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tinyshe · 3 years ago

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Is Natural Immunity More Effective Than the COVID Shot?

According to Centers for Disease Control and Prevention data,1 COVID-19 “cases” have trended downward since peaking during the first and second week of January 2021.

At first glance, this decline appears to be occurring in tandem with the rollout of COVID shots. January 1, 2021, only 0.5% of the U.S. population had received a COVID shot. By mid-April, an estimated 31% had received one or more shots,2 and as of July 13, 48.3% were fully “vaccinated.”3

However, as noted in a July 12, 2021, STAT News article,4 “cases” had started their downward trend before COVID shots were widely used. “Following patterns from previous pandemics, the precipitous decline in new cases of Covid-19 started well before a meaningful number of people had been vaccinated,” Robert M. Kaplan, Professor Emeritus at the UCLA Fielding School of Public Health, writes. He continues:

“Nearly 50 years ago, medical sociologists John and Sonja McKinlay examined5 death rates from 10 serious diseases: tuberculosis, scarlet fever, influenzae, pneumonia, diphtheria, whooping cough, measles, smallpox, typhoid, and polio. In each case, the new therapy or vaccine credited with overcoming it was introduced well after the disease was in decline.

More recently, historian Thomas McKeown noted6 that deaths from bronchitis, pneumonia, and influenza had begun rapidly falling 35 years before the introduction of new medicines that were credited with their conquest. These historical analyses are relevant to the current pandemic.”

‘Case’ Decline Preceded Widespread Implementation of Jab

As noted by Kaplan, COVID-19 “cases” peaked in early January 2021. January 8, more than 300,000 new positive test results were recorded on a daily basis. By February 21, that had declined to a daily new case count of 55,000. COVID-19 gene modification injections were granted emergency use authorization at the end of December 2020, but by February 21, only 5.9% of American adults had been fully vaccinated with two doses.

Despite such a low vaccination rate, new “cases” had declined by 82%. Considering health authorities claim we need 70% of Americans vaccinated in order to achieve herd immunity and stop the spread of this virus, this simply makes no sense. Clearly, the COVID shots had nothing to do with the decline in positive test results.

To be clear, reported cases mean positive test results, and we now know the vast majority of positive PCR tests have been, and still are, false positives. They’re not sick. They simply had a false “positive.” Right now, we’re also faced with yet another situation that complicates attempts at data analysis, and Kaplan understandably did not address any of these confounding factors.

But just so you’re aware, if you have been fully “vaccinated,” then the CDC recommends running the PCR test at a cycle threshold (CT) of 28 or lower, which dramatically lowers your chance of a false positive result, but if you are unvaccinated, the PCR test is recommended to be run at a CT of 40 or higher, virtually guaranteeing a false positive.

This is just one way by which the CDC is manipulating data to make the COVID shots appear more effective than they are. This also allows them to falsely claim that the vast majority of new cases are among the unvaccinated.

Naturally, if unvaccinated are tested in such a way as to maximize false positives, then they’re going to make up the bulk of the so-called caseload. In reality, though, the vast majority of them aren’t sick.

Meanwhile, those who have received the jabs only count as a COVID case if they’re hospitalized and/or die with a positive test result. These widely differing testing strategies skew the data and allow for false interpretations to be made.

Natural Immunity Explains Decline in Cases

As noted by Kaplan, the most reasonable explanation for declining rates of SARS-CoV-2 appears to be natural immunity from previous infections, which vary considerably from state to state.7 He goes on to cite a study8 by the National Institutes of Health, which suggests SARS-CoV-2 prevalence was 4.8 times higher than previously thought, thanks to undiagnosed infection.

In other words, they claim that for every reported positive test result, there were likely nearly five additional people who had the infection but didn’t get a diagnosis. To analyze this data further, Kaplan calculated the natural immunity rate by dividing the new estimated number of people naturally infected by the population of any given state. He writes:9

“By mid-February 2021, an estimated 150 million people in the U.S. (30 million times five) may have had been infected with SARS-CoV-2. By April, I estimated the natural immunity rate to be above 55% in 10 states: Arizona, Iowa, Nebraska, North Dakota, Oklahoma, Rhode Island, South Dakota, Tennessee, Utah, and Wisconsin.

At the other end of the continuum, I estimated the natural immunity rate to be below 35% in the District of Columbia, Hawaii, Maine, Maryland, New Hampshire, Oregon, Puerto Rico, Vermont, Virginia, and Washington …

By the end of 2020, new infections were already rapidly declining in nearly all of the 10 states where the majority may have had natural immunity, well before more than a minuscule percentage of Americans were fully vaccinated. In 80% of these states, the day when new cases were at their peak occurred before vaccines were available.

In contrast, the 10 states with lower rates of previous infections were much more likely to experience new upticks in Covid-19 cases in March and April ... By the end of May, states with fewer new infections had significantly lower vaccination rates than states with more new infections.”

COVID Shots Cannot Eliminate COVID-19

So, SARS-CoV-2 cases were actually higher in states where natural immunity was low but vaccination rates were high. Meanwhile, in states where natural immunity due to undiagnosed exposure was high, but vaccination rates were low, the daily new caseload was also lower.

This makes sense if natural immunity is highly effective (which, historically it has always been and there’s no reason to suspect SARS-CoV-2 is any different in that regard). It also makes sense if the COVID shots aren’t really offering any significant protection against infection, which we also know is the case.

The survivability of COVID-19 outside of nursing homes is 99.74%. If you’re under the age of 40, your chance of surviving a bout of COVID-19 is 99.99%.

Vaccine manufacturers have already admitted these COVID shots will not provide immunity, meaning they will not prevent you from being infected. The idea behind these gene modification injections is that if/when you do get infected, you’ll hopefully experience milder symptoms, even though you’re still infectious and can spread the virus to others.

Kaplan ends his analysis by saying that COVID shots are a safer way to achieve herd immunity, and that they are “the best tool available for assuring that the smoldering fire of [COVID-19] is extinguished.” I disagree, based on two major issues.

First, and perhaps most importantly, this is an untested “vaccine” and we have no idea of the short-term let alone long-term damage it will cause, as any reasonable effort at collecting this data has been actively suppressed. Secondly, the survivability of COVID-19 outside of nursing homes is 99.74%. If you’re under the age of 40, your chance of surviving a bout of COVID-19 is 99.99%.10,11,12

You can’t really improve your chances of surviving beyond that, so COVID shots cannot realistically end the pandemic. Meanwhile, the COVID shots come with an ever-growing list of potential side effects that can take years if not decades off your natural life span. The shots are particularly unnecessary for anyone with natural immunity,13 yet that’s what the CDC recommends.14

Why Push COVID Jab on Those with Natural Immunity?

In January 2021, Dr. Hooman Noorchashm, a cardiac surgeon and patient advocate, sent a public letter15 to the U.S. Food and Drug Administration commissioner detailing the risks of vaccinating individuals who have previously been infected with SARS-CoV-2, or who have an active SARS-CoV-2 infection.

He urged the FDA to require prescreening for SARS-CoV-2 viral proteins to reduce the risk of injuries and deaths following vaccination, as the vaccine may trigger an adverse immune response in those who have already been infected with the virus. In March 2021, Fox TV host Tucker Carlson interviewed him about these risks. In that interview, Noorchashm said:16

“I think it’s a dramatic error on part of public health officials to try to put this vaccine into a one-size-fits-all paradigm … We’re going to take this problem we have with the COVID-19 pandemic, where a half-percent of the population is susceptible to dying, and compound it by causing totally avoidable harm by vaccinating people who are already infected …

The signal is deafening, the people who are having complications or adverse events are the people who have recently or are currently or previously infected [with COVID]. I don’t think we can ignore this.”

In an email to The Defender, Noorchashm fleshed out his concerns, saying:17

“Viral antigens persist in the tissues of the naturally infected for months. When the vaccine is used too early after a natural infection, or worse during an active infection, the vaccine force activates a powerful immune response that attacks the tissues where the natural viral antigens are persisting. This, I suggest, is the cause of the high level of adverse events and, likely deaths, we are seeing in the recently infected following vaccination.”

Despite being widely ignored, Noorchashm continues to push for the implementation of prevaccine screening using PCR or rapid antigen testing to determine whether the individual has an active infection, and an IgG antibody test to determine past infection.

If either test is positive, he recommends delaying vaccination for a minimum of three to six months to allow your IgG levels to wane. At that point, he recommends testing your blood IgG level and use that as a guide to decide the timing of your vaccination.

Those with Natural Immunity Have Higher Risk of Side Effects

Mere weeks after Noorchashm’s letter to the FDA, an international survey18 confirmed his concerns. After surveying 2,002 people who had received a first dose of COVID-19 vaccine, they found that those who had previously had COVID-19 experienced “significantly increased incidence and severity” of side effects, compared to those who did not have natural immunity.

The mRNA COVID-19 vaccines were linked to a higher incidence of side effects compared to the viral vector-based COVID-19 vaccines, but tended to be milder, local reactions. Systemic reactions, such as anaphylaxis, flu-like illness and breathlessness, were more likely to occur with the viral vector COVID-19 vaccines.

Like Noorchashm before them, the researchers called on health officials to reevaluate their vaccination recommendations for people who’ve had COVID-19:19

“People with prior COVID-19 exposure were largely excluded from the vaccine trials and, as a result, the safety and reactogenicity of the vaccines in this population have not been previously fully evaluated. For the first time, this study demonstrates a significant association between prior COVID19 infection and a significantly higher incidence and severity of self-reported side effects after vaccination for COVID-19.

Consistently, compared to the first dose of the vaccine, we found an increased incidence and severity of self-reported side effects after the second dose, when recipients had been previously exposed to viral antigen.

In view of the rapidly accumulating data demonstrating that COVID-19 survivors generally have adequate natural immunity for at least 6 months, it may be appropriate to re-evaluate the recommendation for immediate vaccination of this group.”

CDC Misrepresents Data to Push Jab on Those with Immunity

So far, the CDC has refused to change its stance on the matter. Instead, officials at the agency seem to have doubled down and actually go out of their way to misrepresent data in an effort to harass those with natural immunity to inappropriately take the jab, which is clearly clinically unnecessary.

In a report issued by the CDC’s Advisory Committee on Immunization Practices (ACIP) December 18, 2020, the Pfizer-BioNTech COVID-19 vaccine was said to have “consistent high efficacy” of 92% or more among people with evidence of previous SARS-CoV-2 infection.20

After looking at the Pfizer trial data, Rep. Thomas Massie — a Republican Congressman for Kentucky and an award-winning scientist in his own right — discovered that’s completely wrong. In a January 30, 2021, Full Measure report, investigative journalist Sharyl Attkisson described how Massie tried, in vain, to get the CDC to correct its error. According to Massie:21,22

“There is no efficacy demonstrated in the Pfizer trial among participants with evidence of previous SARS-CoV-2 infections and actually there's no proof in the Moderna trial either …

It [the CDC report] says the exact opposite of what the data says. They're giving people the impression that this vaccine will save your life, or save you from suffering, even if you've already had the virus and recovered, which has not been demonstrated in either the Pfizer or the Moderna trial.”

After multiple phone calls, CDC deputy director Dr. Anne Schuchat finally acknowledged the error and told Massie it would be fixed. “As you note correctly, there is not sufficient analysis to show that in the subset of only the people with prior infection, there's efficacy. So, you're correct that that sentence is wrong and that we need to make a correction of it,” Schuchat said in the recorded call.

January 29, 2021, the CDC issued its supposed correction, but rather than fix the error, they simply rephrased the mistake in a different way. This was the “correction” they issued:

“Consistent high efficacy (≥92%) was observed across age, sex, race, and ethnicity categories and among persons with underlying medical conditions. Efficacy was similarly high in a secondary analysis including participants both with or without evidence of previous SARS-CoV-2 infection.”

As you can see, the “correction” still misleadingly suggests that vaccination is effective for those previously infected, even though the data showed no such thing. Children of ever-younger ages are also being pushed to get the COVID jab, even though they have the absolute lowest risk of dying from COVID-19 of any group.

Data23 from the first 12 months of the pandemic in the U.K. show just 25 people under the age of 18 died from or with COVID-19.24 In all, 251 children under 18 were admitted to intensive care between March 2020 and February 2021. The absolute risk of death from COVID-19 in children is 2 in 1 million.

Vaccine Provides Far Less Protection Than Natural Immunity

While some claim vaccine-induced immunity offers greater protection against SARS-CoV-2 infection than natural immunity, historical and current real-world data simply fail to support this non-common sense assertion.

As recently reported by Attkisson25,26 and David Rosenberg 7 Israeli National News,27 recent Israeli data show those who have received the COVID jab are 6.72 times more likely to get infected than people who have recovered from natural infection.

Among the 7,700 new COVID cases diagnosed so far during the current wave of infections that began in May 2021, 39% were vaccinated (about 3,000 cases), 1% (72 patients) had recovered from a previous SARS-CoV-2 infection and 60% were neither vaccinated nor previously infected. Israeli National News notes:28

“With a total of 835,792 Israelis known to have recovered from the virus, the 72 instances of reinfection amount to 0.0086% of people who were already infected with COVID.

By contrast, Israelis who were vaccinated were 6.72 times more likely to get infected after the shot than after natural infection, with over 3,000 of the 5,193,499, or 0.0578%, of Israelis who were vaccinated getting infected in the latest wave.”

Breakthrough Infections Are on the Rise

Other Israeli data also suggest the limited protection offered by the COVID shot is rapidly eroding. August 1, 2021, director of Israel’s Public Health Services, Dr. Sharon Alroy-Preis, announced half of all COVID-19 infections were among the fully vaccinated.29 Signs of more serious disease among fully vaccinated are also emerging, she said, particularly in those over the age of 60.

Even worse, August 5, Dr. Kobi Haviv, director of the Herzog Hospital in Jerusalem, appeared on Channel 13 News, reporting that 95% of severely ill COVID-19 patients are fully vaccinated, and that they make up 85% to 90% of COVID-related hospitalizations overall.30

Other areas where a clear majority of residents have been vaccinated are also seeing spikes in breakthrough cases. In Gibraltar, which has a 99% COVID jab compliance rate, COVID cases have risen by 2,500% since June 1, 2021.31

US Outbreak Shatters ‘Pandemic of Unvaccinated’ Narrative

An investigation by the CDC32,33 also dispels the narrative that we’re in a “pandemic of the unvaccinated.” An outbreak in Barnstable County, Massachusetts, resulted in 469 new COVID cases among residents who had traveled into town between July 3 and July 17, 2021.

Of these cases, 74% were fully vaccinated, as were 80% of those requiring hospitalization.Most, but not all, had the Delta variant of the virus. The CDC also found that fully vaccinated individuals who contract the infection had as high a viral load in their nasal passages as unvaccinated individuals who got infected.34 This means the vaccinated are just as infectious as the unvaccinated. According to Attkisson:35

“CDC's newest findings on so-called ‘breakthrough’ infections in vaccinated people are mirrored by other data releases. Illinois health officials recently announced36 more than 160 fully-vaccinated people have died of Covid-19, and at least 644 been hospitalized; 10 deaths and 51 hospitalizations counted in the prior week …

In July, New Jersey reported 49 fully vaccinated residents had died of Covid; 27 in Louisiana; 80 in Massachusetts … Nationally, as of July 12, CDC said it was aware of more than 4,400 people who got Covid-19 after being fully vaccinated and had to be hospitalized; and 1,063 fully vaccinated people who died of Covid.”

It is important to note this data is over 1 month old now and it is likely that many thousands of fully “vaccinated” have now died from COVID-19.

Natural Immunity Appears Robust and Long-Lasting

An argument we’re starting to hear more of now is that even though natural immunity after recovery from infection appears to be quite good, “we don’t know how long it’ll last.” This is rather disingenuous, seeing how natural immunity is typically lifelong, and studies have shown natural immunity against SARS-CoV-2 is at bare minimum longer lasting than vaccine-induced immunity.

Here’s a sampling of scholarly publications that have investigated natural immunity as it pertains to SARS-CoV-2 infection. There are several more in addition to these:37

Science Immunology October 202038 found that “RBD-targeted antibodies are excellent markers of previous and recent infection, that differential isotype measurements can help distinguish between recent and older infections, and that IgG responses persist over the first few months after infection and are highly correlated with neutralizing antibodies.”

The BMJ January 202139 concluded that “Of 11, 000 health care workers who had proved evidence of infection during the first wave of the pandemic in the U.K. between March and April 2020, none had symptomatic reinfection in the second wave of the virus between October and November 2020.”

Science February 202140 reported that “Substantial immune memory is generated after COVID-19, involving all four major types of immune memory [antibodies, memory B cells, memory CD8+ T cells, and memory CD4+ T cells]. About 95% of subjects retained immune memory at ~6 months after infection. Circulating antibody titers were not predictive of T cell memory.

Thus, simple serological tests for SARS-CoV-2 antibodies do not reflect the richness and durability of immune memory to SARS-CoV-2.” A 2,800-person study found no symptomatic reinfections over a ~118-day window, and a 1,246-person study observed no symptomatic reinfections over 6 months.

A February 2021 study posted on the prepublication server medRxiv41 concluded that “Natural infection appears to elicit strong protection against reinfection with an efficacy ~95% for at least seven months.”

An April 2021 study posted on medRxiv42 reported “the overall estimated level of protection from prior SARS-CoV-2 infection for documented infection is 94.8%; hospitalization 94.1%; and severe illness 96·4%. Our results question the need to vaccinate previously-infected individuals.”

Another April 2021 study posted on the preprint server BioRxiv43 concluded that “following a typical case of mild COVID-19, SARS-CoV-2-specific CD8+ T cells not only persist but continuously differentiate in a coordinated fashion well into convalescence, into a state characteristic of long-lived, self-renewing memory.”

A May 2020 report in the journal Immunity44 confirmed that SARS-CoV-2-specific neutralizing antibodies are detected in COVID-19 convalescent subjects, as well as cellular immune responses. Here, they found that neutralizing antibody titers do correlate with the number of virus-specific T cells.

A May 2021 Nature article45 found SARS-CoV-2 infection induces long-lived bone marrow plasma cells, which are a crucial source of protective antibodies. Even after mild infection, anti-SARS-CoV-2 spike protein antibodies were detectable beyond 11 months’ post-infection.

A May 2021 study in E Clinical Medicine46 found “antibody detection is possible for almost a year post-natural infection of COVID-19.” According to the authors, “Based on current evidence, we hypothesize that antibodies to both S and N-proteins after natural infection may persist for longer than previously thought, thereby providing evidence of sustainability that may influence post-pandemic planning.”

Cure-Hub data47 confirm that while COVID shots can generate higher antibody levels than natural infection, this does not mean vaccine-induced immunity is more protective. Importantly, natural immunity confers much wider protection as your body recognizes all five proteins of the virus and not just one. With the COVID shot, your body only recognizes one of these proteins, the spike protein.

A June 2021 Nature article48 points out that “Wang et al. show that, between 6 and 12 months after infection, the concentration of neutralizing antibodies remains unchanged. That the acute immune reaction extends even beyond six months is suggested by the authors’ analysis of SARS-CoV-2-specific memory B cells in the blood of the convalescent individuals over the course of the year.

These memory B cells continuously enhance the reactivity of their SARS-CoV-2-specific antibodies through a process known as somatic hypermutation. The good news is that the evidence thus far predicts that infection with SARS-CoV-2 induces long-term immunity in most individuals.”

Another June Nature paper concluded that “In the absence of vaccination antibody reactivity [to the receptor binding domain (RBD) of SARS-CoV-2], neutralizing activity and the number of RBD-specific memory B cells remain relatively stable from 6 to 12 months.” According to the authors, the data suggest “immunity in convalescent individuals will be very long lasting.”

What Makes Natural Immunity Superior?

The reason natural immunity is superior to vaccine-induced immunity is because viruses contain five different proteins. The COVID shot induces antibodies against just one of those proteins, the spike protein, and no T cell immunity. When you’re infected with the whole virus, you develop antibodies against all parts of the virus, plus memory T cells.

This also means natural immunity offers better protection against variants, as it recognizes several parts of the virus. If there are significant alternations to the spike protein, as with the Delta variant, vaccine-induced immunity can be evaded. Not so with natural immunity, as the other proteins are still recognized and attacked.

Not only that but the COVID jabs actually actively promote the production of variants for which they provide virtually no protection at all, while those with natural immunity do not cause variants and are nearly universally protected against them.

If we are to depend on vaccine-induced immunity, as public health officials are urging us to do, we’ll end up on a never-ending booster treadmill. Boosters will absolutely be necessary, as the shot offers such narrow protection against a single protein of the virus. Already, Moderna has publicly stated that the need for additional boosters is expected.49

Ultimately It’s About Wealth Transfer, Power and Control

Government agencies typically don’t issue recommendations without ulterior motives. Since current recommendations make absolutely no sense from a medical and scientific standpoint, what might the reason be for these illogical and reprehensibly unethical recommendations to inject people who don’t need it with experimental gene modification technology?

Why are they so hell-bent on getting a needle in every arm? And why are they refusing to perform any kind of risk-benefit analysis?

Data already indicate these COVID-19 injections could be the most dangerous medical product we’ve ever seen, and a June 24, 2021, peer-reviewed study published in the medical journal Vaccines warned we are in fact killing nearly as many with the shots as would die from COVID-19 itself.50

Using data from a large Israeli field study and two European drug reactions databases, they recalculated the NNTV for Pfizer’s mRNA shot. To prevent one case of COVID-19, anywhere between 200 and 700 had to be injected. To prevent a single death, the NNTV was between 9,000 and 50,000, with 16,000 as a point estimate.

Meanwhile, the number of people reporting adverse reactions from the shots was 700 per 100,000 vaccinations. For serious side effects, there were 16 reports per 100,000 vaccinations, and the number of fatal side effects was 4.11 per 100,000 vaccinations.

The final calculation suggested that for every three COVID-19 deaths prevented, two died from the shots. “This lack of clear benefit should cause governments to rethink their vaccination policy,” the authors concluded.

As has become the trend, a letter expressing “concern” about the study was published June 28, 2021, resulting in the paper being abruptly retracted July 2, 2021, against the authors’ objections. They disagreed with the accusation that their data and subsequent conclusion were misrepresentative, but the paper was retracted before they had time to publish a rebuttal.

Based on everything we’ve discovered so far, it seems a pandemic virus industrial complex is running the show, with a goal to eliminate medical rights and personal freedoms in order to centralize power, control and wealth.

By the looks of things, the COVID-19 mass psychosis and loss of any rational thinking by nearly half the population will continue to persist as long as the propaganda continues. Fear will continue and if need be, other engineered viruses may be released, for which they’ll create even more gene modification injections.

I believe the truth will eventually be so overwhelming, it’ll sweep away the confusion and the lies. Analysis by Dr. Joseph Mercola August 18, 2021

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reavenedges-lies · 3 years ago

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Can somebody embarrass the Caps next? I'm already sick of their fans laughing at the Pens' failures this season so far and just because of one fucking game (out of four meetings this year) where Sid threw some guy on the board (which he shouldn't have done). God it'll be so satisfying if they get humbled in a future game while the Pens hopefully bounces back, goes on a winning streak, and all those smugs can STFU. If we can only ⏭ to February

This hits on a few points that i agreed with so much but first, when did rivalrys turn into an excuse to mock anyone?

Rival: (verb)

to possess qualities or aptitudes that approach or equal (those of another)

to strive to equal or excel

to be in competition with

The Pens/Caps rivalry and the Pens/Flyers rivalry I treat the exact same. I keep track of those teams on my peripherals and check in on one or two players now and then. I don't blatantly go out of my way to shit on those teams or their fans for miss plays or miscues.

I am friends with Flyers Fans and Caps Fans and as such I've tried to make it clear that the only times I have issues with those teams is when they're actively playing eachother. I do have issues with what I've been seeing out of NHL rivalries because portions of each fan base are toxic as hell.

Yes I absolutely hope that the Pens bounce back soon and that there is a downward trend for the rest of the Metro here soon so we can catch up, but I don't wish harm on any of those players and I certainly won't mock fans of teams who start to struggle.

But yeah TLDR: I agree, I want a team to shut the toxic portion of the Caps fan base up because they shouldn't be acting like that anyways. I hope the Pens bounce back soon, I can't wait til the Pens get Geno back and stable on a line, and I can't wait for the post Feb playoff pushes.

#anon ask #rea answers #caps opinion piece #pens opinion piece #thanks for rhe ask lovely!

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hansolmates · 4 years ago

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junhui; you must be magical, because i've fallen under your spell

summary; there was something about gryffindors that unsettled him greatly.

pairing; slytherin!junhui x gryffindor fem!reader

genre/warnings: hp!au, yule ball!au, fluff!! jun’s a dumb boy

w/c; 2k

a/n; if it were possible to separate the masterpiece that is harry potter and jk rowling, we would. the only jk we stan in jeon jungkook but anyway!! this fic has been sitting in my drive for 3!! years!!! enjoy this belated bday present to our favorite golden bean. enjoy! please share if you like it

more in the SVT!hogwarts au: vernon, mingyu, jihoon

“No.”

“C’mon. Just be my partner, it’ll be totally wicked. We’re the best dancers on the team. We can even break heteronormativity if you wanna put it that way.”

“That’s not the point.” Minghao grumbled, throwing his dirty practice gear over his shoulder. “We told you to find a partner before the next practice. All you’ve done is complain to me about how awful everyone else is. Is there really not one girl or boy in Slytherin that you can partner up with?”

Junhui’s bark eyes glazed lazily over the pitch, as if there would be random students just lying around during early morning practice. The weather was definitively awful today, with depressingly muted grey clouds and no trace of the sun ever grazing its presence on campus. He rocked his bat back and forth, letting it bounce on his thigh as they exited the field and neared the viaduct. “There really isn’t,” he drolled, looking disinterested, “I hate all of them.”

“Awh c’mon, you really don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do. They’re awful.”

“But—”

“No. Please stop trying.”

Minghao took an abrupt turn at the end of the cobblestoned viaduct, in the team room where most of the members were off to their own devices. Team Hogwarts was doing relatively well in terms of team relationships, so far there were no petty fights over house competition because their school pride against other schools was currently taking precedence. Junhui was being petty, he knew it. But his pride was his mantle, and if that couldn’t hold him together, he might as well crash and burn down the pitch.

Minghao started to grumble unintelligibly under his breath, ripping off his blazer and shoving it to one side of his training bag. He looked visibly angry, and Junhui could understand that. Being on Team Hogwarts was stressful enough, and having a friend like him who was heatedly intolerable was just icing on the cake.

“I know someone who can be your partner,” Minghao finally said, looking away, “She can pick up dances quickly. But you gotta promise me you’ll be nice to her.”

“Me? Nice? I’m the nicest person you could possibly meet.” Junhui replied loftily, giving a lazy smirk as he relaxed against the bench. “I’ll treat her like a princess if she’s as good as a dancer as you claim she is.”

“Even if she’s a Gryffindor?”

“Even if she’s a—” his jaw dropped, and he sat straight, his aloof facade shattered just enough for him to sputter out of control. His beater’s bat slipped like butter from his grasp, causing it to echo throughout the room and multiple members to look at the pair strangely. He ignored all of them like a grain of sand. “Seriously? A Gryffindor?”

“I’m a Gryffindor. What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying. It’s fine if pretty boy Chwe wants to go prance around with his stuffy bookworm, that’s expected. But when was the last time you saw a Gryffindor and Slytherin kill it on the dancefloor?”

“I’m taking a Gryffindor,” Jihoon said levelly, looking over them from the side of the bench. His posture was slumped, his hair windswept and his cheeks kissed with a strawberry red from the nippy weather. He was already in his school robes, tucking in the collar of his emerald knit so it would settle nicely. Running a hand through his sandy locks, he brushed up to them, taking no shame into walking into their conversation.

Jihoon had a tendency to flit in and out whenever he pleased, and for whatever reason people still liked Jihoon, something that irked Junhui incessantly. But he never dared to ask, considering Jihoon’s own brand of confidence was something to be desired. “But I also like this person a lot, I don’t care that she’s a Gryffindor. So just swallow your pride and be lucky that someone is willing to help you out, especially last minute.”

“Well,” Minghao looked away sheepishly, trying to save face, “she hasn’t exactly said yes yet. I haven’t even asked her, but there’s no reason why she wouldn’t say no.”

“Alright. Hopefully she says yes then.” Junhui finally said, giving Minghao a small smile. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, giving a firm squeeze. “Thank you.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jihoon give an inkling of a grin, before turning around and walking back.

“Thank you for giving people a chance.” Minghao replied genuinely, squeezing Junhui’s shoulders once before changing into his own robes.

Junhui was nervous. He was nervous and shy and worried that this was going to all be messed up and risk getting kicked off the team. Minghao told him once they entered the practice room, the Great Hall, that his partner would be a little late. It was understandable, it was a last minute thing and he could totally fault himself for that.

He had to play it cool, he had to. He already brought himself thus far, making it onto the team, and playing it off like it was no big deal. But it was work, all of it. Even the little things like this, dancing some five minute routine for the entire campus to see. There was nothing else he could hold onto at this point, everyone else was partnered up in the room (except Mingyu Kim, but no one else seemed to notice since he was never around) and now he was just left to fidget until you showed up.

“Where’s your partner, Junhui?” Soonyoung walked up to him, all up in his face, and Junhui fought the urge to push the co-captain back. Soonyoung was wearing Muggle athletic wear, the one with the strangely thin fabric and pants that were too loose at the top and fitted at the bottom. What did Soonyoung think they were, a Muggle boy band? “We’re about to start.”

“Oh well, she's—”

“Here! Sorry I'm late!” your voice echoed throughout the Great Hall, padding down the linoleum like wildfire. You, a young lady in gold and red dropped her things on one of the dining tables, and surprise surprise, you were dressed exactly like Soonyoung. Your body was a blur as you ripped off your robes, revealing a complete and utter lack of clothing that had Junhui’s gaze burn scarlet. Tight black shorts that ribboned across your thighs, and a white athletic t-shirt that had the same silky material as the Gryffindor captain.

Soonyoung’s face lit up like the morning sun, his face comparable to diamonds as you bounded up next to him. He made a show of it, putting his thumb and forefinger together as if he were taking a photograph of the pair. “Wait, seriously?” he balked, and Junhui grew annoyed at how delighted the hyper kid was being. “Oh Junhui you have the best partner.”

Junhui scrunched his nose, uncomfortable that Soonyoung wanted to be all chummy now that he was doing the right thing. Biting the inside of his lip, he turned to you, who offered him a small smile and an outstretch of a hand.

He blinked. Oh, you’re gorgeous.

And when he took her hand and gave a firm squeeze in reply, he could’ve sworn he felt you. That strange, red crackling fire that so many of them seemed to emanate like it was the newest trend, but it was all-encompassing and so definitively you, that he hated to admit he was aching for more. “I’m Junhui Wen.” he drawled, tilting his head to meet his cocoa eyes to yours.

“I know who you are,” you replied immediately, the subtle jab in your tone pinning him to the floor like it was a glass stake. There was an energy in your gaze, the curious light that was making Junhui spellbound. “We have a bunch of classes together. Divination? Alchemy? Muggle Studies?”

He could only stare at you, struck. His smirk from ten seconds ago descended in a downward spiral, realizing that wow, he had no comeback for that. It was downright a sin not to notice you all this time, and you were rightfully calling him out on it. Points to the Gryffindor, indeed.

Gryffindor’s always intimidated him, a secret only a select few has picked up on. His parents were good people, always telling him that confidence is key and he should strive to be more like them. So, he tried. He’s cocky, for sure. A little shit? Definitely. But it’s different when righteousness slaps in the face, a reminder that there’s goodness in his heart and a strive to do better.

Thankfully (the first and last time Junhui would ever be thankful to Soonyoung) practice had already started and you were late. He felt the grip of your small palm, and you smack his hand to your waist. Is it bad how much he thought how perfect it felt? How he wanted to hold you in his arms forever—

“At this rate,” you cut dryly, voice loud enough for only you two to hear, “we’ll be a centerpiece because you’re not moving a damn inch. Merlin, do you need me to lead?”

“Oh,” it’s only then Junhui realized that his friends were dancing circles around them, and he’s messed up the formation, “sorry.”

You two finally step into the piece, thankful that Junhui had quick reflexes. To his chagrin, you’re not too bad yourself. Despite the lightning on your tongue, you held yourself with grace, following him across the floor as if you were floating. Soonyoung was right, he did snatch up the best partner. He owes Minghao a barrel of butterbeer.

“Hey,” you hummed, voice blending wonderfully between the enchanted piano. “Minghao told me a little about you.”

“All good things, I’m hoping.”

You snorted, tilting your head so it brushed against his robes. “Maybe. Said that Gryffindors make you nervous.”

He scoffed, “No, that’s not true.”

“So, I don’t make you nervous?”

Whether Junhui said yes or no, he knew that both answers would be wrong. He could tell how much you knew, how easy it was to rile him up. Sweat was clinging to his palms, probably hot and sticky against your thin muggle t-shirt that clings deliciously to your waist (he takes it back, he takes it back! Muggle clothing is wonderful.)

“Whatever you’re trying to do,” he murmured, leaning over your form as he lets your body relax in a dip, “it’s not gonna work.”

Instead of entertaining his sudden accusation, you grabbed his robes, pulling him even closer even though the music stopped and people are listening to Soonyoung’s instructions for next class. “Where will you be picking me up?”

“What?”

“For the Yule ball. Jihoon is picking his date in front of our common room. You should come too.”

“Uh,” he completely forgot that having you as a dance partner coincided with the possibility of you being his date for the ball. He had the opportunity to be in your company for one whole night. Terror spiked in his form, because he realized that he couldn’t mess up this chance. “Yeah, I’ll be there.” he says, and you seem satisfied by his definitive answer.

You’re still playing with the hem of his robes, tracing your fingers along the Slytherin emblem. There’s no snark, no playful banter like you were expecting when Minghao prepared you for this. You’ll have fun with him.

“I’ll be wearing emerald, so you should think of matching my robes with yours,” and you smirk at him, tilting your head, “good thing I already know how handsome you look in green, Junnie.”

The last of his resolve crumbled like a piss-poor treacle tart.

Junhui’s besotted, attracted by your boldness and craving for more of your attention. The rest of your words were hazy, like he was swimming in the Gillyweed lagoon. Something about how he better not freeze up like he did before, otherwise he’d be hexed like the girl in The Red Shoes. Something about how you’re looking forward to seeing him. He’s drowned, unable to form a coherent reply when a friend comes from behind to snatch you up. They forced you to pack up so you’d get first dibs on tonight’s dinner.

You send him a wink before you’re forced out the door, and all he could do was wave dumbly.

“Knew you’d like her,” Minghao slid up to Junhui, punching him in the shoulder. The pain didn’t even register as Minghao continues to tease him, going so far as to pinch his golden skin. “Merlin, do you have a crush already?” he giggled, trying to shake the taller one back to reality.

No, Junhui was bewitched.

#svtcreations #thekpopnetwork #jun #jun fic #svt fic #wen junhui #junhui fic #svt fluff #jun fluff #jun fanfic #svt fanfic #kpop #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #this fic has finally seen the light of day #enjoy!

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imanativeofswlondondahling · 4 years ago

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Becoming A Stark (8)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Word Count: 2390

Warnings: Swearing

Author’s Note: No Peter in this chapter, but he’ll be in the next few. Promise.

Chapter One || Previous Chapter || Master List

Your dad hasn’t been home in 48 hours but, according to Pepper, he somehow had time to go to MIT, spend the night at the compound and then fly to Berlin. It took less than a week for him to go back on what he had said and to be honest you were a bit passed pissed about it. Pepper had decided to order dinner for you both and had said Tony could figure something else out whenever he got home. If you were a betting woman, you bet that Pepper ordered some extra Thai food for him though. You, on the other hand, had decided to work on homework while waiting for food to arrive. But not even your English homework could hold your attention it seemed. Tony has managed to take the joy your favorite class normally brings you, because all you can think about is how pissed you are.

It also didn’t help that the tower was freezing, but you didn’t feel like telling FRIDAY to turn the temperature up. So instead you go digging through your drawers to find a sweatshirt to help warm you up. It wasn’t until you find a black one with words that really suit your mood. ‘No. I Checked My Receipts. I Don’t Buy Any Of Your Bullshit.’ Even though AC/DC’s Highway to Hell is blasting over your speakers, a knock on your door tells you that someone isn’t going to leave you alone.

“Hey there kiddo.” Even his voice irritates you right now. Instead of greeting him, you turn back towards your English assignment and continue typing. “Wow, two days away and I get the cold shoulder.”

“FRIDAY turn music up by 25%.” You say, trying to block him out.

“FRIDAY, music off.” You huff at the fact that his commands override yours. But decide to play it sweet instead of sour.

“Did you need something?” You turn in your chair and paste a fake smile on your face.

“I know I was gone the past two days. I let you down. But I came and saw you before I even went looking for Pepper.”

“I don’t care.” But then you see the bruise on his face and you can’t pretend anything. “What happened to your face?”

“Ex-assassin under some brainwashing. Long story.” So he’s still going to keep things from you?

“Was this while you were in Berlin? Missing family dinner again?” You know you sound like the stereotypical teenager that you usually try to shy away from, but you can’t help it.

“I fucked up. I know. And honestly, according to people other than you I fucked up in more ways than you can count. But I’m here for tonight’s dinner. I even pushed a trip to Germany to be here for it.” Tony sits down on your bed.

“Wow, I came before Germany. Not before Berlin though.” You throw your hands outward as your head moves from side to side.

“You do come before Berlin. I was hoping to make it home before I missed another dinner because I didn’t want to disappoint you again. I’m not good at saying it, but I’m sorry. I missed you the whole time I was gone.” His eyes read your sweatshirt and then looks back at your face. “That’s at me isn’t it?”

“Kind of.” You admit. “You did say ‘I would drop anything and everything for you’ and a week later I’m having dinner by myself and then finding out that Natasha’s in building’s that are being bombed and I don’t even know where you are and I was hurt by it.”

“You’re allowed to be hurt by it. I’m trying to be better, but that doesn’t mean I won’t fuck up occasionally. I wasn’t in Vienna, but I’ve seen Nat and she’s fine. Saw her in Berlin earlier.”

“Don’t tell me she has one of those too.” You motion towards his eye.

“She’s fine. She’s also an ex-assassin, remember? They tend to be pretty good at fighting other ex-assassins.”

“Good.”

“Now, dinner? Last I checked you were trending downward, so it’s a perfect time for dinner.”

“Has dinner been delivered?”

“It arrived when I did. Come on.” Tony offers an arm to you and you sink into his side hug as you walk downstairs with him. Pepper smiles at the two of you as she unboxes the Thai food that had been delivered.

“You two all good now?” She asks as she sets the food on the table. You nod. “Good. Now dinner is served.” You sit down and start eating your pineapple fried rice and tofu as Pepper and Tony talk about some SI stuff.

“You know Y/N, I talked to a boy from your school today.”

“Really, why?”

“Possible intern.

“Uh, ok. Guess that makes sense. But do you even work at the lab at SI that much really?”

“He might end up being my personal intern here or at the Avenger’s Compound.”

“Really? Do I know him?”

“He knows you.” You can’t help but cock your head to the side as you take a bite of food. “Name’s Peter Parker. Talked about you quite a bit. Especially how you skipped out of class today.”

“I had a good reason. You see your family members' names in tweets with the word bomb and you would skip out of class too. I was going to call you too, but Natasha told me you weren’t there.”

“Well he told me so much about you that it makes me wonder if I need to start laying down some ground rules for you and dating.”

“Pepper, make him stop!” You plead as you use your chopsticks to scoop up more food.

“Tony.” She warns from the other side of the table.

“No, this is my little girl. I’m allowed to be protective about this aspect. Dating and evil villains are my prerogative.”

“I’m not little. I’m fourteen. I’ve already gone on my first date.” Tony chokes on the water he was drinking.

“I’m sorry. Maybe I misunderstood you, but I thought I heard you say you already went on your first date.”

“I did. I already had my first boyfriend and girlfriend too.” You wait to see a reaction from either Pepper or Tony, but nothing happens.

“No more dating until you're 25, at least. I forbid it. I don’t care who they are. No one is good enough for you!” Tony says before angrily eating his food.

“He’ll lighten up eventually.” Pepper says with a smile.

“Or he’ll have FRIDAY lock me in my room until I’m 25.” You say with an eye roll.

“Don’t give him any ideas.” Pepper teases.

“I’m not completely unreasonable. I would just lock her in the tower.” Tony teases back.

“I’ll text the Avengers to come save me.” You watch as your dad’s face grows darker. “What’s going on with the Avengers?”

“Nothing I can’t handle.” He says, not really answering the question.

“I can call Natasha and ask.”

“Natasha is busy and I don’t think you should bother her.” Based off of the conversation you had with her earlier today, you can guess that’s probably actually true. “Besides, don’t you want to see your old man before he leaves tomorrow?”

“Why are you leaving?”

“Official Avengers business.”

“Weren’t you just on official Avengers business?”

“Yes and sometimes the Avengers business is nonstop.” You glance over at Pepper and see a look of almost exasperation on her face. Apparently this isn’t the first time for her hearing this argument.

“When will you be back?”

“Hopefully, tomorrow night. But if not the day after at the latest.” Tony wants to promise that he’ll be back for dinner tomorrow night, but even with quinjet, he doesn’t think he can make it back in time.

You walk back into the kitchen later, not expecting to find anyone. You just want a glass of water and then you’ll head to bed. “What are you wearing?” Your dad’s voice startles you.

“What are you doing up still?”

“Shouldn’t I ask you the same thing? One of us has school tomorrow, and it’s not me.”

“I was thirsty. Came to get water.” You shrug. “What do you mean what am I wearing?” You glance down at the shorts and tank top you had thrown on to go to sleep.

“You’re Iron Man?” He questions, looking over the wording on the grey tank. You glance down and finally realize what shirt you had put on to sleep in.

“Pepper found it when we were thrifting before school started. She thought it was funny.”

“Definitely is kiddo. Now water?” He asks, already reaching in the cupboard for a glass. Stepping into his favorite role, he gets you your water and walks up the stairs with you to your room.

“You don’t have to come tuck me in. I’m fourteen.”

“Humor me.” He says, following you into your room. You set the glass on your bedside table and climb under the covers. Tony pulls them around you and tucks you in. “Goodnight kiddo. I love you.”

“Love you too Dad.” He kisses your forehead before heading towards his own room. He can’t help but smile as he thinks about you wearing something that reps him.

“What’s got you all smiley?” Pepper asks, setting down her Stark Pad.

“Well seeing as you got her the shirt, I guess you did.” Pepper’s eyebrows furrow as she tries to understand what Tony is talking about. “The Iron Man tank top? Y/N wore it to sleep in and... I just love her so much Pep.” Pepper smiles but reaches for her phone.

“You want to see something better?” She asks as she sends Tony a picture. He glances at his phone before making a double take. “Completely her idea on the pose.”

“This is the best thing ever. I have the best kid.” Tony says. He slips under the covers to lay down next to Pepper, but can’t help but look at the picture again. Fuck it. He logs onto Instagram. Caption- I have the best kid ever. Nothing else and then posts the photo after tagging you. After posting it, he flips over to your Instagram. He notices you have changed your bio to no longer show your old last name, but it doesn’t read Stark. He scrolls through some photos that you and your friends must have taken at lunch the other day as well as some pictures of some recent reads. You really plow through books fast. Maybe he should look at signing you up for one of those book subscription boxes that you get new books every month. You’d probably like that. He likes the newer photos that he hadn’t liked yet, before clicking his phone off. He pulls Pepper into his arms and lets sleep pull him under.

When you wake up the next morning, you see your notifications have blown up over night. You have hundreds of thousands of new followers on both Instagram and Twitter. There’s also a bunch of comments. What happened? You had been sitting at a few hundred followers when you went to bed, and most of them were friends or people you knew from school. So what happened after you went to sleep. You click open Instagram and look at notifications. It’s too cluttered for you to find anything. So instead you click to your profile to see if one of your book photos went viral? That’s the only thing you could think of that would do this. But then you see the notification that you’ve apparently been tagged in a photo. Flipping pages, you see that your father made the dumbest mistake yet. You grab your phone and walk towards your dad and Pepper’s room, knowing that they’re probably up but not yet out of their room. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the situation as you knock on the door.

“Come in.” Pepper calls from inside the room. As you walk in, you see her putting on jewelry, getting ready for her day at SI. Your dad is still laying in bed on the other hand. “Good morning Y/N.”

“Is it a good morning? Because someone in this family is an idiot.” You say looking at your dad.

“What did I do?” He asks, glancing up from his datapad as he keeps working with the design that he’ll need to work on when he gets back from Germany.

“You tagged me on Instagram. My private account now has a few hundred thousand followers and people have found me on Twitter too.” Pepper turns from where she stands in the mirror.

“I thought we were trying to keep her name out of the press?” She asks, looking at Tony.

“Ok, so I didn’t completely think this through. But it was so cute I couldn’t not share it.”

“That’s not the point Tony. The whole world knows who your daughter is.”

“They already did.” Tony counters.

“No they knew you had a daughter. But her name and her face were mainly out of the picture.” Pepper takes a deep breath. “Guess I know what my day will be focused on.”

“I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.” Tony says pushing off from the mattress. He wants to hug both females that are upset with him but doesn’t know which to go after first. You, definitely you. “Kiddo, I just had to share with the world how much I loved you. I didn’t think what tagging you would do. I’m sorry.” He pulls you into his arms. “Forgive me?” He asks.

“Yeah I guess so. Except that now everyone knows for sure that I’m related to you.”

“I’ll up security if I have to. You’ll remain safe. I promise you that.” He says into your hair. “I do have to steal Happy from you for the next few days. He’ll take you to school today, but one of the other security people will pick you up. I’ll have Happy text you who it will be after we know for sure.”

“Fine, if you have too.” You step out of your dad’s arms. “I have to go get ready for school. Try not to expose anything else about me online while I do that ok?” You tease him.

“Cross my heart.” He promises.

Permanent tag list: @wormonastringonastick

Becoming A Stark Tag list: @persephonehemingway @iamaunicorn4704 @furiouspockettoad @daughter-of-stark @eternalharry @huntective-kyeo @riiis-stuff @sunnyoongles @cosmicqueenieb @sovereignparker @bbarnestan

#peter parker #peter parker fan fic #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker fan fiction #peter parker fanfiction #Tony Stark #tony stark can't be dead if you just don't let yourself believe it #tony stark daughter #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark x daughter!you #Pepper Potts #peter parker imagine #natasha romanov #natasha romanoff #imanativeofswlondondahling #becoming a stark?

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disasterbisexual-moved · 5 years ago

Link

y’all… this project needs our help.

the creators are a curvy white woman and a curvy black woman who want to create a line of plus size dolls in order to promote body positivity and acceptance among young girls.

update: the founders of this project are both members of the LGBTQ+ community and they’re hopeful that their kickstarter will gain traction during pride month. go check out their blog @curvygirlsdolls!

in case you didn’t know, according to this study done in 2015, at least 80% of 8 to 10 year old girls in the united states are either on a diet, or they have their daily food intake restricted. the reason that’s still relevant, despite the substantial gap of 4 years between the publishing of the study and this kickstarter, is that in the 1970s, the encouraged dieting age for girls was 14, thus showing a clear downwards trend in the age young girls are made and encouraged to diet.

this is extremely harmful for their self esteem, as well as their growing and changing bodies, and can lead to eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia in addition to malnourishment and serious health concerns (e.g. vitamin deficiencies), and unfortunately, the extreme weight loss mentality cultivated by parents and/or guardians can last long into adulthood.

now that you know why we need representation for fat women, it’s time to talk about why this specific small business deserves support. the answer is simple enough: they are respectful to the fat characters they’ve created, and allow all of them to posess a sense of dignity.

clearly three dimensional characters, each of the dolls has their own personality and style:

aliah (1st) - the sweet owner of an animal sanctuary and a veterinarian for exotic animals; african american and dark skinned

quinn (2nd) - a strong vintage car mechanic; white(?) american

keiko (3rd) - became an incredibly smart animal robitics engineer because she’s allergic to animal fur; japanese american

alexandra (4th) - extremely tough, no-nonsense civil rights law student and activist; gay, mexican american, and proud of it!

if the project reaches its funding goal, these dolls could show up on the shelves of your local target and walmart.

sounds amazing, right? well, don’t get your hopes up too soon, because the project has met less than 8% of its goal with less than a month to completion.

you read that right–’all or nothing’ means that if they don’t make at least $230,655 (USD) before July 7, 2019, the kickstarter will be abandoned.

personally, I’m hoping the creators plan to launch another kickstarter if this one fails, but hopefully it won’t come to that. maybe, if we spread this around enough, posting updates on the progress it makes, we might just be able to help them.

I’m not demanding you donate $200 because “you can’t call yourself a good feminist without including fat people in your activism,” I’m asking you to reblog this for your friends, followers, and family members who know what it’s like to be ashamed of their size.

barbie and her multitude of professions did wonders for encouraging girls to pursue careers in STEM fields, imagine what this could do for girls.

so tag your friends, tag your mutuals, tag anyone you can think of to help support and signal boost this beautiful idea! I’ll start:

@fatphobiabusters @bigfatscience @vixianna @heavyweightheart @fandomshatefatpeople @feminismandmedia @fandomsandfeminism @bodypositivesuggestions @ok2befat @fatsuggestion @sheisrecovering @goodpositivitylgbt @geekandmisandry

#feminism #plus size fashion dolls #fat acceptance #fat positivity #pride month #body positivity #body acceptance #curvy girls #amazing at any size #barbie #barbie doll #kickstarter #body positivity movement #body acceptance movement #fat acceptance movement #fat positivity movement #long post #healthy at any size

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angesaurus · 4 years ago

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Not great but better than 0 for the month of June. I keep track on happy scale but sticking the number on a chart was a pain in the ass 😂

I always seem to hover around the same weight and I’m finally seeing this actual downward trend. Sunday I had pretty sodium heavy food (fried zucchini, anyone?) and it really made my weight JUMP. Trying to focus on overall loss though - there is a 14.4 difference between my highest weight logged on happy scale back in November and my lowest weight logged last week.

It’s July which means “I should practice yoga everyday and meditate again” mindset. So planning on starting that tonight. My studio is supposed to open this month. Not sure how I feel anymore about it. I paid for a year (and saved $600) so it’s not like I have a monthly payment to worry about it. I so badly just want to have a consistent yoga practice again, but I hate practicing at home so much. I can’t stand the idea of a zoom class. I did a couple Instagram live ones but eh. It’s just... so weird. If I’m going to do yoga on an iPad, I’ll just do YouTube. A lot of studios are offering outdoors but really how long is that going to last with the heat and then once the fall hits? Also l would need to put a sheet under my mat because it cost too much money to risk getting ripped on blacktop 🙃

Would anyone care about me doing yoga and meditation and posting about it here everyday? I feel like posting it might help me. I feel like it was such a large part of my life and then covid happened and I feel so disconnected from everyone and everything.

But anyway - it’s July. 2 more days of work for the week. Tomorrow apparently Dan is going for a socially distant play date (lol) with his friends which means I’ll be alone with the kids so hopefully we can come up with something fun to have for dinner and watch a movie or something. I don’t feel comfortable taking them both to the pool 😂

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adventuresofwaffles · 4 years ago

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Today my coach was like, “Let’s do some jumps!”

Me:

I learned how do a waltz jump (well, remembered that’s what it was, that was total muscle memory from when I was a kid) and a pretty good half flip! My coach said on the half flip there was good potential for height in full rotation so that’s cool!

My coach’s phone was being a butt, so no video, sadly. I am also starting spiral variations (we started with change edge) and training a spread eagle.

So many things!!

It’s also very interesting to me that I can now really tell like almost immediately if I’m about to really mess up on something just going into it. Also, I finally got past 2 foot spins! The culprit? My left foot tips on the outside edge slightly and I have to concentrate to make it not do that. But that’s what made my coach go, “Spread eagle???”.

We’re still only in private lessons for the next month until my birthday, which is fine. Hopefully there’s enough downward trend and people are better about not traveling over the holidays so we can open up and I can get more ice time?

#adult figure skating #adventures of waffles

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theeternalspace · 5 years ago

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Title: (Honey you Should) See Me in a Crown 2/?

Remember my ‘Evil Roman possessed by an intrusive thought capturing Virgil’ story? I’m baaaaack. With a story title and everything. A chapter two of this? You better believe it! Yeah I don’t know what I’m doing back here, but I am. And we have some more of this angst. This is a dark story and a dark chapter, we get a little more insight into what is going on, but Virgil gets hurt in this, please, if any of the triggers upset you, I won’t be upset if you don’t read.

If you do read, please validate my work?

I thought about it a lot and I’ve decided to stick to my original plan, which means there is no Remus in this story, part one was written and posted before his debut and so I am, for the sake of the story, just pretending he isn’t there as there was just too much to change and rewrite to accommodate him.

Previous || Next

Masterpost

Summary: The morning after and the Intrusive Thought decides to go... hunting.

Word Count: 6.2k

Characters: Roman Sanders, Virgil Sanders, platonic Prinxiety but can be read as pre romantic. (aka: I haven’t decided yet.)

Trigger Warnings: Possession/Corrupted Side, Evil!Roman, imprisonment, panic attack, bruising, weapons, body violence, blood, slight gore, general mockery and cruelty. If I missed any let me know and I will edit.

To his surprise, it was sunlight that woke him.

Virgil had fallen asleep in a void of nothingness. Or rather he had passed out in the void and honestly, he had expected to wake up in the same. What little thought that had remained, had just assumed that he was going to be stuck in there for eternity. There was nothing else in the world beyond the darkness that spread everywhere and Virgil had struggled to remember a time when anything else existed. He had sank into unconsciousness with nothing but the dark in his mind.

Instead, it had been the full glare of the sun that had jolted him back into awareness. Virgil tried to move, head instantly connecting with the top of the cage, a dull ache spreading down from the crown of his head to go with all the aches and pains that had apparently just been waiting for him to realise were still there. His legs were begging for him to be able to stretch them out, just as his back was. His whole body in fact was in pain, stiff and burning all at once.

There was no relief to be had however. No escape from the pain in his body and no matter how much Virgil tried to tell himself that he wasn’t real and thus his pain wasn’t real which meant his body wasn’t real, he couldn’t shake the pain. It didn’t seem to matter that he was nothing more than an imaginary aspect of Thomas’ psyche, his imaginary body was in imaginary agony and there was no ignoring that.

It hadn’t been a horrible dream. He was still trapped inside the cramped little cage, swinging above... above... well, not where he had been before. This wasn’t the throne room. Instead, he was in Roman’s bedroom.

Or, a bedroom at least.

He couldn’t believe that the Roman he knew would have chosen a room like this. There was dramatic in the fashion that Roman liked and then there was this, which screamed ‘evil ascetic’ in the worst possible sense. It gave him the chills and he was the sort who would normally lean towards the darker, spooker trends. Everything was gleaming metallic, spikes where there was no need to be spikes, topping every corner. There was no warmth to be found in the colour scheme of blacks and silvers which filled the room, from the heavy curtains to the full length mirror that let Virgil see exactly how pathetic he looked huddled up in the cage. It also uncomfortably reminded him of how high up he was and any height was too high. This might only be five or so feet, but it was off the ground and so terrible.

He shivered, the motion reminding Virgil that he was without his hoodie. The comforting weight was gone and he felt so lost by that sensation alone. Without his hoodie, there was no warmth, nothing for him to hide in and the thin purple shirt he wore might be a cool colour but it was cool in the other sense as well, cool to the point of cold. Yet another layer of discomfort to add to everything else. He gritted his teeth, determined not to cry, not to give in to the rising wave of despair that wanted to engulf him before slowly risking a glance downwards.

Below him, in the ornate four poster bed, lay a sleeping Roman. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that Virgil was awake and that was yet another change in his friend. He wasn’t normally such a heavy sleeper and Virgil had not exactly been quiet in his noises of pain. Yet the prince didn’t appear at all bothered by the sounds.

If nothing else, it gave Virgil a chance to study Roman without the creature using his form being aware that he was doing so. If he focused hard enough, he could even distract himself from the ache in his joints from where his body was still begging for relief. In sleep, he looked just like the prince of old, the friend that Virgil knew and loved. Or maybe it was asleep he looked more like Sleeping Beauty, waiting for someone to break the curse and save the day.

Not that the world worked like that. There wasn’t any simple solution to this, Virgil swallowing down a noise of fear as he shifted slightly, the whole cage creaking and swinging from side to side at that tiny motion.

Roman stirred slowly, whole body shifting to stretch out like some languid cat, a soft, contented sigh slipping free as he did. It seemed as though one of them had managed to get a good nights sleep at least. Eyelids fluttered open, Roman looking right at him.

For a moment, there was confusion in his gaze as he looked up at Virgil, almost as though his brain couldn’t work out what he was seeing or why. As if he didn’t remember doing that to him. It lasted just long enough for Virgil to start to wonder if his Roman was back in control before it vanished, a smug smile and cold gleam in his eyes replacing it as the thought inside of him seemed to take full control.

“Ah you’re awake. Good morning my little songbird, I hope you slept well!” Roman smiled broadly as he spoke. A little too wide, a little too jagged. Those faint wisps of smoke were still curling out of his mouth as he breathed out, giving him a somewhat demonic appearance, red smoke drifting in a gentle haze around him. Roman didn’t seem to expect an answer at least, which was good because Virgil had a lot of things he wanted to say. None of them were good and all of them would probably result in the Intrusive Thought getting mad at him. Which he wasn’t ready to deal with this early in the morning.

“I wonder how your doppelganger has been getting on...” Roman mused thoughtfully, giving another lazy stretch of his arms, the joints all popping aublity as he did.

Virgil didn’t doubt for a single second that he was doing it on purpose, deliberately slowly stretching and showing off his full range of movements, knowing full well how aching Virgil’s own muscles had to be, how they were begging for a chance to work out the kinks from being trapped in such a restricted position.

He bit at the inside of his cheek to stop himself from letting any of those thoughts out. He wouldn’t ask Roman to let him out, he wouldn’t beg. Mostly because he knew that was what the beast was waiting for, that it wanted him to beg and plead. It wanted to hurt him and that included wearing him down like that but Virgil wouldn’t give it the satisfaction. Not if he could avoid it.

Instead, Virgil latched onto the other thought, needing to focus on something - anything - else and hopefully get a few answers too. He didn’t know enough about what was going on to be able to stop it, he didn’t know how most of this had even happened. Most of all right now, was that he didn’t know what the duplicate of himself was capable of.

“What... what was that thing?” Virgil’s palm throbbed in pain at the memory of that other him, unable to stop his eyes flicking down to his hand and the dark red cut that still adorned it, the skin plucked and angry along the new fault line.

Roman climbed out of the bed to stand beside it, hand curling around one of the bars of the cage, Virgil automatically tensing for a split second in case it was the prelude to an attack. Not that there was anywhere to go, the cramped conditions just reminding him how badly he actually was trapped, a rat in a trap and nowhere to move. He couldn’t even sit up straight, his neck aching from the semi bowed position the curved top of the cage forced him into. Virgil tried to relax again, to act as if he wasn’t bothered by the proximity but it was too late, Roman’s smile turning more cruel, delighted by the reaction.

“Why, he’s the new you! Thanks to the blood bond he has access to all your memories and thoughts. Can’t have someone like Logic working out something is wrong now can we? I mean, not unless you want me to focus my attention on one of them?”

The question was asked in that sickly sweet tone that Virgil already deeply hated. Roman knew the answer just as well as Virgil did, without him having to say it. There was no way that he wanted Roman to focus his attention on one of the others, no way he wanted even the slightest chance one of them might end up in a cage with Virgil unable to do anything about it. Virgil would willingly take any punishment Roman gave out if it meant that he kept his focus on him and not the rest of his family.

“I thought as much,” Roman said, that sweet purr of honey poison dripping into his voice as he took Virgil’s silence for agreement.

Roman turned from the cage dismissively, hand pulling away from the bar. As much as Virgil didn’t want to let the Intrusive Thought know he was getting to him, he couldn’t help but exhale a little in relief at that small little gap that opened up between them. He hated that reaction, but Virgil couldn’t control fight or flight. All he could do was embody it. Not that he was able to do much of either in his current state.

“I think this, needs to go.” Roman gestured to his outfit as he spoke. Virgil couldn’t help the look of horror that washed across his face and that outfit was more than just a collection of clothing. It represented something more fundamental than that, something that spoke to the very core of who Roman was. Take that away and it would really feel as if he was starting to lose his friend.

Which was no doubt the whole point. This Intrusive Thought never seemed to do anything without twisting the knife in deeper to cause the maximum amount of pain. Whatever dark thought it actually was, it was a lot more complicated than the ones which normally floated up from the subconscious. It was a lot more sly too, more cunning.

With a click of his fingers, Roman transformed his outfit, almost giggling as he did. A dark blood red tunic replaced the pristine white of before, the colour leaking from the sash and darkening in shade. It spread out like a blood stain, rapidly ruining the light colour until the whole thing was dark red. The sash itself grew ever darker in shade until it was as black as night. As a final touch, a gold crown was nestled in his hair, dark blood red gemstones of various types glittering along the band.

“That’s better. Much more... me. Do you like?” Roman asked, giving a little spin as he spoke, arms lifting above his head. There was something innocent about the little twirl, a call back to a much better moment. He looked good in it of course. It was Roman’s form, he would look good in and suit pretty much anything. That didn’t mean Virgil had to like it, the anxious side keeping quiet and refusing to play along.

After a couple of seconds of waiting for a response, Roman gave a soft little huff of annoyance, speaking once more.

“You know, it occurs to me I’ve not been very fair to you. I didn’t catch you, you flew into my net and while that was very kind of you, it wasn’t very sporting for me. Where is the fun when your prey just hops into the noose?”

Roman clicked his fingers once more, clearly relishing the power Creativity possessed here. The bars vanished around him, Virgil falling to the ground with a very undignified yelp, landing heavily beside the bed. He wanted to move but his whole body was aching, limbs screaming at being restricted for so long that all he could do was lie there for a few moments and groan. Slowly, Virgil started to uncoil himself, each twist of previous restricted limbs like agony, trying to shake out the feeling.

As if from a great distance away, he heard the sound of Roman shifting a little closer, in order to stand beside him but as much as Virgil wanted to focus on that, he couldn’t think above the pain that was currently still engulfing him.

“Run...”

The feeling of something sharp prodding at his side had Virgil freezing, barely daring move. He could hardly bring himself to breathe as he looked up, his neck protesting at the movement.

Roman was standing directly over him, smiling as brightly as before. Holding a sword. Attention instantly narrowed onto that, his heart rate picking up, a frantic drum beat that echoed louder and louder in his head, drowning out all other thoughts until all he could hear was that and all he could think about was the sword. That shining, sharp sword that gleamed so brilliantly in the early morning sunlight, casting the whole scene in some soft glow which created a jarring contrast to what was actually happening.

“What?” Virgil managed to croak out at last and he trusted Roman with his life. With Thomas’ life which was a far more important and precious thing to him.

This wasn’t Roman.

This was a monster wearing his face and Virgil had no idea what lengths he would go to. He had no idea if he would carry out the unspoken threat and run him through with that sword given the chance. The Intrusive Thought had already proven itself capable of going to dark lengths in order to get what it wanted, and who knew if it even had any form of self control. That wasn’t something those types of thoughts were generally known for, they tended to just spiral deeper and darker before burning out.

This one didn’t seem close to burning out.

“You heard me. Run. The rules are very simple. The only way out of the castle is through the main entrance. Get to it first and you get out. Who knows, if you make it, you might even be able to warn your pathetic friends about what has happened to their precious Creativity,” Roman told him with a sneer, a disgusted lift of his lip at the mention of who he had once been. It made Virgil’s heart hurt in a completely different way than before, an ache that was all about what Roman was losing and nothing to do with his own fear. Roman carried on, still explaining his twisted set of rules.

“Of course, if I catch you, then I’m keeping you little bird. And once I catch you, the games will really begin...”

Virgil just stared up at him, barely daring to breathe. It couldn’t be as easy as Roman was making it out to be, it wasn’t as though he could just get out of this castle and he would be home free, it wasn’t as though Roman was going to stop chasing him the second he got out of the building. And he certainly didn’t believe Roman would let him get out, but if he did nothing would Roman just stab him, right here, right now?

The darkly clad prince huffed, nudging at Virgil’s still prone form with the tip of his boot.

“I’m going to count to ten little bird. Then I’m hunting you. One... two...”

He was serious. He was really serious about this sick little hunting idea. Virgil scrambled to his feet, backing away slowly from Roman, his eyes wide. Roman simply swung the sword in front of him, almost idly, his eyes never leaving Virgil’s face as he carried on counting.

“Four... five...”

Virgil ran.

He was playing right into the monster’s hands by running but there didn’t seem to be any other option beyond doing just that and playing the game. The alternative was to stay there and see if he was going to actually use that blade on him and well, Virgil wasn’t willing to take that risk. He wasn’t willing to let Roman carry around that memory when he eventually got him back. Virgil wasn’t the optimistic, glass half full type, but he had to believe that they were going to get Roman back, he had to think against the grain because he couldn’t even start to understand the alternative. They were going to get Roman back, Virgil almost falling down a set of stairs he came too, feet sliding across giant flagstones.

Roman had said the only exit was through the main entrance and as he stumbled down the last few stairs and into a corridor, Virgil understood what he meant. All the windows had vanished, bricks lining the way as though there had never been anything else there. There were still doorways, each leading off into corridors that were as devoid as windows as they one he was currently running through.

The demon really wasn’t pulling any punches.

At least there were plenty of torches lighting his way, one every handful of paces casting a strong light over the area.

Virgil carried on running. He didn’t know exactly where he was, without windows it was impossible to get any real understanding of his location. Especially since he had been unconscious on the way here in the first place. He had gone down stairs to get to this floor and it would make some kind of sense if Roman’s room had been in one of the towers. So if he kept trying to go down then hopefully he would reach an obviously ground floor sooner or later. Stairs then. The goal was to find some stairs.

He picked a doorway at random and vanished down it. It was over ten seconds by now, which meant that somewhere behind him, had to be Roman. With his sword.

Why did Roman have so many corridors in his castle? The rooms and doors seemed to stretch on and on without any end in sight. Occasionally, he stumbled upon stairs that just went upwards, even rarer he would find ones that went down but Virgil was still no closer to working out where he was within the castle, let alone which way was actually the way out. Another door from one corridor let into yet another room with two doors at the far end, a fire flickering in the giant fireplace between them, creating long shadows that leapt and danced across Virgil’s vision.

He paused against the door frame, eyes closing for a moment to try and catch his breath, to gather his thoughts and centre himself. He needed to come up with a plan, running around like a headless chicken was getting him nowhere.

An arrow whizzed past his head, burying itself deep into the wall beside him, Virgil spinning on his heel to look behind. At the far end of the corridor stood Roman, a bow in his hands, another arrow already notched and aimed in his direction. The sword was resting in its sheath around his waist and when had he found the time to get a bow and still catch up to Virgil?

“Need to be faster than that Virgil!” Roman called out, letting the arrow fly, Virgil flinging himself forward and out of the line of attack. Behind him, he heard the arrow thud into the woodwork, Virgil not even risking a look backwards. So much for trying to approach this rationally. Roman laughed, the sound echoing through the stonework along with his words.

“You’ll never get away from me at this rate!”

He had to keep moving. Virgil had to just keep moving, a muffled sob slipping free as he slammed into a wall. Virgil didn’t dare pause though, not after last time and if he stopped, he was done for. But he couldn’t keep running like this, his whole body was screaming out for some peace.

Virgil pushed himself away from the wall with great effort, stumbling into the next room. Like many of the ones that had come before it, this one was lined with curtains covering shallow recess that had once housed bay windows but now only had empty spaces. He had ignored them every time he had seen them before, his paranoid brain whispering that they were so very clearly traps, that Roman had to be checking each one he came across.

But he had caught up with him. Which surely meant Roman hadn’t been looking at the curtains but simply moving through the rooms with a steady speed. Virgil didn’t give himself any further chance to think too deeply or talk himself in circles, or worse, talk himself out of it and dived into one of the recess, the ruby red curtain shifting as he moved. With a soft curse, Virgil tried to tug on it, to stop it but that only made it more obvious that there was something different about this curtain compared to all the others. He pulled his hand back, the curses slipping to an internal monologue, regretting every choice that had led him here and should he, just run again? He was so tired though, Virgil didn’t think he was capable of getting much further.

The curtains stopped swaying just as he heard the all too familiar sound of boots against stone, his blood turning to ice in his veins. Roman was nearby.

“Virgil... ooooh Virgil!” The singsong voice echoed around and around, making it impossible to know where exactly it was coming from. There were just too many open doors, too many possibilities and knowing his luck, if he tried to make a run for it, he would sprint right through the door Roman was entering.

Not that he could run any further. Not right now at least. He needed a few seconds to try and catch his breath. Something that was next to impossible to do when he was holding his breath, eyes fixed on the small gap between the curtain and the floor where he could make out faint shadows cast my the various torches around the room. Virgil was pressed flush against the stonework, as far away from the curtain as he could manage. Somehow, he was able to swallow down the squeak of fear that wanted to escape as the soles of black boots passed through that little gap, Roman apparently walking by.

They moved out of sight before slowly returning, the boots pausing in front of his curtain and he had to know where he was. He knew, he knew, he knew and any second now, a sword was going to come flashing through the curtain, ending everything. Virgil couldn’t look away from the gap and what little he could see of the boots. He watched as they slowly turned, Roman apparently shifting his stance to stand with his back against the curtain and that wasn’t a very useful stabbing position.

“I’m going to catch you precious,” Roman cooed, calling out to the room at large. “This has been a fun little hunt but I think it’s nearly over. I’ve got a special new home for you, if you give yourself up to me I won’t have to drag you there in chains and pain. Come on little bird, show yourself to your master, I won’t hurt you... too much.”

Virgil didn’t respond, his hand tightening over his mouth to try and stop himself from making so much as a sound, let alone take a breath and this close Roman would have to be able to hear him if he breathed.

It amazed him, that Roman couldn’t hear the frantic beating of his heart. The organ felt as if it were a few seconds away from just exploding out of his chest. How could Roman not hear him? If not the heart, then the sound of every tiny little movement. The scrape of nails against skin sounded deafeningly loud as he kept his fingers in place, as though he hoped to stop himself breathing by the force of his hand alone.

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold his breath, his lungs felt as though they were on fire and each passing second just made the flames grow higher while a series of bricks were piled upon his chest. More and more, crushing him, burning him and Virgil wasn’t sure which was more painful.

The black coloured boots suddenly moved past the curtain, Virgil shakily exhaling in relief once they were out of sight. Despite being still, it felt as if in those last few seconds he had run another marathon on top of the distance he had already covered, his whole body trembling from the effort. He remained pressed against the wall, attention fixed on the sound of footsteps as they slowly grew fainter and fainter, Roman heading away from him.

It was only a momentary respite, but one he badly needed. He felt like screaming, a build up of pressure in his mind just as much as the pressure that had been building up in his chest. Roman would certainly hear that however and so he swallowed it down. His body was half bent as he focused on breathing, trying to get as much oxygen back into his lungs and thus body as fast as he could. He couldn’t afford to linger here, who knew when Roman might wander back, he always seemed close.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of gasping for breath - but had probably only been a minute or so at most - Virgil turned and moved back the way he had come from, and there had to be another way down on this floor. He wasn’t going to move towards the direction the footsteps had faded off into, that was just asking for trouble. So back the way he came it was.

He stepped through the doorway and froze, eyes wide.

That wasn’t the hallway he had come down. The paintings were different, the torches were in a different place and the doorways had completely changed location. It was a completely new hallway and for a moment Virgil couldn’t help but doubt his own memory. Had he come through the wrong door? No, no, this had differently originally been the way he had come, but just not... anymore.

Virgil wanted to cry. Roman was cheating. Of course Roman was cheating, of course he would use his powers in order to twist the castle and keep it constantly changing. Roman wanted to win and he wasn’t bound by an honour or even any rules that said he couldn’t do something like that. How on earth was Virgil supposed to be able to find a way out when Roman could just move the way out whenever he got close?

For a whole two seconds, Virgil thought about just giving up. Just waiting and accepting his fate, no matter how horrible it would surely be. At least he would deny Roman the satisfaction of hunting him any further.

Giving up now almost sounded more tempting than just hurting himself further and losing anyway.

No. he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t think like that. He might lose, but he was bound to lose if he didn’t try. And it wouldn’t just be him that paid the price but everyone else as well. How could he do that to them? He had to protect them, he had to save Roman and he couldn’t do that if he rolled over and showed his belly like some pathetic cowardly creature. There still had to be a way to win. The main entrance hall and its gate was still here somewhere, it was just going to be a matter of luck that led to him finding it. On the plus side - a tiny plus side - Virgil no longer had to worry about trying to follow any logical floor plan or attempting to memorise where he was in his head because there was no floor plan.

All he had to do was keep moving.

So he did.

Every now and then, he would hear faint sounds which told him Roman was nearby, the sound of footsteps, even the slamming of doors but there was no sign of the prince himself, something Virgil was extremely grateful for. He had already managed to survive two encounters with him - three certainly felt like pushing it.

Virgil had no idea how long he moved for, slipping aimlessly from place to place. He was no longer dashing through at a mad pace, opting instead to move a little slower, to keep some energy in case he needed it. Sometimes he went up stairs, sometimes he went down. Virgil had long ago lost track of where he could be and it was something of a surprise to push open a door, head down a very narrow corridor which suddenly opened out into a hall. Not just any hall. A grand hall. And there, right across from him -

The way out.

He had actually found the door. He had found it and there was no sign of Roman. Just an empty grand hallway with two sets of stairs leading upwards and doors on either side, and then on the far end of the large room was the doorway to freedom. It was closed and possibly even locked. Virgil hadn’t thought about what he would do if it was locked. Then again, what if it wasn’t?

Virgil hesitated, casting a wary glance around the room, devoid of any signs of Roman’s presence.

It was almost too easy. Then again, everything up to this point hadn’t been easy, so maybe his luck was finally changing? Either way, he couldn’t just stand here, the longer he was still, the more chance he had of Roman catching up to him. With a deep breath, he started to inch his way forward, Virgil on high alert, eyes flickering madly around the space as he slowly shifted further and further towards the promise of freedom.

There was still silence. The door was so close now, close enough for him to break out into a run, dashing lightly across the paving stones and towards the way out, where he could finally warn the others, where they could all come back and work together to save Roman.

“Too slow.”

Virgil reacted just a second too late, twisting away from the voice but it was hard to work out exactly where it had come from. Somewhere above him and to the side, but that split second hesitation, doubt as to where Roman actually was, cost him dearly. He heard the bow string twang, the sound of an arrow being let loose but it all seemed to happen in some kind of slow motion, Virgil turning but not fast enough. Never quite fast enough.

Pain radiated out of his left leg, Virgil toppling over with an anguished cry, his footing lost as he crumpled painfully to the ground, the door to freedom still so tantalisingly close. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe as he lay there, tears falling freely. There was nothing left in him to even think about trying to control his emotions, not when he could smell his own blood starting to pool out around him.

Somewhere, over the frantic pounding of his heart, he could hear the steady and measured footsteps of the monster. Roman was taking his time descending the stairs, was enjoying the sight in front of him. Virgil closed his eyes, unwilling to watch him move closer and see the victorious grin he had to be sporting.

With a clatter, bow and quiver were dropped beside Virgil’s head, the injured side flinching violently at the sound, so close to him. The movement only sent a fresh wave of agony through him, Virgil choking on the sobs that tore themselves free from his throat, each one sounding more painful and desperate than the one that had come before.

“Caught you,” Roman told him breezily. “Open your eyes pretty bird, let me see you... don’t make me wait.”

The unspoken threat hung in the air around them both, the knowledge that if he didn’t, Roman was bound to do something worse and right now, Virgil didn’t feel capable of standing up against anything worse. Without any other option, Virgil reluctantly opened his eyes, blinking rapidly against the tears which instantly started to flow once more. Roman smiled down at him, and as Virgil feared it was horrible to look at, something patronising and smug.

“Hello Virgil. My pet. What a fine mess you’ve made of yourself. If only you had agreed to behave yesterday, you could have avoided this, but then again you never did know what was best for you, did you?”

“Fu... fuck you,” Virgil managed to gasp out, gritting his teeth as he tried to ride the worst of the pain, and it had to end sooner or later. His body couldn’t exist in this whirlpool of pain forever.

A shadow crossed across Roman’s face as his words. Some part of Virgil almost regretted what he said, fearful of retaliation but that was what the monster wanted him to think and feel, it craved his fear because it believed that was how it would be able to control and break him, through the fear of more pain, more negative stuff.

That was about it’s only mistake. Virgil was always afraid, all of the time, and it rarely stopped him from doing anything. It might have stopped him for a moment and forced him to open his eyes against the worry of more pain but that was in the moment. It wouldn’t stop him forever. He wouldn’t just give in to the creature that had stolen his friend from him.

“That... was rude,” Roman told him with a frown, gracefully crouching down beside him. “I can’t have a rude pet, what will people think of me?”

Roman reached out, hand hovering over the arrow shaft that was still protruding from Virgil’s thigh. There was a moment of stillness, of silence beyond Virgil’s wet, gasping breaths, a moment where they both just looked at each other. A moment where Virgil realised with horrifying clarity just what Roman was about to do to him.

With a bright, savage smile, long fingers curled around the shaft, another split second pause before he was twisting it savagely, arrowhead digging deep and slicing though yet more flesh, more blood spilling free as it moved.

Virgil screamed as bolts of lightning rushed through him at the movement, the world dipping alarmingly in and out of focus.

“Ah, there it is,” cooed Roman. Through the haze of pain and tears, Virgil could just make out his face and the delighted, sick smile growing as he listened to the screams as though they were music. He already wanted to throw up, but knowing that the Thought that was possessing Roman was enjoying his pain made it so much worse.

Virgil really hoped Roman wasn’t actually aware of this, that he couldn’t see what his body was doing. Awake he might be able to fight sure, he might be able to resist the evil whims, but that also meant that he would have to see all of this and Virgil didn’t want him to have to live with these memories. It was bad enough suffering through them, it would be even worse if someone else was there to witness it.

“I told you I would make you sing,” Roman told him, tone of voice as delighted as his expression. “Come along little bird. You can’t fly anymore, you’ve been brought down to earth and your wings are well and truly clipped.”

Roman - no, Virgil had to stop thinking that, had to push aside that name because as much as it looked like his friend, he knew this wasn’t Roman. The Thought was twisting everything that made the Prince the noble and wonderful person he was, he took everything Roman deemed important and soiled it. The Intrusive Thought shifted a little, leaning closer to Virgil’s head.

“You’re mine now. Are you ready to start to play?”

Start? What did he think they had been doing? Virgil didn’t like the implication, the idea that this was nothing, that the monster hadn’t even begun to do whatever it had planned.

There was no time for him to try and think of a suitably bitter response, his mind flailing helplessly in the fog of pain that surrounded him before the Intrusive Thought moved again, twisting the arrow shaft even more violently than before. Virgil screamed again, his whole body arching upwards in agony.

This time, it was too much for him, mental fingers scrambling helplessly against a sudden sheer cliff face of consciousness, his mind slipping away into the black of oblivion once more.

tag list;

@jittery-glittery @applecannibal @cookiethedevil @i-will-physically-fight-you @jemthebookworm @4amanxiety @plaid-purple-patches @hikarisakurariver

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #tw:angst #tw:blood #tw:voilence #be safe #fic #aca writes #see me in a crown #long post

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sofilms · 5 years ago

Text

Anna and the Apocalypse

Okay, let’s give the relevant part of Anna and the Apocalypse (2017) first shall we? It’s a musical, horror, teen, Christmas zombie movie set in Scotland. The blurb said it’s High School Musical meets Shaun of the Dead, and that’s not a bad description.

The movie is fun, enjoyable and energetic. Having a bunch of teen characters sing while zombies are attacking is a pretty fun conceit, and generally the characters are likable, there’s some decent humour, neat set pieces and the story... well the story is “get youself and everybody you love to safety”, this is a zombie movie, there’s no innovation in that regard.

So if that’s your thing, go watch it.

Right, so with that done, let me eviscerate this movie like the much like the antagonist itself. Spoilers ahead! You have been warned

Right, so lets cut into the biggest problem with the movie. It gets worse in its second half. First up is the tone change. Having a movie that starts bright and cheerful and gets dark and depressing can work... but c’mon, this is meant to be a Christmas film! Instead we end with the remaining survivors escaping the city having no clue what to do next and thinking about all the (many) people they’ve lost. Yes, this move has “apocalypse” in the title, but this is a movie that started with characters singing about how they were going to break away and turn their life around. To go from that to shell shocked might be completely realistic, but maybe doesn’t count as much as entertainment. It doesn’t help that some of the deaths seem pointless or contrived.

The moment I think the movie goes from the good half to the second half is when our group of characters are like “shall we take this incredibly dangerous shortcut or not?” They do, and the two most expendable characters die instantly. So predictable. The next death is less predictable admittedly, but it also immediately makes things much darker. So we’ve got a downward tone shift, badly contrived writing, and clichéd deaths (partially due to the writing) all in one scene. And because the bad writing led to the deaths, we know that the writers specifically wanted these characters dead. In a Christmas movie. And the emotional death still doesn’t effect the plot substantially except by having less characters in subsequent scenes.. Yeah, this is definitely the part the movie goes downhill. More and more somewhat contrived yet emotional deaths are right ahead, until you’re beaten down as much as the characters by the end of the movie and mentally remove this film from the “Christmas movie” category.

The songs themselves are generally decent to good, gets you into the mood. There is a bit of a “sameness” to them, but not too bad, though I will say they miss the classic musical trick of having a refrain of some description. No song that’s early in the movie and then sung again with a different quality later on. This makes sense because as I’ve said the movie has very different halves which imply the writers didn’t fully know what tone what they were going for and didn’t know how to properly tie the beginning and end of the movie into a cohesive whole theme-wise.

Seriously speaking, the main character wants to leave the city and go to Australia in the opening of the movie, and does leave the city in the closing, but the movie never tries to actually develop this parallel. What’s more, the main character is told “you always know what to do” so you think that will be relevant, but at the end of the movie the main character is asked “What do we do now?” and she just doesn’t answer. Things set up, but not resolved. I though they would have had the main character reply to that question by going “We go to Australia.” Which would have tied it back to the start of the movie; continued her character development; teased at a possible sequel; given the movie a slightly more upbeat ending AND actually gave truth to the final song which was about continuing on when things seemed bleak. It would have been such a solid way to end the movie (if a bit reckless, considering its an insane trip to make), but of course the moviemakers didn’t do that.

So, as I said, the last song is about continuing on when things seem bleak and hope seems lost, and yet its not fully reflected in the movie. This is an unfortunate trend in the movie. Some songs are dead on. An early song about teens wanting to break free makes sense. And the song about another group taking glee in killing zombies also works well. But then you’ve got that’s about how social media is preventing face to face communication... right when the internet connection is spotty at best and everyone is pretty much right in front of eachother. The songs seemed designed to be generic so that they can be sung even outside of the context of the movie, but there also seems to be a gulf between some songs and their movie context.

One song is about someone saying “hey, if I die here I’ll go with some spectacular fighting”, but they sing this in the context of trying to rescue someone.... If you’re rescuing someone, shouldn’t the song be kinda directed towards them, rather than admitting the strong possibility that you’ll fail and they assumedly will die?

Decent song on its own, bad song in its original context, doesn’t flow with what’s going on. Kinda like the musical equivalent of ludonarrative dissonance.

There’s one really chipper song the character sings right at the outbreak. It’s one of the strongest songs because its hilarious to see the character upbeat, singing, and oblivious to the zombie carnage happening around her... however there’s no clear reason why she’s suddenly so upbeat. She had a bad day yesterday and wakes to find herself late to school. You just have to go along with it that she now feels good for no apparent reason.

So those are my major gripes with the movie. There’s a lot that does work well, and some sequences are fun, but ultimately I feel it gets too needlessly dark towards the end and the songs could do a better effort of jiving with the film proper. Still, I appreciate the huge amount of work put into it, and it does seem like we’re dealing with people trying to genuinely create something they love. So more power to them and hopefully I’ll enjoy their next movie better.

This is Sofox, signing off.

#anna and the apocalypse #movie #movie critique #movie review

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beauvoyr · 5 years ago

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Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired | 20

decaying | 20 Pairings: Noctis/Reader Genre: Friendship/Romance/Friends-to-Lovers Tags: Fluff, Humor, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Abuse, Torture, asphyxiation, no beta we die like men, pre-Omen trailer route, pre-demon Noctis Chapter Rating: T+ Crossposted on: ao3 Summary: Rules to join the Lazy People’s Club for the Sleepy and Tired: 1) One must love sleep. Sleep is love. Sleep is life. 2) One must be tired. Physically or emotionally, both are acceptable. 3) One must love video games. Halfhearted interest in video games will result in immediate termination of membership. Fortunately, Noctis falls into all three categories. CHAPTER SUMMARY: Noctis sidesteps a scruffy man in chic boho ensemble of scarves and fedora, stopping across glassy automated doors dinging with every customer it receives. “We’re here.”

YOU WEAR SUNLIGHT IN THE MOST RADIANT way. It dusts you in a gossamer glow; sunlight dripping off your body, glistening, luscious enough for anyone to lick the sunny sweetness from your skin. A guilty part of him liked you against a backdrop of black with stars clustering your hair and sleep-heavy eyes lidding low, but he has a newfound appreciation for the way the sun sheathes your skin in subtle extravagance, colouring you in ways artificial lighting couldn’t.

Pocketing his hands, Noctis observes how you underwent the same transformation he’s seen time and time again.

You dash up the Crystal Promenade, crossing crowded roads and marvelling at the magnificent stained glass streets sprawled under your sandals. The breeze picks up, sheer lace bouncing off your thighs, and cooing doves scatter into flight. You dart through pockets of space between the crowd, examine silvery timepieces displayed in Chopard, perking up at the street performers orchestrating a waltz with a cello, a violin, and an Electone. Prompto’s habit must’ve rubbed off on you, for you snapped a picture of some jolly bystanders waltzing along to the sentimental tune, and then a few more of the merry musicians tapping their feet in tandem.

“It’s Je Te Veux,” you tell him once he reaches your side, bright eyes all eager.

He’s never heard of that one before, but he can count on you and your endless database of classical music ingrained in that knotty head of yours. He makes a toneless sort of hum, realises it couldn’t be heard over the vibrato, and tries again. “What’s that?”

“Satie composed it.” You palm your phone to your chest, eyes trained on the graceful glide of the dancers having a good time with one another. The brilliance of your smile seems to fade for a second and Noctis wonders what’s up—that is until you seem intent on avoiding his eyes. “It means I want you.”

Oh. Oh.

There are no cymbals in the waltz, but Noctis is sure his heart is beating to the sound of a toy monkey clanging brass cymbals together. Jarringly loud in his ears, all clang clang clang like some annoying alarm in that morning Marlboro cartoon show. The sunny warmth is starting to get to him, reaching his ears, and he fights the awkward urge to have a stiff, long walk through Insomnia just to get away from the teasing lilt of the violin.

All Noctis does is to rub his nape in faux indifference. He too avoids your eyes.

“Hmm. I see.”

THE SHOP HE’S LOOKING FOR is housed in the upscale part of the city, all cobblestones fanned in russet reds, blossoming shrubs edging the walkways, iron scrollwork fencing the pavements. Prompto’s always skittish on the rare occasions when Ignis drags them here, needing to complete a grocery errand or two. Either one of the buttons on Noctis’ jacket had vanished and only DKNY carried specific silver buttons with monogrammed engravings, or he needed to replace one of his scandalous-looking shirt garters—the ones that fit around the curve of his thigh like some contraption for the kinky. Noctis isn’t judging, but he has his own suspicions about Ignis because who doesn’t?

Whatever, he’d rather not think about it now. He’d very much like to concentrate on how you’ve gone ahead with locating what he needed, pointing at a sun-bleached signboard hanging overhead.

“Is this the correct store?” You crane your neck to decipher the neon-lit swirls scrawled on the board juxtaposing deep stonewalls. “Vivienne Westwood?”

He comes to a stop before the broad, polished glass popping out on the sidewalk. “Yep, that’s the one.” Reflected, you and him: A vision in white and shrouded in black, your head tipped aside, him toeing the pavement. A wireframe mannequin models an assemblage of scarf, skirt, and matching heels, not that he knows anything about fashion. It’s just that he enjoyed watching your animated reflection scrutinising tortoiseshell sunnies perched on its head, hand on your chin. A corner of his lips slants upwards at the sight. “Most of us have our stuffs personally tailored, so, yeah. Either from Vivienne Westwood or Roen.”

You tiptoe a little to get a closer look at another pair of paisley sunglasses hanging by a string. “Kinda like personal tailors? Since you guys have fashion labels working for the royal family?”

“Something like that.” He shrugs. “Why?”

“‘cause I noticed your boots have those pretty red soles,” you say matter-of-factly, pointing downwards to what seems to be his boots. Noctis gets that awkward feeling again, like some inside joke just went over his head. What does that have to do with anything when he’s out here with you? You’re not going to make him take off his shoes again, are you? Just to examine his toes, like some bizarre déjà vu of his first meeting with you? Thankfully, you seem to pick up on his confusion since you've gone ahead tilting your head with a smile. "Christian Louboutin, right?"

Yeah, he has no experience to go through this conversation. That’s up Ignis’ alley, not his. But he might have heard the name bounced back and forth during personal fitting sessions, might have something to do with a Loubouwhatever measuring his feet with tape. Safe to say, Noctis is just going to play along. “Uh—yeah. Personalized everything. Head to toe.” He pauses at your knowing nod, growing suspicious. As much as he’s flattered—and a tad bit pleased—that you always keep your eyes on him enough to notice the finer points to his clothes, red soles are incredibly specific knowledge only privy to those with a keen interest in fashion. Finding no harm in prying, he nudges you in the side. “…didn’t think you’re the type to like fashion.”

You sidle up to him, hands quick to return his jab with one of your own. “Not me, no. Byron’s a huge fashion nerd who keeps his Pinterest board full of fashion brands, that’s all.” Noctis huffs at your predictable action, swatting you aside. He’s way too used to your antics by now—not that he knows if it’s a good thing or not. Thwarted, you backpedalled, keeping your hands to yourself. “He’s always buzzing about new fashion trends or whatever’s hot in the market, and he has this huge stash of fashion magazines in his room, making scrapbooks out of the bits he liked. It’s also kinda creepy since he idolises Claire Farron enough to have her posters on his walls. After a while, you just pick up about stuffs like that when he’s around 24/7.”

That’s some unnecessary insight on the guy who continuously pisses him off at every waking moment of his life, but Noctis isn’t about to say that to your face, not when said guy is your childhood butler who took whippings in your stead. If Gladio likened him to an older, pissier version of Ignis, the truth might not be far off. Grunting, Noctis nudges the door open for you. “C’mon, let’s get inside.”

Apparently, the store manager witnessed his interaction with you, greeting them with a bemused smile when the waft of cool air hit him. Her silver nametag reads Magisa. “Welcome, Your Highness,” she says with her pencil thin eyebrows still parked high on her forehead. “May I help you and your companion for today?”

Dealing with sales reps hounding his every step and tailing him worse than Glaives is enough to seize him up. A quick shake of his head has the wrinkled woman peering him over her rimmed glasses, and Noctis lets his eyes wander the store to avoid her piercing stare. “Nah, we’re good. I’m just going to look around.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” she placates, even if her half-bow is stunted with the fact that she’s still sneaking stares at your general direction. “If you and your lady friend require assistance, please do not hesitate to approach any of us.”

With how she places great emphasis on the word, Noctis has the sense to grimace. Should he be worried if this will blow up when the tabloids lap it all up? Yeah, hopefully not. It's his first time entering the store without his usual duo flanking his sides, and sensational scoops are one way to get the readership spiking faster than the Citadel's PR Department's migraine.

"Uh. Thanks. Can you just…?" he makes some vague hand gesture, hoping it’s a loose interpretation of what he needs, eyes skirting around when her stare is harder than stone. "We just want to shop without—uh, things happening."

She seems to understand him that much with no questions asked, quick on her feet to flip the sign to Closed and drops the automated blinds over the storefront with a click of a button. The sudden hush accompanying his personal shopping experience has you teetering closer to him, wary eyes searching his face for any signs of reassurance. Your fingers worry the hems of his jacket, chewing on your bottom lip out of habit again. Noctis squeezes your shoulder to ease your nerves before Magisa turns.

“As much as I love celebrity news, I don’t want to see some clickbait article like You Wouldn’t Believe What Prince Noctis Did Last Weekend on Insomnia Daily’s website,” she announces, a corner of her mouth tugging upwards on one side. She looks like she’s seen her fair share of celeb mishaps in her own store and would love nothing more than to die of natural causes than a heart attack. “By all means, Your Highness, do be careful. The media circus is barbaric enough to tear your reputation into shreds if you drop your guard.”

And not even the Glaives can guard him against it. "…yeah, copy that.”

Magisa is sensible enough to keep a respectful distance from him when he strolls through the rolling racks, suede jackets, knitted sweaters, complementing accessories, an orgasm of colours reaching out to him. It’s easy to forget why he’s here when he’s here with you, taking in the slanted photo frames hanging off the walls, glorious lights dawning on you and him, stops at an eye-catching bomber jacket studded in stars across its back—until he’s distracted by your fingers tugging his cuff.

“What are we looking for, Prince? Anything specific in mind for Ignis? Or is there anything he’s been eyeing?”

That’s a good question. Walking into another aisle offers rows of men’s accessories hanging from sleek metal plates. Noctis eyes a leather belt with some punk rock aesthetic on it; Prompto’d like that. “No idea actually. Was hoping we’d just find something here for him.”

“Maybe I can browse the other side and see what I can come up with?” you offer, slinking backwards with a genuine expression of being helpful to the cause. Noctis turns on his heels, catching the flit of your fingers trailing in the air as goodbye. Your back turns to him when you wander through gypsum partitions, leaving an echo of your voice. “I’ll come back soon.”

That is not how he envisioned this to be, but uh. “Sure, I guess…” Noctis answers to an empty space, minding how awkward it feels when you’re not by his side. He has half the urge to chase you just because—and the other half is judging him through Magisa's pointed silence, having witnessed every waking second.

Deciding it's best to concentrate on the task in hand, he orientates his focus to a suave combo of a dress shirt, striped belt, and gradient aviators arbitrarily arranged on a wall-mounted shelf. The clashing colours don't scream Ignis Posh Scientia, so it's a solid No for Noctis. A cashmere scarf in tartan isn't Ignis Stylish Scientia either, and Noctis backs away from the section altogether. After rifling through three snazzy co-ords, four fitted pants whilst knowing nothing of Ignis’ size, two loafers and simultaneously thwarted by Ignis’ mysterious size yet again, Noctis is almost ready to call it a day.

Magisa, thankfully, steps up to her task after sensing his deathly desperation and escorts him to a selection of accessories for the subdued, wrinkled hands lifting one of the many displays for him to choose. Having her recommendations ironed out some of the hitches in his grand plan, deciding the subtle emboss of a skull on a pair of suspenders is better than the garish VW belt buckle, and with satisfaction, Noctis follows her to the cashier—

—or not, when a sharp glint has him making a short detour to a tiered jewellery display.

Hanging off the dainty hooks are little bits of silver with varying pendants, necklaces and chokers sparkling under a well-placed spotlight. Before he takes a step back to think why he’s here and what he’s doing and Magisa’s incredible concern with whatever he’s up to, Noctis threads his fingers through a delicate star necklace.

Diamante dotting all five points up to its heart, sleek silver chain neither too long nor short like his soon-to-be five months with you. Just right, maybe just right sitting at the base of your neck nestled between your collarbones. That’s not too bad of a thought, so before he overthinks things and dabbles into the mechanics guiding his rash action, he hands it over to a waiting Magisa, who accepts it with pursed lips.

“Shall I pack it separately?” she asks none too subtly, returning to the cash register to ring up his purchases. “Would you prefer a nondescript bag or a ribbon to go with it?”

Noctis cocks a brow, withdrawing his wallet and putting his card on the proffered tray. “Is this about the suspenders or?” She gives him a look, the one that makes him feel like he's in trouble after Ignis looted his unhealthy Nissin collection, and he instantly knows what she's referring to. "Uh. Separately packaged. Just a box will do." Maybe a ribbon? "Nothing too flashy for the ribbon. Simple stuff."

“Of course, Highness, she doesn’t seem like the gaudy sort,” she offers her opinion—not that he asked her for it, but it’s a little reassuring that Magisa seems satisfied with his choice. Deft hands slotted his card, nude fingernails key in numbers on the screen, making quick work of boxing up the necklace for him to hide.

And hiding your necklace is just a simple affair of attuning it with his armoury, stowing it deep where nobody else knows its presence but him.

The fracture of blue scattering over the countertop disappears in seconds, and it has Magisa pinching her glasses to lower it by a fraction.

“Well,” she comments, impressed, “that’s handy.”

Noctis smirks.

THAT PAPERBAG IN YOUR ARMS shouldn’t be getting under his skin, but it is. You emerge almost guiltlessly from the storefront with your purchase, a sizeable heft for its nondescript beige, smiling his way. Just what exactly is in it, that's the million Credit question right there. It could be something for your own closet since you've never gone shopping on your own before, but the irrational and conspiratorial Noctis whispers it's something for Byron, definitely for Byron, because when are you notthinking about fashionable little Byron and his four-digit leather gloves anyway? Your morning conversation said all that needs to be said.

The sun’s irritating his skin and feeding the irritation in his heart, but you don’t seem to notice any of it.

“So what’re we doing now, Prince?” you say, prancing by his side in that one-two skip you do whenever you’re excited, but you’re playing off your excitement just so he won’t say anything about it. “Is there anything else you wanna do?”

Crossing the Ladian Avenue together, heavily blossoming magnolia trees shaded the pavement, creamy innocence perfuming the air. Strips of grass overlay granite slabs, pink petals dusting the surface. Children play imaginary hopscotch on evenings when their parents are off from work, couples marvel over the bold jewels growing on these magnolias, and for people like Noctis, someone not exactly a parent or your boyfriend, he pockets his hands and tries to shrug off his misplaced displeasure. Tries, because he’s still not good at it, but at least he’s willing to try.

“You hungry?”

Cracked sunlight falls over a part of your face, highlighting the sheer luminance of your eye. “Yeah? I mean, I’m totally cool if you wanna go home now since we’ve got what you need, but…” you stop underneath a magnolia, leaning against the scrawny trunks clustered together, “if it’s not too much of a hassle for you, can we go to the bookstore together?”

“The bookstore?” he repeats—totally not distracted by how the sunlight fragments colours in your iris, totally not wanting to press his fingers to your cheek to feel how warm you are. “Sure, if you have something to do there. Not that far of a detour from here.” Pointing to some few blocks in the distance to show how close it is, his hand falls to his hip just so he’d avoid touching you out of your comfort zone. “You wanna head there now?”

You give a little stretch with your arms high above your head, making a sound of pure content. One that Noctis has never heard before. “Nah, later. Lunch sounds way more tempting. Where do you wanna take me this time?”

He can’t say he’s thought that far ahead, but he’s proud of himself for being able to turn the question right at you. “What do you wanna eat this time?”

“The ramen we had was really tasty,” you suggest, though you quickly retract your statement with a finger tapping your chin, “but I kinda wanna eat something different. Something like that, but not something like that?”

There you go again, all roundabout answers with no end in sight. Five months in and you’re still you. Shreds of magnolias drift in the breeze as he snorts, dusting off pretty pinks falling on his shoulder. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what it means, Prince,” you say, quick hands cupping a fluttering petal, delighted like you’ve never seen one before. Maybe Byron’s never pruned magnolias for your vases, that’s possible enough. “Kinda like one of those feel-good foods? Homely kinds of stuff, nothing fancy, just delicious meals straight from the heart.”

The wind picks up, sweeping through the boulevard, a flurry of flowers raining on you and him. Nonchalantly picking out a petal streaked in rich pinks fading in whites from your hair, Noctis drops it into your outstretched hands. You crane your neck to reward his gift with a smile, and it’s all he needs. “Ever had oden before?”

“Nope, never had them.” You shake your head as Noctis plucks off more pinks from your hair, his jacket, your shoulders, presents in the palms of the queen in white. “What’s oden like? Loads of rich broth? Warm, fuzzy foodie meals? Instaglam-worthy shots?”

“Your inner Prom is coming out,” he points out, and you laugh.

Just like this, it’s nice standing around, talking with you all casual like nothing else matters in this world. Pressing your back to the tree, cornering you like this—oh. Magisa’s warning throbs in his head.

Yeah, shit, he kind of forgot about that, didn’t he?

Noctis consciously takes a step back, catching questions in your eyes.

The Glaives tailing him 24/7 would peck all this up like Chocobo feed for the rest of the Glaives back home to gobble over, and if he’s hoping this won’t be #1 trending gossip in Insomnia, he better start praying to whatever Astrals’ out there watching over him. They say Ramuh’s the kindest of the bunch, right? So maybe Ramuh would listen and spare him all the media sharks who could’ve spied on him.

Out in the open space, anyone could be watching him—you. He doesn't have the cover of the night to help him out when it's bright and breezy like this, nothing like the privacy of a lake and the stars, nothing like Prompto’s presence warranting a friendly outing. Going out with him and Ignis is one thing while going out with you is on another scale altogether. He doesn’t enjoy freedom the way a commoner does, all because he’s the prince. And princes don’t get to walk around with you the same way Byron does.

There it is again.

He hates it. Hates the familiar edges of that moody, problematic prince coming up. All because he doesn’t think things through and his temperament is getting the best of him and he just can’t say it because he doesn’t know how to make it sound not so awkward since he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore but he can’t go past a boyfriend because what kind of shitty boyfriend is he going to be when he can’t even date you normally. And then there’s Byron too, feeding the unhealthy glutton for jealousy in him. So he’ll probably end up ruining this day in the end, won’t he?

Pretending the disappointment clouding your eyes is nothing more than confusion, he quirks a finger for you to follow. “C’mon, let’s go. I’m starving.”

The abrupt change in his demeanour isn't lost on you. Still, you seem to stumble out of whatever daydream cluttering your head, petals once clasped tight in your palms now scattering all over the ground. “…right, lead the way.”

He’s good at pretending, isn’t he? He’s been pretending he’s got his life together all these years, so he’s sure he can pretend to be your friend just a little while longer.

A MOUTHFUL OF PIPING HOT oden, you learn, is sunshine melting on your tongue: A hot ball of rich, savoury sun. As expected, Noctis memorised every alleyway right down to its missing tile, bringing you to the best place in the city to enjoy your lunch. You’ve never seen someone conducting business from a wooden cart curtained in red, but the novelty of the experience has you eager to sink onto the wooden stool for the pick-and-mix session to begin. The ancient owner, yet another friend of the prince, is all toothy grins when Noctis ducks into his stall, batting away all attempts at paying at the end of the meal.

“You’re definitely the People Prince,” you say, en route to the bookstore across a boulevard lined in street lamps. Paper bag bouncing by your side, you take a peek at his face. “I’m kinda surprised how many people actually know you—not like know know, but they know you like you’re friends from way before.”

Noctis shrugs like it means nothing to him, but you’ve long learnt his belligerent blue eyes are more honest than he is. “Used to hang out loads with Prom when I was in high school. Arcades, ramen stalls, oden carts, cinemas, karaoke, you name it, we did ‘em all.” He swoops sharp right into another street, plodding uphill past grey-bricked boutiques. “When you’re a regular, you’re instantly a level above most customers they get on other days.”

You tail him from behind, though momentarily, a woman walking her leashed Shih Tzu makes you coo for a second. Noctis flashes you a look for your unintelligible cooing, not expecting that form of a reply, and you fiddle for an answer. “Um—well, you’re the prince and you get along so well with them, so you’re everyone’s favourite.”

“Totally not,” he rebukes with less bite and more of a scowl. Curt, leaving the conversation in the dust, just like that.

Had you hit a sore spot somehow? He’s been testier ever since you got out of Vivienne Westwood a little later than he did. Is it because it's the usual cliché of guys hating girls when they go off on a shopping spree? And then they have to wait for what seems like aeons before their significant other comes back to reality? Free oden failed in cheering him up, even if the ecstatic old man loaded up his portion with more freebies, so hangry from both hunger and anger is out of the question since you’re full and he’s full and he’s still taking you to the bookstore like what you wanted.

So what was your fault?

You don't know.

Noctis sidesteps a scruffy man in chic boho ensemble of scarves and fedora, stopping across glassy automated doors dinging with every customer it receives. “We’re here.”

Catching up brings you to an uncommon bookstore, broad posters taping the front of the store in the latest literature fixes. Over three storeys of rosy stucco, wooden slats and hanging creepers swirling over walls, you assume it's a café bookstore with a vintage spin to it. The whole atmosphere matches a parked car next to its entrance, white racing stripes across chintzy pink convertible, silver Vixen on its antique hood. It even has a Moogle bauble on its antenna, making you smile at how cute it is.

Unfortunately, Noctis doesn’t share your sentiment and doesn’t share your thoughts. He just stares at you staring at the car, and you felt bad for pulling him all the way here. Maybe he doesn’t want to be here after all? And he’s just too polite to say anything about it?

Somehow, that sends your premature joy plummeting to the ground.

“C’mon, let’s go in.”

“—right.”

The brisk exchange falls flat with you following Noctis inside, chilly air-conditioning fleecing your sun-warmed skin. Coffee and contemporary fixtures are in place, rows of books on weathered racks, but it’s hard to concentrate on the people and the place when Noctis and only Noctis is in your head. You pissed him off, didn’t you? In some way you can’t explain since you don’t know how you screwed up. You knew this day would come. Just like how you fight with Byron over the smallest of things, this could cement the start of a dispute between you and Noctis over who knows what and Gods know why.

He’s walking ahead.

He isn’t waiting for you.

Wandering through stationeries shelved along the walls, fingers drifting over jutting pencils, you are lost. Shellac finishes to a wooden barrel fail to reignite your interest in purchasing and engraving a fountain pen for Ignis’ birthday. The bookstore is suddenly too cold, too lonely for you alone, standing in front of a glass display. You are a face among the many masks hustling about, giggling and chatting and walking along. You can’t share Noctis’ world when he’s not here with you.

A soft graze on your elbow has you looking up to your left, sinking into a trance when familiar blackness return.

Oh. Noctis is here all along, blue eyes unreadable. He’s doing something with his hand. Oh. He’s holding you. He turns his back, fingers laced through yours, leading you away from the crowd. Past uncaring apron-wearing helpers, past scampering children, past the broadest wall leading to an emergency exit. Heavy fire doors are bolted shut behind him. They erase all sounds, hiding you and him from scandalized eyes.

His hand is warm in yours.

Fluorescent bulb flickers overhead, the stairwell smells of dust and cement. You can’t hear your heart beating when Noctis tips his head, messy bangs turning blue eyes black. He has your back to the wall like he had you at the tree—only, there is no distance separating you and him. He presses into your space with the intent to take everything, leaving nothing behind. You let him. His leg nudges between your knees up your thigh and he bends close enough for you to feel his breath on your cheeks. You can't breathe.

Dry lips descend on your ear with a warm whisper.

“Ah. A white puppy.”

You feel him smile.

“It’s too bad, really, that I need a black mongrel instead.”

It shuts down in black. Your eyes are wide open but you can’t see. Noctis is gone but you still feel his knee brushing against your inner thighs. Crawling the column of your neck is his hand, and it settles with a thumb on your jugular. He breathes low and harsh and you can’t mistake the shudder up your spine as anything else other than fear. You can’t see him, but you feel him holding you down the cracking drywall. You can’t move. You can’t scream.

He is saying something, but you hear him no more, not over the Crystal humming in your ear. It drowns him out like summer bees and static TV, but his breath laving your lobe is warm, rank, smelling of death and decay. Clawed fingernails dig half-moons in your wrist. You flinch under his strength. He doesn’t budge. You are cold when it is hot and sweat starts from your scalp sliding to your shoulder. Knees are buckling underneath you and you are certain you are falling but there is no telltale pain bruising your knees. You don’t know if you are standing or you are kneeling or you are here.

Blackness thickens because it’s never gone from the start, and the Crystal grows louder like it fights to be heard over Noctis. Electricity slithers where the crescents lie on your wrist, tattooing your skin in short jolts. Ouch you gasp but your lips do not move and your voice is unheard.

You’ve felt this before.

It’s magic.

But there is no blue in the blacks, only frayed red seeping through. Blotting out the dark, blurring into greys.

The buzz snips off sharp as scissors.

A mouthful of piping hot oden, you learn, is sunshine melting on your tongue: A hot ball of rich, savoury sun. As expected, Noctis memorised every alleyway right down to its missing tile, bringing you to the best place in the city to enjoy your lunch. A woman walking her leashed Shih Tzu has you distractedly cooing for a second. Over three storeys of rosy stucco, wooden slats and hanging creepers swirling over walls, it’s a café bookstore with a vintage spin to it. Coffee and contemporary fixtures are in place, rows of books on purposely weathered racks, and the shellac finishes to a wooden barrel catches your fancy for Ignis’ gift.

The cashier hands your change with a smile and you exit the store to find Noctis waiting outside. Why is he looking all glum and sullen with his arms crossed over his chest anyway? Didn't that oden old man load up his bowl with all the grilled fishcake and sticky tofu skins? That can’t do, he can’t do all the frowning when you’re all happy from the food.

“Sorry for the wait!” You cosy up to him, tucking your packaged pen by your side. Noctis visibly jumps and looks at you as if you’ve grown a second head. His face is priceless and you can't help but laugh at him. "Gosh, Prince, what's wrong? Did something happen?”

“Uh—no, nothing happened,” he’s quick to sputter with a shake of his head, though he can’t seem to wipe that silly look he gives you. “You… okay?”

You’re confused, but not as confused as Noctis. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

And Noctis takes a hard, long look. Narrowed blue eyes, lips curled, arms uncrossing to drop by his sides. He surveys you how one surveys an advertisement, even if all you had for an offering is this white dress and two sets of gifts. After a while, seemingly coming to a decision, he guiltily rubs his nape. "No. Nothing. Forget it."

“What, all that and nothing?” you chide at the anticlimactic end, taking one step after another.

He doesn’t answer, walking past an empty parking lot, and you jab him in his side, inciting an undignified yelp at your pre-emptive attack. So maybe it’s not worth it when he turns around and you get a sense of belated uh-oh when he chases you up the street, but at least now you know Gladio’s training is paying off because hey, your sides aren’t hurting that much anymore.

YOU ARE WEIRD AND UNREPENTANT and everything in Noctis’ dictionary of a catastrophe. Here he is, trying his damned best in keeping a distance from you, and you all but kicked over the barricades and shredded the WARNING flyers he tacked on the signboards. What’s he supposed to do when you ran fast uphill—but he’s faster,duh, and it ends in him yanking you through backstreet detours to avoid a ruckus. You had the nerve to laugh at him with the biggest, most brilliant smile he’s ever seen—not that it’s forgiven anything you’ve done to him today, absolutely none at all.

He can’t believe he’s saying this, but he’s glad to see your chilly chamber of secrets, even if it means his toes have to freeze on marble again.

Incredibly in a good mood, you are humming. Clicking on your desktop, belting out Billboard’s Top 20 instead of dead people’s music, boiling hot water and making tea. Noctis drops on a chair and observes you with a palm propping his head. Observes, because he’s sure as hell never experienced something like this before, never seen the city life infecting you all the way to your room, never heard you singing softly under your breath to some crappy lyrics scrawled on restroom stalls.

Did the bookstore unlock some hidden part of your personality like some side quest in a prophecy? Visit the bookstore to gain a new skill: Humming! or something? Noctis makes a face at that. Five years with Prompto and his RPG obsession definitely rubbed off on him.

You balance two cups in a hand and a teapot in the other, clicking off the music. “Here you go, Prince.” When he makes a move to help, you all but shushed him to sit, bringing porcelain to his face and pouring a stream of gold liquid right in it. “Sorry I don’t have anything good, Byron’s been too distracted with Ignis’ birthday party until he forgot my groceries this week.”

Noctis takes a sip of the bland concoction and considers what you said—not that he’s surprised irritation’s rapidly overtaking his initial revelation at your good mood because it’s Byron and when are you not in a good mood about Byron anyway? “Hmm.”

Either you heard him or you don’t as you sit right beside him instead of your usual spot behind your desk, nursing your own cupful. “He’s been baking nonstop,” you say with a sparkle in your eyes, but it vanished when you continue, “and when he screws up, I’m his garbage can apparently. He’s okay with cooking but he’s still crap at baking so I kinda think he’s trying to impress Ignis with this cake but ah—but don’t tell him I told you, he’ll totally kill me.”

His tone darkens with another deep sip. “Hmm.”

Radiating the sun’s enthusiasm, you aren’t unenthused with the one-sided conversation. He sets down his polished cup a little too sharply and you take it as a chance for refilling, not that he’s in any mood to drink more.

“So anyway, thanks for taking me out today,” you cheer, attempting to duck your head just so you’d meet his downturned eyes since he’s gone ahead with slouching in his seat. “Things are really different in the morning, huh? The kids, the streets, the shops, I didn’t think it’d be that different from all the times we went out at night. I was so, so wrong.”

He says nothing and stares right back at you.

He’s an ass for sulking about Byron now, isn’t he?

He is.

Not discouraged by his off-putting silence, you reach by your chair to pull the VW paper bag in your lap, hands flattening crinkles at the folds. Great, seeing that stuff shoves his mood off a cliff faster than a dive. You’re not going to make him sit through you parading your purchase for Byron, are you? He’d rather leave before that happens. No way in hell he’ll stick around to drag that knife down his heart like a goddamn masochist who likes this shit.

The moment he tries to get to his feet, tries, your hands shoot out to dump the bag on him. Whump it goes on his jeans, and Noctis stays because his legs suddenly forgot how to walk.

“That’s yours, Prince, as thanks for today—and also kind of like thanks for sticking with me all the time—wait, no, that’s not what I meant—as in thanks for letting me stick with you.” Your voice is thin at your fumbling, eyes nervously sweeping from him to the bag, bouncing your knees, and he swallows. “I mean it. So. Yeah. Um, thanks for all these four months together and I’ll work really, really hard to make sure the fifth month counts. Yeah. Yeah.”

So maybe his brain can’t quite catch up because his mouth betrays him with a stupid, “Uh.” And that’s not what he’s trying to say when you look positively petrified at the dead sound like he doesn’t care when he obviously cares, damn it. “Wait no—I just.” He swallows the tightness in his throat because why is it so hard to say something when just a word makes the difference between life and death because you, too, counted all the months together like him? His mouth still can’t process the important message and he ends up with another dumb, “Um. Thanks.”

What else? What else? Should he add that he’s sorry for being an ass today just because a certain green-eyed monster kept taunting him with Byron’s name? That blew out of proportions—and that embarrassed him to the point of no return. Here you are, gifting him the same paper bag that haunted him all the way from Vivienne Westwood, and it’s not for your butler of decades. It’s for him. A five-monthiversary gift. For him.

And nobody else but him.

Because you only had eyes for him from the start.

The silence is deafening. He considers you considering him, you’re all wide-eyed silence, he’s all eyes lidded low silent. Your hands smoothen white cotton over your thighs. Teeth are back on your bottom lip, gnawing, pulling. He’s going to mess this up again, isn’t he? Yeah, he is. He totally is. How’s he supposed to say something, anything, when his thoughts are a jumbled mess of surplus jealousy and growing shame?

The next best thing for him to do is the good old adage of action speaks louder than words. Taking the advice to heart, Noctis snatches the ribboned box from his armoury in a burst of blue, tossing it to your lap. Not the best way to gift you, but it evens out the score since you threw his first.

You haven’t moved an inch as the box bounces on your thighs. You probably stopped breathing too.

Noctis clears his throat and remembers that conversation is a two-way thing, as bad as he is at it. “That’s… yours.”

On cue, trembling fingers scramble to lift it to uncertain eyes and he’s rewarded with the sight of a dumbstruck strategist trying to make sense of the package. Turning it in every angle in sunlight diffused by recessed lighting, examining the gold emboss on cool grey, and he’s willing to bet if he’s not there, you would’ve even sniffed the whole box like it’s an edible prank. In the end, you make a hapless sound, balancing it on your jittery lap with a rigid smile.

“Um.” You say, just as dumb as he did. “That was unexpected.”

Noctis tilts his head the other way round. “What, no thanks?”

Instantly, you seize up in panic. He meant it in a funny sense, just a friendly tease, but apparently, it's lost in the mathematics in your head. “No, no, I really, really, really appreciate it. Thank you so much, Prince, I—” you stop to make a strangled sound, pressing your palm to your mouth to stifle the noise. “—thanks, seriously, thanks. ”

Noctis catches your eyes turning glassy and hell, you’re not going to cry, are you? It’s already bad enough he’s struggling to deal with his internal issues; he can’t deal with a crying strategist right now. “Wait—stop. Don’t cry. Dude, seriously, chill.”

It takes a whole seven seconds for you to sniff like you’re draining your eyes inwardly, dabbing the wet corners with the back of your hand. “Not crying, but close enough.”

“Yeah, right.” Six, he hates it when someone messes up his hair, but his own hand is messing up his hair and he can’t get mad at himself, can he? Whatever. Noctis gives up understanding this whole thing and winds up gesturing haplessly at your gift. “You can open it if you want.”

“Sure—" you sniff and Noctis’ wary eyes are searching for any signs of tears as you wave at his gift hopelessly. “—you too, open that if you want to.”

So.

Now that it’s gotten to this point, he can’t imagine what’s in the paper bag or summon the last memory of receiving a gift outside of birthdays. All he knows is that he extracts a folded jacket from its depths, feels his brows meeting at the middle, almost did a double take when he gets a good look at the pin-sized stars dotting the back, physically refrained himself from doing said double take because it’s the same jacket he eyed the moment he stepped in the shop, and floundered for something to say. If you noticed his red soles, he can’t say he’s surprised you noticed how he lingered a second too long at the rack. Noctis leans deeper in his seat and stops trying to pin the precise point in the timeline to answer when you snuck behind his back to buy this for him. He finds none.

An awed gasp from your end tells him your reaction.

Now it’s his turn to dart back and forth from your face to the necklace dripping between your fingers. Your flushed face. One with a garbled series of stuttered ah, um, uh and more ah, um, uh until you abruptly swallowed all nonsensical noises and looked at it with the softest expression he’s ever seen on your face. Wet eyelashes quivering. Lips trembling. Soundless.

The silence returns.

Then, a quiet, “Star.”

Noctis searches for his voice for a while. He finds it, but he can’t release it from wavering. “Yeah.”

“Stella,” you say.

He gets that much. Star. Just like the ones on his jacket. “Yeah.”

“Stella,” you repeat, and a weaker, “Noctis.”

Noctis buries his hands in his jacket. He doesn’t realise when he’d done it. His fingers are burrowing deeper into fine fabric and hummingbirds are caged in his ribs. His name. On your lips. His name. Everything else matters little now. “Yeah?”

Slowly, almost unearthly, you return from your starry reverie with the lethargy of a woman drowning in the sea. Languid, lifting the necklace to your eyes—only, you are not looking at it, you are looking past the pendant, you are looking at him. “Just like the stars we saw that night, remember?”

Oh. Oh. The hummingbirds are loud. And fast. Noctis fishes something from his vocabulary along the lines of hey just so you know, it’s totally fine if you wanna call me by my name but some words end up omitted after an unexpected filtering and all he’s left with is a lame, “That’s my name.”

Your eyes are gentle when you say, “I know.”

The hummingbirds struggle maddeningly loud against his ribcage and Noctis thinks of come here, Noct, and come here and let me love you, and he knows what exactly he wants. “You know.” His voice has gone rougher in the edges. “You can call me by my name.”

The necklace ripples in the air. There is no breeze. Only your hand trembles. You don’t cry. You don’t smile. You don’t look away. “I can’t call you that, I’m sorry…” Your tongue twists each word with care, yet the undertones betray your want—your inherent need for his name. “I respect you as the prince, and it’s a reminder to me that you are my prince. It’s something I shouldn’t ever forget, as someone who wants to serve you.”

The reasoning behind your logic is solid but Noctis doesn’t want logic now.

Logic has no place between two people of a chance meeting on the 56th floor.

“I don’t want to be the prince to you. I want to be.” He pauses, looks mildly uncomfortable, and shakes his head. He wants it. Even if it’s pretending game for two. “Wanna be someone normal to you.” We aren’t normal, he says, we can never be normal with how things are, but I’ll keep pretending it’s normal if you’ll let me. “Not your prince, not your future duty. Just… normal.”

Someone normal enough to take walks with you on flowering promenades.

Someone normal enough to spend hours with you playing video games.

Someone normal enough to sleep together with you.

“So,” you murmur quietly, "is it okay," tipping your head aside, "if I," looping silver around your neck, "call you," clasp fixed securely in place, the star at home between your collarbones, "Noctis?"

He doesn’t trust his voice. Back to action it is, with a slow nod of his own.

You are the very image of his imagination, star sitting at the base of your neck, the centrepiece of your shoulders. You are too real. More than what his paltry dreams offered in his sheets, you are in your chair in a room too cold with his necklace on your neck and he stops hearing the hummingbirds and starts feeling them under his skin. They’ve escaped, fluttering in his nerves, almost guiding his fingers with enough force to touch the silver on your skin.

“Noctis,” you say, fingering his chain.

He nods again.

“Noctis,” you say, a finger stopping on the star.

He softly agrees with your echo, “Yeah.”

“Noctis,” you say, eyes falling shut, head downcast. “Thank you.”

He knows his name belongs on your lips when he, too, closes his eyes. There are stars on the backs of his eyelids and he thinks he’ll dream of them tonight.

IT IS ONLY MUCH LATER ON when you are in the company of your mirror that you allow yourself a moment to examine your reflection. You are twenty and your hands are still bloodied with people whose names you don’t know. You are father’s bundle of sins and your mother is dead. Your eyes are bruised black and your sickly pallor hasn’t improved five months removed from the House of Andronicus. You suspect the illness lies not within the house, but within you yourself. You are a decaying garden and it shows in your eyes, on your lips, on your tongue.

But one thing has changed.

Mother’s hands are gone from your neck.

And in its stead is the prince’s—no, he’s no longer the prince to you.

Noctis.

That is his name.

In its stead is Noctis’ necklace, a weight different from mother’s. It’s cold like her hands, but it’s not hers. It’s Noctis’. The edge of the star goes under your fingernail and you know it is a closure you’ve long sought. Her burial is long overdue.

“Goodbye, mama. Rest in peace.”

[tbc.]

NOTES:

in case anyone hasn’t seen it yet, Erion Makuo drew EXTREMELY FANTASTIC AND IMMENSELY BEAUTIFUL ARTWORK of Omen Noctis here so please go and check it out and send the artist HUGE LOVES! thank you so much for the gorgeous artwork!!! ;u; Bless Erion, bless the artwork, bless everything about them!!!

yells bc it took me ten thousand years to edit this chapter oh my god im so glad it’s done. cheers to plot devices trying to move the fic along! to those of you who are still reading, thank you so much for waiting roughly 4 months for this update! i’m really touched by all of the positive and encouraging moral support i’ve received through comments, kudos, and tumblr messages, especially through the tough times i’m facing and despite my inactivity on tumblr too. i’m still working in the same place, still floating along, still suffering, but coming back to work on this project and others, fuelled by everyone’s support, really gave a huge boost to my emotional health. thank you so much, everyone, you guys are the best, the biggest life-changers, the awesomest people i could ever ask for in times like this.

so what’s next in decaying? everything is going to hell, that’s for sure. more fluff, equally balanced with more questionable content. if you’re uncomfortable with darker themes and morally dubious actions done by the characters, as usual, i’ll include appropriate warnings at the beginning of each chapter and even a little tldr at the bottom as a summary should you want to skip it.

i’ll try to have the next update as soon as i can since my progress is slightly hampered by my bilateral hand conditions, so please look forward to the next chapter as soon as i can! do take care, my lovely friends and readers; stay healthy and hydrated, keep hustling, the times are tough and things are getting tougher, but remember you can do it!

PREVIEW: you’re drowning in air but the world isn’t swimming past you anymore, reality isn’t flitting and warping around in dimensions before your eyes, and you finally feel you’re conscious enough to understand that night has fallen yet again over insomnia, over your room. but why’s byron waiting in the dark without any light and why’s he bending over to caress your cheek and he’s whispering go back to sleep too loudly and all you can tell him is wait byron i’m scared please stay voicelessly when your limbs don’t move and you can’t move and it’s dark, it’s too dark, but why can you see gold eyes and the line of his smile shifting into a smirk and—

#final fantasy xv #ffxv #Noctis Lucis Caelum #noctis x reader #noctis/reader #lazy people #fanfic #thank you for reading!

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