#my coughing has gotten less severe but now it’s more often?

[pregobirthlvr]

Almost Home

You’re very overdue but your doctors said you still had plenty of time. So you of course you went out with your friends. But maybe that wasn’t such a good idea.

(Idea from a randomized build a birth. Prompts very long (10+ months), 1, medium, out with friends, squatting, moaning, car, alone, confused, extra difficult pushing)

You’re 2 weeks overdue with your first baby. An irresponsible night out has left your belly slowly growing over the past 10 or so months. Now you’re sitting in an uncomfortably small booth at dinner with several of your close friends. Your middle extended enough to press against the table in front of you, even after your friends pulled it towards them to give you more room.

You shift ever so often, the hard bench not helping your aching hips and Braxton hicks contractions. Your belly hasn’t dropped yet so the doctors keep assuring you that there’s nothing to be worried about with these contractions. It’s just your body getting ready.

You try to chat with the group, hoping the distraction will be enough to keep you focused on anything but the pressure in your middle. By the time the food arrived you've felt your middle clench down twice with contractions. You grip the fabric of your dress to keep from visibly wincing, and cover your moan with a small cough.

Thankfully, Your friends seem to be too into their conversation to notice any change in the way you’re acting. When food arrives, you try to eat the food you ordered but you suddenly feel a lot less hungry than when you waddled in. You manage to finish half before an extra painful contraction runs through you. You grip your dress and cough to cover the moan that almost escaped.

This time though the friend next to you leans over and whispers, “Are you okay?”

She looks at you with concern heavy on her face.

“I’m fine just Braxton Hicks,” you reassure her.

One of your other friends joins in from the other side of the table, “Fair question though, I mean you are REALLY overdue.”

“I just went to the doctor this morning. He said I show no signs of this thing coming out,” . You say to her. “I’m even getting induced in two days because of it.”

“If you say so,” The friend next to you says.

Thankfully the conversation changes quickly. You only get about one more contraction, that you manage to cover up easily, before the group decides it's time to go. You all say your goodbyes and everyone tries to avoid the bump when hugging you, which fails every time. Each bump into your midsection sends jolts of intense pleasure through your belly. You wave goodbye with one hand and support your aching back with the other as you begin the waddle to your car around the block.

You notice your gate has gotten a lot wider than when you walked into the restaurant. Your hips swayed a bit more and your belly felt a lot lower than before. You stopped waving to use your other hand to support your stomach. About halfway to your car you stopped to lean on a tree while through a wave of contractions.

You were panting by the time you reached your car. You placed a hand on the door resting for a moment. When you finally caught your breath a bit you opened the car door. Only for another contraction to freeze you in your tracks. You tried to breathe through it, letting out a small moan when the contraction reached its peak.

“Is this labor? Have my contractions started?” You asked yourself as the contraction disappeared. “No, the doc said you were fine.”

You turned and began the struggle of getting into your car. You grabbed the roof and squatted down. You let gravity help as you dropped into the driver's seat. You turned your feet forward. Your belly touching the steering wheel from how large it was. You buckled yourself in before another contraction was ripping through you. Now that you were alone you held your stomach and moaned loudly. Thankfully you were in the car because each contraction was increasingly more painful.

You pulled out of your parking space once the contraction finished. Your stomach was very low now. Hanging far between your legs and bumping into the bottom of the wheel. It was an hour long drive home, which was only going to feel longer if you stayed this uncomfortable. Another contraction came on just as fast as the last, breathing through it best you could until it passed.

“This has to be labor.. I have to be in labor,” You said to yourself.

You tried to remember what then parenting books said about what to expect when labor started. At this moment though you were coming up with nothing. You felt the next painful contraction start. You grip the wheel and moan deep and loud. Your arms shook as you tried to ignore the pain and focus on driving. You look down and see that you're going about 10 under. Panting through the last of your contraction you speed up.

“They’re so close together…” You say nervously. “I'm having a baby right here and right now.”

You focus on driving for the next few minutes but with a deep grunt your moaning loudly again. Your stomach contorts and tightens trying to help you push the baby down. You can feel it. The baby moving down. Your pelvis feels fuller. Heavier.

With a sharp pop noise your thighs and seat were covered in a warm liquid. Your water broke.

“Fuck,” you groan. “I think that was my water. Things are supposed to speed up now right?”

You desperately try to find your phone from your purse in the seat next to you. Accidentally knocking everything to the floor in the process instead. Another contraction started pulling your focus back to your belly. This contraction was stronger than the last ones. You really felt like things were moving along now.

You managed to breathe through the pain of this contraction. With your legs spread from having to drive, your belly now rested on the seat underneath you from it hanging so low. You drive along for a little longer. Another contraction forcing you to lean forward and pant.

“Almost half way home… I can make it.” You try to encourage yourself.

You keep this routine of contractions and pep talks for the next 15 minutes. Each contraction gets more intense and closer together with each passing minute. You finally make it to the edges of your town, the familiar buildings a small relief.

“Almost home…” You moan out.

Your relief doesn’t last long when a particularly strong contraction makes you pull over to the side of the road. You toss your head back and cry out as the contraction reaches its peak. You can feel the baby's head weighing heavily on your cervix. You moan out as you feel it start to push through and into your birth canal. You feel so full and it hurts so much. You take a deep breath when everything calms down and pull back onto the road.

“Just stay in until we get home,” You beg your baby. “I don’t know how to have you alone.”

You make it a few more blocks before you’re forced to pull off the road again. You scream as you try not to push, but your body has other plans and it pushes for you moving the baby down inch by inch. You moan and rub your middle when the contraction ends. You pull back onto the road but barely make it a block before your stomach contracts yet again.

“Is it supposed to be moving this fast?” You say through gritted teeth. You slowly roll to stop behind an abandoned building, your contraction reaching its peak as you toss the car in park.

“I have to check myself right…” You say to yourself when the contraction ends. “I remember that from the birthing books.”

You reach down between your legs, which was a bit of a struggle, and feel your opening. You slip a finger inside, it only makes it an inch before you feel your baby's head. You’re much farther along than you thought. There was really no way you were going to make it home. You leaned back and began to moan softly from the next contraction starting up. With your focus no longer on driving you feel your contractions with full force. The way it makes your stomach clench, and your middle ache, and the way you can feel your baby’s inch it’s way down your birth canal.

While you contract, you toss your head back and push hard. The baby slides a bit further down. You can now feel its head push against your lips. Your contraction ends and you take a breath. The baby slightly slid back in. After a few minutes you feel another contraction. You cry out and push hard. The baby slips from your lips, making your vagina bulge out. When the contraction ends the head slips back inside.

“Why are you doing that?” You ask the baby inside you. “Just come out.”

You feel another contraction and push again. The baby again slid out slightly then back inside. You pull your legs back slightly trying your best to fit around the steering wheel that’s still in front of you. You then try to push again with the next contraction, and then the next, and then the next. By your fourth round of pushing you feel the baby going nowhere.

“You’re really going to make me move…” You moan out, your breath now coming out labored.

You take a deep breath and open the car door. You swing your legs around, your feet landing on the hard ground. You struggle to get out gripping the door frame and pulling yourself up with whatever strength you have left. You manage to lift yourself up to a standing position, the baby now feeling much heavier on your sex. You are able to open the door to your back seat before the next contraction to hit, sending you to your knees. You try to keep quiet now that you're out in the open, the pain making it difficult. When the contraction ends you force yourself to stand again. And climb into the back seat best you can. The back seat is cramped, but still better then the front seat and way better than outside the car.

You struggle to get situated placing your legs up on each seat in front of you like make shift stirrups. You lay like that through a few contractions. The glimmer of sweat increasing as time goes by. The pain in your back and stomach only getting worse with each push. You reach down and feel between your legs. The head barely made its way out any further.

“It stuck. It has to be!” You cry out as another contraction rips through you.

You push hard hoping that it’ll make a difference. The head pushes against your hand and making your lips strain to accommodate the baby. As soon as you relax the progress you made reverses and the baby slide back in.

“Please come out!” You yell. You moan and grunt as you try to reposition yourself. You pull your legs underneath you squatting in the back seat as best as you can. Your belly getting in the way multiple times as you adjust. When you’re finally in a squat down on your knees, you feel the next contraction start and you push hard. The babies head finally moves forward a bit and stays out.

“Yes! It’s moving!” You moan out. Your lips burn from stretching so far but you don’t care you need this over with.

You push hard again with the next contraction. The head of the baby finally making it to a full crown. You take a moment to breath through the next contraction trying to regain some energy for the next push. You moan deep from inside your chest as the next contraction starts. You push hard grunting and crying out as you do. With a pop and a gush of fluids the babies head finally is free.

“Oh my god! It’s out!” You gasp.

You feel the baby turn inside you the shoulders lining up for an easy exit. With the next contraction, you push hard and the baby slides free from your body. You catch it before falling back against the seat with your new baby in your arms.

[static-sulker]

The Process of Drawing all Nine Mercs (engineer and medic)

Im currently working on a new study for the characters, Im not done yet but I just wanna make sure Im not just dead quiet for a bit. I've gotten Sniper, Spy, Medic and Engie kinda sorted down to designs I really like. Im currently fixing up my Scout, Pyro and Solider drabbles, which I'm pretty confident with in Solider's case. Pyro is a bit harder with the face shape and the idea of the unmasked version which I really want to get right. I'm then probably going to do a study on Demoman and finally Heavy, which is the one Im not as excited about. Demoman does seem pretty enjoyable with how cosmetics make his hair but heavy is my fear right now. He has a very specific head shape and overall model for the face that I want to emulate in my style which may be pretty hard to get through with how I work with anatomy. While I'm taking my break, I wanna talk a bit on my hopes for the designs and overall notes on each of their designs. (I also will be making a big reference sheet for them all when I'm done with all 9 mercs).

Engineer

I adore Engineer and with him being my favorite character in the series, I wanted to get his design very specific for me. I wanted to create a model and almost a story for Dell in a way that emulated his character in a good way that wasn't too overdone or simple. One of the only "issues" I had to work with was the jump with hairstyling. I work with big hair and normally have characters gain mullets or longer hair when I flavor them (COUGH sniper COUGH) and the common choice of no hair for Dell is something I wanted to keep. It was easier after I formed and worked my art style into something that could work with a bald character, I think. My big piece that changes my design of Dell from others is his scars. If you couldn't tell from my work, I love drawing scars, and each of my final designs for each have very specific scars or bruises that really enwrap the character they sit upon. His main scar is his right eye having been caught in a severe explosion from an enemy demomans shot on his nearby sentry. This falls into the bond and story I want to give between both Ludwig and Dell, being one of their main bonding moments in my own personal canon. That scar in my opinion really personalizes his design in such a way that It can make him stand out from the original design but still showing his personality. His rather bubbling passion in battle that keeps him on the enemy line, with his sentry being placed in the perfect position to attack. He needs modifications, he needs upgrades. He cannot just be simple. He needs to be perfect, but that is always settled by his own personality and humbleness. I like to think he has a cracking, explosive point that breaks his normal attitude into something darker in battle, which I really like the idea of. Moving on from the main scars, I have a few other things that I like added to his design.

two slashes on his lower chin that creep up his lip. Spy encounter.

He has a series of soft freckles around his body, which appear more on his arms that face but still are apparent to a keen eye

READING GLASSES! He wears them sometimes, normally substituted for his goggles, but he wears reading glasses and I adore it

A lil tooth gap or a snarl tooth, which I really enjoy...It's a guilty pleasure to give all my characters teeth gaps(undecided if either one OR both)

Medic

Medic is another one of my really top tier characters, and I just love everything about him. His voicelines and overall demeanor that he just radiates is such a sinister and interesting energy that I needed to get down on paper. The issue for medic was probably his maturity. Less on his actually maturity, but in his overall body. My older style didn't focus on older or middle-aged characters all that often, radiating on a more softer and youthful body shape. The shape of his face was something I really needed to master, and I really enjoyed my time getting his overall silhouette. A LARGE shoutout to @archiarthur in being one of my biggest references to get his overall appearance and a lot of my reference besides his actual game models! It was a major help and I love your work :D! Anyways, back to medic. Ludwig overall is one of the designs i've gotten very comfortable with. His main design is good enough as it is, and really depicts exactly what I enjoy from him. The design is something I didn't want to falter with too much in my tranfer from screen to paper. He has a very specific smile that I wanted to bring over, making my usual flavor for teeth impracticalities like chips, dents, or any form of misshapen become harder to get across. I went more into the clothing or situation for the real flavoring when it came to my medic drawings, and how he held himself. I wanted to give him more moments with his birds, and with the power of art, I get to make infinite amounts of moments with his lil babys. Besides context and overall clothing hes not too overly flavored, just given a bit more hair, sometimes given larger or chained glasses which overall is never a permanent addition to his design, and some smaller things? His design isn't too overally added on but I do love drawing him and gotten into a real good groove with the design so uh yippie!

[theshadowrealmitself]

Lowkey one of my fave dynamics is:

Character A: Hey, how come I don’t get handmade gifts like [Character C]?

Character B: …You terrify me

Character A: Compliments aren’t going to get you out of this conversation

[avaantares]

I'm about to be controversial, y'all.

So... am I the only one who's extremely unexcited to see RTD put back in charge of Doctor Who? I know lots of people have fond nostalgia for his era of showrunning -- and that's fair; my favorite DW characters and storylines also hail from those seasons -- but I keep looking back at his Whoniverse and remembering

the poor handling of season arcs: e.g. shoehorning the words "Bad Wolf" into every episode to suggest there's a continuing story and then... not having it signify anything except the fact that the words "Bad Wolf" were in every episode. Ditto "the bees are disappearing," et al. There was no building story, no progressive reveal, no real sense of continuity -- but then the season finale would throw out some supposedly-shocking revelation that pretended it tied everything together. Only it didn't feel like a proper payoff, because all we'd gotten was a random line once per episode to tick the requisite 'season finale reference' box.

what he did to some characters in DW, and his "defense" for it, which he then recycled for Torchwood: His stated reason for stranding Rose in an alternate universe/wiping Donna's memory/killing half the cast of Torchwood is because (and I can't find the exact quote right now, sorry) he's not interested in telling satisfying stories, but wants to do things that will shock the audience so they remember it and talk about it 50 years from now. (Sorry, but shock value alone isn't good storytelling. If I want to be angry/horrified/surprised/confused by events, I would just watch the news instead of a scripted TV show.)

the (frankly insulting) things he said about the fans and their attachment to said characters after their disappointing endings in DW/Torchwood. (Dude, you know we can hear you, right?)

what he did with the Torchwood sequels: His exact quote, cited by (I think) Scott Handcock in an issue of Vortex, was "Let's drive it off a cliff!" And then he proceeded to trash almost all of the established character growth from the previous decade's worth of series material.

the bulk of Miracle Day, which he wrote, and which was... You know, I've already written thousands of words detailing all the ways that series fails to support the continuity of the previous three TV seasons of Torchwood and the greater Whoniverse, so I won't reiterate all that here, but the fact that he directly contradicts his own previous scripts, scenarios, worldbuilding and characterization multiple times in that series really doesn't reassure me that he won't do something incredibly jarring and out of line/continuity with a new DW season.

Now, all that said, did RTD also do some things well as DW showrunner? Yes, he did. He certainly deserves credit for successfully resurrecting a franchise that had previously failed (more than once -- *cough*American Doctor Who movie*cough*). He established the Time War mythos and set up the Doctor's subsequent recovery arcs, which became a touchpoint for the series as a whole. He introduced numerous great characters, cast members, and villains, including several of my personal favorites. He created Torchwood, a show I love despite its many, many flaws. Some of the most iconic episodes of the new series were produced during his tenure ("The Empty Child," "Blink," "Midnight," "Silence in the Library," et al.). And in total fairness, as much as I loathed the execution of Miracle Day, I do think it had a solid premise and raised fascinating questions, and could have been a really good stand-alone sci-fi series if it hadn't tried to be a Torchwood sequel/spinoff.

I'm also not going to argue that DW is perfect right now and should stay just as it is, because the series has definitely been treading water lately; there have been numerous story and long-term continuity issues during Chibnall's era. But what it really comes down to for me is that despite those good, lasting innovations he made in launching the reboot series, I don't really see a new RTD-helmed season fixing the troubled state of Doctor Who as it stands, because the things he did well aren't necessarily what the show needs to regain its sense of balance after the uneven scripting and continuity-flaunting turns it took over the last couple of seasons. At best, it will be a hard reset to an early-series atmosphere that largely ignores the questions raised by recent installments, rather than a recovery from the continuity-nuking bomb dropped during the last season finale. At worst, he'll continue the problems delineated by the bullet-pointed list above, and the series will sink deeper into a hole.

To me, the RTD re-appointment really feels like BBC/BBCA trying to cash in on the early-NuWho nostalgia train to regain the viewership it lost during Jodie Whitaker's tenure (not her fault at all, but some whiny little boys viewers ragequit at her introduction because *gasp* a female Doctor?! how dare! while others lost interest because of the weak scripts or other failings of the past couple of seasons). I think the decision is motivated less by "what is best for the development of Doctor Who as an ongoing series?" and more by "what's the fastest shot in the arm we can give our struggling ratings so we can capitalize on the upcoming 60th anniversary?"

I hope I'm just being paranoid, and RTD defies all my expectations and brings something new and delightful to the next series of DW. But I can't deny that when I read the announcement, my gut reaction was just, "Ugh." Maybe it's just the Torchwood fan in me, burned too often and in too many ways to trust RTD to stick the landing, but I'm honestly feeling more trepidation than anticipation right now.

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

The difference between how Maul is treated and how Cinder is treated because Maul's screentime is utilized far more effectively than Cinder's.

Maul, after being a personality-less blob for 5 minutes in Phantom Menace, gets re-introduced in the Season 4 finale of Clone Wars. Then in Season 5 he gets instantly cured of his insanity and goes on his revenge quest against Obi, leading to the kill of a Jedi, Deathwatch's takeover of Mandalore, Maul killing Pre-Vizla and taking over Mandalore himself, then he kills Satine in front of Obi before being removed from the game by Palpatine (all in the span of one season). Then he shows up for one arc in Clone Wars and Rebels before Obi-Wan finally kills him off.

Cinder, similarly, starts out with very little to her character (except this time it's for 2 whole volumes). Then Volume 4 hits, which focuses on her recovery and training to get better. Volume 5 finishes that up, and then we learn that Cinder... hasn't actually learned anything or developed at all (or at least, not in any really meaningful way). Volume 6 and 7 are then her getting back on her feet (and then losing to Penny and Winter) and back in Salem's good graces. Then Volume 8 finally gives us her backstory, several parallels saying her new situation is no different than her old one, her looking all sad and shit when Watts calls her a useless headache, and then seemingly finally changing her tactics and how she operates. Only to turn out that, Nope! Cinder hasn't actually learned anything, and just tricked everyone into thinking she had before killing them.

Totaling up Darth Maul's appearances in Clone Wars and Rebels, you come out with a grand total of... 14 episodes (10 in TCW, 4 in Rebels). I haven't counted how many episodes of RWBY Cinder's in, but I think we can both confidently agree that she's in far more than Maul. Cinder's arc may be observationally 'the same' as Maul's, but Cinder's arc is like a car doing donuts; fun at first, but by now it's run it's course for me and just become annoying to watch.

Clone Wars knew how to utilize it's screentime effectively, and if Maul showed up more than he had, he'd have absolutely gotten annoying just like Grievous did. RWBY still struggles with screentime issues, and plenty of plot-points and characters suffer for it (*cough*happy*cough*huntresses*cough*), Cinder included.

Then you should have been paying more attention, because while everyone was saying "give us her backstory!" over and over again, Cinder has been going on quite the arc.

She was the same during Volumes 2 and 3, with only the last half of season 3 giving us hints of the anger and hunger beneath the mask of control and poise. She was consciously imitating Salem, because Salem is her version of power, and thus her characterization fell flat because it was a performance rather than a full person. Then Volume 4 hit and we got to see Cinder as she was. Within Salem's castle, she can't imitate her for power, so she's keeping her head down, exposing her vulnerabilities.

Volume 5 Cinder is Cinder trying to be what she was in Volume 3, but failing. She's too unstable, too angry. She can't put on a Salem mask and have that be enough any more. ("Working with bandits? What's the point? We're strong enough to take what we want by force!") She needs to be strong. Feared. Powerful. She can't sit in the shadows laughing while they all fail, knowing she's the smart one, she needs them to see that she's the smart one. Volume 3 Cinder would never have reacting to someone chipping her mask by stomping them into the ground for daring to defy her and then impaling someone nearby to establish control. "Cinder hasn't learned anything or developed at all" my ass. Character development isn't always a character getting better. Often they get worse (let Maul did).

Onto Atlas. Cinder starts to claw her way back. She seeks an ally. She takes Miss Malachite's advice. She finds a way around Salem's order. She knows she can't brute force it, so she's going to what used to give her satisfaction: manipulation. But then she goes back to Atlas, and all her trauma starts resurfacing. She needs power. She can't stand that she's back here, can't stand the idea that she's in the same position she once was. She knows it would be better to manipulate and hide...but she needs to feel different now. It's why her trauma resurfaces, why she starts acting subservient to Salem when her failures start piling up. Salem gives her approval and tells her she's special, but Watts undercuts that. She's stupid, she's useless, she's nothing at all. And Cinder sits and cries because she's terrified that it's true. For one, clarifying moment, she’s the girl in the basement again.

And then Ironwood hands her victory on a silver platter, and that thought is washed away. Suddenly, all of Salem's training, everything Salem whispered to her about using people to destroy themselves, how good she felt when she manipulated Beacon into falling, comes flooding back. She can beat these people at their own game. She sets everything up, uses everyone against each other as she did before, and winds up getting everything she wanted included those she hated dead and Atlas destroyed. It's her ultimate triumph. She's finally learned how to be powerful through doing what she's good at, how to utilize Salem's lessons to make herself into what she wants to be. She has what she’s wanted the whole series, and it’s not enough, and it will never be enough.

Because it cost her her freedom, and the only person that ever truly loved her.

But no. Cinder did nothing, learned nothing, and definitely hasn't been evolving this whole time, changing bit by bit by every cycle she goes through. Compare to Maul, where the entire point of his character is that he never truly learns.

[keorami]

So you know when you wanna write a funny situation but you realise that you have to come up with said funny situation? Yeah... I forgot that my sense of humor is atrocious, but at least I tried...? I couldn't focus on one long story so I decided to write several short ones instead! Hope you enjoy!

"I have the feeling you're not enjoying this sleepover very much."

Dream did not, in fact, enjoy this 'sleepover', because not only did it remind him that his only way out of this hell was stuck in here with him, but said way out had been nothing but insufferable since he got here.

"Is this about the bell-"

"You could have gotten us out of here."

Oh yeah, said way out also wasted their one chance at escaping on a fucking bell. Dream hadn't felt such anger in... he doesn't remember actually. He didn't get to feel angry often in here.

"Listen, it was a very important matter-"

He stopped listening at that point. It was the same tirade every time about clout and viewership and whatever that he honestly could care less about. Staring at and counting the cracks in the obsidian seems like a very interesting activity.

"Hey, are you listening?"

1... 2... 3...

"Dude."

4... 5... 6...

"How long are you gonna ignore me?"

7... 8- wait, didn't he count that one already?

"Look at me at least."

No, he doesn't think he will. Because then the bell will be within view, and Dream knows that if he wasn't so pathetically weak, either the bell or Techno would have been thrown into the lava by now. But he is, so he'll throw the next best thing: his body. And fuck whatever the pig might have to say about it.

"Dreeeeeam-"

"WHAT."

He whipped his head so fast his neck hurt a little. He was fully prepared to... well now he doesn't remember, because of all faces he expected Techno to make...

The fuckboy face wasn't one of them.

"Nooo don't be angry, you're so sexy haha."

Oh God, he just died and went to limbo didn't he?

He wasn't sure when exactly he collapsed on the floor, gasping for air in a mix of wheezes and coughing, but Techno was now hovering over him in panic.

"Dream please don't die, I don't want the last thing you ever saw to have been that face-"

Oh, if there was one thing he would make sure not to forget, it would have been that face.

~~~~~

"Man, I'm starving. When do we get food in here again?"

"Um, I don't know really. I guess whenever Sam is in the mood?"

"What."

"Yeah."

Sam hasn't dropped food a single time since he was locked in here. Well, add 'food' to the basic human rights Dream isn't getting. They're really treating this like a bucket list aren't they?

"It's... You'll get used to it."

Dream gives him some potatoes from his inventory, to Techno's absolute delight. At least Sam has great taste, he'll give him that. But...

"...They're raw."

"Well, obviously."

Listen. He loves potatoes. He'd say he loves them to death, if he could die. No matter how you cook them, they turn out delicious. But raw? He'd only eat them raw if it was a life-or-death situation AND he somehow had no source of heat at his disposal, and the likelihood of that situation happening is practically zero. So yeah, he doesn't like to eat them raw.

"And that's all you get?"

"If you can't eat it-"

Ah, those famous words. Now, he's fairly certain that Dream didn't mean it as a challenge, but at this point Techno is just too competitive to see it any other way. Look, you don't get to his level by being passive, okay? So it's perfectly reasonable.

What wasn't reasonable was the taste of this potato because what in the Blood God's name is this.

"What the hell is this."

"...A potato?"

"No, this is a fucking travesty."

And what a sight it was, the Technoblade swearing and ranting about potatoes, of all things. Dream could only last until "mossy cobblestone tastes better than this dry ass, stinky ass garbage" before he lost it. You gotta give him credit for lasting this long at least. Technoblade was too busy ranting to care either way.

~~~~~

This can't be happening.

"Dream."

"What."

He tries to sound neutral, but Techno can hear the snicker in his voice.

"You don't have to do this."

Surely he can reconsider-

"On the contrary, it has to be done."

Dream places a single card on the pile, which happens to be his last one. A Wild Draw 4, to rub salt into the wound. Techno decides that ending on that card should be illegal.

"Remember the deal. No bell for the rest of the day."

"NOOOOOOO!"

Unfortunately, that had been the condition he had to agree to in order to get Dream to play. Because apparently he was "ringing it all the fucking time and it was driving me crazy". There's that, and the threat that Dream would jump in the lava again if he refused. So clearly he had a choice in the matter.

He knew that there was a chance he could lose... but he had deemed it low enough to ignore it. How could he not expect the resident chessmaster of the SMP to utterly trounce him in UNO? He was a fool, and now he has to think about how to make up for the lost clout and money.

At least, judging from the quiet snickers, someone finds his misery funny. He finds consolation in knowing that he may have lost the battle but he won the war. In a way.

~~~~~

"So I almost got mauled to death but that was how I met Steve."

Dream stares at him the way Phil does when he does something particularly outlandish and he fails to see why.

"Can I ask a question."

"Sure."

"Why would the first thing you do upon running into a starving polar bear be hugging it?"

Of course he would question it, because obviously Techno's superior intellect is confusing to the common mind. He just really likes animals, okay? Steve's fur looked so soft and fluffy he just had to touch it, he almost got his face torn off and Phil never let him live that down. But he'll sooner accept governments than let Dream know that. He doesn't want to embarrass himself too much.

"See Dream, I live by a simple philosophy."

"Long live anarchy?"

"No. Well yes, but not just that."

Dramatic silence.

"Any animal is huggable if you aren't a coward."

Dream chokes on his potato, the only one he had eaten today, and Techno worries for a second before he realises that Dream is actually laughing.

"Tech- what-" His body is shaking. "-what is wrong with you??"

"It all started when I was born-"

~~~~~

And it's enough to send Dream rolling on the ground. It wasn't even that funny, but he supposes that prison does a number on you, and Dream's sense of humor was already terrible to begin with.

...Okay, now he had to make sure that the teletubby didn't laugh himself to death.

At the end of the day- at least Techno assumes it's the end of the day, he doesn't know how trustworthy his internal clock is anymore- the two inmates of Pandora's Vault are about ready to fall asleep, but Techno has one last thing to do before that.

"Dream, come here for a minute."

Said man gives him such a wary look that he almost feels insulted.

"...Why?"

"I won't bite, ya know."

"That's... debatable."

Bruh.

"Just get over here."

And Dream complies without any further complaints. Techno hopes he didn't sound too harsh, but his cellmate wasn't shivering uncontrollably, so he thinks he's in the clear.

"What?"

Techno lays his cape down on the very uncomfortable obsidian floor. Seriously, laying down for an hour is enough to make his joints ache. 0/10 would not recommend. How did Dream- right, he doesn't have a choice.

"What are you doing?"

"Making this prison less of a living hell. Come lay down."

"...I'm fine."

Why are you being so difficult, Techno wants to ask, even though he can guess the answer. When was the last time anyone did something remotely nice for him without any catch? Especially in here?

"Stop being difficult and sleep with me already."

Silence.

"...Pft."

"You know what I meant."

In his defense, everyone has their moments, and his usually don't happen that often.

"Stop being so difficult and-"

"Just... get over here. My cape is really soft."

"Is that why you wear it all the time?"

"...Among other things."

But mostly because it was really soft.

Dream still seemed apprehensive about the whole thing, and while usually Techno would have respected his wishes and left him be... the sight of his rival curling up in a corner of the cell, obviously trying to not aggravate his injuries as he did, was saddening even to him. Prime, he's really not good at this... but Dream probably definitely needs it.

So he pulls his roommate into a side hug, which is honestly the best he can manage without ruining his image. It's awkward, Dream is way too stiff, and maybe now would be the time to say something before embarrassment kills either or both of them. Something reassuring, comforting to help Dream relax in his presence for example.

"This is gonna be the best sleepover you've ever had."

...But the day he stops relying on humor for any kind of social interaction is the day it'll either stop working or get him killed.

"...This is so stupid."

And today was not that day.

Dream lets out a laugh, shaky but genuine, and relaxes. Techno sees that as a win. Since he's stuck here for a while, might as well make his favorite teletubby's life in here more bearable.

And it's finally over! It only took me... *looks at calendar* ...time is an illusion. Idk if I'm really happy with this, but on the bright side, it's... done? Now I really wanna continue that endersmile fanfic as I got some ideas, hopefully it won't take as long? God I am a writing disaster

Also if you saw any mistakes... no you didn't :)

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Let's Call It Funny

Prompt: Hi! If you know about those gen z peter parker posts, could your write something based on that? With Steve Getting It (tm) because fatalistic nihilism in humor tended to show up during the world wars and we’re seeing a reflection of that now? Sorry- I just think it’d make great options for steve and peter bonding, and dad!tony but actual emotions (gasp!) You can totally ignore this if you want!

Don't ever apologize for giving me such a great ask

Read on Ao3 Part 2

Warnings: uhhh gen z humor

Pairings: none! all found family in this bitch

Word Count: 2529

Here’s the thing about humor. It’s not necessarily that one generation is any funnier than another, it’s just that high school kids are perpetually the funniest people alive. Something about being in a pressure cooker of an environment with a bunch of other people whose bodies are changing in new unpredictable ways whilst having very little say in how their lives go creates humor. Gasp of shock, right?

So basically what Peter’s trying to say is that he’s fucking hilarious.

Come on, not only does he have the default high schooler stuff, he’s also gay, which gives him an instant bonus. He’s trans, which opens up a whole new subset of humor for him to explore. He’s neurodivergent as fuck, and we all know that makes people funny as hell. And if that weren’t enough, he’s severely traumatized and he’s Spider-Man.

Peter Parker is funny as hell.

What is truly devastating—and really, it’s their loss—is that so few people seem to appreciate it.

Ned gets it. Ned’s not someone Peter would expect to not get it, just because hey, it’s Ned. They’ve met each other in the hallways and been like ‘hey! You’re still alive! Congrats on having a body!’ Only for the other one to go ‘hey! You’re alive too! I wish I had an intangible form!’

Because bodies are stupid and evolution really fucked us over but at least we’re not horses.

A solid 50% of their interactions are just quoting John Mulaney and Bo Burnham bits back and forth at each other. Peter’s never gonna forget the day they both had detention and had to watch that stupid Cap PSA—it’s propaganda, you Nazi fuckwits—and something reminded them of the ‘horse loose in a hospital’ bit and they just did it. Full out. Stood up and did the actions and everything. The rest of the room was either trying to do it with them—and failing, because they didn’t have nearly enough practice—or looking so confused. The security guard—Paul, he’s great—just looked at them blearily after they finished and went:

“I mean, you kids are right, but you’re not supposed to talk in detention.”

Well, excuse them for trying to make it more entertaining for everyone.

MJ gets it. If Peter’s being honest, he learned most of his humor from her. She is the master and it is an honor to study in her wake. He’s definitely hijacked the asking whether or not anything’s actually meaningful existentialism jokes and they’ve wormed their way into his day-to-day repertoire.

“Why are you late, Mr. Parker?”

“Time is a social construct, Mrs. B, none of us are ever late or early except in the subjective spacetime paths. The limits of our sensory perception make it so we can’t tell if anything is real, let alone whether or not they conform to some arbitrary definition of ‘time.’”

“…just sit down, Peter.”

See? It works.

Aunt May gets…worried.

Sure, they’ve actually talked about when Peter needs help and wants to reach out and when he’s just making jokes off the cuff because hey, humor’s a great coping mechanism or it’s just a joke and not that serious. Peter loves his Aunt May, so so so much, and the last thing he wants to do is really worry her. And she’s gotten pretty good at figuring out when he’s just joking and when he’s spiraling.

Sometimes, though…

“Peter,” Aunt May calls from the kitchen, “did you remember to stop by the store on your way home?”

Peter freezes halfway through the door.

“Peter?”

He swallows. “…no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I am too stressed and consumed by the swirling pit of blackness deep in my soul to remember my head is connected to my body, let alone remember to go to the store.”

Silence.

“…Aunt May?”

“Do you want to drop off your stuff and then go to the store?”

“…yeah, please.”

“Love you, Pete.”

“Love you!”

“Try to remember that you’ve got arms so you can pick stuff up.”

“Got it!”

See? It’s fine.

The Avengers don’t get it. Like, at all.

Natasha and Clint like, sorta get it? They make the same jokes all the time when they think Peter can’t hear them, which—come on, you guys are super spies, surely you know people are gonna hear you when they’re gonna hear you. Natasha will make a crack about something, Clint will laugh and shove her shoulder. It’s their dynamic, we get it. But when Peter does it…

“Hey, Baby Spider?”

Peter sticks his head up from the ceiling. “Yeah?”

“Where’re you crawling off to?”

“I’m gonna go hide in the garage.”

Natasha blinks up at him. “Why?”

“Because if I get crushed by the airlock doors then I won’t have to do my paper tomorrow.”

Silence. Natasha’s mask is too good for Peter to actually see what’s going on with her, let alone from this angle, but silence isn’t good.

“Nat—oof!”

Something blurs out of the vent nearby and tackles him down onto the couch.

“Clint!”

“Nope,” Clint mutters, wrapping Peter up in a hug as Natasha comes to join them. “You’re staying with us now, Pete.”

“Guys, I’m fine.”

“Peter,” Natasha says softly, “don’t joke about that, you’ll make us worry.”

“I don’t wanna do that,” Peter mumbles, “but it’s fine.”

“Coping mechanism, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s got too many brain cells to do that,” Clint says, ruffling Peter’s hair.

“Stark has a lot of brain cells, you see what good that does him?”

“Hmm. Guess you’re gonna have to stay awhile, Pete.”

There are worse fates. Definitely.

Thor just kind of gets confused by it. He acts like Peter isn’t going to be absolutely fine because there’s no need to do anything like that. No, Peter, you don’t have to put the bleach in first into your cereal, there’s plenty of milk left over. No, Peter, you don’t have to throw yourself off the roof because your laptop is freezing, Stark has so many just lying around. No, Peter, you don’t have to pack a rucksack and run away to the Alps and live like a recluse, come here and get a hug.

Peter suspects Thor’s playing dumb on purpose. The man is smart as hell, there’s no way all of this is flying over his head. And honestly, it warms his heart a little bit when he sees Thor’s sincere, concerned look when he thinks Peter’s not looking.

Banner and Rhodey just kinda shake their heads and move on. They’re used to it. They live and work with some of the most dramatic fucking people in the goddamn universe, they’re used to a little bit of extra humor. Occasionally one of them will give him a look that says he’s pushing his luck, but that’s not often. Less often now ‘cause he knows what he can get away with. He’s also seen them hiding smiles behind their hands or poorly disguised coughs. They’re not as slick as they think they are.

Tony.

Tony is the fucking worst.

Peter can’t get away with so much as sighing too hard before Iron Dad™ is swooping in all soft words and concerned touches. Jesus. You’d think he’d get it, he uses humor as a coping mechanism too, goddamnit, why is he so worried about Peter?

Okay, fine, he knows why.

MJ’s over at the Tower, having another one of her ‘sketch people in crisis’ appointments with Natasha. Peter is coming off of a 32-hour caffeine rush and is violently wishing for death. Tony is in the kitchen doing…something.

“Hey, do you think bleach would make a good smoothie?”

Tony wheels around to see MJ pulling a glass out of the cupboard.

“Kid—“

“Sounds like a filling breakfast,” Peter groans, “can you make me one too?”

“…I’m legitimately concerned,” comes Tony’s mutter.

MJ ignores him. “Who’s the bitch on your forehead?”

Peter rubs absentmindedly at the massive knot on his head, courtesy of a wall that rudely decided to move at the last second while Peter was attempting to walk through a doorway. “He’s called DJ Braindeath and he’s my only friend in the world.”

“Peter—“

“Oh did you meet him at the furry convention?"

“Technically it’d be a buggie convention.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

“The pantry doesn’t have good coffee, I’m going to Starbucks.” MJ grabs her bag. “You want anything?”

“A will to live?”

“Peter, what the fuck—“

“Oof, I’ve only got like…20 bucks.”

Peter lets his head drop back to the counter. “Then just leave me here to die.”

“Can I have champagne at your funeral?”

“I’ll be dead, I won’t fucking care.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

Then MJ’s gone and Peter gets treated to a 20-minute conversation with a very concerned Tony Stark that he doesn’t remember most of because hey caffeine crashes aren’t fun.

He definitely does it on purpose sometimes just to wind Tony up. Like there’s this one incident with an interview he does as Spider-Man and he gets asked what he thinks about Tony Stark’s newest intern, Peter Parker.

“That boy’s an embarrassment, just…complete failure. Can’t speak without stuttering through every other word and self-esteem issues all over the place. Also looks like he got dressed in the dark.”

The reporter had awkwardly moved on to another question. The interview aired later that day while Peter was at the Tower. Tony sat next to him on the couch about halfway through.

“You look good, Pete.”

Peter had mumbled halfheartedly, only to hear the reporter ask the same question.

“See, that’s the problem with having a secret identity, you don’t…” Tony trailed off as he heard the answer.

Peter snorted as Spider-Man finished talking. “Say that to my face, you bitch, get a real job. At least I don’t look like someone vomited silly string all over my spandex.”

“Are you okay?”

See? Fun.

The only one he’s made a conscious effort to not be this funny around is Steve.

Because, okay, here’s the thing. Steve’s disappointed look has no effect on him anymore. He’s immune, motherfuckers, he’s had detention too many times for it to still work. Here’s the other thing: Steve doesn’t actually use that tone of voice that often. It’s this meticulously crafted image he plays up in interviews because it catches all the bad guys so off guard when Captain America is suddenly swearing a blue streak at them and telling them to go fuck themselves in, honestly, quite creative ways. The sincere Steve Rogers disappointment and concern still very much works. Also doesn’t help that Steve does caring so fucking well, like…who gave him the right to say a few things and hold Peter like he’s something precious and do the quick one-two punch of saying a super sincere compliment and following it up with ‘I love you.’ Who did that? It’s rude. Stop it.

And yeah, Steve’s the resident Mom at the Ready. It’s a risk to even sit on your bed looking sad ‘cause here he comes, wearing something snuggly and saying ‘hey’ in that stupid, stupid compassionate voice. So Peter knows he’s just gonna end up crying from too much soft if Steve actually gets concerned. Which won’t be fair because he’s gonna try and explain that he’s fine and it’s just his sense of humor while crying. Yeah, like that’s gonna be believable.

So he’s trying not to but damnit it’s hard.

Then he walks into the kitchen one day to see Steve struggling with the toaster.

It’s one of Tony’s new prototypes—which means that anyone struggling with it is so fair—and from the looks of it, it’s managed to not only burn the bread to a crisp, but also mangle the slices beyond recognizable shape.

Peter’s not paying that much attention. He’s on his phone, heading towards his spot in the corner with the beanbag chairs and definitely doesn’t recognize Steve as he goes.

He only plops down and hears someone declare, in a completely deadpan voice: “There is no point to existing at all.”

“Oh, mood.”

He doesn’t think much of it. He doesn’t even know who said that, that’s how hyper-focused he is right now. He hears the others come in and feels Clint plonk down next to him.

“Hey, Pete.”

“Sah, dude.”

“Just vibing. Did I do it right?”

“Yeah, man you’re going great.”

“You teach Thor ‘yeet’ yet?”

“We’re getting there.”

“Steve,” he hears Tony call from the kitchen, “what the fuck did you do?”

“Language.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me about language when you’re making toast that looks like a goddamn welder’s table, what is that?”

“Your prototype’s work, I imagine.”

“How did you even—“

Clint chuckles next to him as the two of them start fondly bickering. Peter’s too busy speedrunning the five stages of grief in his head.

Did…did Steve say the thing about there being no point to existence at all?

No…no way.

He must be imagining things.

Then, of course, there’s a chime on his phone.

Ned: Did u do the bio hw?

There was bio homework?

Ned: yeah, due at noon

“I now know why God abandoned this timeline and when will death come to take me?”

The room goes silent.

Shit.

“Peter,” Clint says, “it’s gonna be fine, you can do bio homework in your sleep—“

“Are you okay?” Ah, that’s Thor.

“Kid—“

And Nat, and Tony’s probably rushing over here as he speaks.

Then there’s another voice.

“We can only pray the reaper arrives early for his appointment with us, kid.”

Peter’s head snaps up.

Steve.

Steve fucking Rogers raises a coffee cup at him in salute and takes a sip. He makes a face.

“…that was definitely salt,” he mutters, before shrugging and downing the whole thing.

…what?

Peter’s still staring at him until he catches his gaze and winks.

Oh, fuck yes.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Tony says, hands on his hips, “explain.”

Steve just gives him a look. “I grew up in the Great Depression, Tony, and I was in the army. You don’t think I have a fatalistic sense of humor?”

“Plus the fact that most of my generation is resorting to types of humor found when death and stress are so ever-present that you have to joke about it says something,” Peter adds, “doesn’t it?”

Steve raises his cup again. “See? He gets it.”

And just like that, the bond between Peter Parker and Steve Rogers was written, formed, and sealed in salt and existentialist depression.

“There’s two of you,” Tony mumbles, “oh my god, there’s two of you.”

“Oh, you just wait ’til Buck and Sam get back.”

Peter can’t fucking wait.

[apollodrome]

1- the logical thinking indicates that the most probably option is usually the correct option, for example, if a man has lung cancer the most likely option is that is lung cancer is related to his tabaquism, the same aplly on this case, if a person with morbid obesity has some kind of circulation problem then the most likely option is that is related to the weight of that person, now about your question, if you wanna know how morbid obesity relates to health problems then my answer is

2 - read a goddanm biology book (or just google it), the answer is right there, you dont need to ask a random person on the internet about that, and guess what, you cannot put links into asks so im unable to give you the link to any kind of article explaining that, if you wanna know the corelation then just search morbid obesity on wikipedia.

---

This ask is about this post where a woman's health issues are blamed by doctors on her weight, so she loses the weight, and when doctors see that her health issues have not gotten better, but have gotten worse, they order tests that they should have ordered months ago.

I think you misunderstand the point of the post. Let's take the obesity out of this. A woman goes to the doctor for severe cramps, sleepiness during the day, memory and balance problems. Doctors refuse to treat her. That's all there is to this issue - a woman has gone to a medical professional with a set of symptoms, and the medical professional did not test her for the conditions that have the above symptoms.

You give me an example in your ask of smokers having an increased risk of lung cancer, so let's apply this analogy here. A smoker goes to the doctor and says, "doctor, I have difficulty breathing, a painful cough that doesn't go away for months, I lost 50 pounds in less than a month, pain in my hands, fingers and chest." These are very common symptoms of lung cancer. So, what you're advocating for, is that the doctor should refuse to order any tests for the patient, tell them to stop smoking, and send them on their way. We know that some health risks are associated with obesity, in the same way that lung cancer is associated with smoking, so should we not be testing those people for those diseases more often?

People whose father has died of heart disease are at more risk of heart disease, so we test those people for heart disease when they mention they have symptoms. People whose family has ADHD are more at risk of having ADHD, so we test those people for ADHD when they mention they have symptoms. Why is obesity any different? If a disease has already developed, losing weight will do nothing except for decrease that initial risk, but it's past that already if they HAVE THE DISEASE. They have to be treated for the disease. Thin people can get heart attacks, and non smokers can get lung cancer or develop asthma, so why do those people go to the doctor with those symptoms and get tested, and obese people don't?

In some of your replies on that post, you have used this Wikipedia page as your source. On the same page, it says,

"While a majority of obese individuals at any given time are attempting to lose weight and often successful, research shows that maintaining that weight loss over the long term proves to be rare." (Wikipedia includes a reference for this, I've linked it here).

I am using the same research you are using to argue my point. If an obese individual walks into a doctor's office with symptoms of a heart condition, and is told to lose weight, they are basically sentenced to death. As we can see above, long term weight loss may lead to more health risks, and is actually very rare in most people (less than 1 in 100 obese people manage to lose the weight and stay at the new weight), and so if a doctor tells an obese person not to come back until she has lost all of the weight, she may actually die before she comes back to the doctor.

Obesity is an issue, and does increase the risks of some conditions. However, according to the same Wikipedia article you and I have both been using,

"obesity has individual, socioeconomic, and environmental causes, including diet, physical activity, automation, urbanization, genetic susceptibility, medications, mental disorders, economic policies, endocrine disorders, and exposure to endocrine-disrupting chemicals."

I don't want to assume you're enough of a heartless monster to say "obese people brought this on themselves and therefore deserve to suffer and die due to medical malpractice" as a response to my above point, but JUST IN CASE YOU WERE, that's a whole lot of people you're condemning. You're condemning children who grow up in poverty and whose parents can only afford McDonald's (cheaper than vegetables in the USA), you're condemning my uncle, who had a deadly thyroid issue that wasn't treated in time (he grew up in Soviet Russia) and messed up his metabolism so bad he currently exercises for 3 hours a day but is still extremely overweight. You're condemning people with pcos, people with hyperthyroidism, people with eating disorders and depression. All of those people, in your opinion, do not deserve medical treatment.

With what we now know, let's summarise.

Fact 1: people who are obese have a higher risk of developing certain disorders, in the same way that someone with a family history of heart problems may develop heart problems, however, no disease is directly CAUSED by obesity and obesity alone. If that were the case, thin people wouldn't get those diseases at all, but I know many thin people with narcolepsy, cancers, and heart issues.

Fact 2: obesity can be caused by many factors, not just eating a lot of junk food. I've already mentioned hyperthyroidism, eating disorders, pcos, and poverty as some of those factors, but there are more. A lot of those factors are not the fault of the obese individual. We also know that once someone is already obese, keeping off weight that they lose is extremely difficult and takes a long time.

Fact 3: when a smoker goes to the doctor with symptoms of lung cancer, they are told to stop smoking, but they are also SCREENED FOR LUNG CANCER and TREATED IF THERE IS LUNG CANCER PRESENT.

Fact 4: according to the woman in the original post, she went to the doctor with symptoms of narcolepsy and other issues, was told to lose weight, BUT WAS NOT TESTED FOR THE DISEASES SHE IS AT RISK FOR, OR TREATED.

Do you see my point now? Yes, obesity is linked to diseases, but that should mean that people who are obese are screened and treated MORE OFTEN, not less or god forbid not treated at all. Preventing obesity by exercising and eating well is something we should definitely do ON A GLOBAL SCALE (better mental health help for people with depression/eating disorders, cheaper vegetables for people in poverty, more education, less fast food places), to decrease our risk of the diseases that obesity is associated with increasing the risk for (type two diabetes, sleep apnea, narcolepsy, certain cancers), but if someone is already obese, weight loss is no longer a cure, and actual treatment needs to be administered. Weight loss was never a cure, it is a PREVENTATIVE MEASURE, and not even a good one according to the evidence I've provided above. Healthy eating and exercise are good preventative measures, but they do not always contribute to weight loss. So why do doctors prescribe weight loss in the form of pills and calorie restriction, rather than eating HEALTHY and exercising? ALSO, if weight loss was a cure, non-obese cancer patients, non-obese people with narcolepsy, and non-obese people with eating disorders would also be told to lose weight rather than given treatment. So why is weight loss the ONLY treatment doctors give obese people? Obesity is much more complicated than a person just eating a lot of junk and getting fat, that's not how it works.

You know how we "eliminate the most probable option"? WE TEST THE PATIENT FOR IT, AND IF THE TEST COMES BACK NEGATIVE WE ELIMINATE THE OPTION. Why was the woman in the post not tested, and why do you advocate for this? Why do you think a group of people deserves medical attention less than others?

Here's another analogy. Wearing a mask and staying six feet away from others is a PREVENTATIVE MEASURE for covid. When a person already has covid, they are not told to wear a mask and stay six feet away from others. They are put in a hospital and treated. What you are advocating for is akin to sending a person with covid symptoms away with a mask, and not treating them at all.

To summarise: correlation is not causation, all people deserve medical help (people who are turned away from doctors a LOT are women, people of colour, and fat people. Medical discrimination needs to be eradicated in all of those cases) and you are in no position to decide who deserves to be treated and who doesn't.

I'm not overweight myself. I just care about people receiving the medical treatment they need and deserve, regardless of what they look like or what other conditions they already may have. I recommend really looking at yourself and examining the biases you have against fat folks, and figuring out how to become better as a person. You seem to enjoy giving unsolicited medical advice, so here's some from me: stop being a dick.

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 130

I am pretty excited for this chapter, not just for how it turned out but for what it sets up in the future. I don’t want to spoil it by saying anything more, but once y’all have read it, I would love to know your thoughts on it.

That said, I once again want to thank the people, coast to coast, who keep me going on this story: @the-raven-fae for being the original instigator and current podcaster of the story (check it out here!), @anotherusrname for being the best big sister a girl could ask for and for being the first person to publish any of this story in physical form (on a BLANKET no less), @baelpenrose for being my mutual beta and really egging me on more often than should probably be done, and @charlylimph-blog for... well for just being Charly. The real Charly, who is more chaotic than fictional Charly. And really, all 4 of the above for making sure I take care of myself.

“There’s some changes to the vendor list this year,” Hannah greeted as she arrived in my office.

I was still resisting the urge to cough, knowing that Noah had gotten all the chili powder out of me but nonetheless struggling against an imaginary itch in my throat.  Apparently she could tell, because she got a chai latte from the console for me as she took a seat and handed it over without acknowledging it. 

“From this list, I am going to guess that there is a huge fusion cuisine moment happening right now,” Parvati suggested.

“What gave it away? The Greek-Korean vendor, or the Brazilian-Icelandic?” Hannah joked.

I was extremely glad I had stopped sipping my latte as soon as Parvati spoke, or I would have choked on it. Yes! I thwarted the nefarious beverage! I thought to myself. “Do I even want to know how much fermented shark we are talking here?”

Parvati scrolled through her document and back to where she was, head tilted in scrutiny. “Probably not.”

“I’ll make a note to put them on the opposite end from the natto,” Hannah murmured. After doing that, she tipped her head back with a sigh. “This feels… I don’t know, empty?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, scrolling through a list of upcoming cultural seminars that we were considering.  Jokul’s suggestion to more aggressively share cultures had been a  phenomenally well-received one, and the Council had even recognized him for the way it had taken off. At this point, there were more than anyone could attend, and several requests for repeats.

My entire thought process came screeching to a halt when Hannah explained.

“We’re talking about a huge community event while also in the process of planning how to defend ourselves in the event that space pirates try to wipe out the last known members of humanity,” she pointed out. “While also being on a list of phrases I never thought to even consider being something I thought I would never say - it’s that far out there - the fact that we are still facing potential annihilation makes the Food Festival seem more like one last hurrah.�� It’s kind of morbid, isn’t it?”

“I’m pretty sure the information Arthur and Charly got us demonstrated that we are more likely to be enslaved than exterminated,” Parvati added helpfully, earning a scowl from both of us. She just shrugged. “I’m just saying.”

“Yes, Vati, because that is so much better, thank you for reminding me,” Hannah quipped. “It still makes the Festival feel insignificant.”

“Maybe we should just cancel it - “

I slammed both my hands, palm down, on the table and surged to my feet. “Absolutely not.”

“Sophia - “

“No. This event is too important, we aren’t even humoring that notion.”

“I know that this is your baby, but hear us out…”

I shook my head vigorously. “I will not. This isn’t about me.” I pointed to both of them. “What you’re feeling right now? That’s exactly how nearly everyone on this ship feels. We are scared, and angry, and tilting ever closer to being despondent and just giving up. And that’s exactly why weeeee…” I gestured to the three of us, “can’t. We need stability, and something familiar, and a reminder of what it is like to live. To have fun.  To be as human as possible and stuff ourselves silly.  So if you think for one second I am going to let our own personal culinary Mardi Gras get cancelled, you are delusional.”

Hannah still looked reluctant, but Parvati’s expression changed so fast that it was actually terrifying. “You’re talking about raging against the dying of the light, aren’t you?”

There it was. The guerilla protester was starting to show.

Gracefully, she flowed to her feet, one finger tapping the side of her chin as she started pacing. “That’s an angle I don’t think we considered.” Without looking, she held up a hand to stop Hannah when the quieter woman opened her mouth to argue. “The Festival has always been about coming together, sharing, being peaceful. But, what if it isn’t this year?” She whirled, hair flying and eyes blazing. “The Festival will be two weeks into the next night cycle. We planned on soft emitters, retro style lamps and braziers for light. And we can still do that for the first two days. But day three…”

“Go all out,” Hannah ventured slowly. “Full on, wild, bright…”

“Yes! Blacklights, glow in the dark, fluorescents… Heavy bass in the music, the kind you feel in your chest more than you hear. Only the best dishes from each vendor, what they consider their finest achievements. Defiantly, loudly human.”

“Costumes encouraged?”

She scoffed. “Of course. Like those music festivals Before, only with food.  This isn’t our last hurrah, it’s going to be our rallying cry.”

Hannah seemed to be coming around to the notion, starting to nod with a focused expression on her face. “That would work. I can completely get behind that idea.  We’ll need Ivan.”

“And Charly Harper,” Parvati confirmed.

“Do tell,” I asked, not seeing where they were going with this.

“Ivan can help us with some of the metalwork we’ll need to reinforce the vendor’s booths. We want it to fit in with the theme, but still be functional.”

“And I don’t know where else to get enough glitter, or blacklight paint that doesn’t show under normal light.”

“Glitter…?” That terrified feeling was returning, and swiftly.

“So much glitter,” Parvati nodded seriously. “The kind that doesn’t set off sensory issues, and I know she has it at all times, I’ve seen it.  And flavorless food color, that stuff she uses in her ice cream and popcorn. I need all of it.”

I rubbed my temples as a headache started just from imagining what this was going to look like. She’s an artist, it will work. She’ll make it work, I know she will. “I put the Festival in your hands, you can do whatever you want except cancel it.”

“Just give Tyche a heads up so she can plan good costumes for you and the guys,” Hannah reassured, enthusiasm ignited at the idea of truly making the event their own.

The frown on my face actually gave me a cramp. “Why does someone else get to plan our costumes?”

“Because you wear really nice scrubs every day,” she pointed out without looking up.

“They’re comfy! But I’ll have you know I actually do know how to put together a costume, much less an outfit.”

Both of them eyed me skeptically, provoking a sigh of exasperation. “I am going to show you two, and you are both going to eat your words. Just wait.”  Deep down, under all the indignation, I was hugely relieved to have averted a crisis, especially since it wasn’t a matter of life and death for once.

I also could not wait to see their faces on night three.

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[warpriest-writings]

Red eyes on Grandmother's grave. 

    Sticks broke under her feet, running as fast and hard as she could but it felt like running through jelly, her feet caked in heavy mud. 

“Someone! Help me!!! Please!” She cried out but couldn’t hear her own voice.

Before her was the pair of sharp, red eyes out in the middle distance. She couldn’t make out a face; she wasn’t even sure if the eyes were attached to anythin, just floating there, haunting her. Those hungry, starved eyes that wanted to devour her. The eyes just hung there as she sat there frozen. 

“What do you want!?” she screamed out, but again her words came out silent. 

The sharp, red eyes narrowed, then rushed towards her as a hand reached out at her.

With a difficult, almost pained, inhalation of breath, Patsy woke with a startled jump, accidently knocking her kitty out of bed.

She gasped, “Bean! Come here. Mweh, mweh.” She made kissy noises to her large Maine Coon. Rubbing her fingers together as she did so attempting to soothe Bean and entice her to come back into the bed. Not that Bean needed much convincing; no one in the Desoto household could remember a single night that cat hasn’t slept in Patsy’s bed. By the time she got Bean back in bed and started petting her, Patsy had almost entirely forgotten her nightmare about the...was she running? Regardless, after several minutes of kitty snuggles, she checked her phone, loathing to discover that it was 5:53, merely thirty minutes before her alarm would have gone off anyway.

Of course, she wouldn’t have been lucky enough to wake up from her scary dream at a reasonable 1:17, or even a moderate 3:32. Good, god given times in the early morning a girl could go back to sleep too. Patsy sighed and entered an anxious state of contemplation, debating getting in the shower now and getting that out of her morning routine or laying there, blissfully enjoying the time before she had to get up for real. An absolute miserable time that went on in her head until her alarm went off. Ah, yes, neither productive nor relaxing. Thank you, Anxiety.

Getting out of bed with a less than encouraging groan, Patsy began her morning routine. Feeling emotionally and mentally exhausted by 6:45 AM, Patsy walked briskly down the stairs while putting her long and bouncy kinky hair into a ponytail.

“Morning, Mom!” 

Her mom, Elana, looked back at her as some toast popped out of the toaster, “Hey, Sweetheart!”

Joseph, her dad, poured two cups of coffee before handing one to his wife as she handed him the plate of now buttered toast. “Hey, Pats. Finished your homework last night?” Giving Elana a quick kiss.

“Course, Dad,” she said, silently beaming that her parents were still happily married after nearly sixteen years; it was more than could be said about several of her friends at school.

Her mother was the manager at a local small diner, it was a nice little place, near enough to her school that Patsy would usually walk there at the end of the day and hang out with her friends or finish her homework before her mom’s shift ended at six when the night manager came in. Her father worked from home, and studied. Technically, he was still a student at the University of Illinois, but he worked a lot of sub contracted programming and coding jobs on the side. Once she asked him why he was still in college and his reply was, “Sometimes people are just...nervous about getting out there, and sometimes you just so happen to be very good at filling out grant applications. Your momma has a steady job that takes care of us, and my work on the side makes sure we stay in the green.” 

“Need a ride to school today, Pats?” her dad said, snapping Patsy out of it.

“I’m good; I kinda want some time to just think,” she told him.

“It’d be nothing, it’s getting colder out and I love driving my babygirl to-”

“Joseph,” her mother interrupted.

He backed down, “Alright, alright. Letting Pats be all independent.” 

“Thanks, Dad. I think I’ll have breakfast at school today, I’m going to get going,” Patsy said.

Joseph began reaching into his pocket, “Need money?”

“I’m good, I still have twenty from helping out at the diner.”

“Now hold on, that’s your money. It’s our job to feed you,” he said, and offered her a five, “Take it, and make sure you grab an apple or an orange or something those school food scientist freaks can’t turn into half-baked prison sloop."

Patsy nodded, “Okay, okay.” She took the money, then gave her dad a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, “Love you, mom. Love you, dad.” Then grabbed her backpack from a kitchen table chair and made her way to the door, only partially catching what her dad was saying about Patsy being braver than he was for voluntarily eating school food.

From her house it was roughly a twenty-minute walk to school. Normally, she would have jumped at the opportunity for a quick ride to school, but her mind was still preoccupied by that dream. Most of it was lost, faded just beyond her consciousness’s reach. Those red eyes; Patsy could still see them crystal clearly in her mind. She could almost feel them on her back now. Patsy shuttered at the thought.

As she walked she barely heard the wizzing of bike tires until they were right behind her, lost in her thoughts Patsy made a sound reminiscent of an “Eek!” and jumped off to the grass beside the sidewalk. The biker slowed to a stop, “Miss. Pascala, are you alright?”

He knew her name? Patsy looked at the biker, as she had been largely looking at her moving feet up until that point and the fact that from her perspective the biker was right in front of the morning sun, she had to squint and couldn’t really make out his face, “Uh, yes. I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Hmm?” he took off his helmet, revealing quite the head of curly locks, “Miss. Pascala, a little out of it this morning?”

As her eyes adjusted she suddenly realized, “OH! Mr. Morales, sorry. It was all sunny, and I was kinda lost in my thoughts, and I’ll just stop talking now.”

Her history teacher looked at her with a bit of a raised eyebrow, “I shall see you in the third period, Miss. Pascala, have a pleasant walk. Homework is due by the end of class.” He awkwardly coughed and rode off, quickly moving into the bicycle lane of the road.

Sometime later, after what is by all rights and definitions a poor excuse of a breakfast that would send Mr. DeSoto into a rambling state of disbelief that this was the best that taxpayer money could do for feeding America’s youth, as well as Patsy’s first hour math class (math first period of the day, she was convinced that the school gods hated her) and her second period economics class where they learned..something, Patsy was sure of that. She remembers taking notes and everything. There was a presentation with slides and everything, so they must have learned something...So after econ was her history class with Mr. Morales.

She liked Mr. Morales, more than her math teacher that’s for sure. “Math is the language of the universe.” She was taking English and French and frankly didn’t feel like she had time for a third language course. Mr. Morales was different, he got swept away with the subject sometimes and seemed to have a real love for it.

“We can learn much from history, but the people who made it weren’t trying to teach morals, and they weren’t thinking about just how important that what they were doing took place in 1776, or during the first or second half of the twelfth century. The past is made up of the actions of people who were concerned with living their lives, and if what they were doing was the right thing to do, or the right thing for them.” Mr. Morales said on the first day of school. He was also just a bit odd. His thick curly hair, a trait he described as indicative of his strong greek heritage, was peppered ever so slightly. Otherwise he held onto his youth remarkably well. looking closer to mid twenties rather than late thirties.

After the class ended, Patsy went up to her teacher, “Uh, Sir, excuse me.”

Mr. Morales looked up from his tablet from which he often powered through novels, “Hmm, yes, Miss. Pascala?”

“I was just going over that pop quiz you handed back today and I would have gotten one hundred percent if you didn’t mark my answer for question two wrong.” She said,

He set his tablet down, “That is usually how people do not get full marks. Allow me to double check that.” He held his hand open.

Patsy handed him the paper, “You see, I’m certain the correct answer is B and I’d like to get full credit.”

“Third century B.C. Yes, you are correct. I’ll be sure to update the gradebook and parent portal to reflect this. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Miss. Pascala, I imagine I marked everyone else who answered as you did as incorrect as well.”

He handed her back the quiz after remarking her score and immediately wrote a note he then stuck to his computer monitor.

She excused herself and left with a bright smile, making her way to her next class, and then on and so forth with her day. As she was heading towards her computer typing class after lunch (which was not notably better than the breakfast, it is a wonder that these children survive long enough to eat microwaved ramen in college dorms.) She accidentally bumped into the Principle as she was turning a corner.

“Ooft!” She said, feeling like she walked into a lumpy brick wall.

Principal Robertson cleared his throat and looked down his nose at the young lady, “It is not becoming to run down the hails and blindly around corners.”

He had been the principal at her school for well over fifteen years now, and he seemed to live for it. Participating in school spirit events and playing along with the dress up days, at least he did last year. No one wanted to really mention it but over the summer he lost a lot of weight and his skin got paler...greyer was almost more accurate. Hushed rumors said he was diagnosed with some cancer or another but refused to stop working while on chemo and Patsy wasn’t sure what to think of it all. Looking down at her now she wasn’t feeling very comfortable.

“I, uh, I really need to get to class.” Patsy said

The sickly Principal sighed a heavy breath, “Just slow down.”

“Right, of course. Thank you Mr. I mean, Principal Robertson.” With that she took off, carefully walking not-to-quickly.

Passing around the next corner and with her computer lab in sight Patsy let out her own sigh of relief. The bell ringing just steps away, “Whyyyyyyy?” Patsy said in a hushed, exasperated tone.

She quickly rushed into the room and to her seat, hoping maybe she wouldn’t be marked late. The class lesson began and she got to work with her typing program. 

“Hey, Patsy,” Her friend Abby said, “Think your mom would give me a ride home after her shift at the dinner?”

“Course, Abbs.” She replied, “You getting anywhere with these?”

“Not really, my hands know the keyboard but my words per minute is garbage.” Abby said.

“My words per minute is fine, but I have to force myself to type the way that we’re supposed to. It doesn’t help that at home I always just type with my pointer and middle fingers.”

“You type a lot at home?” She asked, “Are you writing something?”

She nearly jumped out of her skin, “No! of course not...I just look up a lot of random stuff when I’m bored.” She must never know.

Abby raised an eyebrow, “Mhm, right.” 

Over the intercom the school receptionist called out, “Pascala DeSoto to the Principal’s office, Pascala DeSoto to the Principal’s office.

Abby winced, and tried to give her a reassuring smile.

She tried to return it, her thoughts were racing. Surely she wasn’t being called down to the Office for accidentally bumping into the Principal in the hallway was she? Why wouldn’t he just take her there right after she did it then? Maybe it wasn’t about anything she did at all. Oh God...what if her dad accidentally started another grease fire trying to make home fries? What if Mom got into an accident on her way to the dinner? Her mind was a beehive that someone just punted halfway across a football field. 

The receptionist must have noticed the worry on her face and gave her a very sweet smile, “Don’t worry about it too much, Sweetie. Just keep your chin up and remember none of this will matter in ten years.” Reassuring words, either her parents were fine or she was just as unsure why she called down Patsy as she was herself.

Bracing herself mentally, Patsy opened the door and pushed it to the magnetic door stopper that held it open.

“Closer the door behind you, Miss. DeSoto.” Principal Robertson said.

Her stomach did an uncomfortable flip, she wasn’t sure why she was feeling so destressed over this. She hadn’t done anything as far as she could remember or mentally justify. She closed the door, getting a last glimpse of Mrs. O'Riley, the nice receptionist.

Run! Every nerve in her body screamed out but she moved forward to sit in the chair opposite Principal Robertson at his desk anyway. He spoke up; she only saw his lips move, the words not landing correctly in her ears.

“I’m sorry, Sir. Could you say that again?” She asked.

His brow furrowed, “I do not care for repeating myself, Miss. Desoto.”

She sank in the chair. “Sorry.”

“And do not mumble. Speak clearly or not at all!” 

Patsy sat back up in her seat in shock, “Principal Robertson, I don’t think you’re allowed to speak to me like that.”

“Do not speak back to me, you’re the one in trouble here.” He said venomously.

Trembling she stood up, “I need to go.”

He got up as well, “I think not, DeSoto. You’ve been hiding really well, tricked everyone but not me.” He licked his upper lip.

A full body chill ran through her entire being and oddly, in retrospect she felt, Patsy really wanted her kitty Bean there. She said, “Principal Robertson, you can’t be serious right now!? Think….think about your wife!”

Robertson frowned hideously, “That bint isn’t important.” He smiled, which was so much more disturbing to the young lady, “not like you, DeSoto, you have been worth all of my effort and patience.”

He reached out for her when the door opened, “Principal Robertson,” called out an all too reassuring voice, “I was wondering if you had the chance to look over those field trip papers I….” His hand less than two inches away from her, Patsy’s whole body was trembling but she couldn’t make her legs run.

Mr. Morales stood in the open doorway, his eyes moving quickly from Patsy to Robertson. “Miss. Pascala, behind me.” He said putting himself between them.

The Principal scowled in frustration, “I’m not entirely sure what you think you are doing, Linus. You are acting like I am some sort of threat to the girl.”

“This doesn’t look good, James.” Mr. Morales replied.

Robertson scowled deeper, and Patsy in that moment of fear and confusion thought his scowl pulled unnaturally at his skin. 

Mr. Morales raised his hands defensively, “What are you?” Striking a serious tone with his voice that she had never heard from her history teacher before. It was a cold voice that set her skin on edge almost as much as Principal Robertson had.

Before her eyes the late fifties Principal of clear declining health grabbed Mr. Morales  and threw him against a glass case containing various trophies for academic and sports accomplishments. Patsy left out a loud scream and Mrs. O’Riley’s own scream wasn’t far behind. 

Later the police officers that responded to the Receptionist's call would ask Patsy what happened next, and she told them the truth. It all happened so fast she wasn’t sure what exactly happened. Mr. Morales, who had bruised ribs, and some cuts from the glass but was thankfully otherwise alright, shouted something that didn’t make sense to her at Robertson and the Principal ran off. She didn’t get to hear what Mr. Morales told them but they questioned him for a good long while. 

School was cancelled early and parents were furiously calling the school board and the district for answers. There was a warrant issued for Robertson, and some people were threatening to pull their kids altogether. No one wants their kids to go to the school where the principal threatened a fifteen year old girl and assaulted a teacher. 

Superintendent Wilkens sent a parent portal wide email that a warrant was formally filed against Mr. Robertson and the police had opened an investigation. In addition to Resource Officer Thomas three more Iron county police officers would be stationed at the school for security and rest assured that school would be open again Friday.

“No, no...this is ridiculous. My daughter was threatened by that man.” Patsy’s dad said to the Superintendent’s secretary. “Don’t put me on hold! ….Yes, I believe that you do have another call coming in. I….” he sighed heavily, and tossed his cellphone into the living room sofa.

“Sweetheart.” Elana said, putting her hands tenderly on Joseph’s shoulders.

“We worked with that man in the ice cream socal last year, Laney.”

Just out of their sight, sitting against the hallway wall Patsy hugged Bean. Now more than ever the tridactyl kitty gave her some comfort. She kept replaying it over in her mind, Robertson’s face looked so...uncanny valley. Elana had tried to reassure her that it was just her mind playing tricks on her, wanting to think that he was somehow less than human because of how he was acting. 

Her phone buzzed, touching the wall it tapped rapidly and loudly and Patsy reactively tried to grab it before her parents noticed.

“Pats? Babygirl, I thought you were laying down.” Her dad said, walking over to her, flipping the hallway light on. “Well, I thought you were scrolling through your phone, pretending to be laying down.”

She gave Bean a little squeeze like when she was littler, “I tried, but I couldn’t take a nap.”

“It’s okay, Pats. How'bout I make up some of my famous root beer floats?”

She slowly nodded, “That would be good.”

“Come on, Patsy.” Elana said, “We can sit at the table while your father makes us a feel better treat.” 

She got up and walked over to the kitchen table, Bean closely trailing her like always. “Hey, think I could maybe sleep in your guys' bed tonight?”

Elana quickly glanced at her husband, the pair of them sharing a whole conversation in a moment.

“Of course, Pats.” Her dad said, “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“It’ll be like when you crawled in my bed when you were little after a nightmare woke you up.” Elana said.

Her father was scooping ice cream into three tall milkshake glasses as Patsy pulled Elana into a hug, “Thank you for being my mom.” she said softly.

Elana returned the hug, remembering the first time Patsy told that to her and felt the sting of tears in her eyes. She was Pascala's mom, there wasn’t any doubt of that. She didn’t give birth to Patsy though. Her birth mom and Joseph’s first wife passed away when she was less than six months old, an oncoming driver didn’t stop at the red light as she was going through the intersection on her way home from work. Elana was her birth mother’s best friend and Patsy’s godmother. After the funeral she just kept helping Joseph out with Patsy, eventually moving in with them. Joseph and Elana married when she was seven, but she had really always been her mom.

As frustrated as he was with the situation, Joseph did his best to cool down and help Patsy feel better, telling his corny dad jokes he spent hours and hours looking up at his computer desk. 

He spent almost a half hour that night checking and double checking that every door and window was locked that night, as well as making sure their security system was armed. Unlike Patsy, who almost couldn’t sleep without Bean snuggled next to her, Elana found the heavy cat overly warm but she gritted her teeth through it for Patsy’s sake.

The next morning, Thursday, the day after her high school Principal threatened her, assaulted a teacher and just disappeared. She woke up to the smell of her dad making eggs, over cooking them. Elana always made them a little runny. Everything seemed to run by a little slowly. Like she had been jerked out of a deep daydream and couldn’t pull herself entirely out of her own head.

Around noon she and her mom were watching a cartoon as Joseph entered the room on the phone, “I see, well, thank you, Linus. Yes? I’ll ask her now, we were planning on going to the diner for lunch anyway.” He pulled the phone slightly away from his face and turned to the pair on the sofa, “Pats, Mr. Morales is out of the hospital. He asked if it would be alright if he met us at the diner today.”

She let out a huge sigh of relief hearing he was out, that meant he was okay, “Yeah, that sounds good!”

Joseph put the phone back to his face, “She’s okay with it. We’ll see you there at one. Yep, bye, it was good hearing from you too. And...thank you, Linus.” he hung up and put his phone into his pocket. “He said the superintendent pushed the school’s opening back to Monday, I guess we angry few can make a difference.”  

Elana pulled her legs onto the sofa and sat cross legged, turning towards him, “That’s great! I think that’s what WIlken’s should have done from the start, but hey. So we’ll be eating with Patsy’s english teacher?”

“History teacher.” Patsy said, correcting her.

“Linus is also one of my work associates, but yes. He just wants to check in with Pats.”

She nodded, “Alright, I’m going to take a quick shower before we go.” 

She gave Joseph a quick kiss on the cheek as she left the room, her husband replacing her spot on the sofa.

Patsy gave her dad a big hug. “So Mr. Morales is alright?”

“Some cuts and bruises but he sounded alright, he didn’t talk about himself much.” Joseph said.

Before long they were sitting down as Margret, one of the servers at the diner, was bringing over a pot of coffee for Joseph and Elana and a Shirley temple for Patsy. “Hey, Patsy.” the retirement age waitress said, “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m okay, Margret.” She said, putting on a cheerful voice.

“That’s the spirit, I’ll be sure to bring you over the biggest slice of cake.” She said

“Yay cake!”

Elana laughed a little, “We’re going to wait to order, Margie. We’re waiting on another person.”

The older waitress nodded her head slightly, “Sounds good, Laney. I’ll be back in two shakes with your refreshments.” With that she was off to serve some of the other customers, or guests as corporate would like they be referred to.

The three of them chatted while they waited for Mr. Morales, while they did Patsy’s thoughts drifted to the bizarre notion that when you see someone you only ever see at school, or school related events that when you see them out and about in everyday life the person is suddenly almost unrecognizable. Like in those children sitcom shows where someone says “Wait, you mean teachers don’t live at school??” or something else mildly insulting to the audience about their perceived intelligence. Still, Patsy wondered if it was going to be super weird seeing Mr. Morales not just outside of school, but on purpose outside of school. He normally dressed in clean but not ironed dress pants and some sort of long sleeved shirt, either a button up or a sweater; would he be wearing a rock and roll band t shirt and shorts? What if he wears his curly hair in a manbun outside of work? The horror.

It was almost a disappointment when Mr. Morales showed up in tan dress pants and a blue sweater, as well as a sling that held his left arm, some bandaging on his cheek with some purplish bruising around its edges.

“Linus,” her dad said, “Glad you could make it.”

“We’re both just so grateful for what you did yesterday.” Elana said as her husband scooted further into the booth, making room for him.

“Oh, I only did what any good samaritan should have in the situation.” Mr. Morales said, sitting down. “Ah!” He smiled at the pot of coffee sitting on the table, “May I? I’m afraid I skipped my usual morning cup...come to think of it, skipped most of my usual morning routine today.” 

“Go ahead, refills are free.” Patsy said.

“Are they?” He asked with a smile, awkwardly pouring himself a hot cup.

Margret returned, prompting her mom to say that they’ll probably need a few minutes for Mr. Morales to decide what he wants.

“Oh, go ahead.” The teacher reassured, “ I know what I want, a short stack of pancakes, and two pieces of bacon on the chewier side.”

“Oh, alright!” Elana said, “Brunch it is then, I guess we’re ready to order. Patsy, you go first.”

Patsy put in her order, a belgian waffle with strawberries and a lemon poppyseed muffin. Her father ordered the same as Mr. Morales, but he wanted his bacon crispy. Elana ordered two sunny side up eggs and some toast to dunk in the yolk. With that Margaret took off again.

“It just seemed so...out of nowhere.” Patsy said, suddenly.

Surprised, Elana reactively gave her a side hug, “No one ever expects these sorts of things to happen, Sweetheart. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

“Principal Robertson wasn’t...normal, right?” She asked, addressing her teacher.

Mr. Morales avoided her gaze, looking down into his coffee.

“Pats, Robertson wasn’t the man we thought he was, or he changed or something messed up.” her dad said.

“You saw his face too, right Mr. Morales, you asked him what he was.”

Her parents, worried for Patsy, then looked to the teacher they invited out.

“Miss. Pascala, I don’t know what had gotten into him, or what had become of him. That certainly wasn’t the man I have worked with for over two years now, but rest assured. He wasn’t some abnormality, he was a man, a man who revealed himself to be quite the monster.” Mr. Morales said finally, just as their food arrived.

To her parent’s relief, Patsy dropped the subject. They ate and her dad asked Mr. Morales how she was doing in his class.

“She is an ideal student” he told them, “Attentive, curious, she has a mind for nuance, and seems to genuinely want to understand why people did what they had done in the history lessons.” Which unfortunately made her quite uncomfortable, like she was in a parent-teacher conference all of all of a sudden.

As Patsy began to withdraw into herself, Elana asked her, “So, Patsy, is there anything else you’d like to do in town today before we head home?” She hoped to bring Patsy back to the surface of her own mind.

“Huh?” Patsy asked, she heard what her mom said, but her brain hadn’t really processed it yet. Something it usually would do about a split second after someone repeated what they said to her. “Oh, uh...well I was hoping we could go swing by grandma’s grave?” She stated her request with the inflection of a question. Her grandma wasn’t buried very far from where they lived. However, she knew that her dad always had a hard time going. He stayed in the car when they visited her grave a couple weeks before school started.

Joseph swallowed hard, but nodded, “Of course, babygirl.”

Mr. Morales raised an eyebrow, “I didn’t realize you had family buried here. I was under the impression that your family moved here from Louisiana.”

“We did, but Joseph is from here originally, we moved back here after his mother got sick.” Elana explained.

Mr. Morales turned his gaze back to his coffee, “I see.” Patsy could see his eyes darting swiftly like he either realized something or was thinking very swiftly. She felt like she could relate. “Miss. Pascala, Joseph, Elana. Please do not take me for overreaching but I’m not sure it is safe for the three of you to go to a location like that right now. If Robertson is following you it would be quite the place for an ambush.”

“Linus, don’t speak like that in front of my daughter.” Joseph said, something of a warning in his voice. 

“No, dad, it’s alright.” Patsy said, “Mr. Morales, do you really think it’s a bad idea to go to the cemetery?”

Mr. Morales looked to Joseph, who wore an expression that clearly said “Be careful how you say things.” He looked back at Patsy, with a small sigh, “I think, perhaps you should at least wait under after school starts up again Monday? Thank you all for this lovely meal, but I think I should be going. This should cover my food.” He swiftly got up and pulled his wallet out and with just his right hand awkwardly pulled out some bills. Leaving forty dollars on the table as he took off.

“I think you scared him.” Elana said simply, pouring herself another cup of coffee.

They ultimately didn’t go to the cemetery, to both the annoyance and relief of her father. In fact they stayed in for the rest of the day. Watching TV, playing a popular kart racing game which Joseph began quite smuggly. Only to lose to his daughter because of an npc driver launching a nuclear option that blasted him back to third place less than half the track away from victory.

Patsy told her parents that she felt comfortable enough to go to bed in her own room that night, and Elana made chicken parm hero sandwiches. All in all the day drifted by quickly after their lunch with the odd Mr. Morales. It was almost 10 at night when she finally told her parents she was going to bed, and they reaffirmed their own tiredness from the day and wouldn’t be up much longer themselves.

Of course, Patsy wasn’t really going to bed.

She stayed up for hours, just to be sure they had actually fallen asleep. Her dad. Patsy disarmed the security system and left the house, heading straight for the cemetery. She had to see her grandmother’s gravestone. Something about how Mr. Morales reacted just didn’t sit right with her. It had to be around 1:20 in the morning now and it was very dark and while it was brisk out during the day her fingers quickly started going numb and she could see her breath.

The ground of the cemetery was hard and bumpy from thawing into wet muddy ground under the sun during the day. Patsy walked through the cemetery at a brisk pace, wanting to get to her grandma's grave and back before her parents could wake up to find out she snuck out of the house...or worse she was taken by Robertson. The made her stomach clench up, and she began regretting this whole idea. There was a rustling in the bushes and she began to sprint, she felt like running home and forgetting all of this but she was painfully aware she was heading right towards the grave.

She came to a quick stop, looking down at the engraved stone. Ellinore DeSoto, 1961 to 2017. She knelt down, tears building in her eyes. Deep down she knew coming here now was a mistake, her grandma wouldn’t want her sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night, especially not under the current circumstances.

She sniffled, alright she got to the gravestone and proved exactly nothing. Time to get home as fast as she possibly could and swear off stupid impulsive decsions forever.

The wet smacking of lips that made her skin crawl.

“Pr.principal Robertson?” She tentatively asked, standing up and turning towards the gross sound. Her eyes widened in grotesque terror as she looked at the swollen thing that only scarcely held the appearance of her principal, the purplish grey skin stretched uncomfortably tight as the creature smiled wider than nature as she knew it allowed.

“Pascala Desoto,” It still spoke with Principal Robertson’s voice. “So courteous of you to come to me, now we may continue your...disciplinary measures, young lady.” The creature stuck out it’s purple tongue which extended down past its belly.

Patsy wanted to run, scream, anything, but her legs refused to move. Her body frozen. It walked up closer to her, and it’s foul breath was like a thick miasma that made her lungs clench up and burnt her throat, she couldn’t even tremble in fear.

“Speechless, DeSoto?” It leaned in and inhaled deeply by her hair, it chucked out as it spoke, “Yeeheeehesss. Your flesh will do, your form will do.”

Over the creature’s shoulder Pascala saw another, and the ghoul’s smile turned into a scowl. Apparently it noticed him as well.  It wrapped it’s unnaturally large hands around her, its index finger on her shoulder and its pinky on her waist. Turning to face him it snarled out, “This is my Witch, get your own.”

The man stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight, the beams catching on his glasses, “Let her go, Corpse eater.” He held a revolver in one hand, and an old medieval looking sword in the other. His arm wasn’t in the sling anymore and he didn’t look injured at all.

“Morales, I knew I should have crushed your throat when-”

Her teacher cocked the pistol and aimed it right at his head.

“G...go ahead. I am not something you can kill with a bullet.” The ghoul said smugly.

“In your state it will hurt, it’ll be a whole world of agony.” Morales said, calling the monster’s bluff.

It took a slight step back, balking out a grunt in some fear. “We can split her! I don’t need her blood!”

Patsy’s eyes widened at the suggestion.

“Don’t worry, Miss. Pascala. This thing won’t harm you...and survive.” His voice was cold again, and she couldn’t help but feel an intense fear. Maybe from the slight tremors she felt through the ghoul’s hand, but somehow she knew that this thing that used to be her Principal was terrified.

“I can’t go back to the corpses people bury, they poison them, and every time I feed I whimper in agony for years, only to need to feed again, the cycle is torture! Have mercy!” The ghoul begged.

“You do not want my mercy, Corpse eater. It is at the end of my sword.” He began walking forward.

The ghoul released Patsy and pinched her throat, “Another step and I’ll break her neck!”

Reactively she reached up at the monster’s finger’s “I don’t want to die!” she sobbed, were she in a more clear headed situation she may have realized she can move again.

Mr. Morales paused, scowling back at the hellish beast. 

“That’s right! You...you have a fondness for her, your student, HAH! So long as I have her in my grasp you won’t risk harming her.” The ghoul grinned hideously in it’s little victory.

Her history class teacher inhaled sharply, then said, “If you are going to do something, now would be the time!”

Principal Robertson the ghoul frowned, “What are you playing at?!” 

Out from the bushes a large orange cat ran up much faster than Patsy had ever seen in her life and pounced on the ghoul’s forearm, clawing and tearing at it. The ghoul released her and she dropped, quickly and frantically crawling into an upright sprint several yards away from the monster.

Bean used the ghoul as a springboard and sprinted over to Patsy. The Ghoul was screaming and clutching the wounds the cat had left on it, as Morales lunged forward and with a clean swift strike cleaved the monster’s head from it’s shoulders.

Patsy’s breaths were short, and she pulled Bean into her arms as she tried to calm down. Morales wiped his blade off on the grass before sheathing it and steeping over to his student as he holstered his gun.

“I’m sorry, Miss. Pascala.” He said, “Are you alright?”

“What, what was that!?” She asked, looking at the ghoul’s limp body.

He paused, like he was unsure he could answer, “...Is there any world where you could accept that this was all a bad dream?”

She shook her head, “No, I have nightmares all the time, this is real.” Patsy looked at her teacher and gasped, she tried to step back but only fell backwards. “Those eyes!”

Mr. Morales sighed, and pulled his glasses from his face. His eyes were a hungry deep red. “Please, Miss. Pascala, I mean you no harm. You have my word, my oath as a man who has spent his very long life guiding the minds of the youth, and protecting everyone who I find in need of help.”

She tried to steady her breath, with Bean in her arms she felt much bolder and confident, “Those eyes, I’ve seen them in my nightmares, I trusted you and you’re another one of those things!” She pointed to the ghoul.”

He was taken aback, and gestured at his face, “You’ve seen these eyes in your dreams? Miss. Pascala, I assure you I am not a corpse eater.” He grabbed his lip and pulled it up, revealing a long and sharp fang. “I am a vampire, and amazingly you seemed to have augured my presence in your dreams.”

She stared at the fang with wide, slightly horrified eyes. “...Huh.”

“Huh. That...is a first.” The Vampire said, “I imagine you have questions, and you deserve answers. Especially if you refuse to accept this night was just a bad dream.”

She nodded, “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to, trust me I’m trying. Still here, next to my vampire history teacher.”

“Very well, Miss. Pascala. This ghoul was hunting you because you are a Sorceress, and whoever gave you that cat was as well. Seeing as how that animal is a Familiar, your Familiar.” He said, “Monday, come to my class after school, and I will tell you more. For now just go home, you’ll be safe there with the cat. I need to clean this up before anyone comes by and finds it.”

It was be a difficult thing to believe that Patsy would just accept things at that, that she would just go home and enjoy her long weekend with her folks, and she could just scratch Bean behind the ear knowing she was some magical protector her Secret Sorceress Grandma had given to her as a little kitten. That she could be nearly eaten and just go back to bed. All that can be agreed upon is that Patsy got out of bed the next morning around 10:30, that she took a shower and had slightly runny scrambled eggs for breakfast. Another thing that can be certain is that Patsy would never doubt what happened, what she saw and what she heard, and that the story of Pascala DeSoto, The Sorceress of Illinois had only begun. 

End Chapter

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[kae-karo]

"That sigh was a lot louder than I intended it to be." kaeya 👉👈

HI BESTIE THANK U FOR THIS i hope u enjoy!!! 💜💜

[send me a dialogue prompt from this list and a genshin character!]

tags: kaeya’s got a crush on diluc (shocking), canon divergence, albedo calling kaeya out on his bullshit

--

Kaeya leans back, tips his drink precariously to the side, just until the wine reaches the rim. Diluc isn’t here to yell at him for making a mess of the bar- yes I know you didn’t actually spill it, but you’re still taking an unnecessary risk.

His lip ticks up at the corner - how chastising can be so endearing, he isn’t quite sure. Perhaps simply because it’s been so long since he’s heard Diluc’s voice that he’d be glad for anything right now. Perhaps he’d invite the chastising, if only to ensure he’d have Diluc’s attention. How pathetic, that his desire to see Diluc again has overrun his own sense of pride.

He exhales a breath, lifts the glass to his lips and takes a long sip. It does not taste as sweet as he’d like.

“Something the matter?”

Kaeya blinks at the voice, pulls ardently at his usual facade and turns to grin at-

“Ah, dear alchemist. What brings you to the tavern this fine evening?” Kaeya can’t think of a time he’s seen Albedo in Angel’s Share perhaps ever, but the man sits there all the same, head bowed over a sketchbook and pencil scribbling seemingly at random.

“Research.” Blue eyes flick up to meet Kaeya’s for the briefest moment, then return to the paper. “You sound bothered. What’s wrong.” Hardly the tone for a question, and Kaeya quirks a brow.

“Ah, that sigh was a lot louder than I’d intended it to be…” he muses, more to himself than Albedo, but the pencil stops its near-inaudible scratching. Albedo lifts his head properly, then, and fixes a- well, it’s not quite a blank stare, more a judging one, but very subtle. Kaeya wonders if he’d learned it from Diluc.

“No, it wasn’t.” Kaeya blinks at Albedo, and his brows lift a bit of their own accord. “You were precisely as loud as you intended to be.” With that, he returns his focus to his paper, soft scratches of pencil returning as he draws - Kaeya wonders who he might be sketching. 

“Do you mean to imply that I’m searching for attention?” Kaeya asks as he leans an elbow on the bar. Albedo lifts his gaze but not his head, quirks a brow silently, and Kaeya huffs out an amused breath. Fine, he’d been searching for attention, but not from Albedo.

Diluc isn’t here, though, and he doubts he could sigh quite loudly enough for Diluc to hear him.

“You came to draw?” Kaeya prompts, because he thoroughly doubts that Albedo cares anything for Kaeya’s own personal issues. Nor would Kaeya speak of them so easily, though he can’t imagine why Albedo would even bother to ask - surely he’s perfectly aware of Kaeya’s inclination to keep his cards close to his chest? Even if he’s not inclined toward socializing, he must hear bits and pieces of the rumors that follow Kaeya like his own personal stormcloud.

Suspicious. Strange. Unusual tactics. Do his men even trust him? What’s with the eyepatch, anyway?

Always the eyepatch, Kaeya thinks with a subtle smirk.

“I came to research, and that often includes my art, yes.” Kaeya blinks at Albedo’s words, focuses on the moment. “And even if you weren’t sighing like some fair maiden in an overdramatic stage play, everything about your expression screams your desire to have someone listen to your problems.”

Kaeya stares, eye wide and brows raised.

“Don’t look like that,” Albedo says with a hint of exasperation. “I was drawing your smug smirk, this is a different expression entirely.” Kaeya blinks once, then again.

“I have no desire to make someone listen to my problems,” he says carefully - no, he’s never wanted others to hear his problems. Not in a long while. Where Albedo could’ve possibly gotten that idea, Kaeya has no clue.

Albedo just tips his head, though, and taps his pencil on the bartop. Focuses on Kaeya with an assessing sort of stare, and Kaeya makes a concerted effort to relax his expression, to ensure it’s as neutral and normal as possible. Albedo just huffs out an amused breath, and his lip ticks up at the corner.

“A commendable attempt, but your actions only serve to prove my point.” 

“Do you intend to pester me until I bare my soul to you?” Kaeya says, and finds his tone not as nonchalant as he’d hoped. Albedo hums.

“It does not bother me either way.” Albedo returns the tip of his pencil to his paper. “Suffer in silence, if you want.” 

Kaeya grits his teeth, watches with mild confusion and mild irritation in tandem - he doesn’t want to talk about his own issues, certainly not with someone like Albedo. Would he even understand? Pretty as he is, Kaeya’s well aware that he spends most of his time alone in Dragonspine, focused wholeheartedly on his research. It’s unusual to find him anywhere without purpose, certainly not in the middle of a tavern.

“Even if I did desire to talk about my problems - and assuming you’re correct in your assessment - I fear you’d find them rather complex,” Kaeya says, takes another sip of his wine. The pencil pauses, then resumes its scratching.

“I can’t decide if your intent was to insult my intelligence or goad me into coercing you to speak.” His eyes flick up, then back to his page. “Either way, I’m nearly done with this, so I’d prefer you make up your mind sooner rather than later.”

Kaeya has no interest in talking about his problems, so it’s just as well, isn’t it? Except…

Perhaps he doesn’t know Albedo well, doesn’t trust him farther than he can throw him, but he can’t possibly cause Kaeya problems if he’s holed up in Dragonspine, if he’s less inclined to socialize than even Sucrose.

“It’s matters of the heart, if you must know,” Kaeya says as nonchalantly as he can manage. Still, he’ll keep Diluc’s name out of it, whatever little else he does choose to reveal. “I fear I’ve lost this person’s trust too severely to ever regain it, and that they will not even give me a chance to make amends for my actions.”

So simple, it sounds so impossibly simple, when he says it that way. When he strips away the layers upon layers of their complicated relationship to the bare bones, they could be anyone, the two of them. Mere star-crossed lovers, some fairytale that can be woven with ease into a happy ending. Kaeya’s lip ticks up at the corner, at the idea of something so simple.

“How unnecessarily complicated,” Albedo says with a sigh. He straightens up, tucks his pencil behind an ear. Kaeya huffs out a breath, though even he isn’t sure whether it’s one of annoyance or amusement. He lifts his glass to his lips. “You should tell him how you feel.” 

Kaeya coughs out a laugh, now, and nearly chokes on his wine. 

“You sound like a child,” he says without thinking, and Albedo tips his head.

“You say that like an insult. Perhaps you could do with a child’s advice.” With that, he climbs to his feet, and Kaeya catches a glimpse of the sketch Albedo had been working on, of- oh, of his own face. Albedo had said as much, hadn’t he?

“Why me?” Kaeya asks quickly, before Albedo can grab his sketchbook and leave. Albedo just hums. Picks up the sketchbook, flips it closed and tucks it under his arm.

“I received a commission for my art. A portrait of you.” Kaeya’s lips part, but he’s stunned to silence by the way Albedo’s lip curls up into a smirk. “I suspect Diluc will find this quite to his tastes.”

[nightswithkookmin]

Hi Goldy! I am curious about your take on how Jikook are edited in the behind the scenes clips since October (such as the ones for the Life Goes on music video, ABC Holiday Dynamite, and the Japan one (search on youtube for BTS japan shoot || behind the scene of Japan)). Do you think Jikook are interacting less, being just friends, being more professional, or is BigHit editing their interactions out? It just seems so different from the ones before Oct (FILA, Dynamite MV, Season's Greetings 2021)

Huh???😲😲😲

BigHit is doing what what now?😥

Do you mean that as a fact or theory?🤔

Why though?👀 They are not Tae Kook? 😥

There's Bangtan video of Jimin with his third leg dangling loose in the air somewhere on the internet, I don't think BigHit is that savvy.

Lmho. I mean I see what you mean but they are editors and cutting is what they do for a living. But this is Jikook sis. I don't see BigHit's incentive for 'cutting' Jikook's moments and you shouldn't assume that-

Unless...

You don't think Jikook's been groping eachother homoerotically on set lately have you? Cos, chile I'll believe that! I don't trust Jikook anywhere near eachother's vicinity and personal space.

I've seen enough to traumatize the devil himself. Chilee. Lol.

Bighit, in recent times, mostly tend to cut scenes and moments if they are a bit risqué. Like JK shoving his butt in Jimin's groin face, sliding his hands down Tae's chest...

Often times too they cut moments if its redundant. If a part of a scene is already in the main content they don't bother showing it in the behind scenes. From my observation.

When an interaction is awkward they skip it too, I feel. I mean I am still waiting to see JK touching all over Jimin and feeling him up in Run 106- honey, I'll pay to watch that shit with my kidneys. Lol.

Often too they save some scenes for memories or some other shit that they use all those pent up footages for. Lol.

BigHit is a business, they produce content that per their research and analytics garners more engagement, audience retention and a whole other metrics. They put a lot of creativity into what they do as creatives and artists- I mean if the baby noises is anything to go by. Those bites are tired!

But often times too, they're tired and they're lazy, and they just put anything together and toss it out there without giving it much thought- isn't that how they leave Jin or Tae out of packages, how certain Jikook moments that should have never made it into screen time ended up in screen time- how JM's third leg made it to the internet? They should have cut that shit before uploading it with those subtitles and yet here we are.

I think people give BigHit too much credit- talking about JK shouldn't gay panic and run away from certain moments with JM if he knows BigHit editors are going to cut those moments.... JM's dixk begs to differ. Chilee, Jimin you should have just worn pants. Can't trust these phony ass editors my guy.

The editing is really not a big deal. Not to me. But I love your question anyway. Especially the bits about what's different about Jikook and the content BigHit has been putting out since October.

Well something sure did go down in October, I don't care what anybody says.

I keep saying BigHit banks on the bond and intimacy of the boys, and the boys are more than happy to showcase their bond for the cameras just as Tae said and confirmed in a recent interview- Tuktukkers y'all did an Oopsie on the whole Taekook don't like to show their bond on cameras! Lol

Tae said it himself not me- he lives to showcase his bond with the other members. *where is my skull head emoji. Lmho.

I think what has changed since JM's birthday in October to now, to me where BigHit is concerned, is the general marketing strategy of the company.

It seems to me the company is adopting a marketing module opposite of the strategy they had been using before the pandemic. I think I've talked about this though...

Hate to say I said it, but I said it. Lol.

They are limiting access to the boys to drive sales as and when. BTS dominates the internet and have amassed greater reach and attention partly due to the free content they put out on the internet. But those were never monitised- not in a direct or significant way.

In the wake of the virus, they've had to monetize their online presence. A single tweet from their Twitter account is a phone brand promotion as I pointed out in past posts. There's been an increase in their sponsorship collaborations, in Soop and many of the content they've put up this year. They even turned on ads on their YT channels it seems.

Like I've been saying, this situation is global and novel, they are going to experiment with means and methods till they find that sweet spot and that is what I feel we are experiencing- amongst other things.

Unfortunately for us, our access to Jikook is gonna take a hit like I said before because the numbers are in their favor. I mean go to their YouTube page and see the metrics for yourself.

Jikook's holiday remix pulls way ahead of their counterparts. If their going to monetize any ship brand in BTS it's Jikooks. Trust. But that doesn't mean any ship in BTS is spared.

Someone asked me a while back, when I talked about this, whether all these changes the company was going through was going to affect the way Jikook interact on camera and I couldn't answer that with conviction then.

But I mean we are seeing a subtle, if not drastic change in the way Jikook interact with eachother and with their glass closet.

What that means for us, I think, is the company is going to choose when and where to show us content and certain interactions but that doesn't mean Jikook aren't interacting- know what I mean? I mean they have them. The juicy moments that's gonna make us slap our mamas. BigHit has it all. They are just gonna save it for as and when based on their marketing strategy, if you know what I mean.

I mean we all saw that blackswan performance, we all saw the holiday remix performance etc.

And you are right about the less interactions post October and I've shared my thoughts on it so I won't go into it. But I will state again that they are not broken up either, not to me. Lol.

I think we need to examine what interacting less means. To me, I consider Jikook interacting less if they have an opportunity to interact and they don't interact in a way that is usual of them.

Majority of the content we've gotten in recent times are pretty much very official contents, interviews, etc. The entire BE era, as I said is not about Jikook or even BigHit.

It's about BTS, all seven and Jikook can't monopolize the shine like they tend to do in other BigHit marketed contents in my opinion.

Jimin tried to be funny and chill in the dynamite mv and RM nearly went ninja turtle on his ass when he called him out for not taking things seriously enough during the shoot- Left to grandpa Joonie, the kids will sleep at five. Lol.

Seriously though, there is a huge gap between what BTS views as marketing and marketable and what Jikook or even BigHit views as marketing, in my opinion. And conversations like that between RM and Jimin goes to prove it.

Another interesting thing about this whole marketing approach is how BigHit isn't substituting any other particular pair in Jikook's stead. I see them giving equal screan time to the individual members- well not in a technical sense but I think you know what I mean.

Are Jikook required to be professional in certain situations, absolutely. And in previous years, I think they took too many liberties with it. But as I said, now more than ever they are learning and need to learn to read the room because they wouldn't be able to get away with much if they don't.

BE is a self produced project, after Soop- after when they were isolated to help them bond and repair fractures in their bond. If there were anything they were not happy with that led to Soop, trust that they are going to fix it post Soop and it's going to reflect in every sphere of their interactions.

RM for example has chilled on his monitoring and censorship of Jikook, Jikook have been pretty considerate of the group and have tried not to do anything to have RM pop a vein, Tae has been stepping up too- with the members going out their way to praise him and push him to the fore front of the group unlike in previous years *cough cough I don't want trouble but chilee.

I mean Jimin pointed it out in the Be behind when he said Tae was working hard and putting his best foot forward because the members had been showering him with lots of compliments in recent times and he wasn't kidding.

In the LGO comeback live, RM praised Tae for working hard forgetting it wasn't just Tae and JM's reaction was telling. Of course he backpedaled to compliment JM too.

Suga did the same thing in the Be behind video when he was talking about JM and praising him- I mean it's Suga and his Jimin, uWu. But then he too backpedaled to compliment Tae when he realized what he was doing and I was like CAN SOMEONE PRAISE KOOKIE TOO PLEASE AND THANK YOU. Lol.

Anywho, the company is equally chilling on their Jikook agenda which I have speculated on several ttimes so won't get into- it's all so very kumbaya and God, I hate it. Lol.

Give me the chaos goddammit!

I feel Jlkook loosen up in contents that aren't like super official business moments and that's when you see their domesticity. Lol.

You see them having their me time in the background of some of the content, and in one of the interviews where they were sat a good feet apart but they kept moving closer and closer till eventually after their lunch break cut, they were sat very close to each other.

I'm not a fan of the cameras being shove in their faces during their private moments- Kookie certainly doesn't appreciate that either.

But they are working for a living nonetheless and making content is what they do for a living. So we are definitely gonna get the content from them alright, the fanservice, the organic moments passed off as fanservice, the moments that should never make it to screen- all nine. Lol.

We are just not going to get them in a way we are accustomed to. And it certainly doesn't help that they are each on their own personal growth journeys- gradually disconnecting from their fanbase, I mean Jk's been long gone duh, and Jimin did say he has come to the realization not everyone in the fandom loves him and he is learning to react less strongly to them; which to me translates as bye bitches you don't deserve me. Lol.

I mean dude didn't bother posting for new year this year- y'all Jimin is done with our ass. We might as well pack our bags and join him in Kookie's Casa. I call dibs on the broom closet under the stairs. Lol.

Jikook gets called fanservice and other creepy slurs in this fandom but people forget all of this is their choice too. They choose, are choosing to share all the bits of them they share with us, with us. Inspite of all the hate and insults, they choose to do that- if they did it for the fanservice don't you think they would have called a time out on it long ago because it's not worth it?

I hate it here.

I guess what I'm saying is, you are right about these observations you've made and some of the things you've pointed out are facts.

But we have talked about all of that so it really shouldn't be anything new? Kindly check my previous posts. I think I shared my point of view on what I think is going on with Jikook, BigHit and BTS.

Other than those, I don't think there is anything major up with Jikook honestly. I keep saying I don't think they are broken up. I don't see either of them closed off, emotionally open to connecting with the others.

If anything I said I feel Jimin is falling in love all over again with Kook. I mean when he looks at him he looks to me as if he is seeing Kook in a different light.

And it's funny how all through out 2020 he kept reiterating how his friends and family and relationships were important to him, shading the ef out of Kook during the Japan Stay Gold promos claiming his relationships were important to him and was what was Gold in his life.

He even went on to talk about picking an accent spending time around his friends and talking with his friends around his birthday but suddenly in the Be behind scenes he was talking about how he's come to the realization BTS is his only true friends and how friends come and go.

Clearly he's had an epiphany of a sort and has been through something post his birthday that has him setting his priorities straight in the aftermath.

In his Weverse magazine, he mentioned how he's recently discovered something about himself, about how he loves to be loved. He then went on to clarify that when during festa he talked about having a desire to perform with the members for a long that that he meant to say he wanted to be with them for a very long time.

But then JK said Jimin said that bit to him first. And if this is the interpretation Jimin is giving to that statement then- one plus one is two honey. Numbers don't lie.

Dude don whispered those sweet empty nothings in JK's ear telling him he wants to be with him for a very long time and shit.

And now homeboy out here setting up roots in gay boulevard. I don't think their well is drying up any time soon. Lol.

They are in a honeymoon phase again and they are not showing us. Stingy bastards! Lol

And when JK said to JM in response, that BTS is his home- wow. He really said that...

He is Jimin's home. Literally. Please, my heartu😭

Jikook is real. Please support them.

Signed,

GOLDY

[dreaming-in-alicante]

First chapter is up!

I have 5 more chapters planned out. It’ll depend on how much work I have with the end of the semester, but I hope to update weekly!

Chapter 1: A research opportunity

   _________________________________________________________

A month ago, Grace had sat shell-shocked in the Institute infirmary in the aftermath of the battle, attempting to process the bloodshed she had witnessed and the fact that Tatiana was dead. Jesse, busy talking to Lucie and her parents, making funeral arrangements, had left Grace alone for a while. It was Christopher Lightwood of all people who had noticed her sitting there frozen, who had walked over and offered an awkward pat on the shoulder. He expressed his sympathies and then, seemingly at a loss for a way to help her feel better, told Grace that she was welcome to come visit the lab at any time if she would like something to do to take her mind off of the circumstances. “You were a great help in figuring the function of the pithos that time,” he’d said before wandering off.

Of course that had been before. Before word of her confession had gotten out. Before her trial by Mortal Sword three weeks ago. The Consul had let Grace off without punishment because she was underage and influenced – manipulated – by her mother. No, not mother, Tatiana. You were never a daughter to her, Grace reminded herself. She bought you, you were only ever a weapon that she wielded.

Now that Tatiana was gone and Jesse was restored to life, Grace found herself adrift. Word spread quickly amongst the Clave about what she’d done: the misery she had inflicted on James and by extension Cordelia; her use of demon-gifted power to influence and seduce numerous men – including the Consul’s own son; her involvement in necromancy. She knew plenty of Shadowhunters would happily see her spend time imprisoned in the Silent City. She had made so many apologies that she had quite lost track, but it was not enough – might never be enough. She was still technically part of the Clave, yet no one seemed to know what to do with her. She was even invited to a party last week where everyone had given her a wide berth; a perfect example of how she remained part of things, but was held at a distance.

Grace had spent weeks alone in the apartment Jesse had found for them, reading like she had always done. Now that Jesse was not a ghost, he was no longer her constant companion. He was alive again, out making friends and experiencing the world anew. He had started training and was visiting all the sights of London with Lucie. It was everything Grace had wished for him for years, except now she found herself even lonelier than before. Jesse had invited her along to everything but it was awkward to be around even Lucie.  Despite their shared mission to restore Jesse to life and her newfound relationship with Jesse, Lucie was struggling to forgive Grace for her part in James and Cordelia’s suffering. After all, it was Lucie’s own brother and her future parabatai that Grace had hurt. So Grace continued a nearly isolated existence, most days only seeing Jesse briefly in the morning and evenings.

It was the boredom and loneliness that had finally driven Grace to make a call on the Consul’s house at Grosvenor Square. She had overheard Lucie telling Jesse that Christopher was hard at work on something and spending nearly every weekday in the lab there. Surely Christopher should despise Grace after the way she had hurt his friends. Yet he had offered a small wave and smile at the party several days ago when they passed each other near the refreshments. His small gesture and her desperate state had been enough for her to gather her courage and venture out today.

   ________________________________________________________

 Grace stifled a sneeze as she descended the steps into the laboratory. A smoky haze hung in the air and it smelled like… gunpowder? What on earth had Christopher been doing? She paused uncertainly and nearly turned in retreat before steeling her nerve and continuing down.

Grace reached the bottom of the stairs and peered around the lab. “Christopher?” she called tentatively. “Are you working down here?”

A messy head of brown hair, darkened by – was it gunpowder? – shot up from behind the lab bench on the far side of the room. Christopher pushed rounded goggles up onto his head as he strode over to her.  “Grace! How nice to see you again!” he greeted her. His skin and once-white shirt were also covered in a fine layer of dark dust. “I suppose I saw you a few days ago at the party but you weren’t there long were you? Jesse said you weren’t feeling well. I heard there was a cold going around, is that what you had? Are you feeling better now?” he asked kindly.

Grace hadn’t felt well at the party, but it had nothing to do with illness and everything to do with the fact that Jesse was the single truly friendly face in that enormous ballroom. Lucie had awkwardly engaged her in stilted conversation before being whisked off to the dance floor by Jesse. After half an hour hovering on the outskirts of the room Grace could simply not endure the suspicious glances from the other guests, and she fled back home. “No, I wasn’t feeling well, but I feel much better now,��� she told him simply.

“That’s good to hear!” Christopher said earnestly. “It’s never fun being sick. I detest the medicine my mother makes me take for coughs. That’s actually a project I’d like to pursue at some point, to see if medicine can be flavored but still retain its potency. I think if one could take some fruit, for example, and isolate the components of the fruit – molecules they’re called – that cause the specific taste and – ” he cut himself off abruptly. “My apologies Grace, you obviously came here for a reason and here I am boring you. Did you need help with something?” he asked, looking at her expectantly.

Grace thought she could cry for the sense of normalcy in the conversation and the kindness in his gaze. It was the complete opposite of the stiff, clipped exchanges and distrustful stares she had received since her trial by the Mortal Sword. Jesse was there for support of course, but he also faced distrust – returning from the dead through necromancy tended to make people wary. So to have Christopher – one of the ‘Merry Thieves’ no less – act like nothing at all was wrong, it was a relief.

She would have told Christopher to keep talking about the cough medicine and molecules – the idea sounded quite fascinating – but he had asked her a question. “I…I came to take you up on your offer to help in the laboratory. That is, if you’re sure you still want my help” she said hesitantly, clasping her hands together. “I know you offered weeks ago and I understand if you would prefer me to stay away now that you’ve heard the full story of everything I’ve done…” she trailed off uncertainly.

Christopher blinked at her for a moment, seemingly in shock, before his face split in a wide grin. “Really? You’d like to work here in the lab? No one besides Henry has ever been interested!” He paused thoughtfully, adjusting his glasses. “Well, Thomas does often help but I believe he feels obligated as my cousin. It’s not that he has any deep fascination with science and invention. Although he did make the cure for the Mandikhor poison! But I don’t think he enjoyed the process.” He frowned. “I suppose solving the puzzle of a complicated antidote is much more stressful when people are about to die,” he concluded.

“So, you’re sure you would still like having me around?” Grace asked, tense. “After the pain I caused your friends, I understand if you don’t want my assistance.”

“Of course I’d like you to help!” Christopher replied excitedly. “Having another pair of hands is always useful, and you actually want to be here! As for everything with James and such,” he said seriously, “you apologized didn’t you? And I’m sure you won’t do it again if you feel so badly about it now.”

Grace was astounded. “I did apologize and no, I don’t plan to manipulate anyone in that way again,” she managed to say. “I couldn’t even if I wished to,” she added, “the Silent Brothers found a way to remove my power.” That ritual, performed two weeks by Broth Enoch, had made her ill. She spent the better part of a day asleep, and still felt exhausted the day afterward.

“Then it’s all settled!” Christopher proclaimed brightly. “Let’s see, there’s a space on the benchtop over here where you can work, I have some of my notes there now but I can clean those up, put them over with…” He scurried over to a bench on the left of the room and began tidying it, muttering to himself.

Grace followed slowly after him, still in some disbelief. Yes, she had traveled all the way over to the lab and hoped his offer to join him in the lab still stood. However, she had prepared herself to be brushed off. Had expected Christopher to distrust her now that he knew all of her questionable actions, the ways she had hurt his friends and cousins. Technically she also was, or had been, his cousin by adoption; for some reason she brushed the thought of it away. They weren’t actually related. Especially now that she had reclaimed the Cartwright surname, distancing herself from Tatiana.

“There!” Christopher announced, pulling Grace out of her thoughts. He had cleared the bench of papers and bottles and beakers, and brushed off a layer of dust. “This can be your work station,” he told her. “I’ll find you a notebook to record your findings in, and you can work with me on some projects! Or do you have any ideas or projects of your own you’d like to pursue?” he inquired.

“I read many books growing up, many containing scientific information, so I know some basic principles,” Grace said. “However, I fear that much of the information is decades out of , and I'm sure there are many advancements I have not learned of,” she confessed. “Perhaps you can tell me what you’re working on? Were you doing some experiment involving gun powder just now?”

“Indeed I was!” Christopher replied with a gleam in his eye. “For a years now I’ve been trying to adapt incendiary weapons for use against demons. Angelic runes prevent the gunpowder from igniting somehow, and unless runes are involved the demons can’t be harmed.” He gestured her over to the far side of the room where a couple of guns laid on the table, one partly disassembled, as well as a small grenade.

“You made the runed revolver for James, didn’t you?” she asked, trailing a finger over the rune inscribed on the barrel of the rifle laid out on the bench.

“I did,” Christopher replied. “The problem is, James is the only one who can use it. Something to do with his shadow powers. Even Lucie can’t make it work. Quite confounding.” He held up a very familiar object – the pithos that Belial had used to steal marks. “I’ve been testing different rune placements with this,” he said, “because I thought perhaps an indirect application would make a difference. I’ve tried inscribing inside and outside on different parts. I also have a collection of gunpowder that I put in this runed box.” He gestured with the pithos to a small cubic container, every side plastered with a variety of runes. “The gun still fires – that’s what I was testing before you came in. No telling whether it will have any effect on a demon though,” he said, “It depends on how the runes transfer energy, which is an area no one fully understands yet.” He paused uncertainly, and set the pithos back on the benchtop. “I know you said you’d like to learn, Grace, but I’m not boring you am I?” he asked, sounding troubled.

“No, not at all,” she said quickly, turning her attention away from the disassembled handgun she’d been inspecting to his face. “Truly, it’s fascinating. I enjoy learning and you do a wonderful job of explaining things.”

“Oh,” said Christopher, turning faintly pink at the compliment. “Well, jolly good then. Besides Henry, people never really want to hear details,” he confided.

Grace thought briefly that perhaps Tatiana had been right when she called the Clave a pack of fools. Was there genuinely no one besides Henry Fairchild who appreciated the extent of Christopher’s scientific work? Not even his friends? “How about this?” she said, turning fully to face him. “I promise that if I ever want you to stop talking I’ll tell you directly, but otherwise, I wish to hear every detail. Here, we can shake on it.” She extended her hand between them and asked, “Deal?”

Christopher looked bewildered for a moment, blinked, then took her hand and shook it. His strange violet eyes shone as they met hers and he said, “Deal.”

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Four

(AO3 counterpart here.)

He had always seen it.

The Runagate was correct about sleep; little Greykit was afraid to shut his eyes because it would come. Every night – or at least almost every night – he’d wake up in a panic, unable to comprehend, unable to explain to his mother or brother. He never wanted to talk about it, anyway. He didn’t even want to talk about it now.

It haunted him, sometimes, when he was awake. He couldn’t do anything correctly the first time. He was always scared. His ribs strained against his skin underneath the fluff of his pelt because even looking at the prey with a white star on its head made him want to vomit. He shivered when tales were told of ghosts and ancestors. Nettlecloud and Mistpaw were supportive and gentle, but they didn’t understand. No one did. No one could.

To occupy his mind and block the fear in a corner where it couldn’t reach his eyes, he dove into his training when he became an apprentice. He wasn’t good at hunting or fighting, but he stayed focused and practiced all he could, to the point of avoiding sleep for more than just the nightmares. It wasn’t until Nettlecloud got sick and a healer named Finchberry dropped by that he found something that genuinely excited him.

In no time, he became a healer’s apprentice, and he knew that it wasn’t a glamorous position. That was fine. The less attention, the better. Besides, he could keep cats alive longer with his skills.  

He didn’t know precisely what he was seeing, all this time, but something terrified him about death, far more than any other cat.

Except one.

There was a night, halfway through Greypaw’s apprenticeship, where he finally could not keep his eyes open any longer and fell into an uneasy slumber. He saw it again, and prepared to run, like he always did. But some instinct stopped him, froze him in his tracks. Without knowing why, he looked to his left.

Something thin and dark hid in one of the few places with shadows. It looked like a cat, even if it was a bit too long and nearly see-through.

Greypaw opened his mouth, grateful to have someone to talk to at last, but the dark thing lifted a paw and held it, unseen pads out. Hush. Say nothing.

Greypaw looked around nervously. It wasn’t paying attention to him.

He slowly turned and moved for the shadows, his paws landing on semi-firm ground. His fur prickled with fear, as it always did. But this was much better than it.

You’re a hard one to reach, they whispered, when he had gotten close enough. You who sees through the veil. Seems barely anything can get to you.

“Who are you?” Greypaw whispered back. “Can- can you rescue me? Can you stop this? I see this so often, I just…”

I hold hardly any power here, Greypaw. The silhouette’s vaguely-there eyes shut. It’s a miracle I’m talking to you to begin with. Now hark. I have something to show you.

They turned and started off at a trot, tail beckoning. Greypaw spared another glance backwards – he was still safe – and followed. The shadows swallowed them, a temporary sanctuary. Greypaw sagged with relief at the sensation of cool air and soft ground under his paws.

“Where are we?” Greypaw kept his voice low, in case it could hear still. “Do you know what I’m seeing?”

You see StarClan as it truly is, they said. You see a hungry thing pretending to be your afterlife.

Greypaw stopped. “Then…then it’s eating what I thought it was eating?”

A single nod.

Greypaw knew that he shouldn’t believe a figment of his imagination proclaiming something as bold, as sacrilegious as this, but he knew it was the truth. Thousands of things he had seen throughout his life became clear as the blue sky – the wailing starry cats, the prey dangling lifelessly in front of him, the lighted forms cracking in pieces and being shoved into those bodies, everything. He understood with perfect clarity.

“Aspects help us,” he said, shaking.

They cannot help us as things are. Their words were flippant, but their voice was sympathetic. It falls on us to do something. To spread the word. To save the Clan.

Greypaw still trembled, but he looked up. “You and I?”

You and I, they said, and stepped aside. And her.

Greypaw paused his walking. Ahead of them was the faintest outline of a stone forest…or perhaps just many piles of rocks. The stars were gone, but the moon fought its way through the fog and lit the stone structures just enough for Greypaw to make out another form.

A tall, red-brown molly stood in the center of the structures.

Their eyes met and widened. The molly started walking forward, stiff and alarmed.

This is all I can do, the silhouette said, as if in pain. For now, the rest is up to you. I’ve given you the link. Find-

A roar, a crash of boulders, a groan of trees, and Greypaw awoke.

His mentor, Finchberry, stood above him. She had a paw on his shoulder, like she had shaken him.

“You alright, lad?” she asked, gaunt face unusually concerned.

Greypaw wanted to curse her for waking him up, just as he wasn’t scared for his life for once. He instead blinked blearily at her. “I’m- I’m fine. Was I-?”

“You were twitching all over and mumbling,” Finchberry said. “I know you get the bad dreams, but I’ve never seen you like that. Looked like a seizure, almost.”

Greypaw’s eyes drifted to look at nothing. “Huh.”

He did not sleep again that night, as much as he wanted to. It surprised him, and amused him a little, that for once he looked forward to it.

He only saw that molly two times again – once more as an apprentice, and once after receiving his name and heading to work for the leaders. Both times started and ended the same: the stones, the meeting of eyes, the attempt to move forward, to speak, then being jerked back awake. Greyleaf hated it. He wanted to talk with this cat, whoever she was. He wanted to know someone else - someone physical and real - saw what he saw. He wanted whatever clarity he could get.

It took a while before he got it. That day, he was examining Cedarstar, who complained of a fever, cough, and shivers. Two other leaders sat nearby: Phoebestar of the Fleet and Fernstar of the Clast. They had wanted to stay nearby and observe their comrade in case it was something severe. Greyleaf half-listened to their conversation as they waited for him to be done.

“You don’t intend to replace Viceroyclaw, do you?” Phoebestar was saying. “With one as young as that?”

“Of course not.” Fernstar blinked slowly and dryly. “I just have enough confidence in her that if something happens, she’ll be ready to come here.”

“She’s only been deputy for a year, though-“ started Cedarstar, interrupted by a cough.

“Try not to speak,” Greyleaf said. “Let me see your throat, please.”

Cedarstar lifted her chin up. Greyleaf put his ear to her throat and listened for a wet sound.

“She’s an incredible molly, don’t get me wrong,” Phoebestar said. “But she’s barely out of the nursery. You already promoted her so early, and you haven’t heard from her about anyone that can replace her.”

“She still remains an option,” Fernstar said, in a clipped tone like she didn’t enjoy being questioned by her juniors. “You’ve met her, Cedarstar, haven’t you?”

“When we went down to that pile of stones you call a camp.” Cedarstar grinned.

Greyleaf paused. He quickly remembered himself and lifted his head, now sniffing along her body, ears perked.

“It serves its purpose as well as any other family settlement, and we protect all of you from stray bullies and rogues.” Fernstar made an exaggerated ‘so-there’ nod. “You could appreciate the houses, at least.”

“Just not quite a mountain forest,” Cedarstar replied, and coughed again. “Sorry, Greyleaf.”

It took Greyleaf a moment to realize he was being talked to. He cleared his throat. “You’re fine, ma’am.” He tried to sound natural as he added, “Who is this deputy you’re talking about?”

“She’s called Redheart,” Phoebestar said. “She serves the Clast. About your age, actually.”

Thank goodness that he was facing away from everyone, because his eyes were as round as the moon.

Red. Stones. His age.

But…no. Red- was for a regular ginger cat, not that roan color.

Still…

“Sounds familiar, actually,” he said, keeping his voice casual. “Has she been here before? Some ginger tabby?”

“No,” Fernstar said. “You wouldn’t have met her. She’s red-brown and she never leaves the family for long, if she can help it.”

Hope flared in Greyleaf’s chest.

“She’s going to that Coterie, though, isn’t she?” Phoebestar asked, oblivious to Greyleaf’s fur fluffing out a little.

“It’s close by the camp.” Fernstar did not appear to notice either. “She’d be gone for half a day, maximum. That’s as much as she’ll tolerate.”

“Good for her to get out more. Help expand her horizons.”

Fernstar sighed. “StarClan knows she’ll need it in time.”

“Coterie?” Greyleaf winced at how loud his voice sounded in the hollow den. “Where?”

“Near where you lived, actually,” Phoebestar said. She had a knowing look in her eye and Greyleaf prayed under his breath was just something surface-level.

“Huh,” he said. “That’s- that sounds nice.”

Phoebestar seemed a little amused. “I can tell you want to go, Greyleaf.”

Greyleaf held his breath.

“You’d like to see your family, I assume,” Fernstar said.

He quietly let go of the breath. “I would, yes. It’s been a while.” He remembered Cedarstar and hastened, “But if you’re sick, I shouldn’t-“

“We’ve got herbs here,” Cedarstar said. “You can take a couple days off, if you’d like. What plants do I eat for this?”

Greyleaf straightened up, calmer in familiar territory. “Well, feverfew and lavender are my recommendations. Both are good to stop the chills and fever. The cough should subside with that for a bit.” He dreaded the answer, but he still went with the polite question. “If you’re sure you’ll be alright…”

“I will,” Cedarstar promised. “And I know what to take. I’ll be fine until you come back.”

Greyleaf managed to not sigh in relief. “Is Beetlefoot here, then? I’d like to let my family know I’ll be there.”

“He’ll be happy for something to do.” Fernstar smiled a bit. “I’ve heard him muttering under his breath about restlessness and ‘lazing about’.”

“I’ll find him for you,” said Phoebestar, and she got up and trotted off into the tunnels.

Greyleaf continued his work, asking questions and giving advice, his mind totally separate from his body.

Redheart, he thought. It has to be her. Please, aspects, let it be her.

[potatotrash0]

Your DR magic AU, hand it over 🤲

Okay I have two other anons and I’m just gonna split the character ideas among the three asks. I don’t quite have a plot thought out, and most of these characters’ concepts have only existed in my head up until now...bare with me skdjksjfkd

Mm I talked about them briefly in Prom’s ask? But here’s a more in-depth thing of the THH fighting styles.

Makoto is a mage-type. (I used fighter, support, and mage to describe the various adventurer types it’s temporary just roll with it) Again, he can’t really hold magic for very long? He’s got a large mana reserve but it’s hard to activate and harder to control, so he’s currently working on mastering the little bullets. In the future, I imagine large barrages of bullets would sort of circle around him like they would in the barrel of a gun.

He probably got in accidentally? I’m not entirely sure about this, but I think there’s an entrance exam for Reserve Courses and he was probably forced in on Komaru’s behalf for some reason.

He was basically running the entire time until the very end when he panicked and suddenly the entire field was wiped clean from him waving his arm. HPA saw that, decided that he was worth training, and put him into the Main Course. He doesn’t feel very good about getting in that way, but HPA isn’t exactly empathetic like he is. Again this is like one of three ways I think he could’ve gotten in with the rest of the cast because I’m indecisive skdjsjf

Kyoko is another mage-type, in general the Main Gangs of each game have various themes. THH’s trio has a magic theme, they all use magic. She doesn’t use a weapon, though I’m thinking her gloves act as a limiter of sorts?

As a general rule, more mana means less control, and being half-demon gives her a lot of it. Her gloves help her regulate her mana output so that she doesn’t use too much of it when attacking and tire herself out. Later in the timeline, I imagine there might be a scene where she takes them off and fights off some enemies to buy the rest of the class time to escape something? She would get trapped in the process, but I think this would happen after she’s worked with Makoto for a while and she would trust him enough to believe he would come back for her if she didn’t return.

Oh this isn’t related to her fighting style but on the topic of her being half-demon, that’s mainly because I thought it was boring for everyone to be human and I’m a big sucker for fantasy species so yeah. She’s a cambion.

She has purple-tinted skin, horns that curl up and are fairly close to her head, a thin pointed tail, pointed ears, her pupils are slitted, she’s got carnivore-style teeth, her nails are longer and sharper by default. Whenever she uses the full extent of her magic, her scleras turn dark purple and her irises turn white. Oh yeah her scars came from an accident she had when she was young where her magic got out of control and burned her hands. Her mom’s the demon by the way, for no particular reason, I just thought that the Kirigiris would stay human in this and I don’t know anything about her mom’s side of the family.

I just realized I never said Makoto’s race skdjks he’s human!! He and Komaru just happen to be a special case and have a lot of mana. Most other humans in this AU aren’t so lucky. (cough hinata cough cough)

Byakuya, again, uses magic. He’s the only one who uses a weapon in the Trio, he uses a staff specially made by the Togami family. He also knows how to use a sword and a bow.

I haven’t put too much thought into him, but I know for a fact that his adventuring outfit would have a big sweeping cape later in the timeline. In the beginning though, he just has a stupid expensive suit. The cape comes in later as he, Kyoko, and Makoto start to group up more and more.

I’ve decided that adventurers in this AU group up just as often as they go solo, and while Byakuya would initially be solo, he would deem Makoto and Kyoko strong enough to work with whenever they’re taking on a difficult job.

Groups would change to have matching designs the longer they’re partnered up, and capes/cloaks happen to be the THH Trio’s Thing, as in all three of them would have a cape/cloak of some sort. Byakuya because he’s pretentious, Makoto because he thinks it looks cool, and Kyoko because she uses the cloak for practical reasons like storing things and keeping a low profile when needed. Oh and Byakuya’s bloodline is of royal elven descent, their business is selling spellbooks, runestones, potions, reagents, any magical item you could think of.

Sayaka is a half-siren mage! She mostly uses charm and illusionary magic, as well as healing so that she can support her allies. Later on, she might learn water magic so she can actually deal damage as well. I haven’t decided on her weapon of choice, perhaps she uses a lyre or casts spells from a book. I’m also debating having her learn hand-to-hand combat instead of water magic?

I just like the idea of someone coming up and trying to challenge her, thinking they’ll beat her easily, and barely getting a hit in before she kicks their legs out from under them and tosses them over her shoulder like they weigh nothing. She deserves to take out people twice her size and be menacing, as a treat for the amount of disrespect she gets in the fandom. And I want her to take Leon down a peg because he definitely acts a little like a cocky frat boy sometimes.

Speaking of Leon, we’ve got our first fighter-type!!! I could have him use a baseball bat but that’s boring so I’m thinking he might utilize items as well as a weapon? Bombs or grenades that look like a baseball and explode on impact, baseballs that ignite when thrown and act as fire balls. Alas, I don’t think about him much so this is all just me throwing ideas to see what sticks.

Whatever the case, the main thing I know would happen is that he frequently gets help from Kazuichi and Miu because he just cannot for the life of him stop breaking his equipment. He’s reckless and rushes into battle and now that he doesn’t have Kanon to stop him from setting stuff on fire all the time, he gets detention a lot. (And no she isn’t into him like in canon, I refuse to acknowledge that she ever was.)

Chihiro......they can’t fight djfjsjfjjf. They specialize in making tech and weapons, and in the beginning, would mainly use robots that they programmed to support their allies. Though, they do end up training with Mondo, Sakura, and Aoi to help them become better at combat, and eventually they join everyone else on the front lines as a ranged fighter/support type.

Also, the robots would kinda follow them around like pets. Cute little guys that can also shoot lasers. The robots are powered by mana crystals and each one has a different personality and magic type! Sometimes they follow around different people, the electric one took a liking to Mondo and you’ll see it floating around while he works out. They’re buds.

On the topic of Mondo, he’s another fighter-type! He’s more hand-to-hand combat. A controlled berserker, if you will. Probably started out fighting guys in his hometown and progressed to clearing out monsters when Daiya got concerned about his temper? Perhaps. Maybe. I do not think about Daiya I apologize.

Oh wait hold on. I’m looking at his character art and he’s got a hammer.........it’s decided he uses a warhammer, the biggest one they’ve got, and it’s probably a mana-based weapon. Specifically electric. He and that lil robot wipe the battlefield with their opponents >:D

Taka is probably a fighter-type? I can’t for the life of me find where I read this, but apparently he’s really good at self-defense so I imagine he does hand-to-hand combat as well as sword-fighting for the Noble Paladin Aesthetic.

Hifumi was originally a mage-type, but upon second thought, I’m making him a support-type who uses items and potions and stuff! I like the idea of him making fun little bottles and potions themed after his favorite animes and mangas..........he also definitely helped everyone design their adventurer outfits. He’s the only reason that Makoto’s outfit isn’t boring as hell.

Celeste is, of course, a mage-type. She’s Miss Lolita of course I have to make her an ethereal magic user alright also I love her and I love mages let me have this skfjdkjf. As for her weapon, my first thought was her having playing cards that she throws HxH style?

Or she could summon goons to fight for her, playing into the whole loyal servant dream she has. They would be vaguely themed after the cards, so there would be a jack, king, queen, and joker, all of different magic types depending on the suit of the card she throws. Electric for a spade, fire for a heart, ice for a diamond, something along those lines.

I’m also considering having her little...finger armor thing? I’m thinking of having that cross into her magic, where she attacks with claw-like things formed out of mana. Of course she could also just. Use the cards to cast spells directly skdjksjfkhf

Sakura is definitely a fighter-type. Again, hand-to-hand style, but I imagine she’s more controlled and strategic than Mondo. I can’t see her using a weapon, so I guess she’s like one of the only characters to fight exclusively with fists.

Mukuro’s a ranged fighter-type, but she can also do melee. She uses magic-based guns, ones that shoot mana infused bullets. They have a variety of effects depending on the type of bullet and magic. (I’m not a gun person so take this with a grain of salt.)

Bullets that break apart might be laced with electric magic so that they can shock a target from several points, or fire magic if she’s aiming to start a fire quickly. Exploding bullets are usually used with fire magic, but she might switch to ice if she wants to create a barrage of ice shards for...some reason, I don’t know. There’s more combinations I could probably make, but I’m. Not here to spend an hour researching guns. Not right now at least, who knows what I’ll want info on in the future.

Mmmmmm I’m starting to lose patience here so forgive me for the shorter explanations. I might throw in a fun fact about them for ✨ flavor ✨

Junko’s a fighter/mage-type! She uses a scythe and laces the blade with magic. She could combine it with fire magic to create a flaming scythe and go nuts with it, or she could just channel general mana and slam the blade into the ground to create a big crack in the ground.

There’s about an 80% chance she gets several weapons later in the timeline. Her scythe, a spear, possibly a gun. Monokuma probably exists, I like to think Junko ran into a smarter monster and tamed it and kept it as a slightly feral pet.

Also, yes, she’s still a big adrenaline junkie who gets off on despair. If you see her fighting things she knows are out of her league, mind your business.....actually, call someone to help before she gets herself killed. Please.

I haven’t decided what Aoi will be just yet? I’m veering towards fighter/mage-type, she could use water magic and maybe a leg-based fighting style. Possibly judo or taekwondo. I.....do not have any ideas for her. However I do know that she and Sakura would have a bunch of combo moves together dkfjkejfkdjjd

Toko is a mage-type! She probably uses a book to cast spells from. Or just uses her hands. She would fight ranged, I don’t think she’d want to be up in the action. Too much stress for her, y’know? I

As for Syo, she fight differently than Toko! She technically uses dual swords, but the swords can also connect to create a giant pair of scissors. Again, this is just sort of a fun character thing, but she gets to hate Byakuya in this AU. They have arguments and get on each other’s nerves a lot, but I think the rest of the class usually separates them before anything serious happens.

At some point after Toko befriends Komaru, I like to think that Syo gets a proper fight scene with Byakuya where she rips into him. I don’t think Toko would want to hurt anyone though, even him, so Syo would probably leave him with a few minor cuts at most.

Afterwards, I think Byakuya would quiet down with the insults with Naegi and Kyoko’s requests. (Well. Naegi asked him to try and be nicer because he was worried that they might fight again. Kyoko just bluntly told him that he needed to stop being a jerk and start considering everyone else’s feelings.)

Skfksjfkdh ah. I also like to think Komaru and Toko were initially partnered up by HPA for a job. They were assigned to deal with a couple of school kids wreaking havoc on a nearby city with some monsters they semi-tamed?

But after finishing the job, they decided to partner up permanently on their own. They probably have a few combo moves that Komaru came up with, Toko tweaked them to make them actually possible with their skill set and weapons.

Hiro is...possibly a mage/support-type? He’s probably a bit cowardly and freaks out when on the front lines, but he can use a crystal ball to attack from afar. I’m also considering giving him tarot cards so that he can toss them and attack from several points at once?

Or the ball could shatter at some point during the story and he could just roll with it and spread the shards out during battle to attack from several points at once. They could also be used to create a magic cage of sorts, like electric fence but only electricity.

Okay that’s everybody oh my god. I have plenty more stuff about this au, this isn’t even half of it trust me lmao. I’m sorry about this being so long I didn’t realize it’d be this wordy!!!!!

[theawkwardterrier]

Taking Care

Steggy Week 2k20, day 2 Prompt: Tropes, cliches, and symbols

Summary: Peggy gets sick. Steve shows up to help.

AO3 link here. Thanks to @steggyfanevents​ for organizing!

Peggy’s immune system is notably strong and she’s far more likely to be the one nursing others than to need nursing herself. But this means that when she actually does start feeling under the weather, she ignores it, certain that it will simply pass or that she can overcome it by sheer force of will.

She’s actually able to pull it off for a few days, but once her eyes start watering so much that it takes her three times as long as usual to read anything and her coughs and sniffles become the soundtrack of headquarters, Phillips tells her that the war isn’t going to be lost if she takes a few days off to get well and sends her home.

“Perhaps I am a bit under the weather, but I can still—” she begins in protest but when she needs to take out her handkerchief partway through the sentence, Phillips simply points her toward the door and she actually complies.

She manages to fall asleep for several hours before waking jerkily, somehow less rested, her head muddled. The thought of food appeals not at all, but she is absolutely parched; she lies for much longer than she would ever admit trying to convince her body to stand and go to the tap.

Tea sounds absolutely wonderful at the moment but she can’t guarantee that she won’t fall asleep at the tiny table while the water comes to a boil, so she contents herself with several glasses of water. She is turning to return to bed when there’s a knock at the door.

Peggy doesn’t typically receive visitors here - in fact, she barely receives herself in the tiny efficiency she’s been renting for the past months. There’s a war on, after all, and she essentially uses this as somewhere to catch a few hours’ sleep before returning to headquarters. She isn’t even certain that anyone knows this address. Then again, it would be just typical of today to have someone coming to inform her of a fire or a gas leak while she’s in this state.

But to her surprise, when she calls a polite if stuffed-up, “Who is it?” through the door, the response is, “Steve Rogers.”

“I thought you were in Amsterdam,” she says, opening up and stepping back (it comes out as “Absterdam;” Phillips really was probably right to send her home.)

“We were until this morning,” he responds, following her inside and closing the door behind himself. “Only got back a couple of hours ago, but when I went to track you down with some documents, they said that you’d gone home sick so I—” Fully inside now, he peers at her more closely, and she thinks she should probably be embarrassed, but she barely has the energy to hold her dressing gown closed around her body so more complex emotion will have to wait.

“Right,” he says, his tone changing to a decisive firmness. “Okay. Back to bed.”

“But I—” she protests, mostly out of habit. The thought of even the thin single bed that came with the flat is so tempting that it should be featured in a Greek myth.

“I don’t think so.” He reaches over and gently touches her shoulders with both enormous hands, turning her around and directing her over to sleep.

“You aren’t meant to boss me around,” she tries, but it comes out around a yawn.

“I’ll keep it in mind for the future,” he says, and even through her muzzy head, she thinks there’s affection in his voice. “But maybe just listen for now, huh? I’m kind of the expert.”

The memory of that very lengthy file of his from boot camp comes into her head, but she can’t hold the thought there. Before she even has time to pull up the blanket, she’s crumpled into sleep.

When she wakes up again she isn’t certain of the time, though she feels much more clear-headed overall. A glass of water sits beside the bed, and she manages to sit up (the blanket slides off as she does; apparently someone put it on her) and drink it down without much dizziness.

“I can get you another,” comes Steve’s voice. “Or I can try my hand at a cup of tea.”

She looks around and finds him sitting at the table - the only place to sit, really - with a newspaper in front of himself. She clears her throat. “Do you have any experience with that?” The words come out clearly, which she considers a fairly good sign.

“Not really. It’ll probably be a good thing that you can’t taste much.”

“I’m actually—” she considers, realizing it with surprise for the first time herself. “I actually feel a bit peckish.”

“Good sign,” he says, standing. “Just a minute.”

“I don’t have very much here at the moment,” she points out, and then feels compelled by some lesson of hospitality or politeness or normalcy which her mother tried to impart to her to add, “I’m not about often. I usually end up in the mess back at headquarters or finding a bit to eat on the way between here and there.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not as if I could cook you up anything edible even if you had a full fridge,” he says easily teasing, as he comes over to her with a bowl of consomme and a saucer with a bread roll sliced thin and slightly charred from toasting it over the open flame of the stove. He hands her the bowl, places the roll beside the clock on the nightstand.

She studies him more carefully as he brings one of the kitchen chairs closer to her bedside. He had arrived in full uniform, but now his jacket hangs on the back of the chair he had been occupying, his sleeves are rolled to the elbow and he has his tie loosened. His hair is a bit disheveled. He looks wonderful, and she tries to forget how wrecked she must come off just now.

“Where did this come from, then?” she asks, taking a careful spoonful of the broth. It is a touch salty, noticeably warm but no longer steaming, and feels wonderful moving down her throat. She takes another sip.

“I ran over to the place around the corner. Told them I had a sick friend, and they threw in the roll for free.”

A sick friend. She rolls the words around in her head as she bites gingerly and thoughtfully into one of the small rounds of toast. Thinking of herself as sick is unfamiliar but it’s currently true and she can accept it as fact. Friend, though…

She and Steve have been courteous to each other since the incident with Private Lorraine, but don’t spend extra time together. Sometimes, though, their eyes will meet across the table during a strategy session, or they’ll each choose to deliver something to the other that isn’t strictly their responsibility. Just in those occasional moments, when she allows it, she remembers how determined he is, how quietly funny, how sharp and kind.

She thinks it might actually be nice to become real friends with Steve, but she doesn’t know that she’ll be able to forget the time when she thought that they might become something more, doesn’t know that she can stop herself from still hoping for the future.

“You must be a bit of an expert in the sickbed experience,” she says, eager to change the topic, only realizing once she has that it might be rude or bring up painful memories. Thankfully, however, Steve only laughs.

“It’s a little strange to have nearly gotten through winter with nothing happening. I keep expecting the flu or a nice case of pneumonia to sneak up on me.” His face twists into a slight sadness. “I was lucky, though, back then. My mother took really good care of me. Made sure I always had books and pencils, someone to call if she had to work, soup and crackers when I needed them...A couple of times, when things had been really bad, she got me an orange. We couldn’t afford it and I know that she missed dinners because of it, but she insisted on it so that—so that when I could taste again, that would be the flavor waking me up.”

The soup glides over the tenderness growing in her throat. Here, again, is the reminder of why Erskine was drawn to him, why she’s been drawn to him: because without considering otherwise, he uses the protection given by the serum to help those who need it, because he won’t ever forget the way it felt to eat an orange gifted by someone who scrimped and hurt for it but did it anyway because she loved him.

“I don’t expect you were the most compliant patient, if you’re being truthful,” she comments once she’s swallowed.

“What tipped you?” he says, mouth curling up into a grin. He spreads his hands. “I would have been an angel and stayed in bed, but when one person works twelve hour days, it's up to the other person to make sure the house is clean. Plus, Bucky's team really needed a second baseman."

She laughs too, though it turns into a bit of a cough at the end. As she catches her breath, she looks into the dwindling depths of her bowl. "I'm reminded just now," she says, "of how hard it can be to ask for the help you need, to give up control and let someone take care of you on occasion."

There's a quiet in the room with them, a ticking clock silence. Then Steve says slowly, "That's always been pretty hard for me too. But I think it's something I could get good at if I had the chance. If I came across the right person."

When she looks up, he's already there waiting for her with a steady gaze. An understanding passes between them, but after what's happened before, she needs more than that.

"I think it's something I could learn as well. Leaning on someone." She reaches over, covers his hand with hers. "I hope we both have the chance for it."

"So do I," he says softly, holding on until she yawns again. "Okay," he says. "Time to sleep again, I think. Doctor's orders, probably."

She screws up her face, but is actually tired enough to comply, lying down and letting him clear away her dishes to wash.

"I'll stay around until you wake up," is the last thing she registers before she drifts off. And even though she knows he must have a thousand things to do over at headquarters, when she wakes once again, he is still there, just as he is each time after.