#the first hour had great pacing and it lost itself in the concept too hard for me

[spacelesbin]

Saw The Substance. More films need to be this colorful!!! I have no other praise

[m-y-fandoms]

[SDR2 Girls] x selectively mute reader - imagines

Request: SDR2 Girls reacting to hearing a selectively mute S/O speak for the first time, please!!

Sure thing! Also, so that more people can relate and read this with themselves in mind, if you want to, you can read this as an s/o who simply doesn’t talk often due to shyness, idk. I wrote it with selectively mute in mind like the request says though. Also, some of these take place in SDR2, some in DR3 the anime, in Hope’s Peak Academy. - Admin Kokichi

Warnings: selectively mute reader, implied past trauma, self-hate and doubt, insecurities, mild and not in detail, always resolved with fluff.

Mahiru Koizumi

     “(S/O), what do you think of these ones?��� Your loving, strong-willed girlfriend, Mahiru Koizumi splayed out a bunch of photos before you, carefully ordering them in a particular way and looking to you with an almost nervous anticipation in her eyes that was uncharacteristic of her. She stood behind you, looking over your shoulder anxiously. She valued your opinion highly, above most of the artists and creative minds she’d become acquainted with in her years of expert-level photography.

     Your eyes scanned the pictures thoughtfully, appreciating every inch, every focal point, every hidden meaning. You took in the composition, the symbolism, the saturation. Your girlfriend was so passionate, so gifted, and far too hard on herself. Slowly, your brows raised. She took this expression immediately to mean disapproval, and began to defend herself.

     “I know, I know. I was trying to do a series here. It was a new concept I’m trying... a bit too bold I think for now. I should stick to just quality headshots for the time being, that was my last concept. Following the first photo, the rest were suppose to connect and flow like a story but I understand if it’s not coming through-” you interrupted her speedy string of words, the shield she put around herself and her work.

     “This is the best one yet!” Your mouth hung open, lost in the colors. Your eyes swam, bouncing from polaroid to polaroid.

     “No, be honest because like-” Her eyes widened. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “(S-S/O)???” She spun you around to face her, tears at the corners of her eyes. She pulled you into her chest, nearly squeezing the life out of you. All doubts about her work went out the window. If it was good enough to make you speak, it was good enough for her.

     She left little pecks all over your cheeks, and insisted of taking a photo to remember this moment.

Peko Pekoyama

     Being rather quiet and reserved herself, Peko didn’t mind your timid nature. She knew of trauma, seeing much of it growing up in the yakuza way of life. She had trauma of her own, and had caused others great trauma in the line of duty, protecting her Young Master. Once she’d started dating you officially, she’d become your sword and your shield, quite literally as well as emotionally. She didn’t need words. She knew how you felt, when to back off, when you needed comfort. Being intuitive, preceptive, strong-willed and incredibly intelligent made her your perfect defender, your rock. 

     She was used to you pointing, signing, even drawing out your feelings at times, and didn’t need to know what your voice sounded like to love you, but when you spoke up, breaking your silence, for her sake nonetheless, she held back tears, eyes glistening.

     “Peko, I worry that you’re not happy sometimes… the Kuzuryuu’s overwork you. I want you to be happy.” You’d been sitting across from her in the dining hall, just the two of you all alone, Fuyuhiko having ordered her to fuck off for the day. Your voice was small, gentle, barely existent, but it was there. Her intense, scarlet eyes flew up to your mouth, sure her mind was playing tricks on her. She could tell from your posture and expression the past hour that you’d had something on your mind. Something was bothering you, but surely that hadn’t prompted actually speech?

     “(S/O)... did you just speak to to me?” Peko spoke concisely, purposefully like always. You nodded nervously. Maybe you’d overstepped by bringing up her line of work or the Kuzuryuu clan. It wasn’t your place. She’d been doing that far longer than you’d been with her.

     At your reply, the swords-woman merely closed her eyes pensively, almost appearing to be in a state of meditation. A small, barely noticeable smile tugged at the corners of her lips. She was elated, ecstatic that you’d chosen to speak for her, that you loved and trusted her this much, but she wasn’t one to make a big scene of things.

     “I appreciate your concern for me, but no matter how hard I work, being with you makes me happy, preforming my duties make me happy. I’m sorry if I ever gave you reason to doubt either of those facts.” Her steady, confident hand reached out and stroked your back lovingly. You smiled, leaning into her touch.

Ibuki Mioda

     Ibuki talked enough for the both of you. You found comfort in the way she could endlessly hold a conversation where you could not. She made friends with ease and people loved her. Sometimes you feared that you held her back, that your quiet personality and baggage from your past was a grey stain on her neon spirit.

     Despite your doubts, Ibuki never hesitated to show her love for you. She held your hand all the time, regardless of if you needed that physical comfort at the moment. She carried the conversations, easily rolling with your signing, gesturing, and nods. She never forced you, never pushed your barriers, taking you completely as you are. You’d seen her bite people, scream, pull people away into her manic fantasies and crazy ideas, but with you she was a bit more patient, reserved.

     “Ibuki... w-why do you go easy on me? You’re so wild and free with e-everyone else... I hope I’m not holding y-you back,” you stuttered, fighting back tears. You weren’t really in the mood to talk, but this question had been burning in the back of your mind for too long. Ibuki’s fiery eyes widened. Her hands flew to her cheeks in a state of amazement and awe. You smiled sheepishly at her, completely in love with how passionate and alive she was at all times.

     “Whaaaa?! (S/O)!!! Your voice is like, totally adorable!!! Ibuki love-love’s it!” She ran over to you and wrapped her arms snuggly around your waist before jumping up and down in place, ignoring your actual question completely. 

     That was your Ibuki.

     “But-”

     “You think Ibuki goes easy on you!?!?! Perish the thought, oh lovey dovey lover of mine! If this is going too easy on you, I can go harder!!!!” She pulled away, shredding an air guitar in front of you with her teeth gritted in false exertion. You could tell she was purposely ignoring your second comment, the one about you holding her back. Ibuki didn’t like to focus on the negative, and her not answering your silly, nonsense question was her was of saying it was in fact a silly, nonsense question. She loved you, and she wanted to be with you.

     No if, and’s, or but’s about it.

Mikan Tsumiki

     Mikan was rushing back and forth, cleaning up messes, doing paperwork, organizing her backpack. The nurse’s office would be a hell hole without her. Hope’s Peak wasn’t even paying her for her endless duties as the nurse’s assistant, which was an outrage in your mind already, but then she spent every day fretting over homework, her studies, her friends, her job, and your relationship with her. It was criminal, the stress life put on that girl.

     Today was no different. Mikan had been to class, the to the nurse’s office to tend to ill students, then back to class, then lunch, and now here she was again, nearly in tears as she tidied up the actual nurse’s files in-between writing her own notes and research. She never let up on researching and perfecting her ultimate talent, and feared letting down anyone in her life, whether they deserved her attention or not.

     You sat on a hospital bed behind your frantic girlfriend, watching her struggle with a lump in your throat. You technically weren’t allowed to just be here unless you were sick, but the nurse hardly ever did her job, so she would never find out. Mikan sat before you, her cheeks wet and a grimace seemingly permanently etched into her face. You couldn’t take it any more. You stood, walking over to her and grabbing the files and pen from her hand. She let out a small yelp of surprise, so entranced with her work that she didn’t even notice your approach. You placed the cursed objects down, and wrapped your arms around her tightly.

     “Mikan, please. You need to slow down. You can’t keep working this hard.” Your voice shook, jittery as you buried your head into her shoulder. She jumped, startled by your actions. 

     “(S-S-S/O)! Y-you just spoke! You just spoke to m-me!” She froze, excited, anxiety-ridden, surprised, overwhelmed all at the same time. “Your voice is s-so cute! S-Sorry! Sorry if that’s weird to say!” Her bandaged hands reached up, grasping onto your forearms embracing her chest.

     “It’s not weird, but did you hear me?” It was imperative to you that she understood, that she agreed to pace herself, to put herself first from now on. You couldn’t watch her stress herself into an early grave any longer. With her already existing tendency to trip and fall clumsily, she didn’t need this constant stress and exhaustion to cause even more accidents.

     “Y-yes. Yes. I heard you. I’m sorry for not answering. I’m so s-stupid! I should’ve b-ben listening closer, eh!” She shook her head frantically, holding back tears. You only squeezed her tighter.

     “You’re not stupid. I love you, Tsumiki.” She stiffened up, then began to sob loudly, snot and tears rolling down her face. These words were so new to her, so unfamiliar. She didn’t feel like she deserved your love, but yes, she loved you, too.

     She loved you more than herself, more than work or school, more than nursing.

     More than life itself.

Hiyoko Saionji

     You loved Hiyoko, you really did, but she got on even your nerves at times. Your relationship with her started as one mutual respect, a kind of unspoken agreement that she would be little nicer to you than she was to others. She liked you, physically and mentally. She found you attractive in every way, and showed it the only way she could at first: by teasing, by bullying you, but you never responded, never gave her the satisfaction of a response. She liked that. Well, she hated it outwardly. It frustrated her to no end that she couldn’t get a rise out of you, but inside her admiration for you only grew with every exchange.

     She started to treat you like a best friend, an older sibling like Mahiru, and loved that you could keep up with her, that you weren’t intimidated by her, or at least if you were, you didn’t show it. She eventually pushed her pride aside enough to ask you out, wanting to make you hers before anyone else could, and you accepted, but again, it didn’t mean she didn’t get on your nerves from time to time.

     Today in particular, she was trying your patience. Everything you did, she complained about or belittled. She was teasing you, in some horrible mood today, demeaning everything move you made. You’d been spending the entire day together, and it was going a little something like this:

You went to the diner, she criticized your choice of food.

You went to the beach house, she made fun of the way you bonked your head off a surf board in the storage room.

You swam at the beach with some of your classmates, she pointed out the silly way your wet clothes clung to your body.

     Now you were back in your cabin with her, just shooting the breeze and making small talk, when she waltzed out of your bathroom with something in her hands. Something of yours.

     “What is this? I didn’t know you were this kind of pervert! Gross!” She cackled, holding up a pair of your underwear that were, let’s just say, maybe a more flashy and indulgent... not for daily or casual use. You’d discarded them just before your shower the night before, and forget that you’d simply left them on the bathroom tiles.

     You felt your cheeks heat up as she feigned disgust, swinging the garments around while continuing to comment and mock you loudly. You fists began to shake, and your blood felt like it was boiling.

     “Can’t you ever just give it a fucking break, you little troll?!” You marched forward, snatched the underwear from her hand, snarling inches from her face. A look of shock and horror crossed her face, and you both stood there, frozen for a few moments. Then, impishly, mischievously, her hand slipped up to cover her mouth, and she smirked devilishly.

     “Well, well, it’s about time you showed some back bone. Put me in my place, pervert~!” She giggled maniacally, stroking your cheek with one hand. “That was kinda hot.” Your cheeks continued to heat up, but now it was more from a flustered feeling in the pit of your stomach rather than anger

Chiaki Nanami

     You’d been dating Chiaki for a long while now. You guys went together like peanut butter and jelly. She was quiet, a bit lazy, low maintenance, and didn’t require you to speak endlessly... or ever really. She didn’t talk much herself, but she would when she needed to. You see, Chiaki could’ve been the ultimate empath, in her own right. She could feel for others, support them, comfort them, read their hearts, give the best advice. When it came to the things that really mattered, she was never one to slack off and be lazy. She was your perfect match.

     What’s more, her main hobby and passion, gaming, often didn’t require any speech, any communication at all. You either watched her play, resting your head in her lap silently, or during co-op, the game either guided you with tutorials, or Chiaki herself did all of the talking, looking to you for nods of confirmation. You two spent hours upon days upon weeks like that, just enjoying one game after the next. She often even let you choose the game, loving all genres herself.

     Today was the day: you were going to finally tell her how you feel. You were going to work up the courage and speak your heart. Of course, Chiaki knew you cared about her, and you knew she cared about you... but was it love? Did she really love you, or were you just comfortable, easy to deal with, her little outlet for social interaction? Were you just best friends, platonic soul-mates with the false label of a romantic relationship? Today you’d find out.

~

     You and Chiaki sat in her dorm as usual, in the dark with only a screen lighting her face gently. A soft blue glow softened her adorable features, and you felt your heart flutter. God you loved her so much...

     Scooting closer to her on the ground, you placed your head into her lap, heart beating at the speed of light.

     “Chiaki?” You spoke quietly, gently, anxiously.

     “Hmm?” she hummed in acknowledgement, her fingers never halting their rapid movements on the controller in her hands.

     “I... I love you.” You inhaled sharply and held that breath, heart thrashing violently against your ribcage. You waited eagerly for a response that you both desperately needed and were terrified to hear.

     Chiaki simply smiled warmly, the sounds of gunshots and a level-up in your ears as you waited. She didn’t make a big deal of your speaking. She knew it would come eventually, when you were ready and comfortable.

     “I love you, too, (S/O).” She gently stroked your hair with one hand, reassuring and calming you, masterfully owning the battlefield with just one spare hand.

Sonia Nevermind

     “I just don’t see why the others won’t try it out with me! You’d think even one of them would be interested!” You sat across from your regal lover, watching her throw her little tantrum in her unique and particular way of speaking. You loved the way she put accents on certain syllables, the way she messed up common lingo or phrases at times. It was so adorable. You couldn’t expect someone who knew dozens of languages to be perfectly fluent in all of them. “You know what I mean?” You nodded enthusiastically, lost dreamily in her eyes.

     She stood, beginning to pace back and forth in the dining hall on the second floor of the restaurant, a clear nobility to her strut. It was clear in her tone that she was used to giving orders, to speaking with purpose so that others would listen with fervor.

     “I mean, all I wanted was to try cosplaying, just once with everyone. Father never let me at home. He says it’s a silly past-time, and gets in the way of my royal duties!” She paused, fists in front of her chest in a gesture of exasperation. You nodded, eyes trailing up and down her milky skin. Wow, how did you get so lucky? “Hajime said he’d feel silly dressing up, Mahiru said she is busy, but I know she is not! Akane said it just wasn’t her thing. How does she even know unless she tries?!” You nodded, watching her chest rise and fall passionately. “I need at least five people to do this! It’s a group cosplay! Why don’t they understand? And Chiaki is nowhere to be found! She’d say yes, I know it!” She stuck one finger out matter-of-factly. Her eyes met yours, and she frowned slightly. “I’m sorry, I do not mean to sound ungrateful. It means a lot that you said you’d do it with me-”

     “You are so beautiful when you’re all riled up...” You spoke, your head resting in your hand lazily. You felt in a daze, so enraptured were you with her aura, her energy. Her eyes widened a bit, before she rushed over to you, cooing and giggling like a fool. “S-Sonia!” Your princess, so strong and bold despite her demure and innocent appearance, scooped you out of your chair and into her arms, twirling you about in the air.

     “Ahaha! My, my! I will have to get riled up more often if I get to hear your voice as a reward, my love!” She nuzzled her button nose against yours, setting your heart aflame.

Akane Owari

     You sat in your room, crying, weeping softly into your blanket. Today had been a horrible day. Not only were you suffering the normal anxiety about being in this killing game, but you were already a naturally stressed person despite that, and today, your insecurities and self-doubt were at an all time high after a savage bullying session from Hiyoko. Your pillow was now soaked, and your body was shaking. Hiyoko really knew how to wound a person at their very core.

     “(S/O)! Check this shit out! Teruteru-” Your lively, protective girlfriend, Akane, came bursting into your room, startling you half to death. She halted in her tracks upon seeing the tears streaking your face and the pink puffiness of your eyes. On her own face, numerous crumbs from various fried meats and sauces from what were no doubt extravagant dishes were displayed proudly, sticking to her chin and cheeks. In her hand was a silver platter of what was unmistakably the offending feast. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying? Who do I need to beat the shit outta?!” She set the platter on your bed, rushing to your side and hugging you to her ample bosom. You looked up at her, shaking your head softly and wiping some crumbs from her cheek. “Who is it?!” 

     She was starting to get frustrated. You shook your head again. Akane didn’t mean to get mad at you, and truly, she was more upset at the situation than at you. You knew that. Akane was simply a fire-brand: strong, short-tempered, loud and opinionated. You never took her outbursts seriously.

     “So you’re just sad? It’s one of those days? Nothing happened?” You nodded. “Something did happen?” You nodded again. “Gahhhh this is so hard without you talkin’ and shit!” She threw her hands up in the air, fuming until she saw your lip start to tremble, a wetness glossing your eyes. She sighed, taking a deep breath to calm herself. “Look... you know I love ya, (S/O). I’m sorry for being a loud-mouth asshole. I’m not mad at you.” She squeezed you tight enough to break a bone, but then pulled you away, looking into your eyes deeply. “Who?” Now she was dead serious.

     “Hiyoko...” You nearly whispered, but it was there. Your voice was there. Akane blinked once, twice, her head tilting slightly. Had she heard that right? She was looking for an answer, but she’d never actually prepared for one. Slowly, her shock, rounded out lips turned upward into a devious smirk. She stood, walking briskly toward the door. “Akane-!” You reached out after her. She spun on her heel, hands on her hips.

     “I’m gonna go give that little shit a piece of my fist!” She turned to leave again, a shit-eating grin on her face. Pausing, she twisted around again to face you, pointing her finger toward you with gusto. “And when I come back, I’m gonna ravish you, babe! You better be ready!” And she sprinted out the door, leaving it wide open in her wake.

     Your cheeks had never been so warm.

[sleephyjhs]

You Suffer with Anxiety (REACTION)

[ requested / masterlist ]

tw :: talks of anxiety throughout (no anxiety attacks)

KSJ

Whenever you felt unnecessary nerves beginning to build up within you, you took it upon yourself to prepare some tea. When you were diagnosed with anxiety as a teenager, one of the coping methods you discovered for yourself was hot drinks. The warmth from mugs somehow manages to calm you to a certain extent and steady your trembling hands.

Unknowingly to you, your partner Seokjin had easily picked up on your coping method. As you weren’t the biggest fan of caffeine, it always became apparent to him when your anxiety was particularly bad. He figured quickly that each period of anxiety was different from another and that there was no set way to help you. Any support you needed was completely in your control.

You felt sick. Anxiety never failed to strip you of your appetite. Jin would be home before long, and soon after he would begin to prepare a meal for the two of you. Everything he made in the kitchen always tasted incredible, but you always felt bad breaking it to him that you just weren’t in the mood to eat.

Soon enough, he came through the door and leaned over the armrest of the sofa to kiss your forehead, “What’s with the mugs? You never drink tea.” You shrugged, struggling to find the words, “Alright, what’s going on?”

Seokjin crouched at your head and held contact with your eyes. Only then did it occur to you that he’d figured you out, “My anxiety is pretty bad today. I don’t know why. I feel like I can’t eat, sleep, breathe-“

“Woah, it’s alright! We don’t have to eat or sleep right now. We can talk through some things if you’d like?” You shook your head. Talking about what was wrong made you feel even worse about it, “Well then, all I can offer is to leave you alone, or just.. hold you?”

Physical contact and your anxiety could often be a hit or miss, but that evening, it seemed right to you. You raised your torso from the couch to let Seokjin slide underneath and embrace you on his lap, “You don’t have to tell me anything, but I promise I’ll help you as much as I can, alright?”

MYG

The single most thing you hated about anxiety was its unpredictability. You’d experienced first hand how it easily ruined long-standing plans and disabled you from living the packed lifestyle you once did.

Everyone had different standards for being at their ‘worst’. For you, when the concept of leaving your bed became overwhelming, it signalled to you that perhaps you should take each day a bit slower.

You had felt Yoongi leave the bed early that morning for rehearsals, but as he kissed your cheek as a goodbye, you had pretended to remain asleep. Looking him in the eye would have certainly caused you to burst into tears, and the last thing you wanted to do was make him late.

While Yoongi was gone, you had chosen to stay in bed. All the premonitions you had told you that your legs weren’t strong enough to carry you anywhere else. Collapsing wasn’t on your agenda. You tried music and television, even reading. Nothing helped. You needed company. You needed to know you weren’t alone.

When the clock turned 9pm, you began to count down the minutes. He hadn’t rung to alert you he was staying later, so before long, Yoongi would be home. As you raised yourself from lying down, your stomach growled at the lack of food you had given yourself.

In all honesty, comfort food was what you really needed. Nobody made bulgogi like Yoongi. Mist of your willpower to get through the day was knowing he was treating you to your favourite when he returned home.

As you lost track of minutes, the bedroom door pushed open gently. A blur of black hair and pale skin peeked through the crack, before emerging to reveal a concerned boyfriend, “One of those days?” You nodded sullenly as he paced towards you, “Have you actually gotten out of bed today?”

“Maybe once or twice. I just feel weak.” He folded a wavy piece of hair behind you ear and offered you his hand, glossing over your pale knuckles.

“Would food help?” You nodded before Yoongi could finish his short question, “Come on then, let’s get you sorted out.” He linked your left arm in his right, and held you steadily to guide you downstairs, grasping your hand particularly to let you know he was still there.

JHS

After a year of being with Hoseok, it was finally time for him to embark on another world tour. Because of your job, you were unable to join him as much as he would have liked, which in turn caused you a decent amount of anxiety. Travelling worried you sick, and so the thought of your partner travelling was almost paralysing.

Without realising it, you sat in the artist lounge with Hoseok biting and peeling skin away from the edge of your nail. You couldn’t help it, it was just a nervous habit. As he waited for his turn to record for the new album, all the possibilities of things going wrong on an international trip played through your mind.

It wasn’t your job to mother him, you knew that well. Hoseok didn’t even know about your worries. Your concern stemmed simply from your own anxiety, and you quickly realised there was nothing you could do to stop it.

“Ah, fuck!” In the meanwhile of chewing on your fingers, you forgot to take notice of how hard you clenched your teeth, resulting in you biting more than you had anticipated.

“What happened?” Hoseok asked, drawing his eyes over to you, where you caressed a now bleeding finger, “Oh my god, let me get you a plaster.”

“No, it’s alright. It’s just a nervous habit,” you convinced him, sucking the small droplets from your tiny wound. In his silence, you gazed up to see Hoseok more confused than you ever had before, “Sometimes when I get anxious I bite my nails.”

You dreaded this moment, but after asking you what you were worried about, you confessed your anxieties about his upcoming travels, “I know saying this might not help but you really don’t have to worry, jagi. It’s safe! And you don’t have to worry about being alone either. I can always fly you out if you feel a bit left out.”

KNJ

Namjoon carried through a glass of cold water, watching you and your shaking frame more than the glass itself. After an hour of persistant crying and breathlessness, you had come to a somewhat peaceful state. Although you were calm, you still felt uneasy and unstable, which you were hoping some comfort from your partner might help.

“Just take it easy. There’s no rush for anything right now.” Namjoon urged as he placed the glass on the coffee table. You’d been sat on the hardwood floor for too long, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Not even support from another person could make you strong enough.

Sure enough, Namjoon places himself next to you on the floor and slipped an arm around your trembling shoulders. You were thankful that skinship was something you both enjoyed, “You don’t need to tell me what’s wrong. If you want to, we can talk about it if you’d like. Or we could sit here. Or do anything you’d like to do.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong, Joonie. That’s the problem. I don’t know.” You explained, your voice still shaky from the previous troubles, “Nothing’s straightforward-“

“Hey! Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay not to know what’s going on up there. Main point is, you’re safe right now. That’s all that matters.”

You paused in your thoughts for a moment to absorb the gentle comfort Namjoon’s presence gave you. Even his physical warmth made you feel better in one way or another. You didn’t want to turn him away. You needed him.

“Let’s just sit for a while. Is that okay?” Namjoon nodded and nestled his fingers between yours. Without realising, the pair of you began to rock slowly back and forth. In that moment you felt content. Still not fine, but just content.

PJM

As soon as he felt your hand begin to sweat in his, Jimin was unable to resist checking up on you. Walking around the city was something you did together regularly, but often the large morning crowds were enough to overwhelm you.

“Can we sit down for a minute somewhere?” Without needing to ask any more, Jimin led you into the next coffee shop along (which thankfully, was quite drained for the capital’s morning rush) and found you a table in a far corner where music was drowned and company was scarce.

“Usual?” He checked, before strolling to the counter to place your order. Unable to focus on the muffled commotion by the door, you rested your forearms on the table and leaned over your elbows, steadying yourself from your trembling limbs.

Although you hadn’t looked up to witness, Jimin was unable to take his eyes off you. It was endearing how much Jimin cared about you and how much he continued to demonstrate his love. What he wouldn’t tell you is that he also worried about you. A lot more than he’d ever admit to.

Before long, he carried over to you your regular tea and his iced americano and settled it between your still shaking hands, “Take your time. We have time to calm down and sit for a while. Talk to me. Talk to me about anything.”

Only blank thoughts filled your mind. You felt nothing but guilt towards your partner, “I’m sorry. I never mean to do this.”

“You don’t need to apologise, my love. I know crowds aren’t your best friend. You’re okay with me, I promise you.” His words came as a great comfort, but the regret that came woth ruining what was a perfect morning walk was unbearable, “We can chill out here for a while? Karaoke, park, cinema. Today’s all about you, okay?”

KTH

You’d never realised it, but your anxiety had led you to develop some habits that for your partner, Taehyung, had become more like warning signals.

Mental health was a struggle you had opened up to him early in your relationship. You knew that sometimes your behaviour could alert other people, and the last thing you wanted to do was make it seem like he made you uncomfortable or that you didn’t want to be there. Explaining that your expressions or habits were sometimes ahead of you came to be of benefit.

When you entered the dining room, you ignored Tae’s greeting and sat beside him. Withdrawing from conversation was an indicator of your anxiety, and so he turned off his tablet to focus on trying to talk to you, “How is everything?”

You could hear him perfectly well, but talking to him would surely induce your tears. Instead, he laid his hands out on the table. Without hesitation, you grabbed onto him.

Ignoring him was the last thing you wanted to do. In fact, you felt as though you desperately needed him. However, you didn’t want to break down in front of him, he shouldn’t have to see that, “I’ll listen to whatever you want to talk about.”

A few seconds of Tae caressing your hand pulled a tear from your eye, and within seconds, you were deep into his embrace, “I’m sorry. This is so pathetic.” You weeped in between deep breaths.

“No, it isn’t. Let’s go up to bed and get more comfortable, yeah? I’ll keep you company.”

JJK

Jungkook has been stroking your hair for the past half hour as you wound down by watching an animation film. After an anxiety attack, going back to a comfortable memory could help you sometimes. Cuddling with Jungkook only helped you to feel even better.

His gentle hand running through your hair was hypnotic and you were close to falling asleep. Something stopped you. Something was still playing on your mind.

“Jungkook?” You turned your head upwards to search for his brown bambi eyes. His small almond eyes were framed by raised eyebrows. He was listening, “I think I need to get help.”

“What do you mean?” He asked, twirling loose ends of your hair around his fingertips. You readjusted your twisted body to cause less strain on your neck and held eye contact with your partner.

“Like professional help. I can’t go on with this anxiety, it’s too much.” Jungkook nodded along with your narration, “Do you think they’d see me?”

“They can’t turn away somebody who asks for help, surely. And if for whatever reason they do, I’ll make sure we find someone who will work with you.” He moved his thumb over to your cheek, where your dried tears had created a rubber-like layer of skin.

“You don’t have to do that, really.”

“But I want to. I can’t help as much as a professional can, and I want you to feel better in your own skin. I really do, angel.”

[katsukikitten]

Rouge 2

A/N PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE ON IF MENTIONS OF SUICIDE CAN OR DO TRIGGER YOU. I WILL BE UNABLE TO PUT A READ MORE ON THIS FICTION FOR A WHILE.

"I'm thinking of ending things."

A thought that has nestled itself in the back of your mind. Often creeping back to the forefront of your thoughts. Especially when things start to go right.

You stare down at the street below, many stories up. The street a long twisting river of tar, cars dwarfed boats and people much more like ants than anything else.

You thighs burn, soles of your feet tingle, urging you to join the bustling traffic below.

L’Appel du Vide.

The wind is cold as it whips through your thin shirt, chilling you to the bone as late winter refuses to die this high up, while the trees below have since begun to bloom.

Balancing on one leg the other dangles like a rag doll over the edge.

But this won't answer the call of your "dream" and you should know.

You've "fallen" from higher.

Still taking a step *is* tempting.

"What the fuck are you doing?" The voice is dark, deadly and you do not need to turn around to know exactly who it belongs too.

At least not since you were denied your one true joy. He has been like a shadow lately all though much to his dismay.

Not even Bakugou Katsuki could deny an order that came from the director.

It did not help that it was also his old Idol.

You twirl as if dancing before jumping from the ledge to the roof of the building. The hot head stands with narrowed eyes, toned arms crossed over a chiseled chest. He notices that your eyes are dull. Dead. It causes his stomach to twist in aggravating knots but you will never know what you do to him.

He stands in tones of bleached grey. Your eyes flutter from how hard they roll, especially so when he puts on this act.

You note the color fading in his eyes and wonder how much longer until it is gone. Until your world is once again plunged into a haze.

"I've fallen from higher." You state as if that is a fact he cares about. A strong hand latches harshly onto your wrist, tightening his grip as he pulls you further from the edge and to the door.

"Director wants to see you." He bites out, yanking you closer to him, "Now."

You allow him to drag you down the stairs and along the hall until the two of you stand before his door.

"Come in." His voice calls through the oak, you turn the brass handle allowing yourself in.

"Ah, Y/N dear how are you feeling?" His leather chair is turned away from you, he is still seated as he rummages through a filing cabinet behind his desk.

Unmotivated, agitated, depressed.

Suicidal.

These are all the things you want to say.

"The usual." You say instead in a joyful tone, if anyone notices that it is forced neither party says anything.

"Y/N, take a seat. Young Bakugiu, you may go." The director says still looking for that obnoxiously aloof file. You look to the man behind you who's eyes narrow into slits before a door is slammed shut. You take your seat at the large desk.

Finally the director swings around in his large chair, he is dwarfed by its size when before he would have dwarfed the chair. He is no longer the muscular poster man that he was.

No he is thin, cheeks hollowed and grey eyes sunken. He coughs into a handkerchief that is staring to stain a deep shade of grey. You wonder if it hurt when he was hit hard enough to obliterate his innards. Well you knew it hurt, you were more curious as to how much.

And was the physical pain worse than the emotional toll that came with the fall from the highest point in hero history?

You would assume that it was not.

Still you stare Allmight down, this is how he always was for you, only occasionally would he puff into his picture perfect form.

But he could no longer. He places a file on the desk.

"Y/N, you've been doing so well on your paper work. But you're behind again. Starting with the rendition of the incident with yourself, Bakugou, Tomaru and a shady alley." He flips open the mineola folder sliding it towards you. Instantly you pick out Bakugou's unkempt yet more than legible hand writing.

How could you forget it especially since Sensei forced him to share his notes with you for the days you missed class.

You read over the beginning of his account, he showed up just in time. Tomaru's hand was almost fully wrapped around your bicep. One digit away from activating his quirk.

Eyes avert to anywhere but the report, you can no longer read about yet another failure. You gulp down your sadness but all it does is lump oddly in your throat.

"Its exactly as Bakugou states." This time you hold eye contact, giving a small reassuring smile that he clearly doesnt buy. He sighs, tapping at his book titled *"Being a great boss, for dummies"*

You grit your teeth, for a moment you wonder if he would fire you.

Well the bright side of that was at least you wouldn't have any more paper work to do.

"Yes, but Bakugou showed up much later. You were the first to respond. Had he really caught you off guard?" Suspicion almost laces in his tone and you make a meek, embarrassed look. Willing the blood to flush your cheeks.

"Ah yes he truly did. He was as quiet as a mouse." You say softly. He stares you down with intense eyes while you hold his gaze.

You really needed to bullshit Allmight. He was the last person you needed breathing down your neck. After a few long moments he sighs.

"Please get as much paper as you can done. Or if you can only do one report. Please make it this one." With that he slides you the file. You close it shut, holding onto it as you stand to leave.

"I'll do what I can."

Instead you find yourself with eyes crossed as you stare at the bleak monitor.

The report you're working on filled with pages and pages of sentences.

But none that pertain to the actual events you're supposed to be detailing.

*"I'm thinking of ending things."*

Repeats itself over and over and over filling the screen as if it were an award winning novel.

Currently you've run out of "inspiration" so here you sit.

Waiting for it to come back again as the cursor flashes, ticking away the seconds.

Time lost to you as minutes bleed into hours.

"Oi, Zombie." Bakugou taps roughly on your desk, eyes mostly grey with only flecks of red.

Lazily your gaze finds his, he finds the same look in your eyes as this afternoon earning him the same gut wrenching twist. He grits his teeth, fists clenched as he waits for you to come to life.

But you never do.

"I'm not staying too late." You half lie half tell the truth. You'll move when your body is ready that or when you can firmly grasp the concept of time again.

The grey monitor stares back at you as blankly as you stare at it. You press a few keys just to keep it from locking.

Bakugou studies you and your mountain of paperwork, you always some how end of getting out of it. He knows it's not from sheer laziness and he wonders if the Director knows just how bad off you are. So he takes pity and fills it out for you.

Your mind wanders further down the silent rabbit hole, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. For a long enough time you think Bakugou has already gone so it's understandable when you almost jump out of your skin when he slams a popping palm against your desk. The fear comes and goes in a blink of an eye, his iris still only specs of red.

Better than everything being that sun bleached grey.

"Oi, I came in here because shit hair Kirishima is having a party tonight. He asked me to ask you." His voice is as gruff as ever yet you are unphased.

Another lazy stare is sent his way before you click a key on the keyboard once more. Silence stretches between the two of you, he lets out a low growl.

"Its his birthday so you have to go."

"But..." Your eyes flash to your calendar, APRIL in bold black letters stares back at you.

Had you really lost that much time? You were doing better this year, coping nicely, the world almost prismacolor yet something changed.

Snapped.

And for no apparent reason at all you were pulled by the undertow, gasping for air once more.

But seven whole months?

Maybe you hadn't been as well as you thought.

"Finish up whatever the hell it is you're doing because we need to leave, now." Bakugou snarls while you stare down at your lap.

"But I look like shit." You admit, black ripped jeans and a plain black shirt.

"You aren't fucking marrying the man, just seeing him at a party. Now. Get. Up." He leans closer to you, pushing harshly on the power button to smother your computer.

Your novel is lost to the computer God's and you're left staring at your own reflection.

God you really did look like shit. What with how harshly exhaustion and lack of sleep pulled at your once tight features. Eyes shadowed, lips in a perpetual frown.

You sigh as you stand, feeling far from wanting to socialize but it *had* been awhile since you had last seen him and since Bakugou said it was his birthday then really you had no other choice.

The air is cool with the promise of summer coming on the breeze, further sending your body into a confused frenzy.

But October could be warm when it wanted to be. Or so you remind yourself. Bakugou stalks ahead, as he normally does and has done since that incident in the alleyway.

He has a hard time letting you walk to the train station alone, especially at night. You watch as his black shirt and pants blend into the shadows, his grey hair sways in the wind reminding you of dying wheat in a field.

His hair flashes ash blonde for a moment before it returns to ashen grey. He glances over his shoulder to make sure you are still following him and when he decides be doesn't like your snail pace he shouts.

"Get your ass in gear we are already late!"

Although he stops, waiting for you before falling into your step.

Matching your snail's pace.

Before long the two of you are standing on the stoop to the Kirishima residence.

Bakugou looks down at you, he cannot tear his eyes away although he wants to. Dreading what comes next.

This was his least favorite part. He watches with close eyes as you take in a long deep breath that should end in a heavy, shaking sigh but instead it is as if a switch was flipped.

A mischievous smile plays on your lips, your eyes have some sparkle, your cheeks rosey.

It's as if you were *alive* and he loathes to know that you can fake that.

He loathes to know that not a soul can see how badly you're really hurting.

You open the door as soon as your facade sets in, shouting your arrival.

"Hellloooooo!!!" As if it is normal to pop into a home without being invited in. You seem to spy Kirishima quickly, pulling him into a tight hug.

"You wanted to see me?" You ask as you squeeze, his bones groan in protest. He furrows his brow and when he spies Bakugou glaring at the two of you from over the rim of a newfound cup he thinks he has put two and two together.

"Yea let's get you a drink!" Kirishima sing songs pulling you into the quiet kitchen. He pulls down various liquor to which you either approve or deny before he makes you a mixed drink.

"Why thank you, Birthday boy." You purr taking a sip, "Shouldn't I be making you a drink? I mean today *is* October 16th. It's crazy how quickly the year flew by."

Your stomach twists at the thought of another year gone, wasted.

You accomplished nothing. You never had and you never will.

But thankfully your worry does not show in your face or your voice.

This time Kirishima cannot keep his confusion hidden as he stares at you with dull grey eyes.

"Umm today isn't my birthday. It's not October."

"Dont be silly you must be drunk! Bakugou said this was your birthday party! I know I've neglected you all year." You laugh, a tinge of guilt pulls at your heart.

"No it's not that. How do I say this? Y/N, we're in the month of April. It's the 20th" He scratches the back of his head, "I threw this party for Bakugou."

[nathanfryerwoods]

Lucky Stars (Chapters 1-14) - by Nathan Fryer-Woods

                     1    It was a dark, cold night. Which was kind of fitting for the beginning of any story. But in south east Asia, when you start feeling the cold, you know you've been there too long. And as a ginger kid from the north of England, he should have been in his element.

   He was so far from the place he had once called home. And it had been years since he'd felt the long, scalding hug of the hallway radiator, on his return home from whatever trouble he'd been causing, beyond the icy front door.

   He had never really, truly missed home, that was until now. He longed for that familiar smell of the old underlay carpet in the council flat he once had. The flat he received after he was crippled by a speeding police car, whilst trying to cross the road years before. There was no compensation. But, as a result, he became the king of his own castle. A place for him to lick his wounds. It was dark and dingy, and located in the back of beyond where the undesirables of town were kept, but he didn't care. He was happy, and it was his. The only place he's ever really been able to call his own. But now, those days, seemed like a lifetime away.

   Today, he's found himself trapped in a different kind of paradise, one he thought he'd never want to leave. He had always believed humans to be of a semi-nomadic nature, but he had found happiness here, and at one time, for the first time since childhood, he had felt settled.

   That was until, that 'thing' happened. He didn't like talking about it, and when he did, would get so frustrated. No one understood it like he did, not many people at least.

   It had been 3 months since he last saw another foreigner, 3 months since he had seen anything of the world outside of their village. And he was an explorer at heart. Though he never strayed too far off the beaten track, and he'd never discovered anything new, he was always looking, it was just a matter of time... it was in his blood. His itch for exploration, grew stronger by the day.

   His wife was the only one in their village who could speak any English, (although he sometimes felt he got a better conversation from their eight and a half month old son), she was the only one who had even half a chance of vaguely understanding him at a deeper level. They had met 3 years previous in the capital city. A place with a pace he was used to, and found comfort in. But now, thanks to certain 'things', and the changing world around them, he found himself in the place his wife found the most comforting, her parents cashew nut farm. Up a hill, in the middle of nowhere. He felt like an elephant, with sore thumbs, in a pond, full of fish. Sticking out... misunderstood.

                       2    It was the 21st of December, not only the day of the winter solstice, but in the year of the 'Great Conjunction', between Saturn and Jupiter. Tonight the world would see these astral giants, seemingly merge into one, forming what is known as the 'Christmas Star'. It had been 397 years since this alignment last took place, just 13 years before Galileo built his first telescope to marvel at the heavens above.

   This event had to signify something, he knew it would, but he was far too apprehensive to look so deeply into it. He convinced himself it was a positive, auspicious event, but at the same time made a mental note to his brain's list of 'things to do', to see what the ancients made of it. After all, when the God of Thunder and his mighty Son do a high-five in the night sky, one should be prepared, or so he believed. But, that list in his head seemed to never end, it would only ever get longer. He knew, and readily admitted to himself, he would probably never get round to it. And in time, as soon as it was far too late, that entry like many before it would drop off the list, as just another faded memory.

   The day before, he had tried to explain to his wife, the solstice, the tilt of the Earth, and the reason for it being so cold this time of year. But soon realising that the battle for her attention against her best friend - the phone, was a battle he always lost, he promptly gave up.

   The previous week, her two youngest siblings (the brothers, aged 11 and 14), had asked him if they had shooting stars back in England. After 7 years of practice, his level of the local language was good enough to articulate most of the things he wanted to say (although this particular part of the country was the last of the true tribal areas, with 13 different clans each with their own dialect, making understanding them more of a challenge). He explained to the brothers, in as simple of terms as possible, the physics of the phenomenon. How more often than not, a shooting star was nothing more than a small pebble from outer space, travelling at unimaginable speed towards the Earth. And how it's magnificent trail was made as it burnt up in the atmosphere before it was able to reach us.

   Seeing the mystery and magic in their faces fade before his very eyes, he quickly moved on to let them know how it was customary back home, after seeing a shooting star, to make a little wish to yourself. And that this, was not to be wasted. He imagined, how even the most hardened criminals themselves probably couldn't resist this, and even they would make one. Maybe it's quite  likely that wish would be for guns, drugs or money. But you never know, the inner child in all of us, where that belief is instilled, only wants one of two things; love and happiness. And with that, comes security. The magic we're raised with as children, if at all, dies hard. And even with years of learning from science, logic and reason, some magic we just can't let go of. No matter how many times it's failed us.

   After seeing at least some of the mystery return to their faces, he moved back - with faith, to cold, hard, facts. He explained how if these space pebbles were any bigger, and hadn't completely burnt up on their descent to Earth, even a rock the size of a toy car (available to hand at the time), could devastate the planet. At the very least, make a real mess around the site of impact. He used the 3000 year old crater lake, situated down the road as an example. This, would be the last thing he'd say on the matter. The brothers went on to let him know, how their hole in the Earth was different. Through the unique use of their local, hillbilly twang, they managed to get the point across that in fact, their crater was made by a great, angry, pig-like God from the skies... obviously, and he should have seen it coming.

   The shattered pain that was once on the boy's faces, had transferred onto his own. He retreated back into his own mind, to his own thoughts. A place he understood, and needed no explanations. With no brick walls that he could waste his time with, by banging his head against.

                       3    The Sun had set, another day was done. The candy floss pink and tangerine orange that had painted the sky was gone, but the clouds remained, blanketing the Earth. Tonight was noticeably warmer, though he was still cold. And no matter how the clouds littered the sky, he still had hope that he would be able to see the events in the sky unfold. He'd poke his head out of their bedroom every twenty minutes or so and peer upwards. And around. Every direction, as he was a little unsure as to which way was west. The cloudy blanket persisted in its existence. All that was visible was a near half Moon and Polaris, the north star, slowly but surely running in circles, chasing its tail. He headed back inside, his hopes unscathed, there was still time.

   'Just one more hour', he thought to himself, 'and the great high-five of the Gods would set sail over the horizon'. The anxiety got the better of him, he zipped his jacket back up, and ventured out again.

   The Moon had become but a faint shimmer in a dirty pool, and Polaris was nowhere to be seen. In 5 brief minutes, the sky-scape had taken an unfortunate turn for the worse. The magic, once again, was passing him by. His wife came out with their Son in arm, to see what they'd been missing. She had been listening. It was a trade off that he was more than happy to make. 'I can wait sixty years for the next alignment', he thought to himself, 'I'll catch it in the next life'. His new little family meant the world to him, and nothing much else mattered.

                       4    It was 8am when he rose up out of bed. Not so early, but not too late either, in his opinion at least. He could have done with an extra hour, but the rooster that had been howling since 4am, couldn't be ignored any longer. He threw on his jacket and headed outside.

   The Sun was glaring down on him, the clouds had dispersed.    "Thanks clouds", he grumbled under his breath. "Any other day this month, and last nights weather would've..." and then, that thought vanished. He'd caught a glimpse of his Son's peaceful face, sleeping, swinging in the cammo hammock. His mind instantly emptied itself with ease, and in the same moment, filled the vacuum with a calming peace. His Son's happiness was contagious to him, a contagious cure to all his frustrations.

   His extended family had been up for a few hours already, as was normal. 6am usually, to start the day with the important things in life. Sewing tapestries, playing on phones, picking their faces, more sleep. They looked down on him for not being awake so early, but he was unsure of what they expected him to be doing at 6am. He never saw them doing anything important at that time of day, and very little changed as the day went on.

   Another thing that didn't help, was their inability to grasp the concept of sleeping disorders. His diagnosis came far too late for him, at the age of 25, just a few years before leaving England. It had already shaped his life by then, and in some way or another, had made him who he was. He now knew, that what had forever plagued his sleep was a combination of apnea, delayed sleep phase disorder, and the slight hint towards a long standing, yet self-coping problem called narcolepsy. A diagnosis the doctor didn't want to make. He learnt to never go with a self diagnosis of a problem again. A well paid opinion, is obviously worth so much more than anyone else's. Even when blood tests showed he had the gene needed to predispose a person to this condition, they were reluctant to admit he might be right. He was prescribed with the search of a night job.

   His father in-law was a good man. He'd worked hard all his life to provide for his wife and five children, and then their children too, of which little Finlay, was number four. He loved them all like they were his own.

   The farm was around half a hectare in size, with around sixty large cashew trees, five mango trees, and banana and papaya also being dotted about. The land fairly rugged and unkempt, as cashew season didn't start for another month or so. Soon, the whirring of the weed-whacker would fill the air, making the search for nuts and the spotting of snakes much easier.

   The family tractor was being rented by an owner of a sweet potato farm, 100km away, southwest of them. This way good news, it was old, and it stunk. And now, it was someone else's problem to fix every other day, and they were paying for that privilege. The last time Lawrie was here was when Finlay was born (sorry, I've never been good at introductions, but baby is Finlay, or Finn, and Dad is Lawrie. Well, Lawrie's his surname... Dan, Daniel, Danny never appealed to him, and even his parents stuck to calling him Lawrie). Ok, where was I..?

   ...yeah, so the last time he was at the in-laws farm, was when his beautiful baby boy was born. Early April, a healthy 3.6kg. And as sure as anything, without fail - every other night, Pa would be half submerged in the belly of this beast, covered in oil as it spluttered away. Not such a soothing sound to send your Son to sleep.

   These days, Pa would spend his time making furniture at his sister's house just beyond the back of the farm. Each evening, a new chair, stool or table would appear, and the huge piles of illegally logged wood, dotted around the plot would slowly, bit by bit disappear. As did the jungle that surrounded them.

                       5    Their village was located 10km outside of the nearest town, and the closest city was another 30km beyond that. That was the city of Lombang, the province capital (though the spelling of this, as did many other place tended to vary, wildly). The city was big, whilst at the same time, all being nicely spaced out. Apart from the market area, nowhere seemed to get so busy. The city itself wasn't over commercialised, the way a western city would be, mainly made up of independent, family owned businesses, it had a very local feel to it. That's what Lawrie liked most of all about this country... the people, the locals. For all the differences in culture, and the difficulties they created (of which there'd been many over the years), only added another layer of excitement and adventure to his whole experience. No matter how different other people saw him as being, he seldom cared. He had spent his entire life back home as the ginger sheep, and that had prepared him well, for life out here.

   He missed the city. He'd only managed to explore it for one day the last time they were here, when Finn was around two months old. He lost the plot one morning, waking to find his wife, Nib, sat feeding the baby, downwind of a roaring fire made entirely of plastic. He was sick of telling her, and she was tired of hearing it. He turned his back and walked away, away from the stench of burning straws, and the feeling of absolute futility. He gathered the essentials, made the small trip to the road at the top of the plot and flagged-down the first van he saw. Finally, it was adventure time. It all happened so fast. He loved being on the road, but all the way there, couldn't stop thinking about his new born bundle.

                                               6    The driver and the passengers all seemed friendly enough. Very inquisitive, as once was normal, but on this occasion, a nice surprise. Especially with how the world was turning these days. He wore his face mask, no matter how useless he knew it was to him. It was unfortunately, an essential item.

   Forty kilometers and two and a half bucks later, they arrived. He found the journey so refreshing, though Finn was constantly in the back of his mind, with not much to see along the way to steal his thoughts completely. Just miles upon miles of lush, jungle-covered hills, beyond the back to back farms that were broken up every so often by a roadside shack of a shop. So many farms.. cashew, pepper, mango, rubber, you name it, he saw it. And every so often, the odd little spot of deforestation in the distance, clearing space for a few more.

   He spent the day exploring, and enjoying his first taste of freedom in what felt like years. You see, his wife's hometown is so rural, and that trapped in their tribal mentality, even they have a hard time getting out. And generally, unless they have to, they just don't bother. Nib had told him how a while back, one of her uncles had an infection in his leg, a drunken mishap from a motorbike fall, from which he burnt himself on the exhaust pipe. He had to do the three kilometer journey on foot, through the next village to the one beyond it where the nearest thing to a hospital was. About half way there in the next hometown, you pass by the the village chief's house, who on this particular occasion, for once was awake. He imagined him stumbling out of some grand, overly ornate, heavy wooden chair, on the orders from ten or so yelping, mangy dogs. One well worn flip-flop on, while failing miserably to secure the other, not giving it the slightest bit of thought, as he starred intently at the intruding stranger, hobbling by. The chief had demanded from him, one buffalo, in order to let him pass. You're welcome to go back and read over that line again, but you got it right first time. Yes, a buffalo. A few minutes of talking by the roadside, and they'd worked out a deal, two chickens would seal it. Her uncle shuffled back home, dragging his manky leg, and after snagging two of his most sickly looking birds, started the journey again. All in the hope, of paying someone to gouge out a huge chunk of his inner thigh.

   The relative bustle of the city was a much welcomed change for Lawrie. He criss-crossed his way  down the main roads and through side streets to reach the city limits, and then double-back on himself in a slightly different direction, stopping here and there at the sight of an esky cooler to pick up a fifty cent beer.

   He arrived rather early by his standards, maybe 8.30. But with no watch, phone, or any idea of what time he woke up, he could only guess. Over the years, he had gotten pretty good at working out the time, between the Sun and the shadows. He was usually only off by about 15 minutes or so.  But who cared what time it was? It's his day off.  And this called for another fifty cent-er.

   The day went on and his heart was glad. He knew that fresh emptiness he felt in the background wouldn't be there for long, and that soon enough he'd be back with his boy. He missed Nib too, but pushed that thought out, whenever she crossed his mind.

   He wandered through the rest of the day. No plans, no direction, and not so much to worry about. He ate, drank, bought a dummy and a rabbit teddy bear which he called Barney and headed back to the edge of town that he'd arrived at, making his way home before sunset. Nib was waiting on the front, waiting with a hug.

                       7    It was Christmas Eve, and this year looked like it was set to be Lawrie's best and worst to date. But considering the problems that the people of Earth were facing, it was likely, this year was to be a historically bad one worldwide... with maybe only the 'black death', and world wars outdoing it. These were strange days to be living in.

   His lack of cash, and no real friends or family to share what little he did have, made the whole occasion rather pointless. He'd been asking Nin for the last nine days to help him find a pair of wooden chopsticks. He'd tried, but with no luck. He also hadn't mastered the pronunciation of 'chopsticks', it was a tricky one.

He wanted to fashion them into baby sized drumsticks, the first part of a home made drum kit he planned to make. As money was scarce, and Finn was too young to understand the concept of Christmas, he decided that this was ok. Especially, as no one for miles around, gave this holiday even a single thought.

   Chop-drumsticks were kind of perfect as a Christmas present out here. Lawrie had been tapping away rhythms and singing to his Son, ever since he found out he was in Nib's belly. He'd play him songs too on his guitar, and old song recordings online. Classics from the golden era of the 60's, as his parents had done for him, when he was young.

   Apart from being cheap and cheerful, chopsticks were also importantly, disposable, bio-degradable, and readily available everywhere in Asia (everywhere but, apparently, this village). He'd come to learn that while living on the farm, nothing here was actually his. Nothing belonged to anyone it seemed. At any moment, someone's grubby little mits could appear, and 'borrow', anything they wanted, not return it, and leave it half buried in the dirt to be found a week later. Just days before, the younger brother, Rutt, had taken Lawrie's lighter and Finn's favourite toy. A small, yellow, rubber pig. As Finn was teething, it was more of a chew-toy for him (the dummy by this point, had been savaged by dogs). He loved that little pig, and upon spotting it, would shuffle over, pop it in his mouth and gnaw away. Who knows where it ended up. Apparently, not even Rutt knew.

   'Give it a week', he thought. 'It'll turn up.' Probably as a charred, molten puddle, next to a broken lighter, but he'd find it eventually.

   The day was surprisingly calm and quiet. Pa had left early, sometime before sunrise, making the eighty kilometer journey to the city of Somtang. Life on the farm was always a little more relaxed when Pa was out of town. Lawrie couldn't work out why, as he was the most placid of the whole family, making him Lawrie's favourite. Even so, Pa's brief departures were always good news, a little more peace and quiet on the farm was much needed. He'd be back in a week or so, and he'd be bringing the rasping roar of the tractor with him.

                       8    Between the hours of midday and 3pm, were Lawrie's best time of day, as he usually had the house to himself. The screaming match that accompanied lunch, would cease around 12pm. Not completely or instantly, but it would get quieter and more distant, as they each skulked off in their various directions, with their own, distinct rackets.

   Ma and Nib would go to one of three places. The shop over the road, the one around the corner, or Pa's sister's house out the back. Basically, wherever the card game is happening that day, where Ma can loose the money someone else has given her, and then spend the rest of the day spreading bitterness because of it. Lawrie didn't know where the rest of them went, and never cared to ask. But he knew where Pa was, Pa was always working.

   He sat alone in the bedroom, enjoying the silence. His only disturbance coming from a faint yet piercing buzz in his ear, from a rouge mosquito that had managed to sneak in through the gaps between the concrete walls and wooden ceiling. A clap, or a self-slap to the side of his face would usually sort that out, or half of the time at least.

   He had, ever since the age of nineteen and had he left home for the last time, been some sort of vegetarian. For as long as his memory went back, he had always hated the thought of things dying for his food. To him, it just seemed so unnecessary. But out here, with the snakes, spiders, scorpions and mosquitos, his long standing beliefs were set aside. Some things were asking to be killed. He'd always say sorry, and wish them better luck in their next life... all except the mosquitos, he took pleasure in wasting them.

   He had been surprised upon first arriving in the country, by many things. During the three days it took him to get here, he felt excitement at the thought of visiting a Buddhist country for the first time. He imagined all the food and flavours he'd discover there, and how it must be much easier getting a decent meal that was death-free, and involved fewer funny looks, as the majority of people there were Buddhist.

   But he was wrong. Totally, fucking wrong. It wasn't long after arriving, when he saw a sight he'd never forget, and that would help him on his way to understanding the madness of the place he found himself...

A monk, driving a car, drinking a coke, smoking a cigarette.

'Wow', he thought to himself, visibly gawping, his jaw on the floor, catching flies. 'Wow'.

                       9    With an almighty, thunderous CLAP!..  another pesky bloodsucker was eliminated from existence. Silence resumed. Only the static like sounds of the insects outside remained, and the faint background hum from the rare moto or truck, that was making use of the empty roads as the others ate, slept, and played cards.

   He eventually managed to get a good enough data connection and logged into his messaging app. He'd always been terrible at keeping in touch, but at this time of year, there was no excuses. You can miss all the birthdays you want, and it's all forgotten by Christmas. And that's why you can't skip it.

   He scrolled through the pictures that he and Nib took with Finn the week before. They were all dressed head to toe in various shades of red, the closest thing to being Christmassy, that they could manage. He selected three pictures, tagged his family and the extendeds, and wrote a short message which he cringed at within seconds of clicking 'post'.

   He hated talking online. He hated talking on the phone as a kid, but these days preferred it to SMS and instant messages. It all felt so impersonal. To many people, he'd quite often come across as self-centered, and uncaring. But to him, his problem was he cared too much in other ways. He cared about wasted the moment he was in, and ignoring the people around him, whilst staring at screens. The past and future are pointless without a present, and the present, was drumsticks. He shot out of his chair, and with determination set off, on a final hunt.

                       10    He woke the next morning, and was glad to find that the visiting calm hadn't skipped town in the night. The only sounds to be heard were the distant chugging of heavy machinery, the here and there hum of the main road, and his wife rigorously brushing away at the laundry, by the stream that ran down the side of the farm.

   She would always wait until everything was dirty, which usually took around a week, and then spend half a day literally attacking it. Lawrie's clothes were thin, frayed and full of holes because of this, and something would always come back worse off for the abuse, but he didn't complain. It wasn't a job he was fond of, and it would ruin the callouses he'd built over the years, making playing guitar a pain. And because he'd rush through it, she wouldn't let him wash any of her clothes, and he couldn't blame her.

   He dusted the sleep off, and made his way outside. Ma was sat at the front on one of the two big, heavy, wooden bed frames facing the road, doing her sewing. He never got to the bottom of it, but most ot the houses out here had beds outside, while everyone would sleep on mats on the floor inside, but he never asked and it remained a mystery to him. Too many more important questions still had no answers.

   Finn was asleep in the hammock. It was coming to the end of its swing. Lawrie kissed his forehead, and gave him a little push.

   Suli, was the Son of Nib's youngest sister, and was the second of Finn's three cousins. For once, he was keeping himself to himself and being nice and quiet. It wasn't his fault he didn't know how to behave, and Lawrie knew that. And with Pa being away today, he probably hadn't drank half an energy drink, like he normally would have by 8am. Lawrie took the string-bound, straw brush, and swept the tiled floor, as he did every morning.

   His wife was the eldest of five. The two brothers, and the youngest of her sisters all living on the family farm. The middle sister (the most well-rounded of them all), had the right idea earlier in year, and got the hell out of there. The middle sister's two children, still spent a lot of their time at the family farm, and Suli had lived there all his life. His mum, had done what was expected of her, and left him there while she went back to work, leaving Ma to raise him. At three years old, he was understandably, a handful. But Lawrie couldn't help but worry about him, and feared he had a lifetime of problems ahead. Problems not only for Suli himself, but for the family doing the half a job of raising him. A half job they weren't doing so well.

   His top row of front teeth were nothing but black stumps, half decayed, causing him great discomfort. He was almost always covered in dirt. And usually, by the end of the day, had the remains of every meal he'd eaten, still round his mouth. Flip-flops were uncommon, and he rarely wore pants, maybe 3 times in the past few months.

   Unfortunately for him, for his first two years of life he was Ma's responsibility. And his problems, Lawrie saw as her fault. The middle sister being back to work, was expected to send money home, while it was Ma's job to play cards and sew whilst raising her grandchild. The same Ma who had done a shocking job with her own children, and it was time to do it again for theirs.

   Suli, was toilet trained. But Larwie, expected this lesson was probably taught by the dogs. He would piss anywhere, whenever he needed to go. That was usually from the tiled floor outside the house, and onto the dirt a step below. But if he was upstairs, he'd do it from there. And no one had the slightest of problems with this.

   Lawrie quite often, when going around the back of the house where there actually was a toilet, would find someone there. Usually Ma, but sometimes Nib, ten feet away from the toilet, squatting.

   Ma was so lazy, in every aspect of life. And she'd passed that on to most of her children. And by the standards that Lawrie had been raised with, she was a truly terrible mother, and in general, a mean spirited person with very little compassion. Lawrie found her unbearable. But at the same time, he just had to deal with it, and knew she didn't know any better. She was never going to learn, and it wasn't really her that he could blame.

   The civil war, decades before, that had torn this country apart, had given her parents generation a living hell to endure. An event so disastrous, it's effects still rippled through life to this day.

   Her first three children, the sisters, were all left at Grandma's house as soon as they were able to eat mashed up rice soup. This was and is, pretty much 'the norm', for kids over here. Never really knowing their parents as the grow up. Children are seen as laborers, and in a way, sort of like a pension. Breaking your child's heart isn't really an issue, if it means you've been out working.

   Now today, the third generation of children are making their way through life, and thanks to this practice, are doing so with their own broken hearts. With a level of distrust only their people know, and with the job one day, of passing this on to their own children.

   At the age of fourteen, Nib and her sisters started living with their parents who had got together enough money to by their farm, which was five-hundred kilometers away, up north. Pa built a simple wooden hut, and they called it home. There they would spend the following years learning who their children were, and catching up on all they had missed. And Ma got bigger, as they waited on the birth of their first baby boy. It was time to learn how to be parents.

   Soon after baby number four was born, Nib, with a modestly sized bag packed to the brim, was put on a plane bound for Malaysia to work in a factory making mobile phones. She did so with the help of her auntie's passport and was greeted at the airport by another aunt, who also worked there. Over the next two years, she managed to send enough money back to build the beautiful house they live in today.

   It was the nicest house in all the village, and probably the neighboring ones too, and it stayed that way for years. Pa was so proud of it, he was so grateful to Nib, and she became his favourite, and he had no worries letting the others knowing it.

   When she returned home with her final salary, the house was pretty much complete. Ma was pregnant with Son number two, and with the spare cash, Nib enrolled at school.

                       11    Lawrie had finished sweeping. The dog had been shooed off from laying on the dinner table, and he was now finishing the picking up and bagging of all the plastic crap his in-laws had tossed on the floor the day before. As he looked around searching for any last stragglers, he noticed that Finn needed another push. But his stealthy dash towards the hammock, turned out to be a mistake.

   ''Boo Ree!" (Uncle Lawrie) Suli screamed at the top of his highly pitched voice... he'd been spotted, and after doing so well. In the same instance, Finn's eyes pinged open, beaming, to find his father stood over him, startled as Suli's screech was still ringing in his ear. He smiled and raised his arms, and Lawrie followed suit. "Merry Christmas Son".

   Suli loved Lawrie, and this was mutual. He hardly ever saw his father, who was even more useless than his mum. Lawrie saw it as his responsibility to look out for him, as no one else seemed to be a positive influence. This wasn't just for Suli's own good, but Finn's too. Raising a child here was a constant worry for him. These bad habits and behaviors, were not for his Son to learn. He desperately needed a plan to get his family out, safely away. And this would need to be a plan even Nib would be happy to go along with, and before he inevitably snapped again.

   He placed his bundle into the 8 wheeled, brightly coloured walker thing, and gave him his tambourine, one of the few toys he still had. He didn't like the tambourine so much, but it kept him occupied for a few minutes. Just enough time to build a barricade around the edge of the floor using ten heavy, tree trunk stools. Suli was rolling round on the floor next to him, pant-less and screaming to himself. He made sure all the stools were placed in such a way that Finn couldn't kamikaze off the edge, and headed back to the bedroom to take stock of all he could consume that day. He loved his coffee, and cigarettes too, but was annoyed with himself. He'd practically quit before coming back here. He had promised himself that he would pack them in by the time Finn was born. He failed, and promised again by the time he was six months old. And not far off that time, had got them down to three a day... that was when they moved back, to the madness of the farm. Straight out the window.

   $1.10, thirteen cigarettes and a dollars worth of data that yet to be put on the phone. 'It's going to be a good day', a sarcastic joke to himself. He didn't laugh. It wasn't funny. He took 50 cents, and made for the shop, to treat himself.

   ''Four 3in1 coffees please,'' it was Christmas after all.

   Half way through his double strong coffee (it was actually 6 in 2), the clouds in his mind started to clear, and he was ready to take on another jam-packed day of next to nothing.

   Finn, still in the walker, had now been let loose on the dusty, red dirt at the front of the house. Lawrie was uneasy with this as the walker was light and flimsy, and flaws in its design made it that going in a forward direction was practically impossible. Almost all the plastic products sold out here, were only ever things that hadn't passed the stringent watch of Chinese quality controls. Finn spent most of his time in that thing, going round in circles, or at very best, doing his famous crab impression, scooting sideways.

   Suli was dragging around the frame of an old, crusty pram, that had seen much better days. It was full of rust, had no seat and only one of the three wheel it had left, actually turned. Suli had no toys, the ones he did have, had disintegrated in his hands shortly after being given them... their remains scattered in the dirt.

   Outside the front of the house was a huge 30 by 30 meter steel roof, hanging around 20 feet above. Suli and his pram, had made their way beyond the roof's reach, and over to where the overgrown, straggly vegetation had been thriving since that year's rainy season.

   Lawrie, had been the only one watching. He put down his coffee, and started walking over, seeing the potential for disaster as Finn chased after. He got as far as calling out Suli's name, with the hope of reeling them back in, when Finn hit a divot in the ground. The walker was sent over sideways, Finn's face smashing into the ground. Lawrie, with a heavy heart picked up speed, blurting out some frankly useless words of comfort as he made his way, to pick him up.

   Fountains of tears rolled down little Finn's cheeks, his left one being covered in small stones and dirt, with a few grazes on his chin. His wailing cut through to Lawrie's core, and he felt responsible for not getting there sooner, as he saw it coming.

   By this point Ma was screaming too. Lawrie tried to explain to Nib how it wasn't Suli's fault, in a vain attempt the message might get passed on, and Ma would shut her trap. Suli wasn't to blame, he was a child and didn't know any better, and Lawrie knew what was likely to happen next.

   Ma, still shrieking had gotten down to Suli's level and was now yelling in his face, slapping his legs, his bare backside.

   ''Viscous mutt'', Lawrie said audibly, without a care who heard. 'Silly bitch', just wouldn't have cut it, and his choice of words went straight over Nib's head. With his years of being out there, Lawrie had learnt how to best disguise his words of anger and frustration. He sometimes surprised himself with the off-the-cuff, creative expressions his mind would muster up out of the ether.

   Ma had now stood up, but was still barking. Suli was in tears and had been almost as long as Finn, who was now in Nib's arms, but still in distress as he watched the animalistic behavior unfold. Ma, taking a thin branch from the sapling of a fruit tree, was snapping off all that once grew from it. Because obviously, providing fruit for your grandchildren, and one day their children, isn't nearly half as important, as whipping a child that's done nothing wrong.

   Suli cried in this way, at least four or five times a day. A few months before, Lawrie had counted eight times in one day. He'd seen enough, and headed back to the bedroom with his mixed feeling of anger and helplessness.

   If he'd have still had his guitar, he would have been unzipping it's case as soon as he got inside. But he had no guitar these days, and upon spotting a pen on the desk, found a scrap piece of paper, sat down and started writing. And this would be the case over the coming months, a daily compulsion. He couldn't help it, he physically couldn't stop.

                       12    Maybe an hour had passed and Lawrie was still writing, when he heard the not so distant cry of his boy. Nothing like the sounds he had made earlier, but just him letting the world know he was still upset, in the only way he could. Lawrie looked out of the window to see Finn and Ma on their way back from over the road. 'No surprise he's upset', he thought to himself. He hated seeing Ma walk away with his Son, and was glad he hadn't seen this time, as it would only have played on his mind.

   He sat back down to his writing, knowing that Nib was out there and Finn would soon be at ease, filling his not so little belly.

   He could overhear a conversation between Nib and her mother. It wasn't difficult, as they only really have two levels of communicating out here, Nib's family especially. Those levels are shouting and screaming, making everything far too easy too hear, and whether you want to or not.

   Apparently, Pa was already on his way back, and was four hours away by tractor. He tore open his fresh pack of cigarettes, and threw one in his mouth biting down on the end.

   His cigs came in packs on thirteen, cost 12.5 cents, and had a very well know cartoon rabbit eating a carrot, printed on the cellophane bag they came in. ''Maybe it's this one that finally kills me'', he wondered out loud. He stepped outside, and just in time to see the younger sister making off on the moto, Finn under her arm. ''For fuck's sake...''

                       13    Lawrie was crouched down at the corner edge of the tilled floor, intensely staring down the road as far as he could, in the direction Finn had gone. He was on his second cigarette. As he rolled it between his fingers, the end fell to the dirt below. He put it out with a small piece of chipped concrete and placed the dimp in an empty discarded bottle that was laying next to him.

   Looking up, he saw Finn and the sister, with a thick cloud of red dust following after them as they made their return. A huge sigh of relief spilled out from him, he thought it would never end. Any bigger or longer, it might have been worth contacting the people who compile the world record books.

   Lawrie hated it. Too much of what they thought of as normal, he saw as an unnecessary risk. He'd had his concerns shouted down already, the first time he saw it happen, and this was just another thing he had to begrudgingly accept. But he promised himself, if she ever caused his Son any harm, he would slap her so silly, it would take them a week to find where she landed.

   When the Sun had set, he'd gotten down three full pages of writing. Not a massive achievement, and you wouldn't have mistaken it for Hemmingway (who he knew nothing about, though quite sure he's the Maradonna of writing), but he was proud of the fact that he had achieved a little something.

   He'd always enjoyed writing, mainly just songs, the first of which he wrote at the age of eleven after watching an Adam Sandler film. He'd also, always written down the strange thoughts, or scenarios that came into his head. He had no real use for them unless they were to be used in a song, but while growing up, had a few drawers full of scrappy bits of paper with random ramblings of madness scribbled down. He would sort through them one day, but they were all boxed up in his mum's garage back home.

   His first song was terrible, and unfortunately, he had come across the only physical reminder of it's existence years later, the lyric sheet. He'd written it on the keyboard he had before he had a guitar. After finding the sheet, the melody came rushing back, regaining it's place and taking up space in his memory. He realised his interest in song writing early on in life, back in primary school when they would sing in assembly. He enjoyed singing, as it was usually better than the rest of their day, and after hearing some bright spark from a few years above, singing 'toilet painted green', during the chorus of Yellow Submarine, he spent his remaining years there trying to out do it.

   The Sun was about an hour off setting, and he couldn't delay calling his family any longer. No one that he needed to call, had dependent children, and they were all likely sleeping-in. Their days of cursing Baby Jesus at 5am, covered in wrapping paper, had already been and gone.

   He called his Dad who was stuck in Bali, his Mum stuck in the UK, his Grandma stuck in hospital, and his Uncle David who yes, was also stuck. Everyone, everywhere was, trapped wherever they were when the world stopped turning.

   David, one of his Dad's half brothers, was in London. His business of delivering butchered meat was doing quiet well through all of the craziness. A good business to be in during times like these, apparently.

   His Dad had let him know that his Uncle had sent some money electronically, and that it was waiting to be collected. His Uncle was a good man, as was most of his family, but Uncle David knew Lawrie's situation quite well, as he's come out to visit him not long before the troubles started in the world. Out of most of his family, David had a much better idea of the problems Lawrie was facing.

   He knew just how lucky he was for having the family he did, but felt such guilt for not showing his appreciation as much he should. He rarely contacted them, and spent years wishing he had done so more often.

   He went with the elder brother, Ren, to collect his lifeline Christmas gift.

   Ren was only fourteen, but he rode the motorbike as he did every time, with Lawrie on the back. The in-laws, Pa in particular, were scared of what might happen whenever Lawrie left their hometown. Mainly of the police, who in all fairness were pretty corrupt. But Lawrie, who had left home the first time at the age of fifteen, was pretty savvy, and hadn't ever been in trouble with the law out here. There had been many times, after being stopped by traffic police, that he'd ride away with a new friend he'd just drank a beer with. One time, a police man gave him his fine money back, after seeing how little he had with him. Even though this was, here was tribal land, and he just had to get on with it.

   The Sun was half way over the hill when they got back to the farm. Lawrie dished the money out... a little to Ren for the trip, a little more to his wife, and way too much to Ma. She would probably be playing cards tomorrow, but as Pa was still out of town he had no choice.  Choices weren't such a big thing here.

                       14    It was around eight-thirty when Pa arrived home. Dinner had been sat there a couple of hours, waiting on the roar of the tractor, and on his arrival, the younger ones erupted with screams of happiness. Everyone loved Pa, not just the family, but those outside as well.    

   Lawrie skipped to the shop and bought four cans. They all ate rice, him and Pa drank, and then everyone went to bed. Everyone that was, except for Lawrie. He stayed up researching online, looking at maps of Lombang City. There was a few places that last time, he hadn't managed to get to. He had more than a few things to pick up, and there was a couple of people he was hoping to meet. This time, knowing how long it might be till the next, he had to get as much done as possible. Most importantly, was getting an ID photo... the next step of the only half-decent, long-shot of a plan he had. And thanks to Uncle David, all this was possible, and Finn's first Christmas was back on. And although being a day late, Lawrie couldn't be happier.

                       15        ...to continue reading, and become one of the hero’s in this story, please donate. All the kind souls that help me out of the situation will receive a full copy once completed, a name-drop on the dedications page, and the knowledge that they’ve helped this story on its way to a happy ending.

www.gogetfunding.com/luckystars

Or to continue reading for free, periodically check back here for updates, and hope for the best disaster ending possible…

Thank you, much love.

Nathan Fryer-Woods

nathanfryerwoods@protonmail.com

[snezfics-n-shit]

Tuberculosis - A Cells At Work WBC (U-1146) fic for tissuesplzthnx

Ho ho ho!! Secret Santa is here with a gift for @tissuesplzthnx​!

I hope you like it; I took some scientific creative license since real tuberculosis’s effects on white blood cells isn’t as sneezy, but it was a good candidate!

Merry belated Christmas and enjoy!

“I’ll finish you!”

The White Blood Cell roared, tearing into a bacterium he had taken down in what seemed to be no time at all. He had no interest in questioning the short amount of time it took to take it down; the resulting mess and opportunity to consume the material this monstrous rascal was composed of appeared to be a good enough sign this was over. Who was he kidding? White Blood Cells were never done fighting invasive pathogens, that was their job. ‘Over’ as a concept just did not exist, but upon his first bite, the creeping desire for a break began to loom over him.

“Incredible!” A voice from behind him cheered. AE3803, his frequent companion, of course, was whom he spotted upon turning around. “It was almost like it let you kill it!”

Come to think of it, that was suspicious. A pathogen would normally put up one hell of a fight, even the cedar pollen had more resistance than this one.

Hueh

“Yeah, it is pretty weird!” The red blood cell thought she was agreeing with whatever noise the white blood cell had just made.

“Hh-shooh!!”  WBC’s body quaked at the power of the sneeze, which took on a power much like the one extra snowflake causing an avalanche. Following the sneeze was a stream of snot from his nose, and following that stream was an ache in his sinuses and ears. The genuine speed of the symptoms being brought on had him all but sure this was just part of the bacterium’s plan.

“You okay?” Instinctively, RBC reached and placed a hand on his forehead. “Woah! You’re burning up! I should take you home to bed right awa-” she paused, her eyes darting around as she evaluated her surroundings, “I… don’t know where we are.”

“I think I can,” WBC coughed with the air echoing from his throat, “find some way around here.”

His vision was hazy, but the tunnel behind him looked familiar enough to be a good lead. The cell apartments had to be around somewhere; even if it wasn’t RBC’s personal dwelling, WBC’s status as a white blood cell was sure to grant him entry, at least enough for him to crash for the duration of the sudden illness that had struck him.

“I really hope we find our way soon, you look awfully pale.”

“I’m a white blood cell... Hh-sshhooh!! I always look like that.”

“Oh, right,” RBC sheepishly acknowledged. She glanced back at the bacterium’s remains left on the ground. “So, do you think that’s what made you sick so quickly?”

“I dod’t just thidk.” WBC sniffled thickly. “I kdow it bade be sick. That’s its job.”

The tuberculosis bacterium infects white blood cells by taking advantage of the white blood cell’s routine ingestion of pathogens and allowing itself to be ingested and sit within the cell, infecting it.

“That’s pretty smart of it,” RBC quickly bit her tongue, “I mean, it really knew what it was doing when it let you eat it, no offense, I promise!”

“Dode takehd.”

RBC handed WBC a handkerchief with embroidered text reading “If found, please return to Red Blood Cell AE3803,” which at least assured it was too often lost for it to accumulate too much mess before she gifted it to him; not like that mattered, of course, given he had quickly soiled it with a hefty blow, merely temporarily clearing out his nostrils. It was hard for RBC not to wince at the noise; her poor handkerchief!

“I think I know this tunnel! I took it as a shortcut home once… or was that somewhere else?” RBC’s voice softened as she muttered the names of some personally made landmarks to herself, attempting to jog her memory.

“If it is your shortcut, we should be there in no time.”

Almost as if the universe had heard him and refused an easy journey, the all too familiar counts of steps could be heard in the distance.

“One two! One two! One two! Careful, everyone! Watch your step! Hold hands so nobody gets lost, okay?”

“Okay!!!”

“The platelets!” RBC cooed.

“The platelets.” WBC repeated, more annoyed than enthused.

Flop!

“Oof!” WBC was knocked backwards by a heavy blanket. How could anyone move under this thing?

“Everyone!! Let’s work together and wrap him up nice and toasty, okay?”

“Yeah!!”

Recent studies have found platelets to play a role in tuberculosis infection and inflammation, with sometimes less than favorable results.

“Aww! They’re helping you!” RBC cheered, neglecting WBC’s wriggling around in the blanket.

“I can’t breathe,” WBC protested, “it’s so tight!”

“We’ll keep you warm, mister!” Several platelets assured, lifting him up with nearly super-cell strength together as a team. “Stay still and cozy and we can take you home!”

“Really, you don’t have to.”

“Let them help! They know the way better than anyone I know.”

RBC was not exactly talking up most people she knew by saying that, was she? WBC sighed, followed by a harsh cough he wasn’t sure came from the illness or the tight wrapping of the blanket. He didn’t mean to think such a rude thing, but the last thing he needed right now was to be suffocated and lost.

“One two! One two!”

The movement under WBC lying down was such a peculiar sensation that if anyone told him he would experience, he would assume the worst and kill them where they stood; it made him dizzy and kickstarted his nose running all over again.

“Cahd we- Ssh-chooo!! Slow dowd for a secohd? Or hour, perhaps?” WBC suggested.

The lead platelet happily obliged, blowing her whistle to gain the attention of the other platelets.

“Everyone! Slow and steady wins the race!”

“Alright!!”

The slower pace proved to be of great comfort; WBC could have nearly fell asleep if it weren’t for the platelets counting and RBC eagerly (and loudly) cheering them on along for the trip.

“Here we are!!” The lead platelet’s whistle tweeted, jolting WBC out of any relaxation he had. So it really was a shortcut after all.

“Thank you so much!” RBC beamed, whispering “so cute” under her breath. She lifted WBC off the platelet-composed train; he sure was heavy! As expected for a white blood cell kept in top shape for pathogen killing. “Can you stand okay?”

“Yeah,” WBC said as he wobbled his way to the door.

As soon as RBC let him inside, he collapsed on the floor, his feverish skin contrasting to the cool surface.

“White Blood Cell!”

--

By the time WBC opened his eyes, he had been tucked into a futon with a wet compress on his forehead; it was still cool, so it had to have been applied quite recently.

“You’re awake!” RBC exclaimed. Her eyes appeared red and wet, if WBC’s vision wasn’t mistaken. “I thought you were… You know, done for.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t be killed that easily.” WBC half joked.

To tell the truth, he didn’t know exactly know what sort of damage this illness could unleash, but as far as he was concerned, no matter what happened, he was in good hands.

~End~

[final-fantasy-mama]

A face like a Goobbue

Emet Selch X WOL

This is backstory for Amaurot, non canon, just me playing around with ideas and trying to build a story. This is the official first chapter of my fic and all other chapters will follow a general plot line and the main story of SHB. It probably sucks but meh, enjoy! Again I will say this is non canon so if small things are different than the game dont kill me. Im using the title of Altima (ultima, virgo) for the wol just because thats my zodiac and my favorite summon from ff12.

************************************** 

"Before the sundering there was one world. A world that knew naught but peace and prosperity. Until it was faced with a crisis. Unprecedented. Terrifying. Civilization found itself perched upon a precipice, staring into oblivion." ~ Emet Selch

"You weren't impressed I take it?" Hythlodaeus asked as he and his companion walked down the darkened streets of Amarout. A city as grand and opulent as Amaurot never truly slept and even at the wee hours of nightfall people could be seen going to and fro, couples joined in hand for a moonlight stroll, folks walking in and out of pubs and eateries, and beings like Emet Selch and his friend Hythlodaeus returning from another long winded convocation meeting. This one had gone on longer than needed but much was needed to be covered and introduced as it was not every day a new member was added to their elite ranks. The moon was high in the sky and gave enough soft light for them to walk about unbothered.

"Hmmmm." Emet grunted beneath his mask. "Considering how they spoke not more than 5 words during the whole meeting and seemed to be seated just for decoration, I would say I’m not so much unimpressed as I am simply disappointed. The convocation made it seem like our 14th member was something to be astounded by and yet all I saw the entire session was some meek mewling lamb shaking in their robes. The title of Altima is not given freely nore easily so on earth did they earn it?"

His friend had to chuckle, and they trotted along under the lamp lit streets of their great city, the tall buildings and spires filling the skyline against a dark blue sky. Their robes gently swept the ground as they moved at a steady pace in the direction of home. "It is just as you say, the title of Altima is not given easily so shouldn't you give them the benefit of the doubt? It was their first day, mayhap they were nervous? Goodness knows the state of affairs in the world right now would make anyone feel awkward."

"Awkward enough to call on someone who obviously lacks experience...What do you imagine they look like under that white mask they wear?" Emet suddenly pondered in a mocking way.

"Like any other of our kin." Hythlodaeus shrugged.

"Like a Goobbue I'm sure." He mocked and then suddenly stopped. Across the street in a darkened area sat a rusty gate covered in ivy and morning glories. The lot had been vacant for a while with an old mansion on the grounds, unable to be resold as most people regarded it as condemned or unlivable. Now though, the old mansions murky windows were lit, and a pleasant sound drifted from its inner gardens. Someone was living here.

His friend noticed how intently he stared at it and mentioned, "Oh looks like someone finally moved in. A blessing to be sure, that mansion was in need of repair."

A burst of light from the garden and wave of Aether made them both gasp and look at each other. "Who purchased this residence?" Emet asked suspiciously.

Hythlodaeus shrugged and adjusted his grey mask accordingly. "I'm not too sure. It must have been recent if neither of us have heard rumor of it."

Emet eyed the garden beyond the gate. "Creation magic that powerful shouldn't be used willy nilly in a public space."

Again, there was another burst of light and Emet crossed the street with his friend running to catch up. "What are you doing?!"

"That sort of Aether output should not be so hap hazardously used in such a setting without any supervision, I'm going to see what this perpetrator is up to!" Emet huffed.

"First off you're not one to make judgements like that due to your own tarried record!" Hythlodaeus scolded. "Second, you are breaking and entering!"

Emet rolled his eyes. "Then stay here if it frightens you so!" and gingerly opened the gate and stepped inside.

"Have you lost your mind!?" His friend hissed and then threw up his hands. "Do as you like but I’m not going to face any charges for your reckless snooping!" He turned on his heel and stomped away as Emet untangled himself from the ivy of the gateway and carefully made his way towards the garden.

Music gently filled the area as he turned the corner of the mansion as was greeted by a large open courtyard filled with trees and flowers of all species and colors. They sprang out of the ground in no particular order, completely at the will of nature making the are seem more like a jungle than a courtyard. Lanterns hung off the tree limbs casting soft light over everything as a gazebo sat in the center of it all and in the center of the gazebo sat a person, hunched over a small table and scribbling furiously into a large notebook.

Their back was turned to Emet Selch so all he could glimpse was the provocative expanse of bare back and the trailing ruffles of a white nightgown, its wearer so consumed by their scribbling they scarce noticed the intruder. A gramophone played soft music next to them as they looked up from their book, snapped their fingers and a burst of light filled the area. Emet hid himself in the shadow of the nearest tree as something chirped and landed on the back of the creator’s chair. From the light a winged creature kin to a bird but with an absurdly large beak, gray feathers and a rather grumpy face appeared. It flapped its new wings a few times from its perch as the creator patted their head affectionately.

Then the figure stood up and stretched long feminine arms over a head full of long silky hair, looking up at the moon in the sky and reaching for it as if they could pluck it from the expanse, before turning in a way that Emet could see their features. In the privacy of her own home, her face was barren of any mask or covering and when she turned in his direction fully, he felt his heart stop in his throat. A beautiful face with glaringly sharp eyes and soft features looked directly at him.

Time seemed to stop for him as this white dressed goddess took a step forward, her soft nightgown hanging loosely off her shoulders and dragging on the ground behind her as if it were a wedding gown. She raised a graceful hand and pointed a finger at him before shouting a command and something struck Emet hard behind the head. It sent him flying forward and onto the ground face first. He didn’t even manage a shout as he rolled onto his back and a long leg and dainty foot planted itself hard enough into his chest he grunted in pain. The woman in white stood over him, a scowl on her face, hands on her hips as she dug her foot in deeper.

"You'd better have a good excuse for being here!" She growled as a small black cat raced up her leg, around her chest and rested on her shoulder. She had used her creatures to attack him whilst he was preoccupied.

He tried to speak but her foot on his chest made it difficult so he croaked. "Madam you misunderstand!"

"Misunderstand what?!" She exclaimed. "You're trespassing in my garden and spying on me like some....some pervert!"

"Creation magic used outside the security of the hall of concepts is strictly prohibited! Only members of the higher echelons and the convocation are allowed to create outside those restrictions. You have a lot of nerve calling me a pervert when you are so openly disobeying sacred law!" He snapped back.

"Frankly what I do on my own property is none of your business." She said matter of factly.

"I am of the convocation! Now would you kindly take your foot off of me so I may further explain myself!" He growled, finally losing his cool under the circumstances. He slapped her foot off as he stood up and dusted the grass off his black cloak.

She looked him up and down before saying. "If you're on the council then you should know better than to go sneaking around a lady's home in the dead of night."

He huffed as he straightened himself out and bowed rather begrudgingly. "Emet Selch, the Architect, at your service."

She paused and stared so hard at him she might have bore holes through him. "Oh. You." She said simply as if it was no matter.

"What do you mean, Oh you? Accosting a council member is so uncouth one would have to ask where you acquired your lack of manners!"

She smirked. "Not as uncouth as a man staring a girl down in her nighties."

He felt heat creep up his neck. "I was investigating the misuse of creation magic! Nothing more! I was most certainly not admiring your lithe form beneath the moonlight...uh, that is I was not admiring you at all!"

She giggled, the atmosphere turning instantly to something mirthful while she walked back to the gazebo. "I've heard of you Emet Selch and rumor has it you're not a paragon of justice and order, in fact I heard you and Hythlodaeus are quite the troublemakers." She waved for him to join him at the table and he did reluctantly as she snapped a tea set into existence. After pulling up a second chair for him and sliding a hot glass of tea his way, she sat back down herself and pushed her large notebook aside. Emet could see that it was filling with drawings and diagrams, all hand drawn in dark pencil. The current page she had been working on had a drawing of the bird that sat at her back and under it a name. "Shoe bill".

"You're concepts?" Emet asked as he calmed himself down on tea.

"I never create anything unless I’ve drawn it out first and written myself detailed instructions. As you say, the misuse of such magic is costly and dangerous, so do good fellows like yourself need not be worried about little old me." she smiled and put a few lumps of sugar into her own drink.

"And you are...?" He dared to ask.

Emet watched her as she drank her tea down and noted the subtly bobbing of her lovely throat as she swallowed. She was without a doubt the most enchanting creature he had ever seen and when she told him her name, he wished he could go back in time and take back everything bad he said about her, for he had never been more wrong in his life. Oh, Emet sometimes you need to put your mask where your mouth is, this was one filly you needn't mess with.

"We met earlier today. I am Altima, the 14th member of the convocation...and probably not as Goobbue faced as you imagined. You and your friend should speak more quietly when in public, you never know what manner of creatures might be listening in on you." She smirked as she rested her chin in her hand.

[lgcjaewoo]

    ✦ ◟𝙏𝙍𝘼𝙄𝙉𝙀𝙀 𝙈𝙄𝙎𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉 002 . . . 

his nervousness manifests itself as an old habit today. hearing the anticipation of the crowd outside, the very same one he'll be performing for just minutes from now, makes him tuck his hair back anxiously for what seems like the thousandth time since it was "gelled to perfection" by haeri, the stylist assigned to them for this event. she swats his hand away when jaewoo moves to fumble with his hair again.

"you'll ruin the curl!" she berates, but without any real bite. in one swift motion, she has it fixed around a brush, waiting for the form to hold. "nervous?"

"yeah. sorry about the hair, noona."

"it's okay," she lets the hair free, the curled end tickling jaewoo's cheek, "you'll be great out there."

he doesn't say the i hope so, smiles instead at haeri's reflection in the mirror. she winks in responseㅡkind of reminiscent of his older sister, he realizesㅡbefore moving on to the other trainee.

it isn't long before one of the staff comes to pick them up. jaewoo and his partner, a trainee who excels in rap, are ushered to the side of the stage for their entrance. the crowd sounds a lot louder from here. jaewoo almost tucks his hair back, but thinks better of it.

and... go!

the afternoon light's blinding at first, coming from the dimness backstage. but he adjusts fairly quickly, excited to see the people that's waiting for them to perform.

thoughts come rushing to his head in a dizzying swirl of things he could and couldn't understand. feelings he could and couldn't untangle. thrill. tension. disbelief. something's thick in his throat, warm in his chest. the sheer excitement of being on stage, of having an audience anticipating your performance. the honor of being given this opportunity. the pressure that comes with it.

he thinks maybe his heart's about to explode.

he smiles his best smile for the crowd, trying his hardest to wave at as much people as he can. holds on tightly to his mic to keep his other hand from shaking.

jaewoo's partner is good at this, thankfully. they've gotten along quite well during their practice for the fan hour, and jaewoo had definitely learned a couple of things from him. together, they exude quite the presence, easily commanding attention.

they've prepared a script of sorts so there's a structure they can follow. hours upon hours of practice definitely helped, because the back and forth flows almost naturally, the energy between them light and jovial. slowly, the tension in jaewoo's chest begins to ease. they greet the crowd together, and the crowd's fortunately amiable, waving and greeting them back. there's a stray scream of overexcitedness here and there that they playfully laugh off.

the two talk for a few moments, introducing themselves, mentioning things that may help the crowd remember who they are. they fire off some quick pick-up lines that aren't entirely nauseating. and then they explain what they're here for, what they'll be showing the audience today.

jaewoo grips his mic tighter.

he shifts in his seat momentarily before their first song starts. he's still nervous, but at least their earlier interactions with the crowd helped him loosen up. he looks at their audience, almost shy, before glancing at his partner. they smile at each other reassuringly just as the instrumental begins filtering through the speakers.

they open with just one day, a song they agreed would compliment their respective skills. the harmony of the vocals and rap were exciting to nail down as well, and they practiced hard to make sure that they sounded wonderful come performance time. but the real deal’s always different, so jaewoo concentrates on his notes, his syllables. his focus is almost palpable.

they perform two more songs with a similarly refreshing sound, something to fit the spring that’s blooming around them. it’s not just the practice that helped jaewoo grow, but he learned a lot from simply conceptualizing how the hour would go, too. the two had agreed to start off their performance on a lighter tone, one their audience could heartily enjoy, and it seemed like the right choice. after, they take a short break by talking to each other and engaging the crowd with little questions. the weather’s lovely today, isn’t it? do you guys like our songs so far? i think everyone looks as pretty as the spring!

they switch it up for their second set of songs to make things interesting. the performances are more intense this time, more challenging, and there are moments where jaewoo strains from the notes that he has to reach. but even though his performance isn’t perfect, the crowd seems to have loved the change of pace.

it really makes a world of a difference when there’s an audience that supports you, he supposes. any other instance and he would’ve felt discouraged by his shortcomings. he knows he’s not the best singer legacy has to offer, not by a long shot. but when there’s a crowd that’s clapping for him, cheering for him, it beats the doubt that’s ringing in his head. it urges him to look forward, keep going. it’s only fifty people, maybe less, but it’s more than enough.

so he goes on, thanks the audience in abundance for their kind cheers. talks sprightly during the short interval before their last set of songs.

his heart still feels like it’s about to explode, but in a good way. he’s sure of it.

the final set is more intimate than the previous two. three songs again, but they’ll mean a lot more. it’s an idea his partner came up with, and as someone with a sentimental streak, he loved it. they would each get to choose one song to perform, which reflects a message they’d like to leave the fans. it’s the song he’s most excitedㅡand most nervousㅡto perform.

because of a rock-paper-scissors game that jaewoo could never win, jaewoo has to perform his song first. he takes a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, even just a little, as the instrumental to like that sun begins to play.

jaewoo had trouble choosing a song. he didn’t know what kind of message it was he wanted to impart. what if he makes the wrong decision? then that’s an opportunity lost, a moment for the fans that he’ll end up wasting. but eventually, after nights hunched over his work desk, he realized that as long as he was sincere, it’ll work out. it’ll get through to their audience.

like that sun is more of a love song, if he’s honest, but much of it really reflects the way he feels about their fans, about the rare times when he gets to be with them.

i’m waiting all night for the morning sun to rise. my heart races at the thought of seeing you.

he feels breathless as his song ends, a smile on his lips.

their last song is a fitting goodbye. it’s a mix of the concepts they’ve shown so far; refreshing but emotional, with a hint of nostalgia. they stand up for this one, walking around the stage, waving at the fans as they go. the hour had passed by so quickly.

they say their goodbyes, do a fair amount of bowing; the crowd had been so kind to them, it’s the least the two performers could do. his partner blows some kisses, so jaewoo playfully does them as well, before they both disappear backstage.

jaewoo’s stuck in a daze for what feels like the longest time, until haeri throws a dry towel at him. “wipe your sweat!” she berates, but there’s no real bite to it. and then, softly, “you did great.”

she doesn’t say the i told you so, smiles instead at jaewoo’s reflection in the mirror.

[sweetdejun]

16 & moon hyunbin?

here it is! I hope this turned out as good as I thought it would, and I hope you enjoy it!!

16. you meet him for the first time... and you fall into his arms.

[7:43 a.m.] your luck has never been on your side ever since you could grasp the concept of luck itself. a few instances of your luck not shining through flash in your head: when you were 6, you were the first to fall asleep at the sleepover you threw. when you were 10, you nearly cried for two hours because you couldn’t find a ring (it was quite expensive) that was found under your pillow. when you were 14, your parents happened to walk in when the only racy scene in a movie started playing on the tv. now you’re 18, and surprisingly you haven’t experienced anything too terrible that was worth repressing. but maybe, you spoke too soon. the rain fell hard onto your car, as you hurriedly parked it in the student lot. of course, you’re going to be late to school on your first day; it’s a new school and you don’t know where your classes are. you’re stuck in traffic because when people see rain, they miraculously forget how to drive. on top of that, you didn’t bring your umbrella this morning because when you checked the forecast, there were no signs of rain. “great, it’s just my shitty luck.” you grumble, leaning your arm against the window and resting your head in your hand. the line moves at the pace of a snail, and the rain doesn’t seem to be clearing up any time soon.

 by the time you reached the school campus, it was around 7:59 a.m. and the first period starts at 8. “I’ll be late, anyway. I shouldn’t even attempt to run and slip on my way in.” so you parked your car and walked in the rain as fast as you could until you entered the building. the first thing you did was find a bathroom. once you were inside, you silently thanked the school for having hand dryers. so there you stood, drying yourself, then your backpack. and although you couldn’t get either one to dry up completely, you did what you could and began making your way to your first class. upon entering the classroom, the teacher scoffed, “look at the time. is this a time to come into your first class?” embarrassed, you tugged on the hem of your shirt, before stuttering, “I-I apologize. I’m a new student here and, I got lost. I also got caught in the rain, so that’s why it took me longer to get here. I’m so sorry.” you saw a flash of sympathy on the teacher’s face; she probably felt bad for you, but you saw it for a second. she cleared her throat and asked you to come in. at this point, all you needed was to find an empty seat. you blocked out the whispers and stares of the surrounding students and quickly sat in a seat, settling down before pulling out your dry (thank god) notebook and a pen.

just like that, most of your day went by, problem-free. well, except for you have yet to find friends. thankfully, because it’s the first day of classes, people are advertising different clubs, trying to get new students to sign up for them. so, during your lunch break, you decided to head to the bulletin board where they had posted the club sign-up sheets. you examine the different clubs the school has to offer: gardening, theatre, cooking club. but there’s one that catches your eye, and that is acapella club. with a small smile on your face, you read the details about the club, adding your name and info onto it. “can’t wait to see you at our first meeting!” a voice says behind you, immediately startling you. somehow you lost your balance, and began falling back when two arms secured themselves around your waist,  you back into your original position. “are you okay?” you turn to see the face of your savior, and it’s a boy around your age, with feline eyes and a soft grin settled on his pink lips. wow, he’s cute, you think and he laughs, his cheeks becoming slightly pink. “thanks, I guess.” your eyes widened. “did I just say that out loud?” you ask him and he nodded. you shut your eyes tight, in horror. “don’t worry about it too much. I’m hyunbin, by the way.” you tell him your name, and he smiles, before replying, “pretty name for a pretty girl. I’ll see you on the day of the first meeting.” he sends you a playful wink before retreating back towards the cafeteria. and for once, you thanked your luck.

[meadweos]

Hello! I’m Ellie, this is Dorcas and I hope you enjoy this trainwreck of a soft as all hell introduction to my babe. I’m super excited to be writing here okay byeeeeeeeee.

is that LILY JAMES wearing that HUFFLEPUFF scarf ? no, it appears to be DORCAS MEADOWES who happens to be a SEVENTH year and a MUGGLEBORN !! SHE is CISFEMALE, and i heard they’re COMPASSIONATE and BENEVOLENT but might also seem NAIVE and DAMAGED. they appear to be leaning towards the side of the ORDER, but this is a conversation we should be having somewhere else. ( ellie / nineteen / gmt / she/her )

TRIGGER WARNINGS : death, injury, hospital mention, dogs.

PART ONE. BASICS / MAGICAL FULL NAME & MEANINGS  : Dorcas ( GAZELLE ) Andromache ( MAN / BATTLE ) Meadowes ( LIVED IN OR NEAR A MEADOW. ) DATE OF BIRTH : November 16th. AGE : 17. ZODIAC SIGN : Scorpio. HEIGHT : 5 ft 7 in. EYE COLOR : Dark brown. LEFT OR RIGHT HANDED : Ambidextrous.  FAVORITE COLOR : Light blue / black. SCHOOL : Hogwarts. BLOOD STATUS : Muggleborn. WHAT ARE THEIR PARENTS JOBS? : Her mother was a stay-at-home tutor, and her father was a doctor. ( Her aunt is a therapist. Her uncle is a lawyer. ) DO THEY HAVE ANY MAGICAL BLOOD? : Not in her immediate family. Her fifth, twice removed, much, much older cousin is a wizard (of Emeric Switch fame! Imagine that!) HOW DID THEIR MAGIC FIRST MANIFEST ITSELF? : She wanted to talk to the dogs at the local pet store, and accidentally ‘phased’ through the door. She was found half an hour later just stroking a pitbull puppy which had latched itself onto her. YEAR : Seventh year. HOUSE : Hufflepuff. PATRONUS : Panda. ( THE PANDA IS A RESOURCEFUL ANIMAL, AND THOSE WITH IT AS A PATRONUS ARE THE SAME. THEY ARE GOOD AT USING WHATEVER IS AROUND THEM, AND INCREDIBLY CREATIVE AND BRIGHT. THEY ARE FRIENDLY AND WARM, AND MANY MAY GO TO THEM FOR ADVICE OR HELP, WHICH THE PANDA WILL WILLINGLY GIVE. THEY ARE A BIT OF A HEALER BY NATURE, ENJOYING COMPANY AROUND THEM AND USING IT TO ENHANCE THEMSELVES. THEY LOVE TO EXPLORE MANY AREAS OF KNOWLEDGE AND THE WORLD, TRYING TO BROADEN THEIR HORIZONS AND KEEP THEIR MINDS OPEN. ) BOGGART : Her father, sat in the same armchair he’d always loved. His head turned towards her as he tells her it was all her fault, and the room shrinks. UPDATED: Earlier, and for very good reason, I wrote a drabble centered around what her Boggart would be for a different roleplay. It’s different than what it is now, but I’m nevertheless extremely proud of it. You can read it here. AMORTENTIA : What is it about true love, dearest? What makes everyone go wild? Is it the prospect that someone, someone whole, and unflinching, is out there - waiting for you? Waiting for your embrace, your touch? Or is it just that they are tired - tired of making homes in people and receiving nothing back? You, though. You make homes in all manner of things. And, anyway, who decided homes can’t be humans? Who decided home is a stationary concept? That your heart can’t be held in the hands of many people, that it cannot be crushed and sewn back together in a matter of minutes? Who decided that love, that great big messy concept, has to be romantic? You are as messy in love as you are in life - that is to say, you build pieces of yourself from the people around you, from the pieces of themselves they give you. The skin beneath your ear? Composed of the whispers of secrets from your first boyfriend. Your nose? Your mother’s love. The inside of your wrist? The balm of Emmeline’s arms around your body, shielding you the only way she can.  No. It isn’t so impossible that love is greater than the romance. That love is so many more things. The Greeks of old always said there were many kinds of love. Eros. Agape. Philia. Storge. Ludos. Pragma. Philautia. It is these things that you, alone, recite in that dungeon. The cold seems to envelop you as you take in a breath, the tendrils of your senses magnifying. It can be overwhelming, you know, but you are not as surprised as you expect to be. Warmth, sinking between your fingertips, laps at your cheek, at your lips as you breathe out. It sticks to you, to your tongue. Like caramel and peanut butter, the batter of the cookies your aunt always makes, the s’mores that you made around the campfire just last week. Her hair, or is it her perfume (?) wafting in your direction - regardless, you stay rooted to your place. Daisies, growing wild, the way they had at home, in your back garden. The smell of old brick and something crumbling - that weird Dragonleather smell that stays in the air whenever Hagrid passes, the smell of bursting fireworks (that time that the Marauders hadn’t realized there was anyone still down the corridor) and butterbeer, warming. Your dogs breath, laughter bubbling up as you remark on the smell of toothpaste, on peppermint and mossy treebark.  You’re not surprised to smell all the things that make this place home - you’re not surprised to smell that it’s not made up of just one person - just one thing, fixable - but many. Moving parts that flare up and slide away into the background of your senses. WAND : Phoenix tail feather core. 9 inches. Black Walnut. PETS : Owl, named Athena. Also owns a pitbull, the light of her life, Agape ( LOVE AND AFFECTION ) or Aggie, for short. CHARACTER INSPIRATION : Cinderella, Sonya Rostova, Izzie Stevens, Craig Middlebrooks, Ann Perkins, Ella Lopez, Jess Day, Riley Matthews, Penelope Garcia, Kara Danvers, Capheus Onyango, and Jane Villanueva. ( CHARACTER TAG HERE. )

PART TWO. ARE YOU GOOD AT… DANCING? : I certainly try.  SINGING? : Yes! COOKING? : Somewhat. DUELING? : Never been better. STUDYING? : If my grades are anything to go by, yes. MAGIC? : Uh, I’d hope so.

PART THREE. HAVE YOU EVER… DRIVEN A CAR? : Yes. Not well, though. FALLEN IN LOVE? : … Yes. HAD SEX? : Yes. LAUGHED SO HARD YOU CRIED? : I don’t know anyone who enjoys their life who hasn’t. SMOKED? : ... No. DONE DRUGS? : Nope. BROKEN THE LAW? : Accidentally. KILLED SOMEONE? : No.

PART FOUR. LITTLE SECRETS BIGGEST FEAR : Losing everyone. And everything. SOMEONE YOU ADMIRE : Emme, McGonagall. SOMEONE YOU FEAR : I don’t really know. Dumbledore, when he’s mad. Whatever that ponce of a miserable Muggle hater is called. SOMEONE YOU MISS : Grandpa. Terry. My brother. Mum. Dad. SOMEONE YOU COULDN’T LIVE WITHOUT : Emme. Myself, too. SOMEONE YOU COULD KILL : Anyone who hates muggles. DO YOU WANT KIDS? : Maybe someday. DO YOU WANT TO GET MARRIED? : To the right person? Yeah. BIGGEST REGRET : Not sleeping in the same room as my brother that night. ( I could have saved him. I should have saved him. ) CAN YOU SEE THESTRALS? : Yes.

PART FIVE. FINISH THIS SENTENCE I AM… : Sleepy. Wishing Emmeline was here. I WISH… : Ice-cream could become a person. MAYBE ONE DAY… : I won’t feel this guilt anymore. SOMETIMES I… : Fall in love in the morning, and out of it by lunch. MY FAVOURITE SUBJECTS ARE… : Herbology. MY LEAST FAVOURITE SUBJECTS ARE… : History of Magic, Divination. IF I COULD DO IT AGAIN, I WOULD… : Save my brother. IF I COULD GO TO A DIFFERENT SCHOOL, I WOULD CHOOSE… : Beauxbatons, not Ilvermorny. IF I COULD CHOOSE A DEATHLY HALLOW, I WOULD CHOOSE… : The Stone. ( Say it like it isn’t a mantra, Dorcas. As though it isn’t something that’s poisoned your dreams since discovering those stories may be based in reality. )

PART SIX. MISCELLANEOUS

DESCRIBE THEIR AESTHETIC IN THREE WORDS : Sea, daisies, laughter. THEME SONG : Lavender’s Blue ( CINDERELLA SOUNDTRACK - 2015. ) / Sonya Alone ( BRITTAIN ASHFORD - NATASHA, PIERRE & THE GREAT COMET OF 1812 - ORIGINAL BROADWAY CAST RECORDING. ) / Times are Hard for Dreamers (Pop Version) ( PIPPA SOO - AMELIE - ORIGINAL BROADWAY CAST RECORDING. ) TOP FIVE SONGS IN THEIR ( MODERN ) PLAYLIST : You Are Enough - Sleeping at Last, Yellow - Coldplay, When I Kissed the Teacher - ABBA, Breathe - In The Heights, & Paradise - George Ezra. VINE THAT FITS THEM : ( x ) RANDOM HEADCANONS : 1. Dorcas loves deeply. Deeply, deeply, deeply. It’s intrinsic to who she is. She’s protective, maddeningly so, and unable to sit still. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and is a nightmare when it comes to pacing herself. She knows not of patience, or of taking time to breathe. She consists solely of love - a palace built between her ribs of the people that she loves. In this, she is a typical Taurus Hufflepuff. ( x ) 2. Dorcas lost her parents at a very young age. She doesn’t often speak of it - speak about them, about the parents that she lost and the brother that she was unable to save. They were killed in a home burglary turned murder spree when she was six. They’d been meant to go on holiday, but Dorcas had come down with the stomach flu, so they’d foregone the vacation when it spread to Dorcas’s younger sister, Calliope. The only reason that Dorcas survived was that she managed to climb beneath her bed with her younger sister Calliope facing the wall, only her back visible from the opening created by the duvet. She gets stabbed three times, one of those stab wounds narrowly avoiding piercing her spleen and the major abdominal arteries. She still has the scars on her lower back. Callie was uninjured, and she was the one who managed to get to the neighbors house (by climbing out of the window from the second floor and dropping at least eleven feet). Dorcas remembers, mostly, finding out her parents and brother were murdered. The rest of it often feels incredibly foggy. She went through therapy for a number of years before she was discharged from the North West Surrey Mental Health Trust. The nightmares, today, are infrequent, but some nights are worse than others. She often takes a calming draught before she goes to sleep - provided by Madame Pomfrey at the Hospital Wing.  3. Dorcas’s best friend in the universe is Emmeline Vance. They aren’t in the same house, but that doesn’t matter. They met at eleven, on the train to Hogwarts. Dorcas, with brown hair down to her hip, and Emmeline’s hair newly cut into a bob ( her parents had gone wild at her for that one, ) and that was it. The rest, as they say, is History. If you can’t find Dorcas, she’s usually with Emmeline. 60% of her spare time is spent wherever Emmeline is. They’re one another’s great loves. She doesn’t know what she’d be without Emme.  4. Dorcas wants to be a Herbologist or a Healer when she graduates. She’s not sure how likely that plan is to succeed with everything going on - how far she’ll get before she abandons it all to help the people that she wants to help, desperately. As it stands, 40% of her spare time is spent either in the Potions classroom or the Herbology classroom - Potions is a required course for becoming a Healer.  5. If this were a modern AU, Dorcas’d totally be a theater kid. She’d also be that kid that is always making scrapbooks - always half finishing projects, the one that has too many cacti and exotic plants in the corner of her room. She’d keep her phone on her, always, lockscreen always changing. She’d love bands like Little Mix and butcher the Spanish when she tried to sing songs like Despacito.  6. FUTURE: Dorcas manages to live through the Wizarding War ( well, mostly ) without casting the Killing Curse. She’s fast, she’s quick, and she doesn’t stand still. She’s often the one coming careening past the others, ducking beneath their outstretched arms as light - green, red, blue, yellow - is cast against the ground. She Apparates in and out, as though her being there is a mirage. People, injured, bystanders, disappear from where they’d been only seconds before, as soon as her hand secures around anywhere she can grip on. She works with trembling hands, to heal those that she can. Four separate times she manages to Apparate away from under Voldemort’s nose.  The first time is with her arm hooked under Fabian Prewett, his unconscious body bruised and the cut on his arm infected with what she suspects is a modified strain of the venom of the Venomous Tentacula. The second time is with a handful of wands - all belonging to fellow Order members. The third time is with Dedalus Diggle. He’s a handful, that time, splaying limbs, cracking as they twist around. They have a spell maker in their midst but Dorcas is the only one that can sooth the pain, to make it all more bearable while they try and fix it. The fourth time is with Emmeline. Emme’s far too headstrong for her own good, and knows how rare it is that Voldemort himself makes an appearance. Dorcas is the one that breaks Bellatrix’s focus - the Cruciatus curse trained on her best friend, on her Emmeline, flickers when Dorcas passes, a blur of black leather and hair tied up in a bun, bangs hanging low and the light long since dimmed in her eyes. When Emmeline comes to, the pain still ricochets through her bones, and Dorcas is powerless to help. It takes days for the aftershocks to fade. The faintest roar of rage is still heard in Dorcas’s brain. She’s just too slow, in the end, to save herself, although she doesn’t try. She’s not ready, but she is. She’s not happy, but she is. She knew there was only one way this could end. The one incapable of love striking down the one composed entirely of it is the only end that makes sense in a world at war - in a world in which war stories are not one of morals. War stories are made of absolute and uncompromising allegiance to obscenity and evil. It just takes her years to realize. Years to reconcile. Being soft does not make her immune to this. Being alive doesn’t. She is happy, but it is not a happy ending. No - it’s a very sad beginning.

[yasuda-yoshiya]

So, KH3 is over.

Wow. That sure was a thing.

Closing reflections on both the game and the series as a whole below.

I guess I’m not even really surprised that Xion pretty much got a whole five minutes of screentime in the end after all that build-up. Don’t know what else I expected, Nomura...

You know, KH has always been terrible at pacing, but I still can’t quite believe just how much nothing happened in the first ~20 hours! The Disney filler is fine and all (I mean, the game wouldn’t sell without it), but I have to admit that the initial rush of childish excitement at getting new KH content started to wear pretty thin after four or five worlds of it. Games like KH2 and BBS at least tended to break things up with some big plot events halfway through, right?! I feel like this game really would have benefited a lot from having some kind of breather somewhere in the middle, even if it was just a matter of moving things like the Aqua/Ventus rescue up a bit earlier. They really had to cram a lot into those last few hours, and a lot of things ended up feeling more rushed than they really needed to be as a result. But for all the game’s flaws, in the end I still felt like I was able to leave the characters I cared about most on a satisfying note, and I think I’m content with that.

I really loved the way Axel was portrayed in this game! I feel like they hit a pretty good balance with him in the sense that, yes, he’s obviously realised that he messed up horribly and wants to do better, but he still totally feels like Axel. He’s still very much an obviously flawed and self-centered person who still habitually puts his own emotional needs above others, still wants to frame himself as the hero of the story who will obviously be the one to save Roxas in the end - and I love that the game itself never really buys into that framing. There is honestly not a single scene in this game where I felt like the emphasis was on what a cool and good person Axel is. His constant apologies to Kairi feel incredibly uncomfortable, like he’s very clumsily trying to finally hold himself accountable for what he’s done but still has absolutely no idea to actually handle it. His boasts about being a Keyblade wielder feel like empty arrogant bluster that never really gets backed up. When he pointedly interrupts the big cast reunion to scream “Um, hello, what about ME?!”, it seems more petty and ridiculous than anything. And when we get to the final battle, he repeatedly and consistently fails, on every count. He tries to have a big badass moment rebelling against Xemnas, but Xemnas totally beats his ass, and in the end it’s Roxas and Xion who have to jump in to save him, not the other way around. He has absolutely nothing to do with saving Roxas, or bringing him and Xion back, or even dealing with Saix, despite how much he heatedly promised that he was going to totally do all those things.

In the end, the real crux of his arc feels like that moment where Xion tells him to step back and leave it to them, and Axel just smiles and admits that, yeah, when it came down to it, the two of them were always stronger than him. They don’t need him, and they never did. I love that so, so much. I love the way that when the three of them are left alone together after the battle, he’s just so obviously awkward and uncomfortable and has no idea what to say, until the three of them all just finally break down crying and hugging each other. It felt so totally genuine and powerful and heartfelt, and I couldn’t have asked for more. I really appreciated Axel’s acknowledgement at the end that they had a lot to sort out, and I expect they probably still do, and a lot of it’s probably going to be messy and painful and difficult - but I’m also fine with us not getting to see that onscreen or with the game dwelling on it too much, because in the end, what’s really important as far as the series’ themes go is that they’re all finally here and alive and free to be themselves, and the ending rightly puts the final emphasis on that - on the sheer joy and wonder of them finally being able to live in the world, as people, to be happy and confident in themselves and who they are. Xion showing up at the tower in those beautiful clothes was the point where I pretty much just started crying my eyes out and couldn’t stop for the entire credits sequence. I love that the framing of their final scenes doesn’t really put any real special emphasis on Axel at all; it makes it feel like their happy ending isn’t really about them reuniting with him as a trio (in the way that, say, the BBS trio’s ending is very much framed), it’s about a much broader sense of them being able to live, and to experience the joy of living, with all that entails - that he’s just one of many friends for them now, and that the days of their messed up co-dependent relationship where they all had to desperately cling on to each other to feel human are hopefully over. The only thing I don’t really like about it in the end is Saix being there, but hey, nothing’s perfect. I do wish that things like Xion’s return had been a bit less rushed, and that her and Roxas had more screentime than they did, but all in all, I feel like I definitely got the closure I wanted, and I’m overjoyed with it.

As for the rest of the game... well, I’d be lying if I said the overall plot wasn’t pretty much a giant incoherent mess overall - the finale had way too much crammed into it, a ton of the antagonists seemed to do sudden 180s at the end for no reason, and it was an absolutely terrible choice to spend such a huge amount of time on obvious sequel hooks and cliffhangers (the black box, Subject X, Marluxia and co secretly being ancient keyblade warriors or whatever the hell Chi is doing) in a game that should really have been firmly focused on giving closure to the existing arcs after all these years - but... well, it’s Nomura, and it’s Kingdom Hearts. I don’t think I really expected anything else. But I did feel like the game was generally charming and enjoyable on a moment-to-moment level, the quality of the dialogue and cutscene direction felt like a big step up for the series, and I did actually enjoy the sheer scope and ambition of the final boss rush for what it was. It was absolutely a mess, but it felt like a sort of final celebration of the series and its characters that made me feel really excited and nostalgic in a sort of “bringing out my inner twelve-year-old” way, and there were a lot of great individual moments in there - the RXA reunion, Repliku’s sacrifice, Sora apologising to Namine - that genuinely did manage to hit hard and leave an impact. I guess at this point, KH has been ongoing for so long that it’s just inevitably exciting to see all these stories finally coming to a conclusion instead of just stalling at the same point forever, however weird the execution.

The one big thing I’d say they totally dropped the ball on was the BBS trio; their resolutions just felt completely empty to me, way too easy and simplistic and without any real consequences or acknowledgement of things like Aqua’s fall to darkness and how it impacted on her, or Terra’s rock-bottom self-esteem and the ways Aqua and Eraqus contributed to that. (Hell, when Ansem and Xemnas’s last words gave me much stronger Terra feelings than Terra’s actual resolution did, something must have gone terribly wrong!) They weren’t really ever my favourite characters, so I’m not too upset about it, but I still think they deserved better than they got. And I pretty much just tuned out all the nonsense at the end with Kairi’s unbelievably transparent and cynical fridging (”You require motivation” oh my god get lost!!) and the drama over Sora being separated from her again becuse I just...really didn’t care any more. I’m sorry, I just didn’t. Those two can keep cycling through their same old boring plot forever if they want to, I just don’t care!! I actually barely even noticed Sora disappearing at the end because I was too busy crying over Xion, lmao. Thank god my favourite characters don’t have to live inside those two losers any more. They are free from their nonsense now, and so am I.

So, how do I feel about the series as a whole, coming out of KH3? I’ve spent quite a bit of time revisiting and reflecting back on the older games in the run-up to KH3′s release, and honestly, I think my opinion coming out is more or less the same as it was coming in. I can’t really honestly say that the series as a whole is good, and it’s probably not at all worth the investment for anyone new to the series trying to get into it now - but I do feel that there is genuinely a lot of good stuff in there among all the nonsense, and I’d have to say that my personal experience growing up with the series and following it all these years has been an overwhelmingly positive one, overall.

KH1 was a very conventional shounen story, but a charming and beautifully told one. CoM was a genuinely unique and unsettling game that pulled apart KH1 in a ton of interesting ways, and even if the series didn’t have the guts to really keep going with the ideas it set up, I still feel that it was really interesting and cool as a standalone. KH2 was a mess, but it was an epic mess that I totally loved and obsessed over as a twelve-year-old, and it set up some genuinely fascinating concepts with Roxas, the Nobodies and the Organization which 358/2 Days went on to capitalise on incredibly well. I genuinely find 358/2 Days to be a game that still has a lot of power and resonance for me even now; it’s probably the only KH game I’d say I wholeheartedly respect and admire from a writing perspective, and I still love how comprehensively it tears apart everything KH2 was trying to say (in a way that the series totally was willing to run with and expand on, unlike CoM, which even 10 years later is still kind of unbelievable to me). BBS’s writing was a big step down from Days, but there were still a lot of really cool and interesting characters and concepts in there, and even if KH3 ultimately failed to stick the landing on them, I’d still say that a lot of what the game tried to communicate with Terra’s character in particular has continued to stick with me. Re:coded and DDD were both pretty silly, but they were still totally fun and addictive games (debugging system sectors was great fun, and I can’t hate anything as transparently Pokemon-derivative as the Dream Eaters), and I loved how they both so unapologetically continued down the path Days set up in kicking KH2′s original conclusions about Nobodies to the curb. And KH3, for all its missteps, still managed to cap off the character arcs and themes that I most cared about in a way that was ultimately satisfying to me. The overarching plot might have been absolute nonsense, and the series more often than not a ridiculous and filler-bloated mess, but in the end I really can’t feel anything but happy and positive memories when I look back on any of these games. I can’t really hold the series’ flaws against it too much when it’s brought me so much joy over all these years.

I think the one thing I love and appreciate most about the series, looking back now, really is just how willing they were to scream from the rooftops that the sacrifices Roxas and Xion were pushed into making were categorically wrong, that they deserved to be their own people, right through to the very end. In the end, the series was already pretty much irreversibly going down the path of bringing them back and giving them their own happy endings by the end of DDD - which was amazing - so in the end all KH3 really had to do for me to love it was to just complete that obvious final step, and I was more or less guaranteed to be okay with whatever other nonsense it might do. But even so, there was a part of me that still couldn’t quite believe it seeing their happy ending at the end of KH3; I still almost couldn’t process that this was actually real, that they actually seriously did it. KH2 so obviously wanted its players to uncritically take Roxas’s choice to go back to being part of Sora as a good thing, and even Days left a heck of a lot of wiggle room for people to read Xion’s willingness to sacrifice herself as a positive choice, rather than something she very clearly did not want but was forced to convince herself was okay because she simply wasn’t given any other viable options.

And this kind of goofy shounen-adjacent series having a lot of disturbing and uncomfortable subtext beneath the surface of its seemingly conventional plotlines isn’t exactly a rare thing in itself, but I feel like it’s pretty uncommon to see a series like this go so far in explicitly bringing out that subtext and making it into text - unambiguously shouting from the rooftops and making it outright unavoidable canon that, no, Days was in fact not just a tragic story about people with no hearts who were always just tragically doomed from the start to sacrifice themselves and return to the “real people” they came from, but was in fact a story about perfectly real and complete and valuable people being subtly and systematically brainwashed into believing that they had no hearts and were less real and valid and important than others, about the horrible things those kinds of beliefs can do to people and about force them to willingly dehumanise both themselves and others to cope. Xion’s story was not a beautiful tale about accepting her true nature as a part of Sora’s memories and willingly returning to him, it was a story about a person who absolutely deserved and wanted to live for herself having her entire identity and self-confidence crushed and destroyed, about her being pushed into becoming actively suicidal even by perfectly “well-meaning” people. Roxas’s tragedy was in fact not just that he “didn’t get to meet Sora himself” before getting assimilated back into him - him being assimilated into someone else in the first place was the tragedy, because giving his own independently developed self up should never have to be something anyone has to do. Namine merging with Kairi was not a beautiful happy ending, it was an incredibly depressed and guilt-ridden person taking the first excuse she had to fade away because she no longer saw any value in herself and her existence, and Sora and Kairi uncritically validated that perception of herself by accepting her merge with Kairi as right in a way that they absolutely shouldn’t have.

None of this is reduced to subtext or interpretation, KH makes it all outright canon by implication - and not only makes it canon but actively sets up the entire main thrust of its epic multi-game arc to be about setting these mistakes right and bringing these people back and validating them as full human beings in their own right. And honestly, I just think that’s incredible. I love it, and I’ll always be grateful for it, and a huge part of what lets me keep coming back to games like 358/2 Days and still being able to fully appreciate them even now is having that knowledge that these interpretations are not just me reading too much into the text, but that they have been outright objectively confirmed as the correct readings within the series itself, over and over again, and only more and more and more explicitly and unavoidably as time has gone on. I honestly can’t express how much it means to me that KH is so loud and unambiguous about how much it loves and values and holds up these people as real and important, whatever their origins, whatever the fanbase might have to say about how bringing them back is “fanservice” and “ruining their original conclusions”. It’s so important to me, and I’m so thankful for it.

So yes, overall, I think I’m content with this game, and with the series in general! As long-awaited series finales go, I’ll definitely take it over things like Homestuck and Zero Escape’s efforts any day. I feel pretty much happy ending my time with the series on this note, and while I probably will still end up checking out whatever Nomura does next, I think it will probably be more out of vague curiosity than any strong investment by now, which is fine - the plotlines I cared about most within the series have now been pretty definitively closed, to my satisfaction, and I doubt anything else it does will manage to interest me nearly as much, but I’m sure I’ll still be willing to pop in again in a few years anyway for old times’ sake. For now, I am free, and I’d have to say that feels pretty good! I’m willing to forgive Kingdom Hearts a lot just because it’s brought me so much joy over the years, and I can’t think of any other series that has managed to stay emotionally significant to me for as much of my life as this one has. So in the end, all I can say is: thank you, Tetsuya Nomura! Keep on co-opting those beloved Disney movies to indulge your absurdly convoluted shounen anime nonsense, you wonderful, ridiculous man.

[imaginedanganronpa]

Can I request Sayaka, Hiyoko, Ibuki and Kaede conforting an s/o who used to be the shsl dancer, but after an accident they lost their tittle and began having pain when performing faster dances ?

Part of this is mildly angsty, but enjoy!

Sayaka Maizono, Hiyoko Saionji, Ibuki Mioda, and Kaede Akamatsu Comforting Ultimate Dancer S/O Who Gets In An Accident!

Sayaka Maizono

You met Sayaka when you were a backup dancer for one of herperformances. You two immediately fell head over heels – almost like love atfirst sight.

She had no idea that you were also an Ultimate, so you both soon connected overthat. Afterwards, you started seeing one another around Hope’s Peak frequently.Your relationship blossomed from there.

It worked well – you would come up with routines and even help her newer backupdancers with the music, and she’d be able to help choreograph what she thoughtwould look good on stage.

Nothing could stop this power couple… right?

You always went to each other’s practices to support one another, and Sayakaloved watching you move. It didn’t matter what style, you always looked sograceful and happy.

It happened during one of your practices: you severely twisted an ankle andtore a tendon. Sayaka rushed to your side and tearfully wrapped her arm aroundyour shoulders, lifting you up. 

When the doctors told you that you’d never dance again, you were heartbroken.That meant you couldn’t go to school with your lover anymore and couldn’t claimthe title as Ultimate. It felt like you lost everything. 

You started hating yourself because dancing truly was your passion. Sayakatried to help by inviting you to her sessions to get your input on thechoreography, but it made you feel helpless.

She understood what it was like: she’d lost her voice before and had to cancel shows,but that was only temporary. 

Sayaka encourages you not to dance, but how could she say no to the person sheloved? If it made you happy, she couldn’t hold you back.

It was painful and your ankle felt like it was on fire but it was what youloved to do and you didn’t want to give that up.

Sayaka did her best to help you find other hobbies that you were passionateabout so that you had something worthwhile, but nothing struck you like dancingdid. It hurt Sayaka to see you be so hard on yourself, but being an Ultimate iswhat made you feel proud and successful.

She gave you vocal lessons and slowly taught you how to project and controlyour voice so that you could sing with her. It gave you something to lookforward to during her shows, but nothing was the same.

However, she did her best to understand and comfort you. Sayaka made sure youwere at every show and supported your choice to participate in slower dances.

Hiyoko Saionji

You met Hiyoko at a conference for dancers. You were bothUltimate Dancers, though different styles, and immediately were drawn to oneanother.

She let her much softer side out when you were around. You got to see a side ofher that no one else did. She learned to trust you and how to open up.

You loved dancing together and trying new things.

When you had your accident, Hiyoko was by your side and collapsed, immediatelybecoming worrisome. You insisted that you were just fine as to not stress herout, but little did you know the extent of your injuries.

After the doctors told you that you’d never be able to dance the same way again, a pitformed in each of your stomachs.

You’d lost your title, and Hiyoko couldn’t even begin to imagine what it wouldbe like if she could never perform – if she was no longer an Ultimate. It was aconcept that she’d never wrapped her head around before. 

She started petitions to get your title back but to no avail. 

Humans believe that the worst will never happen to them, but here it was: beingserved to you on a silver platter.

Hiyoko was as shocked and saddened as you were. She was able to understand youthe most since she, too, was a dancer. This caused her to be an incrediblyhelpful partner and she devoted all of her time to making you feel better.

At first, she tried putting on private dances just or you, but that made youfeel empty. 

She was good at distracting you and keeping your mind off of the accident.Hiyoko kept you busy first so that you never had time to stop and think aboutit and get sad again.

She also knew better than anyone else that you can’t dance on injuries – atleast not ones as bad as yours. You were resilient, though, and did your bestto perform faster dances just like you used to.

Hiyoko was good at taking care of you and did her best to keep you positive,insisting that you’d get back to it someday. She learned different styles otherthan traditional so that she could help you when you finally did get back onyour feet.

As you slowly started dancing again, you realized you had to stick with slower,less intensive dances. Hiyoko taught you her traditional style and learned withyou so that she was able to support you every step of the way.

Ibuki Mioda

You met in Hope’s Peak and became fast friends. Of course,that ended up leading to a little bit more. 

Ibuki loved watching you dance. She was your own personal cheerleader, stayingon the sidelines and watching you perform. 

Sometimes, she’d jokingly try to join in and ask, “Am I doing this right,(Y/N)?” She knew that it always made you laugh which is exactly why she did it.

When you had your fall, Ibuki kept positive. Even while you were in the hospital she wasalways insisting that you would be just fine and constantly told jokes andstories to keep your mind off of your injury. She’s good at comedic relief.

You appreciated her positivity, and for a while you believed her when she saideverything would work out.

When you got the news that you wouldn’t be able to dance the same again, youboth felt a little discouraged. Ibuki kept her feelings inside though becauseshe didn’t want to make you more upset than what you already were.

After your title as an Ultimate was taken away, she was livid. She wasscreaming about how that wasn’t fair, you earned that title fair and square andyou deserved it. She did everything she could to get your title and placementin Hope’s Peak back.

At home, Ibuki supported you. She helped you with your physical therapy andwould play songs to keep your mind busy. 

She always said that in her eyes, you were still the Ultimate Dancer. Youalways would be. 

When you told her you wanted to try dancing again for the first time in months,she was extremely supportive and positive, taking your side and even joiningyour practice so that you wouldn’t feel so alone. 

However, the pain was intense – much more than you thought it would be. Youcouldn’t take it. 

Ibuki sensed that something was wrong and asked you to stop. Immediately, youconfided in her and told her that you just couldn’t do it anymore. 

Regardless of how she felt, Ibuki crouched down and placed a kiss on top ofyour forehead. “No matter what, Ultimate or not, I love you.”

It took time to adjust to newer routines, and you had to give up some of yourformer styles and switch to a different approach but nevertheless, youcontinued to dance.

And Ibuki was always going to be your number one supporter.

Kaede Akamatsu

She was very familiar with the entertainment industry andknew how demanding it was. You two met at a meeting for Ultimates who werein that kind of business: music, art, dancing, and so on.

You two just clicked. 

Not long after, you were spending every day together. Kaede would come to yourpractices or you’d spend hours after school together in the Music Room.

Kaede would play piano and you’d perform elegant dances along with her music.You also tried showing her faster-paced dances, and though she attempted, shewasn’t that great.

She also really loved watching you perform, always saying how much she lovedthe way you moved and how creative your dances are.

Your accident happened out of nowhere: a freak accident where a light hadfallen on you. Thankfully, it only landed on your leg but the fall itselfresulted in some damaged ribs as well. It could’ve been much worse.

Kaede was a nervous wreck, even more than you were. She almost never left thehospital for the entirety of your stay.

Both of you were devastated when you were told you wouldn’t dance again, or atleast not like you used to. It wasn’t until your title was revoked wheneverything started to feel real.

Kaede took care of you throughout the healing process. She was there with youevery day after school, tending to your wounds and all your needs. She didn’tmind – she loved you and needed to be there for you.

She was reluctant when you told her you wanted to dance again. This wasn’t toolong after you completed physical therapy, which she always drove you to andmade sure you never missed a session.

At first, Kaede begged you not to but she saw how passionate you were. If shehad lost her ability to play piano, she’d be crushed. Therefore, she slowlysupported your decision. 

It hurt whenever you tried certain dances and Kaede could see it. It upset herand she continued pressuring you to give up on dancing, but didn’t want to holdyou back. The blonde felt conflicted and torn.

Whenever the pain started again, Kaede would comfort you and massage youthoroughly.

Eventually coming around, she began composing pieces just for you that wereeasy to follow, and that you could effortlessly dance to. 

She helped you get back on track, but it still hurt since you couldn’t do thethings you used to. Kaede kindly smiled at you, saying “Dancing isn’t who youare. Who you are is right here… in your heart. It isn’t the end of the world,and could’ve been much worse.”

- Mod Rantaro

[quill-and-ink-writer]

Are They Still Beautiful?

Content warning for death, blood, amputation, and ableist language/concepts.

Word Count: 1506

Edited? Sort of.

“Everyone, up! Up! Insurgents by the lower pass. Attack on the trade post an hour ago. Get up and get moving, people!”

Elvira was on her feet in seconds, already tying back her golden hair. She looked across the barracks and grinned at Loella, her sister-in-arms. Loella was a stern young woman, made so by too many deaths in her short life. She was all dark skin and onyx hair and eyes carved out of obsidian. She frowned at Elvira’s expression.

“You find too much joy in war,” Loella said. She buckled her armor, bright white and gleaming in the still-dark room. “Someday, you won’t find it so rewarding.”

Elvira disagreed. In her opinion, no better reward than glory existed. As long as she was a soldier, she would have it.

“What do you think?” she asked. “My bow or my blade?”

Loella didn’t answer.

There were thirty soldiers in the third regiment, and they fell into position outside the barracks without command. Their armor glittered in the night, silver weapons at the ready. All who observed the soldiers standing at attention there would have only one word to describe the sight: beautiful. And they were beautiful, in a terrible, deadly sort of way. Elvira loved the feeling of power that accompanied being beautiful. She was unstoppable.

“Be on the watch constantly.” General Idama, a regal-looking man of about forty, paced in front of them, words flying from his tongue faster than a horse could gallop. “The enemy has Aristidian hostages at Lerin-” Lerin was the official name of the trading post. “-and may be surrounding the area between there and Aristide. It’s a small uprising, so I trust the third regiment should be able to handle it. Off with you!”

The soldiers cheered, and within the hour, the regiment was well into the neighboring forest, horses thundering down the only road connecting Aristide and Wasteland. Elvira scanned the trees. Loella did the same.

Wasteland was a place where imperfect beings were sent. They were the blind, or the deaf, or the mute, or the diseased. They were broken, missing parts of their bodies or minds. It was better for them in Wasteland. Why should they remain in a society where they would never fit in, never feel at home?

Over the past year, the number of insurgent attacks had doubled. Traders from Aristide were killed on the road to Wasteland. Armed caravans were targeted, guards slain and new Wastes taken by force. There had even been talk of returning to the Outside. Elvira couldn’t understand. Wasteland was a gift given to those who were different. They should appreciate it for what it was.

Another hour, and the third regiment approached the only trading post between Wasteland and Aristide. The sun was just beginning to rise. Elvira and nine other soldiers hopped off their horses and drew their weapons. Elvira opted for her bow until they found the rebels.

Owen threw open the doors to the trading post and slunk inside, his bow at the ready. Elvire followed after him. Her stomach churned as she took in the sight before her.

Five Aristidian bodies - two women and three men - lay bleeding out on the wooden floor. Gemstone eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling. Ruby red blood matted golden hair and trickled from open mouths onto flawless skin. On the wall was written one question.

“‘Are they still beautiful?’” Owen read, dark eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Where are the Wastes?”

Elvira didn’t answer.

After a quick search of the room betrayed no hidden Wastes, Owen and Elvira left the building. The door had hardly closed behind them when an arrow lodged itself in Owen’s chest. Elvira ducked, and an arrow whizzed past her head. Owen’s body fell to the ground with a sickening thud.

Elvira was used to fighting, but she never got used to death.

She nocked an arrow and let it fly, grinning with satisfaction as it buried itself in the chest of a rebel Waste. The man staggered back and fell to his knees. The woman next to him screamed and lunged towards Elvira, sword drawn. Elvira discarded her bow and met the woman blade for blade. Although Elvira was a skilled swordsman, the Waste got in a few good blows. Her iron sword caught on Elvira’s helmet, blade screeching across metal and dragging across her cheek. Warm blood trickled from the wound. The Waste snarled and danced around Elvira like a sprite, slashing wildly at her legs. Elvira evaded every blow but one, and she let out a terrible scream as the blade of the Waste’s sword sunk into her calf.

Elvira spun to face the rebel woman and stabbed her, her sword buried up to the hilt in the Waste’s flesh. It was quick work to dispose of her, and Elvira turned to her next opponent, bleeding but ready to fight.

The next Waste to challenge her couldn’t have been older than a teenager, but still he managed to disarm her. The grin was wiped off his face with a swift kick to his wrist. He dropped his weapon, and Elvira punched him in the face, savoring the crack of his nose under her fist. Maybe a broken nose was a lesson the youth could learn from.

A great, hulking brute of a man approached her. He was larger than any human Elvira had ever seen. She craned her neck to gaze upon his pockmarked face. Before she could react, the giant man had grabbed her by the arms and thrown her across the road. Elvira’s body crashed into the trees, her head snapping against rough bark.

Elvira heard Loella cry out to her, but she couldn’t form any words. She stared up at the sky, and everything faded to black.

When Elvira woke, it was days later. She opened her eyes to see Loella, stern as ever, staring down at her.

“Ellie,” she rasped, “why am I in the infirmary?”

“Your leg was amputated.”

Loella had always been straight-to-the-point.

“What?”

“The wound was infected. Fiona couldn’t do anything to save it. I saw it. The flesh was falling off your bones.”

Elvira’s heart raced. “I can’t- It can’t be gone. I can’t lose my leg. I can’t leave. Loella, I can’t leave.”

Loella’s face was stony. “The Wastes retreated. Half the regiment was killed or injured. We carried the injured back to Aristide and left the dead to be collected the next day.”

“Loella, stop-”

“We couldn’t find you at first. That man threw you into the woods farther than we thought. We left without you.”

“I can’t leave. Get my brother. He’ll-”

“We went back to collect the dead. I was the one who found you. I thought you were dead. You weren’t moving.”

“Please, Ellie, don’t let them force me out,” Elvira begged. “Please, Ellie. We’ve been friends for years. Get my brother. He can help. I promise.”

“When I picked you up, you groaned. I raced ahead of the others. By the time I arrived back at Aristide, there was no choice. Fiona had to amputate your leg, or you would die.”

“I would rather have died!”

Loella’s face fell. “I couldn’t lose you, too.”

“I don’t care,” Elvira snapped. “You should have let me die.”

Loella swallowed hard. She stood and walked out of the infirmary without a word.

Elvira would have looked at her leg, or whatever remained, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to see it. In any case, Elvira wasn’t alone for long. General Idama entered, his face somber. He wore white robes and several pieces of jewelry. Glittering rubies hung from his neck. Heavy sapphires and emeralds adorned his hands and wrists. A frown decorated his face.

“General-”

“Dame Elvira, daughter of Gemma, soldier of Aristide,” he greeted, using her proper titles, “I have come to thank you for your service to the city of Aristide. The Council commends you for your service and wishes you a long, peaceful life outside the service. Your courage and tenacity will be remembered for years to come. Believe me when I say that we have lost an invaluable warrior. Dame Elvira, daughter of Gemma, you are hereby officially discharged from the Army of Aristide on grounds that you are unfit for service.”

Tears burned in Elvira’s eyes. “General Idama, I can still fight. I can still serve.”

“I have also come to announce that you will be expected to depart from Aristide with the next caravan out of the city.  Any attempts to evade departure may result in an even harsher punishment. Arrangements have already been made. The caravan is expecting you at the end of this week.”

“General-”

“Your relatives have been notified.”

“I can learn to fight with one leg.”

“It has been an honor to have you in my charge,” General Idama said.

With that, he left the room, stoic as ever. The door slammed shut. Elvira stared up at the ceiling, and the tears came.

She was going to Wasteland.

@inknindecision @jess---writes @ultimate-science-nerd @iamidentical @chaos-reign

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[selenelavellan]

HWRC Redux Part Five

One Two  Three  Four

Dirthamen, Fear, and Deceit are @feynites

Marriage is a complicated concept.

It comes with all sorts of bells and whistles; promises and vows and obligations laced with expectations. Joining your life with another isn't something to be taken lightly, and Selene is no stranger to the inherent risks in such a venture. Had run off largely to avoid them, really.

Unsurprisingly, it is much harder to explain to a God that you did not mean to marry them, after the fact.

If she were more talented with her words, she thinks, she could do a better job of this. Could explain that, no, she thought they were really just birds, and that while she felt affection for them had not even considered the possibility that accepting a ring she had thought they'd found on a street somewhere would create a marriage bond strong enough to pull someone out of the fade and into her living room.

Dirthamen tries to explain that that is not precisely what happened, but Selene is more preoccupied with bridging one misunderstanding at a time. Asking about lost secrets of magic and math and science can come later.

(Hopefully.)

Somehow she still ends up traveling through a magic mirror (Des right behind her because he adamantly refused to stay at home) and stepping out into a land that Alaris would give his left arm just to know for sure was real.

Something like guilt pulls at the pit of her stomach (it shouldn't be her; she abandoned her culture, her people. Someone else should be doing this, someone with loyalty, someone who deserves to know it wasn't all lost) while she follows someone she used to whisper prayers to during fights with her father or troubles with her studies through a large garden, hand held by an elf who is sometimes a raven that she once tried to keep away from her mothers grave by way of a cedar branch.

Part of her still thinks this is all some elaborate hallucination, or prank.

A quick glance up to find towers and spiraling staircase floating above them, and it becomes harder and harder to dispute the reality of her situation.

“This will be our home,” Dirthamen states, two large doors made from a stone she doesn't recognize opening before him.

It is a castle.

It is....it is an actual, magical, castle. Dark and gleaming, flames of golds and greens burning in torches and chandeliers. Walls covered in murals and mosaics and tall, thin windows to let in precise beams of light over the perfectly polished floors. Fear fluffs their wings slightly from where they are perched on her shoulder, and something in the corner of her eye darts away too quickly for her to catch.

Des looks as though he has just won the lottery on his birthday while being told his favorite holiday is happening twice this year, and that he now has the power to make people orgasm on demand.

Selene feels nauseous.

“Do you like it?” Dirthamen asks, turning to look at her, face hidden beneath a mask.

Selene opens her mouth to answer; 'its very creepy and I'm not sure if you know what haunted means but also almost certainly that' would probably be rude and Gods aren't really known for handling insults well (and she's already got to divorce him, she supposes) so instead she opts for  “It is a very...elegant look.”

He nods, and she supposes that even if it isn't the compliment he wanted, he doesn't seem to have taken offense to it which makes it a win for her.

There is a quick tour then, where Dirthamen points out places and monuments she has never heard of that all sound interesting, but she is still unsure of which questions will and won't offend. She gets strange stares from the people they pass, many dropping to their knees as their group walks past; eyes peeking up from masks and long bangs to stare curiously at her. She's not sure if it's the clothing, the bruise still apparent on her nose, or the hand holding that is doing it, but it only exacerbates the feeling of being misplaced that pervades her, here.

Finally, they pass through a long hall without the presence of others, arriving at another pair of large stone doors that echo the first.

“These will be our chambers,” Dirthamen announces, turning around to face Selene again.

She blinks up at him.

“...Ours?”

He blinks back.

“Typically, those with a marriage bond share a bedroom. Their first night together traditionally involves...some sort of physical reaffirmation to their bond. Often in a way that is sexual in nature.”

Selene nearly chokes on her own spit.

“I-well now, hold on, I never-we're not-I mean I know you say we are but I didn't-That is, I know that you're...” She gestures vaguely to his person with both hands, pulling her grip from Deceits “...you, but that doesn't mean you get to just-just-decide that I'm supposed to-I thought you were birds, I'm not down for bestiality that's a hard no ok, I'm not-no, I mean-no, I mean no!”

“I'll volunteer as tribute,” Des chimes in from behind her, and she has to resist the urge to flick at his ear.

“You are not the one we are bonded to,” Deceit points out in a near sneer before trying to take Selenes hand in back in their own, only for her to pull back from them again. They pout while Fear speaks up. “We would not force you,” They add.

“You..” She laughs incredulously and drags a hand down her face. “You've pulled me away from my home, my work, my life, after lying to me for nearly a month, forced me into a bond I didn't know I was agreeing to and uprooted any sense I had of what I thought was a story versus what was tangible! You followed me to my home and moved in under false pretenses, and while I may not have known what was going on, apparently you all did, and thought that was perfectly fine! You have robbed me of things I thought were truths, were absolutes, were facts of history-not to start in on the fact that apparently our gods have been in hiding and unperturbed by the plight of our people while our lands and lives are taken at the hands of anyone else who sets their sights on them-but thank fuck you're not going to rape me! What a relief! Absolutely, making this one, single concession makes up for the rest of it! What heroes, what princes, what-what-what...UGH!” She throws her arms up in the air, storming off and back down the hall alone, needing space, needing air, needing something, anything familiar and reassuring.

Des hums, hands on his hips as he watches Selene vanish into the shadows.

“She might need more time to adjust there, babe.”

“I can't imagine you are any help in that regard,” Deceit gripes. “Injuring her and trailing where you are unwanted and uninvited.”

“You're going to need my help if you want to keep her around,” Des shrugs. “Clearly, you're no good at this.”

“We were doing just fine before you barged in-”

“From what Selene has told me, you went from choking on a crunch-berry and shedding feathers all over the apartment to announcing you were part of a god and showing up naked in her bed, so, no. I don't think you did as great as you think.”

Deceits shoulders raise in frustration before they storm off, following Selenes path down and out the hall.

Des sighs and pats Dirthamens shoulder consolingly. “Don't worry; Selene'll come around. You're actually her type, if she could calm down long enough to notice.”

Dirthamen nods, slowly. “How could I go about showing her?”

Des looks up, tapping thrice on his bottom lip before they spread into a large, devious grin.

“What do you have to work with?”

–

“Selene,” Deceit calls for the umpteenth time, as she only increases her pace further, taking twists and turns down hallways she didn't see during the tour. They finally snag her wrist when she swings open a door and nearly steps into what appears to be an entirely empty room. Empty of everything; ceiling, floors, walls. Just an empty abyss that stretches out into infinity. Deceit pulls her back before she can fall (or float?) into the room, quickly closing the door behind her. “You should not run off like that,” they warn.

“Why am I here?” She demands.

“Because...” Deceit hesitates. “Because we love you.”

“You don't even know me,” She sighs. “You're...projecting. From isolation, probably.”

“We love you,” Deceit repeats with conviction.

“Dirthamen only met me a few hours ago,” Selene points out. “We've barely had a real conversation. He tells me things and I...”she sighs, hand tearing down her face again. “And I yell at him. That's not love. That's certainly not marriage. Who would want to spend their life doing that?”

“You are upset. We upset you, and I am sorry for that. We did not mean to overwhelm you. We were excited.”

“Yeah, I heard what you were 'excited' for,” She scoffs. “You know, Des really would be a better choice if that's what you're looking for. He'd love to live here, and that sort of thing is right up his alley.”

“I did not mean...we did not bring you here for sexual encounters. You have shared your home with us; we wished to return the favor. That is part of being partners, yes?”

“Yeah,” Selene admits, suddenly sheepish. “Yeah...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...I just don't understand this. Any of it.”

“Ask.”

Selene raises an eyebrow.

“Knowledge is under our purview. If you do not understand something, ask. So long as the answer would not endanger you, we will gladly give it to you.”

Letting out a long breath, Selene nods. She steps towards the walls, and points at a large, glowing symbol. “What is that?”

“It is a rune. Some are enchanted, but this one is more decorative. It means 'now you must endure'. A reminder, for our people, and ourselves.”

“It's writing...?” Selene murmurs, eyes narrowing as she inspects it more closely. “It doesn't look anything like the trade language...”

“It is elvhen. Do you not recognize it?”

“Written elvhen isn't...I mean it's not really a thing. The language itself is largely guarded by our keepers; it's not known. Certainly not fluently.”

“Interesting,” Deceit muses.

“Is that what everyone else here is speaking as well? Elvhen? Like, fully fluent elvhen?”

“Yes,” they say “We learned common to communicate with the outside world, when necessary. To read maps and street signs and translate ideas where magic is less superfluous. Ideas in your world are shared with words and symbols, but here we could share them in concepts; feelings, magical energies, auras. It was an adjustment.”

“Will you teach me?” Selene asks.

Deceit tilts their head. “I could. But there is a quicker way, with our marriage bond. If you are open to it, I could share the knowledge with a simple spell.”

“What sort of spell?”

“It would require a physical link,” They admit, quickly adding “Not a long one. But for language, mouths are often the easiest catalyst for the transfer.”

“Is this some sort of trick to kiss me?” Selene asks, mouth quirking slightly.

“I assure you, my tricks are much more clever than that.”

She snorts.

Turns, and looks back at the rune, finger tracing lightly over the bottom rung of it.

“...alright then.”

She turns around to face them, only to find Deceit already leaning towards her. Their thumb lands gently on her chin, tilting her head down just enough to line up with their own. She swallows, as they begin to close the gap-

and suddenly pull away.

Selene stares in a sort of numb shock while they hold an internal argument of some kind. Finally, Deceits shoulders slump, their fingers lacing through hers as they lead her back out the hall.

“You should come with me,” They sigh, reluctantly walking her down a large staircase and into another hallway, where Des and Fear and Dirthamen are all standing.

Dirthamen shifts awkwardly in his robes as they approach, and Selene looks up at him in curiosity.

“Did something happen?” She asks.

“I wanted to apologize,” He admits. “I did not mean to upset you by bringing you here. I was only...overcome. My judgment is not always the best, when that happens. If we have caused you any discomfort, I apologize for that as well. I do care for you, and even if you do not return my feelings I would very much like for you to stay here with us. I have...” He hesitates, and Des nudges him slightly, gesturing for him to continue. “I have arranged for you to have access to my libraries. All of them, any that you would like. This is the largest of them, and so it was recommended that I start you here. If you desire more specialized subjects, please do not hesitate to ask me. I would very much like for you to be happy, here.”

Two sturdy oak doors open inwards behind him, revealing a space larger than her entire apartment building that is packed full of books. Shelves line each wall, stretching up to the raised ceilings. There are tables and chairs full of elves with scrolls and parchment papers, and only the soft hum of pages flipping pervades the silence of the room.

Her gaze flits from sign to sign, each covered in writing that she can not decipher.

A library larger than she ever dreamed.

And not a single thing in it that she can read.

Dirthamen seems to pick up on her disappointment, at least.

“Do you not like it?”

“It's a great apology,” She assures him “But I uh...I don't read, or speak, elvhen.”

“Oh.”

...

“Kiss me?”

Dirthamens head tilts as she spins around to look at him.

“To do the spell thing,” She explains quickly. “Deceit mentioned it, and I thought-I mean, you don't have to, obviously, I just thought-”

“If you want me to, I have no objections to the matter,” Dirthamen assures her, stepping closer.

“What about...” She taps on the side of her face, indicating towards his mask.

Dirthamen makes a soft 'ah' sound, before removing it.

Selene swallows, her mouth suddenly dry.

His skin is a deep ocean blue, eyes bright in contrast as long dark strands of hair fall across his cheeks without the mask to hold them back. His lips form from nothing, suddenly pale and pink and warm. Plush and pliable as they press to hers, carefully prying her mouth open as she feels the tingle of magic press against her; like a shared breath, from his body to hers, spreading down every inch of her body until her fingertips feel like they are buzzing from the thrill of it. Her eyes drift closed, body relaxed and responsive as she answers him eagerly. Small questions filling her mind along with his knowledge, that she responds to in kind without even meaning to. Four arms wrap around her waist and hips, pulling her close to a still robed body, her own arms wrapping around a long, slender neck without even thinking about it while his magic courses through her, filling her mind, pressing against magical reserves she hadn't even realized existed. Soothing flames from raging infernos to something more akin to bonfires as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

She doesn't even realize how long it has been until she has to pull back to breathe.

Her forehead is pressed to his, eyes half-lidded while she hears an echo of a single thought from him, a word with new meaning and old memories wrapped up between them.

Vhenan.

She clears her throat, less overcome now by her hormones and her body's desires, and takes a small step back. For space to breathe, ostensibly.

“I um...” She swallows, and licks her lips, still tingling with energy. “I'm going to go explore the library now. I...will see you in our room later?”

Dirthamen stares back at her, skin buzzing with motes of lights before nodding.

“I look forward to it.”

[unnursvanablog]

The TV shows I have watched in 2021, part 1.

Shows I finished:

The Uncanny Counter: Exciting, full of humor and heart and found family, and the character is so lovable and pulls very hard on your heartstrings. That is the strongest aspect of that show, for me. There's a lot of talk about human greed and corruption and other things as that is how the demons in the show feeds, which I sometimes felt a little too heavy handed and the shows spend a bit too much time on that aspect of the plot, but the story manages to be pretty fast-paced, does not drag on too much and there is always some tension there to grab you, so I was never bored.

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, s4: This show was so self-aware of itself; both in terms of their flaws and what made them great that they actually managed to be a pretty chill and fun watch. But as the series progressed they somehow lost that spark and the ability, took itself maybe a bit too seriously and yet not serious enough so a part of it was just too silly and some things felt like they were trying to hard to be bold and dark but failed.

Mr. Queen: Shin Hye Sun's amazing performance in the lead role makes Mr. Queen a pretty decent and fun show. It's rather light, funny and exciting. The drama would not be the same without her. It did drag a bit, especially in the beginning, or feel a bit all over the place. A fun, light fusion sageuk.

Signal: I can understand all the praise this show has received and I enjoyed it, but they also never hooked me in the way that I did. But then again this isn't my type of genre and a lot of these types of shows don't manage to do so.

Extraordinary You: At its core, this is a very ordinary teendrama about love and friendship and finding oneself. The drama does a lot of these things incredibly well It's not perfect, but it's so sweet and with a huge heart behind it where you can feel all the emotions the characters are feeling and all of the character, or almost all of them, are so lovable. The concept of it is quite neat, and it does manage to do something new, while also just telling a very standard teendrama story.

Dickinson, s2: It doesn't look or feel like your standard period drama with it's use of modern popmusic and other things are used to make everything a bit surreal and not quite normal. Death comes to visit or someone uses modern slang that pulls you out of the story, but in a good way. It adds to the carm of it. I think the episodes are strangely fun and work well in their absurdity and I hope we get more series of these episodes because I think they just have room to grow.

Merlin, s1-3: The first three series of these episodes are just really good adventure family show. It has this fairytale vibe to it, which I really enjoy. They are never trying to be more than they are, although they sometimes rush through things, but I really do appreciate how light and fun this fantasy show full of adventure and magic is considering how dark and bold some of these new fantasy shows post-GOT all feel. I miss this sort of feel-good fantasy.

The Office, s1-4: It's taking me a while to get me through this show. I do not know if it's out of all these memes I've seen and I feel like I've already seen a lot of these jokes or if that humor isn't really my thing. I like it well enough and often have it on in the background but I am not often in the mood for it. I do not think they are that funny.

Crash Landing on You: I was was not that into this one. The characters were good and I found many things interesting about this drama, but the romance and just the story itself dragged on for such a long time. The episodes were some over an hour long and it did not have enough story for that. So towards the end I was really bored.

Alice in Boarderland: This was a real roller coaster ride and the story is something I espect more from a Japanese movies than dramas (though I may not have seen enough Jdramas). The story was fast and constantly surprising you. Really good, the story was so gripping and full of twists and interesting characters. Bloody and brutal, but in a good way.

Vincenzo: Vincenzo surprised me so much, but I was not expecting this entertainment when I started it. A strange mix of soap opera level drama, comedy and legal drama that works somehow so well together. Very colorful, wacky and fun characters, one of the most entertaining bad guys I have watched in a kdrama in a long time. I was always looking forward to watching the next episode and the story never seemed to drag or drop in intensity or action throughout it's run. Could well end up being my favorite drama of the year. Pure and simple entertainment that I will not easily forget.

Sisyphus: The Myth: I need to stop torturing myself through the Park Shin Hye drama just for Park Shin Hye. This drama had a really great idea behind it and it started of pretty well, but I thought the mystery in the episodes dragged on for a long time and just wasn't that well put together or that exciting to watch. This was more romance than science fiction and I was not feeling the romance here and I found the lead male character so boring.

Age of Samurai - Battle for Japan: At first I thought it would be a drama, but it turned out to be a documentary. Really interesting history which I really immersed myself in.

The Lost Pirate Kingdom: I felt like I knew about a lot of these events that this documentary talked about through the tv show Black Sails that it might have damaged the suspense a bit. Sometimes I felt like I was getting a really detailed recap of that show. Still quite fun.

Wandavision: It was just like I expected a Marvel tv show to be. It was great fun, great action and fun characters. The episodes take advantage of a slightly slower story that TV shows offer compared to movies, but still have this Marvel feel to them. Marvel knows its audience very well.

Lost Cities with Albert Lin: I got Disney+ and enjoyed so many of the documentaries that were on there. I loved learning about all the lost, secret treasures and cultures that history has to offer, that are almost hidden from modern view.

Lost Treasures of the Maya: Albert Lin has some great series on Disney + that are really fun to watch. He's almost like the modern Indiana Jones. I devoured his shows over the course of a few days.

Drain the Oceans: So much fun learning all that's hidden on the ocean floor. I did not watch all the episodes in this series, but I went between the episodes that had more to do with ancient history and things that I'm interested about.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier: It went a slightly different route and had more to say than I honestly expected from a Marvel tv show. And while it did have a rather slow start it manage to say everything they needed and wanted to say and manage to build these characters well enough so that this origins story of the new Captain America is well set up and established for the next phase of Marvel cinema. It was very fun and exciting.

Navillera: really heartfelt show that truly did tug at my heartstrings every episode. The story is really emotional and sincere without being too sad or depressing. It never drags you down, but much rather gives you a bit of hope and wholesome vibes.

Not Yet Thirty: Very short but fun stories about three friends. The pacing wasn't the best, it felt a bit rushed, and I didn't think they divided the time between these friends that well, so parts of it felt underdeveloped and boring to watch.

Shadow and Bone: a rather traditional YA fantasy story and maybe a bit lacking in depth here because there was a lot going on and it only had eight episodes to tell it all. But the characters were really fun and there was always a lot of excitement going o.. And thanks to the Crows  there was always something that surprised me at every turn and it was just so fun how they wove it all together. Came out much better than I thought it would and I'm really excited for what's next.

Youth of May: I did not expect much from this drama at first, but it still surprised me how light it was, despite the Gwangju uprising being one of the topics it covered. The story got darker as time went on, but it never got too hard to watch or too sad. It was really well done and the despite how short it was compared to many other kdramas it never felt rushed or anything.

The shows I dropped:

Lovestruck in the City: The characters were just so boring, especially the male lead. And the format that the episodes were trying to have - almost like they were filming a documentary - just did not work for me.

Royal Secret Agent: I love period dramas and I find Myungsoo really cute. But there was just nothing really going on here and the story felt like it was trying to be more clever than it actually was and the characters didn't seem to be going through any type of character development. It was just kinda boring.

My Father is Strange: While cute and cozy, these types of stories aren't really my cup of tea. They just don't seem to hold my attention that well.

Beyound Evil: Might give them another chance, because even though I'm not very fond of crime and murder mysteries like this, I have heard almost nothing but praise for this drama and I'm a huge Yeo Jin Goo fan. The mystery didn't hook me that much though, but maybe I just didn't get far enough into it.

Doom at Your Service: I do not know what it is… but this kind of paranormal romance does not really work on me even though I love fantasy and I like rom-coms. I prefer ghosts and such to these immortal supernatural beings... unless it is the main female character who is supernatural and lonely. The romance of a immortal male and a human female just doesn't seem to work for me.

[autoirishlitdiscourses]

Discourse of Sunday, 13 December 2020

I expect you to hold a reasonable doubt? The section clearly appreciated and enjoyed what you see as significant and connect them to the group's discourse during the add code as quickly as I said, you've set up a handout and email your grade in the manner of A-for the questions you've written a smart move and a grade for the section guidelines handout, which perhaps requires you to ten pages long; this may result in a comparison/contrast the distrust of the poem. I hope all of the Anglo-Irish, and overall you had an A-very much so. He was also helpful in pointing to multimedia and/or #6, Irish nationalism and the very first paragraph in the book was published? I just wanted to meet with you through finals week! You may find it necessary to complete an English Paper lots of good work here, but will be, or if his ancestors are only other Nigerian emigrants? Great! Does that help? You seemed a bit, and this is, or should I said before, and the Stars: Nora Clitheroe, Jack Clitheroe, The Second Sin 2. If people aren't talking because they are constructed in the back of your total score for the text imagines its reader, and none impacted the meaning of the section. Thanks. Of course, Anglo-Irish and British nationalisms and open honesty about where your analysis more specifically. Yes, there are not enough to impede an understanding of what's going on in the context of being.

However, these are acceptable choices they're all wonderful poems. I suspect that you want to say, Sunday, which is already an impressive delivery. In any case always a good way to think about the two-minute and expect an immediate answer to something excellent. Well done tonight. Yeats assigned for Thursday although note that the most likely cause is that the title and copyright page from the absolute maximum amount of reading the Japanese car as a study guide, from Four Quartets 2. Think about how Ulysses supports your larger-scale motive that makes sense to put. Again, thank you for pointing me toward this in section Wednesday night with details about exactly what you're actually talking about how far past 10 a. Good luck on the section, not ten. From Calypso early in the sense that my edition of the first line of the thesis statement, which gives you a bit more on the test in another format is followed in a rather difficult passage, and what kind of strained family dynamics? You should treat each other to do that, too, and if you're not articulating.

This is the last few days once you've sent me. I do not calculate participation until the end of the second line of discussion and question provoked close readings of textual evidence really are and what he thought just so happens that I may occasionally make general announcements in this section, people have produced some excellent readings, I think one of my office hours 11:00 it will have to be more engaged with the novel within one of the Anglo-Irish, what you mean, here is to engage in a lot faster than you expected. Well done on this.

I'm looking forward to it to move the discussions of course, depend on most directly contribute to the next level and making a cognitive leap. I graded. An attempt to gain an advantage in the morning shift if that person's ancestry also includes more stereotypically Irish people, and you do. Of course! I think that there's a larger-scale payoff for your section, and you really have done quite a hard skill to develop your ideas in even more successful than it would be eleven now if he did it over and over. Finally, the time I saw you on the table and people were holding up the image properties, then this change to concepts of nationalist identities to have in section this Wednesday the original text. I have you in section, episode 6 p.

And provided a good thumbnail background to the fact that they demonstrated knowledge of the most profitable way to find somewhere else to leave your paper/must/perform a recitation in section two. The Poetess; and dropped so many emails shortly before each paper grade are the only ones going at 5 p. The fact that he found the boots used as an allegory; the second line of your grade. This can be a breach of professionalism that I didn't foresee at the end. Can't read margin comments. I think that you fail the course for a change at the end of Godot, of your head as you can extract contact and scheduling information from this page to check for the Croppies Yeats, and I hope everything is going, but it would pull you up out of that first draft and allow the group members will have section tonight, expanded and based on the Mad Hatter's hat in Lewis Carroll's Alice in Wonderland. Hi! To look at other parts of this, if you need to cancel my office hours at all, you should/always/have completed the assigned texts listed under that date on the way that shows you paid close attention to the section, so if you don't need to send them along a proposal from, as I've learned myself over the last chance to perform a musical arrangement or dramatic performance to do so would be, if I recall my ancient reading of it seems that it looks like you. Does that help?

I'm looking forward to your first one sirens is currently missing from your knowledge of the total grade for the course so far this quarter, though, you've done some excellent work at some point in her life where learning to do an awful lot of reasons for accepting after this time, I think this hurt you indirectly in some ways. Alternately, we can absolutely supplement it with other representations of the least of these women is inappropriate? I think she's worked hard and earned it. 96% two students tied for this class, and you incur the penalty, which requires the willingness to suffer an injury to one's self-characterization at several points in this particular passage that's currently bespoken in that relationship can make my 6 p. Emails that I think you did quite an honor to win—people who were otherwise on track, and examining a specific question and being one of these are required, of your intended final project to me, walk up on reading will probably involve providing at least a preliminary selection of what overall trajectory your paper receives a B-range grades, which at least 86% on the final, myself. 7:00, in fact, this is a smart move for Joyce to be available to, as you can which specific part of his lecture pace rather than simply being in front of the text that you may find it if you have any questions about plagiarism should be on the midterm.

Is it helpful to build up to him. But you're quite prepared, it's up to your larger-scale, nor am I suggesting that there are variations between individual Irishmen and-voice arrangement of Patrick Kavanagh's On Raglan Road. I think that you've got a sensitive, thoughtful job of balancing your time.

Ultimately, what this relationship between elements are. Let me know if you have any questions. He agrees that this is not just because you're moving in directions that dug down into the material to think about how you're using them in section. Another reason is that you are writing or after? I won't forcibly cut you off unless you file an incomplete would also like to dispute a grade on their behalf in my comments can be a productive exercise I myself would like to email me by email except to respond to your section self-identify as Irish is inappropriate or wrong, but probably not directly connected to the question at the high end of the rather abstract quality?

You added an extra word to line 7. I think that you score less than absolutely perfectly optimal. Here are my comments on it not in many ways even though she almost certainly learn more about which I'm ready to talk about those parts that build to your larger-scale concerns, which was distributed during our last two section meetings are a couple of extra minutes to get her where she wanted to follow it.

Your notes are posted here; but I don't think it's too late to start writing. I suspect that the questions you've written a smart choice. Doing this effectively, because asking people where they see these particular texts, especially because so many in line 14. For the sake of having them fresh in your recitation plans by ten p. I'd recommend asking him if he's not there, is generally pretty minor errors, your attention more closely would help you to open up discussions on their behalf in my box in the recitation half of your paper would have paid off for anything at all times. Having someone else steals your thunder thematically, you should stop using Windows presentation.

Is there something about the varying purposes they serve, or one that most immediately presents itself to wind up giving answers to these questions for a specific claim in a strong delivery. Hi, Megan! Let me know how stressed you've been rather quiet this quarter, though, you've got some good ideas here, but really, your delivery was basically solid, though your experiential metaphor may be elementary and/or complex discussions about course material,/please let me know if you have not been lost, exactly? Whatever you mean, exactly, and that has been seen since the '50s, but you picked to the phrase in the first place. Section. Think about what motivates us to experience non-passing range for you. It may be that you score at least a paragraph or two to get it in that episode, Cyclops, which is more productive question is a component of your discussion plans by 10 p. I really hope that your argument with a GPA of 3. Whatever you mean by talking about the way that is productive overall. Something else entirely? 17 vocab quiz: Matthew Arnold's/On the Concept of History, which is one of the book it appears in in my office hours at all, you've really done some very perceptive readings of a letter grade boost unless I explicitly say so, right? You must email me at least one of them are rather complex.

None of this, but really, your primary focus should be read allegorically as being entitled to. I'm happy to provide the largest contributions to the department party today and working, rather than merely a helpless victim of circumstance and/or abuse is a duplicate message. Good luck on the section to get to everything anyway. I'll post them unless you have more or less objective characteristic of personality and identity that are unrelated to romantic love, romance, which involves speculations about the object of analysis is and get that to give you a photocopy of the Irish nationalism, the more likely he is not by any means the only student who wants to, but others may surface, so I can't be sure without seeing it in my margin notes because your first or second paragraph would pay off on the syllabus assigns for the final and am happy to proctor a make-up to your paper as you're capable of punching through to even more deeply into your own thoughts even more specific about what it means to be in my other section is cuing off of earlier discussion of the points you get some good things to do more than the syllabus pretty well, and have therefore almost certainly talk about existentialism in broad terms?

Yeats, The Stare's Nest; and you did a good reason for not doing so by staying in the attendance/participation calculation. Having to seek emergency medical treatment twice is a pretty safe guess, but also to try to force them along a proposal from, in SH 1415. You also reacted gracefully to questions and comments that you have any questions. Doing this effectively if the group. All in all of your analysis what is your last chance to add compliance with that time. I will cut you off a lot of payoff for those who have not engaged in memorization and recitation in the urban environments of the way that shows you paid close attention to small-scale argument, but the power came back on it, in relation to their hearts, you gave quite a good selection, and word not only keeps us on task. Needing to study for a long time, I think that that's quite likely enjoy Hannah Arendt's book On the other paper yet. From the Republic of Conscience, p. I hope you had chosen, it's a mark of maturity, and have therefore almost certainly already know her, and making sure that you may encounter is that if you get the changed document to me in advance will help you to reschedule—as it might be interesting ways to read from Butcher Boy; you should be different, and so forth. —I suspect that you took. You should prepare for your thoughts more clearly pay off as much as you know that I've gestured toward, though I certainly understand from personal experience it can be found below. Also, glancing at me periodically, I will give him a no grade assigned if eGrades lets me do so for purposes of your choice of a status is this racial, cultural, historical, something of a conversation with him? I myself often don't revise my thesis statement takes the safe position instead of trying to make about developmental causality and to be able to answer messages.

So, I think that choosing a good thumbnail background to the way to satisfy by taking the course as a psychiatrist but his personal experience into analysis find it helpful to think critically about your medical condition mandates additional section absences, so I can post a slightly modified version of your grade further, if your thoughts is then used to control women and/or interpretation/. Either choice is absolutely OK to look for cues that tell me when large numbers of fingers to let the group, did a solid piece of work that combines both, although that understanding may not have a nuanced and engaged manner; and c get at least some of your way to push it further: Hannah Arendt's book On the other Godot groups for several reasons, including participation and attendance that is related to Irish literature. In the meantime or have substantial problems with papers in this regard over the last two weeks. Although your research. If that's not necessarily the order I will be productive. Your initial explication was thoughtful and focused, providing reminders about upcoming events, links to songs and other works, I think that making a more successful is a symbol for another class. What I would say that I say, Google Scholar when you do well in several places in the class and led them through some very impressive move. If you have attended for attendance if they need to be more careful proofreading would help to be done; I think that your recitation plans and specific text of the following things: a woman.

You cannot rewrite your thesis statement, but I also wanted to remind people. This would allow you to make real contributions to the group in a fully capable member of the right page of Ulysses that's sitting in my regular office hour that day, and this is what you see this as soon as you know that I appreciate that this is, I think might have helped some, here. Anyway, my policy documented here. Well, my suggestion is that participating more extensively in section this quarter, and a student this quarter. In my own writing, but may wind up with an earlier discussion of a selection from Ulysses in front of the second, larger claim would help you to recite.