making that effort for you.”

“You say such sweet things to me,” I replied softly, somehow struggling to comprehend he was saying these words to me.

“Well I mean them, so get used to it. You need to get used to being happy. Now, shall we eat this curry before it gets cold?”

“Yeah, of course,” I said lightly, both of us tucking into our bowls. I even managed to eat a few strips of naan, and considered it a victory; a small one, but life had to be lived by the small victories sometimes. We finished our food, had a lazy evening cuddling on the couch with a film we didn’t spend much time actually watching, and rather than waking me after I unintentionally dozed off, Taron carried me to bed.

Or at least I assumed that’s what happened, because I woke up some time in the night, needing to use the bathroom, Taron snoring softly next to me. As I watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling in the darkness, shadows shifting over his face, I realized how much I had truly missed him. How much I needed him. How much I wanted him.

An uncomfortable throbbing need woke up in my groin and I groaned slightly. My body could be a real asshole sometimes. I made myself get out of bed to prevent myself from waking Taron from his slumber, though I’m quite certain he probably wouldn’t have minded if I chose to have my way with him. I also just wasn’t in any shape to have sex at the moment, still bleeding and sore down there anyway. At least I wasn’t totally dead inside, I thought ruefully as I strapped myself back into my boot and stomped as quietly as I could to the bathroom, cringing every time the boot scraped over the wooden floor. I didn’t have to sleep in the thing, but I really couldn’t walk without it at the moment either.

After taking care of my needs I stared at myself in the mirror, at my pale face and rumpled hair and dull eyes, and sighed. I had no idea how Taron still found me attractive at all. But I could be that girl again, if I worked hard enough at it.

I returned to the bed and when I laid back down Taron rolled over and nuzzled into my neck. “Where’d you go?” he murmured, kissing my neck sweetly.

“I had to pee,” I laughed, shrugging at how easy it was to just announce that.

“Well, I hope it was a good trip then,” he giggled, sleep still thick in his voice.

“Um, yeah, it was adequate,” I joked back, running my fingers through his soft, fluffy hair. The movie had yet to hack his hair up but I knew that was coming very soon.

“Glad my facilities are up to your standards,” he snickered back. “God I love you,” he added, his breath hot on my neck and not helping the state of my arousal.

“I know,” I smiled, as he continued to kiss my neck, his fingers slowly working their way under my camisole, caressing the skin of my stomach. “I can’t, you know, not yet,” I whispered, and he sighed softly, light spilling in from between the blind slats reflecting in the deep orbs of his eyes.

“You should get some sleep,” he said, withdrawing his hand and making me sigh shakily.

“I want you, I just, my body,” I tried to explain, not very well, squeezing my eyes shut.

“It’s okay,” he grinned, kissing the tip of my nose cutely. “I know,” he said in return, pulling the blankets around me and humming softly as he settled in to fall asleep once more, his arm draped sweetly over me.

This was what I wanted the rest of my life to look like, this moment, a beautiful man beside me who stole my breath away, who didn’t judge me for my failings, who adored me and loved me with a love so pure I didn’t always know how to carry it. If there was anything to fight for, I knew it was a future with him.

Will Juliette continue to fight for herself, and for a future with Taron? Or will she let ghosts of her past haunt her? Keep reading to find out - Chapter 10, Coming Soon!

[takivvatanga]

——   CHARACTER STUDY.

NAME:  Assire var Anahid EYE COLOUR: Grey HAIR STYLE / COLOUR: Dark blonde/light brown that kind of nondescript in between colour! moderately curly, length varies as she’s prone to cutting it on a whim  HEIGHT: 5′7″ CLOTHING STYLE:  timeline dependent! she goes from shapeless black robes to elegant but modest dresses. in modern she’s all faded jeans and long sleeved shirts and oversized cardigans. also scarves are a thing in all verses she vibes with scarves. also NICE SHOES  BEST PHYSICAL FEATURE: her voice! also her eyes

    LAYER 002 :    THE  INSIDE.

FEARS: death, particularly death by execution, loss of self/identity GUILTY PLEASURE: banana bread. no, seriously? collecting things. she hoards.  BIGGEST PET PEEVE: when people say things they don’t mean she doesn’t understand it AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE: freedom, autonomy, to be her own person! to see nilfgaardian mages be free and respected and treated like human beings 

    LAYER 003 :   THOUGHTS.

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP: she legit just gets hit with the full force of existential dread no wonder she’s not a great person to be around in the morning tbh WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST: being executed. i’m serious it’s a massive intrusive thought she has and it is a problem WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT  BEFORE BED: not much tbh they get worked to the bone she’s just exhausted her brain is just static WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS:  intelligence 

       LAYER 004 :    WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES:  lmao neither  TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED: respected!  BEAUTY OR BRAINS: brains DOGS OR CATS: cats ftw

       LAYER 005 :    DO THEY…

LIE: yes BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES: yes! she’s highly anxious but she knows her strengths and her worth BELIEVE IN LOVE: yes WANT SOMEONE: yes

       LAYER 006 :    HAVE THEY EVER…

BEEN ON STAGE: no DONE DRUGS: no! (she smoked a joint ONCE in modern and she got so paranoid she hated it) CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN: y e s  but she came to the conclusion that it’s not worth it tbh 

        LAYER 007 :    FAVOURITES.

FAVOURITE COLOURS: anything that’s not black and gold tbh. a rich yellow and emerald green FAVOURITE ANIMAL: cats and blackbirds FAVOURITE BOOK: some highly obscure magical tome written in an even more obscure long dead language tbh  FAVOURITE GAME: chess. she’s good, too. not phil level good but good. 

        LAYER 008 :    AGE.

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE: it’s in July but she hasn’t told me the exact date! HOW OLD WILL THEY BE: 84

        LAYER 009 :    FINISH THE SENTENCE.

I LOVE: THE EMPIRE no just kidding fuck nilfgaard tbh. no, but seriously? she just... blushes, averts her eyes, bites her lower lip. “yes.”  I FEEL: overwhelmed  I HIDE: my strength and true potential I MISS: peace and quiet I WISH: i was safe 

TAGGED: @crowntipped thank you <3  TAGGING: steal it fam! 

[eldritchsurveys]

873.

5k Survey I

1. Who are you? >> I’m Mordred. 2. What are the 3 most important things everyone should know about you? >> I’m sensory-defensive and post-traumatic, I'm part of a multiple system, and I’m a fictional character.    3. When you aren’t filling out 5,000 question surveys like this one what are you doing? >> Taking way shorter surveys. When I’m not taking surveys at all, I’m posting on tumblr or pillowfort, reading, playing video games, researching video game lore, watching a movie or show, or trying to manage my hellbrain (which is a whole separate task in itself). 4. List your classes in school from the ones you like the most to the ones you like the least (or if you are out of school, think of the classes you did like and didn’t like at the time). >> I do my best not to think about school, the last bit of which was 15 years ago anyway. 5. What is your biggest goal for this year? >> I don’t make goals like that.

6. Where do you want to be in 5 years? >> It’s inconceivable to me to plan ahead that far. Even to think ahead that far seems silly and pointless to my very present-focused (and past-haunted) mind.

7. What stage of life are you in right now? >> Adulthood. Just the general “adulthood” between hectic young adulthood and transitional middle age. 8. Are you more child-like or childish? >> I’m not child-like or childish. I simply understand that the division between “childhood” and “adulthood” isn’t nearly as cut-and-dried as society has organised it for the sake of legality and social interaction, and I also understand that the desire to escape childhood and “childish things” is a conceit of the young, who wish to be seen as grown and independent creatures (which is part of development! it makes perfect sense). By the time you get to your thirties, it really stops mattering. You know you’re an adult. You know that being an adult means you have the freedom to do whatever you want (as far as leisure and play and stuff like that goes, I mean), which means you can sit in your pjs watching cartoons and eating sugar cereal if you like, and no parent can chide you for it, and your peers can fuck off if they don’t like it. (The “adult” part of doing that is knowing to stop after one and a half bowls of said cereal, lmao. It’s all a balance, innit?)

9. What is the last thing you said out loud? >> I don’t remember. 10. What song comes closest to how you feel about your life right now? >> I don’t think there’s any song that can capture that. Or, maybe there is, but I don’t know about it. 11. Have you ever taken martial arts classes? >> No. I’ve been interested, but frankly, I can’t afford anything like that. 12. Does your life tend to get better or worse or does it just stay the same? >> There is no set trajectory, like that. Life has high points and low points, and the majority of it is really spent somewhere in the middle. It’s just that we focus on the high points and the low points most often (and when the low points are particularly low, they often end up defining our entire existence, even when we’re in the middle or even at high points).   13. Does time really heal all wounds? >> It’s not time that does it. Time just always happens to pass while the healing is being done, so we figure it’s the most common denominator. It takes work to heal, not just passively sitting around waiting for it to happen. 14. How do you handle a rainy day? >> I bring an umbrella, if I have to go out. Usually I don’t, so I just... do what I would do normally? 15. Which is worse…losing your luggage or having to sort out tangled holiday lights? >> Obviously losing your luggage... 16. How is your relationship with your parents? Will you miss them when they are gone? >> We have no relationship. There will be nothing to miss. 17. Do you tend to be aware of what is going on around you? >> Yeah. Especially since I’m prone to hypervigilance. 18. What is the truest thing that you know? >> The truest thing that I know is that I don’t know shit, and neither does anyone else. We’re all just elaborately guessing about shit, and interpreting reality the best way we can. Which is great, really. The fact that we keep trying to understand shit is cool. Just... “the map is not the territory” kind of applies to a lot of the stuff we think we know. ...Or not, right? After all, what do I know? :p 19. What did you want to be when you grew up? >> I just wanted to be free. 20. Have you ever been given a second chance? >> Probably. 21. Are you more of a giver or a taker? >> I’m a fair amount of both, being, you know, a person. 22. Do you make your decisions with an open heart/mind? >> I make my decisions the best way I know how. Whatever that means. 23. What is the most physically painful thing that has ever happened to you? >> Menstrual cramps. 24. What is the most emotionally painful thing that has ever happened to you? >> Yeah, right, like I’m going to be able to rank that. 25. Who have you hugged today? >> No one. 26. Who has done something today to show they care about you? >> --- 27. Do you have a lot to learn? >> Of course. I don’t necessarily have to learn all of it, but it sure is out there. 28. If you could learn how to do three things just by wishing and not by working what would they be? >> I don’t think that would be of any benefit to me. As much as I balk at taking those long uphill journeys to skillfulness, I feel like those journeys are beneficial and aid one’s growth. I’d rather not just snap my fingers and have a djinni grant me abilities like that. 29. Which do you remember the longest: what other people say, what other people do or how other people make you feel? >> How what other people do and say makes me feel. 30. What are the key ingredients to having a good relationship? >> Meh. 31. What 3 things do you want to do before you die? >> I don’t have a list like this. 32. What three things would you want to die to avoid doing? >> I think I would rather die than be incarcerated. So I’d take the death penalty if I could avoid a life imprisonment sentence... 33. Is there a cause you believe in more than any other cause? >> Not particularly. 34. What does each decade make you think of? The 1920’s: Prohibition. Wait, was that the 20s or the 30s? 30’s: World War II. 40’s: The rest of WWII. 50’s: I just think of... all the propaganda images from that era. You know, all the... domestic Whiteness... also, weird foods like meat aspic. 60’s: Hippies and Woodstock. 70’s: The Vietnam War (and the protests). 80’s: Hair metal. 90’s: Grunge and weird television/movies. 2000 : Well, I was an adult for most of this decade, and more or less aware of the world, so I don’t have a succinct “concept” of the aughts the way I have for decades that I didn’t live through, that I only have historical knowledge of. 2010’s: ^

35. Which decade do you feel the most special connection to and why? >> I feel an emotional connection to the spirit of the nineties. I don’t feel like trying to organise my words to explain why, I feel like that would take a lot of energy right now and I still have fifteen questions to go. 36. What is your favorite oldie/classic rock song? >> I don’t have one particular favourite. 37. What country do you live in and who is the leader of that country? >> United States. Donald Trump is president, weirdly enough. If you could say any sentence to the current leader of your country what would it be? >> I’d rather not, thanks. 38. What’s your favorite TV channel to watch in the middle of the night? >> I don’t watch television in the middle of the night... 39. What Disney villain are you the most like and why? >> That’s a great question, but the thing about Disney villains is that I don’t relate to them as much as I just love watching them do what they do. Like, my favourite is Judge Frollo, but I don’t think it’s because I have anything in common with him. Or, hell, maybe I would burn down an entire city because I don’t know how to handle the fact that I really want to bone this superbly hot chick. (My actual favourite villain is Catholic Guilt.) 40. Have you ever been a girl scout/boy scout? >> Briefly. 41. If you were traveling to another continent would you rather fly or take a boat? >> I would rather fly. I feel like boat travel would take a particularly long time and I’m not into that. 42. Why is the sky blue during the day and black at night? >> Oh, you know. Science. (I’m not Google.) 43. What does your name mean? >> I’m not sure anyone really knows what “Mordred” means. 44. Would you rather explore the depths of the ocean or outer space? >> Outer space. 45. What is the first word that comes to mind when you see the word: Air: Astrology. Meat: Beef. Different: Strokes. Pink: Panther. Deserve: Entitlement. White: Power, unfortunately. Been reading about too many fucking Nazis lately. Elvis: Pelvis. Magic: Mountain. Heart: Head. Clash: Punk. Pulp: Fiction.

46. If you could meet any person in the world who is dead who would you want it to be? >> I don’t care about this. 47. What if you could meet anyone who is alive? >> I still don’t care. 48. Is there a movie that you love so much you could watch it everyday? >> Of course not. I did watch Event Horizon every day for like a month, but I was in the psych ward at the time. What the fuck else would I have done anyway? 49. You are going to be stuck alone in an elevator for a week. What do you bring to do? >> What do I bring to do?! That’s definitely the least of my concerns with a hypothetical like this. I can’t fucking survive in an elevator for a week, dude. 50. Have you ever saved someone’s life or had your life saved? >> Doubtful.

[vegetacide]

Whump●tober - Isolation

Veg-notables:  ::crawls out from under a rock..clears throat as if nothing happened::  

Little late getting this one out due to...life...food...irritating biological need to sleep.. All that fun stuff.  

@gumnut-logic  - KOALA!!! 

Thunderheads, you guys are a riot.  I love reading your reactions to the crazy sh!t I’m putting these guys through.  I can almost feel the laser beams pointing at my forehead.. Tee he he.. Can defo feel the assault’mallows.. ::bounces one of  @gumnut-logic head::

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning:  stuff happens..  O.o; 

Characters:  Scott, Gordon/Penny, Colonel Casey 

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous post can be found HERE

7. Isolation

Enjoy…

oOo

Gordon scowled at the transparent 3-D rendering of his Godmother and resisted the compulsion to swear. Foul language wouldn’t get him anywhere with the formidable woman except disapproval from all those sitting within ear shot and a disconnected call. 

“Look,”  Gordon beseeched. “We need Scott back here.  Things aren’t looking good.”

“I understand the urgency,”  The commanding voice of the Colonel softened. “But this is out of my hands. He nearly beat a man to death and we can’t just ignore that.”

“Colonel,” Gordon voice raised as he pushed up from his chair, winced at a twinge in his back.  Fucking plastic torture device. A look from the attending at the nurses station had him gritting his teeth with frustration  “That so called man, has landed my brother in the ICU with a tube shoved down his throat to keep him alive.  At least Scott left that piece of shit still breathing. Which is more than I can say for Virgil. One of ours is rapping on death’s door. You’ll have to excuse us if we don’d give a royal flying fuck what the GDF wants right now.”  

The colonel visage soured as anger sparked in her gaze.  “No organization is an island, Gordon.”  

Gordon eye twitched,  well technically iR’s home base was an island…if the day hadn’t been so ‘arse over teakettle’ as Penny had occasion to say,  he would comment on that little tidbit.  Right now though, it wouldn't get them anywhere

“There are rules in place that have to be adhered to.” She went on. ”Laws, international ones put in place by the World Union that are not kindly suggestions no matter who the individual is or what the cause. He crossed, unauthorized into Canadian airspace without their foreknowledge or direct invitation and attacked someone on their soil. A dual citizen at that.  Yes, it was with provocation but it doesn’t excuse his actions or the handful of laws that he decided didn’t apply to him.”

“Really, with everything we have done? The lives we’ve saved? This is the response we’re gonna to get?”  His voice took on a pleading edge and he looked away.  “Aunty Val,  Virgil is dying.”

The authoritative posture dropped away from his Aunt with the utterance of those three words.. The sternness and anger evaporating to be replaced with the woman they had spent so much time with as children.  “Gordy,”  Her voice underlaid with a fount of  emotions. “I am doing everything I can. This is coming down from the top brass and the odds are stacked.”

Gordon’s expression must have revealed something the seasoned GDF colonel didn’t like because she sighed and gave a brief nod.  “I’ll call in a few markers. Shake some tree and see what falls out.

“Thank you,”  And his gratitude was real. His eyes held hers a moment before skittering away. A hand reaching up to dash away at his face before turning back. 

“I can’t promise anything.  If you have any options on your side I suggest you try them.” Her brow rose pointedly and it took Gordon a moment to understand what she meant.

As realization dawned, he tipped his head in a nod.  “I understand.  Thank you.”  

8-8-8

Scott's pensive stare drilled holes in cold grey, unadorned walls of the interrogation room.  He'd lost track of how long ago he'd been accompanied into this friendly little corner of GDF territory and shifted his weight on the hard, metal chair. Enough time for his legs to go numb from disuse.

The bright overhead panel lighting was unforgiving as it drove a spike through his brain when he rolled his head on his protesting neck. The tension unrelenting with the stark, searing luminescence frying his retinas. 

‘Note to self,’ he thought wearily. ‘Lights suck.’  

He wanted to yell and scream at the GDF to let him out but he knew it was pointless.  He was well aware of how this worked. Making a person 'sweat it out' was an old tactic. One he went through counter intelligence training for back in his military days.  A brief in-counter but one that was necessary prior to a rather sketchy mission that had a very small success rate. 

Let the suspect sit and stew so you could use their mental exhaustion against them.  Throw them off balance.  Then when they reached the point of critical mass, grill them hard.   

His stare shifted to the two way glass.  He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing himself crack.  He was too proud for that.  And his energies were best used elsewhere on other things.  Like getting back to his family...to Virgil.  

The image of the prone figure that flashed through his mind pulled Scott up short and he schooled his features. If he let himself go down that rabbit hole again he was done for.

It was his own actions that put him here and he would have to live with it. It didn’t stop him from yearning to be elsewhere.  Being cut off and not knowing how his family was fairing was slowly killing him but he’d made the decision,  against the colonel’s direct order not to intervene in their ongoing investigation.  

He hadn’t had a choice though.  As Virgil’s status got worse.. as he’d had to watch his family suffer along side...as he’d seen the look of despair pass over his sister, heard the sudden catch in her voice...his decision had been made.  

His family wouldn’t lose anyone else. Attend another funeral, bury another Tracy.   Not if he had anything to say about it.

Time had been short and a plan had been hastily thrown together.  One that avoided putting anyone else in harm's way bar himself.  

Now, thanks to him, the GDF had an illegal bio-weapon manufacturer under lock and key. The makings of a firm case against a criminal organization they hadn’t even known existed and a pocket ace up their sleeve to help them locate everyone involved… once he regained consciousness.  

And Scott had the intel he had hoped would help his brother.  Along with some he wished he didn’t.  

Closing his eyes against the unforgiving light,  he rubbed the bridge of his nose.  Irked as the cuffs that were secured to the metal table, which in turn was bolted to the floor, pulled at his wrist and forced  him lean forward to accomplish the task.

Doubt clouded his mind, made him second guess his every move. Question how things could have been differently and if they had been, would it have made a difference?  Would Virgil be safe? Or would it have just happened to one of his other siblings.   

He didn’t know.  

What he did know was that a greedy individual had panicked when things had gotten too hot. An unsanctioned, hidden bio-engineering lab had been rigged and to cover his ass when the top of the whole thing was about to be blown wide open, this scum had calmly flicked a switch.

No care given to human life.  To his brother’s life. 

A gas filled lab had been remotely unlocked to the smoldering remains just inches outside the door and his brother’s life was now dangling over a precipice with no way back.

Clenched fist came down hard on the metal table just as the interrogation room door opened.

8-8-8

 Gordon braced his hands on his knees and arched his back in the small hope that the crazy knot of muscles would loosen up.  He knew the likelihood of that happening was next to non existent without a muscle relaxant, heating pads and his bed but it was worth a try.

The hand that started rubbing slow circles from the base of his spine up to his shoulders made elicited a grunt of appreciation.  

“Thanks.”

“Darling, you need to get some sleep.” Penny’s voice was filled with worry and he looked over his shoulder at her.

She was perfect. In every aspect of the word.  From her finely boned, aristocratic face, to her intricately twisted champagne blonde halo of hair.  To the slender curves that held so much strength, right down to her Louis Vuitton clad feet.  Every inch of her was perfect and Gordon was goner from the moment he laid eyes on her.  

He didn’t deserve her and would never be able to even touch her regalness and intelligence but for some completely ridiculous reason she loved him.

And right now, he would forever be in her debt.  

“I’ll get some shut eye once Scott gets here until then it’s not going to happen.”

Penelope knew a set mind when she met one and she nodded her understanding.  “In any event, let me get you something.  You are a twisted knot of muscles and I can imagine it is dreadfully comfortable.”

Gordon’s lip tweaked up a bit in a soft smile and he shook his head.  “I’m okay, Penny. I need to wait to hear back from my contact at W.A.S.P.  They owe me one but I’m not sure it’s going to be enough.  If I take something now I’m going to be a useless pile of mush on the floor.”

“Well, that would certainly be something to see.” 

“I’m sure it would.  The hospital staff would be able to mop me up into a bucket.”

Penny lightly nudged his shoulder with her own and her hand continued its circuitous route over his seizing back. 

Gordon dragged in a breath as her ministrations melted some of the tightness, his head lolling forward in the quiet din of their private waiting room. He was flagging in a bad way and he knew he needed to get back up to his feet if he wanted to stay this side of dream land.  Besides the last thing his back needed was for him to fall asleep in one of these God forsaken chairs.  

Giving his head a shake to dislodge the cobwebs he caught the time on the old school analog wall clock..  He wanted to see his Virg but Kayo was in with him.  The idea of interrupting that intimacy was not something that he found very appealing. He would give her five more minutes  than he would offer her a break.  

Calculating if he had enough time to grab a coffee from the little shop the next floor down he patted his pocked down for spare credits. 

He was about to turn to Penny to see if she wanted anything when a sudden disturbance in the hallway had his head coming up sharply.   Frowning, he forced his back to unbend and pushed to his feet.  

Stepping out into the corridor, he was met with pandemonium as hospital staff raced passed.  The alarm blaring somewhere down by the nurses station made his heart skip a beat but it was  his sagging sister being escorted from a very busy and familiar room that had his lungs refusing to work.   

“Oh god...no…”

oOo

Next post can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

[ambitchiovs]

lenny back at it again… i warned y’all about the intros dump. anyway, off to this bitch:

&&. isn’t that [ DEBORAH ANN WOLL ] walking around the hamptons? oh no, nevermind it’s just [ ADELAIDE MONTSERRAT ]. y'know, the [ 19 ] year old [ CIS FEMALE ] known to be quite [ CHARISMATIC and DETERMINED ] but also [ CUNNING and RUTHLESS ]. currently, the police has them as [ A PERSON OF INTEREST ] in the case of samantha wheeler, because they [ WERE PART OF SAMANTHA’S FRIEND GROUND ]. but they go on about their life as [ A STUDENT ]. i wonder what secrets they’re keeping?  [ lenny/23/gmt+3/she/her ]

TW: eating disorders, addiction, mental disorders, possible suicidal thoughts/mentions

DON’T YOU EVER TAME YOUR DEMONS, ALWAYS KEEP THEM ON A LEASH.

In the eyes of Adelaide Montserrat, there was never a girl to be found. If you dare to pry, you will not find what strangers see when they pass her by the crowd. You will look into a bottomless void that threatens to swallow you whole and it will look back at you with smiling teeth. Little Addie, once a girl with pink tutu’s and ballerina shoes, was never one to be meddled with - she would captivate all her teachers and classmates with rosy cheeks and a clever tongue beyond her years, but there was nothing warm or kind about the little girl whose parents held so close she nearly choked to death.

History goes, her father — her biological father, anyhow, was a very powerful politician before he dropped dead. Nobody really knows what happened that night - all everybody seems to know is that all her loved ones seem to fall like dominoes. Her father died when she was 16, during a robbery. The men were never caught, but little Adelaide was left bawling into her mother’s lap. Surprising as it may be, she was actually the product of a one night stand and poor lack of judgement, or so her mother likes to tell her - but Catherine Montserrat was no fool, and she took him for all he had - and as it turns out… That was a lot.

That doesn’t come cheap, for Adelaide, anyways. Being a part of a new family meant she now had a new player to share her inheritance with - and damned if she didn’t do everything she could to throw them off the board. In the eyes of her parents, she could do no wrong - she was pure and pristine and everything they hoped their little girl would be. You’d assume being the younger sibling meant competing for attention - but she never competed. She never even considered it a competition. She won, plain and simple. Her half brother, that man who called himself her “father” now were but pebbles in her shoes, nuisances she had to navigate through to continue on with her luxurious lifestyle. They didn’t understood her, didn’t particularly wanted to, and it was easier to smear on some foundation and bake it with powder than let explain why her skin was cracking. It was easier to strap on those old ballerina shoes and put on a show until her toes were bleeding, than to try and show them what was behind the curtains. And all jewelry in the world, all praise, all money and countless designer bags she accumulated every year could never fill up that gaping hole, that detachment she felt towards the outside world and inability to connect with things and people - even those supposedly closest to her.

You see, Adelaide didn’t lose, because she tailored the game to her whims and batted her heavy set of lashes to make it seem fair. And if she did lose - the game be damned; she’d destroy it and any evidence of her failure with the wrath of a woman scorned. She didn’t want to be a little sister, or a daughter, or something for men to gawk at. She wanted to be something else. Anything other than this vile thing dripping with self-loathing , cloaked in a veil of perfectionism. Something that wasn’t rammed into this golden mold before she even took her very first breath.

Addie’s behavior as well as their parents favoritism only blurred the lines between love and hate between the half-siblings, complicating her understanding of relationships even further. And it certainly didn’t help that her new brother was just as stubborn and competitive as she was. The children were picture perfect, carrying on the legacy of their parents on their backs as if it weighed no more than a feather - while whatever had been good or soft in them began to rot.

But just who is Adelaide Montserrat? The reincarnation of the Virgin Mary to most. The girl with perfect hair, perfect hair and a perfect family. In truth, Adelaide could be seen only as a terror taken human form to those who opposed her, and a perfect, exemplary girl for those who keep a safe distance. What she is, what she truly is, is a game of smoking mirrors - a fragmented girl, scattered into so many pieces to cater to the whims of crowds, that now, when she looks into a mirror, the image that looks back is something recognizable; distorted.

Fueled by her own securities and desire to obtain perfection, paired with the crowd of rich kids that were offered to her as friends growing up, it didn’t take for things to escalate; by the age of only fourteen, poisoning their blood with alcohol, snorting up enough cocaine so she had to carry around wipes and kicking each other in the stomach while crouching over the toilet became somehow ordinary. Encouraged, even. All that deep-rooted self-hatred had to spill someway, somehow. She grew to resent how boys were granted more freedom, more room to misbehave and make mistake. She resented girls for being themselves, for not wanting to scream every second of every day. And she resented Samantha for how genuinely she could smile - for how easily everything came to her, and for how she was everything she could never be; while she was lying in a grave she dug herself - shackled to the image of perfection she’d crafted, held to the highest of regards, expected to never falter nor stutter. It was hard to define the relationship between her - one moment Addie was sweet, the next she was cruel. And as to that unfortunate Halloween night, she claims they parted ways before she could see anything.

All the harder she tries to cling to this illusion of control, the deeper she dives into that well. Parents often say kids will “grow out of it”; their fits of rage, their apathy towards other children, their unwillingness to share, their manipulative, spoiled ways of obtaining what they want- but Addie never did. Somewhere inside there’s still that little girl who’d rather break her toys in half than to share it with other kids. Who’d bump into other little girls at school, and tell the nurse they tripped. Who’d rather set her arm back in place herself than say “you were right”. The little girl who’ll sit in an empty throne all alone, built with the bones of the people she once claimed to love.

PERSONALITY-WISE:

Adelaide is emotionally unstable and has a very competitive, volatile, manipulative personality; she doesn’t forgive, and she sure as hell doesn’t forget, and she can lash out in incredibly ruthless ways due to her extreme lack of empathy for hers. Her addictions and unwillingness to ever speak to anyone in depth about herself only worsen the state of her BPD. Despite all this, on the surface, she can seem like just like any other pristine, privileged girl. It’s not usual for people to find her charming - she does exude that sort of magnetic aura that’s very easy to fall for, because people tend to see what they want to see - and therefore, it’s easy for her to adjust her personality to the expectations of whomever she’s trying to captivate. In a way, her entire personality has merged with her addiction: being friends with her feels a lot like moment of high in exchange for an eternity of sorrow.

She can be a loyal friend, to some extent, although she’ll never put anyone above herself. She’s also very insecure and prone to fits of rage (in private) whenever she doesn’t get what she wants (think broken mirrors and glasses), as her self-image is heavily dependent on what she can achieve and how others perceive her. Deep down, this all stems from jealousy - she so desperately wishes she could connect with other people and things the way everyone around her does, but in the end she can’t, and she’s left feeling like an outside looking in. If she’s miserable, why shouldn’t everyone around her be too?

HIT ME UP TO PLOT U COWARDS !!

for reals, though - i know this was unnecessarily long, but oh well. you can be ex friends with her? don’t know why they’re not friends anymore - but i’m willing to bet it’s addie’s fault.

maybe some sort of competitor?  academic or otherwise.

maybe there’s some poor ex out there who knows what a headcase she actually is? but probably can’t say much bc they fear for her life lmao.

she wouldn’t openly date anybody who could reflect poorly on her reputation, so secret hookups??? give me someone who’s getting sick of being used pls. ( she’s a closeted bisexual. society isn’t very welcome to the idea rn ) so girl crushes yes pls let girls have crushes on her. let her manipulate them bc she knows. i need.

also gimme someone who deals drugs to her tbh, bc this needs to be kept SUPER lowkey, but it’d also be hilarious bc she wouldn’t have to fake her personality around them & it’s like bitch what the fuck this girl is dr jekyll and mr hyde.

i’d love love to see a fake relationship - but i don’t mean the ‘secretly have feelings for each other’ - i mean the… secretly despise each other but they’re image-obsessed people and like being seen as the golden couple.

oH and pls someone give me a… dare i say sisterly connection? mostly, a girl who idolizes her or puts her on a pedestal, that she might or might not have a soft spot for ( which in addie’s handbook just means she’ll be that much crueler whenever she feels like it tbh ) & see it as some sort of protegee.

idk i’m open to anything, these are just suggestions thrown at the wall here. the point is… plot w me u cowards. and yes, my muse does bite.

[bilesandthesourwolf]

alright everyone. i want to lay a life lesson down today. i know i’ve seen similar posts like this, but since this has now personally happened to me, i feel like it needs to be reiterated.

your mental and physical health is in your own hands. it’s gonna be up to you to make sure things get done and you get the information you need because, most of the time, stuff gets overlooked.

story time. let’s go back to 2012 when i started feeling awful. i was constantly fatigued and in pain. i was seeing a nurse practitioner at the time (i live in a small town and it sucks). she ran some blood work and found out that i have Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, which is an autoimmune disease. if you don’t know what an autoimmune disease is, here you go: an autoimmune disease is a condition in which your immune system mistakenly attacks your body. some of these diseases include: rheumatoid arthritis, lupus, multiple sclerosis, celiac, type 1 diabetes, and fibromyalgia. now, once you have 1 autoimmune disease, you are prone to eventually get another one. so, hashimoto’s is a disease in which the white blood cells attack the thyroid, explaining all the symptoms i’d been feeling. the nurse practitioner couldn't prescribe the meds i needed, so i went to the only medical clinic we have in town and saw a doctor who prescribed me some thyroid meds. thyroid issues are tricky because it takes time to adjust the meds to what your body needs. so, it took a long time to get my meds right and i never actually felt 100% better, i just learned to live with it.

fast forward to 2014. i’m exhausted all the time. i’m in pain. my joints and muscles hurt. i can’t stand it anymore. i go see my primary care physician (pcp) Dr. A. she runs some blood work, including an autoimmune panel. i go to her for my follow up appointment and she says everything came back fine. i’m too young to have rheumatoid arthritis (i’m 28 at the time). regardless, she refers me to a rheumatologist. the rheumatologist tells me i’m fine. i now feel like i’m going crazy because none of this makes sense.

fast forward to 2015. i start seeing a new pcp, Dr Singh, at the same clinic. he’s awesome. he listens to me. he asks for my medical history. i tell him i have hashimoto’s. he helps regulate my meds, he finds i have serious vitamin and iron deficiencies. he gives me iron iv infusions. i feel a bit better, but i’m still tired and i still ache. Dr Singh runs another autoimmune panel for me. everything comes back as normal, but my sed rate (sedimentation rate) comes back high. a high sed rate means there is inflammation in your body. we chalk it up to my hashimoto’s. we move on. i learn to live with the pain in my joints and muscles and my bone wary fatigue.

at this point, i start getting copies of my blood work results, because i want to check them for myself. i highly recommend you do this and you’ll see why in a few minutes.

fast forward to december of 2017. i start getting really bad pain in my right hand (my dominant hand), mainly the knuckles. it’s worth noting that i’m a habitual knuckle cracker, this is a bad habit, i know. the pain lasts for a few weeks and then goes away. over the next year, i notice the pain in those knuckles comes and goes. i’m still exhausted and i still hurt in other areas of my body. Dr Singh still monitors my vitamin deficiencies and i get iron infusions when needed.

fast forward to 3 weeks ago. the pain in my hand comes back. it’s the worst it’s ever been. i can’t grip anything. i can’t put pressure on it. several of my knuckles are swollen. it sucks. i call the doctor’s office and of course i can’t get in to see my doctor until today, january 28th (i repeat, this is a small town and there’s only the one clinic). but my doctor is awesome and he orders me an autoimmune panel again so i can get that blood work done while my hand is still hurting. i get the blood work done. i wait.

today, i finally go in for my results. my hand is finally starting to feel better. Dr Singh looks at the lab work and says everything is normal, but my sed rate is the highest he’s seen it. i’m upset cause once again, a non answer. but, Dr Singh says “give me a minute”. i give him a minute. eventually he makes a noise of surprise. he says, “back in 2014, Dr A did an autoimmune panel on you, right?” i have to think back, it’s been a long 5 years of a lot of blood work and different specialist. “yes,” i say, “i think so”. Dr Singh says, “yes, she did and guess what? you tested positive for rheumatoid arthritis.” i’m absolutely floored. Dr A neglected to tell me i had a positive rheumatoid arthritis test 5 years ago.

see, the thing about autoimmune diseases are this: they are hard to diagnose. you can have 3 blood tests done over the course of 3 months and only 1 of those test could show positive results. it took my mother 7 years to get a diagnosis of fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis. to this day, she tests positive for lupus on and off. i’ve seen 3 different rheumotologists over the years, including one of America’s leading rheumotologists. they all say i’m fine, i just have an elevated sed rate. autoimmune diseases are tricky little shits, is what i’m getting at here.

Dr Singh is astounded. i should have been officially diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis 5 years ago. that one positive test result was it. just because i have had a few negative results over the years doesn’t matter. that was the defining test. he says this basically explains everything, my pain, my exhaustion and fatigue, my brain fog. it’s contributed to my anxiety and depression. i break down and cry. this is the answer i’ve been looking for over the last 5 years. i’m not crazy. i cry because that was 5 yeas of pain and fatigue and feeling like no one is listening and no one understands. i cry because that is 5 years of my life i am never getting back. 5 years i should have been on meds to stop the progression of joint deterioration. who knows how much damage has been done to my joints at this point. Dr Singh prescribed me a steroid to help with the inflammation but i need to see a rheumatologist (luckily a new one he recommended that i haven’t seen before) to get on meds to help stop this disease from progressing more than it already has.

i’m only 32 and i can already see some disfiguration in one of my fingers. i’m still young and i’ve got the rest of my life with this disease that ruins your joints. my mom is 60, she has rheumatoid arthrisits and she can’t move half her fingers and she needs a new knee. this is what i have to look forward to. i’m in shock. i’m devistated. i’m worried. i wish i had gotten a copy of those lab results back in 2014. i feel like suing Dr A for malpractice, because honestly, what the fuck.

my point of this very long post is that you need to be persistent. you know your body. you know when something is wrong. find a doctor who listens to you. get copies of your blood work and review it for yourself. take your health into your own hands and make shit happen. 

[master-sass-blast]

Henlo, it's me, your local trash monster here to say I love Hannah and I can't wait to hear more about her?? That being said, GIMME ALL THE SAD GOODS ABOUT HER. But also add in something happy about her in the end! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ ((Also sending hugs! I know things have been stressful the last few days so just know I'm rooting for you !!))

Holy fuck I think this is the first time someone’s ever told me to cut loose and just SAY ALL THE THINGS AND I’M SO EXCITED!!!! :D

(Answers under the cut because I just went with the entire list. I have no self control.

And thank you for the hugs and encouragement!)

1. What is one word to shut them up: Okay, for some context, Hannah is a lawyer. She has a thick skin (unlike me, heyoooo). It takes a lot to shut her up; she’s an HBIC and she owns it.

But if someone starts talking about her scars (she’s struggled/struggles with self-harm), she shuts down. It’s a part of her she’s still self-conscious about, and if someone mentions it she’ll literally stop mid-sentence and mentally exit the conversation.

2. What is the thing they feel the most guilty about: Again, she’s got a pretty thick skin, so she doesn’t hold onto too much. Life happens, you make mistakes, and it’s better to learn from them rather than beat yourself over the head for something you can’t change anyway.

If there’s something she’s going to feel guilty about, though, it’s fights or incidents she’s had with family members/close friends where she’s hurt them with something she’s said or done. She holds herself in high accountability to ensure that she doesn’t step all over people, and when she does she fails not only them but her expectations for herself, so yeah. Guilt.

3. What is the worst pain they’ve ever experienced: Physical pain? Probably different injuries from her career in martial arts. She’s a tough cookie, but some of that stuff just hurts.

Emotional pain? Anytime she fails her expectations for herself. She has very high standards for herself, and when she can’t reach them she becomes very depressed (more so than usual).

4. Describe their worst nightmare: Actual dream? Anything where she’s drowning or running out of air. She almost drowned a couple times as a child/preteen, and the trauma still emerges in her adult life from time to time.

Real life “this is a nightmare” scenario? Any point where her depression gets so bad that she stops being functional. Things just start piling up and get overwhelming very quickly.

5. List 3 fears; one “surface level” fear, one “repressed” fear, and one “deep dark” fear: 1.) Drowning, which runs pretty deep but it’s an obvious one that she’s done a lot of therapy work for, and she doesn’t mind talking about it with other people. 2.) Wasps. She accidentally got locked into a shed with an active wasp nest in it as a child. She made it out alright, but the sheer terror of the situation made her repress the memory. She’s heard the story from friends and family, and “gets” why she’s scared of the fuckers, but can’t actually recall the incident itself. 3.) The dark. A side effect of depression is paranoia, and when she’s alone, in the dark, she can’t shake the feeling that there’s some sort of creature watching/following her. When her depression gets really bad, she has to sleep with a light on to keep from flipping out.

6. What is something that never fails to make them feel sick: She’s not naturally squeamish, but the sounds of belching (ala college frat boys, y’all know what I mean) make her stomach churn.

7. What feature (physical or otherwise) do they hate most about themselves: Her scars. She’s very ashamed of them, and goes out of her way to wear long sleeved shirts so she can hide them.

8. Do they have anything that triggers them: Feeling like she’s failed her own expectations/expectations others have of her, accidentally inhaling water, the ‘buzzing’ sound bees/wasps make.

9. What is their greatest physical weakness: Her height. She might be a kickass lawyer and an even kick-assier martial artist, but she barely clears five feet.

10. What is their greatest mental weakness: Her struggles with self-hatred. She’s her own worst enemy a lot of the time.

11. Do they have any vices: Not really. Not as far as serious vices go. She’s pretty grounded.

12. Have they ever done something illegal? What was it: Nope. She knew she wanted to be a lawyer from day one and made sure her record was spotless.

13. Which of the 7 Deadly Sins best describes them: Pride? I think that one comes closest? Again, since she really doesn’t have a vice or a thorn in her side, it’s hard to pick something for her.

I think Pride comes closest because she spirals when she fails to live up to her own expectations, which I think often comes with a bit of ego (at least in my experience with that sort of thing). She’s also got a lot to be proud of (lawyer, martial artist, financially independent), but she’s not a walking ego either?

Idk. This is a weird question, lol.

14. Are they prone to outbursts (of violence, extreme emotion… exc… ): Not really. Don’t get me wrong, she can get there, but it takes a lot. She’s very collected (and usually swings the opposite way; she’s more likely to cold shoulder you if she’s mad).

She does threaten to shove her Prada stiletto sideways up Hank Pym’s ass, though. So there’s that.

15. Who do they hate the most: Guys who use her height against her by cornering her into spots while they try to ask her out/talk to her about something. It’s the fastest way to wind up on her shit list.

16. Is there anyone who makes them feel inferior: Herself. She’s her own worst enemy.

17. What sound always gives them a headache: Her coworker Tracey’s text/notification sound. Which is always going off because Tracey’s always talking to someone.

18. Is there a certain flavor that disgusts them: Not really. She’s half Japanese, half ethnic Jew, and a practicing Jew to boot, so she grew up on a pretty broad flavor palette.

She’s tried a bacon cheeseburger once on a dare, though, and she hated it.

19. Do they consider themselves ugly: Not really (outside of her scars). She’s pretty confident in her appearance.

20. Do they consider themselves unloveable: Again, not really. She’s spent a lot of time in therapy, which helps, but she’s always had her feet pretty well on the ground.

21. What is something that causes them great anxiety: The prospect of losing. She’s very competitive.

22. Do they have any mental illnesses: Depression.

23. Have they ever been assaulted/abused/raped: She’s run into the usual guys that like to try and use her size against her, but they usually wind up worse for wear than she does.

24. Do they fear the possibility of being assaulted/abused/raped: Yes. She’s five feet tall and doesn’t clear 110 lbs. She’s very aware that she’s got “TARGET” written across her back.

25. Have they ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust: Fortunately, no. Most of her close relationships come from communities she knows well (school, work, the temple she attends in LA), so she hasn’t had to deal with too much betrayal.

26. Have they ever been seriously injured: Yes. Even outside of her struggles with self-harm, she’s a martial artist. She’s broken a few bones over the years from that.

27. How many times have they been in the hospital: Five. Three for some pretty drastic self harm incidents, and two from sparring injuries.

28. Is there a certain type of person that disgusts them: Obviously, she has frustrations with asshole guys, racists/anti-Semites, but she cannot stand people who work in organizations that prey on the disenfranchised (ala military recruiters going to schools in impoverished areas to fill their quota because they know how to trick the kids into trying out and all that). It gets her blood boiling fast.

29. Does what they cannot see scare them: Yes. Again, this shows perfectly with her fear of the dark.

30. Have they ever been bullied: Yupp. For her heritage, her beliefs, her mental health struggles, her size... High school sucks.

31. Do they have self-confidence or self-image issues: Yes and no. Again, she’s pretty confident about most things in life, but she does have certain weak points (her scars, living up to her own expectations, her height).

32. Do they have a bad relationship with their parents: Actually, no! She has a good relationship with both her parents and her extended family!

33. Have they ever been in a relationship that didn’t work out so well: Not in the drastic sense of things. She’s been through a few break ups, sure, but nothing that was abusive or crazy.

34. Have they ever self harmed: Yes. It’s something she still struggles with as an adult.

35. If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be: Her scars. She’d make them disappear.

36. Are they in control of their emotions, or are their emotions in control of them: She’s pretty well in control of her emotions.

37. Have they ever had their freedom taken away: Not really, no.

38. Have they ever been imprisoned: Nope.

39. Have they ever been accused of something they didn’t do: Not in any serious sense. Her reputation for toeing the line was too well known for her to be accused of something she didn’t do.

40. Do they often blame themselves for other people’s problems: She did as a teenager, but dutiful therapy and self-care has helped her outgrow that habit.

41. Do they get sick often: Nope! She’s pretty healthy.

42. Are they comfortable with where they are in life: She’s content, but not complacent.

43. Do they wish that they could change their pasts: Yes. Again, she doesn’t like her history with self-harm. If she could erase that, she would.

44. What’s one thing they wish they could do more often, but can’t: Travel. Her job’s pretty demanding as far as hours go.

45. What is the emotion they most commonly experience: Melancholy. No matter what she’s doing, it’s sort of always hanging around her, like a tiny cloud.

46. Have they ever contemplated suicide: Yes. Unfortunately, it’s a side effect of the depression.

47. Have they ever gone so far as to attempt suicide: A couple of times, when she was teenager.

48. Is there anyone that they would willingly kill: Outside of self-defense/the defense of others? No.

49. If [name] was put into ______ situation, they’d rather die than live to see it through: Being forced to reject her identities as a Jew/person of Japanese heritage. Her families have made it through so much (internment camps, persecution, the Holocaust), and she’d rather die than erase her own identity.

50. Create your own: Alright, I’m gonna put the happy one here so we end on a high note!

She’s a firm believer in the need for “mah” (the Japanese word for “emptiness), or a moment to pause and do nothing. It’s easy to see that reflected in how she practices meditation, follows Shabbat, or takes time each day to simply be.

However, she also believes that the principle of “mah” is what makes her and Luis work so well as a couple. She is the silence to his constant chatter and helps him keep his feet on the ground. Likewise, he keeps her from living inside her head and helps her connect to the world.

They’re just such opposites attract. Ugh, I love them so much!