#if anyone else has any input I’d love to hear it

[skitter-kitter]

Question for you (and if u don’t know then any other Lear Experts who may know the answer), with the pokemas anniversary coming up, do we consider that as Lear’s birthday?

I personally consider it as Lear’s birthday, but I’ve never really done anything for it. I personally think it would be very fun to make it Lear’s birthday! Especially since his and Hoopa’s Friendiversary has an actual Day I think he deserves a birthday

[campgender]

hey! I'm currently writing a paper discussing experiences of disabled and neurodivergent students at my uni (spoiler alert: it's not great lmao), and while I have a couple references so far (mostly Lund and Pearlstein) about the larger Disabled Student ExperienceTM I'm struggling to find academic papers talking about this, particularly since my field of study is psychology rather than disability theory/disability justice. are there any texts regarding this that you would reccommend? doing my best to lean on crip theory for this essay and you were the first person i thought of! no worries if you don't have the energy to answer this rn ofc, i hope you're having a good day ✨

omg what a fabulous & vital project! i’d love to hear more about your work both out of interest & to potentially refine my recommendations because this is such a complex, multifaceted area of experience + research + activism — i tried to draw from a variety of perspectives so you can dig deeper into what seems most relevant!

my number one recommendation is the book Academic Ableism by Jay Dolmage, i still need to read most of it rip but it’s absolutely considered foundational in this topic. the rest i’m gonna put under a cut because it got super long lol, i’ll also reblog to my disability sideblog @crippleprophet in case anyone else has suggestions!

best of luck with your work, i hope some of this is helpful! feel free to reach out for more recommendations, input, or encouragement❣️💖

on the built environment – eg, the physical campus & how it impacts students

if you’re in the US, this summary of colleges’ responsibilities under the ADA has been helpful for me (link).

Building Access by Aimi Hamraie

Accessibility for Historic Buildings: A Field Guide, 2nd Edition (link to pdf)

written by David Provost and revised by Joseph Hoefferle, Jr. as part of the University of Vermont Graduate Program in Historic Preservation

back in 2020 i used the first edition of this document in a project arguing my undergraduate university should make its historic buildings more accessible

lays out policies & options in tables with photo examples from their campus

Aimi Hamraie & Kelly Fritsch’s Crip Technoscience Manifesto (2019)

Catalyst: Feminism, Theory, Technoscience, 5(1), pp1-34.

this piece is honestly just incredibly life-giving for me in general so i highly recommend giving it a full read when you have time. specific parts that i thought might resonate with the experiences of students at your uni:

“user-initiated design” (Hendren & Lynch, cited p9)

“access as friction” (p10):

Emerging out of historical fights for disability rights, the terms accessibility and access are usually taken to mean disabled inclusion and assimilation into normative able-bodied relations and built environments. […] However, the etymology of the word access reveals two frictional meanings: access as “an opportunity enabling contact,” as well as “a kind of attack” (2016, p. 23). Taking access as a kind of attack reveals access-making as a site of political friction and contestation. While historically central to the fights for disability access, crip technoscience is nevertheless committed to pushing beyond liberal and assimilation-based approaches to accessibility, which emphasize inclusion in mainstream society, to pursue access as friction, particularly paying attention to access-making as disabled peoples’ acts of non-compliance and protest.

noncompliant users and assistive technology as friction (p11):

Lifchez and Winslow offer the concept of “non-compliant users,” illustrating this with an image of a powerchair user wheeling against traffic on a street without curb cuts (1979, p. 153). This technology-enabled movement against the flow of traffic marks anti-assimilationist crip mobility: not an attempt to integrate (as in the liberal approach to disability rights), but rather to use technology as a friction against an inaccessible environment.

collaborative mapping of (in)accessibility, something i know happens more informally among disabled students on many campuses (p15):

Unlike mainstream disability technoscience “crowdsourcing” projects, which invoke a charity model of disability wherein non-disabled people collect data but do not engage in disability culture or politics, emerging projects such as Mapping Access are making participatory access-making the basis of a kind of technoscientific “access intimacy” (Mingus, 2017) through practices such as “critical crowdsourcing” of accessibility data (Hamraie, 2018). […] Collaborative mapping visualizes the evidence of inaccessibility while creating opportunities for collective response. Crip cartographic technoscience thus enables more critical design, and interrogation of the everyday built environment.

access to education

the United Nations Convention on the Rights of Persons with Disabilities includes the right to inclusive education (Article 24). scholarship in this area is about primary & secondary education, not postsecondary / university education, but a lot of the concepts can be applied

in addition to inclusive education, “universal design for learning” (UDL) might be a helpful keyword but it definitely trends toward the liberal as a whole

“Hidden contradictions and conditionality: conceptualisations of inclusive education in international human rights law” (2013) by Bronagh Byrne (link)

references the importance of identifying barriers as a step in the process of accessible education, which depending on your work may be a nice succinct justification of its necessity (p234):

Inclusion ‘necessitates the removal of the material, ideological, political and economic barriers that legitimate and reproduce in equality and discrimination in the lives of disabled people’ (Barton and Armstrong 2001, 214). According to this view, an identification of barriers within the school’s environment, teaching and learning strategies, and attitudes that prevent the full participation of children with disabilities, will also be required.

argues for a focus on inability of schools to meet students’ needs rather than students’ inability to conform to an ableist environment (for example, p242):

International human rights law has conditionalised the right to inclusive education for children with disabilities by making inclusion contingent upon the extent of individual rather than institutional or structural deficits.

psychological/emotional impact on disabled students

“psycho-emotional disablism” may be a useful search term for you, with the disclaimer that a substantial portion of scholars in feminist disability studies are TERFs / express “gender critical” beliefs / etc. so like i’m listing one paper i came across that looked relevant + two from my grad program’s recommended reading, but i haven’t read these & suggest vetting authors before citing them:

“The psycho-emotionally disabling impact of academic landscapes of exclusion: experiences of a disabled postgraduate in perpetual lockdown” (2023) by Joanne Hunt (link)

Reeve, D (2004). Psycho-emotional dimensions of disability and the social model. In C Barnes & G Mercer (eds), Implementing the social model of disability: theory and research. The Disability Press, Leeds, pp. 83-100. http://donnareeve.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/ReeveChapter2004b.pdf

Reeve, D. (2014) 'Psycho-emotional disablism and internalised oppression', in J. Swain, S. French, C. Barnes and C. Thomas (eds) Disabling Barriers - Enabling Environments, 3rd Edition, London: Sage, pp. 92-98. http://donnareeve.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/ReeveChapter2014a.pdf

[halfratsalready]

Help me figure something out for a future fic! ✨

I’m finally actively writing my next fic (aside from the one shot for the Wanderrose exchange), and I’m hoping for some input on one element of it.

What do you guys think Jack would look like on Earth? I’m going with half-human-half-coach Jack, so I want his Earth appearance to have at least one or two elements that he retains from his coach appearance instead of him looking fully like a normal human. I feel like his hair could be an obvious choice, but I’m not too sure if there should be anything else.

If anyone has any thoughts or ideas about this and doesn’t mind sharing, I’d love to hear what you guys think! I will, of course, give credit if I use anyone’s ideas in the fic :)

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

Hey, I’ll send in a Milgram related ask too! To drum up some Shidou intrigue, what do you think about the theory that Shidou decided to steal organs from his kid to give to his wife?

If you aren’t aware, it mostly stems from the scene at 1:48 of Triage when he hands his son one of the fruit tags. The idea would be that if both the kid and the wife were in a vegetative state, Shidou decided it was worth it to kill his kid for sure in order to have a higher chance of saving his wife (matching genetic structures and all that).

Given that I’m not even certain it’s scientifically possible, I’m on the fence, but I’d love to hear if you had any input on it!

(Damn, this blog really is 90% asks huh. Well I do enjoy answering them so)

Hey! It's an interesting idea, especially considering the guy is paired with Mahiru, but I'm not sure it works all that well. I'l give my reasoning for that conclusion and then I accidentally made a theory about what the scientific purposes of Shidou's work were oops.

CW: Murder, organ harvesting, human experimentation.

For one, it really seems like Shidou loved all his family, not just his lover.

(T1) Q3: Is there anything you treasure?

S: Family.

Family, not romantic love.

(T2) Q10: Do you like children?

S: Of course.

This one's a bit vaguer, but still.

But the main thing which makes this theory extremely unlikely in my eyes is this:

(T1) Q14: If you could bring someone back to life, who would you choose?

S: I can't choose anyone.

Since we know there are people he'd like to bring back, the idea that Shidou can't choose who to bring back to life implies he has multiple people he would want to save from death. The issue there is that taking organs from his child/children would very directly mean he chose his wife over him/them, which is inconsistent with this answer, and his general attitude towards everyone in his family.

If you want my interpretation of that scene, well, let's look at the line said as Shidou hands his kid the tag.

Those cards of promise I discarded They were retribution for my incessant taking

Note that "cards of promise" might refer to the death tags. The "promise" would be that Shidou keeps the braindead people alive, and he discarded the cards because he killed a bunch of people without worrying too much about it. But now he's getting the "cards of promise" as retribution, because his own family has met a similar fate to the one of the people he killed. The first line makes it a bit more clear.

Those cards of promise I discarded Were they retribution for my incessant taking In that case, I should have been the one That’s the correct answer, but then why

So he feels he should have been the one to die.

That does sorta make it sound like, by giving his kid the "card of promise", he's killing the child, but I actually think it's the other way around. Note that the card first falls from the air, then Shidou hands it to the kid, sorta implying it's someone elses. If you look at Throw Down, the death tag of his wife seems to come directly from her, it doesn't just fall from the air.

(And yes, that is his wife. Even beyond what the flower figure looks like, the death tag has XY crossed out while XX is left alone. Since all death tags have both sets, it can be assumed the corpse at the end of Throw Down is meant to be a woman by sex because chromosomes)

Thus, I think what this scene might be trying to show is that Shidou wasn't taking organs just for his wife, but for his children too.

Or maybe child.

This is the obligatory part of my posts where I go insane. The kid is still alive and standing in the scene, so what this could imply is that Shidou began killing for this child before the pressumed accident.

This is where I bring in the fact that Shidou claimed in his 2nd VD that he also took organs for scientific purposes, and from his Voice Reveal jumbled quote, it seems to have happened before shit went down.

Shidou: [Cackling] Not dead... Yeah, she's definitely not dead... I finally understand the value of what I've been robbing people of...

So he's been robbing people of their braindead family members before his wife became braindead herself.

So, here's what I think. Shidou's child, the one from this scene, had some sort of illness of some kind, and Shidou began experimenting with organ harvesting to see if he could cure it. Don't ask me what the hell he was actually planning to do, but that's the idea. The whole science side of this storyline feels to me like it isn't meant to be 100% accurate to reality, but that's just my opinion.

This could also explain why his Voice Reveal thingy only mentions a she (or a name of three letters I guess, seeing as it's all blacked out, but you know), and why we only see her in Throw Down, without having him kill the child to explain the Triage scene in question. It's possible both his children died instantly in whatever accident they got into, but his wife survived in a vegetative state. And in that moment, Shidou began trying to use what he learnt from his experimentation to save her by harvesting more organs.

I think this works decently enough, even if like you said, the actual science is questionable at best. I mean, it clearly didn't work, so.

Is this something? I feel I'd be more confident if I could scan the damn QR code in the death tag of that scene, but I assume it just takes you to the Judge page like the ones from Backdraft.

Anyways, hope that answered your question! Take care!

[obsoleteozymandias]

of course i’d be happy to do a matchup exchange for TWST with you! its my pleasure

-> i’m alright with any pronouns, and i have no sexual preference

thank you ✨

Thanks for the matchup exchange! You delivered with godly speed and so I shall reciprocate. Hope you like it! 

== Twisted Wonderland ⇒

I match you up with…

Azul Ashengrotto

You two start off as enemies. Azul’s shadiness and arrogance makes you roll your eyes, and he’s less than thrilled to meet someone else who’ll meet him tit for tat in a debate. So you two stay far away from one another in the beginning. 

You two are always head-to-head in any event, whether it’s classes or simply seeing who walks to class the fastest. 

And at some point, maybe when you realize he’s got some deep rooted insecurities, and he realizes your genuine passion and will to do good, something changes. Maybe you realize it, maybe you don’t. Azul DEFINITELY doesn’t. 

The bitter scowls on his face turn to more intrigued ones when you debate eachother. He’s not trying to unravel your points anymore - he’s listening to them. 

He starts catching you on your walks, slowly pacing next to you as he proposes a business idea for the Lounge. He isn’t even looking to brag, he just wants your input, or even just a sliver of your acknowledgement. 

And at some point, Azul realizes what he is feeling and has something of a mid-life crisis. 

He’ll try to court you in a rather obvious and uncomfortable way at first; showing off his assets (however you choose to perceive that phrase) and attempting to appeal to what is traditionally romantic to you. 

But he’ll see eventually that you just don’t work that way, and that all he needed to do was be himself. 

NOW, In a relationship? Power couple. 

Azul relies on you for advice on how to better the lounge, how to manage the tweels, anything. Even if he just needs another perspective, he goes to you. 

You don’t have to worry about anyone who you dislike bothering you ever again. Mention their name to Azul once and he’s already got it sorted out the next day. 

Lord help you if Azul ever sees your drawings, because they’ll be in a museum the next day. Not only does Azul marvel at your talent and expressiveness, but he wants everyone else to do so as well. 

If that does happen, he 100% buys a shirt with your work on it and sleeps in it. 

You keep Azul grounded through all his exploits. He hears that you have a favorite band or musician, and you have to stop him from buying them out just so they could play in the lounge for you every day. 

What he admires most about you, however, is a mix of your passion and dedication towards bettering yourself. Azul knows how it feels to be bullied and dismissed for the way he looked or acted, and seeing someone like you work to improve yourself constantly reminds him that it’s never too late to change, and never too much work to make oneself better. He genuinely looks up to you. 

People start to notice Azul becoming less concerned with money and exchanges in contracts. Not completely, because there’s no changing that part of himself, but he becomes more…kind. 

And he laughs more! And his smiles get a bit less devious. 

Azul loves you in a way he never had before. He’ll spoil you, but also let you see his sensitive side, and let you into his heart completely and willingly. 

Overall, y’all are THAT couple. You’re the textbook definition of enemies (possibly one sided) to lovers, and it couldn’t have turned out better.

[eddies-garden]

Something I don’t know how to talk about , and I don’t see a lot of people talking about is like. The inverse of rejection sensitive dysphoria? As someone who grew up socially clumsy and has what I’d call terminal-foot-in-mouth disease & what is probably high empathy (or, sensitivity to it ?) I tend to have /really/ bad reactions to the implication (or reality!) that I hurt someone. It’s not the same feeling of rejection, because often it’s the people that I have very little fear of/sensitivity to rejection that trigger this reaction the most.

I very, very rarely say or do things with the intention to hurt. I work really hard to not hurt anyone. The thought of hurt, of pain, being the result of my actions is literally nauseating, even when it comes to people who have hurt me. But I have hurt people accidentally and only found out much later that they felt that way, or worse, that they thought I was a mean person.

And, realistically, it happens! We are all human, we will make mistakes. We will hurt the ones we love, sometimes a little and sometimes a lot, and what matters is taking responsibility, apologizing, and trying to make it so it doesn’t happen again.

And, practically, it’s VERY unhelpful to have a Big Emotion to someone telling you that you hurt them. It’s a fast track to a whole lot more hurt for everyone, and a great way to kill a relationship.

I know this. And yet, sometimes I will fumble, and I will cause even a modicum of discomfort, and someone who I love (and loves me!) will tell me. And it is like my soul is being ripped out of my body through my asshole and the Devil Himself is telling me I am a selfish bastard. Any background static in my brain gets turned up to eleven. I am overtaken with such potent feelings of shame, embarrassment, and self hatred that I, for a moment, literally cannot process anything else. There is no sensory input, no logical thought. Just. Pure, heightened, emotion.

It’s terrible, and I hate it. But it’s hard to talk about in ways that foster healing. Not that RSD is easy, but it feels harder to talk about this particular pattern because in these moments I really am at fault, I really did fuck up. It’s a little hard to have empathy for a guy who can’t hear that he hurt someone without getting physically nauseous. It’s hard to give comfort to someone who did the wrong thing.

I don’t really have a conclusion to this. It just. Blows? And it’s a problem I don’t know how to solve. I wish it weren’t the case, because it only winds up hurting the people I love more, which as you can imagine, fosters a snake eating its own take situations.

[noxexistant]

For your consideration:

Blink is regularly trying to upstage Jack and prove he can be a good enough leader (he stepped up when Jack was in the Refuge, why did he have to step back down?). He gets angry at times and can't always make rational decisions under pressure. There's a reason he's not usually leader.

But Jack starts asking his thoughts on things, getting his opinion when he's in a headspace when he can think clearly. Letting Blink feel like his thoughts finally matter. And Blink starts to feel like maybe he doesn't need to be leader, because Jack still values him.

oh i loooove this

blink is constantly chasing after the position of leader because he feels like he has to - sometimes because he wholeheartedly believes (when delusional) he deserves it or is meant for it - but when he’s clear-headed he’s not entirely sure he even wants it. he just…wants to have it, wants to be worth that, wants to prove that he’s just as good as jack. he’s not worth anything if he’s stuck behind him, below him. he wants to be worth something.

but he also knows that he’s not a good leader. not a consistent one, at least. he has moments of being good, and he really does try, and he sincerely loves everyone else in the gang, but then he gets stressed or angry or overwhelmed. he starts getting paranoid that the others are talking about him, resenting him, because he’s different - not one of them - when he’s leader. he makes impulsive decisions that put himself and the others at risk, he gets aggressive when any of them challenge him or even just don’t do as he says immediately, he sees anyone - but especially racer and crutchie, jack’s favourites - as competition. he starts hating jack, and he doesn’t like that. he doesn’t want to be like that, feel that way about his friends, be stuck between this overwhelming pressure or absolute worthlessness.

it helps so much when jack starts asking for his input. at first, blink doesn’t really understand it. he thinks maybe jack’s mocking him, maybe trying to use him, but if blink makes a suggestion and jack likes it he’ll announce it to the room just like that - “‘ey, blink’s got a good idea! he says—“

and the others, like they always do, start to follow jack’s lead. blink knows some of them are a little afraid of him, especially since his few stints as leader and the outbursts he’d had during that time, but steadily they start trusting him and coming to him for advice. jack won’t finalise decisions until himself, race, and crutchie (and davey) are all in agreement, and suddenly blink finds himself on that committee too. if he doesn’t like something, the whole thing gets put on hold until jack can work something out with him. suddenly, blink doesn’t feel like he has to overcompensate for not being jack, and that in itself helps him keep a clearer head.

“why’re you askin’ me?” he asks gruffly, on a rougher day, when jack asks him what they should do about something. “you’re here. you’re the leader, jack. you don’ need me.”

jack scoffs. “‘course i need you. i needs all’a youse. ain’t any use tryin’ to be a leader all by myself. i don’t got many good ideas, you guys gotta fill in the gaps.”

blink doesn’t really know what to say to that, doesn’t know how to rationalise jack so openly admitting as their leader that he doesn’t always know what to do - that he relies on them too. jack must notice it, because he steps a little closer and claps a hand on blink’s shoulder - on his far side from his bad eye - and squeezes. “‘ey, we all got each other’s backs, blink. you back me up, i back you up. i trust you.”

blink swallows the urge to tell him that he shouldn’t. that blink’s dangerous at best. instead, he manages a tight, lopsided sort of smile.

“so, if i says we should soak ‘em?”

jack grins back at him, amused. “i’d at least hear you out.”

[untrustedlifegamedev]

Mysterious 4X Game on NodeOS – Anyone Heard of DR4X?

Post #1 – by RetroGamer92Date: 2023-03-01 18 : 32 : 51

Hey everyone, I recently stumbled upon a weird 4X game called DR4X while browsing through some NodeOS archives. The game looks like it was made for something similar to the Apple II. Has anyone else ever heard of or played this game? It seems to have a pretty eerie atmosphere, and I can’t find much info on it. Would love to hear your thoughts!

Post #2 – by NodeNerdDate: 2023-03-01 19 : 45 : 12

I’ve heard of NodeOS, but I haven’t come across DR4X before. I’m curious now! If you don’t mind sharing the archive, I’d like to check it out. You never know, it could be a hidden gem or just another obscure piece of gaming history!

Post #3 – by VintageGamerDate: 2023-03-01 21 : 05 : 48

Never heard of DR4X, but I’m interested. I love digging up old games, especially if they’re creepy or weird. Please share the archive if you can, RetroGamer92!

Post #4 – by RetroGamer92Date: 2023-03-02 10 : 27 : 06

Alright, I uploaded the archive to a file-sharing site. Here’s the link: [LINK REMOVED]. Let me know what you guys think! I played it for a few hours yesterday, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that there’s something off about it.

Post #5 – by NodeNerdDate: 2023-03-02 15 : 20 : 19

I just started playing DR4X, and I have to agree with you, RetroGamer92. There’s something unsettling about the game. The graphics are crude, but the atmosphere is strangely chilling. And the sound design…it feels like there are whispers hidden in the background noise. I can’t quite make out what they’re saying, but it’s giving me the creeps.

Post #6 – by VintageGamerDate: 2023-03-02 18 : 15 : 35

I’ve been playing DR4X for a couple of hours now, and I noticed something weird. I came across a hidden menu option, and when I selected it, a picture of a woman in a red dress appeared, with the text “The Lady in Red.” Anyone else found this? It’s kinda freaking me out.

Post #7 – by RetroGamer92Date: 2023-03-02 22 : 13 : 02

Whoa, I haven’t seen that, VintageGamer! I did some searching, and I found a couple of mentions of a mysterious figure called “The Lady in Red” connected to the development of NodeOS. I couldn’t find any solid info, but it seems like she’s a sort of urban legend. The more I play DR4X, the more I feel like there’s something hidden beneath the surface. I’ll keep looking into it and update you all if I find anything.

Post #8 – by NodeNerdDate: 2023-03-03 10 : 05 : 47

Guys, I played DR4X late into the night, and I swear I saw something that looked like a child’s face in the static when I restarted the game. It happened so fast, I couldn’t get a screenshot, but it’s really freaked me out. Has anyone else experienced anything like this?

Post #9 – by VintageGamerDate: 2023-03-03 13 : 23 : 11

NodeNerd, I think I saw something similar! It was late, and I thought I was just seeing things, but now that you mention it, I’m not so sure. I’ll keep an eye out and try to get a screenshot if I see it again. This is getting weirder by the minute.

Post #10 – by LostInCodeDate: 2023-03-03 16 : 45 : 55

I’ve been lurking in this thread and decided to give DR4X a try. I’m a programmer, and I thought I’d take a look at the game’s code. I found something very strange in there. There are lines of code that don’t seem to have any purpose, but they’re written in a way that looks like some kind of… incantation or ritual? I’m not sure if this is just a bizarre easter egg, but it definitely adds to the creepy atmosphere of the game.

Post #11 – by RetroGamer92Date: 2023-03-03 19 : 30 : 12

Thanks for the input, LostInCode. That’s really odd. I managed to find an old forum post from someone who claimed to work on NodeOS, and they mentioned that the operating system’s development was shrouded in secrecy. The post hints that the so-called “Node” might be made of writhing energy and souls, and that we can somehow get data from it. It sounds far-fetched, but given the strange things we’ve seen in DR4X, I can’t help but wonder if there’s some truth to it.

Post #12 – by NodeNerdDate: 2023-03-04 01 : 25 : 27

I played DR4X again tonight, and I caught a glimpse of another face in the static. This time I managed to take a screenshot! Here it is: [IMAGE REMOVED]. It looks like another child’s face, and there’s something haunting about it. I’m starting to get really unnerved by this game, and I’m not sure if I want to keep playing.

Post #13 – by VintageGamerDate: 2023-03-04 09 : 17 : 43

That’s seriously creepy, NodeNerd. I don’t know what’s going on with this game, but it feels like we’re uncovering something we shouldn’t. I’m going to do some more research on the Lady in Red and see if I can find any connections between her and DR4X.

Post #14 – by LostInCodeDate: 2023-03-04 14 : 52 : 11

I’ve been digging deeper into the game’s code, and I found references to five different children, each with their own unique ID. It’s like the game is keeping track of these children, but I can’t figure out why. I also found more of those bizarre incantation-like lines, and they seem to be connected to the children’s IDs. This is getting stranger by the minute.

Post #15 – by RetroGamer92Date: 2023-03-04 21 : 10 : 30

Guys, I just found an article from an old newspaper about a CEO who was suspected of abducting five children but was never charged due to lack of evidence. The article had a picture of her, and she was wearing a red dress. It has to be the Lady in Red. The article mentioned that the children were never found. I can’t shake the feeling that this has something to do with DR4X and the strange things we’ve been experiencing.

Post #16 – by VintageGamerDate: 2023-03-05 11 : 23 : 19

I can’t believe it, RetroGamer92. This is getting darker than I ever imagined. I found another article about the Lady in Red, and it mentioned that she was also a programmer who worked on an “experimental project.” It didn’t go into details, but it seems very likely that she could be connected to NodeOS and DR4X. We need to be careful with this game. It feels like we’re playing with something dangerous.

Post #17 – by NodeNerdDate: 2023-03-05 16 : 49 : 27

I can’t do this anymore, guys. I played DR4X again last night, and I had a nightmare about the faces in the static. I’m convinced that there’s something sinister going on here. I’m deleting the game and stepping away from this. I suggest you all do the same.

Post #18 – by LostInCodeDate: 2023-03-05 20 : 08 : 32

I think NodeNerd is right. I’ve uncovered more unnerving code related to the children and the strange incantations. It’s like the game is haunted by their souls, and the Lady in Red somehow trapped them in it. I’m out, too. This is beyond anything I’ve ever encountered, and I don’t want any part of it.

Post #19 – by RetroGamer92Date: 2023-03-06 10 : 35 : 15

It’s been a wild ride, but I’m with NodeNerd and LostInCode on this one. There’s something deeply wrong with DR4X, and I don’t want to risk whatever it is getting worse. I’ve deleted the game, and I suggest everyone else does the same. Let’s just let this mystery remain unsolved. Stay safe, everyone.

Thread Closed by Moderator – 2023-03-06 12 : 15 : 43 This thread has been closed due to the disturbing nature of its content. We ask that all members of the community refrain from discussing or sharing the game mentioned in this thread. We will remove any future threads or posts related to DR4X. Please remember to stay safe and prioritize your well-being.

NOTE, I am the sole owner of the featured audio and images in this article. If you want to use them in your own content you must contact me.

[junomoons]

I’ve had a few asks in my inbox from Palestinian people trying to fundraise to get out of Gaza, and I’ve been reblogging any donation posts I see on my feed. In an effort to make my support for Palestine and its people more effective, I’m going to focus in a bit, and aim to share 1 specific dono post/reply to 1 ask a day. I’ll try to reblog it multiple times throughout the day (on a queue probably?) and write something about the person and their story, so that anyone who sees it can be sure that it’s a genuine vetted campaign.

I’m unable to do much else while I��m struggling to recover from severe burnout atm, but I want to make sure that what I CAN do is as effective as possible. If anyone has any tips/advice for maintaining your activism while dealing with burnout, I’d really love to hear it and would appreciate your input.

🇵🇸 Palestine will be free 🇵🇸

[canonicallyanxious]

why don't people prefer stories written in the first person pov? i never had a problem with it. i am eagre to find out why people actually don't like it.

Ah this is a really interesting question, thank you! i hope you don’t mind if i post it on my blog, i’d be interested to see if anyone else has any input on this as i can really only speak for myself, and i think i’ll address this more from a writer’s perspective, i.e why i’ve personally never tackled a fic in first person

So i see fanfic as a very character driven genre, perhaps not everyone will agree but for me the most important thing when reading fic is characterization. imo first person requires an incredibly strong voice to work, more so than third or even second [which ftr is actually my preferred style out of the three! talk about unpopular narrative voices lol], which is super hard to execute for characters that already exist. like, in mainstream fiction, i feel like since you’re building a character from scratch there’s not as much pressure to really channel the POV character, but in fanfic the audience already knows the character whose perspective you’re trying to write from, if that makes sense? so in order to make first person work in fic i think you have to have a really, really deep understanding of the character whose voice you’re trying to write. and in first person it’s really easy to let yourself bleed through into the narration!

Also, the other aspect of fic that makes first person difficult to write in is immersion. At least for me, the most compelling thing about good fanfic is that it tends to possess a quality where you get really immersed in the world, the character’s headspace, etc. but in first person, by definition there’s always going to be distance between the audience and the story because you’re constantly reminded that everything about the narrative is being told to you through an additional filter of someone else’s POV. the best first person fics i’ve read dealt with this through even richer world building than usual and a unique writing style that distinguished the fic from other things the writer had written so you knew this was different, but i for one just find it much easier to turn to second or third person if i want to facilitate this quality

btw this post makes some good points about the pros and cons of writing in first person, though it mostly is from a mainstream fiction perspective than a fanfic perspective

[also ftr i myself don’t dislike fics in the first personat all, and some of the best fics i’ve ever read across any fandom were in first person! but i do think it can be really difficult to pull off, for the above reasons]

[jinkicake]

Mouthful

You suck them off while they’re on the phone. 

Kozume Kenma x Reader

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Miya Osamu x Reader

Here you go Anon, I hope you like it!!! I am pushing the Oikawa, Kuroo, Bokuto bffs agenda because we were robbed of that interaction. I just know they would all be good friends like please,,,, imagine these mfs in college together as roommates.... It would be so perfect and they all have the brooding quiet type s/o heheh.... Also, I saw spoilers for bnha and um..... ummm.... UMMMMMM

SEMI-SMUTTY // NSFW

WC- 1,830

~~~

Kozume Kenma 

Kenma has the best poker face, nothing is going to give away the fact that he is getting head

Except for when a tiny, tiny, appreciative sigh leaves his lips…..

Then the other person on the line, most definitely Kuroo will be like ‘Yo, what are you doing~’ Yes, Kuroo can tell when Kenma is getting head and will probably praise him for it 

I think if you first try your advances Kenma would simply stare at you with disgust, making no effort to hide that same level of repulsiveness in his voice 

He’d go along with it though because he is not going to try that hard to stop you, ‘why waste that energy’ 

His nimble fingers would card through your hair and he would instantly become relaxed like his shoulders would go limp and he’d flutter his eyes shut

Kenma would still be able to keep up with the conversation though because he doesn’t really add that much input anyway

However even though most people wouldn’t find any difference in his change of attitude….. Kuroo would notice, how can’t he? He would notice the subtle changes in his pudding hair best friend and would be like ‘are you getting head right now’

To which Kenma would go bright red and tense up really quick and try to hide it but ultimately give up and just sigh in defeat ‘yeah’ 

Kenma doesn’t like talking on the phone,,, you take it upon yourself to help him relax~

Kenma pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, trying hard not to let the hiss escape his lips. He doesn’t glance down at you, he knows that if he did, he would come undone. The feeling of your warm mouth sucking him in so nicely, your cheeks hollowing around his legnth, your tongue running underneath his cock, it makes his knees utterly weak.

“Yeah, I met that dude Oikawa, I don’t know why everyone hates him. He seems like a cool guy to me,” Kuroo aimlessly rambles, going on about how he met the well-known setter. “he’s going to hang out with Bokuto and I next weekend. You wanna come?”

Kenma sighs and it’s not because of your tongue. He silently thinks long and hard before speaking up again.

“No.” 

You end up gagging on his length, blame on the fact that you tried laughing while sucking him off. 

“Kenma, you’d really like him.” Kuroo persuades and Kenma mentally pictures the pros and cons. 

“I’d rather play video games,” Kenma’s fingers rake through your hair and he makes the mistake of looking down at you. A quiet moan leaves his lips, the perfect little ‘ah’ that he doesn’t even hear himself. The line goes quiet for awhile and Kenma assumes that it is because Kuroo is trying to come up with another reason why Kenma should join them.

“Is (Y/N) giving you head right now?” Kuroo asks boldly and you gag once again, pinching your eyes shut at the humiliation. Defeat washes over Kenma. 

“Yeah.” He sighs and Kuroo hums slightly.

“Finally, good for you, take it like a champ.” Kuroo praises and Kenma’s nose scrunches in disgust. “Anyway, I’ll come by at like nine on Saturday okay? Oikawa is only in Tokyo for the weekend.” 

Kenma never can win, can he?

“Fine.”

Kuroo Tetsurou 

Kuroo is suuuuch a showoff, please he will do it just to make you flustered

He will purposely roll his shoulders back, sit on the couch all arrogantly, stare straight into your eyes as he bites his lip, use his hand to push his hair back while purposely flexing his bicep, he does it all for your enjoyment as well

He is eye-candy and that bitch knows it,,,,, anything for his lovely s/o

Kuroo wouldn’t make any noises though because he doesn’t really want to get caught in the middle of a blowjob. You would refuse to finish him off and then he wouldn’t have your sweet mouth anymore….. 

But,,,, if someone did catch him in the middle of a blowjob, Kuroo would not be embarrassed, please his ego would flourish I feel like he is into that kind of thing

Side bar…. Sometimes I go off with Kuroo and I think,,,, is this too occ? because I remember he is just a big science dork but then I remember no he is a scorpio and then it all makes sense, Kuroo is the best of both worlds 

Kuroo wouldn’t be able to pay attention at all to the conversation at hand like Bokuto could be asking him questions about something and Kuroo is just like ‘yup, it was really hot today’ like he can’t keep up….. not when you’re so generously sucking him off

Then Kenma is like … and Akaashi is like … because they can put two and two together unlike their oblivious friend

It gets to the point where Kenma will start doing something else, like playing a video game while Bokuto tries to keep a conversation going between four people all by himself

Please, Kuroo is the ultimate tease with you but….. if he is going to get pleased then he will also try to please you as well

“And then the vice-principal got mad at me,” Bokuto groans loudly, his eye twitching as he thinks back to the incident that happened earlier in the week. “it’s not my fault he wears a wig!” 

“Bokuto that was not the reason you got in trouble,” Akaashi sighs disappointedly, Kuroo doesn’t pay attention to them.

“What happened?” Kenma comments, slightly curious in the conversation at hand. Kuroo gently cups your cheek, running his thumb against your skin lovingly as he stares down you. At the sight of your teasing eyes and sinful tongue sucking on the tip of his hard cock, his thighs twitch beside you.

“… then Bokuto spiked the principals head to ‘kill the bug’ and also set his wig back to normal.” Akaashi finishes, heaving another disappointed sigh.

“See, I was helping him. He should be thanking me not scolding us for an hour.” Bokuto complains and Akaashi tries not to slap his captain through the phone. 

“This is what I deal with on a daily basis, I even have a notebook to predict his next moves.” Akaashi tells Kenma, his head still numb from the scolding he had to endure earlier in the week. 

“I don’t think anyone on our team is that bad, maybe Lev,” Kenma thinks and Kuroo licks his lips, his eyes darkening when he zones in on your mouth. 

“Kuroo, is he even listening?” Bokuto asks curiously and Kenma narrows his eyes when he pieces together why his friend is so quiet. He knows Kuroo is either getting head or giving it. 

“Ignore him, Bokuto, it’s good we don’t have to hear his voice.” Kenma tosses out and Kuroo gasps. Of course, out of everything, that is what he heard. 

“Kenma!” Kuroo snaps and the setter simply hides further under his blanket on the other end of the line. “I’m just busy,” 

“With what?” Bokuto eagerly pesters and Kuroo glances down at you once more. 

“Stuff.”

Miya Osamu 

Osamu also has a good poker face, nothing can give away that he is getting head…. There will be no slip-up from him

Unless Atsumu says something and Osamu’s competitive side jumps out for a hot second then…… then there is a slip up

‘Fuck you ‘Tsumu, I’m getting head that’s why I don’t care about your bullshit story’ cue a dramatic gasp from Atsumu and Ojiro on the other end of the line like … silence 

Yeah, Osamu doesn’t do well when provoked…. Good luck with that one 

Osamu wouldn’t say no to getting head like if you got onto your knees and pushed your hair back,,,, Osamu would be like ‘shit, here we go again’ he might be hesitant at first but then he will cockily accept it

He’ll carry on the conversation with disinterest, not really paying attention because all he can do is stare at you

Sometimes he will fuck your face,,,, literally….. he has no shame but when you gag too loudly then he lets you have control again 

Osamu doesn’t really want to get caught…. He wants to shield you away from that

His little comments that he slides in conversations here and there will probably be noticed once he stops saying them because he is preoccupied with other things. The team can’t figure out what has him so distracted though

Osamu is usually pretty gentle,,,, until he gets angry so if you suck him off while he is having a conversation with Atsumu…. Good luck

“I have to help my grandmother around the house today, so there will be no practice. Take the day to rest.” Kita’s voice sounds throughout the multiple phones and Osamu lets out a soft hum. His eyes are staring directly at you while he holds your hair back out of your face, despite his neutral face you can still see the fondness swimming in his eyes.

“Say hi to gran for me!” Atsumu says and Ojiro glances at him, the two on the same device as they walk through the city. 

“No.” Kita responds and Atsumu sighs dejectedly before going off on Ojiro when he starts to laugh at him. 

Osamu continues to pay no attention to him, instead, he thrusts into your mouth while holding your head still so he can control the pace. It feels so good, he could fucking cum-

“Yo, ‘Samu what are you even doing? Reading your old man magazines?” Atsumu snickers when he notices how quiet his brother has been. Osamu closes his eyes momentarily, trying to calm himself down from snapping. He gently pulls himself off of you, allowing you to take over the pace. 

“Eat shit ‘Tsumu.” Osamu snaps back, now watching the way your hands grip his strong thighs as you bob your head along his length. 

“My grandmother-“ Kita starts but is quickly cut off. 

“Ah, the shit that you cook ‘Samu?” Atsumu retorts, sticking his tongue out despite Osamu not being able to see it.

“Stop it, my grandmother-“ Kita tries again but Osamu interrupts him. The grip in your hair tightens as his anger grows.

“You really like that shit then since all you do is fucking eat it!” Osamu curses and Atsumu decides to tease him even more. 

“I’ve never seen (Y/N) eat your cooking, that’s how you know it’s shit.” A gasp is heard right after Atsumu’s comment, Suna’s mouth falls open in shock.

“She eats all my cooking, I feed her well but right now she’s too busy sucking my dick.” Osamu spits and you immediately pull off of him, your mouth a perfect ‘o’ as you stare up at him in disbelief. 

“You, right now?” Atsumu asks slowly and the line goes quiet.

“My grandmother is listening, I have the phone on speaker.” Kita finally finishes and the Miya twins start to count their final days.

~

Taglist.

@yams046 @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy @xhanjisungiex @xxashshs @chaosamu @angelkogane @augustdearly @kunimwuah  @littleshopoflove @osamuonigiri @pearzuko @darksxder @macaronnv @nerdygremlin @buzzybeebee​

[oumaheroes]

Stargazing

Word Count: 2030

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘If you could go back to any era, which would you choose?’ There is a stone in-between France’s shoulder blades, something that finally tips the scales from being comfortable into not, so France rolls onto his side, cradling his head in his hand.

From his spot in the grass next to him, England turns his head lazily, the movement long and slow. His eyes are the last to move, fixed on the stars, and they find France’s with a sharp flick, ‘What?’

‘Are you too drunk to listen?’ France lifts a heavy arm and reaches across the small distance between them to brush some errant hair away from England’s forehead and lets it stay there, tangled in his roots. France himself is wine soft and slow, warm in his stomach and chest from both the day and the drink which settles within him.

England huffs, ‘More like drunk enough that I can stop pretending you’re worth listening to.’

France hums indulgently, far too jovial at the moment to search for any unintended offense, ‘oh, the lies you tell yourself. They do amuse me.’

England frowns, head still facing France and cheek pillowed in the grass.  Wine is not enough to soften him entirely, it seems, ‘that is rich, coming from you.’

France brings his hand down from England’s hair to lay it across his mouth, ‘I’m not starting anything with you this evening, I’m too full.’

England opens his mouth and, very gently, bites the meat of the pad of France’s hand. Just to show that he could and to be difficult, showing that he won’t go down without a fight. France’s small input in the ridiculous battle is to leave it there, refusing to give in. Eventually, England lets go and moves his head away, although not before pressing his teeth down just that bit harder. France reclaims his hand and allows him escape without protest.

‘What drivel did you ask me?’ England looks back up at the sky again, high and cloudless above them.

‘If you could be in any era again, any that we have lived through,’ France repeats, ‘which would you pick to go back to?’ He has caught England in a good mood, one where he has allowed himself to be seen, for a time, without anything sharp covering him. Drink has made him pliant and loose tongued and France, in a similar mood, is keen to make the most of it.

England rolls his head slightly back, considering the question, ‘How long do I get in the era?’

‘No, don’t do that, don’t make it technical. It’s not a difficult question.’

‘It most certainly is, running water always influences things,’ England’s mouth twists in a wry hint of a smile, ‘and it’s one thing to pop back to the Tudor times for one of the court parties and quite another to have to spend more than a week there. I do not lament the loss of hose and codpiece.’

‘I do, they made my legs look fabulous.’

England snorted and rolled his eyes, ‘Why am I not surprised.’

‘You’re avoiding the question,’ France twists away from him briefly to feel for the wine bottle they’d been drinking from. It had rolled away slightly, the slight incline of France’s garden causing it to move easily as they shuffled about and he takes a long swing of it before laying it between them, neck resting on England’s stomach. He’s past beyond the point of using glasses now.

‘I’m not avoiding the question, I was trying to-‘

‘No stop, you’re ruining it; I’ll go first,’ after brushing the grass underneath to clear it of stones, France returns to lying on his back, arms behind his head, and ignores England’s tut of annoyance, ‘I think I’d actually want to go back to the days under Rome, just for a visit.’

England sits up on his elbows and takes a sip from the bottle himself, ‘I hadn’t expected that of you.’

‘No?’

‘God no. I would have thought you’d want to go back to one of your King Luis. You know, peak opulence, decadence- all that faff. You still love the fancy balls and the clothes, and the needless tat that came with it,’ England takes another sip of wine and runs his tongue over his teeth, ‘the dances and the jewels, the silly little court rules of behaviour. The gossip.’

France chuckles, ‘you were so funny every time you were dragged along- so out of place! You couldn’t go more than an hour before letting your true colours slip free.’ England was never truly refined for very long, especially when it came to the Versailles’ court standards.

‘Anyone with a lick of sense was immediately out of place,’ England quips drily and lays down again, placing the cork back in the wine as he goes.

It sounds nearly empty- shame. It was a nice year and the last of the bottles that they’d brought out to the garden. Dinner had been a late, informal affair in France’s kitchen- homemade bread and creamy, locally made cheese with chicken. Simple and filling, comfort food for the both of them. The summer heat made them both unwilling for anything too excessive and the entire day had been spent doing lots of nothing much at all; England lounging about in shorts that France refrained from teasing him about lest he stop wearing them.

‘Yes well,’ France lifts his head and clumsily bats him in the stomach with the top of his hand, ‘despite that indeed being extremely enjoyable, I do mean it. My choice of era, I mean.’

England makes a soft noise that gently demands elaboration, a low rumble in the back of his throat but France needs no prompting. He presses a knuckle into the softness of England’s stomach and feels him breathe in deep and slow.

‘I’d love to have nothing to be responsible for again. Everything was done for me, as a colony- the way my cities were built, the improvements made to my industries, the negotiations for trade and commerce, everything. I’d like to revisit being a child, in the closest sense of childhood our kind has,’ France pauses, mulling that over, ‘Imagine that again, being small but without fear of being so. No politics, no money driven economy, no push for growth. We have spent so much of our lives racing to get somewhere, striving to be more that I can hardly remember what it was like to be nothing more than an idea, existing just to speak for the lives that called themselves mine.’

France turns and catches England watching him, eyes searching and heavy, ‘Does that make sense?’ he asks him.

‘No,’ England’s answer is immediate, ‘no, and yes. The desire to be I understand, but I detested that age.’

France smiles at him, understanding masked by the dark. England does not, and never did, like being anything other than in perfect control of himself. Relinquishing that to someone else, even for his own benefit, has never been anything more than a horror.

‘Well,’ France says, ‘that is my choice. I liked being looked after and I have so much to do nowadays that it would be nice to have nothing to do once again. Nothing more than wander about my fields and see my people, or visit a northern barbarian across the sea.’

‘Don’t talk about Scotland that way, you’ll hurt his feelings.’

France laughs and reaches down to find England’s hand, open palmed and curled fingers by his side. He intertwines his own with it and brings them upwards, watching as together they cut across to block the light from his house and silhouette into a tangle of them both.

‘So,’ he says, running a thumb across the skin of England’s knuckle, ‘what era would you choose?’

England sighs, a light thing but France can hear a yearning there, ‘Any of the years I was at sea. The 1500’s when I was first starting out and even up to the 1700’s when things became more regimented- any of them. To be able to just get in a boat and go, no one knowing when I would come back or even where I was going.’

France shudders, the idea of being out in ocean that deep and so alone chilling him. For creatures that revive after death, who can wake again and again and again as long as there is a body to return to, the ocean is a lonely, painful place to die. To sink lifeless into murky depths, only to reawaken there in the dark press of salty sea; most nations avoided it as much as they could, wishing to avoid the long, drawn out death choked by waves and forgotten on the seafloor.

England never had such a healthy fear of the oceans. He went out into thunderous storms and monstrous waves as if enchanted, unable to resist the pull of something untamed. England sailed off as soon as he was able, going out for further and longer than anyone else dared and losing himself in the harsh life of the brine. He was a different creature far out at sea, something so strangely alive and perfectly at home for a man made from the soul of the mountains and land.

‘You always were a strange one for the macabre,’ France drops their hands back down and finds England once more looking at the sky, the reflection of stars glinting in his eyes.

‘The seas never change,’ his voice is quiet and distant, ‘some things do change, of course- the boats we sail on, how we do so. Things shift on the sea, the lands we travel to and from are washed away and changed with time but the sea itself is always the same. I appreciate it for that, it is predictably unpredictable. Constantly refusing the press of mankind by being the one thing we can never truly understand, for all of mankind’s new fancy gadgets.’

England gives a sudden, dry laugh, ‘I used to navigate the world by constellations, now I have to travel just to find some stars. To the highest peaks I have, or deep in my countryside to avoid as much light pollution as I can. But out at sea they are as they have always been, the same things I have watched and tracked for thousands of years. That is when I can just be as I have always been.’

The sky hangs overhead, speckled and bright and now, France notices, startlingly empty, ‘I often forget that they’re there,’ France speaks to the sky, ‘Funny, isn’t it? How something so fundamental can disappear and mankind not even notice. How odd to forget that stars are there, then to not notice they’re gone.’

‘We are cursed or blessed to remember what’s past,’ England offers, ‘which one depends on who we remember for.’

They lay in silence for a moment. France feels the collected years sit with him openly, laying on his chest and heart like tiny weights. The ground pushes against his back, firm and unmoving, and he breathes in deeply, smelling the heat of the summer in the air. He is here. He is now. He is. Still, after all this time. He watches.

To exist is to change, to live is to evolve and move with the flow of time, but France understands the want for something constant in the flood, something that stays recognisable and the same throughout the years. The older he gets, the more he yearns for it keenly.

‘You’ve gone and made things serious,’ he lifts himself back up on an elbow, England looking at him without moving his head, ‘just like you to take a light conversation and ruin it.’

England raises an eyebrow, “Oh the lies you tell yourself; they do amuse me.”

His French is accented with a Norman dialect, a gentle dig and refusal to fully let France have what he wants and France laughs at it, at this one unchanging constant he is stuck with. He leans down to kiss him, hair curling into England’s face and hiding what remains of the night sky.

----

AN: Every time I try writing one of these small drabbles, I start out with a particular idea and tone in mind but gosh darn it they never go where I intend for them to.

Today we have ended up with this, two old men talking themselves in circles in the summer grass.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 11

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: Nope! Notes: Here we are, a breath away from the end. This features not one, but FOUR songs written by myself. If you only choose to listen to one of them, listen to the final one (Cradle of Heaven), as it is a duet I wrote specifically for this fanfiction, as something that the reader wrote to play together with Daniela. The links to these songs will be within the fanfiction itself, at relevant times. Past Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2: Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco, Pt. 6: Elegy, Pt. 7: Harmony, Pt. 8: Obbligato, Pt. 9: Berceuse, Pt. 10b: Hymn AMAB

Chapter 11: Cadence

(Cadence: Two chords that mark the end of a song)

The stage is set, the lights are dimmed, your heart pounds within your chest, and the world is yours. Soon, it will be Daniela’s. She is right by your side, as ever, hand gently taking hold of your own. There’s a silent reassurance in her grip, a reminder that the two of you have overcome a plethora of challenges. A promise that this will be no different. Both of you take a deep breath, in sync, before exchanging a quick kiss. All of your hard work has been leading up to the coming moments. Although you are beyond confident in your lover’s abilities, there is a shadow of doubt in the back of your mind. Not for her sake, but surrounding the expectations held by her mother, the standard against which you would be measured.

“Come hell or high water, Songbird, I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise,” Daniela whispers, squeezing your hand again, eyes unblinking as they stare into yours. “You’ve made every right choice, worked harder than anyone I know, and there is nothing more I can ask of you… except another kiss to celebrate afterwards, that is.” Giggling in response gives you the moment you need to relax, nerves fading into the background of your mind. “Now let’s put on a show the likes of which my mother has never seen, mhmm?”

THREE HOURS EARLIER:

“Here, you can borrow my brooch. It’s been in the family for generations, since before we even came to the village, passed down starting with an ancestor who crafted it himself, from materials he scavenged while fleeing his home country,” Daphne rambles, helping you attach the jewelry to your shirt. Thankfully, her hands do not tremble nearly as much as yours have been for the past hour. “I’m more than sure that Lady Daniela will tell you this much, but I feel the need to repeat just how good you look right now. I don’t know where the hell they’ve been hiding this version of our uniform, but damn do I wish I could get one for my next date with Ygritte. Seriously, if you can get one in my size, please do me that favor.”

“Anything for my best friend. Especially after all the times you’ve saved my ass these past few months,” you reply, pausing to give her shoulder an affectionate pat. If not for her constant interference running, someone would have certainly found out about your relationship with Daniela. “Speaking of that… of my life being on the line, I mean… no matter what happens today, no matter what Lady Dimitrescu decides, take care of yourself. You’ve gambled with your own blood to keep me safe, but what I’ve done, what I’ve risked, those were my choices. My consequences. The last thing I’d ever want is for you to pay for them, somehow.”

Rolling her eyes, Daphne gives you a playful shove to the chest, before smoothing out the fabric of your dress uniform. Now she refuses to meet your gaze, a familiar mistiness taking over her brown eyes.

“Nobody around here is stupid enough to think you’ll die today. You managed to get Lady Daniela, of all people, to stay focused long enough to learn some absolutely beautiful pieces of music. You have proved, time and time again, that you are a talented musician, teacher, and ‘servant’. So get out there and kick some metaphorical ass, my friend, because you are ready,” she finally says, offering you what seems to be a handshake. But as soon as your hand meets hers, she’s pulling you in for a hug, holding you tight for a solid minute. When at last you part, you give her what may very well be the last smile she’d ever see gracing your lips.

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

A hand’s edge against xer forehead, parallel to the ground, kept perfectly flat. From anyone else, it would be mockery. From xer? Honest salute, solidarity in a traditional form, accompanied by a sharp-toothed grin. Mimicking the expression, you wave at Ava, glad to see that xe would be awake for your concert. After your first night with your girlfriend, Daphne had helped arrange for someone to be your “cover story” for sleeping outside of your usual quarters. With Daniela’s input (and jealousy), only one candidate had revealed themselves, in the form of a (conveniently) mute butler with an inconsistent schedule, love of mischief, and somehow the respect of the Dimitrescu family. Now, xe appeared ready to escort you to the location of your trial by fire.

“Are you sure our mutual friend won’t be upset to see the two of us together?” You teased, knowing full well that Ava was one of the only people that Daniela trusted 100% around you. In response, xe gives an exaggerated shrug, then quickly links xer arm with your own. Together you march onwards to your destiny, amused by the way xe practically skipped down the hallway. Maybe there was a certain wisdom to xer shenanigans, a carefree philosophy that encouraged laughter in the face of death, and you embraced the thought with a smile.

Before long, however, the two of you encounter another unlikely pair headed towards the same destination: Lady Cassandra, looking somewhat embarrassed, with an unfamiliar maiden at her side. Their hands are clutching each other desperately, although neither of them dares to look at the other. Instead they both watch you closely from where they’ve paused in the corridor. Oddly unfazed, Ava gives them a short bow of acknowledgement, earning xer a brief nod from Cassandra. Seeming eager to move on, she addresses you quickly before gesturing for you to keep walking.

“Good luck. Don’t fuck this up for Daniela, or I’ll never hear the end of it,” she growls, doing her best to downplay her obvious concern. Wanting to let her keep up with her facade, you merely give a nod as you resume walking towards the concert stage. Soft footsteps behind you let you know that the strange pair are accompanying you. Still walking alongside you, Ava repeatedly glances behind you, putting out xer hands in the shape of a heart, giggling all the while. If you didn’t know any better, you would almost assume that xe wanted to get hit by Cassandra.

“Ava, please calm down. If you’re not careful, she’ll throw something at you. If she does that, you’ll probably dodge, and then I’ll probably end up getting hit, and then I’ll miss the concert, Lady Dimitrescu will kill me as punishment, Daniela will be sad and whiny about it, and none of you will have any peace for, like, a month. Three weeks, bare mims,” you tease, nudging xer in the ribs. Emphasizing a pout, xe sends one last look at Cassandra and her ‘friend’ (whose hand she was still holding onto like a lifeline), mouthing words you couldn’t parse. Based on the way Cassandra groans, it was something ridiculously cheesy. Regardless, xe behaves the rest of the way there…

ONE MINUTE TO SHOWTIME:

“I love you, Firefly, and I know that you’re going to do absolutely amazing out there. I’m so proud of you,” you murmur, pressing a feather-light kiss to Daniela’s cheek. As dearly as you wish to stay behind the curtain, in her arms, you know that the show was inevitable. With one last nod to your beloved, you part the fabric shielding you, stepping into the spotlight. Imaginary crowds grow hushed at your appearance, a sea of faces greeting you warmly. In truth, there are but five members in this audience, each gazing upon you with veiled interest. Donning you best presentation persona, you set this final act in motion. “Lady Dimitrescu, Lady Cassandra, Lady Bela, and Mx. Caldwell, it brings me great pleasure to present to you, on this day, a concert performed by your own Lady Daniela. For three months now I have acted as her instructor, and these three months have been, perhaps, the most rewarding of my entire life. I could not possibly be any more proud of her than I already am. Now, without further ado… let us begin!”

Stepping to the side, a tug of a rope has the curtains parting entirely, revealing your beloved, waiting ready at the piano. All at once your audience (including Cassandra’s partner, acting as a mere servant in the background) sits up with wide smiles. They look Daniela over, taking in the sight of her fanciest dress, and the way her eyes light up with joy. By the time her fingers begin dancing away at the keys, there is not a single ounce of anxiety in your entire soul. This first song is a relic from your past, a representation of an abandoned idea, yet she plays it like a celebration. It’s fast, hits hard, a bold take right out of the gate. Admittedly, it is also somewhat short. Nonetheless, it serves its purpose, igniting a spark of excitement in those present. Once the song ends, Daniela is surprised by the intensity of her family’s applause. In the back of her mind, she trembles with excitement, knowing that the best was yet to come.

Riding this wave of pride, she immediately settles into the next song, something slower but far grander. Affection thrums inside your chest as you watch your pupil perfectly execute another piece. You can only imagine what her mother must be feeling, to see just how far her daughter has come in such a short amount of time. A quick glance in Alcina’s direction reveals the barest hints towards her being impressed. For now that was enough to satisfy you. Soon enough her face would twist in surprise, as the second song ended, and a new face steps up onto the stage: Lady Bela. Wordlessly she retrieves her violin from the back of the stage, then turns to the front with a mischievous smile.

“Now, a duet! Presenting the ever-talented Lady Bela, to join Lady Daniela for a rendition of an original song, dubbed ‘Northern Lights’. Enjoy!” You call out, before once more taking your place at the side. While Daniela did not need you to count her in for her solo performances, this feels ever so slightly more important, and as such you do your best to conduct for the duration of the song. If either of the performers need it, they hide it well. Honestly, you weren’t sure if your girlfriend had looked your way even a single time so far. ‘Twas incredible to witness her. Akin to a siren, near glowing, taking to the stage as if born to grace its center. Even with Bela working her own magic, Daniela is ever the star. Together they weave a lovely song, notes rising high into the air, swirling around an enchanted audience.

When it ends, both performers give a bow, as if the entire affair had come to a close. Without hinting at what was to come, you switch places with the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. A deep breath rattles your ribcage as you find your center, reaching out to take Daniela’s hand, the two of you raising your arms upward in a display of union. For the first time this evening, Lady Alcina narrows her eyes in what feels like disapproval. But you pay her no mind. Instead you sit alongside your beloved, quietly settling into your practiced position.

There is no introduction for this song. No announcement, no showmanship, nor even a countdown into the symphony. Simply, like exhaling a breath, the two of you start to play. Your phrases echo hers, and vice versa, calling and answering, accompanying all the while, natural as anything holy in the wild. ‘Tis the second shortest song of the night, only long enough to showcase the degree of your partnership with Daniela. As the song crescendos into an ending, you manage to meet the gaze of your employer. Perhaps it is merely an illusion of hope, or a reflection of lights above, but you swear you see tears in her eyes.

“Outstanding, incredible,” she praises, rising to her feet alongside her other daughters, clapping all the while. Once again you rise to your feet, hand clasped with Daniela’s, bowing as deeply as you can manage. Before you can even process what’s happening, your girlfriend is being pulled away from you, swept up into the arms of her mother. Desperation digs like a knife into your heart, as you ache to celebrate with her, but you remain ever in the guise of a professional. “You did amazing, my dear. I cannot begin to describe how proud I am.” The family gathers around each other, buzzing with affection fit to make the hardest of hearts melt. You are left on the outside, awkwardly waiting, without a hint of acknowledgment.

Even if this concert was a measure of your skill as a teacher, Lady Dimitrescu had never bothered to consider you more than another servant. This night was about Daniela. About your secret girlfriend, the brightest star in all the skies. That is not something that bothers you, nor does it surprise you. All that makes you wish to weep is the desire to kiss her. To sweep her into your arms, with celebratory kisses, singing her name as a praise to higher powers. In the end, it takes several minutes for Daniela to pull away enough to move back to you, and even then she cannot give you the reaction she yearns for.

“I’ll come by to talk to you tonight, I promise,” she whispers, as she gives you the weakest hug you have ever felt. Then she is returning to her family, clinging to her mother with a massive grin. Soon enough you are left alone on stage, quiet surrounding you, mixed feelings gnawing at the pit of your stomach. Something feels… wrong. You cannot put a name to it. No one has hinted to you what your beloved has planned, for none but her even have a clue. As soon as she is alone with her mother, as soon as she has the smallest sliver of an opportunity, she knows what she must do. “Mother… we need to talk. I... I have a confession to make.”

[enviedear]

miss moonlight, put in a word → draco malfoy

DESCRIPTION ⌙ in which draco sees the same annoying hufflepuff he’s enamored within his dreams every night, but can’t muster up the courage to talk to her in waking life. so instead he talks to the moon, telling the rock that’s miles away, everything he wants to tell her. little does he know, she does the same thing.

PAIRING ⌙ draco x fem!reader

WORD COUNT ⌙ 3k

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

its a little angsty im sorry. but im nervous abt this and have been sitting on posting it for almost a month now so please lmk if you like it :)

based off the songs talking to the moon by bruno mars and please mr sun by tommy edwards

she waves at him, her eyes holding a happy glimmer. he walks closer to her and wraps his long arms around her, pulling her close. he breathes in her scent and she giggles. it sounds like heaven. he holds her like that for what feels like forever before she pulls away.

he watches as she sits down in the grass, patting the place beside her.

“sit draco.” she commands. he complies.

“i love it when i’m asleep. you’re here and the world is so much more peaceful.” he smiles, a real true smile. not like the ones he usually gives now.

“but imagine if we were awake. the world might not be so wonderful, but we’d have each other. and the sun. and the wind. and the trees. and missus moon.” she grins, looking up at the bright blue sky.

he wants to agree, and tell her that’s all they’ll ever need. but he knows he can’t. because truth be told he needs more. he needs to know his family will be safe. he needs to know if he’ll make it out of his sixth year alive. he needs more than the sun and moon.

instead, he places his head in her lap, relishing in the way her fingers card through his hair. she sings a song he can’t place as he falls asleep. 

“i love you y/n” he whispers, right before he dozes off.

that’s how the dreams usually end. he always slips off to sleep so peacefully in your arms. but when he wakes up, he’s still in the slytherin dorm, lonely and afraid.

yours end in the same way, and when you wake, you’re clutching your pillow as if it’s him. you don’t dare tell anyone about the dreams. your friends and family would think you mad. but it’s enough for you to be able to have them, even if you’re not sure if they’re shared or not. 

you see the way he looks in the dining hall, potions, and in passing. he’s always so monotonous. so unlike the boy you’ve grown up with.

you of course have dreams, where he’s told you everything that has happened to him. he’s confessed to you that he’s working with voldemort, for his parents' sake. he even told you about dumbledore. but no matter how much you beg him to leave that life behind, he can't. besides, you’re dreaming all of this. who’s to say it’s even real. 

so you stay away, yearning for bedtime. where you can talk to the boy you love more than anything else in the world.

you’re not sure how the dreams started but you have an idea.

and so does draco.

he reckons he must have used some sort of wandless magic the night he was thinking to himself on the astronomy tower. it had been a humid night and he was all alone. his eyes deadset on the bright moon in front of him. he had just started talking.

he knew the moon wasn’t someone that could actually listen but then again, maybe that’s what he wanted? he didn’t want someone to place any input on his situation. he just wanted to speak and let his thoughts travel into the void and maybe out from his aching head.

“i just want everything to be okay. mother deserves a son who can protect her and.. father needs me. i can’t fail.  i just wish i had someone to talk to when the sun goes down. someone kind and someone warm. i know they’re somewhere out there. but maybe all i’ll ever have is you missus moon, at night when it’s just the stars to listen in to our conversation.” the boy had mumbled, before making his way to his dorm room.

you had been having a word with missus moon that night as well, alone in your hufflepuff prefect dorm. you thought yourself lucky to have a window so that you could see the stars and the moon. you were fighting sleep and had no one else to speak to, so you watched the bright yellow moon as you recounted your troubles.

“my dreams have been so bad recently missus moon. i think it’s because i’m still so scared for everyone and myself. they say the dark lord could strike any day. i’d hate for anyone i love or even myself to end up like poor cedric. i wish i had someone to talk to, someone to understand. everyone thinks i’m crazy, but they don’t know what i know. the world is getting scary. at least when the stars light up my room i have you missus moon.” you had sighed getting off the floor and laying down in your bed.

that night draco dreamt of flower fields and you. at first, the boy wondered if maybe it was real. it seemed real. he could see you and everything around you so vividly. and the same for you, you made out his platinum hair and could smell his crisp cologne. but when the two of you awoke, you knew it couldn’t be real.

until the next night, where the both of you met again in your dreams.

“are you following me?” you had asked draco.

he narrowed his eyes at you, “how could i follow you into a dream. what a stupid thing to ask.”

“you’re supposed to be nice to me. this is my dream after all.” you had pouted.

draco snorted, “i need to stop drinking tea before bed. i’m having dreams where the people in them think they’re the ones doing the dreaming.”

“but i am the one dreaming! this is my dream. i can control it, watch!” you’d grinned, before commanding a nearby tree to grow apples.

draco’s eyes had widened, “no, this can’t be right.”

you watched as he wished for the tree to grow taller before glaring at you, “smack yourself.”

you glared back at him, “no, but you can shove your fist down your throat if you’re going to be rude.”

draco circled you, “so you don’t have to do what i tell you and neither do i. strange.”

“why would i have to do what you tell me to do in my own dream?” you’d asked.

the boy had shrugged, “maybe it’s not just your dream. maybe it’s mine too.”

that’s the most the two of you ever discussed the shared dreams. after that there wasn’t a need. you both enjoyed them. both of you needed them.

once in study hall you caught draco reading a book about dreams but you didn’t ask him about it. in truth, you were too afraid to have him label you as insane.

draco found himself wanting to speak with you too. countless times. he had grown quite fond of you after the dreams he found you in every night. so in the daytime, he would sneak glances at you. he took notice if you did your hair differently or if your makeup was done. of course, he knew he couldn’t talk to you. you’d think him mad. still, he found himself dropping subtle clues to see if you’d come over to him, like reading a ghastly book about dreams in a class the two of you shared. it hadn’t worked but he could have sworn he caught you looking his way.

draco spends hours obsessing over you, the dreams, and the few glances you would give him. but the vanishing cabinet is almost fixed and he knows it’d be foolish to speak to you now. no matter how much he wishes to run into your arms and tell you to take him away from here, he won’t. 

it’s a dreary day in june and you’re getting snacks for some of the first years when you hear it. maniacal laughter and breaking glass. your first thought is to check on your house. you rush into the hufflepuff common room and make sure everyone’s ok and then urge them to stay safe. they nod and bolt to their dorms.

then, you make your way to the source of the noise. the dining hall, which is torn to shreds, is crawling with death eaters. you feel lightheaded as you watch them. out of the corner of your eye, you see professor snape making his way to the astronomy tower.

curious, you quietly sneak behind him, careful not to make yourself known. you hear a voice above you. a voice you recognize.

draco. 

you’re trying your hardest to figure out what he’s saying but you can’t. all the sounds around you are blending together and you can’t seem to calm down enough to hear anything. when the professor reaches the tower, underneath the scene of whatever is going on, you stay behind.

in a flash, the teacher is out of your vision and upstairs in the chaos.

“severus, please.” is all you hear before the killing curse bolts out of snape’s mouth.

you stand in shock as the footsteps trail out of the tower. draco. snape. dumbledore. death eaters. it was all so much.

“y/n! are you ok?” a watery-eyed harry potter asks from beside you. you don’t even question how he got here or if he saw what you did. instead, you fling your arms around him and stare at the wall petrified. no tears can escape your eyes, you’re in disbelief.

“come on. you have to breathe and we have to get down there. get your wand ready. we have to do something!” he shouts, voice breaking.

you look at him for a second before he bolts out of the room, wand in hand.

instead of trying to fight, talking to anyone about what you saw, or even going to look at your headmaster’s dead body like everyone else, you slip quietly into your prefects dorm.

you watch the moon until she’s gone and when you see mr sun the tears finally fall. you mumble, “talk to him please, mr sun.”

draco glanced at the blinding sun from the malfoy garden, where he had spent the night. he couldn’t be in that house. not after everything that happened. so instead, he sat in the garden thinking of his best thoughts, you.

he watches the sunrise, listens to the winds and the robins singing, and mutters to himself, “tell her how i feel. it shouldn’t end this way. since you are all her friends, she’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”

a baby robin sings a little louder, almost like it’s agreeing, and it causes the boy to cry.

it’s an eerily quiet early morning in the room of requirement on the second of may. you’re in the back of the room, trying to sleep. sleep has become your only form of happiness. your dreams have become a wonderful fairytale. draco is still prevalent and he holds you tighter and tighter with each night.

almost as soon as you drift to bed, you hear gasps. you look up to find harry, ron, and hermione. without a care in the world, you rush to the three just like everyone else. harry gives you a weak smile and you return it.

the three of them explain that today is the day. today is the day the world is split into two and voldemort attacks. plans are arranged and everyone holds each other close.

selfishly, you wish you could see draco. 

minutes later, a meeting is called by snape in the dining hall. You watch as neville and ginny procure robes for the green-eyed boy and walk to the hall.

the carrows look at everyone with malice in their eyes as snape drones on about a sighting of harry in hogsmeade. soon after, harry shows himself and begins arguing with the black-haired man. he tells everyone about the night in the astronomy tower.

mcgonagall throws curses at the man along with harry before he flies out of the hall. The woman looks at all of us, eyes wide but determined.

in a rush, everyone is scattered about. you follow neville to the bridge and help as much as you can. when the death eaters, led by greyback, enter hogwarts, you stand your ground. you’re ready to fight.

draco easily locates blaise and goyle before heading off to find his wand and harry potter. his chest aches with looming fear but he tries to repress it the most he can.

“i guess this is it boys.” blaise sighs.

draco looks at his friend, “we’ll be fine. just stay safe and together. don’t go weak on me now zabini.”

you’re doing your best to fight off corban yaxley but every time you’re ready to throw a killing blow his way he narrowly hits you with the killing curse. your fighting in a state of pure unadulterated anger. it’s been hours of fighting but your anger remains.

“stupid little girl, you’ll be dead before nightfall.” yaxley spits before hitting you with a weak spell. 

you still double over a bit, but hold your ground enough to raise your wand and hit him with the cruciatus curse. in the corner of your eye you watch professor flintwick begin dueling the vicious man, before running inside the castle.

fire burns everywhere around draco. he’s about to turn to blaise and say his goodbyes before potter snatches him up and leads him out of the room of requirement. the second he’s on the ground he makes a run for it. he loses blaise on the way and can’t seem to figure out where to go. he’s on the second floor, tears are pooling out of his eyes and the ache in his chest has grown when his body collides with another.

you fall back, hitting your head against the hard stone of the castle floor. when you look up, your vision is hazy and shaky.

“y/n?”

you know that voice. it’s the same voice you’ve heard every single night for a year.

“draco?” you ask, hands reaching out.

“you’re bleeding. let me help,” he says before gently healing your head.

you stare at the boy, “you know it feels weird to see you. i’ve never really spoken to you besides the dreams.”

his eyes grow wide, “you know about those?”

you smile a little, “yeah, i do.”

the two of you find yourselves entering the great hall, helping whoever you two can.

draco is comforting a teary-eyed second year when blaise zabini comes in, eyes bloodshot and clutching his right arm.

you watch as the two embrace, pulling apart so that draco can tend to his arm.

minutes that feel like hours pass as the three of you silently process the commotion going on around you.

a tattered luna lovegood emerges through the rubble and towards the three of you.

“everyone’s outside now- harry he... i think you all should come with me.” her shaky voice requests.

draco looks to you and nods, helping you rise. his hand grasps yours and you all follow luna outside.

all around you is destruction. the place you’ve called home for years in now a bruised battleground and at the very center of it stands the man you’ve come to fear more than anything in the world. voldemort. 

“harry potter, is dead.” the creature laughs.

you grip draco tighter and he looks at you with an expression of sorrow.

“from this day forth you put your faith in me. and now is the time to declare yourself! come forward and join us. or die.” the man spits, smiling at the broken faces opposite him.”

it is quiet for just a moment before lucius malfoy calls for his son. you watch the man and his wife plead with him. but his hand remains in yours and feet right beside you.

you look up at him and give him your brightest smile, a smile you would give him in dreams. as he peers down at you he knows that nothing in the world means more to him than you and that smile he’s spent hours telling missus moon about.

“you insolent boy, draco!” the snake-like man hisses.

you turn to face him, eyes wide with fury and hate.

neville begins limping toward the band of villains.

“i’d like to say something.” the boys breathes out.

voldemort smirks at him, “well neville i’m sure we’d all be fascinated to hear what you have to say.”

“you’re wrong! harry’s heart did beat for us, for all of us!” and with that, he pulls the sword of godric gryffindor out of the sorting hat he’s been clutching and aims it at the deatheaters and their leader.

draco’s head cranes in harry’s direction, and in an instant, the boy flies out of hagrid’s arms and throws a spell at voldemort.

you cry out along with everyone else before watching voldemort’s followers disappear.

“come on, we’ve fought enough. i won’t let you die now!” draco commands, leading you to the bridge.

you follow, but turn to look at the castle one last time. draco stops as well and you see him meet ron and hermione’s gaze. ron nods his head and draco returns the gesture.

“let’s go draco.” you sigh.

he didn’t know he’d see you again. the two of you had gone to your home to bathe and sleep and when the boy found himself in his dreams, he saw you.

you smile at the platinum haired boy, “sit draco.”

he complies. 

“i hope you haven’t gotten tired of seeing me. i suppose it will be a lot now. to have me in waking and in sleep.” you giggle.

draco stares at you deeply, “i could never get tired of you. i’ve spent a year talking to the moon, trying to get you. in hopes you're on the other side, talking to me too. i’ve asked the sun to tell you all the things i couldn’t, the wind to whisper all the things i love about you, all the rainbows to make you smile, and the trees to take you under their branches. i’d want nothing more than this.”

you lean your head on his shoulder, “i’m here now and we have eternity to tell eachother the things we haven’t said yet.”

the two of you can’t help but to stare at the moon some nights, silently thanking missus moonlight for putting in a word.

[saunteredserpent]

can we talk about the whole “keep smiling! the gummi ship runs on smiles and ONLY smiles! you shouldn’t feel sad!!” and how it is legitimately toxic positivity as something that has likely driven Sora into fuckign. keeping every negative emotion and/or thought bottled up to the point where he feels like he wouldn’t,,, be able,,, to properly express anything of the sort whatsoever around Donald or Goofy or else they’ll just. keep reminding him to keep smiling.

not to mention the whole protagonist syndrome. this boy has the weight of not one, but literally SEVERAL worlds on his shoulders and he’s been burdened with the responsibility of saving them ALL time and time again. 

as a whole, it’s... actually heartbreaking when you consider the fact that this boy carries so much baggage emotionally and mentally, and he can’t ever exactly express it in anything other than positive gestures ─ even when he might not really be feeling like such in actuality at that moment.

i mean, that scene where Sora lets out that agonized yell and drops onto all fours in the Keyblade Graveyard before crying? that’s one of the very few, if at all, instances we see him actually break down.

anti/rage form? his inner darkness? him constantly being willing to throw himself headfirst into the fray/being self-sacrificial time and time again? were you to put that attitude, that behavior, under a microscope and break it down into the finer aspects, it’s very clear that all of it is essentially him feeling like that might actually... be the only outlet he has with his negativity.

he’s not allowed to express it properly, and therefore feels like he has no choice but to keep everything bottled up inside? fuck it. he’ll throw hands, he’ll sacrifice himself for the greater good, if it means no one has to see him struggle to be able or allowed to convey anger/grief/sadness/frustration/you fucking name it.  

i just... have so many thoughts and feelings on Sora, and his personality and behavior as a whole, and how much i honestly love him, and it’s just past 3:30 am and if any of this even came across as somewhat coherent, i’ll be happy to have gotten my point across.

if anyone has anything to add to this, i’m honestly all ears; i’d love to hear others’ thoughts and input!

[chocoholicannanymous]

Concepts of Insanity (Glee)

AN: No proofreading whatsoever. Subject to rewrite if I change my mind about it. Take it or leave it.

Concepts of Insanity

“Kurt? Oh, there you are, good. We have an emergency!”

Kurt smiles a little as he finishes up rearranging the flowers. He adores Isabelle, he really does, but she's a bit...excitable. There's always an emergency, or a disaster, or a catastrophe. So far today there's been four, unless he's miscounting; a lose hem, a missing delivery of non-alcoholic champagne, Isabelle almost fainting from forgetting to eat, and the flowers he's currently fixing not being enough something or other. He's actually kind of curious what it is this time.

He gives the flowers a last look, nods with satisfaction and turns around. The smile on his lips dies the second he meets Isabelle's eyes. This isn't a normal emergency.

“What's wrong?”

“The musicians are here, only the vocalist is currently throwing up to the point where they've called an ambulance.”

Kurt winces. That doesn't sound good for whoever it is. Also it really doesn't sound good for them. Isabelle had gone out on a limb with the small ensemble she'd hired for the event, deciding to make the music more than a background by having some songs performed with vocals. To have the vocalist missing would throw off the setlist. Maybe not enough for most people to notice, but at an event like this? Someone would definitely notice.

Especially since word seemed to have spread.

“I've spent the last ten minutes on the phone, and there's not a single vocalist to be had. This is so bad, Kurt! I'm never going to hear the end of this.”

Kurt hesitates, uncomfortable with voicing his possible solution, but deciding to offer it up anyway. It's Isabelle.

(Plus Rachel will never forgive him if he doesn't and she finds out.)

“I know it's not what you were aiming at, but my roommate is a NYADA student, and I know that most of the songs you picked out is in her wheelhouse. I could call her? If she answers she could hop in a cab and be here in 30 minutes.”

Isabelle looks a bit hesitant, but nods.

“Please do. I'll pay for the cab too, obviously. Check back with me in 5 minutes?”

Kurt agrees and hurries out to a silent space, phone in hand already dialing as he walks. There's no response for his first call, and Kurt leaves a hurried voice mail for Rachel to call him asap as it's an emergency. He then sends the same message as a text before trying to call again. He manages to squeeze in a total of five calls before he has to return to Isabelle, without response.

Maybe Rachel's in the shower again. Or singing. Or on a date with Brody.

“I'm sorry, Isabelle. I couldn't get hold of her.”

“Never mind, I have an idea. Can you do it?”

Kurt stares at her, not quite believing he heard her right.

“Me?” She nods and he shakes his head. “Isabelle, you've never even heard me sing!”

“True. But honey, I know how good you are with fashion. For you to chose music over that you have to be either insanely talented or just insane. So, will you do it?”

Kurt wants to shake his head again. What she's suggesting is crazy. Yes, Kurt can sing, but... His focus on music is more and more looking like insanity. He's just gotten rejected by Carmen Tibideaux a second time, for crying out loud. “Devoid of complexity and depth” echoes through his skull.

Except. This is Isabelle asking. His fairy godmother of sorts. He owes her.

“Are you sure? I'll do it, if you really want, but I'm not going to be anywhere as good as whoever you'd hired,” or Rachel for that matter, “and I don't want to ruin this for you.”

“You are going to be amazing. Thank you, Kurt, you're a lifesaver!”

And with that Isabelle floats off, leaving Kurt in a dazed state. He's going to panic, sooner or later, but for now he's still too stunned for it.

Right. His first action has to be to talk to the ensemble. The plan was to have the vocalist on three sets of three songs throughout the evening, but he's not entirely clear on what numbers had finally been picked. He will probably need to review lyrics up until the guests arrive, provided he can actually manage all of them. He's got a good range, yes, but that's not everything.

Oh, and he should swing by Isabelle's office and nab the blue west he'd spotted earlier – he'd dressed to fade against the wallpaper, not to be seen.

The first set goes well, as does the second. By the third and final he's lost enough of his nerves to let Isabelle drag him out on the floor instead of going off to hide as he'd initially planned. Several people drop by to talk, and he gets more than a few compliments. Maybe it's more about looking good to Isabelle than about actually liking it, but Kurt will take it anyway.

“So, you must be not just a talented singer but talented in fashion too for Isabelle to have taken you under her wing. Do you study fashion or music?”

The woman, Nadia something, asking sounds genuine and so Kurt gives her a small smile and answers as pleasantly as he can.

“Neither actually. I'm applying to NYADA though.”

There's a flash of something in her face, but Kurt can't quite make out what it is.

“For the spring semester? Ah.” She hesitates, sends a look towards where Isabelle is talking animatedly about something, and then looks at Kurt again.

“Can I be honest? Carmen Tibideaux is a very talented woman, in everything she does, and she's got an eye for picking out talent. However, she's also got a bit of a reputation.

“She loves to discover new talent that others overlook. Except every now and again she'll go about it in a rather underhanded way. She'll have someone audition, someone talented but a little raw around the edges. Someone with a ton of talent but a weak resumé, often with a little less self-esteem than most performers. She'll praise them and then turn them down. Most of the time they'll come back, looking for a second chance – she said they were great, right? Surely that means they'll get the part sooner or later, if they just approach it right.”

Kurt swallows. It sounds a little too familiar for comfort.

“Sometimes she'll turn them down both a second and third time, and then she'll put them on the spot, giving them another chance as long as they step out of their comfort zone and perform to her standards. And then she'll take them, and she'll own them. They'll go through their whole careers claiming they owe it all to her.”

She looks Kurt in the eyes, sincerity radiating out of her – but Kurt knows how little that means, in these circles – and a kind expression on her face.

“I'm not saying that's you, but for you to be applying to the spring semester, with your level of talent... If she's doing it to you, you should know you're not the first, and I doubt you'd be the last.

“Any school would be well served to have you as a student, I think. I already know you're talented, and as I know Isabelle I also know you have to be hardworking. Plus, seeing as that ensemble always works with a female vocalist I'm assuming something happened to have you step in at the last minute, meaning you stand up to pressure.

“NYADA is not the only school in New York for a young man like you, and I'd argue that it's not the best either. Think about what I've said, will you? And thank you again for a very enjoyable performance.”

It's only years of pretending in the face of bullies and a worried father that allows Kurt to pull of a believable goodbye and graceful exit. After this he's definitely hiding in Isabelle's office, damn it.

When Kurt comes back to the loft it's late and he wants nothing more to fall into bed, nighttime routines be damned. But Rachel's sitting on the couch, waiting for him judging from the expectant look on her face.

“I tried to call you.” It comes out a little flat, but Kurt doesn't have the energy to pretend. He needed her, called an emergency damn it, and she hasn't even texted him back in the six hours since his frantic calling.

“I heard, but I was busy practicing my number for tomorrow.” She doesn't even look sorry.

“Oh? I thought you said you didn't have any assignments for tomorrow.” That was why he'd felt safe calling her, after all.

She just waves a hand, clearly not too bothered.

“Nothing official, no, but that's no reason not to be ready to perform. I'm sure there will be an opening for me to dazzle my classmates.” And she goes on to describe the songs she's considered, and who's done them, and why her version is better, and Kurt just...tunes her out.

She hasn't even asked what he wanted. It's as if the thought hasn't even passed her mind. Well. If she's not interested then he's not going to waste his time telling her – especially not since she's bound to get upset over losing an opportunity to perform for an actual audience. He's also not going to waste his time listening to her go on about what she'd done instead of checking in on him.

“I'm going to bed.”

“Kurt! I need your input on this, surely bed can wait a bit?” When he shakes his head  her face hardens. “Fine, be that way. NYADA is hard, you know. It takes dedication. Maybe if you showed a little more of that you would have gotten accepted.”

Kurt shoves down the desire to slap her and bites out a “goodnight” before stalking off to bed. He can't believe she went there. Oh wait, he can. It's so Rachel, to just look at herself and ignore everything else. Show more dedication? Devoid of complexity and depth. Fuck her. Fuck them both.

Kurt had knocked his audition out of the park. Rachel and madam Tibideaux both had admitted that. Meanwhile Rachel had choked. Yet he'd been rejected while Rachel fucking Berry swanned around NYADA claiming to be dedicated. She never should have gotten accepted based on her audition. And somehow he just knows that there's no way she'd admit that Kurt should have been given that spot, not her.

As for madam Tibideaux and her “I rarely give anyone a second chance and if I do it's on my terms”... Bah! Rachel had harassed her way into her second chance. Hell, she'd recruited several others to also harass the madam on her behalf.

But somehow Kurt reapplying was the foul thing here. Right.

Maybe it was time he looked at options other than NYADA. That woman at the vogue event, she'd said that other schools might be a better fit for him. She'd sounded like she knew what she was talking about. Unlike Kurt, honestly, who'd pinned his hopes on NYADA based on Rachel. Hindsight has him questioning if he'd been slipped something, because leaving his college education up to whatever Rachel wanted? Insanity.

Well. Insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result, right? Clearly it's time to change his approach.

O--o---o--O

A week later Rachel comes home from the NYADA Winter Showcase bubbling about her success and how she's taken them all by storm. She makes a snide comment or two about how Kurt should have been able to see it for himself, had he taken the ticket she'd gone through so much trouble to acquire for him instead of doing whatever (it's called work), and Kurt just nods. He doesn't really care, but. He has to at least pretend to listen to preserve peace in the loft.

“Oh, I almost forgot! Madam Tibideaux asked after you.”

Kurt stills like a dog scenting prey. This he wants to hear.

“Oh?”

“Yes, apparently she was considering giving you another chance at applying. I don't know why she had to do it tonight, as it's for NYADA students and you're not, but she did. You should probably contact her. If you apologize properly she might still be open to it.”

Rachel looks at him, waiting for a reaction and clearly not pleased with what she's seeing.

“Well?”

“I'll think about it, Rachel. Calm down.”

And he will. Only he's not too eager to apologize to madam Tibideaux, or give her another chance to toy with him and probably reject him (he didn't show up for what she had planned, after all). It all sounds very much like what Nadia described at the vogue event. He listened. He might not have liked what he heard, or wanted to believe it, but he listened. In more than one way.

Over the past seven days he's written half a dozen applications to various music schools in New York, and sent them out. His current favorite is the New School, where a tour of the campus has given him a very good vibe. He'd be happy there, he thinks, and they might be happy with him. At least that's his take from meeting a couple of faculty members, one of the more prestigious of which just so happens to be Nadia.

Who would have guessed that doing a favor for Isabelle would lead to this? He might just owe her even more by now. Fairy godmother indeed.

~ The End ~