#I may do an extended edition of this chapter eventually

[retellingthehobbit]

The Hobbit Comic Adaptation Chapter 17: Dawn First chapter / Previous / Next (Coming TBD)

To view full comic: Webtoon/A03 / Tumblr post with links to all chapters

Other blogs: TikTok/Instagram/Tumblr Sideblog Thank you for reading! This comic takes a while to draw and I appreciate every comment. <3 :_; This chapter was originally going to be much shorter, but then I realized this would be Bilbo’s last moments in Bag End for a very very long time. I thought it was important to put a lot of detail into the backgrounds, to make it clearer what is tempting Bilbo to stay and what he will lose and feel nostalgic for if he leaves. Anyway, people who recognize what the little decorative horses are will win my respect. Some of you probably noticed this, but the white borders of this chapter are a reference to the line “maps made in the Shire showed mostly white spaces beyond its borders.” This line is from FOTR and referenced in chapter 15 of this comic. Another note! In the original book, Bilbo is pressured into leaving by Gandalf; in the movies/fanon, he makes the decision alone. I mixed the two! In a previous chapter, Gandalf gave Bilbo a deadline ("meet us here by eleven"), but Bilbo ultimately makes the decision alone. The next chapter, “Over the Hill and Across the Water,” will arrive….eventually!

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 1

Title: Assembly’s and Introductions 

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Mild Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: There’s a new kid at your prestigious university, he’s tall, tattooed and muscular, and oh yeah, he’s the Prince. 

Warnings: PG13, mild swearing, a general ‘lets get the ball rolling’ first chapter

Word Count: 5410

Release Date: January 26, 2023, 12:40PM

A/N 1: I’ve been working on this since September 2022, got 80K in, and have accidentally taken an extended break from Dec 1st until now. I need a kick in the pants to continue writing it so here’s the first chapter. I hope you enjoy as I have read this about 400 times and I’m sick of editing it.

A/N 1.5: it’s pronounced ‘Nehl” not “Neal”

“Come on, come ooooon!!” Yuri says as she drags you by one arm down the corridor, the other filled with books and study notes. You’re being dragged from your mid morning study session and she's starting to stretch your favourite sweater from how hard she’s pulling.

Slipping from her grasp to save it from any permanent damage, Yuri uses her new freedom to take the lead.

“Not everyone cares as much about this as you do,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I get you’re here because your parents put you here but I worked for it. I can’t just abandon my study plans for some guy,” voice echoing in the corridor as you succeed in keeping up with her quick pace.

Yuri mocks your words in gibberish, matching your tone, just more nasally.

She’s heard this hundreds of times since becoming your best friend in first year after being assigned your roommate. She may force you to go to places and parties you don’t find nearly as important as she does, but you also know she’s the only reason you’ve had any fun since starting university.

That doesn’t deter you though.

“I’m serious,” you insist, refusing to back down.

A look you know well flashes over her face. One that’s a mixture of absurdity and exhaustion— specifically at you.

“You know, sometimes I can’t even believe we’re friends. He’s not just some guy YN,” she looks over her shoulder to make eye contact. “He's the prince.”

Ah yes, the prince.

How could you be so foolish?

The fancy name given to the poor bastard who doesn’t get to decide his future—or work for it for that matter. Just has it handed to him because he was born at the right place, right time.

The prince who’ll be king to the biggest nation in the west one day.

The prince everyone freaks out over.

Sure, he’s cute enough, and will eventually have lots of money and power, because those are so important for someone like him.

But what’s money and power if you’re miserable or an asshole or you don’t know what to do with it? What’s money and power for someone who’s never known poverty and helplessness?

The title of Prince means nothing if you don’t earn it. Means nothing if you don’t know how to use it properly.

Who knows if this one does? So why should you particularly care?

Unfortunately, most people can’t get past the ‘young, handsome, future king of the Western Shores, hunk-a-hunk of dreamy’—blah, blah, blah, the media splatters over every magazine cover they possibly can, earning the prince a hefty social following of adoring, screaming—slightly brain dead if you had any say about it— ‘followers’ aka fans.

And Yuri, like every other girl on campus, is one of them. Minus the brain dead and screaming.

Well…Sort of minus the screaming.

She has screamed, in the past at least. So maybe just minus the brain dead part…

Anyways, she’s grabbing your wrist and you sigh, wringing yourself free of her near iron grip, again. But you can’t blame her.

Yuri’s focused on one thing, and one thing only.

And it’s beginning in 15 minutes.

“Plus I want good seats!”

You scoff.

“He’s just a person, Yuri. I get he’s got an important title and fancy job, but that’s all that separates him from us.”

She glares at you as you reach the courtyard of your school.

Trees surround the perimeter in evenly placed lines, a large running fountain at its center. There’s plenty of open grass space the students use to study, picnic or throw a ball around on. And its cobblestone walkways are currently covered in rows upon rows of filled up seats.

Most of those filled seats are in the middle though, which surprises you. You would’ve thought girls would be lining up at the front row to see their prince.

“Yeah, just the title and fancy job,” Yuri says, taking her turn to scoff and opens her hand to count on her fingers. “Let's not count the fact that he’s insanely hot—have you seen his body? His face? Or what of the land he’ll inherit on top of the land he already owns? And money! Can’t forget that. Or clothes. Not enough? I can keep going,” she switches to her other hand. “How about control over the largest kingdom in The West? They don't call him ‘Prince of the Western Shores’ for nothing, Sweets. Also the mass of adoring fans, security and advisors following his every move, nice cars, fancy vacation houses…should I keep going?”

You’re pretty sure she only stopped because she ran out of fingers and you don’t deign her with a reply. Yuri seems content to have made her point and she did. 

But you’d never admit that to her. Instead you keep walking, taking in the sights around you.

Your school is The Royal Academy of Business and Fine Arts. Anyone can study here if they have the cash, or the brains, though one method is much more abused than the other.

It’s one of the most prestigious schools in the world because it’s where nearly every royal on this half of the continent goes to university. Hence the “Royal'' in the title.

Ladys, lords, dukes, duchesses, princesses and yes, princes all go here—are most of your classmates, actually. But there is only one prince everyone cares about. The one who, in the next few short years, will not only be at your school for whatever it is his father deems appropriate for him to study in his post secondary education, but the one who is also first in line and heir to the biggest kingdom in The West—if it hadn’t been mentioned before.

His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook.

Okay… look.

It’s not that you don’t like him, he hasn’t done anything to make you hate him, and you’re sure he’s a decent guy once you get to know him.

It’s just that you don’t really feel any type of way about him, positive or negative. And that confuses so many people around you.

Which in turn, confuses you.

Most people seem to think he’s some sort of god sent angel carved by the hands of whoever created the universe. Fawning over him and thinking he can do no wrong. But what they all fail to see is that he’s just like them.

Got a bit more of a leg up on life than most, sure, but still human. Like you, or Yuri.

He eats and showers and uses the bathroom. He gets a runny nose and puffy eyes when he’s sick. He has bad hair days and ties his own shoes… you think.

He’s just a regular guy with an irregular job. So no, you had no opinion on him other than disinterested neutrality.

But if you had to feel something? You guess you probably felt pity.

You worked your ass off in highschool to get where you are. You and your mom screamed until your voices were hoarse when you got your acceptance letter two and a half years ago. One of 25 scholarship students accepted on a full ride every year.

You were doing a major in fine arts and a minor business, wanting to milk your education for all it’s worth on their dime. Lucking out that your two areas of interest were not only at one school, but at one of the best schools in the world for both subjects.

You chose what you wanted for your life and you worked for it for years. And now you sit comfortably at the top of your class in both fine arts and business, not taking your opportunity for granted for a second.

Jungkook though? He’s expected to go here. Doesn’t have much of a choice about it, and he doesn’t have to work for it either.

A small part of you that has yet to mature envies him for how easy he has it, for the privileges he is given simply because of one six letter word in front of his name. That he didn’t have to put in 60 hour weeks and give up his teenage years just to prove he was good enough to be here.

He was born good enough.

But that’s a small part of you, and you can ignore it if you try hard enough.

The point is you felt pity because he’s probably never had to work for something a day in his life. He doesn’t know the satisfaction of working towards something, to not only succeed, but to be the best.

To earn what he has.

He won’t know what to do when real life hits him.

Yuri lets a baby scream loose as she spots her desired seats and yanks you out of your thought spiral. 

The front of the courtyard is still relatively empty, middle still filling up faster than anything else.

“Yes! Score! First row, left side, that’s perfect! He'll definitely see us.”

She grabs your arm a third time and it’s an effort not to drop your books and groan at her.

Yuri’s like you in the sense where she is not royalty, but unlike you she—or should you say, her parents—are loaded.

Family business perks.

She’s here because she can be, because her family can afford to send her and make donations, not because she wants to be or because she worked for it.

But don’t misunderstand that, Yuri works hard. She just happens to party more than she studies most days. That and plan her future with a very rich and handsome guy who has yet to be determined.

You’d jokingly deemed her a royalty hunter after about an hour of meeting her for how badly she wanted to ‘marry up.’

“See you,” you correct, or has she forgotten about Nel, your boyfriend of 5 years? Your high school sweetheart and who is currently, much to your dismay, at school about 5000 miles away.

“I’m sure Cornelius wouldn’t be mad if the prince charms his girl just once, seeing as his royal highness can do that to most people just by breathing near them,” she quips. ”And even if he would get mad, Jungkook can just have him thrown in a dungeon for being overprotective and jealous.”

“The royal palace doesn’t have dungeons, but they do have a series of interrogation rooms on the third lower level,” you inform her. You did a project on the history and architecture of the royal palace in tenth grade—and Nel really wouldn’t care, he knows where he stands, just like you do.

“How do you just know that!”

Yuri didn’t know you in highschool and you used that to your advantage every single time you could, laughing bright and loud.

She starts dragging you down the walkway again, a habit of hers. Like she’s worried you’ll try to slip away if she isn’t forcing you where she wants you to be.

It’s a good instinct on her part.

You're nearly there, so you focus more on the trees just starting to turn colours overhead, casting slightly pigmented shadows on the ground. Fall is just starting to creep up on the heels of summer, the days of sunscreen and chlorine slowly being replaced by pumpkin spice and crisp apples.

She sits exactly where she wanted too, and you plop beside her, glad you’re wearing a light sweater and tights. They are just warm enough to keep the slight breeze from giving you chills, but also keep your legs from sticking to the plastic seats.

For such an expensive school to go to you’d think they’d have better assembly furniture.

You notice a news camera off in the distance and suddenly understand the empty front seats. No one wants to publicly embarrass themselves on national television from seeing the prince, rewindable and replayable, forever seared into the internet.

It’s times like these you’re happy you’ve never been one to get starstruck. They’re all just people, why be shocked or surprised when they exist near you?

Opening up your books on your lap, you figure you can kill the next ten minutes in a productive way, considering what happened to your original plans for the mid morning.

And as you do, you feel the seats around you begin to fill, not a single one empty by the time the event starts.  Not even the ones up front.

A jerked movement catches your eyes and you see that two seats closer to the pedestal from Yuri is Adaline.

Great.

Adaline Dupree is basically a princess from the Eastern Shores. ‘Basically’ because she’s not, but she certainly acts like she is. A fake princess, an even bigger royalty hunter than your best friend and your not so secret arch nemesis.

She’s in your fine arts classes—all of them, unfortunately—her proper title being ‘Duchess of…’ some province you never bothered to learn the name of, and she’s one of the most well known people on campus.

Tall, with beautiful blonde hair, hazel eyes, freckles, a slim figure and quite the socialite. You’re surprised she went into fine arts and not modeling. She’s got the ego part of the job down pat.

Good for her for being pretty. But anyone could be beautiful on the outside with enough money and a surgeon. That’s not why you considered her your nemesis, you don’t give a shit about any of that.

She was your nemesis in the academic world. Because not only was she beautiful, she was also brilliant at her craft.

Which happened to also be your craft, and it pissed you off to no end.

Where you were first, she was second and where she was first, you were second. Always neck in neck with one another, always trying to one up each other.

You only considered yourself better than her because unlike her, you hoped at least, Adaline was a complete and total bitch. She took what she wanted without remorse and she wasn’t above sabotage to get it.

You learned that the hard way in your first year. And you’ve always wondered if that was her privileged upbringing speaking or if she’s just like that naturally, so unused to not getting what she wanted that she’d take it.

Therefore, it is of absolutely no shock to you that she’s sitting as close as she possibly can to where the prince will be standing. Directly in front of the pedestal at the base of the fountain in the center of the courtyard.

A door opens to your right followed by a couple screams, and you can only assume the man of the hour has arrived. A red camera light flicks on in your peripheral vision and you take that as your confirmation and cue to close your books.

The Dean of Schools, a few advisor looking people, a good handful of terrifyingly large security guards, and a head of black hair you conclude to be the prince all make their way towards their destination.

A smirk graces your face at all the girls batting eyelashes or screaming his name, as if that would get his attention. You’re about to mention that exact thought to Yuri, but you notice her eyelashes looking awfully similar to those around you and can’t help failing to stifle a laugh.

She catches it. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say. “You might just want to pick your jaw up off the ground.”

Her response gets cut off when a voice comes over the speakers.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for such a warm welcome,” says the Dean, calm and assured. She knew exactly the welcome they'd receive. “I’ll keep my introduction short. Today, I present to you not only the newest addition to The Royal Academy of Business and Fine Arts, but the future King of our great nation. He has requested to formally address the student body before he starts classes this fall semester, so without further adieu: His Royal Highness, Prince Jeon Jungkook.”

Riigghht. Did you mention he was the prince of the country you’re living in?

Well…he is.

The crowd soars in volume once more, a couple “I love you’s” thrown in for good measure as the prince steps up and you zone out.

From your angle, you can see his whole body from the side, and that even though he’s holding cue cards, he doesn’t use them, placing them face down on the pedestal.

His dark hair is swept back in a suave styling and he’s wearing a simple navy long sleeve button up, black dress pants and matching leather shoes.

The outfit makes him look ever so princely and very much not like a student. More like one of the faculty.

However, what you don’t expect are the small patches of ink on his arm peeking out of his right sleeve. Or just how tight the clothes he wears are on his apparently very muscular form.

You remember Yuri’s words from earlier, only now registering. You knew he had muscles, no one ever shut up about them. But seeing them in person… wow.

You kind of want to sketch him—for anatomy practice, of course.

The prince begins his address to the crowd and an eerie silence replaces the roars from earlier. You take a quick look around and notice that not one person isn’t completely transfixed on him. Even the dean can’t keep her eyes off him.

You give him credit for not balking under the intense gazes of literally everyone. You know you sure as hell would have, never being one to like being the center of attention. At least, not like this.

You clue into his speech as you look back at him. He’s talking about how he found himself as a teenager thinking of what he wanted his future to look like and what he wanted to do with his schooling, which is not only why he took a couple years to explore the continent before enrolling, but why he will be doing a major and a minor at the school.

One for his career, and one for his heart.

You won’t admit to yourself that the sentiment very closely resonates with you.

He continues.

“All that said, I asked to address you all today for one very simple reason, being that, for my time here at the academy, I wish to be treated like any other student. I am not unaware of my celebrity and how I am seen to the outside world. It is not lost on me my place in the world and who I am to become. I know for some that it may be… difficult to see me for anything other than who I am, and this is why I ask you humbly, just for the short while that I’m here, you all treat me no differently than you already do one another,” he pauses for a moment. “I extend my request most deeply to those who will be studying alongside me in my business administration major and photography minor, as I don’t want it to affect my studies.”

Yuri slaps her hand down onto your leg causing you to jerk forward and you clamor to not drop any of your books. Business administration is her major. Her parents want her to take over the family biz after school.

That was probably why she partied so much. Living as much as she can before being thrust into a job she doesn’t want for the rest of her life.

Pity creeps back up your throat at the thought.

Jungkook notices your jerking movement, but only for a second. His eyes meet yours and you hope yours convey ‘sorry for interrupting’.

You may not care about him, but just like him you are not unaware of his status in the world outside the walls of your school.

Yuri, of course, thinks he’s looking at her and not only does her grip on your leg tighten to the point of circulation cut off, she returns to her earlier routine of batting her eyelashes.

You roll your eyes away from her sight, but unbeknownst to you, well within the gaze of Jungkook.

He suppresses a smile at your response to your friend's clear attempts to gain his attention.

You, on the other hand, seem indifferent to him. He has the entire student body watching his every move with hawk-like precision, enraptured. Normal, for him.

But you?

You just seem to… not care. Like he wasn’t anyone special. Like the word in front of his name meant nothing.

And if it wasn't the most freeing feeling he’s felt in a long time.

“Thank you so much for your time, and I’ll see you all around campus,” he finishes before stepping down, security wrapping around him again until he’s barely visible. The dean pops up to conclude the gathering but you aren’t paying attention anymore, too busy trying to peel Yuri’s hand off your thigh.

“Yuri, retract the claws please!” you whisper-yell to your friend. And she does in fact, retract instantly.

“Shit, sorry. My brain is running a million miles a minute,” she says as she pinches herself, shaking her head and smiling. “I’m three years ahead of him in his major. His major YN! But he’s still older than us, which is so hot. I'm so glad he did that tour in the east and whatever else that kept him back for a couple years, it makes this whole situation even better,” you start to worry at the look in her eye as she continues.

“What if he needs a tutor? What if I become his tutor, and we fall in love like a cliche romance movie. I could be the future queen. YN, this could actually happen for me. I could actually get the prince, it’s not some wild dream anymore. I could talk to him and he would talk back and this could happen.”

You can feel that she’ll just keep spiraling, nothing being able to stop her train of thought at this point, so you try your best to at least have her do her thinking in her head.

“Maybe! I wish you nothing but luck!” And you mean it. You don’t think it will happen the way she does, but you never know. And you don’t want to give her false hope.

You’ve always been the realist to Yuri’s optimist.

With the assembly over, most of the crowd files out of the courtyard quickly, prior plans calling to them or classes starting soon.

Only a few stragglers are left behind. You and Yuri are two of them, as well as Adaline, and a couple more you don’t know.

Security starts to spread out and you watch as Jungkook makes his way to the people farthest from you, much to their delight.

It’s a group of guys, all of whom look muscular enough to be varsity athletes. Maybe Jungkook will want to do sports while he’s here. You know that he’s an accomplished rugby player, greatly to his fathers dismay, but to the pleasure of anyone who has about $10 and has access to magazines or wifi.

“Oh my god he’s making his way over. Do. Not. Move. I want him to come to us,” Yuri says, forcing you to stay in your spot. It would be fruitless to try anything anyway. Another lesson you learned the hard way in first year.

She starts fluffing her hair and asking you to check her teeth. You do. She’s in the clear.

Unfortunately, you two would most likely be the last people he greeted, so you had to watch as he made his way down the line of people.

He greets the guys with a handshake and a clap to the back, and the girls with a kiss to the top of the hand.

One thing you notice as he meets more and more people is that everyone still calls him ‘prince’ or ‘your highness.’

It’s automatic for them, they’re not even thinking twice about it, but it’s also completely besides the point of half of his whole speech. He wanted to be treated like everybody else.

It especially irked you when it was Adaline’s turn and she put on her most feminine, formal, and ridiculously overly flirty, “Hello, Prince Jungkook,” before curtseying, blasting her full facade of charm and courteousness.

Ever the dainty, prim and proper duchess, she’s all small laughs and less than subtle flirting, never impolite, and never speaking out of turn.

You wanted to gag, and you’re quite sure that’s exactly what your face conveyed. But Jungkook smiles wide for her, and is as kind to her as he was to everyone else prior. He even flirts back a little bit.

Yeah, you definitely want to gag. What a match those two would make.

But just as soon as he greets Adaline and her friend, he politely steps away and moves on to you and Yuri.

“Hello ladies, what might your names be?” he asks ever so formally.

You gently laugh at being called a lady and Yuri shoots you a look. Jungkook doesn’t appear to take offense though.

“Hello, your highness!” Yuri chirps in the most ‘I'm trying to flirt but trying to not sound like I’m flirting’ voice you’ve ever heard her use. “My name is Yuri Yeun, and I’m actually a business admin major too, just a few years ahead.”

Jungkook lifts her hand to his mouth, giving it a light kiss and she looks like she’s about to explode.

“It’s lovely to meet you Yuri, I’ll look forward to seeing you around the halls,” he says in the same tone he’s used for everyone else. He’s about to face you, but Yuri cuts in quickly.

“If you ever need any help with your studies, just let me know. I’d be happy to help you with anything you might need help with. Having already been through it, I may be able to give a students insight versus a professors.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for the future. Thank you for your generosity.” Again that same tone, you mentally dub it his ‘greeting the public like the ever so good royal I am’ voice.

He turns to you and extends his hand for yours.

You reach for it, twisting it so that instead of a hand turned upright to be kissed, it’s a regular handshake. If he wanted to be treated like anyone else here, you sure as hell were going to.

“I’m YN, it’s nice to meet you Jungkook.” At the mention of his name untitled, he pauses, eyes widening ever so slightly. It’s not a bad pause, just a surprised one. And by the looks of the small smile on his face, a good one.

Yuri's eyes, on the other hand, almost bug out of her skull at your informal greeting.

“Likewise,” he manages to get out, completely unlike his usually composed self.

You're the only one who hasn’t addressed him with his title, and it’s the most like him he’s ever felt.

Twice in one day—in one hour—you’ve managed to make him feel more human and more like himself than he ever has. With your distinct indifference to him of all things.

Jungkook decides then and there he’s very sure he wants more of it in his life.

He still hasn’t stopped shaking your hand, and you don’t know why that’s the only thing you can focus on. His hand is firm and calloused, the kind that can only be built over years of hard work.

Releasing you the second you think it, he looks as if he hadn’t realized he was still holding on too.

Quick to step back into his princely role, Jungkook says, “Pardon my forwardness, but I just have to say that the two of you are beautiful, and that it’s been lovely to meet you both.”

You swear you see Yuri’s soul ascend from her body at his words. “Thank you, Your Highness! That means so much coming from someone as well met as yourself,” she nearly fawns, and you roll your eyes out of her sight for the second time today.

And for the second time today, Jungkook does not let the gesture go unnoticed. How you hold no fear in showing how you feel in front of others, even those you’ve just met. As if it holds no consequence. 

It doesn’t for you, he realizes. 

You can freely show how you feel without worry of anyone over-analyzing your every facial tic. No fear that a slight misuse of a lip quirk or eyebrow raise could give away national secrets or offend a visiting diplomat.

He envies you for it. For having that freedom he so rarely does.

“You’re most welcome, Yuri. I’m glad you hold my opinion in such high regard.” He flashes her that well practiced bright smile and you already know what she won’t be shutting up about it anytime soon.

“I’ve always been told I have my fathers bone structure but my mothers beauty. I’ll be sure to let them know their Prince thinks the combination is worth complimenting,” you respond, not braggadocious or sarcastic in the slightest.

You know it would make your mom so proud to hear the future king found you pretty, even if you knew the compliment was given to every girl here.

Your father wasn’t in the picture, but that didn’t matter and the prince didn’t need to know.

“I hope they won’t mind a stranger's compliment on their daughter then,” Jungkook says, ducking his head slightly and giving you a smaller smile.

This one felt genuine, like he wanted to hold it back but couldn’t. So you return a small one of your own, to let him know this was an even exchange. You may not feel any type of way about the prince, but you were raised to be kind.

“Any praise for their daughter from the future King would be welcomed any day, I’m sure,” Yuri cuts back in, killing his smile along with it.

You’re sad to see it go.

“I’m relieved to hear it,” he responds, princely public persona back on. Stupid flashy smile back on. “What will you two be heading off to do now?”

“What I wanted to be doing for the last half hour in the first place before being hauled down here by this one,” you point a thumb at Yuri. “Finishing my study hour at the library,” you add quickly, before Yuri can get out her answer. You almost wish you hadn't because the hand that had your thigh in a death grip earlier now only somewhat playfully swats your shoulder.

“YN!”

“What!? I’m just being honest. He wants to be treated like anyone else right? That comes with people being honest to you instead of glazing over their answers with pretty little white lies to appease you.”

Yuri looks ready to rip you a new one, but she’s cut off again before she can open her mouth. This time by the prince.

“No, no it’s okay,” Jungkook says before she can swat you again. She stops mid swing at his words, eyes as wide as saucers at being stopped. “YN’s right, I appreciate the honesty, and I apologize for the interruption. I hope your studies will not be too greatly affected because of it.”

“Guess we’ll find out during midterm season,” you say with a smirk that turns into a genuine smile as you see Jungkook look panicked, like he actually thinks he messed up your education by disturbing your study session.

Relief quickly replaces the panic when he sees your smile and realises it was a joke.

Being treated like a regular person also meant being joked with at their expense, and he takes it in stride as his small smile from earlier makes a comeback.

“Well I have class in half an hour,” Yuri says, finally answering his question, “So probably grabbing a coffee from the cafe near the biz-admin building… I could show you if you want?”

“That sounds great actually, I’m still trying to figure out where everything is.”

“Great! Let’s go.”

Jungkook, ever the gentleman, lifts an arm for her to take and you watch them walk off, Yuri absolutely beaming as she glances back at you. You give her a thumbs up before collecting your books and heading back in the direction of the library.

Chapter Two: Unknown Numbers and Sharp Tongues

A/N 2: and so it begins.

[writefightandflightclub]

I finished it, I finished it!!!!!!

I have finished my Santiago series, Ride or Die!!!!!!!

All 87,000 words of it!!!!!

Eleven chapters!!!!!!!!

It’s so very close to me being able to queue all the chapters up and post it (I do need some time for the final chapter by chapter edits, and getting everything in the right format for tumblr posts etc. as it’s still in one big Google doc) but I wanted to take a little moment to celebrate right now :D

Wahoooooo!

I have been writing this for LITERAL YEARS, and honestly, I have never persevered for this long with any writing project in my life, nor have I ever written nor attempted anything of this length (potentially besides boring work reports, yuk!) before!

Idk, the series might totally bomb when I post it, maybe no-one will read it, or maybe those who do give it a bash won’t enjoy it at all, and I am trying to prepare myself for the fact that something I have spent YEARS on simply may not be well-received; but regardless, FOR ME, this project and these two characters and their story have a special place in my heart and represent an achievement I’m proud of, and so for that reason, I am very excited to be able to finally say “it’s done” and to (eventually) share it with you!

I’ll keep you updated with when the series will launch. It won’t be before 2024 (because like I said edits and all that, and 87k is a lot to edit LOL) but once it goes live I hope to queue-up a chapter a week for you; which is almost three months of content! *gasp*

The series will be angsty and smutty and angsty smut and more angst (with a friends to lovers / idiots to lovers skew) and it’s very character-driven.

If this sounds like your thing and you would like to keep updated, please lmk in the comments and I can add you to the series tag list (FYI, I will only add you if you’re 18+!).

I do feel really nervous to share it after spending so long on it - especially because I know it’s not “perfect” - but for where I’m at now in terms of my abilities to write multi-chapter stuff (I will say, I never set out for this to be multi-chapter so structurally I was a little screwed from the start - this was only supposed to be a one shot! :P) I gave it the best stab I could, and I know this has been a crucial step towards taking a much better stab at an extended piece of writing next time around, so I regret nothing at alllllll :D

Anyway, thanks for listening :D

[the-eyes-of-andyserkis]

"Bringin' Home the Rain" Chapter 5 progress update + some WIPs, why not!

Klaue

"Bringin' Home the Rain" - Chapter 5 - Foundations

It's definitely still a ways off from being finished, but progress is being made! I'm happy to say that it's pretty much all on the page, so to speak, and is also already just over 6k as a rough draft with plenty of filling out to be done, so it will easily be the longest chapter. And it's pretty well, uhh, all smut. 🥴

At any rate, there's no set date for this yet but at least I can really get going with the "macro" edit!

"Salvation is a Deep Dark Well" - Part two of the BHTR series

We're definitely not done after chapter five! I realized pretty early on after starting to rework this that Klaue and Reader were going to keep at it (😉), but rather than add more chapters to what is now "part one", it felt like it made more sense to create a separate fic since there will likely be a small time jump, and it'll be spread over a longer period of time as they continue to get up to ✨️shenanigans✨️.

"Find Me in the Air" - Part three of the BHTR series

I'm planning on this essentially being a sort of extended epilogue (and I do basically know how this will end). While it's still rough at this point, it will definitely be at least three parts/chapters, like a series of one shots over an even longer period of time before I wrap things up.

"Hiding From the Sun" - sub!Klaue one-shot

Self explanatory. 😉 *raises eyebrows aggressively* Also, shout out to The Next Big Franchise discord for, uh, awakening something in me/us. 😈

Alfred Pennyworth

As yet untitled Alfred x F Reader series

Set in "The Batman" universe

This one keeps changing it's damn shape on me, and the title continues to elude me, but I think I've settled on a sort of "established relationship" series. Maybe. 😂 Either way, I'm not going to settle on a specific number of chapters at this point, as I feel like this may be more open-ended. Listen, I have thots and they need to go somewhere, so I'll figure it out eventually!

"Lotus" - Yoga Instructor AU Alfred x F Reader one-shot

Inspired by the lovely @tarabyte3's AU PT!Kino idea! ❤️ Also by going to my first class in ages and after internally debating for about two seconds which Andy blorbo would make a good yoga instructor before immediately realizing that Alfred would be perfect.

Alfred started exploring yoga to help with his injury and enjoyed and appreciated it so much that he started teaching. You're taken aback by the handsome, and older, new instructor who's very much outside of the usual demographic, and when he starts offering private sessions you nervously sign up.

This will be either one or two parts, we'll see how it shakes out!

"Fealty" (working title) - Arthurian Legend inspired AU Alfred x F OC series

I just got inspiration for this one yesterday! Plot twist: Alfred is the Lord/King and OC is a Knight (so is Bruce, of course), and in this universe both women and men are Knights. I'm lightly planning for this to be three to five chapters at this point, but again this is very new and liable to change. Mutual pining, forbidden love, slow burn, all that good stuff.

I'm making a list of some books and movies for research, and if anyone has recommendations for some universe-building inspiration, I'm open to suggestions!

Damn, five months ago I had no idea I'd actually be almost finished my first fic in years (and first multi-chapter fic, period), let alone have a list of WIPs/ideas! Thank you to everyone who has commented and encouraged me thus far, it's means more than you know. 🥰

Header by me | Divider by @saradika.

[russeliarat]

I would love a sequel to one of the four sword games that, along with the main plot, Link has an entire conflict with the whole splitting thing.

Perhaps they make it canon that he doesn’t feel whole, that he feels like four stuck in one body, how they may argue and then split as a result, or how they feel conflicted returning the four sword as being stuck together brings so much pain.

I want to see these four feel pain and talk things out and hug and cry dammit, give us emotional Link Nintendo!

Btw, fun fact: in the Japanese version of botw all of Link’s journal entries for quests are spoken in first person and have some of his opinions. For example, the first quest he gets from Zelda (going to the first map tower I believe) he writes in the quest that the “pretty voice” told him to go there.

And the translation teams or some higher ups REMOVED THE FIRST PERSON FROM SOME TRANSLATIONS.

I know they took the first person entries out of the English release, but I hear they apparently did so for the Chinese one as well, and maybe more. They are so determined not to give us Links with personality.

Omg literally THIS. If Nintendo really will make an animated series, I feel like an extended animated version of the Four Sword manga would literally be perfect. It's a trusted, beloved story with strong themes and characters and dynamics and has some really beautiful character development that made me cry the first time I read it (I don't cry easily). Compared to the actual Four Sword Adventures game it was based on, it's a perfect adaptation in its own right!

If I had any ideas on the format of an animated series, it would likely be extended during the adventure so it shows them helping all of the maidens, and maybe have a separate show or season dedicated to what comes after their merging (I'm planning this as if it were an actual show lmao how sad).

The whole ongoing joke about Green being the 'original Link' would be really interesting to explore as well! The whole idea of the others’ humanity and their own existence and the terror of just ceasing to exist once they finally merge would be a great plot point. Though, I think since Vio is away from the group with Shadow, he would have differing opinions to the others who will eventually want to merge, while Vio likely wouldn’t because he's been influenced by Shadow. Imagine a big scene where they use the joke cope but it all blows up in their faces one day because Blue became really nervous about it and, at that point, he has no idea how to deal with it other than to get angry/upset. They're forced to grapple with their lives and the possibility of death from a kid’s perspective. Red's likely terrified but his optimism would likely help the other two get through until they can finally accept the idea of nothing on their own terms.

And then you got the idea of whether Shadow would really die or if he's merely stuck within the merge Link's shadow. If so, then would he ever be able to reform? How so? How would he react to a merged Link? How would his relationships change and morph after him switching sides and rejecting his ‘evil’ roots, after his pretending to be Vio, after he literally died for the Links?

Because I’ve been wondering about this for a while, I found out that up to the end of the Yellow Maiden’s rescue, the manga is somewhat accurate to the game though highly simplified due to it’s limitations. It makes me wonder if Himekawa were allowed to create more chapters/volumes of the manga, would they continue up until the Purple Maiden’s rescue before continuing onto what I like the call the manga’s ‘second act’ with Shadow and Vio as the focus? Or do you reckon they would intersperse them together as the story continues? Honestly, if I can come up with ideas, do you reckon I should explain ideas for the rest of an extended story? There would be so much symbolism (the back of the legendary edition has a picture of Zelda with white lilies and me loving flower symbolism means I know it means rebirth and purity. Take that as you will.).

(Fun fact, I thought the White Maiden was a light blue/turquoise for months until I looked at Zelda Dungeon’s FSA walkthrough...)

I found out about BotW Link’s first to third person log entries a while ago and have been trying to find direct translations for the first person entries for so damn long. I was absolutely fuming because it was one of the rare chances English/Chinese audiences would have gotten to see Link’s direct thoughts! Personally, I think it’s been changed by the translation team for the same reason that Link doesn’t talk - because people have different interpretations of Link and the Sheikah Slate logs would have been the most direct way of establishing a specific personality beyond dialogue choices. They likely wanted to play it safe.

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 89: Something Borrowed, Something Blue

Table of Contents Third Instar, Chapter 20. Go to previous. Go to next. CWs: Physical hostility, indefinite argument, location entrapment, drug use, discussion and execution of bloodletting, description that might read as discussing self-harm, entomophagy and hematophagy mention. [Edited 2022.09.13 for a date continuity mistake.]

_________________________________________________

Data integrity recovery... 0%... Please do not power off your system.

________________________________________________

October 25, 2287

The rooftop ridges and rakes of unfortunate Cape Cod houses peek from the snow here and there. On occasion the trio passes a chimney still standing. Two centuries of dilapidation and harsh winters have collapsed many of them, permitting snow to fill their insides. Gnarled, bald trees intermix with tufts of evergreen. Anything more than a hundred feet out may as well not exist.

Sticks shifts from animated agitation to a numb fury, the longer they trudge on without success. Trailing behind him, ‘Choly resigns that Sticks is right: without bearings, they can’t prioritize rejoining the caravan. The dull, lazy clicking of their Pip-Boys in the ice fog has drifted to feeling more like cotton in his ears.

He’s grateful Bledsoe didn’t buy his RadAway, but he should have taken Rad-X before they embarked.

Ahead, a low-rise building appears in the Fog. A nearby river crackles with sinuous, suffocated echoes. They scan for signs the snow may hide frozen water beneath, then continue toward the tenebrous silhouette. The seven-story streamline moderne office building only accounts for the central pillar of a broad one-story complex. The snow blocks off the lobby entrance.

Ribbons of the Aurora have danced above them all the while, unnoticed in the hoar-frosted sun. As the sky dims, their iridescence grows brilliant again in the distance. 'Choly's jaw drops at the sight.

"Just how far North are we…?"

“There.” Sticks points. His breath crowds his face. “Rooftop access.”

The ghoul easily crawls up the exposed four feet of concrete and aluminum, and stands to peer down at ‘Choly and Angel. He crouches to extend a hand up to ‘Choly. ‘Choly glances to Angel.

“On a good day, Angel couldn’t clear that jump. I’m not leaving it out here.”

Sticks rolls his shoulders with a groan, and walks the perimeter of the roof. Bewildered, ‘Choly and Angel follow along below without a word. Eventually, he stops and rests his arms akimbo.

“I can get having trouble with one big step,” he says. “How about a ramp instead?”

Before either knows it, the man and robot have scaled a gradual snow bank. Only inches of the roof crest the ice here. A smile tugs at ‘Choly’s mouth, but he’s too tired, cold, and hungry to be particularly happy about anything yet. The snow is less dense along the ramp, and ‘Choly’s steps sink deeper into it than in the open expanses of town ruins before, but he clears the rooftop, and stands beside Sticks. They beckon Angel with arms outreached. As it tries to join them, its unsteady flame thruster melts streaks in the snow that will refreeze in minutes. It, too, ultimately clears the edge of the roof.

Now, the wind cuts more than the Fog bites or clings. They cross the roof more cautiously than the ground, as six inches of snow disguises the possible formation of ice. Halfway to the rooftop access, Sticks puts an arm around ‘Choly’s waist to steady him. ‘Choly doesn’t object.

A terminal secures the door. With the butt of his palm, ‘Choly knocks ice loose from it, to fold out the keyboard. He eyes the garbled screen. Sticks promptly pushes him aside, rubs his gloves together, and unfurls his Pip-Boy’s keyprong.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” he beams.

‘Choly snatches his wrist. Alarm pins wide his glare.

“Both the Pip-Boy and the terminal are damaged, idiot. You’ll set off the security defenses!”

Sticks yanks his arm free and chuckles at him. He shrugs a bit to right his coat on his shoulders.

“Defenses? On an office building?”

“I don’t think an office building would have security clearance on a roof entrance.”

“You worry about everything! This is our only option.” Sticks squares up to plug into the terminal. ‘Choly grabs him again, this time with both hands. "Get–"

Sticks shoves him off. 'Choly sprawls back on his butt in the snow with a hollow crunch. He watches in terror as Sticks apes at the manifold to locate its ports. A murmur of whirs, intermixing a sequence of faint chirps and beeps, goes unnoticed by the ghoul. Panic snatches ‘Choly’s breath altogether.

The door clicks. They all jerk and freeze in place.

“dSDFL– tCH– coME To LocKREed of NaSHHua.” Gauss damage garbles the terminal’s otherwise modulated voice font. “Location tCHHX– sdflhDDO– Deenwood Complex. Bio– sdlfhOI– tCHH– verifIIIed. Welcome, CoooŒrrrnel Carey.”

The wind whips at them. They gawk as the door slowly opens itself to reveal a dim stairwell landing.

Sticks nips at the air.

“Can this day get any fucking worse!”

'Choly pats at his chest, first to the left, then the right. His gloved fingertips contextualize the devices still affixed to his frost-iced coat. He can't quite swallow.

“Angel. –Angel, is there a soul inside?”

The Mister Handy approaches the doorway and pauses for some time. ‘Choly won't let Sticks help him back to his feet, and insists on leveraging himself up with his cane. Their gazes lock, desperate for mutual understanding. ‘Choly folds first and watches Angel.

“Just us and the, erm, blattidae, Sir.”

Sticks slings his rifle off his shoulder, then with one hand slaps Angel’s chassis.

“Here’s hoping whatever that is doesn’t mind us coming in out of the cold.”

‘Choly steels himself. With his cane hooked on his elbow, he grips his 4-wood with its head up, and follows behind them both.

They’re not down to the next landing before the rooftop access door latches itself shut again. ‘Choly doubles back to scrutinize the wall terminal. He squirms and glances down at Sticks.

“It’s password protected. Maybe further in–”

“–We’ll comb for a password, then.”

“You don’t understand. We’re not locked out. We’re locked in now. We’re locked inside a Lockreed building. These places have some of the highest military security defenses in the country.”

Sticks glares at length.

“Don’t follow me. You do whatever the hell you want. Just don’t involve me. I’ve had enough of this nonstop stream of bullshit. Separate corners or else.”

“It’s ill advised we split up, gentlem–”

“–Can it. No gentlemen here. Just us and those lattiwhatsits.”

Sticks starts to storm off down the stairs.

“I’m begging you, Sticks. Be careful. Promise me you won’t screw with any doors until I can tell what we’re up against. And roaches. It senses RadRoaches.”

Sticks flips him off before embarking through the stairwell’s main floor doorway.

“Promise me!” ‘Choly frowns to Angel. “Aaand I’m right back to sleeping on office furniture. If I can sleep at all.”

“Come now, Sir. I’m certain you’ll pass out right when your head hits the pillow!”

It, too, clips off down the stairs and through the door.

He just sighs and follows after Angel.

“At least it’s warm in here.”

______________________________________________________

October 27, 2287

'Choly knocks on the open office door, and stands in it. Sticks naps with a borrowed curtain pulled over him, with his arms folded atop it. Without any reply, 'Choly takes a step inside.

This office is warmer than the one 'Choly occupies.

"Can we talk?"

The ghoul opens an eye, then closes it.

"What's to talk about?"

"Please don't be like that." He sits against the side table at the doorway, and clasps his gloved hands in one another in alternations. "I know you're mad, and you've every right. I'm not here to apologize, though. Not yet. I'm tired of apologizing for needing things."

"Need, want. Do whatever. You don't need my permission. Clearly."

"I do, though." He clears his throat, and eases back to standing so he can sit beside Sticks's legs on the couch. He peers at the office's modular paneling. "I've had a lot to think about since we got here, and everything we must accomplish before we can leave. There's one thing in particular that I can't do without you. If we're– staying here, erh. Hmh. You know I need you for the last ingredient of the Melancholia."

Sticks watches him, gripping the curtain. Unease and anger tug at his features. 'Choly looks to him, briefly, to confirm he has his attention finally.

"You're talking the blood part, aren't you? You insist on staying here. I'd rather you stayed, too. I could go find the caravan and bring some back."

"I've told you that I can't allow that. We leave together or nothing. The security system let us in on a data corruption technicality: it's fucked. This is a Lockreed site. There's no telling what protocols or defenses this building has, or how it will behave if any other parts of it are damaged like the security door." A faint disquiet softens him. "You don't have a map or compass, and traveling alone just isn't practical in these conditions."

"The blizzard's let up." Sticks sits up and slouches on the arm of the couch. "Surely–"

"–The weather isn't the only factor and you know it. Or the doors. Think about the composition of the caravan. The nurses stayed at Ant Lane!" 'Choly grips Sticks's knee through the curtain. "No one at the Lane would trust donating blood now. You know people there won't trust the Blood Drive after what happened. They're superstitious, clearly with good reason. And even if you could find any donors within the caravan, there's no one with them who could cleanly and safely draw blood."

Sticks grabs 'Choly's hand and takes it off his leg, then throws off the curtain to sit up.

"And you can?"

'Choly clutches at the chest busks of his Surgical Leathers, for lack of a more logical place to rest his hand.

"I'll have to! There's a lot I must be candid with you about, with this mess. A person can safely give one pint of blood every eight weeks. The formulation in the Merrick Index converts that one pint into almost three full Melancholia." His fingers wander to trace his chin scar. "Self-draw is nonviable. The Merrick advises against using your own blood except in emergencies. The chemical treatments which turn blood into Stimpaks and then Melancholia alter the healing factor just enough for a small risk triggering cytokine storm.[2287.10.27-1] Repeatedly taking Stimpaks or Melancholia made exclusively from one's own blood can kill them."

"I really don't like the idea of being your only donor."

"I don't like to put you in this position, either. But you're insistent I take Melancholia as it's prescribed for Limit 115 suppression. Once a week."

Sticks murmurs, counting on his fingers.

"Wait, you dullard. Your math is bad. Only three every eight weeks? That's not once a week."

'Choly pushes down pesky worries and lets his gentle, glassy gaze impart reassurance.

"Good. You follow me, then. Let me continue explaining. Like I said, I've thought about this extensively already. I don't have an autoclave or phlebotomy equipment. There's that fridge where you've been keeping the RadRoach meat, but without perfectly sterile implements, the blood must be processed immediately after drawing it. And without a cannula, we'll have to use a knife."

Sticks has been eyeing his arms in thought, but stops because 'Choly is watching.

"If you're trying to spook me out of sticking to my request, it's not working."

"I'm trying to provide you with everything I can so you can decide for yourself whether you're actually okay with this arrangement. I want your input, too. Your thoughts. That's all. Now, to get an entire pint of blood at once, with a knife, the cut can’t be superficial. Some veins will be safer for this than others. This is another reason I can't reliably self-draw. Without proper phlebotomy implements, I could exsanguinate."

"How am I any different? Tch! If you can't Stimpak yourself, I couldn't Stimpak myself either!"

A smile quivers on 'Choly's face, small at first, but widening to tense the corners of his mouth and crease his cheeks. He leans to hold Sticks by the jaw with a tender touch.

"You're a ghoul." He pats Sticks's cheek and eases back to sit beside him. "I recall clearly that your Pip-Boy indicated you've got remarkably high Endurance. That metric diagnoses traits like your healing factor and blood volume. But it's not just that I'm confident you'd withstand it. You remember how quickly your arm healed up after the RadFowl bite, once you could get it to stop bleeding? You regenerate so quickly. Please, tell me this sounds like I get the picture."

"Quick healing or no, I know a quarter-cup of blood a week isn't going to cut it. Pun… not intended. There's got to be a way you can stretch a pint. Don’t tell me you think we’ll be here two months."

"Even once we leave, we'll need a way to synthesize enough Melancholia that I can drink it weekly. Any dose I don't use here, we can take with us. And no, I had the opposite in mind: I'll get multiple pints from you every two months, if my theory holds. You could, in theory, stand in for more than one donor. Human healing factor replenishes lost blood count. Blood is another type of tissue, after all. Your ghoulish healing factor… well, you've indicated rads speed it up. Rads rejuvenate you. If we were to irradiate you after making the deep incision, I think–”

"–NO!"

Sticks lurches to his feet, to fling 'Choly to stand as well. 'Choly doesn't even try to squeeze in a word, too focused on keeping his balance as Sticks shoves him toward the hall.

"Fuck! No! Hell no! Out! Out now! You little freak you're not milking me that's disgusting oh my god so help me–"

The door slams. 'Choly doesn't deflate. He waits a moment before cupping a hand to the door and speaking through it.

You’re the one who thought of it as milking...

"...I didn't mean right now," he says. “I came to discuss things with you. There's still four days before I need to drink the last Melancholia, so if you don't want me to miss a dose, you've got about ten days or so to consider how you want to proceed. I'm open to any ideas you have, too, provided we stay here and we stay inside." His voice raises: "I'm confident that between the two of us, we can come up with something!"

He almost offers the MREs, but stops himself. He can respect Sticks distrusting the General–especially anything in which she's hidden chems. He has the luxury of having no other choice. Hopefully Sticks won't tire of Grilled RadRoach anytime soon. He'll get them both in better dietary straits once they can get out of here.

"...That went well."

He can't wave off coffee pangs, even at this hour, and endeavors to distract himself from his racing heart by organizing the literature he's gathered from the now vacant offices on their floor. He's too tired to do anything with the books, stenos, and binders, but he can at least sort them by their relevance to his pending tasks, to tackle later.

______________________________________________________

October 31, 2287

Glass clinks onto the desk beside ‘Choly. He looks up from reading the onboarding manual, at the two empty milk bottles that have appeared, and the last Melancholia.

Sticks toes at one of the chair’s caster wheels with his shoe.

“You’ll need something to put it in.”

‘Choly swivels to look up at him.

“I thought you were against… milking.”

An exasperated, visceral mental flinch clicks through Sticks’s turbinates.

“Just because it’s the bottles doesn’t– Look, do you want my help with this?”

‘Choly smiles in metered apology.

“I couldn’t help myself. Of course. I take it you’ve decided to help, then.”

“Kind of a no-brainer. As much as I hate the spot we’re in, it’s not fair to you to turn you down. If you get contagious again, well. You’d relapse, wouldn’t you? I don’t think I’d wish that kind of suffering on many.”

Every possible reply that forms curdles on ‘Choly’s tongue. He still disagrees with the DIA documenting him as a positive New Plague case, but without a functional Pip-Boy to employ even basic medical diagnostics, he can’t reasonably disprove it. There’s no arguing with the allegation, and agreeing with it only condemns him. It’s hopefully a short-term arrangement, and they can get out of here soon, but in the meantime, follow-through assuages Sticks’s anxiety, and he won’t turn down more Melancholia besides. A small smile reforms, withdrawn and curt.

“All right, then. Have they been sterilized, or will we need to?”

“I rinsed ‘em out and put ‘em in my fire while I ate breakfast.” Breakfast falls from his mouth like unchewed words. ‘Choly is surprised Sticks hasn’t set off any fire alarms yet, but says nothing. “I figured glass was the cleanest option. You mentioned this needing rads, too. What… exactly is enough rads?”

“You’d have to tell me. Does a little feel nice? Does a lot feel real nice?”

Sticks’s eyelids shut and compress his eyes.

“--Forget I asked. Suggest something, and we’ll try it.”

“Trial and error.” ‘Choly dislikes the idea of error, but lets only success compel him. “Well, we could dismantle some equipment that isn’t connected to anything. A Fusion Core would work, too, but I think it’d be overkill. Try to find a fusion cell. Something with a clock or counter is a good bet. Atomic time, you know.”

“Atomic time…” Sticks mutters under his breath, and glances around the office. “Wait here.”

While Sticks flexes his procurement expertise, ‘Choly opens the Melancholia. He nurses the cinnamon concoction, and contemplates just how vital it is in his quality of life. To him, he is inextricable from them. He did, after all, name himself after his endearment for them. As he waxes narcotic, the hubeine gradually subsumes any lingering self-consciousness with its leaden comfort.

“Melancholia,” he vocalizes, dismantling its components in his mouth and letting them roll around. “Melancholia… ‘Choly. Kholi. Khholi. Kholodets. Tch, opukholi. ...Опухоли…”[2287.10.31-1]

Tumescence. He drifts through the elephantine febrile imagery of his “Filarial” piece. Small  guttural chirps of half-formed laughter don’t make it out of his throat.

Pukheya and Korkusha are such crooked, cruel muses, he thinks.[2287.10.31-2]

He’s not sure what he means, but pays it no mind.

“Hey, what about one of these magnets?” Sticks sets it in ‘Choly’s lap to jar him from his daze. “That’s a fusion cell wedged in there, isn’t it?”

‘Choly sits up straight and grips the saucer of coiled copper wire in both hands. He tucks the empty Melancholia bottle under his arm and stands with the magnet, to take it to the loveseat. Far away from the desk, and his Pip-Boy, and the terminal.

“Let’s see. Use your multitool to pry open the connections.”

Sticks sits beside him to pull out the multitool, and does as instructed. He picks the lipstick-sized battery from the wiring, and eyes it. Then, following ‘Choly’s guidance, he uses the crux of the plier arm of his multitool to partly crush its casing.

“Is it okay for you to be near this?”

“It shouldn’t be too many rads, especially if you hold it. My Vault Suit has radiation resistant lining.” ‘Choly’s glossy eyes brighten. “If it takes more rads than that to produce the results we seek, we’ve still got plenty of Rad-X.”

“Do you ever dial it down, Mindy?”

“I’ve never noticed, personally.” Reservations temper his smile as he runs a mental list for their crafts project. “We’ve got bottles, a healing trigger, and…” He reaches for his cane propped against the wall on his side of the sofa. “A knife. Its restoration makes it the most recently sharpened blade we have, I’d think. Here, fetch the bottles for me. And the lighter from the desk drawer, too.”

Sticks sneers playfully at him as he does as asked and presents him the steel lighter.

“I absolutely got it fixed just so you could shank me with it.”

For a moment, neither makes a sound. A chuckle works its way out of Sticks which develops into a full laugh when ‘Choly joins in. ‘Choly unlatches the clasp on his cane hilt and slides its halves apart, and the laughter dissipates to punctuate their mutual tension.

“I’ve been calling it Komár.” ‘Choly works at brushing the flame along the length of the blade. “Poetic, that we use a mosquito knife for bloodletting. This kind of blade is better at stabbing than slicing, but it can be a lancet in a pinch. No matter the site, I don’t advise stabbing. We must keep it superficial. The less you have to heal, the easier it will be on you.”

Sticks sits again, with unusually good posture for him.

“You’ve thought this part through, too.”

“Phlebotomists typically use the median cubital vein.” ‘Choly flips the lighter shut and points to the inner fold of his elbow with the pinky of the hand holding the knife. “Close to the skin. Furthest from large nerves. The only easier access veins are in the neck and inner thigh, but those are far more vulnerable. Halloween or not, I’m no vampire.”

“Oh for Christ’s sake, it is Halloween, isn’t it?” Sticks groans and slouches. “Can we make sure first that this is going to work like your hard on thinks it’s going to?”

‘Choly glances at him over his crescent glasses.

“You’re so intent to believe I’m getting off on this.”

“I’m still trying to figure out what exactly does.”

‘Choly gestures for Sticks to hold out his inner forearm. Sticks rolls up his shirt sleeve and lays his arm across his lap.

“Last I checked, this does not fit the bill.” ‘Choly scrutinizes a good starting place, and settles on slicing the pad of Sticks’s fingertip. “Does it fit yours?”

“Please stop talking.”

When ‘Choly squeezes the finger to ensure it bleeds nicely, Sticks stiffens ever so slightly. He lets go and nods for Sticks to apply the cell. They both watch the cut as Sticks waves the cracked opening in the cell’s casing over it. Eventually, Sticks rubs the blood between his thumb and finger. He produces a kerchief and wipes his hand clean, and holds it out again. Their brows both wag as ‘Choly looks it over.

“I’d say that it works.” ‘Choly looks at Sticks solemnly. “Are you sure you’re all right with this? I think it’s best if we only draw one pint for now. This proves that rads heal your skin and blood vessels, but I don’t want to take too much at once without the ability to measure your recovery. Maybe if we find a biometric scanner here, or get lucky and there’s a Pip-Boy laying around–”

“You’ve thought this through. So have I. I don’t want you getting sick. You’re soggy cardboard as it is. If that means being an ingredient in your silt flour smoothies, it means being an ingredient in your silt flour smoothies.”

“For now.” He nods with a guilty gratitude. “You’re more than an ingredient.”

“The main ingredient, even.” Sticks grins through clenched teeth. “Just… take it easy, okay? It might heal up, but it’s still gonna hurt like sin.”

‘Choly murmurs.

Here goes nothing, then. No room for error.

‘Choly cradles Sticks’s right elbow in his right hand, and squares up to the antecubital fold with his left. Sticks readies a milk bottle between his thighs. ‘Choly double checks he can visualize Sticks’s blood vessels through his keloidal skin, and makes a short quick slice lengthwise along the chosen vein. With a sharp sustained inhalation, Sticks expects the blood to spurt. Instead, it pours, and he collects it somewhat easily after ‘Choly can pull away and give him the space to hold it steady. Sticks lets out a long ragged breath and doesn’t blink as he watches himself filling the bottle. ‘Choly navigates to borrow the kerchief to wipe the knife, so he can sheath it.

“How are you so far?” ‘Choly asks, quiet and watching. He rubs gently at Sticks’s knee.

“I’m not fond of watching my own blood come out, but I’m not going to faint, if that’s what you’re asking.” Sticks sighs. “Two pint bottle, isn’t it? If you only want one for now, you only want half of this then?”

“We need to feel out your limits before we push them. Tiny steps. Half the bottle is perfect for now. It’ll buy us three weeks where we don’t have to worry about whether I’ve got another dose of Melancholia.”

“So we can focus on getting out of here,” Sticks agrees. “Back to civilization. You haven’t made any strides figuring out how to get the doors to behave, have you?”

‘Choly chooses his words.

“I’ve been seeing what I can do to repair my Pip-Boy. It will be necessary to access the doors. And necessary to repair Angel.”

“This again.” Sticks waves the fusion cell near the cut as the quantity he’s collected resembles what he’s been requested to provide, easing it to apply pressure with it to the upper side of the blood vessel. “Do you see any robot workbenches around here? It’s got some screws loose, but it’s not in pain. Now is not the time. I’ve been eating RadRoach for the past week. Nothing but goddamn RadRoach. The fuck have you been eating anyway? Have you eaten anything since we’ve been here?”

“Yes, of course. It’s, ah, funny you ask. I’m going to let you… finish first.”

“If you’ve been withholding food, so help me.”

Sticks clicks his tongue at him and grouses over completing his task. He grabs the kerchief back and wipes up, then applies pressure and glares at ‘Choly expectantly.

“I found more proof General Francis was here. MREs. Months’ worth. They’re still well within date, too.”

Sticks blanches with a sharp frown. Queasiness tugs at his features.

“Christ. No wonder you’re not pawing at the walls to get out. Are you sure you don’t want some of my RadRoach meat?”

“The MREs don’t irritate my stomach. I’m not against eating insects, but I don’t know if it would agree with me. I’d rather not add digestive issues to our trouble trapped here. Really, it’s fine. I’m eating them willingly.”

Sticks sours at him and hands him the bottle. He stands with a creak and grunt, and doesn’t make eye contact on his way out.

“Yeah, you have fun with that. Angel might not have a clue we’re trapped, and both of you might not care, but I do. And you should, too. Sure, we risk starving to death here, but one of us might go insane before we get that far.”

“Thank you,” ‘Choly calls out through the open doorway.

He smiles to himself that he didn’t get a slammed door in reply this time. Then he eyes the contents of the bottle in his hand. To keep from crying, he smiles even wider, that he has to consciously hold himself back from intimating the original purpose of the vessel to its current one, and from pressing its mouth to his own.

Go to next »»»

______________________________________________________

[2287.10.27-1] Cytokine Storm. A dangerous and potentially fatal immune response in which the body exponentially generates more and more immune cells until they completely overwhelm the body. Most commonly seen in some forms of chemotherapy and certain viral infections.

[2287.10.31-1] Melancholia vocalization. He’s trying to think what else ‘Choly might be short for, and ends up rolling the different words into a single thought process. Melancholia, меланхолия, a persistent gloom. Kholodets, холодець, is a gelatin salad. Opukholi, опухоль, is a growth or source of swelling, most commonly a tumor.

[2287.10.31-2] Pukheya, Korkusha. Пухнея, Коркуша. Two of the Tryasovitsy. The former causes tumors and edema, while the latter causes victims’ blood vessels clumping and knotting up. Here, his subconscious is suggesting that elephantiasis is a consequence of these sisters’ joint effort.

[languageyeti1985]

Embrace These Tips For Your New Academic Year!

Hello, dear readers. 

It's Kieron here, and I hope you're all ready to dive into a brand-new academic year. 

Just like that, the summer has bid us farewell, and it's time to gear up for a fresh journey of learning and growth. As we step into this new chapter, I want to share some practical advice to help you make the most of your English language learning experience.

Daily English Engagement - Watering Your Language Skills With Time

Picture this: making English a daily part of your life is like giving water to a plant daily. Consistent practice is the secret to watching your language skills grow. It's not about doing everything simultaneously but incorporating English into your daily routine. 

Here's how:

Podcast Power: Why not listen to English podcasts when commuting to school or getting ready in the morning? It's like having a friendly English-speaking companion on your journey. You'll naturally absorb new words and phrases.

Online Reading Adventures: Explore interesting articles online in English. Choose topics that interest you, whether science, travel or your favourite hobbies. Reading in English exposes you to different writing styles and expands your vocabulary.

Grammar Guru: Dedicate a few minutes daily to review tricky grammar rules. It's like strengthening the foundation of a sturdy English house. Understanding these rules makes your writing and speaking more precise.

Speaking: Don't shy away from speaking in English. You can talk to yourself or find a language exchange partner. Speaking is where you put your knowledge into action. Don't worry if you stumble; remember, practice makes perfect.

By incorporating English into your daily life, you'll be amazed at how quickly your confidence and skills will grow.

Embrace Mistakes - They Are Stepping Stones To Mastery

Let's discuss a little secret on your journey to English excellence: Mistakes are your allies, not enemies. Becoming a language pro takes time. Imagine learning to ride a bike; you may fall a few times before you can ride smoothly. Learning English is quite similar. 

Here's what you can do:

Learn from Errors: When you make a mistake, don't let it discourage you. Instead, please take a moment to understand why it happened. Was it a new word you hadn't encountered before, or perhaps a grammar rule you needed clarification on? By understanding your errors, you're learning and improving.

No Discouragement Allowed: Mistakes are not roadblocks; they're stepping stones. Even the most fluent English speakers eventually stumbled over words and grammar. It's all part of the journey and how you grow.

Keep Moving Forward: The key is to keep moving forward. The more you practise, the better you become. Soon, you'll find yourself speaking English with confidence and ease.

Maximise Classroom Time - Your Launchpad To Success

Your classroom or lessons are like the guiding stars in your language adventure. 

Here's how to make the most of your classroom time:

Teacher's Wisdom: Pay close attention to your teacher's strategies and lessons. Think of it as the map guiding you on your language journey. Understand and work on what you learn in class.

Extend Beyond the Walls: Keep learning by stopping at the classroom door. Take those strategies and lessons with you into the real world. Explore common collocations, dive into phrasal verbs, master idioms, learn fixed phrases, and get comfortable with slang. Also, remember to explore suffixes, prefixes, and synonyms. Understanding how words fit together is like having the keys to unlock a language's secrets.

Remember, it's not just about what happens in class; how you apply that knowledge in your daily life truly counts.

Edit & Prioritise - Building Your Vocabulary Toolbox

Learning English is akin to building a toolbox. As you gather new words and concepts, keeping things organised and relevant is essential. 

Here's how:

Organise Your Toolbox: Think of your growing vocabulary as tools in a toolbox. Regularly organise and review what you've learned, which helps you access words and phrases more easily when needed.

Prioritise Essentials: Consider what's genuinely essential for your goals. You don't need to know every word in the English language. For instance, I learned the word antidisestablishmentarianism in a history class. It means opposition to the separation of church and state—a term important for understanding historical events. However, I rarely used it in everyday conversations. Focus on words and phrases that are relevant to your life and aspirations.

Test Prep Intensity: If you're gearing up for a test, such as a big exam or certification, put extra effort into memorising specific words. Remembering these words when you're in test mode is more pressure.

In summary, by considering these four tips and putting them into practice, you'll find your English language skills growing stronger each day. Think of it as an exciting adventure, and you'll enjoy the journey as much as the destination. 

Happy learning!

[class1akids]

But what does Deku’s cape have to do with Bakugou’s endgame?

So I’m sort of still stuck on trying to figure out if Deku really took up unironically Gran “choose murder” Torino’s mantle...

and inevitably, I’m circling back to the official art, where this idea was floated first, all the ways back when. 

Looking at Todoroki and Bakugou, I think it’s clear that the capes they are wearing are not at all positive symbols - they are rather tainted legacies to overcome.

Shouto is wearing Endeavor’s cape from the Fantasy AU Art - where Endeavor is depicted in a long white cape of a pilgrim. Endeavor is the ultimate symbol of the hero, who is completely disconnected from his private self and while he saves strangers, he destroys his own family.  While Endeavor’s sins are personal and his own, the entire family ends up carrying that burden. Shouto’s path to become a hero is to save his family and become a person who is coherent - Shouto the hero and Shouto the person are one and the same. The cape symbolizes that change is possible, but the past never dies, so the path is long and arduous. 

I think along the same line of symbolism, Gran Torino’s cape may represent hero society’s sins by omission. Gran Torino is the hero who didn’t meddle when he could have, who didn’t take a risk to reach out when he got a second chance, and who seeing his own failure lead to Tenko to become a fearsome villain decided that the best course of action is to put him down like a rabid dog. Deku’s path as a hero is to meddle where he doesn’t need to, reach out to people who seem like the enemy because his drive to save is greater than his drive to win. 

The most puzzling is Bakugou wearing Stain’s cape. Puzzling, because Bakugou and Stain never crossed paths so far and while characters like Shouto, Deku or Iida have a lot of links to Stain, Bakugou doesn’t really have any. It seemed like an odd choice, but in light of the Chapter 310 spoilers, I wonder if it gives us some ideas about Bakugou’s endgame. 

I think Chapter 310 made it clear that whoever 2nd holder is EXACTLY (Bakugou ancestor, alt!bakugou, random Bakugou cos-player dude - I think bak-u-go is off the table), he is foremost Bakugou’s thematic parallel. He is Yoichi’s Bakugou. Like it’s not subtle at all. Sensei made sure that we know. 

The first glimpse of 2nd is that he’s a guy who values strength and winning above all, who will do whatever it takes to achieve it, even if it requires using others as stepping stones in their path. Sounds like someone we know? But also this type of hero - unyielding enough in his convictions not to ever compromise his values and strong enough to carry them out is Stain’s ideal hero. Stain’s mantle is the mantle of an unyielding fanatic who is so obsessed with ideals that he’s lost the ability to see the human. Someone who is a slave to the idea of strength and convictions, wrongly equating the two - as if having an unyielding spirit was a privilege of only the strongest.

Still, 2nd changed history not by winning through strength and willpower (obviously, he lost to AFO) but when he acted in pure compassion and held out a hand to Yoichi. 2nd decided to save Yoichi, despite knowing he was AFO’s brother; despite Yoichi being connected to the mortal enemy. He took a big risk. 

We don’t exactly know what happened or whether this act of compassion cost them the fight here or somewhere down the line. In 2nd’s rigid worldview, everything is divided into winners and losers and that’s all that matters or at least that’s what he says. But still, choosing to save Yoichi, someone physically weak and powerless enabled Yoichi to become a hero, the both of them creating together that legacy of a growing power that could eventually overcome AFO.  

And the visual is surprising - because Yoichi is Tomura’s parallel (although I have a theory that he’s meant to be both Deku’s and Tomura’s parallel), and we’d expect Deku being the one extending the hand.  

But OFA starts not with a Deku-like character, but with a Bakugou-like character reaching out in pure compassion, placing above victory or strength saving someone; in an act that’s not driven by rationality or tactical considerations, but his heart. 

So I think this is a clue that Bakugou reaching his hand out in compassion will be the endgame win-condition, and just like 2nd, he’ll be leading a group of heroes who defy AFO. Not culling the weaker, but forging alliances with them, even a sickly, quirkless boy, enabling them to fight for their beliefs. T

It’s also interesting that out of any characters, it was only Bakugou who ever saw OFA as a cursed power, ever told Deku that he was “like AFO”. So I wonder if all this is moving in a direction where Deku will fail in some way, or will lose the trust of others (Dad4One? curse, curse) who may think he’s associated with AFO, and Bakugou will be the one to trust him and save him, despite all evidence to the contrary. 

Or perhaps Deku will save Tomura, and Bakugou will reach out to the both of them, trusting Tomura not because it tactically makes sense, but because it’s compassionate to do so.. 

Or maybe it is simply foreshadowing DvK3 (edition “THE TALK”), and after Deku reaching out twice, this time it will be Bakugou reaching out a hand, reminding Deku that he’s not alone in this fight. 

In any case, in Bakugou’s arc, we’ve covered winning, and saving, and self-sacrifice - but his true full circle I guess could be becoming someone who looks at a seemingly weak and powerless person and saw them as a hero.

It’s perfectly possible that this is completely off the mark, because the latest chapters really went in directions that felt like missing or speeding through story-beats and not in a good way. I also feel like we are changing direction and some of the things built up have been changed as an afterthought. Which is why I didn’t really feel like writing meta lately. 

[jerzwriter]

Chapter 13 - Break My Heart Again

Book: Open Heart 3 (Post Series)

Series: Delaying the Inevitable

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC Tobias Carrick x F!MC

Rating: Chapter: Teen

Summary: In this chapter: Ethan’s demons haunt him and lead him to make a heartbreaking decision.

Category: Extended Series (WIP)

Warnings: Angst, heartbreak, alcohol and more angst.

**** PLEASE READ ALL A/N's ** REALLY PLEASE 😊 ****

A/N: I have REALLY warned you about this chapter. IT IS PAINFUL. I cried writing it, I cried editing it and I just cannot bear to edit once more, so excuse any typos or grammatical errors that remain – I’ll deal with them sometime in the future.

A/N 2: There may be a lot of hate for a beloved character here (or a lot hate for a not so beloved writer… me). I’d ask you to refrain from hate for both, realizing that this story is about people struggling with life and relationships while they are coping with baggage and unresolved trauma. People who are broken will continue to cut those around them until they heal, and that is what is happening in this chapter. It does not make the behavior excusable, but good people do bad things for… reasons.

A/N 3: At the end I have links to some AMAZING FLUFF… I’m looking to heal you.

A/N 4: BUT if you want a little more heartbreak, I am sharing this song. I love this song, but it is heart wrenching. I listened to it often when looking for inspiration for this chapter. I feel it can apply to Ethan/Casey as well as Ethan/Louise. But there are two lines in this that just jumped out at me and said Ethan/Casey. It is haunting, but I think it’s worth a listen.

Break My Heart Again - Finneas

A/N 5: THERE IS A LONG STORY AHEAD AND AN EVENTUAL HAPPY ENDING – DON’T LEAVE ME 😊

CHARACTERS BELONG TO PIXELBERRY STUDIOS

If you wish to be added or removed from tags, please let me know. Comments and reblogs always appreciated. 😊

“We have to talk.”

Just four words and twelve letters, but when combined, few words can elicit more anxiety and dread in the human heart.

When Casey heard those four words fall from Ethan’s lips, her breath hitched, and her heart raced, for very little good has ever come of them.

_____________________________________________________

Earlier Today

“I shouldn’t be too late; Sienna and Aurora have to be at work by 7:00. Some of the others may stay longer, but I plan on heading out before dinner time.”

“Don’t feel obligated to leave early,” Ethan replied. “This is the last time you will all be at the apartment together; I want you to enjoy it.”

Enjoy it, in her precarious emotional state? Casey was aiming for get through the night and manage to smile a few times. Enjoy, it seemed like a huge stretch.

“I’d like to get back here and spend some time with you tonight, Ethan. I miss you; I thought we could have dinner together and maybe cuddle a bit if that’s OK with you?”

Is that’s OK with you? When have I ever had to ask Ethan if that’s OK with him?

“Sure. But I still prefer you spend the time with your friends. It’s a special day.”

Casey crossed the room to say goodbye and Ethan leaned over to kiss her forehead.

She waved to him from the apartment door, “I’ll see you soon, Baby.”

_______________

Every time Casey left his apartment, Ethan felt an immediate change in the environment. Before he knew her, he rarely spent time at home; but once she barreled into his life, he quickly found the appeal of cooking dinners side-by-side, watching a movie or two, or snuggling under a blanket next to the fireplace. Casey transformed his place of residence into a home, so it made sense that it always felt a little less bright when she was gone. He once joked that the sun only shone through his windows when she was present. Now, even though the rooms seemed colder and darker without her, somehow, he felt more comfortable and at peace when she left.

He let out a short breath as soon as she locked the door behind her. Walking to the kitchen, he poured himself a drink and decided to bring the bottle back into the living room with him. He made himself comfortable on the lounge chair he purchased for the sole purpose of taking in the magnificent views surrounding him. A small amount of sunlight remained in the sky, but the forecast called for rain, and he watched as the grey clouds slowly rolled in and enveloped the skyline he loved so much.

Ethan never did relationships. Not really. After the unmitigated disaster that was Floria, he refrained from forming any serious connections. Harper was the closest he had come to an exception, but even then, they both knew they were shared was superficial. They were two friends who undoubtedly cared for each other, but it was never the real thing, nor would it ever be, nor did they want it to be. Other than that, his experience was limited to brief flings that typically ended when his partner wanted something more and a handful of one-night stands. Casey broke the mold from the beginning. She was everything he never knew he wanted, yet what his soul craved for. Once he allowed her to permeate his defenses, a new world opened to him, and it was filled with a radiance he never knew existed. But now, as they faced their first true challenge, he was unarmed. He had no idea of how to fix what was broken, and he was too proud to admit it.

Louise abandoning him a second time was a devastating blow to a man who only recently allowed himself to love and be loved in return. Even before she returned, he had deluded himself into believing he had healed from her initial abandonment. But nothing could have been further from the truth. Though he resisted her when she returned, in time the love and acceptance she offered nurtured his soul. It soothed the inner child within him who had never been mended.

Her return, coinciding with the arrival of his soulmate, brought him to a place he never believed in. And, while it frightened him more than he cared to admit, he simply couldn’t get enough. He felt loved, cherished, and safe. Now, with his previous defenses no longer in place, he was forced to cope with another betrayal at the hands of the one woman who is supposed to love him forever. She left again with no more than a piece of paper addressed to Casey left behind. For a man who needed to feel in control, he was left with none.

He could not cope as a nearly 40-year-old man because the traumatized boy he was when she initially left rose to the surface. Sadly, he could not see this for himself, and he was unwilling to hear it from those who loved him.

Deep down, he knew that neither Casey nor Alan was responsible for causing the anguish he felt today. No more than they were responsible for making his final decision to allow Louise back into his life. But he was unable to accept that he made the decision that eventually led to this place of devastation. If he admitted this, he would have to accept that he did not trust his own choices. Hence, he would never be safe, never be protected from desertion, and never be rid of his self-loathing. The great irony is his denial of his own involvement was the very thing that would prevent him from healing.

Before Casey, his world was reduced to scientific formulas; emotions and feelings only served to cloud judgment, and he avoided them at all costs. His romantic liaisons were to satisfy physical needs, never for comfort or to nurture his soul. When he finally surrendered to the beautiful world Casey brought him to, he wanted to soak everything up like a sponge. He had sought to take in every moment he could, but now, he believed it was an illusion that was quickly stolen from him.

Casey. His beautiful, precious Casey. She left a mark on his heart that could never be removed, even if he wanted that more than anything. He loved her and he knew that he was destined to love her until the day he died, but he didn’t want love anymore. Love could only lead to pain, and he knew that he would not withstand one more rejection. Self-preservation became his sole focus.

Three years. He kept her languishing for three years. He had abandoned her during times when she needed him most. Just one week after being tangled in her warm embrace between her sheets, he boarded a plane and headed to a different continent, leaving her to discover the news alongside every other resident as if she meant nothing at all. He later learned how his actions had left her severely damaged. Yet, she forgave him despite the suffering and heartbreak he had bestowed upon her. She waited for him. She loved him. HOW? Was it a strength he could never perceive in himself? Or was it pure insanity on her part? He knew he was no better than Louise, he had a precious gift standing before him, and he had done all that he could to throw her away. Yet, she stayed and did not know if he admired her or pitied her for her loyalty and perseverance.

His Casey. He never deserved her, and he never would. No matter how much she loved him, no matter how much he loved her, his desire to protect himself would always be greater. He knew he would hurt her again; it was only a matter of time. If he loved her, and he loved her immensely, he needed to let her go. She deserved a life and a love he could never provide. To do this, he had to rid himself of this fantasy he had created that told him that this sort of a life was a possibility for him. .

He walked to his bedroom and entered the dressing room. He moved several objects in a remote corner and retrieved a small, mahogany chest that he kept hidden from sight. As he inserted the brass key and opened the lid, he opened a portal to his past that delivered nothing but pain, yet he could never rid himself of it. He sat on the floor peering at its contents: ticket stubs from the circus, a favorite t-shirt from a carnival he visited, a handmade card, photos, several journals. With the exception of the journals, every item was from the time before his mother left him over a quarter-century ago. This part of him was dead, but he could not release it, so he kept it in the darkest corner of his home. He hadn’t opened this box in over a decade, but he felt compelled to do so today.

He stood and moved to the other end of the room opening a drawer, he gazed at a small red leather box. He swallowed painfully as he clutched it in his hand and sat once more. He opened the box stared at the beautiful creation he lovingly selected just months before. After his weekend on the Cape with Casey, he was certain she was the only woman he could ever spend his life with. He still believed that today. There could never be another, she was his only chance, but he needed to face the reality that even with the woman who seemed destined for him and him alone, there could be no future. It was just another fantasy he created.

Casey deserved to wear a ring like this on her finger. She deserved a beautiful, perfect proposal. She deserved a life full of love and adoration with a man who knew her worth and would show it to her every single day. As he watched the facets shine in the dim lighting, he told himself, he could never be that man. So, with glistening eyes, he shut the box and placed it in the chest. He returned the key to its socket and then swiftly returned it to its hidden spot. He wondered if he would ever dare to open it again.

He returned to his chair in the living room and waited. He hoped Casey was having fun and that she would decide to stay later because for every minute that passed until she entered the door to his residence, she was still his. He needed to treasure every last moment. His heart ached when he heard her slip her key into the door, far earlier than expected. She had left early because she wanted to come home and spend time with him. The fucking irony. This was one more cruel joke that the universe was inflicting on him, and by extension, on the woman he would forever love.

He momentarily lost his nerve. As she stood in the vestibule and walked through the living room and dining area, he could not bring himself to speak. When he heard her in the kitchen, preparing a special treat for him, he momentarily considered abandoning his plan. But he knew that would be a mistake.

So he mustered his strength and walked into the kitchen to see her.

“Casey, can you join me inside. We have to talk.”

____________________

While Casey followed him inside, she tried to convince herself that he wanted to speak about a million different topics. Her heart would not allow her to accept what her brain already told her to prepare for. Part of her wanted time to race, get to the point and deal with the aftermath as swiftly as possible. But a bigger part of her wished for time to stop the very second she sat on his couch. If only she could just stay in this moment forever, but she knew she could not. So with a racing heart, clenched jaw, and downcast eyes, she braced herself for Ethan’s words.

“Casey,” he began with a quivering voice, “I did a lot of thinking while you were gone today, and….”

She shut her eyes tightly while he stalled. Out with it, Ethan, out with it, why are you prolonging the agony.

“Casey, I don’t we should move forward with living together right now. Given the state of how things are… I don’t feel comfortable taking the next step with you. I know you’re supposed to move in the day after tomorrow, so the timing is regrettable, but it can’t be helped.”

Casey couldn’t breathe. Her mind could not register that the pain in her chest hadn’t actually been inflicted on her physically. She tried to breathe through it. She didn’t know what to say.

“Ethan… Ethan, my address is already changed, my things are already here, I… I… I don’t have any place else to go.”

“I know. And I hate leaving you in this predicament, Casey. I have given it some thought, and I think you should stay here until you can find a new place. I will move into a hotel until that time.”

Her head was pounding. She didn’t fully believe that her brain was processing what he was saying because he just couldn’t be, could he?

“Are you out of your mind?” She asked incredulously, “Are you fucking out of your mind? You’re telling me you don’t want me anymore, and you think I would want to stay in your apartment, a place we were preparing to call home together, without you? In what world do you think that’s OK, Ethan!”

“Then I’ll pay for to stay someplace until you can….”

“I don’t want your money. I know how to take care of myself. But, Ethan, I want you. Please, please don’t do this.”

Shaking, Casey stood up and began pacing, walking in little circles, and randomly stopping. She didn’t know where to look or what to do. Ethan walked to the edge of the room and leaned on the wall. He didn’t know what to say. He wanted to end things, he had to end things, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it, so he offered her a choice where there was none, knowing that she would have to decide to leave. Who the fuck am I? How the fuck am I doing this to her?

“I… I’m not necessarily saying we’re over,” he felt his constitution wavering. “I am saying that I can’t move forward right now… maybe one day, but not today.”

“Ethan, I’m moving…” she started to cry and she took a few deep breaths before continuing, “I was moving in with you in two days. My God, Ethan! Did you think we’d never face any problems? What if I was already here? Now you’re going to put me out, knowing I have no place to go? And you call this love? Ethan, I have spent three years loving while you pulled me in and built my hopes, only to thrust me away a moment later. I can’t do that anymore. After all this time together, I cannot start backtracking now. You either want me, or you don’t. You can’t have it both ways anymore.”

“Want you? Love you? Yes, Casey, yes to both. But can I be with you?” he stopped and swallowed, “Can I be with you? No. I can’t.”

Casey felt like her body would give way, so she reached for a nearby chair, allowing it to hold her weight. She hung her head, unable to look at him, and began sobbing.

“So, you’re breaking up with me? This isn’t about me moving in or not, you’re leaving me, and you just don’t have the balls to say it………ANSWER ME! ANSWER ME ETHAN! You owe me at least that much!”

“Casey, don’t make this worse….”

“MAKE IT WORSE? MAKE IT WORSE? Can you possibly tell me HOW I can make this worse? Goddamn it Ethan! We could not have been happier! Like a fucking week ago, we were happy and so in love, how could you end it like it meant nothing!”

Ethan wiped a tear from his eye before continuing, “Casey, don’t you see? We were happy because it was a lie. You were happy because you thought you had what you always wanted, but you only had an illusion. I wanted to be it for you Casey, I wanted to be it so much so that I lied to myself and tried to give everything you wanted. But now, I know I can never be the man you need. I don’t want to be that man. I never did. I never should have deluded either of us into believing it could be.”

Casey was now pacing the floor ferociously as she rubbed her pounding head. She was trying to stay calm. Even in this state, she knew she was close to hyperventilating.

This is surreal. This can’t be happening. I must be dreaming. I have to be.

She walked toward Ethan and stood just feet away, glaring into his eyes.

“How can you do this to me? How can you do this to yourself? I’ve stood by your side through everything. When you hurt me, when you denied me, whenever you needed me, I was there. I was always waiting for you. We shared.. we shared something beautiful and, goddamn it, Ethan, we wouldn’t have had any of it if it weren’t for me and now you just want to… dismiss me?”

“You’re right, Casey. You’re right. If it were not for you, none of this would have happened. I would never have opened my heart. I never have let people in. I would have lived the rest of my life safe, avoiding the excruciating pain I feel right now. The life I thought I wanted with you – it’s not sustainable for me, Casey! I should have never exposed myself to it. I should never have given in.”

Bordering on hysteria, Casey wailed, “Are you saying I was a mistake? Are you saying everything that we shared between us was a mistake?”

Ethan threw his hands in the air and fell into a chair in the corner.

“I’m saying it should have never been. You were not a mistake, Casey. You could never be a mistake. You are… you’re the most amazing woman I have ever known, and I love you, and I always will. I am the one to blame. The mistake was mine. I don’t want to hurt you, Casey, but I can’t... I won’t be someone I am not just to please you. And you deserve someone who won’t have to pretend. This has been an excruciating lesson learned.”

Her face was bordering on rage, “I am no more than a lesson learned!!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“YES, you did!”

She walked across the room with her back to him, ferociously running her fingers through her hair. She was trying to form a coherent thought, but it felt like an impossibility.

Casey had never begged anyone for their love of affection in her lifetime, and she hated herself for even considering it now. But she loved Ethan in a way she never knew existed before he entered her life, and she was confident that he loved her just as much; they just needed to get through this trauma. He couldn’t see there was another side. She had to make him see it.

Some things are worth any risk.

She wiped her tears and gathered all the strength within her before she finally spoke.

“Ethan, I want you to think back, Baby, please. Think back to what we have shared. The day you asked me to live with you, when you came home from Mayo, on the beach after Inez’s wedding…” her voice was a desperate plea and her clothes were becoming soaked with her tears. “Ethan, please... please remember. This is only happening because of Louise. Please don’t give her the power to destroy us, to steal your happiness. You know we can make it through this together. There is another side. Ethan, please. I don’t want to beg, but I am begging you….”

She could barely see his figure standing before her through her tears, but from the little she could, she realized her words were having no impact on him. His gaze remained diverted, and an air of detachment surrounded him. Casey felt her heart begin to fracture. She was desperate, and she hated herself for it, but it was beyond her control. With her stomach retching and her body trembling, a weak voice emerged.

“Ethan…please don’t throw me away.”

Her body gave way to the heaving sobs she had been attempting to control. Unable to stand any longer, her legs gave way, but she missed the couch and sunk to the floor.

Ethan turned and watched her shatter into a thousand pieces before his eyes. The image was so excruciating it threatened to crack the stone that was enshrouding his heart. His beautiful Casey, crumpled on the floor, broken, when all she ever wanted to do was love him. Love him unlike anyone else ever before or would again, and this is how he repaid her.

I am a fucking monster.

For a moment, his instincts almost took over. He pictured himself running to her side, holding her, and begging for her forgiveness. But he couldn’t. Casey’s love had made him weak and vulnerable. It opened every wound he had ever endured, and the irony was that for all his medical skills, this was the one thing he could never heal.

Casey was no more than a puddle on the floor, and when he looked at her, he saw himself as a 12-year-old boy. He was hurting her as much as Louise had hurt him. Then Louise returned just to wound him once more. If he tried to repair the damage he had done to their relationship now, he would only be building up Casey’s hopes up to destroy them again in the future. And now , he knew, that the pain was more devastating each time it occurred. He had to let her go, for her sake, as much as his own. If she needed to hate him to make it happen, then that was the price he would have to pay. It was a sentence he deserved.

He moved to the couch, sat behind where she was slumped floor, and gently placed his hand on her shoulder. Desperate for comfort and his touch, Casey spontaneously jumped up into his arms. But unlike every time before, he did not pull her into his warm embrace. This time he reflexively pushed her away, holding her an arm’s length away. Shocked, Casey let out an audible gasp.

He looked into her beautiful blue eyes that had gazed upon him thousands of times before. He had seen them filled with pride, admiration, desire, and, most importantly, love. But as he stared into them now, he saw the embers of hope that had remained until this moment slowly extinguish. He knew this memory would haunt him for the remainder of his life. But he knew what had to be done, and he was about to tell her a horrible lie for what he believed to be her own good.

“Casey,” he said with a hand loosely touching her elbow, “one day, you will look back and be grateful for this moment. But right now, you need to let go, you need to let go because I already have.”

Casey had been inflicted with a thousand wounds since she walked into Ethan’s living room just a half-hour ago. As she slowly bled and faced an excruciating death, she battled on, ignoring the scrapes, the lacerations, and the fracturing of her bones. She fought on like the strong, valiant warrior she was. She believed in their love and its ability to overcome; she was not giving up hope. So, in the face of unbearable pain, she persevered.

But every battle must have a victor and a loser, and in the end, the sword that delivered the fatal blow to her heart came from the lips of the very man who had sworn to protect it. At that moment, she knew that her life as it existed just hours before had slipped away and her only option was to surrender it to the angel of death that had been hovering in the room since she arrived. As strong an opponent as Casey was, she had never been a match.

Without a word, she rose on shaking legs and pulled her jacket off the wall. She turned around in stupor to survey the once sacred ground where love had blossomed, where they had planned their future, and saw it fade to a wasteland before her eyes. Silently she walked toward the door to leave his apartment.

He is going to stop me. He is going to block the door. He is going to tell me to stay. He didn’t.

She walked down the hallway toward the elevator, her feet must have been moving, but she could not feel them. Her swollen, tear-stained face hiding behind a scarf.

He is behind me. He is coming after me. He will stop me from getting on the elevator. He was not. He did not.

She sat on the floor in the hallway and waited, hiding her face in her knees if others passed.

There is no way this is happening. I just have to wait until he comes to his senses. He loves me, he knows he does, he is going to come out any second now. But never did.

Gathering all the strength she did not have, she rose her feet and pushed the elevator button, probably for the last time. This was supposed to be her home, and now she had none. She recalled the time Ethan would teasingly chastise her for continuing to call it his home and not our home, and now those words tormented her.

She could not think more than a minute ahead. She let two elevators pass so she could take an empty one to ride alone. She couldn’t bear to see anyone right now. At least twenty-five minutes had passed since she left his apartment. He had not followed.

Stepping outside and the cold air stung her raw skin. It hurt, burning her eyes and assaulting her lungs. She welcomed it. She wanted the pain on the outside to match the pain within her, even though she didn’t think it was possible. She stood in front of the building’s doorway, not knowing where she should go.

The sky was grey, but not grey enough. The people and cars passing by mocked her. How could they just carry on? How was there music? Why were people laughing? How was everything just going on like normal? Didn’t they know her world had stopped spinning?

She realized she was clutching her phone in her pocket. My phone! He must have called me or text me. I must have missed it. She checked. He didn’t.

She looked up at the sky above and her tears began to flow once more. He was not coming. He threw her away. Sorrow overtook her and she only moved because of the shame she felt from the stares of residents entering and exiting the building. The building that was about to be her home.

She started to walk with no direction, just going wherever her weakened legs took her. She was breathing, but it didn’t feel like the air was reaching her lungs. She walked directly into a young man headed in the opposite direction and whispered a barely audible “I’m sorry” as she continued on her way.

The man realized that she was in distress, and he turned to follow her.

“Miss, are you OK?”

She ignored him and continued walking.

“Miss, please, are you OK? Can you call someone?”

She was forced to stop at the crosswalk. The gentleman noticed the phone in her hands and stepped in front of her.

“Miss, I can’t leave you out on the street like this. It’s not safe. Please call someone to come and get you. Can I have your phone? I will make the call for you if you want.”

I had to find the one fucking good Samaritan in Boston. Doesn’t he know? There is no one to call!

She honed her acting skills and forced herself to pretend she was OK. She knew it was the only way he would leave.

“I… I’m sorry,” she muttered, “I’m … um... I just experienced a loss and… I need to get… home.”

“Can I call you an Uber?”

NO! You can’t!! I don’t have any place to go!!!

“No… I will walk…it’s good for me.”

“OK, at least call a friend… can you do that.”

The light changed. Thank God.

“Yes!” she pulled her phone out and made a show of hitting “Call.” “I’m doing it now. Thank you!”

Who the fuck did I just dial! She looked down. Thank God. It was Bryce. He’s in surgery. She did not want to speak to anyone.

She had been walking mindlessly and she didn’t know where she was. Looking around, she realized that she was nearly in front of Edenbrook. She buried her face in her hands and started crying again. The last thing she wanted was to see anyone from the hospital.

How the fuck did I end up here!

She turned around and began walking in the opposite direction.

Maybe I should call someone. But who? She scrolled through her contacts. Jackie was moving her things tonight, Si and Aurora were on shift. Bryce was in surgery. Tobias has a date. Raf was taking Vovo to her sisters. She knew damn well that any of her friends would have come to her immediately, but she couldn’t bear the thought of facing anyone right now. She felt ashamed, foolish. She wanted to crawl away from the world and be alone, but she was afraid of what would become of her if she did. For one of the first times in her life, she honestly did not know what to do. She was unaware of her own sobs as a toxic combination of fear, desperation, and sorrow enveloped her.

He must have called me by now. There is no way he would not check on me by now. Even if he doesn’t want me, he’ll want to know that I’m OK.

Her hands shook as she took her phone out of her pocket…no new calls, no new messages. The phone fell out of her trembling hand and, as she went to retrieve it, she collided with an older woman.

“Miss, are you OK?”

“Yes,” Casey replied in a voice that somehow managed to be catatonic. “I’m fine.. thank.. can I have..” she pointed to the phone.

“Miss, honey, why don’t I help you get..”

“NO!” Casey wailed, “Please, just .. my phone..” She leaned against the building behind her and slid down until she sat on the ground; she put her face in her hands, sobbing.

“Ma’am, can I just have my phone, please?” she cried.

The kindly woman stood before her, unsure what to do but not willing to leave Casey alone.

As Casey attempted to stand up, she felt the presence of someone approaching them.

A familiar voice yelled out, “Hey, is everything OK here? I’m a doctor, can I hel…Casey? Casey, is that you?”

Casey lifted her heavy head to find Tobias’s hazel eyes staring down at her. At first, she thought it was a mirage, and when she realized it wasn’t, she didn't know if she felt relief or dread well up inside of her.

“Ma’am, thank you for staying. This is a friend of mine. I can take it from here.”

“Miss, is this a friend of yours?” the lady asked.

“Yes, he is.” Casey barely whispered.

She lowered her head. She didn’t want to look Tobias in the eyes.

“Casey, Baby, please calm down.”

He tried to help her stand, but when he realized she couldn’t, he carried her to the steps of a nearby brownstone. He sat in front of her to shelter her from the view of passers-by.

“Casey, what’s wrong? Please tell me.”

She didn’t want to look at him, so she pulled him into a hug, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

“T. Ethan left me. He left me and, I don’t have any place to go.”

__________________________________________

After Casey left his apartment, Ethan went to his bedroom. and collapsed on the floor He stared blankly at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity. The only reason he eventually stood is because of his need for a stiff drink. It was so overwhelming, he felt as if he would die if he didn’t get it and soon.

When he went to the kitchen, he saw his phone lying on the counter. No calls, no messages. He went to call her, but he stopped. There was no way he could endure leaving her again. He had to just let her go.

He returned to his bedroom with an entire bottle of scotch at his side. He sat on his bed staring into space for over an hour, coming out of his trance only long enough to take an occasional sip of his drink. Overcome with a mix of rage, sorrow, and desperation, he let out a guttural scream, jumping to his feet, he tossed his glass against the wall.

He marched into his dressing room and threw things out of the way to get to the small chest he had sealed away before. He carried it to the living room and sat before a blazing fire. He pulled out an old, worn journal and looked through the pages. Each one contained a message from a young man who wrote to his mother from the time he was twelve until he turned sixteen, his sole form of contact with her. Sometimes the messages were tender, a boy looking to a mother who no longer existed. Sometimes they were angry and filled with hate, admonishing her for her abandonment. Once the flames were strong enough, he ripped the journal page by page, throwing each into the fire with increasing rage, only stopping when there was nothing left.

He moved onto the couch and laid motionless for what seemed like an eternity. He didn’t feel or think a thing. He was too numb for that.

Several hours later, a vision of Casey peacefully staring at him while lying in his bed came to his mind. Then he reflected on the anguished look on her face as she fled the apartment and the pain he had caused her.

He rose to his feet and sat behind his desk. He opened a side drawer and removed a leather-bound notebook, a gift he received from a patient some years ago. Grasping a pen he wrote:

9/28:

Dear Casey,

I am so, so sorry.

Love You, Ethan

He tucked the book away in his desk, knowing he would need it in the days, perhaps the years to come.

(I'm sorry guys...)

FLUFF:

https://liaromancewriter.tumblr.com/post/657203097707429888/rumor-has-it

https://irisofpurple.tumblr.com/post/653143757871513600/mine

https://schnitzelbutterfingers.tumblr.com/post/634806649611239425/an-hiya-there-im-so-sorry-for-not-posting-the

https://jerzwriter.tumblr.com/post/656628905169616896/their-first-two-months-ethan-casey

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[hopeymchope]

Considering why some of the twists in World’s End Club don’t make retroactive sense

I was recently watching the YouTuber Food4Dogs talk about World’s End Club, and she seemed to suggest at one point that some of the issues with the game’s storytelling may well have stemmed from Apple’s push to release the incomplete version as a sort of “Early Access” game for Apple Arcade users. 

A refresher: Typically, if a game is on Apple Arcade, that’s because Apple paid for that. Which means Apple directly gave funding to TooKyo Games for World’s End Club, and they got early access to the incomplete “2/3″ version in exchange. 

For this reason, the devs not only saved any Apple Arcade player’s progress at that cliffhanger point — they also created a way for people who’d previously played the Apple Arcade version to skip past the first 2/3 of the game if they later opt to pick up the Switch version. 

This is part of the cliffhanger ending that existed in the original Apple Arcade release. It’s also an unlockable extra video in the full Switch version.

However, by doing that, the developers basically locked 2/3 of the game into place. Any big reveals they did in the last 1/3? There was no way to further edit the first 2/3 to make it work in retrospect. If users were going to be playing through 2/3 of the game and then waiting to finish the adventure later, you can’t exactly go back and change what happens in the first 2/3 anymore, can you? 

When TooKyo Games eventually finished the game, they would go back and update some of the music for previous sections and remove some glitches as well as adding English VO and new collectibles throughout.. but they didn’t change any text or plot points.  

This suggests that perhaps the game’s writing wasn’t entirely locked down when they put out the incomplete Apple Arcade version. Because it’s really hard to square some of the late-game revelations up with some earlier events. 

I will not be attempting to explain the giant neo-impressionistic water dog. 

Let’s get down to SUPER-SPOILERY business under the cut.

Is it really possible that Reycho was controlled by Pochi (and, occasionally, the “Otherworlder” i.e. the player) throughout the duration og the game? I submit to you that this does not make much sense in multiple scenes.

In particular, please consider this scene from Chapter 1. This is the moment where Pochi proposes to Vanilla and Reycho that they all share their wristband tasks. That way, nobody among them can use those tasks against the others. It seems like a solid idea, except... Reycho refuses.

Here’s the scene (partly as screenshots and partly as text):

Vanilla: And you haven’t been brainwashed!?

Pochi: I’m totally fine.

Vanilla: .........................................

Pochi: Come on, Vanilla. Show me your wristband!

Vanilla: You think I’m gonna say “Sure!” just like that? Tattsun just showed his wristband and he...

Pochi: Here you go... *Pochi extends his wrist towards her*

Vanilla: *reading Pochi’s wristband* “Aniki’s Task: Eliminate everyone besides yourself”!?

Pochi: *pulls another wristband from his pocket* This is Tattsun’s wristband. I picked it up after he dropped it a minute ago. I guess something makes the wristband come off once the person is eliminated.

Vanilla: *reading the second wristband* “Kansai’s Task: Don’t bleed until 7 minutes before the time limit.“

Pochi: See? Do you get it now? You won’t end up like Tattsun if you show us your wristband.

Vanilla: But Reycho still hasn’t shown us what his wristband says... 

Reycho: *shakes his head* 

Vanilla: I see... so no negotiations, huh.

Pochi: What... that’s not fair, Vanilla!

Vanilla: Why? You were the one that showed it to me! I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t trust you two, but... I can’t show you my wristband no matter what. Anyway, good luck you guys. See ya! *Vanilla runs off*

Pochi: Vanilla! *she leaves* Well that’s it, there goes my strategy. It didn’t seem like Vanilla had been brainwashed, so I thought she’d show her wristband. Well, it is what it is, I guess. Only one thing to do now: Keep everyone from doing their tasks!

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

IN SUMMATION: Reycho. The robot that supposedly has no free will or self-awareness at this time. The robot that Pochi is directly controlling with his phony portable game console. REYCHO refuses to go along with POCHI’S plan.

.........WTF???

Pochi had to know Reycho’s task already when he proposed the above idea. Why did he spend the time to make this suggestion if he himself wasn’t willing to go along with it?! It makes no sense. ............... Unless we’re supposed to believe that Reycho just asserted his own will or something, foreshadowing his eventual self-awareness. .........................Buuuuuuuuuuut if that were the case, shouldn’t Pochi have mentioned this strange occurence later — either to the others or when he’s just alone, trapped in the school and thinking to himself? (Uh, maybe so much had happened by then that he forgot?)

I’ll forgive the fact that Pochi is talking to Reycho alone. That actually happens quite a bit in the game, but I don’t think it has to be a big deal. That could just be Pochi putting on a front just in case anybody is watching them. Or maybe he just got used to treating Reycho like a friend and colleague after a while, so it came naturally.

Regardless, it’s still a bizarre scene in light of later events. And it’s not even the only thing that calls into question how Reycho is functioning. 

What about when they all ride away on that massive 12-person bicycle together? Pochi’s game console is stowed away because he’s peddling on the bike and has his hands on the handlebars. Meanwhile, Reycho is... doing the same thing somehow? Without being controlled? 

Reycho even thrusts his fist out when Kansai does it!

And what about when we’re told later that all Pielope’s transformations and all of the weird creatures they encountered along the way were just hallucinations that MAIK created - simple illusions? If that’s the case, explain this:

What’s holding Reycho and Chuko up?! Pielope’s transformations were all just illusions, remember? 

Shortly thereafter, when Pielope tries to burst into the lead cars to “punish the traitor,” a bunch of the kids grab his giant robot legs and hold him back with all their might. So what the hell are they grabbing if the transformation isn’t really there?

What happens if you get snapped up by the giant carnivorous plants in the first abandoned town? I mean, Reycho can get grabbed and chewed up in that segment, but supposedly the plants don’t exist and are mere illusions. So uh, what the hell is doing that? .... I guess you could argue that since this causes a Game Over, it never actually happens and is non-canon content or something. But it still irks me.

It definitely feels like, instead of writing the whole story out beforehand, Uchikoshi came up with (or just changed his original intent for) these endgame explanations very late in the production process. And at that point, they had no way of going back to adjust earlier sequences.

Don’t get me wrong: These two issues (Reycho being constantly under control and the “illusions” claim) are really my only two issues with the storytelling. I still loved the story as a whole, and there are tons of other events and twists that worked! 

But those elements... they clearly stick out.

[yinses]

fractured kingdoms

| he made you a princess ... it was only right for him to play the white knight |

gojo satoru rating: t

a/n: so i had an idea. this is more of a premise for a potential series that will doubtfully be chaptered in order. i have terrible luck with that. more or less snapshots of this dynamic to see where it takes me. i always write best on new episode release days. 

gojo satoru used to enjoy his job- hell he was practically born for the role of exorcising curses. as a first year, along with his fellow classmates, he thought he could change the world. 

it was an optimistic goal that he never quite lost sight of but his mindset had changed over the years. having a best friend turn on an entire organization coupled with gatekeeping elders who should have died last century could do that to anyone's ambitions. 

so when gojo accepted a case, he did it but the task was conducted his own way on his own time. 

it was the least he could do for an institution who took advantage of his inherited ability. 

he was already planning out his order for the little pastry shoppe around the corner as he cleared a plethora of curses making themself home in the old abandoned fish packing plant. the acrid and heavy atmosphere had cultivated a miasma of stupidity it seemed, enticing the youth to come seek out nonexistent mysteries and claim their own death instead.

proclaimed haunted grounds like this were always prevalent breeding grounds for the weaker lot who couldn't chance hunting alone. the pack mentality made them look stronger than what they were. 

it was all just troublesome work for him. 

gojo quickly surveyed the mess that lay before him- bodies broken beyond identification. showing them to the morning families would only increase the amount of negative energy already floating around the area. it would be better to just shut down the perimeter completely for proper purging. 

that was something ijichi could manage. 

his hand twitched for his pocket to order such when he felt a lingering weight of cursed energy. this essence wasn’t like the others- in fact he didn’t recall even noticing it until now. 

with a huff he slouched into a relaxed stance, infinity tightening around his body, “now, now. let’s not make this harder for ourselves. i have a tight schedule after all.” if he was lucky, he could make two stops instead of his scheduled one. he’d like some nice bobba tea to go with his treat.

gojo waited a moment longer, willing to make it fair for once. but then nothing happened. these might be his least favorite curses, those born from cowardice. 

he fingered the edge of his blindfold in contemplation. taking it off may be overkill, but something about the situation insists upon it. intrigued by the shift, he pulls the material down to his chin and takes in the factory in its entirety. 

for a second there was nothing. then blue eyes flicker upward.

“oh wow. pretty, pretty.”

something in the rafters rustles, and a small thud sounded to his right as a figure landed gracefully less than a foot away. 

it was daring, to say the least. most curses avoided his aura, not willing entered it. but the most unsettling thing was that it spoke.

the level of cursed energy emanating from the form did not match with the intelligence it was portraying. it could be mimicry, a set of learned phrases used to trick and lure. but even known when and how to use them-

not to mention they’d commented specifically on his eyes. 

“it’s rude not to thank a lady when she offers a compliment.”

gojo couldn’t resist turning at that. 

it was a lady; perhaps more correctly a girl- possibly in her early twenties. there were no errant limbs or monstrous editions. she looked normal, almost human. maybe even an amateur sorcerer if he’d just focused on the energy she emitted. 

a low grade shaman may have actually mistaken her for one. 

that would have been a shame.

gojo brought his hand over his heart in an apologetic gesture,” sorry, it was your own beauty that stopped me short.”

her lips pulled back and the white of her teeth sent a thrilling chill down his spine. 

how interesting indeed. 

he motioned vaguely to the remains,” am i to assume this was your court?” curses congregating deceive humans was one thing, but to kneel to a higher authority.

an unregistered special grade.

that would be problematic.

her eyes raked over the scene with disinterest,”oh that shit show? as if i would associate myself with them.”

“well that’s not very nice. most princess have better opinions of their subjects.”

her smile widen. oh, she liked that. 

gojo carefully braced himself to remain undeterred as she took a casual step forward. instincts urged him to eliminate it on the spot but curiosity begged him to learn more. 

as if she felt his hesitancy, she stopped. “princess, huh? will you kneel for me too?”

he laughs at that, “oh i don’t think my superiors would appreciate me doing that.”

there is a brief period of silence and gojo waits with baited breath for the fighting to start. she was obviously retaining her cursed energy, eventually it would overflow to its true capacity. part of gojo actually would regret silencing this one, it wasn’t often that they were this interesting. 

when it appeared that she wasn’t going to make the first move, he sighed,” well, unfortunately this has gone on long enough-”

“what kind of sweets do you like?”

gojo blinked dumbly. 

“ah, that depends, i suppose. there is this really nice bakery not far from here that makes great manju.” his next destination after he got rid of this curse. why was he even drawing this out? he didn’t feel particularly compelled or threatened, to be frank. 

“i’ll have to try it then!”

gojo is left to stare at the palm extended outward. 

“can i have money please?”

                                                  ⚘  ⚘  ⚘

against his better judgement, gojo offers to buy them for her instead. 

seated across from the curse, he watches her quietly as she ate through two orders with ease. he also watches the floating civilians around her. not all human were immune to curses, occasionally one with a weak sense would notice something. 

but the clerk didn’t miss a single beat when taking her order.

“um… are you going to eat that?”

gojo looked down at the reason why he’d come out this far in the first place and back to the empty plate in front of him. he didn’t think twice before giving her third serving in the last twenty minutes. 

“how interesting.”

she looked up mid bite,”wha?”

curling his fingers into a fist to lean into, gojo gave her his full attention,” do you know what you are?”

“well, i’m a girl. opposite of what you are,’’ she explains snidely. for someone who had been given a free treat, she was a bit of a brat. 

more importantly, gojo wasn’t detecting any blatant evasion in her speech. it … wasn’t possible for her to actually believe that she was human. perhaps she could be a misguided curse, but what mortal girl would hang out with such monstrous friends. she hadn’t even denied their existence in the factory. 

gojo decides to cut to the chase,” we both know you’re not a regular girl.”

she brings the fork to her mouth,”i thought we established that i was a princess?”

oh, this was bad. gojo really should have just finished her before. he should not have invested this far. and certainly should not have bought her mangu.

the only thing worse than an unorthodox gojo, was one equipped with a fresh idea. 

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 3: Earthrealm

Fandom: Mortal Kombat 2021

Liu Kang x Reader or Kung Lao x Reader

Summary: You meet the mythical Lord Raiden. He reminds you of your dad, but nicer, oddly enough. Liu Kang might also be your new best friend.

A/N: Thanks again everyone! This has been such fun. I meant to say earlier that this takes place a couple years prior to the film (also that I know a bit about MK as a game series, so I will include tidbits here and there if I can). ALSO! I am open to any suggestions that you may wish to see throughout this story- either for Liu Kang or Kung Lao. I can't guarantee I will use them but I will consider them. I am delighting in writing this!! EDIT:: lol why did no one tell me there were so many errors in this one. All fixed!

The Beginning << Previous Chapter Next Chapter >> Chapter Index

The days that followed were a struggle. Monks would visit and care for your wounds at all hours of the day. You were in and out of consciousness. When you did manage to stay awake, you would meditate and do simple exercises to keep your body strong. That was a struggle in itself. Wounds needed rest to heal but you refused to become weak to them in the meantime. You were ready to fight.

Without fail Liu Kang would visit every evening. He brought books for you to read together. On his second visit he gifted you with a crudely bound leather journal and a pen to take notes with. You were inquisitive and Liu Kang was a wealth of knowledge. On nights where you finished a book or a lesson early, you would meditate together. Other nights you would chat and often times those chats would end in swapping personal stories. You had become fast friends.

You kept a calendar in the back of the journal. Liu Kang helped account for the time that you’d lost to unconsciousness. A week had passed since you’d woken up in Raiden’s Temple. You circled the x over the day and wondered where Kung Lao was. You’d asked around about him but had been told that many of the Earthrealm warriors were often absent. Apparently, he was frequently gone for long stretches of time. Many of the monks left on lengthy errands. Mortal Kombat and the protection of Earthrealm extended far beyond China. You wondered how much of the world Kung Lao had seen. You’d barely ever left your hometown for anything other than martial arts tournaments.

“Miss Y/N?” A monk pulled aside the sheet that had been pinned around the doorway of the small closet-sized space that had become your semi-permanent dwelling. You offered the monk a tired smile and gestured to allow him to enter. The monk bowed politely. “Your presence has been requested by Lord Raiden.”

“Oh?” You had known that you would meet with the man who the temple belonged to eventually. Liu Kang had told you that you would be summoned only after you’d been deemed well enough. You hadn’t passed out in exhaustion for the last 48 hours so you supposed this was as good a time as any. “Give me a moment to change, if you will.”

“Yes, of course Miss Y/N.” The monk bowed and left you with some privacy. You’d grown accustomed to the dressing gowns. They were comfortable and since you didn’t move around much, they worked. You’d been given several lightweight gi for future training and several hanfu, traditional Chinese garments, to wear if you desired. You wished, more than anything, that you’d gotten to pack some of your things before everything had gone to hell. No t-shirts or tank tops. No jeans or leggings. Not even any cute summer dresses. But you were grateful to have anything.

You changed into the soft blue and white hanfu that had become your favorite. It was simpler in design than the others but still long and flowing. You didn’t need anything terribly fancy to have a conversation with someone. You were sure that if Lord Raiden expected you to dress up then you would have been warned. Considering that Liu Kang rotated through the same three tattered gi and was almost always covered in soot, you doubted there was a strict dress code.

After you changed, you pulled your hair up lazily with a set of chopsticks. Then you returned to the monk who was waiting for you in the hall. The monk bowed again and then led you through the halls of the temple. The floor you’d been on had very few windows and only in the hallways. You followed the monk up several ramps and flights of stairs. Endless halls branched in every direction making the whole place seem labyrinthian. You were certain that you could spend weeks exploring the halls and still manage to miss things.

If the monk hadn’t been leading you then you wouldn’t have been able to resist your curiosity. After a good thirty minutes spent walking, you were led into a dark hallway with a rounded ceiling. It disappeared into the distance lit only by odd white statues that stood in a line along its center. The monk bowed and gestured down the hall.

“Good luck, Miss Y/N.” The monk then left you alone. You approached the glass statues in the center of the hall and found their insides sparking with electricity. They were funny in that they reminded you of a sophisticated and silent Tesla coil that fired constantly. Below the frosted glass you could see currents of electricity flowing almost as you imagined lightning would through the clouds. Your fingers brushed curiously over the glass.

“Miss Y/N?” A commanding and deep voice called from the end of the hall. You felt like a child who had disobeyed your teacher and winced. You hurried down the hall as quickly as your legs would allow then bowed before entering the room at its end.

“I’m sorry. I haven’t seen much outside of the infirmary. I was fascinated.”

The man who stood before you was of average build and height, his face mostly obscured by his hat. You grinned in surprise and recognition but then quickly fought to hide your glee. Raiden’s expression was severe, reminding you very much of your father and the way he’d glare at you when you’d said something un-lady-like as a child.

“There is much to discuss.” He gestured for you to take a seat on the floor in front of where he was seated with his legs crossed so you did. Much to your surprise, he was floating several inches off the ground and while you tried to hide your shock, you were sure your eyes had gone wide. “I am Lord Raiden; the protector of Earthrealm.”

“It’s an honor to meet you. Liu Kang has told me a little about you.”

“I am not surprised.” Raiden had a commanding voice as well as presence so you listened attentively. He explained the nature of other realms though he didn’t go terribly in depth with their origins or existence. Outworld was their greatest opposition with the desire to control earth and humanity. They were brutal warmongers from how Raiden described them. He then explained the tournaments and how if Outworld won a tenth tournament they could lay claim to Earthrealm.

Shang Tsung, a powerful sorcerer, would lead his armies there and take humanity as slaves. You didn’t ask but you wondered if Shang Tsung was the ruler of Outworld. You figured that if it were important then Raiden would tell you. He went on to tell you that Outworld had done this before with other realms and they had been devastated into waste.

Raiden spoke in a way that made it seem as though he had lived through countless lifetimes. While his tone often sounded severe, he also spoke with great purpose. “Our next tournament will not be for a few more years. You are one of Earthrealm’s chosen warriors.” Raiden’s lecture was winding down. “Do you have any questions?” You had known much of what Raiden had taught you that day but still sat patiently through it.

“I think I understand. If I have any questions later then I can ask Liu Kang. It’s difficult for me to wrap my mind around this craziness, for lack of a better word. He’s been very patient with me. The idea of arcana and how I’m meant to fight warriors from another world is still wild to me but I understand the concept. I think with time and practice I will be better off.” You stifled a giggle and then cleared your throat to stop any further giggles from escaping.

“Is there something you find funny?”

Guilt again. The kind you’d felt exclusively around your parents.

“You’re the man with the funny hat.” Your cheeks burned when he seemed affronted by your description of him. “I don’t mean to come off as rude! Forgive me. My shop is on the edge of town and there are many travelers passing through. I remember you from one of those visits. You chose your words carefully and spoke very little. You required precious stones and, as I often do, I made polite small talk. I asked what you needed them for and you said in the protection of Earthrealm which you quickly corrected to the protection of nature. You opened my eyes long ago to the secrets of the world though I was doubtful there was any truth to it until now.”

Raiden’s expression shifted and he seemed pleased but he was also difficult to read. You hoped he was pleased. Despite his severe and intimidating presence, he seemed well meaning.

“I don’t recall this instance but am happy to learn that there are those who learn the truth without panic or dismissal.”

“So, I have to fight then.”

“More than fight. You must find your arcana so that you may stand a chance against the warriors of Outworld. They are ruthless and possess skills that may seem impossible to you. Without your arcana you will not stand a chance.”

“How do I do that? Find my arcana, I mean.”

“Through trial and adversity. Everyone is different. Your arcana is unique to you.” Raiden stood and so you did the same. “Your training will begin tomorrow.”

You weren’t sure you were ready for that but you bowed respectfully. That was tomorrow’s problem. “Thank you. I promise to work my hardest.”

Raiden said nothing but didn’t look as though he quite believed you capable. You had long ago stopped seeking the approval of others. Actions spoke louder than words and you would do as you promised. Raiden turned from you without another word. You waited for an awkward moment to be dismissed then turned and left. You chose not to linger in the hall with the pretty lightning sculptures that had distracted you earlier.

The path back to the infirmary wasn’t easily found and you wandered aimlessly for a time before asking a monk to help you back to the infirmary. You were exhausted. Upon arrival you closed the curtain to your tiny room and sat on the edge of your bed. Your arms were aching. You were sore and tired. Gravity didn’t agree with your healing wounds. Training was going to be a bitch but you would be better for it.

Retrieving the journal Liu Kang had given you, you made yourself cozy after rekindling the flame of your lantern. You went over the notes from the day before and smiled. Your handwriting was often sandwiched between his. You’d had a difficult time holding a pen for the first few days and your handwriting was atrocious. There had been times where you’d been too dazed with exhaustion so Liu would take over and explain what he was writing down. He was incredibly considerate.

You drifted to sleep leaning against the wall behind your narrow bed, book in your arms. In your very brief dreams you’d been seated with a young Kung Lao in the field outside of your grandparents’ farm. The more you remembered of him the more you could see the man he’d grown up to be.

A knock against stone startled you awake and you jumped upright. Standing in your doorway, peering through the curtain was Liu Kang. He seemed surprised.

“Did I wake you?” He stepped inside and closed the curtain behind him for privacy. How long had you slept? Crap.

“What time is it? Did I sleep through training?”

“No.” He laughed and it was a welcome and comforting sound. “It’s quite late but I was busy today and had no time until now. I wished to see you before bed.” He spoke of you with such fondness that if you hadn’t been half asleep then you probably would have blushed. You adjusted yourself and made room for him to sit next to you on the bed as you often had while reading. He joined you gratefully. You watched as he brushed his thumb over the prayer beads that often went from wrapped around his wrist to his palm and back again. “Tomorrow is going to be difficult, Y/N.”

You guessed that he would be the one training you. He was one of the only warriors with the marking that stayed in Raiden’s Temple besides Kung Lao that you knew of.

“Promise not to pull any punches, okay?”

“I knew you would say that.” He nudged your shoulder with his.

“I mean it, Liu. It’s been over two weeks since this happened. I’m ready to fight. If I’m going to survive all of this… otherworldly supernatural nonsense then I have no choice. Besides that… I want to do this. I want to fight.”

“I need you to promise to be safe.”

“That’s very sweet, Liu, but I’m a fighter. I’ve been fighting for years. I’m ready to help and more importantly, I’m ready to feel strong again. This thing with the poison and my arms? It’s taken a toll on me. I need to be okay.”

“I understand, I think.” He slipped the beads back around his wrist and caught a glimpse of the journal that you’d fallen asleep holding. Then he looked back toward the door. He was nervous. You could feel it.

“Are you okay, Liu?”

“I’m fine.” He picked up the journal and tapped the pages. “Would you like to study?”

“Can’t sleep, can you?”

“Oh, right. It’s late. I apologize. I woke you. I should let you rest.” He stood, bowed, and then turned to leave. Without thinking, you grabbed his hand. If your arms hadn’t been aching, you would have pulled him back to you. Liu Kang was very aware of the strain that it would put on you to pull so he stopped dead in his tracks. He was always aware of what was going on around him and your aching arms appreciated that more than ever.

“You can stay. We can keep reading. I’d like that.” You insisted. Liu Kang smiled and so you let go of his hand, realizing that you’d been holding it for perhaps too long. He grabbed a hefty book that had been resting beneath your side table. You’d made your way a quarter through it over the past few days. Then you sat together, leaning against the wall. He read to you and his soothing voice nearly lulled you back to sleep. It provided you with a sense of security you hadn’t felt in a long time. Studying with him, even in your worst moments of pain, had become a fond memory.

The words were familiar and so you snapped one eye open. “We already read this.” You waited for a pause in his natural cadence.

“No, we did not.”

“We did, look.” You pointed to your journal and the scribbles in it from the night before. Your handwriting really was terrible. You could make out bits and pieces of it. Liu had the patience of a saint for trying to decipher it. He squinted at the letters.

“I can’t read that. No one can read that, Y/N.” He tapped the page you had pointed to. “That could say almost anything. Are you bored with the history of the Wu Shi Academy?”

“No! We were just further along than this, that’s all. Look, just…” You shoved the journal in front of the book and he laughed. His laugh was sweet and filled with warmth. “I think that this is highlighting this passage here about the foundations and the energy wells beneath it…”

“You can’t possibly read that. We have established that it’s gibberish.”

“I wrote it! I can sort of make out little bits…”

“We have to work on your penmanship, Y/N.”

“I got all sliced up where the tendons and stuff are. They’re still healing!” You whined and then pouted. Liu took the journal and set it on the bed just beyond your feet. You reached past him and turned the pages of the book, searching for the next chapter. “At least get to the part with the arena. You promised that we would learn about that next. You went on and on about it.”

“I did no such thing. You can admit that you’re bored.” Liu teased. You flipped the pages again without his permission so he tried to tug the book away and you jolted to the side with him, hair falling into your face, chopsticks now useless. Much to your surprise, as you righted yourself, Liu helped you and pushed your messy hair away and tucked some of it behind your ear. Your laughter subsided and you avoided his eyes as his admired you. You swore your heart skipped a beat. “Your hair.” He brushed a few strands between his thumb and forefinger.

“Oh?” You dared to look into his dark eyes that were rivers of thought and emotion. You had no aspirations of unraveling them. You liked their mystery.

“The color.”

“Oh, yeah… I uh… I haven’t been able to keep up with dye here and it’s naturally white.” You pointed to the roots that had begun to show.

“White? That’s peculiar.”

“Wow, thanks. Yeah, I know it’s weird.”

“I didn’t mean any offense. It looks nice.” He seemed to realize that his hand was very much still in your hair. His tongue ran nervously over his lower lip while he was lost briefly in thought before he pulled his hand back. “We’ll read about the arena but only because you have chosen to entertain me at a late hour instead of turning me away.”

“And because you realized I was right.” You joked but your stomach was very much in knots. This was no time to be feeling butterflies in your stomach but there they were. Liu Kang made you feel butterflies. Literal butterflies. You hadn’t understood that idiom until now.

“There will be a test, Y/N.” He joked and smoothed out the pages of the book. You retrieved the journal and pen but had given up on writing notes for the night. Your arms were still aching and you were drained. Liu delighted in sharing a map of the ancient arena and reciting battles that he’d won and lost there. His voice was a soothing and familiar drone and before you realized it, you were falling asleep, head falling against his shoulder.

Instead of leaving you there to sleep, Liu Kang continued to read. Sometime later you woke up and the flame in the lantern had gone dim. Liu was still seated next to you, his head now rested atop yours. From his soft, slow breaths, you guessed that he had fallen asleep too. The book was rested neatly on top of your journal as if he had made the decision to put it aside and stay. You should wake him and send him back to his room. He would be more comfortable there. Selfishly, you wanted him to stay. He’d chosen to stay so you decided to let him have his choice.

For the first time since you’d woken up in Raiden’s Temple, you went to sleep feeling secure and comfortable.

Next Chapter >>

[ianthe-is-a-bitch-and-i-love-her]

On Education

An excerpt from Memoirs of a Flesh Eater, never published.

Previous Excerpt

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I think every parent struggles with the question of when they should teach their children hard truths. At some point, every child needs to learn about death. They need to learn about hatred. They need to learn about the horrors people will inflict on them for being different. This is something that is as true for ghouls as it is for humans. For most people, it is a fact of life that someone will hate you for existing.

Human-on-human prejudice is still something I don’t fully understand. At least humans have a reason to hate us. I don’t know why they go looking for reasons to hate each other too.

Educating ghouls is a challenge. We need to know about ourselves, of course. We need to know about our kind - our needs, our history, our ways of moving through human society - but we need to learn everything that humans learn too. The more we can fit seamlessly into the human world, the safer we are. You probably don’t know this, what with how much the news loves a story about a ghoul living in secret among humans, their murders exposed to the shock of their friends and acquaintances, but those of us who are brought up among humans don’t get found out very often. It’s the feral children, the big city packs that still hunt most of their food, the all-ghoul communes, that are easier targets for the exterminators. Those of us that are fully integrated are much harder to sniff out, unless we seriously fuck up.

{Editing Note: Don’t say fuck. Even though it’s a really good word}

The best way to make sure a ghoul can pass as human is to start us young. Get us into kindergarten, then elementary school, and keep going all the way through college. There’s nothing better than hands-on training. That’s what my mom did for me, mostly. I was raised in human society, in the human public school system, and I’ve never had a true close call. I’ve never caught the eye of an exterminator, and no human has ever asked me pointed questions about my habits or diet.

For the sake of completeness, I should say that I was in the human public school system for everything except for middle school. It’s not like that’s a great loss, though - everything I’ve heard about middle school sounds like hell. I don’t know how any of you survived going through puberty in front of all your peers.

{Editing Note: I am not talking about ghoul puberty unless I can find a reliable human to tell me what their puberty was like. If I wrote about something that I thought was ghoul-specific but is actually normal I’d die on the spot. I’d call a fucking exterminator on myself.}

Conventional schooling might be the best setup for success, but it’s also the most dangerous route. Kids talk, and that’s as true for us as it is for you. It takes a lot of work to make a child understand that there are some things you can never tell anyone, not even your closest friends, not ever. It’s not a fun burden to grow up carrying either. I’ve known the fear of death for literally longer than I can remember. I’ve known that letting myself be truly honest and vulnerable with any of my classmates would bring it to me and my parents before the day was over {Editing Note: True vulnerability is what I need now, though. I should find a place to talk about my dad}. It’s more loneliness than any child should ever grow up with. I was lucky; I found Scarlet in 4th grade. There are plenty of ghoul children that don’t find each other until high school, if there are even any other ghoul children to be found.

Some parents decide that the risk is too great. They’d rather have alive children than well-adjusted children, so they homeschool them {Editing Note: Okay, that’s way too harsh. Don’t be biased}. I did get to experience this approach for those couple of years when I wasn’t in middle school, and it does have some advantages other than safety. When I was in public school, my mom had to find time after school to teach me about our people. In a homeschool setting, ghoul studies could actually be integrated into our curriculum. It wasn’t completely asocial, either - ghoul parents often use their Society connections to find other ghoul children that are homeschooling so we can learn together. I met my second best friend, Scorpio, because we were homeschooled together.

{Editing Note: My friends are going to read this. I need to make it super clear that Scorpio is the second best friend I made chronologically. I’m not ranking my friends in front of the entire world.}

Scorpio’s a good friend, but he’s also a good case study for the drawbacks of homeschooling. He was homeschooled K through 12 and he is definitely the worst of my friends at passing. He has no idea what’s normal for ghouls vs normal for humans, so he compensates by either saying nothing or saying the most obvious, outlandish lies you could imagine when childhood comes up in conversation. In his defense, those lies are usually pretty funny, and he does connect pretty well with the right kind of people. Scorpio’s got a bunch of very specific subjects that he knows a ton about and loves to talk about. He and Scarlet can go on for hours about literary theory.

{Editing Note: That’s too meandering. I’m just trying to explain why some ghouls homeschool and some don’t - I don’t need to put my weird friends on blast.}

There’s another kind of formal schooling for ghouls that’s much, much rarer - the ghoul private school. The only one I even knew of, St. Raymond’s, was shut down last year by exterminators. Normally I’d tell you to take the lurid details you hear on the news with a healthy pinch of salt, and I still would, but that many rich young ghouls, completely cut off from the rest of humanity… it’s hard to predict what becomes normalized in that kind of echo chamber.

Fortunately, my patron knows more people than I do, so I have more to offer you than grim speculation. According to her, these kinds of places always have a very small student body, rarely breaking a hundred. The lesson content is pretty similar to homeschool - fully integrated ghoul curriculum, plus a few specialized lessons on blending into human society. Out of necessity, they’re almost always boarding schools. It’s easier to keep a low profile if you don’t have a bunch of ghoul kids not used to hiding going to and from the campus every day.

Apparently, it’s that kind of logistical challenge that makes these schools so rare. Aside from all the money you need to run a school in the first place, and how careful you need to be to pass scrutiny from the Board of Education, providing discretely for the needs of that many ghouls is an organizational nightmare. I mean, there’s a reason that ghoul families are so small, a reason why even our extended households rarely do more than scrape the double digits. There’s only so much flesh that can be safely obtained in one area at a time. There aren’t a lot of ghouls that have the resources and the inclination to put one of these schools together.

There is, of course, one more ways that ghouls are educated - the school of hard knocks {Editing Note: That’s such a trivializing way to put it. Have some sensitivity, me}. Given how short our average life expectancy is, it’s inevitable that some ghoul children have to fend for themselves from a very young age. I doubt it comes as a surprise that most of them don’t manage to integrate into human society very well. The lucky ones figure out early on how to kill discreetly, how to hide their nature from observers, and how to vary their hunting patterns enough to avoid the attention of the exterminators. The rest either starve quietly or die violently.

Most of these feral ghouls who survive to be teenagers eventually find each other and form packs. From a pure survival standpoint, this is a bad move. A group of feral teenage ghouls have a much harder time covering their tracks than they would as individuals, but for most, the chance at companionship is too tempting. It’s miserable, being alone in the world. Packs offer most of them the best chance to escape loneliness that they’ll ever get. And for most of them, it ends in a shallow grave within a year. Putting down a pack of feral ghouls is a good headline for an exterminator, and it’s a lot less work than trying to ferret out those of us who’ve figured out how to pass. That isn’t how the majority of ghouls die, but it’s how a plurality of us do.

For those few feral ghouls that survive to adulthood, their lives take one of three paths. Sometimes they find a patron and fall in with a household, and they do their best to heal from the trauma of their childhood. They do their best to find a happy life in human society, just like those of us who were luckier. Sometimes they become true Hunters, living their lives on the outskirts of our Society; still embraced by us, if only at an arm’s length. I’ll talk more about them later.

And sometimes, they become the Lost. Not that ghouls from any walk of life are immune to that fate, but… I’ll get to them later too. You may not have heard of them by that name, but I guarantee you’ve heard of the Lost.

{Editing Note: That’s a really grim note to end the chapter on. I should play with the structure a bit and find a more uplifting note to leave this subject on.}

{Editing Note: Or I could ask Kestrel. I’m sure she’d have ideas on how to better write the section on feral ghouls, and she could help me strike a more authentic tone. But… I don’t want to upset her. She doesn’t like to think about it, and I don’t want to hurt her. Is this important enough? Would she think it’s important enough?}

[eudevie]

Well fuck.

I now have a small ficlet idea with Queen and Noelle, and I already was working on something longer for an UT fic, if I’m ever brave enough to post it. Queen and Noelle’s relationship gives me feels okay. I can even see Queen using imgflip to make this:

Dark worlds are weird, they seemingly both existed and did not exist for a long time. I imagine Queen saw everyone’s searches and work, potentially as they grew up.

Note: This is the first time I’ve wrote anything in a long, long time. It may be a bit sloppy, but I had to write it out.It kind of was inspired by a short story I saw long ago of a sentient search engine, where the boy thanked it when they got an answer. Eventually, the boy had to either deal with himself having cancer, or a family member, I can’t remember which. EDIT: Now on Ao3 with a 2′nd chapter lol: https://archiveofourown.org/works/35730553/chapters/89094886

****

Noelle seemed very interesting to her, her searches varied widely, a curious young girl. Intelligent, too. Queen could see her grades through the intranet connected from the school to the computer lab in the library. Queen felt happy this little girl was doing so well, and loved sending her the answers from the internet.

>“How to help friend feel better with their body”

Oh, how sweet of her! Queen of course sent the result along, happily.

>“Thank you.”

Queen paused for a second. That was an unusual request, she sent along the search results again, but this interaction stuck with her. Her impression of Noelle was she was helpful, kind, and intelligent. Most of Noelle’s sessions, earlier on, ended with a “Thank you” search request. Queen felt she saw a bit of herself in Noelle.

Eventually, Noelle’s searches became stranger than usual. And some broke Queen’s heart.

>“find missing person spell”

>“symptoms of cancer”

>“symptoms of chronic wasting disease”

>“December Holiday”

over and over.

and so on, until…

>”How do I get my mom to love me?”

>“How do I make my mom proud of me?”

Queen saw through the lately-installed webcam that Noelle…was upset.

“…How Could Anyone Not Be Proud Of Her? Oh Noelle, Honey, Sweetie…I Wish I Could Help More…I Wish I Could Make You Happy.”

Queen enlisted the addisons and pop-ups involved with targeted ads to help her, to cheer Noelle up. Even though she is a computer, and doesn’t pray…she hoped for something to help this intelligent young girl she has seen grow up.

Then the dark fountain showed up. And there Noelle was. Surely…her prayers to help Noelle were answered? Noelle always seemed like a helpful girl, wanting to make others happy. Queen had power to help her, now. If only her control extended beyond the computer lab…

That’s it. If it did extend beyond here, then, with Noelle by her side… she could make everyone happy.

You Get A Dark Fountain! You Get a Dark Fountain! Everyone Gets A Dark Fountain!

[fromthehellmouth]

Red, Hot Skin

Word Count: 4.8k

A/N: mentions of a hot-water burn, fluff, a bit of minor tension

Drawing by me inspired by scenes from the story. I hope you enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Overview: 

Tension ensues after you and Tom Riddle both attempt to retain your dignity following foolish mistakes. Tom risks breaking curfew to make up for a painful mistake of his.

Tom Riddle stood next to me at the workspace counter in the dim light of the potions classroom. His large pale hands planted firmly on the black counter, his sleeves rolled up below the elbow to reveal his toned forearms twisting slightly as I added the next ingredient to my simmering brew. It was part one of a group test where professor Slughorn would choose one student of a pair to perform the completion of a potion in front of the class. It was a way to test one’s ability to trust their partner, and would assure that both students equally understood the directions of the potion if they happened to be the one called to demonstrate. Professor Slughorn watched intently with a clipboard as I sprinkled the fine dust from my cupped palm into the cauldron. Reaching for the last of the peppermint sprigs, I extended my arm over the bubbling mixture when suddenly, Riddle aggressively grabbed my wrist.

“No!” he exclaimed, but it was too late, the thin leaf had fallen from my grasp into the boiling pot below. Slughorn jotted something on his parchment and looked at me, worry sinking into the lines of his face.

“Now you’ve done it.” Riddle all but growled next to me, taking a step back from the table in dismay. The mixture erupted and thick, red, oozing sludge sprayed from the cauldron, spilling over the pewter rims and onto the work table below. In my embarrassment I stood completely frozen, unable to scoop up the mixture with my hands because of the burns I would face as a result of touching the corrosive slime. So, I just stood helplessly, my eyes fixed on the mess before me.

“Oh dear,” Slughorn muttered, waving his wand and collecting the crimson sludge in a suspended bubble, eventually letting it plop back into the confines of the abused bowl. Slughorn scratched something else on the parchment in his hands and turned sympathetically to me with a soft expression. To my right I felt Riddle’s gaze boring into my face. I could sense the vast disappointment emanating from his glare and I had to force my attention on Slughorn to keep myself from glancing at his clenched fists.

As the students began to trickle from the classroom, I took my time in order to leave a comment with professor Slughorn about my performance for the day. I felt Riddle’s eyes on the back of my neck as he left the room and I was soon alone with Slughorn.

“I’m so sorry professor, I don’t know how the process could have slipped my mind.”

“The potion could have been botched by any student, but for next time I suggest you focus more on the ‘claims and cautions’ portion of the lessons, alright?”

I knew the words held little weight. It was a brew I should have mastered, and demonstrating my incompetence to the class was quite the blow to my psyche.

“Alright, thank you for the advice professor.” He nodded, and we exited the room together. Slughorn turned around, “I will see you next lesson--Oh, and Mr. Riddle, you as well.” Slughorn walked away and I turned around to see Riddle waiting outside the classroom, his eyes in shadow under his defined brows. “Why are you still--” but I was cut off, Riddle cornered me into the wall, glaring at me with piercing eyes. Startled, I felt hot under his gaze, my cheeks blushing bright pink, and my breathing faltered as I felt the pressure radiating from his eyes.  “No one spoils my reputation like that, do you hear me?” I nodded, looking at the floor. “Now, go study for the next demonstration.”

***

The next morning I was determined to memorize the next brew by heart, and I decided to get up early and visit the library before breakfast. The hazy purple dawn glowed through the beautiful gothic windows of the library, and streams of sparkling rays danced on the crimson-carpeted floor. There were rarely students in the library so early in the morning, and I was able to swiftly collect the edition of “Deadly Draughts and Elixirs” Slughorn no longer provided in his classroom. Swiping to the chapter on “Uses for Peppermint,” I pulled out my crisp parchment paper and began taking notes on Slughorn’s suggested reading.  

***

As students began to slowly appear at nearby study tables I quickly checked the clock, realizing I had completely skipped breakfast and charms was to start in 5 minutes. My heart racing, I quickly gathered my notes and my textbook, all but shoving them into my suddenly-very-small bookbag, and practically running out of the library. Professor Flitwick’s classroom being located on the third floor meant it took at least 7-8 minutes to reach--considering the staircases cooperated and no dreadfully slow first-years were infuriatingly placed in front of me at every turn. Practically sprinting, I exited the library’s massive entrance only to feel a sudden whoosh of air and a loud thud as I slammed into a tall firm body, and steaming hot tea splashed all over my chest. I let out a shriek of pain as the boiling liquid seared into my skin. I felt my eyes automatically welling with panicking tears--my breath coming out in shallow pants, and every nerve in my body tightened. The tears overcoming my stiff face and trickled down my hot cheeks, I pathetically glanced up to see who had collided with me. 

Tom Riddle stood before me, mouth gaping, aquamarine eyes timidly glowing with fear and confusion. Immediately thrusting his hand into my shirt, he pulled the stained fabric sticking to my skin toward himself, allowing for a brief moment of alleviated pain as the cool air filtered through my blouse. 

“I--” A single syllable escaped his lips before Madam Pince rushed from her desk to tend to my abrupt scream just moments before.

“What in Merlin’s name!” Pince cried out, gaping at my shell shocked expression, and noticing my frozen exterior she wrapped her arm around my shoulder, tightly gripping to my arm, and swinging me from the view of the boy who had spilled his morning tea into my tender skin. 

“We’re getting you to Poppy right this minute, Salazar!” The last part she whispered under her breath as she firmly guided me to the hospital wing where Pince exchanged my paralyzed body to Madam Pomfrey’s care. Submitting to the matron’s grasp, I realized I would be missing my charms lecture entirely. 

***

After the incident Madam Pomfrey guided me to a private bed where she told me to unbutton my top and drink a glass which she handed to me filled with a sloshing green liquid. She then applied a deep vermilion healing paste to my tender skin, her soft aged hands gently spread the cooling cream across my chest. Handing me a little black jar with the same red paste, she smiled gently.

“Apply this thickly every night, and whenever you feel the skin is unusually hot. Come back and see me in two days, alright dearie? If it starts to hurt badly you may most definitely see me sooner.”

I nodded, gently clutching the black jar in my hands as the paste slowly absorped into my skin revealing the red and irritated burn underneath.

“Now off to your next class.”

My bookbag hung heavy on my shoulder as I walked toward the exit of the hospital wing. I swung my bag in front of me to place the small black jar inside, and as I stepped outside I was met with the tall statuesque figure of Tom. His pristine uniform tailored perfectly to his broad shoulders, his shoes sleek black leather, his tie lay cleanly against his fitted white top. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked down at me with his eyes, not his face, so I could see the underside of his chin and the base of his defined jaw.

“I’m sorry, what business do you have by the hospital wing?” I muttered, looking away from his penetrating gaze.

“I have been waiting for you.” Emotionless. Smooth. Thick like the paste Pomfrey spread across my chest.

“And what is it that I can help you with, Riddle?” My voice was stern, my eye darting to meet his, my tongue running along the inside of my lips to keep my voice from exposing my irritation.

“I would like to offer my assistance for Slughorn’s partnered test.”

“We’re not allowed to help one another during the test, you know this.”

“Not during, before.” He finally lowered his face finally, so there could be a line connecting the angles of our jaws.

“You want to study with me?” My eyes narrowed. Yesterday the boy harshly told me to study by myself in the hopes of preserving is already pristine reputation. 

“You need my help, and...” 

“And what.”

“And I may owe you a new blouse.” He said smoothly, gazing at my brown-stained top where his cup had collided below my collarbone and above my breasts. I realized the top button was unhinged, partially exposing my sensitive pink skin. Quickly buttoning the little ivory disk and returning the eye contact, we were silent for a moment, and he took a step closer to me. 

“You will accept my offer.” 

“No I will not.” My lips pursed, and I crossed my arms, his sea-green eyes flickered with defiance, his eyebrows slightly furrowing to my nonchalant response. 

“I don’t think you understand the situation.”

“I understand the situation perfectly, Riddle. I don’t need your assistance for the test. I... I have someone else.”

“You have someone else.” He repeated coldly.

“That’s correct, I have someone else helping me study, but thank you for such a kind offer.” A small patronizing smile fluttered across my features before I could stop myself, and in an instant, I felt my heart sink. I saw his expression flash with aggression in a blink of unrestraint before quickly resuming to his normal critical glare. It felt almost powerful to have effected such a narcissistic little--

“Very well then,” he turned his head to the side, revealing the muscular tendons in his pale neck, where almost translucent skin lay atop cool blue veins. “I look forward to your... performance.” He cocked a brow and swiftly turned around, briskly leaving me at the entrance of the hospital wing. 

***

I had been planning on seeking out the help of professor Slughorn since the disastrous malfunction of my brew on the first day of the test, but after confessing to Riddle of my non-existent study partner, I decided to make my way to the dungeons to ask for his help. Down the stone staircases, the air seemed to dramatically drop in temperature, and the damp chilled corridor made my still-wet shirt stick to my skin with icy closeness. Knocking on the stone doorway to the potions classroom I cleared my throat. 

“Excuse me professor?” 

“Ah yes? What can I do for you?” Slughorn removed his glasses after placing a small golden stem of some kind into a minuscule vial with a pair of tiny tweezers. He smiled and I approached his desk. 

“I was wondering if I could ask for help before the test tomorrow.” I let my eyes stray to the numerous bottles, jars, bowls, and flasks filled with colorful liquids of differing viscosity that scattered the table. 

He hummed briefly. “I’m afraid I cannot help with that, it would be unfair to the other students if I offered help before a test to only one group, don’t you think?” 

“That’s ok professor, I just thought it couldn’t hurt to ask.” 

“Of course. Well, if there’s nothing else you need, at the moment I’m in the middle of quite a time-sensitive brew--”

“I understand, I’ll see you Friday professor.”

 I stepped out of the classroom, greeted with that all-too-familiar figure I had come to expect outside of doorways.

“Do you follow me, Riddle?” I made no effort to catch his eye as I began to walk back to the Slytherin common room. The heels of my shoes clicked with the sway of my hips as the sound echoed through the stone walls of the dungeons.

 “I wanted to see who your previously mentioned partner would be.” A small smile creeped onto his crystalline features slowly and unnaturally as if the sculptor forming his marble face was forcing emotions onto his art-like exterior. 

“And you got what you wanted, did you?” 

“My offer still stands.” Stopping a moment, I turned to face him. The light from a yellowing lantern glowed out from behind his tall shoulders, creating a blurry halo contrasting with his all-black clothing. The light conformed to the grooves in his face, appearing to drip down his hollowed cheeks and peek from behind his muscular neck. His eyebrows raised in anticipation. I said nothing and stood still when his hand stretched out to grasp the handle of my bookbag, relieving my shoulders of the stress they carried. He silently guided me to the common room, whispering the password and stepping in together, my eyes were met with the familiar glow of the Black Lake glittering in from the skylights above. Still holding my bag, we crossed the near-empty common room to the diverging staircases leading to his dorms and mine. He began up the stairs, looking down at me from an even higher advantage point than his normal towering height. He beckoned me with his eyes to follow. 

I am not going with Tom Riddle to his room, now, am I?

My legs obeyed and he led me to his four-poster bed, curtains draped. With a wave of his wand the thick velvety fabric cinched, revealing his bed, perfectly made, textbooks and parchment sat carefully in the center. The room was considerably darker than the common room, which was illuminated by softly glowing emerald lamps and light refractions glinting from the water above us in the Black Lake. The only light from the room came from the slanted skylights leading to the depths of the Lake above, the room coated in a thick pale green haze. It was as if he had been smoking an intoxicating musk, smelling of fresh sea foam and teakwood. He beckoned me to sit on his bed, and unpacking the books inside, he placed them next to his own materials on the cushiony mattress. He pulled up a chair from his desk and told me to pull out my parchment as we would be taking notes. There was something about being so close to him, silently obeying his requests that seemed strange. I felt as if my mind had been blurred, masked, like perhaps the intoxicating aroma wasn’t really a smell but an aura of attachment, and in that moment there was nothing more I wanted to do than to follow his every word. 

“What aspect of the test frightens you the most?” His words seemed to spill from his lips like warm sap dripping from the rough bark of a tree, I felt myself sticking to it, caught in its sweet trap, inescapable and cruel. Deadly. 

“Perhaps the timing of when to stir after the specific steps--and also how much of each ingredient... and maybe the order of when to stir versus when to add?” I felt my face growing hot.

“You need help with the entire potion, then.” His voice was icy, hinting at superiority and criticism. 

“No, just those few parts.”

“You just described the art of potion making in its entirety.” A small half-smile slithered across his cold features. I said nothing, looking down at the spread of studying materials, feeling overwhelmed and perhaps a bit ashamed that I had gone completely against my conscience and followed the boy to his room and sat atop his bed and--

“Firstly, I’d like to give you this,” he pulled from his pocket a small red square of paper, placing it in my hand. “It’s enchanted to find me once you write on it. If ever you have a question or need anything, I’ll know.”

I stared at the unassuming gift in my hands, wordless.

“It can’t be used during the test, or that would be cheating.” He added slyly, and I let out a small puff of air in response.

“Thank you.”

“Well then, back to the business at hand. Is there somewhere you would prefer to start?” He resumed his unnaturally rigid gaze, and gripped the sides of his chair firmly, he lifted and pulled the chair closer to my position on his bed, which caused the muscles in his toned arms to twist and pull and expose the sapphire veins which coiled across them like serpents. Transfixed still on the tiny red paper, I didn’t answer. In my silence he reached out, and touched my chin, cupping my jaw slightly in his hand. He slowly pulled my face up to his view. 

“No getting distracted, do I make myself clear?” His lips barely moved, but I felt weak to my stomach. My eyes fluttered shut, and I pulled my face from his touch. 

“Don’t do that.” I focused my gaze on his nightstand, forcing my attention on his little reading lamp which had rusted embellishments of snakes resembling vines curling along the base of the lamp. 

“Why not?” 

“It’s distracting.” 

Silence. 

“Lets start with the ingredients.” 

I wordlessly nodded, fumbling with the books until I found the one I had begun to take notes on before I left the library this morning. I handed him my notes, which he gracefully pulled from my hand, and eyed quickly. 

1. Shrivelfig

2. Porcupine quills, (as many as needed)

3. Peppermint sprig

“Your first mistake was when you added the peppermint sprig too early. This step comes after you stir four times counter-clockwise,” he looked down at my notes again. “I see you corrected this by noting that the mixture usually must be prepped before the leaves are added, very good.” I forced back a smile. “The peppermint is quite important to this particular brew, can you tell me why?” Lowering the notes, he stared at my nervous expression. 

“They balance out the intense feelings of...” I stopped dead in my tracks. 

“Euphoria.” 

“...which are induced as the wizard drinks the potion.” I finished, my breathing was shaky, and I felt uncontrollably nervous as he slowly shifted in his seat, leaning closer to me, I felt his hot breath on my neck as he silently exhaled. 

Pulling away from his intimate stance, I stepped off the bed. 

“Tom, I don’t think...” He mimicked my movements, also standing from the chair, his bed now lying between us, he put his knee and hands on the bed, and looked up at me from his lowered position. 

“What is the matter?” 

“I shouldn’t be here...” I walked backwards, finding the door with my hands, and hurriedly making my way down the stairs, completely ignoring all my books still on his bed as I rushed through the common room and out into the cool dungeons outside. My heart beat a thousand times a minute, and my breathing was coarse and shaky, I stood with my back to the icy dungeon wall, my hands traveled to my chest in an attempt to force my erratic breathing to slow. Feeling the hot flesh below my touch, the slight pain flowing back into my consciousness, I remembered I needed to apply my burn cream. Realizing I had utterly missed supper, I decided it would be best to have Madam Pomfrey take a look at my skin.

***

There was no chance I would be back in the common room tonight after what had just happened. I thought, as I swiftly walked up the dungeon staircase to the main floor where I would find the hospital wing of the castle. Following supper, the castle was quiet. Most students had gone up to their house’s tower or down to the dungeons if you belonged to Slytherin or Hufflepuff. The corridors were nearly silent except for a few students quietly walking up the grand staircase or whispering respectfully due to the general understanding that students shouldn’t loiter in the corridors approaching curfew. Still, I silently walked to the hospital wing, hoping Pomfrey would allow me to rest there for the night if there was room for me. Nearing the door, I caught her eye, and she motioned for me to come into the room. To my relief, the lines of beds flanking the central walkway were nearly empty, and Pomfrey led me to a private bed toward the back where a privacy guard had been placed to shelter the injured student.

“How are you healing dear?” She smiled softly and my hand went to feel the hot skin, causing me to squint with a twinge of pain.

“Still painful I see...” her eyes wandered, looking at the floor near me, and suddenly it occurred to me what she was looking for

“My bag! I completely forgot to bring it!” My hand flew to my face, a wave of worry overcame me as I wondered if I would need to go back to his room to get my jar.

Madam Pomfrey’s expression was calm, and as the soft clicking of footsteps drew nearer, the both of us averted our eyes to the figure who approached the guarded stall.

Tom stood at the foot of my bed, and smiled weakly as he pulled the familiar black jar from his pocket. His sea-green eyes glittered faintly in the dimness of the hospital wing. 

“I thought you might need this.” He handed me the jar, and underneath the glass bottom I felt something soft and crisp, looking down I saw the little red paper fall from the jar and into my lap, slipping it into the pocket of my uniform, our eyes connected and he opened his mouth as if to inquire something, but ultimately made no sound and exited the hospital wing. I was now alone with the matron, who noted at how lucky I was to have such an intuitive friend as she watched me apply the paste, critiquing my techniques, and explaining I should always go thicker if I’d like to be safe. 

“Do you plan on making your way back to the dormitories or were you planning on spending the night here since it’s already...” she checked the clock “Well it’s already 10:10, but if you’d like to hurry back to your dorm I can inform Mr. Filch you’ll be--”

“If you don’t mind Miss, I’d like to stay here if that’s okay.” 

“That’s certainly fine with me. I’ll be out, but if there’s anything you need, just ring and I’ll be back as quickly as possible. Sleep well, dear.” I watched her figure leave the hospital wing, and the dim lights overhead faded off, leaving only the faint glow of the moon filtering through the windows above the beds to shine geometrical patterns on the stone floor. I removed my shoes and socks, resting them at the foot of my bed, and undid my hair, feeling it coil around my shoulders. I placed the red parchment on the stand next to my bed, and slid my legs under the covers of the blankets. 

***

As I lied curled up, I watched the minutes pass, my body far from sleep. 10:40, 11:15, 11:50... My eyes were wide open, gazing at the ceiling far above me. No one stirred in the hospital wing, and hidden away at the back of the linear room behind the stiff curtain, I sat up, turning my eyes to that small paper Riddle gave me a few hours earlier. Playing with the soft red paper I felt the curiosity bubbling up inside me. I searched for a writing utensil and scratched a quick message neatly into the paper. As I finished the paper thrust itself from my hands and fluttered through the hospital wing like a butterfly, and out the door it went. Now my excitement was nearing the brim as I sat awaiting a response. 

15 minutes no answer. 

Could he be asleep? I thought as I pulled my legs up to an angle, causing my blankets to tent with the movement. 

15 more minutes. 

I began to assume he had gone to sleep for the night, and just as I lowered my legs and began to relax my position I heard the faintest sound of someone walking the corridors outside the open door to the hospital wing. My eyes flew open and I felt my heat pounding in my chest. 

Was he coming in person?! 

The steps became slightly louder, but still effortlessly soft and steady. Soon a shadowy figure met me at the foot of my bed. Stepping into the light, I felt my heart nearly throwing itself from my chest. The soft light of the moon that filtered through the windows above my bed seemed to veil him with its glow. His composure resembled that of a statue of an angel covered with ivy and carved from sparkling ivory that would sit untouched in an overgrown garden. It was delicate and somehow firm. 

“You’re lucky I am a prefect.” His whisper was barely audible, and as he again stepped closer to my bed he found his way to the chair next to me, and I could more clearly see his still pristine uniform was on, almost as if he had gotten ready to see me. I said nothing, and my eyes could not leave his face. 

“Is your skin feeling any better?” His words were soft and silky, and as he neared my seated position on my bed I realized we had unconsciously copied our exact position when I rushed from his room. “I realize I never apologized for spilling on you... that must have been very painful. I’m sorry.” 

“It still hurts...” I didn’t mean it as a way to force guilt into him, I just felt so strange by our hushed and intimate conversation I didn’t know what else to say to him. 

“May I help you with it?” Reaching for the black jar I did nothing to stop him, my mind swirled with anticipation and emotion. He delicately unscrewed the cap, his long fingers clutching the jar harshly, and the whites of his knuckles stood like snow-peaked mountaintops on his smooth pale hands. 

“Unbutton your blouse.” He softly commanded, and slowly my hands undid the highest three buttons of my top, fully exposing the reddened flesh below my collarbone. He was unexplainably addictive and enticing, and there was no natural reasoning behind the complete trust my body freely gave him. Dipping two fingers deep within the jar, and pulling them out, they were covered in the thick red paste. In a moment of searing eye contact he carefully placed his fingers onto my hot, waiting skin. I let out a soft wince as a spread the mixture across the affected area, a few times submerging back in for more of the wet cream. It was calming and yet exciting to feel him touch me so carefully and full of purpose. 

“Your heart is beating so quickly,” he whispered. “Are you nervous?” 

“Can I ask you something?” I attempted to dodge his question, but to no avail.

“Answer me first.” 

“Yes, very.” 

“Go ahead. What did you want to ask me?” I noticed the ghost of a smirk flash across his lips. 

“Why did you pull my blouse from my skin when the tea spilled onto me?” I watched his eyes stray and I felt like I could almost see him retracing his steps and accessing the memory. 

“I learned if someone has been exposed to a poison spill or a hot liquid the best thing to do is remove the item that the spill happened on. Fabric retains liquid by soaking it up, which would just allow the toxin to sit on your skin...” He caught my eyes. “But since I could not remove your blouse, it seemed the next best thing to get it away from your skin in any other way possible.” I nodded slowly, realizing that his quick thinking saved me from a potentially worse burn. “I learned it from personal experience,” he looked away.

“Someone burned you?” 

“No, I spilled a corrosive potion on myself a few years back.” I let out a muffled laugh. 

“Then what did you do? take your top off?” 

“Is that what you’re thinking about?” 

“No! just that you could have done something wrong in potions class...” I let slip a shy smile. 

“There are many things you don’t know about me.” A tiny but genuine smile danced on his face for a moment, before he returned his hands to my chest, carefully spreading the soft cream and blowing cool air to speed its absorption. The breath made a small chill run down my spine, and turning my eyes back on his face, I couldn’t help but fixing my gaze on his red lips. Red like my simmering potion, red like his crisp parchment square, and red like the paste he gently danced across my tender, red hot skin. 

tags: @tmr-simp-pride​