#anyway this one is skipping the line and getting posted asap because i got too excited to gush about this LOL

[frodo-with-glasses]

Not playlist anon (obvious now I guess), but I'm going to jump on the bandwagon and ask you to talk about Little Talks for the game since it's by my favourite band ^^

Oh HECK yes Of Monsters and Men, let’s goooo!

So once again, “Little Talks” is in the playlist more for the overall emotion of the song than for any specific lyrics. There are obviously any number of interpretations you can get out of it—that’s one of the best things about OMAM songs, their artistic ambiguity—but for me, it’s one of those songs that goes into my little list of “this is what it feels like to love somebody with mental illness”.

You may notice that I picked a male cover of the song, rather than just using the original (which is exquisite and has less confusion over that one part in the second verse where the two singers’ voices overlap for one word), because it is meant to be, once again, a conversation between Frodo and Sam. Specifically, I see this as being a sort of snapshot of life in Bag End in that…what, year and a half?…after the Quest had ended and before Frodo left for Valinor. The song is sleepy, it’s tender, it’s melancholy, and it’s deeply unsettling. Whoever the two speakers are, they love each other, but something has gone very wrong in the mind of one of them, and it’s tearing the other one apart.

F: I don’t like walking around this old and empty house

S: So hold my hand, I’ll walk with you, my dear

F: The stairs creak as I sleep, it’s keeping me awake

S: It’s the house telling you to close your eyes

F: Some days I can’t even trust myself

S: It’s killing me to see you this way

For Frodo, Bag End doesn’t feel like home anymore. It’s too big. Too empty. Too full of memories of a past life to which he can’t return. He has constant nightmares and frequent insomnia and can’t always be sure of his own mind. Sam offers what he always has—patient, gentle assurances, and sometimes a hand to hold—but it breaks his heart every time.

Both: ‘Cause though the truth may vary, this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore

Ships. The Sea. The Sea only ever means one thing. It’s a look ahead to the very end.

F: There’s an old voice in my head that’s holding me back

S: Well tell [him] that I miss our little talks

F: Soon it will be over and buried with our past

S: We used to play outside when we were young, and full of life and full of love

Throughout the book, Frodo has a habit of looking into the future with pessimism: he’s miserable, but at least the misery will all be over and forgotten when he’s dead. Even the past is tarnished by the pain of the present; his happy years in the Shire come back to taunt him, dancing just out of reach, where he can’t grasp them again. But Sam looks on the past with fondness and almost aggressive optimism; in the dreary desert of Mordor, he thought back to when he was young, swimming in the farm pond with Rosie and her brothers, and even here he thinks wistfully about the days when Frodo was free and whole and things were easy.

You’re gone, gone, gone away, I watched you disappear All that’s left is the ghost of you Now we’re torn, torn, torn apart, there’s nothing we can do Just let me go, we’ll meet again soon

What is this story except Sam being forced to watch Frodo slowly deteriorate; of cradling his cold body, when he thinks he’s dead, and then watching him truly die from the mind outward, which is so much worse? Sam is determined to lead a good life in the Shire, but Frodo can’t stay here any longer. He has to leave, or he won’t heal. So after walking a long, long road side by side, they’re now torn apart on the pier of the Grey Havens. “Just let me go,” whispers Frodo. “We’ll meet again soon.”

Now wait, wait, wait for me Please hang around I’ll see you when I fall asleep HEY!

The sudden, raucous crescendo here in the original recording just gets me in the throat every time. It feels like love that hurts—raw, roaring, and desperate—when saying goodbye is like a shard to the chest that’s so close to your heart you can’t remove it without risking even worse damage, so it just stays there, and your skin and muscle close and heal around it, but you’re still carrying it with you ‘til the end of your life; and even though you may go for months or years without noticing it, it still pricks and gives you pain sometimes.

(Did that metaphor end up going a lot further than I thought it would? Yes. Am I running with it regardless? Also yes.)

“Wait, wait, wait for me.” It feels like something Sam would want to shout after the ship as it pulled away, but he shut his mouth and swallowed it into his chest, because Rosie was waiting for him at home and he couldn’t go, not yet.

“Wait, wait, wait for me.” It feels like something Frodo would want to whisper from the stern; please don’t hurry, take your time, but don’t forget me.

“Wait, wait, wait for me.” I read something recently that said mortals aren’t actually made immortal by the trip to Valinor; the land is called Undying because it’s full of elves, not because it can grant immortality. I’m not a smart enough Tolkien person to know if that’s true or not, but if it is, that adds a whole other layer of agony: Bilbo would have likely passed away not long after reaching Valinor. And Frodo? Frodo wasn’t exactly a spring chicken himself. He would have been even older by the time Rosie passed away, and Sam took it into his head to leave Middle Earth. After he had found his healing—and met all the elves he wished to meet and seen all of Valinor he wished to see—what else was there for Frodo to hold on to life for?

What else, except for the vague, wild hope of a reunion?

But until then, Sam lies awake in Bag End, with Rosie at his side, staring at the ceiling. And a motif of this playlist is repeated that first popped its head up in “Dear Fellow Traveler”:

“And I’ll return to my beautiful city Black skies will change into blue And though my love is so wise and so pretty Some nights I’ll still dream of you”

I’ll see you when I fall asleep…

I’ll close my eyes and dream of you, until we meet again.

WORD ASK GAME! (kinda!)

[itgirlification]

supermodel | jjk

the last three months have been hell for you, but Jungkook seemed to be living his best life.

pairing: ex-bf!jk x thick!reader

warnings: explicit mentions of body image and insecurities, infidelity, anal sex, oral (male receive), foul language (kinda), etc.

now playing: supermodel by sza

part two part three

Exactly three months ago, your and Jungkook’s 2 years relationship officially ended. Unofficially, it ended about 5 months ago. And for about one month now, Jungkook’s been seeing someone else.

Your heart and mind told you not to do it but you couldn’t help calculating. Three months ago, you were still dating, two months later, he started dating someone else. That must mean he’s known her for a while. Did he cheat on you with her? Well, it’s not like it matters now anyway, does it?

Her name was Yuki, an undeniable Japanese beauty. You were still in college, studying music and she was a famous model who appeared in internationally known magazines. You assumed she met Jungkook during a photoshoot since he was a professional photographer who often worked for companies like Vogue and Playboy. You couldn’t help but compare yourself to her.

It wasn’t the fact that he moved on so quickly that hurt you the most. It was the fact that he knew all about your low self-esteem and how you lack confidence. Especially about your body. And he still went and dated a model, of all professions in the world. He was definitely over you.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he did it on purpose. But thankfully, you knew better, he looked too happy for that to be even considered. He forgot about you.

You’re making yourself sadder by remembering all the times he assured you you were beautiful and your body was nothing to be ashamed of. The times he let his fingertips run over the lines of your stretch marks, whispering in your ear how much he loved them and how they reminded him of Tiger stripes. The times he caressed your jiggly thighs and told you how sexy he thought they were.

Then your mind would drift back to the phone in your hand, the Instagram page of Yuki Sakurai opened, careful not to accidentally like anything and expose yourself. Not that she’d notice anyway, she had 3.7 million followers, while you had a private one with 500 followers and no posts, and she gets around 300 to 700 thousand likes on each post, depending on whether she posts random photos or pretty pictures of herself. Or newly, your ex-boyfriend, Jungkook. Oh, how crazy everybody goes whenever she posts him. People love them together. You couldn’t blame them. Two attractive people? Of course, they’re gonna look great together.

Fucking great.

That the end of your relationship with Jungkook would look like this was semi-predictable from the beginning. He did admit to you that he never thought he’d date someone that looked like you when you first dated. And your heart broke a little. But he also made up for it in those two years, it was a beautiful relationship nonetheless.

While you weren’t exactly his ‘ideal’ type, he was definitely yours. You always heard from other women ‘when in a relationship, the man always has to love the woman more than she loves him. Otherwise, it won’t work.’ You never really got the saying until your breakup with Jungkook happened. It was the fact that you clearly loved Jungkook more than he loved you that lead to this.

“Oh my goodness!”, your roommate, Jane, dramatically exclaimed. “Will you stop feeling bad for yourself and do something? That’s not what hot girls do, sis.”

Jane was a lovely girl with a not so lovely temper. She always means well and you got along perfectly as soon as you met. Which was around 3 and a half years ago.

She looked over your shoulder to see what you were looking at. You obviously didn’t want her to see you snooping around your ex-boyfriend’s current girlfriend’s Instagram but it was too late.

“Seriously, yn?”, she took your phone in her hand and threw it on the bed. “Let’s go somewhere, you can’t do this to yourself anymore. I’m not letting you.”

Jane was clearly worried about you at this point. The only thing you did these last few weeks was eating, shower, cry, sleep and miss a whole bunch of classes. This wasn’t good at all.

“Where?”, your question was short.

“To the mall? Or the nail studio? Anything that’ll get you out of this fucking dormitory.”, Jane sighed, pulling the blanket off of you, making you whine a little. “C’mon, go put on some cute outfit and we’ll go.”

You felt bad since she was trying hard to make you feel better. But it didn’t really work.

You nodded, standing up from the bed, nonetheless. You picked out a cute two-piece dress, that brought back blurred memories of the time you went on a date with Jungkook, wearing the same two-piece. Bet Yuki would look cuter in this...

‘Shut your petty ass up, yn. It’s embarrassing, the way you’re stuck on a taken guy who wants nothing to do with you’

You wish you could change the way you think, even if it’s just for an hour or two. You wish you would stop imagining Jungkook judging you when he saw you naked or when you told him that you wished you could cut off some of your fat with a pair of scissors.

You were beyond ashamed of yourself. Why wasn’t it easy for you to just stay by yourself? why were you so desperately in need of Jungkook by your side to the point where you’d lock yourself in your room for a month just because he isn’t there?

You needed Jungkook. You became so attached to him in those two years, because you always saw him as a permanent, a forever. Not just a temporary, not just a distant memory. You already saw him as the father of your children, as the man you’re gonna marry.

You were so blinded by the fact that you had him, that you forgot you could lose him anytime.

“I’m done, let’s go.”, unenthusiastically, you announced to Jane, who was already waiting for you.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here!”, In contrast to your spirit, hers seemed to be all roses and daisies. “Lord knows you need it...”

__________

“Look at this cute ass skirt, girl”, Jane pointed at a chic, wine mini skirt she was holding. “You know, when I saw it back there I wanted to have it, but it’d look so much better on you”

You took a few seconds to admire Jane’s beauty. She was about 3 cm taller than you, had a great posture, and almond, dark brown eyes that suited her dark skin tone perfectly. Her body leaned more towards the slimmer side.

“Shut up! No, it would not”, you let out a small giggle. “It would look gorgeous on you, buy it.”

She smiled a little at your laughs. She was happy to see you at least a little cheerful again. “Yeah, but I think it’d look better on you. I’m entitled to my own opinion, am I not?”

You knew this debate was gonna go back and forth, because of her stubbornness. “Let’s both buy the skirt.”

You ended up doing so, added by a bunch of bags full of clothing. This may’ve turned into your new coping mechanism. Who needed therapy when you can go on a shopping spree?

Two hours were spent in boutiques and clothing stores and Jane decided she was tired, wanting to visit the local spa.

“No, seriously, these Riverdale seasons just keep on getting worse and worse. Netflix needs to step up their game ASAP”, Jane ranted, making you laugh at how serious she takes it. “It’s getting embarrassing. I’m being for real.”

The two of you were sitting in the whirlpool at the spa, relaxing your whole bodies a little.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, I don’t watch these new Netflix shows anyways. Been stuck on the vampire diaries for the last 7 years”, you chuckled, knowing you hated trying new things. “Can you pass me one of those magazines?”

Jane nodded, grabbing a random one from the table next to her and handed it to you, without looking at it.

The cover of it caught your eyes immediately. How could it not, when your ex’s new girl looks absolutely dazzling on the front page of it.

‘Supermodel Yuki Sakurai talks summer fashion tips, struggle with self-love and most importantly, her hot, new boyfriend the media is going crazy over’ was the headline of the Harper’s Bazaar Magazine cover.

You felt your stomach getting sick and your breath getting heavier, but you still flipped the pages until you found the one with her interview. You began reading it, skipping the boring parts.

‘Int: so, we see you have a new boyfriend. Tell us, how did you guys meet?

Yuki: Yeah, he’s an amazing guy. We actually met about six or five months ago at one of my photoshoots, since he’s a photographer and we exchanged numbers and stuff, and then we made it official mid last month.’

About six or five months ago? You were with him back then, but her answer was too unclear to find out if he cheated or not.

“Woah, yn, you okay?”

You entirely forgot about the fact that you were with Jane, let alone somewhere other than your bed.

Before you could react, Jane snatched the magazine out of your hand.

“You really can’t escape them, huh?”, She sighs, taking you in her arm. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. In a few months, you’re gonna look back to this and think wow I really was stuck on a guy who’s scared of microwaves and cried like a bitch when Iron Man died.”

You laughed, punching her arm playfully. “You know, I actually love these things about him. Shows his sensitivity and the way he perceives things.”

Jane looked at you as if she didn’t believe you were actually saying that stuff. “Girl, you’re overanalyzing this. Let’s just throw this shit in the trash, okay?”

She put the magazine aside.

“I just don't know what I did wrong.”, You murmured. “I know we weren't the best, but we didn't even fight that much. We could’ve talked it through.”

Jane pursed her lips and cooed. “You know, relationships are complicated sometimes. The reason why he broke up, to begin with, is probably not your fault.”

“Well, what if it is? I mean what if I was too fat or too ugly for him?”, you asked. “If he wanted a skinny girl so bad, I could’ve lost weight for him, I don’t get it.”

Jane looked at you like you lost your mind entirely. “I can’t believe you just said that! Even if that was the reason, which it wasn’t, you shouldn’t make yourself suffer because of it. That’s his loss. You’re beyond gorgeous and you have an amazing body.”

“You’re just saying that.”, tears slowly started coming up in your eyes. “But the thing is Jungkook knows all about my insecurities. Why would he do that to me? I know he knows that I’m still not over him.”

You usually didn’t like crying in front of other people, but you didn’t really care at the moment, besides that was Jane. You trusted her with your life.

“Girl, men are trash, I can’t believe you’re crying over one right now, seriously.”, she wiped your tears and held your face between her hands. “You know, honestly, I’ve read so many articles about how models actually hate themselves and have like the lowest self-esteem so in conclusion, no matter how miserable you are, his new girl is even more miserable.”

You knew Jane didn’t mean it in a harmful way, but it sounded harsher than needed. “I don’t hate her, she probably doesn’t even know about me. I’m just really insecure. He upgraded from me. He’s dating a whole model now.”

The situation just felt like a deja vu of these last few weeks laying in your bed, even though you were at the spa with your friend. You were supposed to have fun, yet you didn’t feel like having any.

“Why would you feel insecure when all you’ve seen of her are Instagram posts and red carpet pictures? She’s supposed to look beautiful, it’s her job.”

To a certain extent, Jane was right, but that didn’t really help your situation, you still felt bad about yourself. You stayed silent.

“C’mon, this isn’t fun anymore. Let’s leave.”, Jane mumbled.

_______

it’s been two days since the incident at the spa and you felt a little bit better now.

Those days were spent reading the same three book series you’ve read your entire life, overthinking, hot Cheetos, Indian takeout, and Netflix. It really wasn’t as miserable as it sounded.

You were just taking a little rest before term break ends and you have to go back to the shithole college again.

Jane was using the time until college starts again, but in different ways than you were. She was planning on going to some frat party in an hour and forget about the world’ for a minute. Or till 4 in the morning, where she will most likely drunk call you and ask you for a ride back to the dorms, because the friends she went to the party with were shit-faced as well and were in no way capable of driving anywhere without the cops stopping them.

Going out partying on a Friday night was a Jane tradition. In the past, you’d sometimes go with her, but you mostly spent your time out with Jungkook doing something more fun than partying could ever be. Now you can’t do that anymore, but laying in bed is more ideal than a party for you at the moment.

“How do I look?”, Jane twirled around to show off her black cocktail dress. She looked beautiful.

“You look beautiful.”, you responded to her question. “Are you leaving now?”

“Hm”, she said, to which you nodded. “You sure you don’t wanna come with me? It’s gonna be really fun.”

You shook your head no.

“Alright”, she shrugged, making her way out of your bedroom. “But I told you, it’s gonna be fun.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes. “I’ll stay here, I have shit to do.”

“Yeah, right, like binge-watching the vampire diaries and taking 5-hour naps”, she said in a sarcastic tone. “Anyway, bye-bye, Vic’s already waiting for me in the car.”

Victoria was perhaps one of the most obnoxious people you know, yet she was too much of a nice person for you to talk shit about her. The voice of your intrusive thoughts couldn’t help but to, though.

“Alright, bye, take care and say hi to Vic from me.”

After Jane left, an hour went by like it was just a couple of minutes. You were starting to get real bored and decided to watch some regular tv in hopes to find something you enjoy. You ended up not finding anything fun, but you still watched it, because you didn’t have anything else to do.

A few moments later, the doorbell rang and you were suddenly worried. Either this is a serial killer or Jane forgot something.

But to your surprise, it was neither, but it was none other than

“Jungkook?”, truly, those were the only words you were able to mutter out at your shocked state. “What are you do-“

At the speed of light, you were interrupted by your ex-boyfriend pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t say a word.

You weren’t expecting him. Not knowing how you were supposed to feel at the moment, you just let it happen. You were sure your mental state couldn’t get any worse than that, no matter how this will affect you in the end.

“Is Jane home?”, for the first time in 3 months, you’re hearing his silky voice again.

Jungkook knew Jane always had some type of special hatred for him with her killing stares and her bitter comments. You didn’t notice either though.

He also knew she must hate him even more after your breakup. Or maybe she liked him more now since she was able to get rid of him without killing anyone.

“No”, your answer was short and it made a weight fall from Jungkook’s shoulders before he continued kissing you.

It wasn’t anything you haven’t done before, yet it felt like it’s been ages since it last happened. Your mind drifted to the thought of Jungkook and his model girlfriend. You were asking yourself what their sex life was like, if she was tighter than you or if she had stretch marks and scars.

Jungkook’s lips were moving south, giving your neck wet kisses, while you were wondering why he broke up with his model girlfriend. Or if he even did. You felt selfish for not caring.

Removing your clothes one by one, you were left in your underwear, while Jungkook only had his boxers on.

This body was yours. You knew it inside out. Where he liked to get touched and where he preferred not to. You knew him better than anyone else. You were sure.

You already moved to your bedroom, since Jungkook effortlessly carried you there. You were sat on his lap, facing him and your hands were in his messy hair. His hands were around your waist, he was slightly smiling into the kiss, as you started grinding on him. He loved how easy it was for him to turn you on. You were still his.

Cutting off the kiss, he looked you in the eyes, while his hand was on your cheek. “Say aah.”, he said.

You widened your mouth obediently, which was followed by him collecting as much saliva as he could in his mouth and spitting it into your mouth.

“Swallow.”, demanding, he spit on your face, his eyes become darker with every passing moment. You did as he said.

You looked at him with big eyes. He knew you loved it. You’ve always had a thing for him degrading and humiliating you during sex.

He started grinding on you almost desperately. You knew exactly what he wanted.

Getting out of his grip, you dropped to your knees and freed his hard dick from his drawers. You reached for it and started pumping it, and licking it. Your spit was leaking down his dick as you used it for lubrication. Then you started sucking on it, just the way you used to.

Jungkook’s groans and satisfied sighs were enough to make you even wetter than before. You enjoyed giving more than receiving.

Your mouth was wet and warm around him, giving him a feeling of familiarity. You lick over the tip a few times, then proceed to fully take him into your mouth.

The bulge in your throat could be seen and the way your eyes were tearing up a little wasn’t bothering you at all. You loved giving.

Jungkook started thrusting in and out of your warm, welcoming mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat multiple times.

“Fuck”, a throaty moan left Jungkook’s mouth, giving you hints that he was about to cum. And he did, releasing in your mouth before you swallowed it. “Shit, baby, that was so good.”

You felt your face heat up and a sheepish smile made its way to your face. Your throat was sore.

The two of you were on the bed again. To you, it felt like it was the times before your breakup again, when you’d purposely start an argument just for the makeup sex because Jungkook wasn’t giving you any anymore. It was like sex was the only thing to look forward to.

You felt attached to Jungkook to a point where it was dangerous. You weren’t okay when he wasn’t around. He affected every part of your life and God knew it wasn’t always a positive thing. Maybe it was the fact that he took your virginity. Maybe because he was your first boyfriend, the first guy that made you believe you were worthy of love and that someone was actually capable of loving you. One thing you knew was Jungkook had an expansive influence on your life.

While you were practically drowning in your own thoughts, Jungkook was busy taking off your underwear.

“You okay?”, Jungkook calmly asked you, looking at your riddled face.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m okay.”, you sounded distracted, Jungkook wasn’t sure about asking you what it is though. He didn’t feel like getting personal.

So he shrugged it off and started kissing you again, his dick was unsurprisingly hard again as he played with your tits. He drew lines over the stretch marks of your thighs and kissed them.

“Can I fuck your ass?”, Jungkook’s raspy, tired-sounding voice casually asked, to which you quickly nodded, knowing that Jungkook’s favorite position had always been anal. He was massaging and gripping your ass firmly.

“This is gonna hurt at first, but I promise it gets better.”, He warned calmly into your ear, while putting some lube on his dick and just went right into your ass, slowly thrusting so you don’t feel as much pain.

He was right, it did hurt a lot when he first put it in, but the pain just changed into pleasure in a matter of time and his slow-paced thrusts helped with the adjustment.

“Fuck, I missed this ass”, he practically growled into your ear, as he kept on thrusting in and out, steadily gripping your wide hips with his big, veiny hands. “It just doesn’t feel right when I’m inside her ass.”

You knew your confidence shouldn’t rely on Jungkook bringing his girlfriend down, but you couldn’t help but feel good about your body when he said that. It’s been a while since you felt even a tiny spark of confidence. You weren’t so fond of him mentioning her while he was inside of you.

Your soft moans rang through the whole room like sirens, while he watched your ass jiggle against his pelvis, thrusting in and out faster every second. He missed this.

You had always thought you were indecisive, but you knew exactly what you wanted. You just couldn’t have that, so you’d eventually have to settle for less.

Jungkook wasn’t to blame for it, you just couldn’t concede your shortcomings. The movie’s villain wasn’t always the real villain.

Your hands traveled to your pussy to make sure you’d orgasm as well, when you heard Jungkook’s breathing getting heavier and his thrusts getting gentler than before, indicating that he was gonna cum soon. You were certain he could make you cum with just anal, but you wanted to cum with him.

With furrowed eyebrows and drops of sweat dripping down his body, Jungkook looked down at your arched back. The whole scene was sticky, especially when Jungkook presses his upper body to your back, whispering sweet nothings into your ear and kissing the spot.

It was kinda odd, having sex with your ex-boyfriend you were crying over just a day ago. There was a certain intensity to it though. Like your long-lasting nostalgia was finally fulfilled.

You’ve realized you couldn’t imagine yourself being intimate with anybody else. Jungkook already knew your body, how it looked without the material protecting it, the strawberry skin, the slightly sagging breasts you swore you’d surgically remove once you had the chance to but didn’t. He knew where you liked being touched, he was the first one to even touch you in those places.

You were unsure what you’d do with yourself when he leaves.

Jungkook’s thrusts slowly started stopping and you too felt the familiar sensation in your stomach.

Suddenly, you two were nothing but desire, fear, and pleasure. And faster than you could process, you came together.

For minutes after your orgasm, you were just laying on the bed, thoughtless. Maybe a little regretful. Not you, but him.

You weren’t facing each other, but you could hear each other’s breathing. Your stomach was filled with something you’d describe as post-sex melancholia.

All of a sudden, Jungkook stood up from the bed, startling your resting self a little, but you decided to keep quiet, wanting to see what he was going to do.

He made his way to the door to leave what he thought was your sleeping body laying there. You couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“Where are you going?”, your soft voice suddenly rang in his ears. “Don’t you wanna stay?”

He didn’t know how exactly to tell you. You’ve always been a gullible little girl, you were the type of girl to think fucking equals love. Little did you know that wasn’t the case at all.

“Yn.... you know I can’t”, Jungkook responded, you knew it wasn’t gonna be good when he said your name like that. “I got a girl at home and I don’t wanna mess shit up with her.”

There it was. Your suspicion was corroborated. He was still going out with the model and you were a certified home wrecker. Great.

You physically felt your heart breaking. “Bu- but why are you here then?”

You were incapable of being mad at him at the moment. It was your fault for letting him in, again. After breaking your trust and your heart.

“This was a mistake”, he declared, not looking into your eyes. “I’m sorry, yn...”

He’s moved past your room now, already at the exit of your dormitory. He was about to leave.

“You already ruined shit with her when you came here and fucked me.”, your voice was small, but your words were heard.

Without looking back, he left.

And you went back to your room, standing in the middle of it for a minute in silence before your brain fully processed what had happened and your tears started pouring.

[jflemings]

Rudolph ; oliver wood

warnings: light swearing, not proof read

authors note: first fic posted! i originally had a fred fic lined up but could’t get this idea out of my head. reader is in Gryffindor!

It was approaching christmas time and as per usual Hogwarts was all decked out with decor of all kinds, christmas songs playing, rich scents of cinnamon and fire and of course the snow that covered the campus every year.

It was utterly magical.

You had been on the Gryffindor quidditch team since your second year as a chaser and since then you had made it your mission for your team to dress christmas theme for your last game of the season before break. This year was no different.

The bag of charmed headbands swayed in your grip as you walked through the cold halls to find your teammates. Donned in your gryffindor quidditch sweater, school skirt and casual shoes you were practically skipping down the corridor while looking out to the snow covered courtyard. With your head in the clouds and your mind on the festivities coming up you were blissfully unaware of the pair of Weasleys that were currently barreling toward you before it was too late. 

Frantic hands made their way to grip your shoulders with anticipation before a female voice was booming down the stone halls, echoing directly to your direction. 

“y/n! please! you have to help us. We swear we didn’t mean it!” George’s voice filled your ears while he continued to duck behind you

“yeah honest! we had no clue that angie was walking our way!” fred flailed before hiding behind his twin who was hiding behind you. Before you had time to properly retaliate a fuming Angelina was heading straight for you and the boys. 

“You two have done it this time! do you know how long it takes me to wash my hair let alone style it exactly how i want it!? ugh! and we have a match this afternoon I’m not going to have enough time!” Angelina launched herself over your shoulder in an attempt to grab their shirts 

You were always somehow caught in the middle of the twins an angle’s antics. Moments before disaster struck the chasers wrists were caught in your hands.

“angie! go find hermione, she surely knows a spell to fix your hair. she has a spell for quite literally everything!” your face was soft as you spoke in an attempt to sooth evergrowing temper. She took a deep breath in and out and nodded to you, giving you the okay to let her go the twins still making the effort to stay behind you where they thought they were safe. 

Once Angelina had stalked off to go and find the young witch you turned around to face the pair of freckled faced fifth years with your hands on your hips, silently waiting for an explanation. 

George was the first to break. 

“y/n we swear on our own graves that the slimey slugs were’t meant for her! we swear!” the younger twin pleaded

“please don’t tell Mcgonagall! or wood! oh for the love of merlin and mum’s apple pie please don’t tell Oli anything”

at this point the pair of them were practically on their knees which is a sight your personally don't see too often but unfortunately all good things must come to an end.

“truthfully boys as much as i would love to stand here and have you beg on your knees for my forgiveness I have things to do today, starting off by giving you two the prop for this year’s last game!” the enthusiasm practically seething off you as you rummage through the bag to find the two matching headbands you had organised for the boys.

“like every other year, identical and charmed to stay on all game: just how you liked it.” 

the pair beamed at you and gratefully took them from your hands 

“you two would’t have to know where golden boy is, do you? i want to give him his now before he gets too in ‘in the mode’ for this afternoon” 

the twins looked at each other thoughtfully “we saw him in the great hall before running into you. he was alone and kind of just minding his own business so you should get to that asap” Fred answered, proping his arm up on his other half’s shoulders. 

George was trying to get a peak inside the bag you were still holding, probably to try to see which headpiece you had picked to sit on top of your captain’s head for the game. 

“Say, y/n, what do you have dear ol’ oliver wearing this year? trying to see who’s the favourite” 

Fred lightly scoffed “C’mon Georgie, you and I both know who the favourite is” 

Although he wore a playful smirk and his tone was half joking he was right. The twins, along with literally everyone else, knew exactly who your favourite was but it’s not like you made any proper effort to hide it. As you got older, the less care you had about exposing your own feelings to the whole school. You had become shamelessly flirtatious with your captain with him often returning the comments; despite this you never did truly understand where exactly you stood with oliver. you knew he liked you but you did’t know the extent of it or if he only had eyes for you. 

you went along with fred nonetheless.

“yeah sorry, G you know who’s first place in my book” you said confidently while pulling out a set of antlers and a bright red nose. The twins stood dumbfounded before snickering.

“he won’t wear that” fred said flat out 

“hmm not too sure about that my dear brother”

“you have more of a chance of Georgie here landing a date with Angelina than you do getting wood to actually wear that on the pitch against Slytherin”

you smirked wickedly and turned on your heel “you, my dear friend, are going to be proven wrong”

*****

okay so Fred wasn’t that wrong.

“Oli pleasee, we do it every year” you dramatically drew out 

currently, you were sat straddling the seat whilst looking at oliver infront of you who was running over the drills out in front of him. He looked up from his parchment at you and tilted his head 

“l/n I’m not wearing antlers and a bright red nose to a quidditch game! i probably won’t be able to play”

you huffed but refused to give up the fight.

“they’re charmed to stay on through the whole game so you can play AND they will bring you extra good luck while we’re out there” you exclaimed as you picked up the red nose from the table and began fiddling with it. Oliver looked from your hands to your face and sighed.

“what do you mean ‘good luck’” he raised an eyebrow at you with curiosity laced in his words, almost like he wanted to believe you. You grinned.

“Because your favourite chaser is giving you them of course!” the grin etched upon your face somehow widened at the sight of a slight tinge of rose pink dusting the keeper’s cheeks. 

This prompted an eyeroll and a sigh escaping his lips. “just because you’re the favourite doesn’t mean I’m wearing a nose” your ears perked at the unexpected response you just got and you leaned in closer to his face.

“So i am the favourite, huh?” the smirk gracing your lips was cocky yet it flattered when he turned to look at you.

His honey coloured eyes drifted from your eyes to your mouth and back to your eyes “you know damn well you’re the favourite” 

You felt as though a whole zoo had been let lose in your stomach and the soft smile that then graced your lips was the only tell sign of that. You did know, of course. Everyone did. But it’s not like he’d ever said it out loud and if he had it certainly wasn’t to you or while you were around. 

“But you aren’t getting me in that headband and nose” 

your head dropped before throwing it back dramatically “Oliver wood you are going to look like a fool if you’re the only one on the team without a costume” 

“then i’ll look like a fool, darling” the smug smile off his face never left until he watched you get up and walk out of the great hall to go and find the remainder of your team, leaving behind the costume for him on the table. He smiled softly to no one but himself before returning back to what he was doing.

*****

Lunch time had rolled around and you were sat with Lee and the twins discussing the match you were set to play in less than few hours with wood nowhere to be found. You found yourself pushing your food around your plate with your fork in an effort to think of another way to get oliver to wear the stupid antlers. It was only one match for crying out loud! you were all going to look like idiots anyway so why not join in.

Your train of thought was broken when Lee Jordan had directed the topic of coversation away from the match and onto you and oliver.

“y/n would so make the first move are you kidding? I love wood as much as the next guy but all the quidditch going on in his head has surely been a distraction from his plan about how he’s gonna plant one on y/n” Lee was confident in his answer and Fred agreed 

you looked up from the miserable plate of food infront of you to hear george speak 

“oliver is as dense as a doorknob when it comes to his feelings for y/n. if they were gonna kiss he would just do it as a spur of the moment kind of thing, no think just do and hope for the best.” he shrugged as he spoke through potatoes while waving his fork about, angelina and katie agreeing by his side. Then they all turned to you.

“We haven’t kissed, if that’s what you are silently asking” you dropped your fork with a clank “but since we’re talking about it, I would be the one to make the first move, no questions asked” the smirk on your face was triumphant and Fred and Lee high five you from over the table.

“Let’s make a bet then” George piped up “five galleons to me if Wood makes the first move or five galleons to Lee if y/n makes the first move”. He scanned your group looking for a sign of protest before shaking on it with lee 

“Don’t lose me those five galleons, y/n” Lee complained.

you shifted in your seat and gave him a thumbs up and the best smile you could muster while eating food. All you had to do was think of how you could get wood to wear that darn costume and then give him a big ol’ kiss, no worries at all.

*****

It was go time. 

The whole team was ready to fly, charmed headbands and new plays were ready to go but your fearless captain was no where to be seen. 

Anyone who knew oliver knew that he lived and breathed all things qudditch and now with such an important game about to start he was no where to be found. nonetheless, the team was lined up with angelina filling in as captain for now because it seemed you didn’t have one at the minute.

this made you unbelievably nervous, so much so that you felt like you were about to pass out and if it wasn’t for the twins and their antics you might’ve been on a one way trip to the hospital wing right now. 

“do ya reckon oli is dead? because I mean why else would he be late to a match against Slytherin?” fred deadpanned while george stood behind him snickering to no one in particular.

you had momentarily thought about fred’s statement simply because you really couldn’t think of any other reason why oliver wouldn’t be here 2 minutes before you were set to fly. Your hands were now starting to lightly cramp around your broom and you were beginning to nervous sweat despite winter being right around the corner; internally you were an absolute shitshow. volcanoes were erupting in the depths of your stomach and your heart was hammering against your ribcage and the only thing that was on your mind was where the hell was oli?.

As if the gods above had heard your question one frantic keeper donned in red and gold came barrelling through the change rooms and you swear on your own grave you had never felt so much relief in your life. 

“sorry I’m so late! I lost track of the time and was trying to find something important” oliver apologised 

walking through your team his hand found your shoulder and he leant into your ear “can’t have all my reindeers losing their way because they don’t have a Rudolph” 

looking up at him, he sent you a cheeky wink while putting the nose and antlers on his head before returning to his rightful place in the front and centre. 

“You guys know what to do, let’s stomp on some snakes” the confidence oozing from his voice was indescribable. the way he spoke was powerful and reckless yet when he turned to look at you over his shoulder the facade dropped when he began to speak softly “Hope my favourite chaser is ready to win” 

a warm smile graced your lips “always, captain” 

*****

The sheer determination and house pride coming from the stands was overbearing. the screams, cheers, house war cries and encouragement made the desire to win even stronger than before. You, Angelina and Alicia were flying laps around Slytherin; your teamwork unmatched as you continued to set up and score goals for your friends. Fred and George were on their A-game. their aim had improved tremendously since last season with them becoming more coordinated to make sure you and the girls were able to score all you needed. Oliver was so focused on the opposing team and their chasers that you were certain he was unaware of the close score right now. It was 100-110 with Gryffindor taking the lead. all harry had to do was catch the snitch.

He had spotted it and now was neck and neck with malfoy. they were flying dangerously close to the stands where screaming students were situated. this was going to be the closest game you had had in a while. 

Just as Alicia had set up a goal for you to score harry caught the snitch and your whole team hollered at the outcome of the game.

“YES! GET IN HARRY!” George had yelled at the top of his lunch while Fred and Alicia laughed in delight at the sight of George almost falling off his broom. 

You flew over to an exhausted looking Angleina and did your best to pull her into a hug mid air 

“You were amazing Angie! absolutely brilliant! the hard work payed off!” you praised your close friend and the two of you made your way to the ground where students had begun piling off the stands but there was only one person you wanted to see down there.

The sound of your broom hitting the grass could be heard by the people around you when you caught sight of oliver hopping off of his broom. You ran to him and flung your tired arms around his neck with him instantly returning the favour  as his arms held a tight grip on your waist. 

“Oli we did it! everything that you drilled into us payed off, all the early morning training, that staying up into the early hours of the morning, all of it! every single bit!” you exclaimed and pulled away to get the first proper look at him that whole afternoon. His smile was splitting his face in half and for the first time in a while it felt like the two of you were the only ones in the world. 

One of his hands moved from your waist and up your back to grip your shoulder from behind before he dipped you and gave you the most passionate kiss you had ever gotten.

it felt like the twins had let a bunch of fireworks loose in your stomach, his neck felt hot under the touch of your calloused hands and his lips melted perfectly with yours. The both of you pulled away for breath, still not breaking eye contact.

“If I get this lucky every time I wear these stupid antlers I might as well glue them to my head” he half heartedly laughed at himself while continuously ignoring everyone around you who had now decided to pay attention.

Lee’s voice rang out over the microphone.

“Y/N! I thought i told you to not lose me those five galleons” he groaned while George grinned in triumph 

Oliver, who still had you dipped but was now looking up at lee, looked back down at you “you placed a bet on our kiss?” he quizzed you while an eyebrow raised.

all you could do was laugh and feel your heart swell in your chest 

“sorry, love. but i was fairly confident that our first kiss was going to be my doing” you smirked and grabbed his face pulling him in for yet another kiss.

Christmas had certainly come early this year. 

tags: @castieltrash1​

[theintentioncraft]

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES - When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag up to 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you’d like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours.

I've been tagged by @lordbelacqua (thank you Dea! <3) to talk about Backlead aka: that one Masriel fic I wrote where I got massively carried away...

Rambling/essay under the cut - fair warning, it's a long one!

Okay so first of all just a little disclaimer that Backlead did not follow my usual writing process - the idea was 110% borne out of self-indulgence and it was also both my first foray into HDM fanfic and my return to fanfic as a whole after a long hiatus from writing, so for me this was really a chance to just get back into the swing of things. Everything from Heavenly Guard through to Swansong and all of my current WIPs follow a more structured process and I'm happy to discuss any of them in a separate post!

PLANNING: I tend to find with my fics that I either have a nice little timeline of events planned out pre-writing or I have a very specific event in my head and I just take that and see how things unravel from there and Backlead was 100% the latter.

All I had in my head initially was the ballroom dance scene and so a lot of my admittedly-minimal planning was around the technicalities of that particular section, as well as some of the more general details e.g Marisa's outfit, the setting of the ball, etc. Planning the dance was the most fun part because it was a chance for me to put a lot of my dance knowledge to good use and think up something that fits the back-and-forth way in which Marisa and Asriel frequently navigate their encounters. In a way though I'm actually very glad that a lot of this fic Just Happened instead of being planned out, sometimes it's nice to just run away with an idea!

MUSIC: This gets its own section because this is one of the most important things in my process. Every single fic I write is written to various pieces of music that just help me to put myself in the right headspace for whatever I'm writing at the time - sometimes its just a single piece of music (I wrote Swansong in one hour with just one track from the Unforgotten - a TV show in the UK for those of you not familiar with it - soundtrack on repeat) and sometimes its entire playlists. I do love geeking out about my music choices for fic writing so happy to talk more in a separate post about music for some of my other fics if anyone's curious!

For Backlead I found a couple of playlist-vids from the lovely raviolae on youtube that really worked wonders for my writing. This comes with a disclaimer that I did not necessarily attribute any of these specific songs to either dance scene and I wanted to leave that open for people's imagination - but it's still brilliant vibes for thinking about two once-lovers-now-enemies trying to one-up each other whilst ignoring how much they still find each other attractive.

The two playlist-vids in question are here: you're stuck on the dance floor with your rival and find out they're an annoyingly good dancer and you're dancing with your rival and both of you want to lead

WRITING: First step every time is to figure out who's POV I'm going to cover because that makes a major difference in the way I'm going to write. Characterisation is the big thing for me and there's nothing I love more than to really get inside a character's head and basically think like them, and figure out what makes them tick and how they'll react to the story I'm putting them in. With my initial idea for Backlead being basically about the subtle power dynamics of a ballroom dance, Marisa felt like the natural go-to for this one and I found it much easier in this instance to write in her headspace than in Asriel's.

I wrote this fic in a very out-of-order fashion. The first dance (the slower, waltz-style dance) was the first part I finished, then I did as hinted at above get very carried away and move onto the section in the hallway, then I went right to the start and covered the entire section leading up to that first dance. Then I revisited the hallway scene because I wanted to rework it (the initial version was planned to be more explicit and involved less dialogue - but I wasn't comfortable with writing out the former at that time and the latter got changed by way of me having a sudden burst of dialogue-themed inspiration). The second, more set piece style dance came last in terms of the 'major events' that I wrote purely because I spent a lot of time racking with my dance knowledge to try and make it work in a way that didn't feel forced.

My final major writing stage is to write the 'transitions' between each major part - small pieces where nothing particularly noteworthy happens but it helps the fic to flow from one conversation/event to the next and also sometimes allows me to sneak in a bit of characterisation that I couldn't fit in elsewhere.

Along the way I often leave sentences half-finished with a bracket indicator so I know to go back to it later or I make little notes if I've added something in that needs explaining earlier in the fic, and I make sure to sort those parts out before I jump to the self review/beta reader stage. A couple of examples are below:

Although sometimes this method does also annoy future me too 😂:

SELF REVIEW/BETA REVIEW: Whenever I finish a fic, it gets put away for a day or two and I stop thinking about it completely - if I'm using a beta reader (usually @thatlavanderbard but I sometimes enlist help from friends on discord), I'll send them a copy of my draft at this point so they can start going through and leaving comments for me to work on, but the idea is that when I go back to my work a few days later I'm looking at it with semi-fresh eyes and can properly sift through each sentence to make sure things make sense.

When I'm self-reviewing I generally tend to follow this order of operations: spelling/grammar check (via docs') -> flow check (making sure any deliberate time skips/POV changes/etc in my fic flow smoothly from one part to the next) -> address beta reader comments (because they almost always pick up on things I myself would've picked up on anyway) -> general detailed final read through to make sure I'm happy with every single line and it all makes sense.

Backlead didn't get a full beta read because I had hit a point with it where I just wanted it up ASAP and my impatience got the better of me, but the rest of the above self-review stages still happened and I still spent a fair few evenings going through it properly and also running the occasional sentence or two by some helpful discord friends if I didn't like the way it flowed but couldn't quite figure out how to remedy it!

POSTING: First step was to reset my AO3 password because I forgot it yet again whoops

On a more serious note this part is pretty straightforward - once I'm ready to post a new fic I generally just go on autopilot for this part of the process (other than when I get to 'additional tags' and immediately get brain freeze...). As soon as it's up on AO3 I swing by here to make a post about it, then swing by discord to drop the link to friends who may be interested in reading it and then I normally nervously scuttle away from my notifications for a while out of fear that people hate it lmao.

That last part was especially true for Backlead because of it being my first trip into HDM fanfic and I always get extra nervous when posting my first fanfic for a new show/game/etc. Thankfully I got quite a few nice comments both on here and on discord that provided good motivation to stick around and post a few more things!

I always panic when asked to tag people lmao but I'll tag @fortheloveofwii for any part of the Onward, Onward series, @lyracordelia for any chapter in Hiraeth or the fic as a whole, and @glassrunner for this absolutely gorgeous gifset of beautiful game soundtracks. Please don't feel like you have to do this if you don't want to though!

[fmdseungwoo]

hello! it’s sarah (again) and this is seungwoo’s belated intro! he used to be around over at @seungwoofmd​ like a year ago but, uh, i forgot the e-mail so this is where he lives now! anyways, below the cut you’ll find an updated rundown of all things ahn seungwoo! while i’m writing this, my final due date is on the 15th, so i’m going to be able to actually be online after that! for the time being, if you’d like to plot with seungwoo or would just like to add me on d!sc0rd for some quicker (but still slow) replies, like this post!! i’m super excited for him to be back!!

also thank you everyone for your welcome messages!! i’ll respond asap, but in the meantime i’ll message you all tomorrow (going to bed after this so i can get up early to work) about plotting + to offer disc.ord as an alternative way of contact for the time being!!

content warning for alcohol in one bullet point below!! the bullet point is marked!!

ok so his backstory is way different this time but!! he’s still ended up at roughly the same personality so let’s get into this!!

middle child -- always wanted attention, never really got a lot of it from his parents bc they were busy, but they loved him!! he just ... was a bit of a shithead growing up and they weren’t gonna talk to their 6 yr old son abt how the mortgage was weighing them down so he just continued to be a bit of a shithead.

became really infatuated with soccer!! immediately set out charming people via being a cute kid that was also a good striker. loved it bc hell yeah!! attention!! kept up playing soccer all the way through school, and was definitely kind of a LadTM. 

didn’t care too much for academics but he got decent-ish grades!! figured he’d go to uni, but mostly just to prolong the whole ... not having to get a real job thing. he’d just have some fun, play some soccer, date (f*ck) around and do the bare minimum in the meantime! 

but then he got scouted and his brothers were like (1) you’re never home, (2) you don’t care about uni, (3) you’re a little attention seeking bastard so why don’t you call the number.

so he did.

seungwoo hated dimensions but he hated the idea of crawling back with his tail between his legs more. so he stayed, and he was improving really fast so! every time someone gave him a scrap of praise he was like HELL YEAH

he got skipped over for alien, which bummed him out majorly, but he got promised a spot in their next boy group if he continued working on his personality as much as his skills.

so he did, part 2.

he became a whole new man!! he took care of himself better, he was more responsible, he was more organised, and he genuinely felt better for it too!! maybe he became a little too serious, but not to the point of becoming a totally massive hardass. got thrown more crumbs of recognition by management so he was relatively motivated.

was so pleased when mars started coming together, mr leader dance line vocal line extraordinaire, but then the alien lawsuit happened and they were rushed into their debut, and then he was /: not so happy.

he started doubting like Everything, especially because he had an idea of what he wanted in mind. before becoming a trainee, he would’ve been satisfied with a simple life, but now everything is different?? and?? he can’t just go back either??

still, he tried to go Back kind of by indulging in some S: old bad habits.

TW ALCOHOL + NSFW basically he just started drinking a lot when the opportunity to arose, but worse than that, he was just... being a dickhead. ( maureen from rent vc ) boys, girls, i can’t help it!! except he could help it he just didn’t want to. he never let it effect mars’ schedules though. that’s the one thing he made sure not to do. he just wanted to no thoughts head empty for a while, even if what came out of it looked ugly. he thought it didn’t matter, because it made him feel good. it was opportunistic in nature, which meant his little excursions were usually pretty spread out, just whenever he could. and then he could pretend that maybe he was ahn seungwoo, senior and soccer team captain, who could do what he liked and hadn’t signed his life away. END OF TW.

anyways

after like a year and a half of being a doodoohead fuckboy, seungwoo eventually came to the realisation that hey... you know what... maybe this isn’t making me feel good in any meaningful way and is just me acting out and hurting people because i feel hurt, and that it couldn’t last forever without catching up to him. so he got his act back together over the next little while!! 

nowadays, anyways!

he’s fine now. seungwoo is the type to want to make reparations with people, so there’s that, but most importantly, he’s found a good, natural middle between his strict side and his fun side, and has learned to do things for himself in a healthy way, not in a self destructive way like before, where he was either suppressing his natural self an unholy amount or letting his most basest (? help is that right) take over him. now he plays guitar as a hobby and just likes to vibe, he doesn’t go out much at all really, and prefers a quiet pub to a nightclub any day. 

kind of a worrywart though? and like he really doesn’t like silence!! so he talks a lot. which means he isn’t very good at the vibing that he likes so much. your local fast talking grandpa sweater wearing boyfriend vibes kinda guy who has a hidden side/history that people usually don’t fully believe happened LOL

he likes mars a lot nowadays too, though mostly through extensively training himself not to wander down the paths of what ifs too much, since that’s what’s most damaging for his mental health. rock ur body h8er, chained up enthusiast. 

i’m kinda rambling but!! he’s a good n soft kinda man please love him <3 now i’m going to bed <3

[ladala99]

More Wolvden Pack Deciding

Another of those posts I’m making more for myself than anything else.

Previously, I decided what I’m going to try to accomplish with my non-canon wolves. But I hadn’t really decided the logistics of how and when. So here’s some time for math and decision-making!

First order of business, because I’m not breeding every girl every time she comes into heat, I need to be somewhat strategic about who breeds when.

Who’s Staying

Most important is that my non-canon pack will have to downsize slightly - currently I have 7 wolves in it: 4 Hunters, 1 Scout, 1 Herbalist, and 1 Pupsitter. What I want is 5 Hunters and that’s it. The Herbalist role’s going to be taken over by Sordia of the canon pack, and the Scout and Pupsitter are ultimately going to be replaced with the male and female options for the next Leader’s mate.

So I need to choose one of the Herbalist, Scout, and Pupsitter to keep on the Hunting team so I’m moving around the fewest number of wolves. And not breed the other two. I’ll probably sell them for their proficiency once I have replacements lined up.

And looking at the three now, it’s actually a pretty easy decision: I really adore my Pupsitter (former temporary Scout - she’s doing a lot of odd jobs while I settle!):

She also has the highest Fertility of the three at Very Good, which is nice since it means I won’t need to buy Pasque Flowers for her every breeding (I’m going to keep my pack above 50% fertility if I can, much like I do on Lioden).

Breeding Schedule (Aging Wolves)

Now that I’ve decided which 5 non-canon wolves are sticking around, it’s time to figure out a loose breeding schedule.

What’s most urgent is the older wolves. When they get back into heat, they’ll be 5 years 7.5 months(Stark), 5 years 7 months(Buttercup), and 5 years 6 months(Dusty) respectively. Wolves stop going into heat at 7 years old iirc? I can’t seem to find that info anywhere in the Grouse House, Tala tutorials, or looking briefly through Wolvden’s Tumblr, but I’m pretty sure I’ve seen that info somewhere. Might have been in an Ask on the Wolvden Tumblr, might have been in the beta Discord.

Anyway, Wolves stay in heat 4 days and are out-of-heat 8 days if not bred. Or in other words, from the first day of one heat to the next is 6 in-game months, with 4 of those unable to breed. Once bred, they’ll be pregnant for 4 days and then on cooldown for 20 days, making it 1 in-game year between pregnancies. I’m also enforcing 6-month breaks between litters to ensure the pups get the Pupsitter care they need.

Another factor is that I want to breed my Leader as soon as I can, potentially disrupting the non-canon wolves. If I breed on the day everyone comes into heat (I got all these girls except one on the same day so their heats are in sync), my Leader’s last day of heat will line up on the day I want to breed next, I think. Either that or she’ll be just out of heat.

But the Leader can be delayed if necessary since she is young. (Besides, I’m not going to have any heir possibilities until she’s at least 4 in-game years old to give the next leader a chance to have pups of their own. I mostly just want to fill out the canon pack roles ASAP)

So if I don’t breed the Leader, I’ll just barely be able to breed all three 6 in-game months apart. Assuming they can be bred on 7 years exactly, because otherwise Dusty just isn’t getting bred and I’ll have to replace her. Not the end of the world since her marking really clashes with her base, and would look terrible on the goal wolf.

Because Stark has the best stats, I am going to breed her second. So it’s going to go Buttercup (5 years 7 months) -> Stark (6 years 1 month) -> Dusty (7 years) -> Blue (Leader) -> Some other Non-canon wolf -> Blue -> etc.

Ages To Pay Attention To

If I want to breed the non-canon wolves as old as possible (so they have as many stats as they possibly can have), I’ll want to stagger and breed them right as they turn 7 years old. If that’s not possible, I’ll want it to be within the last 6 months of their life. This means not breeding them between the ages of 6 years and 6 years 6 months.

But it also means taking note of when these wolves are starting to get old and strategically breeding them rather than another wolf. And for this generation only (if I keep this staggered approach) I have to deal with choosing between wolves with similar ages.

At this point I’m just going to have to play it by ear because there’s a lot of factors to deal with. Including:

The Next Generation

Like with my huntresses on Lioden, I plan to have my non-canon wolves on Wolvden have active lineages until one becomes the Leader’s mate.

Unlike on Lioden, I’m going to focus on stats rather than looks for these lineages. They’re going to end up a little weird-looking as I strive towards the Goal Wolf, as the goal will change every generation.

Ideally this would mean I get the next generation on each wolf’s last litter for maximum stats from the mother. But there’s a catch: I don’t like using real-money currency. Which means I want the game to give me a female on the last generation. Which isn’t a guarantee.

So I’m going to have to keep the youngest female of every wolf. And if Buttercup, Stark, or Dusty fail to have a female pup in their 1 litter, they’re not getting a Legacy.

And this also means that wolves without a current Legacy female (or the one with the oldest Legacy female) will have priority as I go along.

It shouldn’t be too much of an issue since litter sizes tend to be pretty big, but it’s definitely something I need to keep in mind. Also more mouths to feed.

The Goal Wolf

Another factor is the Goal Wolf. To start with, I’ll be keeping the male and female wolf that are closest to the goal as the non-canon Scout and Pupsitter, the female being the Scout and the male the Pupsitter. Once I have a female, she’ll be in the breeding rotation as well, at a pretty high priority.

Which does mean, unchecked, the breeding schedule would be Lead -> Goal Wolf -> Lead -> Goal Wolf.

I mean, I could do that once I have a canon Pupsitter. Or even from the start if I make my Herbalist a Pupsitter and just have this rotation be alongside the Hunter rotation.

You know, that’s the thing about brainstorming on one of these - you change your mind partway through. Perhaps I shouldn’t skip breeding my Leader and breed her alongside the elder three.

Conclusion

Well, I guess that’s the current plan. Breed the five huntresses on rotation, keeping watch of who’s getting old and who has the oldest Legacy. Progress towards the Goal Wolf will be somewhat separate and will breed on rotation with the Lead Wolf.

Bonus Wardrobe pic for anyone who read this far. (Or scrolled down to see how long it is, I guess). My breeding male with some randomized decor+background until it looked good.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Four

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

September 13th, 2000

Remy looked around the campus he was on with a sigh. He really didn’t know why he was doing this. College just seemed like one of those things you did just because; it wasn’t like he was going to get a job just because he had a degree. But here he was, at his parents’ insistence.

He was sipping his coffee on a park bench, watching the leaves on the trees. He had some time before his next class, and it wasn’t like he had anything better to do. “Pretty, isn’t it?” a man asked from behind him.

Turning, Remy found a man with a curly mop of red hair and bright green eyes. “Yeah, I suppose,” he said, looking back at the leaves.

The man sat down next to him with a smile. “My name’s Emile,” he said.

Remy offered his hand. “Remy.”

“Nice to meet you, Remy,” Emile said. “Mind me asking why you look so down in the dumps?”

January 10th, 2019

It was Remy’s turn to stay home and look after Roman, which he figured was a fancy way of Emile telling him he couldn’t skip out on his clients again. Getting Roman into the local school system was proving to be difficult experience, and in the meantime Roman was staying home, just getting accustomed to his new house.

Emile and Remy had gotten the paternity test sent out, now they were waiting for the results. But just in case, they were also applying to be foster parents, because there were some “what if”s that left Emile insisting that they couldn’t risk Roman being taken away and sent back to wherever he had been. Remy had agreed, much to Emile’s visible relief.

But now, he and Roman were sitting in the living room, Roman reading a book while Remy worked on his laptop, making sure all his t’s were crossed and i’s were dotted. All they needed was the home inspections and interviews and they would be allowed to foster, just in case Roman wasn’t actually Emile’s.

The home phone rang and Remy sighed, getting up to answer it. “Picani residence,” he sang into the receiver.

���Remy, it’s Sarah,” the woman on the other end of the line said. “Listen, are you still applying for being foster parents?”

“Uh, yeah,” Remy said, feeling Roman’s eyes on him. “Why?”

“I may have a child who needs to be placed, and she...he says that he isn’t his dad’s biological kid. I ran the sperm donor’s name past some people, and I just got the results back from official channel’s. The donor is Emile.”

Remy was stunned. “There’s another little Picani running around?”

“Technically his last name is Gaines, but yes,” Sarah said. “Listen, he’s a bit of a special case. His parents kicked him out for being transgender. We’re trying to get him placed soon so he doesn’t have to keep sleeping in his best friend’s house, but if you guys have room, and don’t mind...I could speed up the process of getting you guys accepted and get him in your home.”

“Yeah, I say do it,” Remy said. “I’ll have to talk to Emile, of course, but I doubt he’ll say no.”

“Thank you,” Sarah breathed. “We’ve been trying to place him for three and a half months. No one wants a transgender teen and he refuses to be put back in the closet just to have a home to rest in when he’s sleeping under the roof of people who respect him.”

“We’ll respect him here,” Remy said. “Without a doubt. I’ll let Emile know ASAP, and I’ll talk to Roman about it too, because this does concern him.”

“I swear, Remy, you and Emile are godsends,” Sarah laughed. “And I don’t just mean because you give me my coffee fix.”

Remy laughed. “It’s not a problem, Sarah. Is that everything for now?”

“Yup, that’s all I wanted to say,” Sarah confirmed. “Thank you again. See you in the shop.”

“You got it,” Remy said, hanging up.

“Who was that?” Roman asked.

“My friend Sarah, who’s helping us adopt you,” Remy said. “Apparently, there’s another kid out there who could use a roof over his head, and Sarah was asking if we could help out. As long as you’re okay with it, and Emile’s okay with it, you’ll be having a brother.”

“A brother?” Roman asked, disbelief in his tone. “I’ve never had a brother before.”

Remy shrugged. “Well, this could be your chance. And from the sound of it, he’s old enough that he won’t need much looking after, so Emile’s and my attention won’t be split between you and him as much.”

“You wouldn’t...have me take care of him, right?” Roman asked, posture becoming guarded. “If he was that young and needed taking care of?”

“Not unless you volunteered it,” Remy said easily. “I don’t believe in making older kids raise their younger siblings. If you wanted to help here and there, it’d be fine. But Emile and I would never force you to do that.”

“Good,” Roman said, relaxing and returning to his book.

Remy made a mental note of that reaction. Wherever Roman had come from, it was clear he had been forced to work for someone. If not with child-rearing, then other household chores that weren’t suited for a child his age. He didn’t like the thought of what that meant. He knew Emile didn’t want him pushing Roman about his past, but Remy was worried in his own way. “Any specific reason you were worried about that?”

Roman looked up again and briefly looked like a deer caught in headlights, before he flushed. “It’s just...uh...I read a lot about stuff like that in fairy tales. And I know that sometimes my friends would have to do stuff like that too, even if they didn’t want to. That’s just kinda...how I thought siblings were, for the most part.”

Remy knew that was a lie, and no doubt Roman knew Remy’s thoughts on the matter. “Remember, Roman, Emile and I won’t be mad at you no matter if you did something wrong or not, if you tell the truth.”

Roman flinched minutely and nodded. “I know,” he said softly. “But this...this isn’t something I want to talk about, okay?”

Remy inwardly sighed. The kid had been through so much, he shouldn’t have to deal with this on his own. But, he supposed, they’d have to make sure that Roman knew he could ask for help processing whatever he needed to process, no matter how far along he was with it. “Okay. But if you ever do want, or need, to talk about it, Emile and I are here. Understand?”

Roman nodded. “Yes, sir. And...I can’t thank you enough for being here for me.”

“Believe me, Roman, when I say it’s our pleasure. Both mine and Emile’s,” Remy said with a smile.

Roman grinned briefly before switching the topic of conversation. “So this new kid. Do you know anything about him?”

“Not much,” Remy admitted. “Just that he’s transgender.”

Roman cocked his head to the side and Remy realized he had to do some explaining sooner rather than later, to avoid Roman traumatizing the new kid accidentally. “What’s transgender mean?” he asked.

“It means that someone isn’t the gender they were assigned at birth,” Remy said.

“You’re assigned a gender at birth?” Roman asked.

Remy sighed. “Well, yeah. The doctors look at your...privates, and based on that they’ll say ‘It’s a boy’ or ‘It’s a girl’ and put you in blue or pink respectively. That’s how they generally do it, anyway. But sometimes the gender you were assigned at birth isn’t the right one. And if that’s the case, then you’re considered transgender.”

Then came a question that made Remy cringe. “So...he was born a girl?”

“Not exactly,” Remy said. “He’s always been a boy, it’s just that for a while, everyone saw him as a girl. Maybe he didn’t know he was a boy. But that didn’t make him any less of a boy. Do you understand?”

Roman frowned in thought. “I...think so. Is there anything that I shouldn’t say to him?”

“Aside from the obvious of not calling him a girl, that differs from person to person,” Remy explained. “He might welcome questions about being transgender, or he might not want to talk about it. He might ask you to use different pronouns around different people, if he isn’t ‘out’ yet. You can ask what he’s comfortable with. But if he asks you to back off, you do, no questions asked, got it?”

“Got it,” Roman agreed with a nod. “Do you know when he’s coming over?”

“Not yet,” Remy said. “I still need to talk this over with Emile, and we need to officially register as foster parents, but it should be soon. And the two of you can have separate rooms. We won’t ask you to share if we don’t have to.”

Roman sagged with relief, and Remy filed that reaction away for later too. “In the meantime, I think we should prepare you for the placement test,” he said.

With a groan, Roman lolled his head back into the couch. “But I know almost everything in there!” he protested. “I might be in some remedial classes, but I know they’ll put me in the seventh grade!”

“That may be, but Emile said he wanted you to study, so you have to study. Just for an hour, okay? After that, you can keep reading fairy tales, or do whatever else you might want to do,” Remy replied.

“Fine,” Roman sighed. “But I don’t like it.”

“I don’t know many people who liked school at your age, Roman,” Remy laughed. “It’s not gonna be fun, but it’s necessary. At least until you’re sixteen.”

“Why sixteen?” Roman asked.

“That’s the legal age when you can drop out of school,” Remy explained. “If, by sixteen, you want to find a job and not do school anymore, you can try your hand at that. Although Emile and I would both encourage you to at least get a GED, which is the equivalent of a high school diploma. Those things open many doors.”

“Did you finish high school?” Roman asked, leaving the couch in favor of the kitchen, where the study materials were.

“That I did. However, I dropped out of college. I felt that they had taught me all they could teach me about business, so I went to a coffee shop, became a barista, and saved up the money I’d need to buy my own store. I was lucky in the sense that there weren’t any niche coffee shops by Main Street, yet. I was the first, and people who were looking for something new came flooding to me. And thanks to my experience as a barista, knowing what worked and what didn’t, they kept coming back for more,” Remy said. “Not a half-bad origin story, is what Emile tells me.”

Roman grinned and Remy smiled back. “You think you can study on your own or do I have to stay here and make sure you do the problems?”

“I’ll do it,” Roman said, looking at the books and sighing. “I’m not looking forward to it, though.”

Remy hummed. “Well, tell you what. If you finish all the problems in that book, and get them all right, I’ll advocate for you to Emile, and argue that you don’t need to study anymore. Of course, that means you have to continue studying if you get even one wrong.”

“I can do that!” Roman exclaimed, opening the book and immediately starting to read.

Remy smiled and left the room, grabbing his phone and sending a text to Emile: Sarah called about a possible foster kid, call me when you can

He didn’t expect an immediate reply, but he got a call just seconds later. “Emile? Don’t you have a patient?”

“This is my free hour of the day which I use to work on insurance claims. This is a welcome distraction. You said something about another kid?” Emile prompted.

“Yeah. Apparently you’re a transgender boy’s father, and the poor kid was kicked out of his home over being trans. Sarah was willing to speed up the fostering process if we take the kid in,” Remy explained.

“Well, that’s a no-brainer. We’ll take him in,” Emile said. “That is, if you and Roman are okay with it?”

“Yeah, Roman’s good with it as long as he’s not in charge of child-rearing, and I’ve never actively wanted kids, but they’re not horrible beasts who I hate. It’s nice to be able to help them,” Remy said. “And I explained what transgender means to Roman, so hopefully the new kid won’t run away screaming.”

“Let’s hope so,” Emile said. “I have to finish these insurance claims, but tell Sarah that I’m in. We’ll help this kid.”

Remy smiled as Roman came over and held the first section of his book out for inspection. “Sounds perfect,” he said.

[honeybee-babe]

Sharing is Caring (Except When You’re SIck) Chapter 1

Part 1 of my multi-chap collab fic with @hargreevesstyles!! It’s already finished, and we tried to keep all the chapters relatively the same length. We’ll each be posting the parts, probably according to some schedule. You can also read it on @hargreevesstyles‘ account!

~

Luther woke with a start to the familiar feeling of soreness in his throat, only now it was accompanied by a tightness in his chest. His reading glasses had slipped off his face onto the pages of research laid out before him on his desk.

Suppressing a wheezy cough against his wrist, he lifted his other arm up and checked his watch: 10:27 am. Last he remembered, it was 8 pm. He must have fallen asleep at his work. Despite the sheen of sweat forming on his hairline, and the three layers he was wearing, he was shivering. With a groan he crossed over to his bed, picked up one of the many blankets out of the messy pile on his bed, and threw it over his shoulders.

He’d been holed up in his room for two days now, only sneaking downstairs to grab tissues. He’d skipped Allison’s “family dinner” both nights, instead opting for some crackers and water. He was too tired for anything else anyway, and this way he could avoid his family. Even though he was sure it was just a little cold (he hadn’t been sick in so long, this was normal, right?), he didn’t want to take the risk of getting them sick.

There was also the fear of attracting unwanted attention to his body. He’d gotten better at not isolating himself, but in times like this, when he felt even more grotesque than normal, he reverted back to old habits.

He shuffled downstairs, clutching the blanket around his arms. It was too small to cover his gargantuan shoulders, and he had to stop repeatedly to readjust it. When he got into the kitchen, his throat itched in that telltale way, the catalyst for a series of deep, chesty coughs, which he smooshed as much as possible into his elbow. Three layers of fabric were a good enough silencer.

Unfortunately, the violent movement sent the blanket slipping off his shoulders onto the ground. He looked down at it with a small sniffle, dreading the aches and dizziness that would inevitably come if he picked it up. He stood there for a good minute, staring at the blanket and trying to figure out if it was worth it to bend over and pick it up. He didn’t have to think for long though, because a bony hand swiped it up off the ground and threw it over its own shoulder.

“Klaus-I. What the hell? Give it back!” Luther spoke defensively. Part of him just wanted his blanket back but a bigger part of him didn’t want Klaus to be infected by the germs inhabiting said blanket.

Klaus ignored Luther and draped it over his own shoulders. Luther wanted to say something but he didn’t want to admit that he was sick. If he did so, his siblings wouldn’t leave him alone—either by helping him or teasing him. Luther stuck with a small sigh and went to turn around to start making some tea when Klaus tapped him on the shoulder.

He said, “I’m just poking fun at you, big guy. Here you go.” He handed the blanket back to his big—size-wise—brother. Luther didn’t know what to say and Klaus caught onto that quickly. “You alright Number One? You’re looking a bit peaky.”

“I’m fine. What do you want, Klaus?”

“Hey, hey, hey, relax! I’m only trying to help. Do you need anything?” Klaus asked. “I’m so damn bored all of the time now that I don’t have anything fancy running through my system. I came here looking for an adventure and it seems like you’re on a fun one. May I join?”

Luther felt badly. He really wanted to spend more time with his brother. He was trying to push himself out of this character Reginald forced him into. He tried to stop himself from thinking about his siblings as teammates and actually as his brothers and sisters. But right now he was caught between a rock and a hard place.

If he hung around Klaus for even a few minutes longer it was likely that Klaus was going to catch whatever Luther was harboring.

So, Luther shook his head. “Sorry, Klaus. I’ve got to go back upstairs and work on something. A lot of reading. You wouldn’t be interested.” Luther tried his absolute hardest not to sound cold or annoyed with his brother.

Still, Klaus’ reaction was full of nothing but disappointment. He nodded quickly and quietly and skirted out of the room before Luther could say another word.

Now that Klaus was gone, Luther could focus on how he felt. Without Klaus distracting him, the pounding in his head seemed to come back with a vengeance. Luther wasn’t sure if he just had a headache or if it was from the buildup of all of the congestion. Whatever it was, Luther was in pain.

He let out a small cough into his elbow, knowing that anything more would have him dragging on for what could be minutes, and he didn’t have the time nor the energy for that. The tickle in his throat was momentarily alleviated, but not the tightness in his chest that still lingered, begging for a deeper release. But he couldn’t let that out, not right now, with Klaus in clear earshot the next room. He’d have to wait until he was in the privacy of his room.

With his arm still held up to his face, he shuffled over to the sink and poured himself the glass of water he’d come downstairs for in the first place. The first sip unfortunately hit his throat in just the wrong way, and he had to bring his elbow to his mouth again to suppress the coughs that inevitably resulted, this time a bit more chesty than the last. Fortunately, the second sip seemed to soothe rather than aggravate the tickle, and he downed the rest of glass in just two more sips, quickly pouring another glass, which he downed in two huge gulps.

Unfortunately, the rush of cold water made him shiver even more profusely than he already had been, to which he responded by immediately washing the glass in warm water -- he needed to wash it ASAP anyway, if he was serious about not leaving any germs lingering around.

The steam from the sink ended up wafting up to his nose and loosening some of the congestion that had built up there. A good thing for his health, probably, but it meant that the persistent tickle he’d had some momentary relief from was back. Which meant he’d inevitably start sneezing again soon. And, with this cold, there was a very good chance they’d keep coming for few minutes. Klaus definitely wouldn’t leave him alone if he heard that. So Luther turned the faucet off a soon as he felt the steam tugging at his sinuses, and brought a gloved hand up to scrub ferociously at his flaring nostrils. He gave one pointed, congested sniff.

That seemed to do the trick. For now.

Klaus had left the kitchen with his arms crossed over his chest, but once he’d made his way into the living room, he put them down by his side, exposing the tiny mesh tank top he had on as he stood rimrod straight and put on a stern face.

“‘It’s grown-up stuff, Klaus, a lot of reading,” he put on his best Luther voice. He quickly lost the act, however, and flopped down on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and speaking in his normal voice. “Cause God knows I never learned how to read, right?” He rolled his eyes. “How do you know what  I’m interested in? Maybe I secretly want to learn all about moon rocks!”

“Do you?”

Klaus shifted his gaze to see Ben sitting by his feet, grinning at him. He stuck his tongue at his ghost brother.

“That’s not the point, Ben. It’s the principle of it!” he explained, pushing himself up with his elbows into a sitting position. “He just pushed me to the side, like I was in the way. Typical Luther.”

“You’re overreacting,” Ben said, shaking his head.

“I’m just having fun, Benny boy,” he said, reaching over and booping his brother on the nose, though he knew his finger would just phase through him. “I’m not upset, we all know how Luther is.”

“I don’t think that’s what it is,” Ben said. “Did you get a good look at him? I think he might be sick.” Klaus just shrugged.

“He was a little pale. He’s probably fine, he’s always had a good immune system.”

“I don’t know, Klaus.” And with that, Ben poofed away. Klaus groaned and got up from the couch. He had a sense of where Ben might have gone.

Back up in Luther’s room, the largest Hargreeves sibling was blowing his nose into a handkerchief he had found in his dad’s belongings a couple of weeks prior. He still felt a deep connection to his father, feeling like no matter what else he did, he had still done whatever he could to save him while his life was on the line.

“Heh-NGXht! Hahh-nGHXtchiew!” Luther’s body rocked forward as he let out the properly contained explosions. He always tried his hardest to keep them quiet nowadays, for fear that his siblings might find them funny whereas he found them deeply embarrassing and draining.

With this cold, one sneeze was never enough. He was pretty sure he’d sneezed more times in a row that morning than he ever had in his entire life. Miraculously, he’d managed to keep the sound contained until now. But the pressure in his head was building, and he didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up.

He had just started blowing his nose again when a knock at his door had him hastily putting the handkerchief down sniffling back the congestion back instead before speaking.

“Who is it?” he called, getting up from his desk chair and shuffling over to the door.

“Your worst nightmare.” It was Klaus.

“Sounds about right.” Luther rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Open the door,” Klaus whined. “Ben wants to see you.”

Luther bit down on his lip as he considered that. He really didn’t want to infect Klaus, and he wasn’t even sure if he was just fucking with him. But he very well might be telling the truth, and he knew if Ben wanted to see him, it had to be important.

So he opened the door just a crack, catching a glimpse of his dead brother’s concerned face outlined in a blue glow, before his own wildly hitching breath caught him off guard. He eyed the handkerchief on his desk for a moment, before shutting the door quickly, just before he brought his hand up to pinch his nose shut.

“Hih’nXGT! Hihh... heh-GNXT!” Once again, his large torso shook with the force of suppressing the explosions, which were growing more and more difficult to contain, just like the pressure in his head grew more intense with each stifled sneeze.

“You’re gonna blow your brains out!” Ben tsk’ed from the hallway, apparently still manifested. Klaus just giggled.

“Bless you, big brother! What, you got the sniffles?”

Luther groaned, “Go away, Klaus.”

Klaus wouldn’t let up. “Come on, Ben and I both know you’re sick! There’s no point in hiding it from the two of us!”

“You can’t keep lying to us forever!” Ben joined in.

Luther tried his hardest to ignore them. He knew they really did mean well, but Klaus had a weird way of going about it and sometimes Ben would tag along. Luther blew his nose as quietly as he could into the handkerchief. Great. It was soaked. Luther grabbed around for more tissues but he realized that he had forgotten to grab more on his journey downstairs earlier.

He cursed under his breath. With this wretched cold he couldn’t afford to go without tissues.

Luther stood up and walked to the door. As he opened it, Klaus and Ben fell into his room. They had had their ears pressed up against the door.

“What the hell, you guys? Can’t you leave me alone?” Luther yelled. He really wasn’t feeling well.

Klaus’ look softened. He asked, “Do you need anything, buddy? I-I could go fetch you some tea or some tissues or something like that. Come on, we both know you’d like that. If not, I ca-“

“Jesus Christ, Klaus, if I let you get me tissues will you leave me alone?”

Klaus nodded happily. He bounced off, taking Ben with him.

Luther shut his door. He knew Klaus was going to get sick. “Goddamnit,” he muttered. Klaus always picked the worst of times to become interested in his seemingly eldest sibling.

“Knock knock! Your nurse is here!” Klaus’ voice came from the other side of the door. “Ben’s here too I’m just a little winded from those stairs and manifesting Ben isn’t really within my power limits right now. Anywho, I have some tea for you and I also found some nifty cough drops! I grabbed all the boxes of tissues I could find, too. Oh, and, open up!”

“I-wha-“ Before Luther could finish talking, Klaus stuck a thermometer in his mouth. Luther went to scold him but Klaus cut him off again.

“Nuh-uh, big guy! Keep your mouth closed until the thermometer beeps or it won’t get a good enough reading and you’ll have to do it again!” Klaus tutted.

Annoyed, Luther waited. When the thermometer beeped he went to take it out and read it but Klaus’ scrawny little hand grabbed it before Luther could even move his hand.

Klaus frowned. “You’ve got a fever. 101.3 to be exact. Strictly bed rest for you, Number One! I’ll be back in a little to bring you some soup or something!”

Luther couldn’t help but smile as Klaus sauntered out of his room. Sometimes he felt estranged from all of the other siblings, but Klaus had this way of magically making him feel like they were all a real family.

As soon as Klaus stepped out of Luther’s room, he wiped his nose on his sleeve. It was running for some reason.

“You feeling alright?” Ben asked.

Klaus nodded, “Yeah, it’s just from the steam from the tea. You know how sensitive my nose is after all that damn cocaine.”

Ben nodded, but he decided to keep a closer eye on Klaus, as well as Luther. Ben hadn’t been completely blinded as to why Klaus hadn’t manifested him when he was in Luther’s room. He knew that Klaus was feeling tired and he hoped, no prayed, that Klaus wasn’t catching what Luther had. When Klaus had been asleep the night before Ben had been wandering around the house and he heard some noise coming from Luther’s room. He heard him up coughing and sneezing, trying to keep himself quiet so he didn’t disturb his siblings. Ben wished they realized how much Luther cared about them.

He had brought up Luther looking sick to Klaus hoping he would catch on, and he was glad that he finally did. At least Luther was getting some rest now, even though Klaus had to hassle him before he could get some.

Now Ben was worried. He hadn’t realized that while Klaus was the least likely to really make Luther feel badly about his illness, he was also the most likely to catch it. Klaus’ immune system was shot to hell due to the cocktail of drugs he had consumed every day for seventeen years. Yes, Klaus was sober now, but he was a lot more susceptible to illness, and now that he wasn’t high all the time he was present enough to realize how shitty he felt.

“You’ll tell me if you don’t feel well, right?”

Klaus rolled his eyes. “Hop off my dick, Ben! I feel fine. Go haunt Diego or something.”

Ben liked to stay around Klaus to keep an eye on him as much as he could, but as Klaus was now sober he felt less of a need to babysit him. So Ben disappeared.

Klaus wandered into the living room and rubbed his nose. He flopped onto the couch and tried to ignore the bloody bitch to his left. She was wailing at the top of her lungs. Klaus felt bad, he always did, but there was a slight ache in his head that made him a little more aggressive than usual. He was going to yell at the ghost and tell her to can it, but yelling at ghosts usually did more harm than good, so Klaus stayed silent.

Back in Luther’s room, Ben was creeping around. He wished he could will himself to become corporeal to help clean up and tug the blankets up to Luther’s shoulders. He was shuddering in his sleep. Ben frowned and sat down on the edge of Luther’s bed. He started humming one of Luther’s favorite songs from when they were kids. He knew Luther couldn’t hear him, but he could’ve sworn he saw a smile on Luther’s face.

[pretty-well-funded]

monalisa72 replied to your post “is this thing on?”

Newbie rentboy Peter who keeps getting saved from abusive johns by Iron Man who eventually becomes his sugar daddy to keep him off the streets

@monalisa72 well, this is literally the opposite of what you asked for, but hopefully you like it anyway? lol

*

In Tony’s defense, he was sure the kid was a rent boy.  

Now, normally Tony doesn’t brake for street crime - there are others without highly advanced terrorism- and alien-fighting prostheses to handle that kind of thing.  The blind lawyer, the bulletproof bar owner, that PI in desperate need of antidepressants.  The guy in the onesie.

Still, if he’s in the right place at the right time, he’s not exactly going to fly away and leave someone to get hurt.

He’s on his way back from a rather lightweight peacekeeping mission when FRIDAY alerts him to a probable minor being choked below.  As soon as Tony gets close, he sees she may have misinterpreted the data - her algorithms for human behavior aren’t as sophisticated as JARVIS’s were, though she’ll get there in time - but when he asks her to estimate the kid’s age, FRI says 17.  And well, her physical assessment algorithms are just fine.

It turns out landing in an Iron Man suit ten feet away is enough intervention in itself to scare off rough johns of underage prostitutes, because Tony hasn’t even engaged his speakers before the guy’s tripping on his pants and running.  The kid wipes his mouth with wide eyes and scrambles to his feet.

“Uh, wow.  Hi.”

“Look, kid, everybody’s got to make a living, blah blah blah, sex positivity, wrap it before they tap it and try not to end up in a dumpster, capiche?”

The kid opens his mouth, frowning, but this was already a waste of time and Tony is exhausted.  He’s engaging his thrusters before the kid can speak

*

The second time, he’s just enjoying a little evening joyride, because he does what he wants, when FRI says, “Boss, someone is crying for help three blocks south.  I think he’s being assaulted.”

So, of fucking course, Tony goes.

This time it’s unclear it’s a false alarm until Tony has landed right behind the purported bad guy and yanked him away from the guy he’s got pinned to the bricks.  Said victim turns his head, and Tony groans.  “You again.”

“You should talk.  You’re turning into a serious cockblock, Mr. Stark.”

Tony turns to the guy he’s dangling a couple inches off the ground.  “Listen, pal, some solid advice: stop hiring hookers.  Or at the very least, card them first, huh?”

The guy nods agreeably, and when Tony lets him go, he only pauses to give the kid one miffed look before skedaddling away.

Once he’s gone, Tony lets the helmet retract so he can look at the kid directly.  “Didn’t we have a conversation about dumpsters?”

“There’s a little thing called ‘roleplay,’ Mr. Stark.  They may not have invented it yet in your day, but - “

Tony will not laugh.  Obviously the kid’s fine.  He puts the top up and takes off.

*

After that...well, okay, after that, Tony’s curious.  So he might have FRIDAY monitor for any signs of the kid’s activity in his neighborhood - the two incidents he saw were only blocks apart in Queens, stands to reason that’s his stomping grounds.

The boy’s not on the streets as often as he’d have assumed - probably not a street kid, then, whose only source of income is hooking.  Maybe an in-case-of-emergency-need deal.  Still, it’s weird then that he deals in mostly rough trade - every time FRI alerts him, the kid is getting choked or smacked, etcetera.  

He doesn’t usually intervene.  Either the kid is a hell of an actor or he’s usually pretty into it, which maybe explains who he caters to, even if he’s part time.

There does come a time, though, when the Baby Monitor goes off and Tony quickly realizes that the kid is in over his head.  He’s bruised to hell, for one, and Tony’s suiting up as soon as he sees the hand wrapped around the kid’s throat, which is squeezing.  Tony unfortunately knows what being manually strangled to death sounds like, and this is it.

It takes two minutes and fifteen seconds, which feels way too fucking long but when he arrives, the kid’s brain function is still intact.  Apparently this is less of a first degree murder situation and more of manslaughter-waiting-to-happen.  

Maybe not even that, because the kid easily shoves the other guy aside, and yells, “Okay, seriously, are you stalking me now? This can’t be a coincidence.”

Well, he wasn’t admitting that.  “No, dear.  It just seemed like a lovely night for breathplay, so naturally I assumed you’d be out and about.”

The other guy backs away slowly then flees, and the kid makes an exasperated noise, pointing after him.  “Is your new mission to give me blue balls?  Is that the actual best use of your vast resources?”

“My resources are vast enough to account for pet projects, yeah.”

“So you are watching me.”

“Hey look, Mysterious Skin, a death wish is overrated, trust me.  When it gets down to the wire, you’ll regret that you let it get that far.  Been there.”

The kid squints and clucks his tongue.  “Okay, I’m going to tell you a secret that you can’t share, but first you’re climbing out of that thing because my neck hurts.”

What the hell, Tony’s at least 30% intrigued. He’s done more for less.  The kid’s eyes widen a little when he sees what Tony’s wearing beneath the suit, which is to say a filthy tank top, a lot of engine grease, and sweatpants.  Sometimes when he’s in the lab, he skips underwear, sue him.

Tony lets the little moment of lust pass (he’s used to it), and then prompts.  “Do I have to pinky swear, or what?”

The kid eyes the suit.  “Your friend can tell there’s no one nearby, right?”

“The perimeter is clear. No witnesses with line of sight into the alley,” FRIDAY says through the speaker.  

“Thanks,” the kid says, and then just casually lifts a whole-ass dumpster over his head.

Tony’s jaw drops.

The kid sets the dumpster carefully down.  “See?  I’m fine. and if Mrs. Suit has the medical scanning capabilities that I know that she does, she can tell you my black eye is healing really fast.”

“It’s true, Boss, and quite remarkable,” Baby Girl chirps.

“Thanks, Mrs. Suit Lady,” the kid beams. 

“It’s FRIDAY.”

“Okay, everybody shut up,” Tony manages.  Mercifully, they do.  “First of all, what’s your name.”

The kid’s jaw clenches, and then he allows, “Peter.”

“Peter.  You’re the kid in the onesie.”

This abashed, the kid isn’t a superhero or a sex worker, he’s just a kid.  “I’m Spider-Man,” he corrects.

“Yeah, not until we upgrade you.  But that’s not relevant now.  You’re not homeless, right?”

“What? No!  I live with my Aunt.”

“Does she know that you hook on the side?”

“Yeah, see, I don’t know where you got this idea.  It’s actually kind of not cool of you, sir.  I just like sex. With men.”

Tony blinks.  Yeah, the kid never admitted he was hooking.  “In my defense, you have rough sex in an awful lot of alleys.”

Peter tucks his arms across his chest, defensive.  “It’s what I like!  And also, hello, I live with my aunt!”

“So you don’t need money.”

“We’re not you, but we do okay.”

“How old are you?”

Peter’s chin goes up a notch.  Stubborn, Tony likes it.  “Legal.”

Tony rolls his eyes.  “Not why I’m asking.  Seventeen?”

“Sure, which is legal.”

“Not to join the Avengers, it’s not.”

Now the kid’s eyes are saucers.  “Are you shitting me?”

Tony’s mouth quirks.  “No, I’m not shitting you.  We can’t even consider it until you’re eighteen, and there’s a process of sorts, but I’ve seen some of your work.  You belong on the team.  Regardless, we should get you a better suit ASAP.”

The kid grins, an interesting mix of earnest with a little dash of wicked.  He steps closer and takes Tony’s tank top in both fists  “Mr. Stark, are you propositioning me?”

Tony’s been seduced by the best, but it’s cute.  “Proposing to give you better crime fighting equipment, maybe.” 

The little shit bats his lashes. “So, not a sugar daddy.  A superhero sugar daddy.”

Okay, Tony can’t not smile.  “If you like.  Better than my actual title of ‘hey you, something broke, come fix it.’”

“Aww. I would appreciate you, sir.”

Tony smirks.  “I’m sure you would.”

“Although, right now you kind of owe me.”  

“Is that right?”

“Mmhmmm.  By my count, at least three orgasms.  But they don’t have to be mine.”

Well, shit.  “Tell me more about this ‘role play’ that you spoke of.”

Peter’s eyes fucking twinkle before he plasters himself to Tony’s front and speaks extra-breathily into his ear.  “You mean like I’m the poor desperate rent boy, and you’re the tech mogul cum superhero who sweeps in and saves me from the bad men?”

Fuck, Tony’s doing this, isn’t he?  “Something like that.”

“And I’m so grateful and so needy, and I can’t survive without you, so you take me home like a stray kitten and pet me just right.”  Aaaand there’s an underage hand in Tony’s pants. And he doesn’t care.  “Except you’re not quite as noble as pretend to be, right, sir?  So when I beg you to hurt me just right, you do that, too.”

“FRIDAY, Sentry Mode, please.  Keep all personnel and surveillance the hell out of here.”

Peter looks so pleased with himself, and so criminally young, but luckily for Tony, not actually criminal.  “Are we starting here, sir?  Rough sex in another alley?”

“Well.  I do have some making up to do.”

Peter grins, and folds to his knees.

[jadeile-writes]

Let’s talk about my newest fic spree because I wanna

First Imma talk Zelda. Hazbin will be discussed after. I’ll bold the first line of it so it’s easy to skip there if you’re so inclined.

But Zelda now.

Nobody has actually expressed any concerns about it, but I’m going to imagine that someone is losing sleep over this because it makes me feel important and stuff. And by "it”, I mean the “Shiiiit, she’s jumping fandoms, she is definitely going to abandon all things Zelda now and Adventure Gone Mini will never be finished and also the fandom will probably somehow combust without her, halp!”

That’s a valid concern. That happens a lot with writers, fanartists, and other content creators (and non-creators, but that’s less panic-worthy for most people). So, let me reassure you: I admit I’m a lot less enthusiastic about Mini nowadays, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to abandon it this easily. It started as and still is a passion project, and I’ve actually managed to write it consistently for over a year now, which is unheard of with me.

I’ve admittedly occasionally considered taking a break from it, but I’m well aware that if I stop writing it for any amount of time, chances are I’ll procrastinate getting back to it until eventually it’s officially forever unfinished. I’m not willing to risk that, which was actually the reason why I stopped publishing a new chapter every two weeks and switched to three weeks a few months ago. That way my flagging enthusiasm got balanced by having more time to get it done without it being a chore. That works really well, too. I can certainly keep this up since it’s already a routine and I do actually know where the story is going and everything. All I need to do is write it. Sometimes it’s boring and uninspired, sometimes I’m hella happy doing it, but the bottom line is that I’m able to do it regardless of my mood for it.

I’m not sure if I’ll do the Mini sequel I’ve occasionally talked about in my comment replies. It may just be that I’ll sigh out of relief when I’m finally done with Mini and decide to simply let it go. I can’t say yet. I mean, the sequel wouldn’t be anything much anyway, just revisiting the characters and places, having Zelda drop by, a peek at Sidon’s magical training, stuff like that, probably in the form of drabble chapters. So it wouldn’t really be that hard to write, but I can’t estimate my inspiration for it at this point. We shall see. It’s still months away, since Mini is far from done.

I’m not sure if I’ll really get back to that Revalink fic I’ve advertised in my blogs here and at Ko-fi, even if I don’t yet actually feel like dropping it. I mean, it’d be a breath of fresh air anyway, since it’s a different ship and timeline (as in, before Calamity). So who knows.

I’m reasonably sure I won’t be starting any new Sidlink fics, though that’s partly because I’ve already explored the ship so thoroughly with the fics I have that it’d feel repetitive. So that’s one thing you shouldn’t hold your breath for. I’m sorry.

As for the fandom as a whole... There’s the sequel to BotW coming up, so it just might toss me right back into the fandom right when I feel like I’m done being super active here (for the record, I typically don’t really leave fandoms forever, I just stop being obsessed). So, there’s still solid hope for more BotW fics in the future. But for now I’m definitely only doing Mini, and then my other fandoms on the side.

Oh, speaking of that. Yes, I’m writing hella lot of fics for Hazbin Hotel, and it might feel like I’m neglecting Mini by using my time for these other fics instead, but that’s not the case. I still have my weekly regular writing hour dedicated to Mini alone; no other fic is being written at that particular slot of time, and Mini keeps being steadily written. The other fics are written at random times, and that time would not be spent on writing Mini even if I stopped writing the other fics. I’d probably just use that time playing Pokémon Sword instead or reading other people’s fanfics or watching youtube or something. So, no need for jealousy or worry there.

Now, let’s talk Hazbin Hotel.

If you’re following me on ffnet or AO3, or simply keep an eye on the new Hazbin fics in general, you may have noticed that I published the first chapter of Aceducation yesterday. The next chapter will be published tomorrow. Yay! And the last chapter will be up this Thursday. Excite!

I’m actually very proud of the fact that I got a grip and wrote the last chapter that quickly after promising I’d get it done soon.

...Yes, of course there is an ulterior motive for being so prompt about it.

And that motive is that I want to start publishing “Shit, the Radio Demon is a part of my afterlife”, or Afterlife for short, soon. I mean, since I plan on publishing one chapter a week, I already have a buffer of seven weeks at hand (yes, I finished chapter six today, so there is no longer an awkward gap between chapters there). That’s a long time to be used to write more, and also a long time for me to wait for my readers to catch up to the new stuff cause I’m excited about everything and I want you guys to see it : | So, I don’t want to wait any longer.

I don’t want to be wasteful about my general fic output by publishing all the fics at once, tho, so I needed to get the shorter fic, Aceducation, out of the way. That is, unless I wanted to hold onto it until after Afterlife was done, which would be months away with the once-a-week-and-over-ten-chapters schedule. Hence, suddenly a lot of motivation to get it done and published asap XD

Now, the question on your mind should be “Okay, so when do we get the first chapter of Afterlife?” And I have already decided on the answer: 6th of December.

Why that date? Multiple reasons. Starting with the fact that Aceducation will take until Thursday to be fully published, and I’m not publishing both fics at once. Secondly, since I update this blog on Saturdays, I want to hold on publishing the first chapter of Afterlife until after the next Saturday, purely so that I can officially put the posting date on the Update blog and post a spoiler snippet of the first chapter here before the actual publishing. Thirdly, and this is a long game reason, because of my Zelda epic, Adventure Gone Mini. I update Mini every three weeks on Wednesdays. Now, Sunday and Monday would be viable options for a weekly updating of another chapter fic, but I just don’t wanna. Tuesday is not an option, because then I’d be flooded with Hazbin feedback on Wednesday and that’d distract me from Mini (although that’s what I’m doing with Aceducation right now, ironically enough). Thursday I’ll be receiving feedback from Mini, so that’d be distracting me from Afterlife. But Friday works well long term, so Friday it is : D

If you feel like you can’t wait that long for the first chapter of Afterlife... well, I have it worse, trust me. I’m dying to post right this damn second XD That damn itch started the moment I finished writing chapter six today and was like “Huh, now I have seven consecutive chapters done. That’s seven weeks of content, and took me maybe two weeks to write. I now have seven weeks to write the rest of this fic, and obviously every finished chapter will bump that by one more week. ... ... why aren’t I already publishing the first chapter so that my future readers can start reading already agdakhdgkagdkga!!”

So yeah, I suppose that’s all I have to say. And this essay is about 1400 words long, which I would happily publish as a oneshot or a chapter if this was a fanfic. Can’t I stop being a writer for one damn second? Heh, see you around, my lovely readers!

[thestudyfeels]

Why Celebrities Are Worth More Than You

Before I dive (copy that? Because this post is gonna be so deep? Edit: I’ll take Jesus and one litre of bleach, thank you) into this storm of revelations, ANNOUNCEMENT!!! This is the first post in a series where I go all in on a particular topic and dig up hidden nuggets of wisdom from it. In other words, I rant. Hard. 

Why am I blessing you with this goodness?

This entire series boils down to improving your mindset. You’ve probably heard the legend that in the Solomon Islands, villagers practiced an, ahem, unique form of logging. If a tree was too large to be felled with an ax, the natives withered down the tree by cursing it for weeks. That’s the idea behind this series: repetition. The PRIMARY reason why I win a lot, is because I am a perennial liar and I won't take a no for my dreams. If I want to have ‘x’ trait, I’ll lie and say I have ‘x’ trait till I do have ‘x’ trait.

This is also known as the Reality Distortion Field, popularised by Steve Jobs. “Steve Jobs’s “reality distortion field” was a personal refusal to accept limitations and to convince himself that any difficulty was surmountable. This “field” was so strong that he was able to convince others that they, too, could achieve the impossible. It was an internal reality so powerful it also became an external reality.” (x)

The catch? The distortion field, and mindset in general, works MAJORLY through repetition. So I don't care if you think you’re the biggest, saddest wanker around, I’m going to drum into your ears that you’re a star and trust me, by the end of this series, every constellation out there will be pining for you.

So tea, I’M ON FIRE TODAY, so if you have a coffee (tea?) to drink, some time to invest on yourself, and a sturdy ol’ cerebrum to upgrade, then join in and watch out for this series (Letters From Solomon Islands, WHATTUP) on your dashboards. My people already know that the how-to’s are clickbait anyway (Coughs, chokes on the shade.)

Why We Adore Our Celebs

The other day I was stalking Tom Hiddleston in my bathroom (please don't use your imagination) and exactly one day ago I had been stalking Billie Eilish in there (yes nosy Eric, I'm bi, but again, don’t get carried away) and there was an interview talking about her rise to fame, and THAT, fellow denizens, got me wondering: Why do we have celebrities? (A profound question Nandini, you’ve done us proud.)

Before you spit something political like “capitalism!”, put down that crochet pattern for a sec. Close your eyes (welcome to woke therapy, ayo), and I want you to envision one of your role models- the people you look up to and would DIE if you get a chance to meet them. The icons you stalk excessively on Insta and have all the notifs on for. No, Sally, your crush on Zac Efron’s abs doesn't count. Sorry to crush your hopes.

Second, consider WHY you love this person so much. It could be anyone - an actor, influencer *smirks*, singer, that hot man down the street who helped you pick up your groceries that one time because you’re clumsy- yup, anyone. Now, trap that love here, in these pages, as you read. (Oh Sally, here’s toilet paper and a cookie, stop sniffling.)

Here’s some foreshadowing: In a nutshell, ‘celebrities’ exist because the rest of us are— excuse us, politically incorrect statement coming through— losers. Or better put, because we can't become ‘celebrities’ ourselves. Don’t run in with your frying pan just yet, James, I’ll do a thorough deconstruction. Stay put and listen up:

           Look around and you’ll find that most of the citizenry is living a life for others. Whether subconsciously, or consciously, it’s as if we’re pre-programmed to imitate and copy whatever the herd is up to. “Yo, whatcha up to, Nate, you out partying? I’ll see you in ten then.” “Lol, are you living under a rock? Do you seriously not know what Uggs are?” “I mean… yeah, I hate Justin Bieber too, of course I do.”

And that's not our fault, really. Society briefs us on the ground rules of fitting in pretty early on: get good grades, go to college, try to find a nice paying job– and we do it, like unquestioning muppets helpless in its domineering hands.

Because we all know the ramifications that’ll crop up if we don’t. If anyone even dares to be a bit different, they’re freezed out and ridiculed. They’re slapped with labels such as “insane”, “naive”, “misfit”, or the best one yet - “selfish”. Selfish for living true to themselves. Selfish for hustling hard and making THEIR dreams a reality. Selfish for having the courage to put their own desires before society’s. What. A. Big. Yawn. I’m sleeping on y’all.

          And that’s precisely where celebs beat us to the finish line.

Look, these ‘acclaimed’ personalities bubble up because most are afraid to be the most bona fide and best version of themselves. It’s much easier to plop on the couch, switch on the TV, and say, “Man, I could do that any day. And prob better too,” while trying to pick up the remote control with your two toes because you’re too comfy to get up right now.

Your role models, idols, and mentors – the entire bulk of these people have a willpower and fortitude that you could only dream of. They’ve hunted down their fears and faced numerous challenges to follow their dreams. They’ve chosen to remain true to their authentic selves even under constant judgment. Sure, they were all called eccentrics and crazy at one point or another, but— ok no, (edit: wow, I had a mood swing here, lmao) they ARE eccentrics. They ARE crazy. Wild for wanting to change the world. Mad for inspiring millions of people. They’re lunatics who had the audacity to dream big, shed the shells of doubt and insecurity, and dared to live their best life.

Moral of the story is: Celebrities, pop stars, and internet personalities aren’t just people who got lucky and wealthy. They had a special kind of fearlessness and self-awareness to get here, qualities worth examining for yourself.

So here’s your mental workout for this post —

Go and ruminate deeply about what makes you love the people you admire. What do they have or do that you want as well? Is it their spontaneity? Their courage and faith? Or is it their kindness and humanity? Or perhaps most importantly, their passion? Have you fallen in love with their excitement to go to work or does your heart melt at the gratitude they show others?

Find out what it is that makes your eyes sparkle and the corners of your lips turn up when you look at them. It is easier to find what you’d love to do from what others are doing than brainstorm on an empty page. *Sally looks up from the corner* “And then what?” *Me, smiles, sensing the crazy philo rant coming ahead* “And then, Sally dear, you live.”

The next step is a big one. You do what THEY did. If they’re passionate, YOU learn to become devoted to your dreams as well. If they don’t give up, you NEVER STRAY either.

You see, we have it in all of us to become great. And we can start wherever we are. Jen Sincero, an author and coach, put it well: “It’s not your fault you’re fucked up, BUT it is your fault if you stay fucked up.” So start where you are. Start NOW. Follow the advice Will gave to Louisa in his departing letter in Me Before You (I’m a soppy romcom fanatic) – “There is a hunger in you, Clark. A fearlessness. You just buried it, like most people do… so live boldly. Push yourself. Don’t settle. Just live well. Just LIVE.”

Love, the world isn’t as scary as we’ve all grown up to think it is. Passion, kindness, faith and magic breathes among us. You’re not a loser, darling, scribble over that insult so it says “lover”, and heal, knowing that the world awfully, I give you my word of honor (still an 18th century woman, y’all), wants you to win.

And I? I’ll be right here waiting for the day when there’ll be no such demarcation of people as “winners” or “suckers”; just conquerors with big hearts and unbreakable faith, all ready to make that small life count. 

Go win.

The End Card That Rambles On And Plugs Even More

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

Last post: 13 Lessons from the 2018 Chapter

if you don’t love yourself, read this. please.

+ Want to request a post? Leave your request in my ask box & I’ll get back to you asap!

Thanks for dropping by! It was a pleasure having you around. If you wish to stick for a bit, I’d suggest picking one of the related posts mentioned above.

I post new posts bi-weekly, and my wins, & journal entries throughout the week, so follow me if you’re into conquering life, leaving a legacy and being the baddest badass you can possibly be. I’ll be your side pal, cheering you along.✨

And that was it, it’s a wrap! Martha, shut the cams, Henry, pause the audio, and Nandita, I know you’re pretending to be deaf, but Mom’s yelling something about doing the dishes. Better skip along.

And you, fellow conqueror? Keep slaying life, doing the work and making it count. I hope you’re well, stay strong and go conquer life. ✧

I’m sending you so much love, see you soon.

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[moistwithgender]

(Overdue) Media round-up (January 2019)

Feb’s almost over and I was gonna write about what I’ve processed when I realized I only posted about the anime I watched, I think? So this is a catch-up post for manga and games, before the end of this month in a few days. If you want to read the January anime round-up, it’s in my “curry watches anime” tag.

Games:

Puresabe’s 2019 New Year Rockman Hack (NES): Puresabe does one of these every year and they are always pretty hard! But I think the last few years have been much more balanced than their older projects. They are always just boss fights, but with complex patterns and sometimes multiple phases. Being just a boss fight (or two) means they are super short, but you will spend most of your time learning them. Also there are no checkpoints, so every death means you’re back to phase one. It’s very fun when it’s a good hack, and this was a good hack. I had a very rough start to the year and considered giving up, but went back and beat it, for good fortune in the new year. (Beaten 1/2/19)

The 2nd Super Robot Wars (NES): I decided 2019 would be the year I got into SRW, and so I started here, because the first game actually has no hard plot. I enjoyed it to a point, but the difficulty climbs to an absurd degree, and I wish I’d cut my losses and just youtubed it. The game allows you to save at any time during a turn, and resetting the console means it recycles the RNG and you can get different luck. This is...required. Most of the way into the game, I was having to reset twenty times in a row per unit action, just to make sure I could survive an enemy attack, or successfully hit an enemy. The funniest thing is that when I finally beat this, I almost immediately started up one of the later games, so clearly the kernel of value was visible to me through all that bullshit. (Beaten 1/13/19)

Super Smash Bros. Ultimate: World of Light (Switch): I had been chomping at the bit for what felt like forever just to play this mode of this game, and not only was it good, it surpassed my expectations multiple times. This mode has a lot of twists for something that mostly implies narrative, or otherwise ignores it. I’m the rare person who mostly plays Smash Bros solo because I have NO FRIENDS, and this was worth the price of admission for me. I don’t consider Smash Ultimate itself beaten yet because I haven’t beaten Classic Mode on 9.9 difficulty yet. I have finished with 9.8, like, four times. Please kill me. (Beaten 1/18/19)

PaRappa the Rapper (PSP): While taking care of my cat, I found an opportunity to actually use my PSP for the first time since...2008 or 09? When I bought it secondhand? Jesus. Anyway, it turns out that PaRappa actually has absurd input detection and an equally hard to parse system for what counts as “freestyling”, which ultimately results in a final stage where you’re...required to play notes that are completely unrelated to what it says to do on-screen? I still beat the game (in a single sitting, too. it’s short), but I was pretty frustrated. Greenblat’s aesthetic is iconic, and the songs are very fun to listen to (this game has maybe the only potty humor I actually enjoyed), but the game part is actually the problem. (Beaten 1/25/19)

Patapon (PSP): I played PaRappa spontaneously, but I’ve actually meant to play the Patapon series for quite a while. This is less a song-performing rhythm game and more of an action/strategy type of rhythm game where you consistently keep a beat to keep morale up. It’s pretty good, but missions can be 3-6 minutes of consecutively hitting four notes and then waiting four notes, and while that itself sounds doable, I am just terrible at rhythm and messed up a lot of good opportunities. The difficulty curve in this is high in the beginning, lowers over time, before hitting a huge spike and then being a cakewalk for the last four or so missions. There’s also a lot of grinding, which means this rhythm game came out to almost a 16 hour run. A bit tiring. Not sure when I’ll jump on Patapon 2, but I hope it’s easier to play, since my impetus for picking up the series was the intro FMV for the third game. (Beaten 1/30/19)

Games beaten in January: 5 Games beaten in 2019 thus far: 5

Manga:

Getter Robo Vol 2 (Finished): I didn’t feel like plowing through 51 episodes of the old 70s anime, so I decided to just read the much shorter, and somewhat unrelated manga. In the show, the heroes are what they are, heroes. Likable mains for kids to watch on Saturday mornings. In the manga, as per Go Nagai’s influence (and the main author, Ken Ishikawa, who I LOVE and who was Nagai’s assistant), the heroes are violent asshole moron sociopath terrorists who gradually become more unhinged as they are exposed to the very radiation that powers the machine they use to fight dinosaurs (though said gradual descent is more of a thing in the later manga/OVAs). Also, the villains are dinosaurs. Turns out they had the original ancient civilization and Getter Rays chased them into the Earth’s core and they want to planet back. That’s Getter Robo! It’s very good.

Getter Robo G Vol 1-3 (Finished): This is kind of more of the same as the first, and again, I didn’t want to watch the 39 episodes, I wanted the primer so I could play SRW. As I’ve approached the later games, it turns out they prefer to take influence from the shows, not the manga. Oops! Whatever. In this sequel, it turns out the Dinosaur Empire was a pawn or something to It Was Aliens, the Hyakki Empire, and it’s...more of the same. In both the GR and GR G mangas, I found the occasional chapter with wildly different art, and I figured that those were Ishikawa’s gorgeous art, and the majority was Nagai’s. But, I’m not sure, and I wonder if those were revised or extra chapters done years later. Idk. Anyway, they are both very fun reads, even if they serve more as primers of the lore.

Shin Getter Robo Vol 1-2 (Finished): HERE’s where things start to get really good, and surreal, and bleak. This manga is not adapting a tv series (though later OVAs would reference it. This manga is actually I think where a lot of the inspiration for Gurren Lagann came from, and if you like that series, you should read this to see the connection. I can’t really explain without spoiling either (though if in 2019 you don’t know what happens in Gurren, you are super lucky and need to go watch it all asap). NOTE, this takes place after the 7 volume Getter Robo Go manga, which has a show but I think is unrelated, but more importantly is probably the BEST Getter Robo series. I read that before knowing a thing about Getter and still loved it (though I think having context will really benefit it). GR Go is the biggest justification for getting into the series. If any friends of mine want to look into this series, I’ll actually help give them a guide. Interestingly, the most modern Getter series (of which the most recent was in 2004 (please come back)) all take reference from the darker mangas, not the old 70s show.

Mazinger Z Vol 1-5 (Finished): I think Go Nagai’s works are weird, melodramatic, gross, and just kinda badly drawn. They are great experiences, if you go in with a grain of salt and also avoid the *most* transgressive ones. Don’t google Iron Virgin Jun. Just. Don’t do it. Devilman is probably his best work, but Mazinger Z is another series with a much more famous long-running 70s cartoon (92 episodes!!!) and burned itself into the nostalgia of Japan. Whereas Devilman eventually becomes traumatizing, Mazinger Z is pretty laid back and goofy, while also being Nagai’s brand of The Most Dramatic Thing Ever. If you follow me, you might’ve seen me post pages in my manga tag. It’s a LOT. Though, actually, I don’t think this manga is all that great. It can be *really* funny, but I don’t even remember if the series actually ends. If you read one or two volumes and want to put it down, I think you’re safe to. You got most of the lore. The biggest events seem to take place in later series that I haven’t delved into yet.

UFO Robo Grendizer Vol 1 (Finished): I actually haven’t been able to find anywhere to read Great Mazinger, the sequel series, so I skipped to Grendizer, which is the second sequel. It’s pretty unrelated continuity-wise, so it’s easy to pick up. This is only one volume and yeah they really just want you to watch the 74 episode show, but I’m good. Still, this is a fun book, and Nagai throws in his batshit ideas. The main character is an alien prince whose tragic backstory is literally that the villain kidnapped his younger siblings and all the country’s children and just! Dropped them all from the sky to their death in the middle of the city! And they don’t censor it! GO NAGAI! I really need to read the autobio manga Gekiman because of what snippets I’ve seen, Nagai is actually a super mild-mannered dude who doesn’t really get where his ideas cross lines. If you want to say “oh that’s just wacky Japan”, it’s really not, he was public enemy #1 with parents all over the country for a long time.

Super Robot Retsuden Vol 1 (Finished): This is a single volume crossover of Nagai super robot IPs including Mazinger Z, Getter Robo, Great Mazinger, Grendizer, and Steel Jeeg (a guy who’s more Ultraman-adjacent than super robot), and there’s no real plot beyond “oh no new bad guy! buy the toys, kids!” It’s throwaway, and I mostly read it to see who Jeeg is without getting into his own series. Also, it was drawn by Ishikawa, so I felt a bit obligated. His art is just so pretty.

Lucifer and the Biscuit Hammer Vol 1 (and maybe 2?): Satoshi Mizukami is a godly storyteller who uses the language of shonen to tell deeply mature and introspective stories for adults and if you follow my posts you might remember me gushing about Spirit Circle and Planet With. I actually haven’t touched this series since February started but I need to get back in because the first two volumes out of ten are amazing (warning, though: there’s a pet death and it’s real sudden and was hard for me to handle). Please read Mizukami’s works.

Manga volumes read in January: 14-15 Manga volumes read in 2019 thus far: 14-15

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Okay that’s everything. I wrote a lot more than I expected to. If you read all that, thanks. If you are interested in any of the things I wrote about, great! If you decide to play through SRW2, don’t, stop, don’t do that. In a few days I’ll be writing about a much better SRW game.

[sutare-chan]

Ao Jumonji’s Roman, pt.1

Ah! I see, you can hear me, thank you~ Well then, here goes the synopsis along with some commentary on my part.

1. Asa to Yoru It's a rather short excerpt that begins with the words "You wake up under a sky, torn apart into two". Yes, it's "you"-prospective. That's the line that lured me into the text once I opened it, actually. Anyway, you wake up under a torn sky, in which one part is the morning, while the other part is the night full of stars. You walk, and walk, and walk, but nothing ever changes, except that you get hell tired. You're all alone and at some point you're starting to wonder if you've got a body at all. Apparently you do (otherwise how would it have been possible to walk?). But when you try to check it, you only see a cloud of black dust (you're not sure if it's fine like that). Finally you're exhausted and sit down, when suddenly there appears a man with something round and transparent on his eye, a stick and a hat (GEE, I WONDER who that might be!), who has two girls with him. The man introduces himself as M (wtf?..), but when you go all wtf is wrong with this name, he gives you a free choice: Marcel, Martin, Matias, Michael, Michel or even Christophe. Anyway, he asks you weird questions making you wonder what are YOU. Finally he gives you the dolls, and then you suddenly realize you're not you, but me. I mean, from there on the prospective slowly starts to change, and it's not the 2nd person anymore, but the 1st. (I'll be calling the character Hiver from now on). Oh, and yes, Hiver gets the normal human-like shape as the dolls touch him. You know, from the album jacket we all know. M makes a weird Jimang-prophecy and disappears, while Hiver is still all wtf is going on. He slowly realizes he's neither dead nor born, he's super afraid and tries to run away, but it doesn't really help. Quoting: "I'm not alive, hence I cannot die. How weird it is that I, the one never to have been born, would need something. I suppose that's funny even. I would've laughed if that wasn't about myself <...> So what is it that I need, that I'm looking for? Something I miss painfully? What am I missing so that I ended up here and probably got locked? What is it? Is this the inevitability? Or maybe the circumstances? Or maybe reasons? I guess it's all and none of those. Those are but shatters. Neither reasons, nor circumstances, nor the inevitability are quite the thing I'm looking for. Even all of them combined aren't enough. I want to open the gates and get out of here. But I need the key for that. "Roman". The key. That is the key to the gates. "If there's a roman that leads to my birth, I want to find it"." So, being scared of becoming black dust again, he still smiles and sends Hortense and Violette away to find him a roman. And stays alone between morning and night... (end of chapter 1, which was actually no more than a few pages. what follows is...) A piece of Noël nr.1 So, it all begins with a children's playing yard. There are numerous places to play on that one, but most of them are occupied by other children. The least popular on the playground are... ah... these things (sorry for the inconvenience once again, tumblr won’t post the image =\)

A boy (or should I say THE boy?) is sitting on one of those. At some point he tried to go to the slides, but the boys that are playing there won't let him into their circle. After some time the boy starts to sing because he's so sad, and two of the boys come closer - just to drive him away from that spring-thing too D= The only place left for the boy is under the lonely tree (at that point he thinks - “Who was that cruel person who cut down all the trees except this one? Had I been the tree, I’d rather be felled with the others”). He sits there and keeps singing. Sounds are flowing into his ears and get transformed in his head. He sings along with the world, so to say. At evening, when all the children are gone already, he suddenly hears sharp and scary steps. That's his granny. He runs towards her, while she turns around and walks away without even waiting for him. [oh boy, I'm missing so many details...] One more point: feeling that his granny is somewhat irritated, Noël apologizes, but she doesn't like that. So the chapter ends as follows. A car with blinding lights rides by, and the grand-mother has to pull Noël so that he doesn't get hit. "As soon as the car rushed by, granny let his hand off and muttered something about being tired. He would want to apologize now. But that would only make her feel more irritated, wouldn't it?.." 2. Hiiro no Fuusha It all starts with a rather peaceful morning. A boy (his name is Gilles [like the French name]) wakes up in a small barn where he lives together with the house's animals. Basically, he's not quite at home in this house. His parents are dead, and the family that lives in this house, are his very distant relatives. So, he's basically a small (13 years old) male Cinderella (or so he thinks), but he's in love with the daughter from this house, a girl of his age with the name Clarice. It seems like this is mutual, although Gilles is afraid to even think about it. He's an orphan after all, his future is just so unclear. The daughter isn't the only child in the family. She also has an elder brother, Maxim, and a younger brother, Hector. There's a tension between Maxim and Gilles, because Maxim would sometimes come to Gilles's place at evening and say nasty things (and even kicks him one day). Gilles doesn't understand why, but oh well. He's oh so hated by everyone (except Clarice, who's like a saint to him). So, one day they were harvesting wheat, and Clarice actually more or less confessed to him: "Listen" "Hm?" "Gilles?" "What is it, Clarice?" "I like you so very much. Let's get married?" "Eh?" "Let's get married some day? Are you against it?" "No, I'm not!" "And it will be so much fun every day!" But Gilles thinks that's impossible and they can never marry because he's a poor orphan. He thinks that Clarice is being naive (although she strongly hints that she understands everything very well). Yet he's happy that at least he could dream a bit about it. [by this point you might start to wonder just how will it come to that Gilles will leave her behind]. Anyway, in the evening he feels completely down and is sure that his hopes are never to come true and even wanders away from home. He's walking around and then suddenly realizes he's in the forest. There he sees a (domestic) pig that was also wandering around instead of going home. He wants to help/force it out of the forest, when suddenly Maxim appears and warns Gilles that pigs are dangerous and can harm people. We suddenly get to know that Maxim's actually very much like a tsundere ='D I mean, they used to be like brothers, but then as they became older, it got impossible to always have Gilles around (you may imagine how bothersome children may get sometimes, even if you love them), so their relationship started to crumble. Gilles thought Maxim hated him, when in fact Maxim was trying to set things right again, but since Gilles was an angsting kid, it wasn't all that easy. But finally they have a proper talk in the forest and are heading home, Gilles full of hopes, when suddenly they see a glimpse of fire... Yup, that very day knights attack the village. The family tries to escape to the church as they believe it's safe there, but it's actually not. A red-haired knight-commander is already there with his knights. In the upcoming turmoil pretty much all of the family get slaughtered, except Gilles and Clarice that managed to sneak away. Clarice is shocked and almost paralized, while Gilles thinks about how to save their asses. It all feels so horrible that he for a moment he gets sure that he must be in hell, but then he realizes that since Clarice is here, this cannot be hell, no matter what. So, he saw that the knights had come from the forest to the west from the village and thinks that there should be none left there. He leads Clarice there, and when they're tired, they hide themselves in a bush. They seem to have forgotten what had happened, so they actually talk about how they care for each other and almost kiss. Unfortunately, there are also other villagers hiding in the forest, and the knights eventually come back there, too. After hearing screams, the two remember that everything's very very bad and try to keep silence. Then they hear a weak voice. Maxim's voice, actually. Gilles was about to get away from the bush, but then the person who seemingly had the voice resembling Maxim's (that’s Gilles trying to reject reality) got murdered. Frightened, Gilles thinks that they need to get out of there asap and as far as possible, too. But unfortunately right after they start to flee... Clarice's hand gets grabbed. Gilles struggles to snatch her away, but the soldier that caught her punches the poor boy in the stomach and he falls. He also happened to stand on the edge of a hollow, so he stumbles down, down there, watching at how Clarice "flies up" from him. He fell very badly and was in so much pain he couldn't move a muscle (or so it feels), but he was conscious nevertheless. So he heard the soldier and his fellows rape Clarice up there. Gilles was hoping someone would finally climb down and kill him already, but unfortunately right when one of the soldiers was satisfied and was about to follow the boy he had seen, Clarice finally raises her voice, she laughs and yells that all of them are cursed and will burn in hell. The soldiers, distracted and annoyed by that, kill her and forget about Gilles. He was still lying at the bottom of the hollow, waiting for death to come, when it gets bright again, and a new morning came to the world where Clarice was gone. Where he let Clarice die. Where he killed Clarice. After that we get a time-skip. Outskirts of a town. A really stinky tavern. There appears a young man in a dirty cloak. He sits at a table next to a drunk man, presumably an ex-soldier. The two speak. The ex-soldier sees that despites his looks the young man seems to have quite some money. Quoting: "So what the heck are you doing here?" "I just came to drink some water" "Bullshit" <...> "I've known a person of the same name as yours" "Wha?" "Maxim" "Why the heck you know my name?" "I just guessed" "Ya think I'm gonna believe this?" "Who knows <...> I need to talk to you, Maxim." Gilles promises to pay if Maxim talks to him outside of the tavern. They go. Maxim feels a bit nervous because this Gilles (yes, that's him, and he's a bit insane as one can feel through the dialogue) walks way too smoothly and silently, like a cat. Quoting again: "So, what'd you wanna ask? <...> It's cold, I don't wanna talk for too long" "That's right, winter is coming... My first winter back then was very cold too, huh..." "Back then?" "That's none of your business, Maxim. Never mind. Tell about yourself". They talk a bit, and soon enough Gilles confirmed that this Maxim was one of the soldiers that had attacked the village under the command of Damien Laurant. Gilles hadn't known that name, and he bursts into laughter and was about to go his way. But Maxim reminded him that Gilles had promised to pay, and so (quoting again) ""Ah, that's right" Gilles turned around and somewhat shrank. The next instant he was attacking, and not just like that! What swiftness! Gilles drew his sword so much faster than he did! The blade pierced through Maxim's belly and sticked out from his back. <...> He twisted his wrists, turning the sword, and then again, and again. "Finally I've learned it. Damien Laurant. So that was his name. Maxim, you see, I found one more person before you, but I accidentally missed the time to ask the name. <...> I just didn't have enough patience, that wasn't on purpose, I swear. Listen, Maxim. There's one more thing I want to know, since I have the chance. How many people have you killed <...>? In that forest? Was there a girl among them? Please do tell. Answer me. Maxim, what's wrong? Maxim?.. Ah, Maxim. Have you died? What a pity. I wanted to ask so much more <...> I haven't had enough patience. It's all your fault, Maxim. I've known a person of the same name. He was... like a friend to me or even a brother. But I killed him. I left him to die. So terrible. I do deserve to go to hell. No doubt"." So, Gilles says he cannot die just yet until he's killed Damien Laurant. And he goes off, laughing. A piece of Noël nr.2 Noël is sitting in the room and playing on a melodica. He sees a shinig sunray through the hazed window, but he cannot express its colour by words. So instead he's trying to find the right expression through melody. His granny's also there and she says that he should shut up and leave, because she doesn't feel well with him around. Granny's been caughing hard and a lot lately, and she also came to neglect her looks. She doesn't dye her hair anymore, her tights have holes etc. Noël obeys and stops playing and goes to the exit. The room is overfilled with all kinds of garbage, so there isn't much place to step, thus it takes a lot of time. Before leaving, he actually told her to stop smoking, but to no avail =P He sits outside the apartment, in the staircase, and starts to play his melodica again, but the neighbour woman comes and tells him that her small babies are sleeping and Noël's disturbing them. So he leaves again and wanders around. No one is asking the boy with a melodica if something's wrong. As the evening draws near, he watches some windows where light turns on, feels very bad and runs off to the riverside. There he tried to play his melodica again, but some stranger that looked closely at him scared Noël and he hid himself under a bridge. Cars are riding above his head, wheels and tires screaming and echoing. Noël has a vision of a scary giant monster, which cannot be put in words - but can be expressed through melody. Scared, he plays the tune, he has the feeling his head is about to pop, but he goes on. The monster grabs cars and throws them around, and finally it finds Noël and bites his head, and grinds it with its teeth. Noël was gone. But not the melody. The monster was there... 3. Miezaru Ude So, this time the main hero's name is Serge. Serge Laurant. He's a young knight. He had a hard time gaining this position, but finally he succeeded and now he's at war. He has a servant, Beau (that reads roughly as "Bo" by French rules). Serge is around 19 years old. Beau is a bit older than him, but he's very smart and knows a lot. It's evening, the army is getting to rest. There are lots of mercenaries around, that are behaving much like beasts, so Serge is being sad that the times of noble chivalry are gone. We also learn that this is the army of general Alvarez. So, the night has come, when suddenly Beau wakes Serge and tells that there seems to be an enemy attack. Serge is all wtf, how can it be, that's so unlike what knights are supposed to act. Still, they have to accept the fact, that yup, apparently they're being attacked. Because of reasons Serge cannot get to his horse, but he desperately needs to go to the battle to prove himself a true knight and a good warrior. He grabs his sword and runs after the enemy, who seems to be not numerous at all. Apparently, the enemy's plan was to use the moment to kill as many mercenaries as possible, cause some chaos and then disappear. Unfortunately, pretty much right after Serge gets into the forest, he stumbles upon a knight with red hair and a cross-like scar on his cheek and gets half of his arm cut off. [but it wasn't said directly in the text] Oops! The next scene is discribed in a way that one could think it's a dream. So, Serge seems to live in Rouen now, he catches wild dogs and kills them to make a living. He doesn't particularly like his job, and he's almost constantly covered with dog blood and remains, so other citizens try to avoid him. He lives in a very narrow house with his wife, Natalie, who always meets him, and kisses him, and washes his clothes and makes him food (despite actually being a noble lady). Serge sees a dream that starts with him waking up after that life in Rouen and believing that it had been but a dream. In his nightmare he has both arms, but then the red-haired knight appears out of nowhere and cuts one of them off. Serge is trying his best to defend himself, and then he wakes up in his house in Rouen, because he ended up falling from the bed. He also discovers that Natalie lies on the floor, too, because of some reason. Apparently, he hit her in his sleep... Serge loves his wife a lot and he remembers that she comes from a good family. He wants to gain more money so that he could afford at least some luxury for her. He tries to work as a chimneysweep, but, unfortunately, he fails, as it's a tricky task for a man with only one arm. Irritated, he goes to a tavern and gets drunk. Then he gets into a fight with some drunkard. Then he forgets himself and wakes up with his head on some woman's heap. The woman's name is Bernadette and apparently she's a whore. Serge can't remember getting to her room, he's startled and disgusted, so he goes home right after. Natalie was waiting for him there. Soon as he returned, he got sober, and his right arm started to ache again. Some time after that Serge is on his dog-killing duty again. He is actually obliged to get the dog corpses to a certain house to get them burnt. This time he gets triggered by the smell of burning flesh, and remembers his arm being cauterized. It aches madly, as if put in boiling oil, and to make the pain disappear he gets drunk again. The same man as before (the one he had a fight with) insulted Serge by calling him a coward knight, and they fight again. Serge can't remember what happened after that, but he ended up falling asleep somewhere in the street, and then Bernadette finds him and gets to her room, removes his clothes, and kisses his wound... That triggers him again, but it seems that she actually provoked him on purpose so that he would hit her (apparently she’s somewhat masochistic). After that he runs back home again. Serge is tortured by questions: why, why is all this shit happening? Well, it's quite obvious, why. Because that red-haired knight cut off his arm. Speaking of which, that was more or less the only thing the red-haired knight managed to accomplish by his sudden attack. The next morning Alvarez rearranged the troops, and they were able to fight again. Except for Serge. This is about time we learn a bit about Natalie and Serge's relationship. Apparently Serge is the second son in a knight family. His father had a friend, a nobleman, and (apparently) merchant. That friend was much more rich than Serge's father, but they were close, and that’s why that friend would often visit the family. One day he brought along his daughter, who behaved like a noble queen. That pissed off Serge's elder brother, so he yelled at her, but Serge defended her. That time she was very thankful and called Serge her knight. That instant it was all decided. Serge now HAD to become a knight (as non-profitable as it seemed) to fulfill that... that kind of a promise that was made between the two by those words. They fell in love with each other. Serge doubted that his father's friend would be happy to know his daughter wanted to marry such a poor (although noble) man, but Natalie would neglect every other marriage proposal. After a lot of hardships Serge managed to become a knight after all, and all that was left was that he had to accomplish some feat. All of what I've just written was told in the text in the form of yet another nightmare, and yes, at this point the red-haired guy appears and cuts off the arm. Once again, Serge hits Natalie in his sleep. Serge is disgusted of himself, but Natalie tries to say that everything will get fine, they just need to overcome the hard times. She calls him her knight again, but this time it results in his rage and he actually strangles her until she's unconscious (that's what I call "triggered"!) His alcohol problem gets worse and worse. When he feels resolved to overcome this illness, he loses his job. Desperate to get drunk, he comes to the tavern, but gets kicked out, as he has no money. Bernadette finds him again and invites him to her house so that she could give him some wine. He hates Bernadette, but the wine... Anyway, he spends almost the whole night there. When he realized what he had done, he decides once and for all, that once he comes home, he will end this. If Natalie is waiting for him despite him being so late, he WILL start his life anew. If not, he will kill himself one way or another. When he does come home, he sees Natalie sobbing by her bed, but she's not alone - there's also Beau. Beau became a successful merchant after he quit the army, and APPARENTLY he was helping Serge's family all along (Serge having no idea about that). Serge finally realizes and starts being jealous. Fortunately, Natalie slaps this shit out of him. But when he wakes up in the morning, Natalie is gone. He thinks that must be another nightmare. It’s just that because of some reason he cannot wake up from it. He comes to understand that he did have something to lose, and it was his beloved wife, but now she's gone. He doesn't blame her, but he can't understand, why now of all times. Still believing it's all one big nightmare, he gets kicked out from his house and comes to Bernadette, where she gives him so much wine he cannot move for days, "as if wine was circulating in his veins instead of blood". He can't tell reality apart from the dream anymore. Lying in the bed, he sees the red-haired guy occasionally coming to the room. Finally Beau finds him in that state and grabs away. (here we also get to know a bit of Beau's story. he's a bastard of Laurant family, he's smarter and taller than Serge, but he hasn't inherited the famous Laurant blond hair, so he has to be Serge's servant; Serge has a complex because of that, even though he tries not to think of it) After having a talk with Beau Serge finds out that Beau knows the identity of that red-haired guy. And so Serge makes Beau tell him this story So, Damien Laurant was a self-proclaimed knight, not really different from a robber, and even more fierce than one. He was infamous for slaughtering whole villages instead of negotiating. Later he got kicked out from the army because of some reasons and had to become a real robber. Trying to maintain his fame, he hired way too many mercenaries, and the group ended up splitting and ceasing to exist. Right now Damien is told to have become a merchant who sells those "weird goods of the East" in Frankfurt. Without a further ado, Serge gets a horse from Beau (note that I haven’t used the word “asks” =‘D). rides to Frankfurt and searches for the man. He finds him in a tavern full of weird people. There he sees that Damien only has one arm and one eye, very much like Serge himself. Still Serge is resolved to have his revenge, when suddenly a young man in a dirt cloak appears, slaughters Damien and runs off, laughing like a child. "The young man seemed to have all his body-parts safe and sound. What had Damien Laurant taken from him? Serge would probably never know. But that man was missing something terribly important. He must have had a very good reason for the revenge. If Serge had heard his circumstances even just a bit, he would probably understand them. He didn't have the right to judge that young man. But what would that man with that laughter on the edge of craziness do from now on? And what if it would have been Serge, the one to carry out the revenge? What would he have done?" And, well, of course the boy resembling Damien was there, too. All in all, Serge realized that he still had a life and that he was obliged to live it. But that's not the end of the chapter. So, the last part is about Gilles again. He's walking through a city, when suddenly the Man in the Mask (yes, THE Man in THE Mask) catches up with him and gives some money for the service that Gilles had accomplished. Gilles's not sure, for which, as all his life has become a chain of murders. He can't even remember whom he's killing and why. He wants to kill everybody, but realizes that's no good. So, after receiving some gold he feels really uneasy, because that gold is heavy and he doesn't need it anyway. He drowns it into a river and then stumbles upon a beggar. The beggar's really persistent, and when Gilles reaches for a coin, that guy suddenly stabs him with a knife, takes a hammer and smashes Gilles's collarbones, elbows and knees, and jaws (ouch). Then he drags Gilles to a stall, where he tells Damien's (his father's) full story, which I'm too lazy to write down. One important thing is that Damien was on drugs when Gilles came to kill him, as he was ruining his life with that stuff. Otherwise there’d be no chance for Gilles to finish off the boy’s glorious dada. And Pierre (the boy's name, French for “a stone” or “a jewel”) was planning the revenge ever since, and realized he wants Gilles to live as long as possible in unbearable pain. "And you cannot escape from me. Ever".

Aaand this is about it for today, as I got a bit tired editing the stuff. However, I’ll continue soon, so stay tuned =) Please feel free to ask any questions. Upon rereading the synopsis I realized how, um, poor my narrative tools sometimes are x) See you!

[lilydodge]

This is my favorite photo from the photo shoot I did with the incredibly talented Clare Bayley but you’ll probably be seeing a bunch of different ones because I just want to share them everywhere! The typographic art is by corgi enthusiast and brilliant artist Chris Pryor. 

I want to update folks on exactly how this process has been the past few months, because I have left out some details in my posts until things resolved. I am not saying this to complain or criticize - just to give everyone a sense of how things have been behind the scenes, and how this sausage has been made, if you will.

In May, I had an appointment with my agency liaison to come down to her office. I’d been doing that a bunch - to check in about paperwork, mostly. It felt like having a personal assistant: someone to go down a long and complex list of things I needed to do, identify which ones had been done, which ones were next up, and what my exact next steps would be to get them done. I wish I had an agency liaison for everything in my life!

When I got there that day, though, she had more to chat about than my expanding binder of forms. She said there was a child who seemed like a perfect fit for me! I was totally thrilled - a placement on the horizon, already, in May!? She told me about this young woman and I got more and more excited. Then she said “the treatment team wants to meet you” and I started to get out my calendar to see when would work - but no, she meant now. The team was there now!

So we sat down together and chatted and I was already falling in love. This child and I had a ton in common, and her treatment goals sounded like the things I was most “excited” about working with. To be clear - I’m not ever going “yay, a traumatized child, how fun!” But in the trainings, they went over different scenarios, and I personally felt more drawn to work with, say, an older teen girl with abandonment and self esteem issues than a middle school boy with anger and aggression. And this young woman sounded like her needs would be well met by the skills most firmly situated in my wheelhouse.

I only knew her first name, her age, a bit of her background, and some of her interests. But I was falling in love. I thought about her all the time. The agency was very clear with me that this was all provisional - placements fall through all the time, and I wasn’t even licensed yet! But since they wanted to place this child asap, they were “fast-tracking” me. I worked so hard to stay in that paradoxical spot between open acceptance, que sera sera, and letting myself fall deeper in love with this kiddo.

At one point I saw some stuff on sale at Target that fit exactly with one of her specific interests. I told myself “don’t you dare buy that; nothing is guaranteed, and you will only be devastated if you buy it and don’t end up getting to give it to her. Don’t make this too real - don’t start physically preparing the room - relax and be patient.” Next thing I knew, I was in the checkout line purchasing them. I can only be so Zen. I ended up bringing her one of the items when I met her - on a Wednesday evening, during her treatment team meeting. I was so nervous! But after meeting her, I was even more in love, so beyond excited.

I kept this information pretty close to my chest, which was excruciating  - I’m not at all a private person (with my own business; I can keep other people’s secrets like a vault). But I told myself “do not share this information with anyone you wouldn’t want to process the loss with.” I told my support caregivers and some other people I trust with my whole heart, and that’s about it. Some people got brief brushstrokes - “there’s a potential kid and they are trying to fast-track me!” During this time, the agency was really good about managing expectations and helping me stay clear-eyed during a very tough time, having to throw myself 100% into preparing for a child while recognizing that it is not at all guaranteed. 

Then, I was going to spend an afternoon with her, to get to know her, show her my house, start building that relationship. I was getting a bit nervous because I’m a planner and preparer, but the evening before, I still hadn’t gotten the full details on where and when to pick her up. Then I got a call from my agency liaison. She let me know that this young woman had decided not to go through with the placement for a variety of reasons, all of which were totally understandable.

But it also felt like a great loss. I went into my room and cried pretty hard. I didn’t feel robbed - nothing had been ‘taken’ from me that I had any claim to - and I was so glad that this kid had choice and agency in such a tough situation. But it was a tough blow. I felt very sad. Chas was there when I got the call and he sat with me and held me for a little bit. I told myself that if I couldn’t handle this, then I should quit the program now. Big feelings, painful loss, frustration, changes, dashed expectations - that’s what I signed up for. 

I felt pretty awful for a day or so, but then those things I knew intellectually started to take root emotionally, and by the end of the week, I felt better. I was glad that she as finding something that worked for her, and I was grateful that I’d been fast-tracked for a while anyway, and I knew there was another kid in my future who I would love with my whole heart. The rest of the stuff I’d bought for her made its way to her through my agency liaison, and I heard that she loved it. (I was worried about the appropriateness of sending gifts - I did not want her to feel like I was pressuring her, or wanting to make her feel bad or guilty about not “choosing” me - so I told the agency liaison that she could have the items be from her, but she decided to say that they were from me, and apparently kiddo was glad to hear that I was still thinking of and rooting for her.)

All this happened in June. I had been preparing to have a placement by July - I talked to my manager about taking a week off, since school would be out at the time and I wanted time to bond, figure out summer plans, etc. I talked to my support caregivers and boss at church about what to do if I was placed with a kid before going on the week long service trip. I deliberately made zero plans for the month of July and beyond, aside from the service trip. And here I was, staring down the second half of the summer, having geared my entire life up to start parenting asap, and now back to waiting it out. 

I was also off the “fast track,” so my licensing hadn’t been completed, which was weighing on me. I did a fun photo shoot with Clare, but couldn’t post or share the photos until the last t was crossed and the last i dotted! July and August were pretty long months in this regard, though I did my best to take advantage of the continued freedom and had plenty of fun with my friends.

Skip ahead to the end of September. I got another call from my liaison about another potential placement - this one a much different situation - and I scheduled a time to meet with the kiddo, along with his caseworker and another agency liaison. We met on Monday at a pizza place. We ate pizza and talked about school. His favorite subject is Language Arts, which I used to teach! I knew he was checking out another potential placement on Wednesday so I figured I’d hear back after that.

My agency liaison also scheduled my final home walkthrough for that Thursday. This was the last step in the licensing process (but I wasn’t totally clear on that at this point). So on Monday I met kiddo. Tuesday and Wednesday went by like normal. On Thursday I met with the agency liaison at my house and she completed my home walkthrough paperwork. Then I got a phone call from the other agency liaison on Thursday afternoon saying that the other placement is far less ideal than mine, and caseworker wants to move forward with my placement. Did Friday work for move-in day?

I said wait - by Friday, do you mean tomorrow? He said yes, that would be tomorrow. I said yes, absolutely (while making a mental list of all the weekend plans I’d need to cancel). Then I told him that I was not technically licensed yet, is that an issue? He told me that I was licensed - the home walkthrough clinched it - and just because my licensed hadn’t been issued to me as a piece of paper, I was licensed. Of course the next thing I did was call some close loved ones to tell them in person, then post my announcement photos to Facebook.

At this point, it was 3:00 on Thursday. Agency liaison told me that the caseworker was still at court working things out - he called me as the process wound its way through - and that there was a “95% chance” that the placement would work out and kiddo would be at my house the next evening. He said he would call me back as soon as court was over within the hour. I got a call back at 6:30 saying that he hadn’t heard from the caseworker, but was still working on the 95% chance, and that I should be ready for kiddo to move in the next afternoon. He told me he’d text me first thing in the morning to confirm.

As I write this, it is now Friday at noon, and I’m still working with “95% certainty” that tonight I will be welcoming and settling in my new child. (Should that 5% fall-through happen, I will be sad, have a lot of weekend plans to un-cancel, and go back to waiting.) No one is in control of how chaotic the system is, how long court takes, and how tough it can be to get true certainty about anything. I can’t even imagine how it would feel as a child to be moved so abruptly and have so much of my life constantly up in the air. All I can do is hope and pray that I can start providing love, care, and stability immediately and make an impossibly painful situation as gentle as possible.

P.S. People keep asking me how they can help, and I am so grateful for that. In these first few days and weeks, the #1 thing I need is flexibility. Everyone has been so good about me abruptly canceling all my plans this weekend, but I’ll slowly start adding socializing back into my life once I get a sense for kiddo’s personality and how best to serve him with that kind of thing. Check out this document I made about how to behaviorally and emotionally support us. And keep an eye out for an updated Amazon list once I know what kiddo likes and needs!

[merlinficreview]

Accidental Memory in Case of Death Review Part 1!

Accidental Memory in the Case of Death by derryere

Word Count 74987

 So I know it’s been forever but working night shift really does fuck normal basic human functions all over the place and that’s why I haven’t been so on top of my shit here.

This fic is my favorite fic ever. Seriously. It’s even a reincarnation fic which I normally hate. I was scrolling through the Merlin tag the other day and noticed that this had just recently been posted on AO3 so what better time to review it? There aren’t any chapters so I’ll just have to break this up some other way.

As always italics represent direct quotes from the fic and bold represents italicized writing within the fic.

Let’s do this!

“He takes whatever sleep he can get.” That’s our opener. Not looking good for this kid here. Mystery character is sleeping on a train bench. Like a hobo. Smells like fic!Merlin to me!

“The compartments' low windows angle the morning sun, letting the light through and colouring it a shade of brown in even, rectangular shapes on the platform floor. He blinks and numbly takes notice, wading through the brightness of it, not quite sure what day it is or how to differentiate this morning from any given morning of the past three years.” Well that’s a sort of depressing outlook. I’ve been there before though.

Mystery character makes it to campus and goes to class to sleep, just to be woken up by a friend named “Art” who appears to still be high from the previous night. Sometimes he and Art sleep through their classes, “On days like that, they quarantine the back of the hall, splaying themselves over the chairs that weren't made for sleep at all, dozing off to the sound of lectures they'd attended before in previous years but in which they—every time again—had forgotten to pay attention.”

What is going on that this character needs so much sleep? Why is he not sleeping at home? Does he have narcolepsy? I am concerned. Also, pay the fuck attention. College is way too expensive to be failing multiple classes multiple times. P.S. and spoiler alert: “Art” is not Arthur which took me a ridiculously long time to realize the first time I read this. You’re welcome.

Mr. Narcolepsy observes his fellow classmates and this is where, though we don’t know it yet, we get the introduction to the second half of our pair: “Then that particular group of girls who always sit together—and out of all there's only one he thinks is hot but she never looks up at the right time—sitting next to Heineken, a broody kid who takes his skateboard to class, and whose real name is forever lost due to a supposed incident during first year introduction that involved a beer bottle, an unsavoury way of putting it to use and a partner too drunk to care.” Ok then.

“Someone calls him, a mate or someone's mate, a sharp, ‘Oi, Tony,’ usually toward the end of the lecture or maybe even after it, as they saunter their way towards the cafeteria. ‘You up for it, tonight?’” Tony? What the hell?

Ok, yes I’ve read this before so I already knew this but the first time I read this I was hella confused.

Anyways, Tony goes home and tells his mother he is going out. He parties all night, which we don’t see and this is actually fine because the way it’s written, it doesn’t feel like an eye roll worthy, SHOW US, DON’T TELL US moment. Nothing feels missed by us not being at this party.

So then Tony goes home and awkwardly goes to his mother’s room, loudly eating cereal, sitting at her “bedside.” He wakes her up and they have a conversation which is written kind of oddly because we only get his side of the conversation. I originally read this as he was talking to her on the phone and was confused as to why he went to her room to call her, and also a little concerned. Tony tells her to go back to sleep. Why are you being so weird about your mother, Tony?

Magical Paragraph Break with: “(day one)”

Arthur and Merlin are having a conversation about being king. Merlin asks Arthur what the one thing he would do for himself would be. Arthur’s response is, “’I don't know,’ he says. ‘Allow sparring indoors? Always wanted to do that. Like a sparring room, where you can, sort of—jump on the tables, and all, with the swords and . . . I don't know. I'll cut down on the dances, probably.’ He thinks about this for a moment, and then, ‘I hate dancing.’” Merlin makes fun of him but I think it’s kind of cute that Arthur wants to spar indoors. It would be dangerous so they’d have to make up some rules so no random castle worker doesn’t accidentally walk in on the middle of a sparring match and get hurt. Anyways, what I like about Arthur’s response is that it’s 100 percent something for him and wouldn’t negatively impact anyone (unless there were no rules) and Arthur probably so rarely just got to have fun growing up so this could be the one thing he can do for enjoyment. Merlin says the one thing he would do is paint the castle green. I also approve of this.

Merlin then changes the subject and asks about Arthur’s future in terms of getting married. He gets really upset during the conversation, you know because he’s in love with Arthur. Merlin asks Arthur if he’s even been in love and Arthur says he has. Then there’s awkward silence until Arthur asks Merlin the same question. Merlin asks how one knows when they are in love and Arthur says Merlin would know. Then Arthur kisses him and they race to the castle which of course ends up with Merlin straddling Arthur, as you do, “Merlin doesn't feel the gifted victory is any less of a victory when he rolls them over in a bit of a scuffle and ends up on top—straddling Arthur, holding his hands to the ground over his head. Arthur is beaming up at him, eyes bright with the playfulness of the game, and he wordlessly laces his fingers with Merlin's—sending both their hearts skidding and sliding and falling all over themselves within their chests. Merlin fills up and then runs over with it, with the goofy grins and wide eyes, and leans down in a brief, quick movement—lightly kissing Arthur, for just a moment.” What I like about this is that it’s kind of sweet? Like even though it includes the annoying cliché of boys being boys playing and oops, now one is on top of the other trope, it’s kind of adorable.

Back to Tony: Tony is once again sleeping in a public place. I don’t understand this. Why doesn’t he sleep at home like a normal person? Quit bothering your mother and go to your room and sleep, dude.

Tony recognizes someone and thinks about how he occasionally sees people from high school on the train on Fridays going back home. “Usually, Anthony has no one's company to resent but his own.” Damn, Tony.

The person he recognizes is Heineken, whose actual name we don’t know yet. They make awkward eye contact and the train comes to an abrupt unscheduled stop. Heineken lights a cigarette to which Tony tells him he can’t, so Heineken leaves the train. Fair enough.

Tony gives him an annoying party pooper lecture about how the train could leave ASAP and Heineken is just 2Kool4Skool so he points out that the situation is sketch anyways because the doors to the train shouldn’t be unlocked. P.S. spellcheck doesn’t highlight 2Kool4Skool.

Anyways, Tony gives in to peer pressure and follows Heineken. Heineken finds some ruined stone structure.

Tony makes super awkward conversation, “’You're a second year, aren't you.’ Anthony strolls after as the guy skips over the wall, following its inclining path—up a slight hilling easily mistaken for higher grasses. ‘What of it,’ he says, flicking what's left of his smoke to the ground, stepping on it as he goes. Anthony shrugs. ‘Nothing. Just . . . ‘ He pushes himself off on his knee, climbing up the ascend. ‘We have some classes together, don't we?’ ‘Do we?’ A quick, wry glance. ‘Never noticed.’ Noting the thick sarcasm to that, Anthony nods while pursing his lips into a thin line. He looks down and pretends he and his friends haven't—once or twice in a distant past—on seeing this guy skate across the campus path, shouted something ugly in his direction for the sake of a laugh.” Yikes. Be more of an asshole, Tony. It’s also super weird that he’s hanging out with Heineken like this after he’s been so horrible to him.

Heineken continues on even though Tony suggests they go back, “The momentum gives him a bit too much movement and he nearly runs the last few steps, jogging into the field before setting in a slow walk toward the single boulder placed—quite randomly—in its middle.” Sword in the Stone boulder maybe?

As they approach the boulder, Anthony asks Heineken what his name is and Heineken refuses to tell him, pointing out the nickname Tony and his stupid friends gave him. Then, “’Look at this,’ he says, tentatively pulling at something sticking out of the veined, grey surface. Anthony turns, comes to stand closer and feels a cackle of his own escape his lips at the sight of eroded metal—a distinct hilt of some sort—peeking out of the stone.” Heineken tries to pull it out; he fails so Anthony gives it a try. For a second, it seems like it’s going to work but then there’s a magical gust of wind and the next thing we know, Tony is being woken up by the train conductor and told to get off the train. Heineken isn’t there.

Tony walks him and when he gets in, he wakes up his poor mother. He tells her he fell asleep on the train, “’Yes, well, that wouldn't happen,’ she tells him as he makes for the open kitchen, rifling through the cabinets, ‘if you went to sleep at decent hours. Like the normal human being I raised you to be, yes. Not a hamster.��” She knows what’s up.

Tony goes to bed and has some weirdass dreams about going into the woods and killing boars with spears. Gee, I wonder what that’s all about?

“It stays strange when he looks at the microwave and marvels at it, thinks: how peculiar. It is strange when he scours the room for a pendant he forgot somewhere before realising that What, and What? And that he doesn't have a pendant, hasn't ever been given one by a great-uncle because he doesn't have a great-uncle and it stays strange throughout the day—giving him headaches, confusion thumping at his temples, and he thinks it's perhaps really gone on for too long, he's gone without regular sleep for too many years and that's it, he's gone mad, he's gone off his rocker and this is how— “ So... Tony’s having a bit of an off day.

Tony’s weird friend Art calls and asks him to hang out. “He goes out that night. He goes, Fuck the exams, and changes his shirt, ruffles his hair and—looking in the bathroom mirror—hollows his cheeks, slaps the sides of his face to a quick rhythm. He listens for the telltale honking of the small car when it stops out in the street, and when it comes he jogs down the stairs, keys in hand. I'm going, he calls out to the rooms of the house. Be back later.” Well that’s an interesting way to get ready.

“’Wait, Anthony, come here for a second,’ his mother replies from her bedroom behind the kitchen, and he goes—smiles in the doorway as she makes a vague gesture for him to come near, help her out without actually saying it. He crouches by her side, then, lets her hold on to his neck as he lifts her out of the chair and sets her down on the bed.”

I don’t understand the relationship Tony has with his mother. Is she an invalid? Why is he lifting her out of chairs and tucking her into bed? She was perfectly capable of walking over to him the night before.

At the party, Tony and Art and another friend of theirs get into a fight. Tony hits his head. “It could be his addled brain reacting to the blow that confuses him for a moment with a rushing flash of things he doesn't remember ever happening but that are still in his head.” Ominous.

Tony says to Art that they’ll have a story to tell people about the party. “’Not much of a story, though, issit?’ Art says. ‘Some tosser shoved at you and you bravely retaliated by fainting the fuck all over yourself. Well done, Tones. Well done.’” Ahahah nice one, Art. That actually made me laugh.

Tony not at all subtlety brings up Heineken to Art and asks what his real name is. Art says his last name is Hawk, so we finally realize Heineken is supposed to be Merlin, what with the name connection. Tony gets super defensive about the rumors surrounding Hawk and the beer bottle. Art says the other person involved in the incident tried to sue Hawk. “’He's supposedly really filthy rich, you know,’ Art cuts in. ‘The Hawk bloke. So, yeah, all I'm saying is—you never know what his family did to keep it all hush hush. You know how they are, old money and all. Don't take very kindly to bottles up the arse.’ ‘This is bullshit,’ Anthony says, deadpan, adding a small laugh. ‘Seriously, Arthur. This is complete bullshit.’” See here’s where my confusion is, I don’t understand why the author decided to call Tony’s friend Arthur. It just makes everything so much more confusing which is why it took me forever to decipher who was supposed to be whom.

After the party, Art and Tony get something to eat and Art tells Tony there is something different about him, cue flashback annnnnnd scene.

Magical Paragraph Break: “(day two)”

Arthur decides that he and Merlin should take a little trip and Merlin is beautifully sarcastic about it. Arthur teases Merlin that he’s going to take someone else, which of course Merlin can’t have.

So they go on their trip, which is on foot for some reason. “Halfway up the incline, Merlin gives up and collapses on the dusty road, all sweat and heaving breaths, one arm slung over his face. He hears Arthur come to stop a while ahead and chuckles, breathlessly, as he yells, ‘Don't worry about me, Arthur!’ He vaguely waves his free hand in the air, dismissing the approaching man. ‘You just keep on keeping on. Really. I'll be fine. Here. Dying. You just—just save yourself, go, don't look back.’” Merlin is me any time I’m required to do anything physical.

Arthur offers Merlin a piggyback ride and it’s adorable even though Arthur is sweaty and gross. “’You are a very sweaty man,’ Merlin tells Arthur a while later, cheek resting on his shoulder.  Arthur, a bit breathless with exertion, tries for a sarcastic laugh but gets as far as a puff of breath. ‘I am carrying you up a hill,’ he says on an exhale. ‘You might want—to show—a bit more—‘ The gravelly stones crumble under them, and Arthur steadies his footing. ‘—Gratitude.’ Merlin smiles into his neck, holds on a bit tighter and says, ‘You are soooo strong.’ And, ‘The power of your arms is enough to render us mortals speechless.’ Arthur grumbles and Merlin moves his lips close to his ear, adding a quiet, ‘My Arthur. So chivalrous.’ ‘Shut up,’ Arthur says, but strokes his thumb along the side of Merlin's knee all the same—small, continuous rhythms all the way to the top.”

They look over the hill at the kingdom and makeout a bit. End flashback.

Meanwhile, Tony is losing his shit. He’s sitting in the classroom the day of an exam and waits for Hawk to show up. “Anthony is walking before managing to register the way his heartbeat picks up, the way his nerves—already frazzled and out of sorts all weekend—jolt to attention like a warning as he approaches the boy. ‘We need to talk,’ is how he starts, standing closer than strictly necessary—angry for no good reason.” Be creepier, Tony.

Tony is super confrontational about the train situation which I had honestly forgotten about for some reason. He asks Hawk if they were on the train together and Hawk gives a nonanswer. Serves Tony right. “With huffed breath, Anthony lets his hand drop. ‘What do you mean what if—what does that even mean? Jesus, I—was there a crash? I mean . . . ‘ He runs his tongue over his lip, nervously, blinking rapidly. ‘Something's wrong. In my—‘ In a shaky pause, he briefly touches his forehead. "I can't—think right. We . . . got off the train, right? That wasn't—I didn't dream that we . . . ‘ At this the boy's bravado slips a little, and there's a bit of an edge to his voice when he replies, ‘I don't know.’” Tony gets kind of mean and blames it all on Hawk. Hawk rightfully tells him to fuck right off. Then Hawk just awesomely just skateboards away, ignoring the fact that they have a test.  Tony thinks about following him. “He curves the board as he reaches the double doors, pushing them open without even stopping, and Anthony is going to shout something—something insulting, loud, anything, but the intention gets stuck in his throat at the familiar yet impossibly alien idea of something like this, of him and the boy and a fight, a market and—oh, don't walk away!—the stumbling, the laughter, like nothing that had ever happened before and yet—“ Awww, memories!

Tony goes back to the room for the exam and continues to have a fractured reality, getting confused about the scene in episode four of Merlin with the golden chalice. Damn straight, I knew the episode number right off the top of my head, in case you were wondering.

Anthony leaves the exam hall and catches up to Hawk, grabbing his arm. This next whole scene is so good, you’re getting it all.

“The boy's arm tenses under his grip. The movement of muscles shifts against his palm, through the fabric of his plaid shirt, and Anthony's heart is sent racing. The inexplicable reaction of recognition has him fixing his jaw, clenching it, trying to hold it down—keep at bay the dozens of ideas, thoughts and pleas that push at his mind, clearly not his, never his, yet somehow there, like a noise that's been turned up.  The boy doesn't move. He stares at Anthony with a furious lack of understanding, a tenseness, a sense of suspense in those expressive, wide-set eyes. It is such an odd face, such a peculiar sharpness and build, but he feels no need to look at any particular part of it—the image so easily detailed in his mind already—thinking of a birthmark on the side of the boy's neck before his gaze flitters down to see it.  His breath leaves him as his hand slips down the boy's arm, holding on still but now to his wrist. Swallowing, he runs his thumb over the edge of the sleeve—then tugs under it, brushing over the warm skin, back and forth on the inside of his wrist.  ‘Merlin,’ he says, croakily, not sure what it means but feeling it all the way to the pit of his stomach.  The boy takes in a shaky breath. ‘Fuck,’ he whispers on the exhale, and his fingers curl down—briefly touching Anthony's before he snatches back his hand, fisting it at his side. He glances around quickly, as though wary of anyone having seen them, and on finding the quad as good as deserted save for distanced voices—a faraway visitor taking a picture of old corridor arches—turns back to Anthony, licking his lips as he says,

‘Not here.’ And, ‘Come on.’”

How good is that? I like the, “noise that’s been turned up,” description. And Anthony calling him, “Merlin.” Hawk realizing that he’s not the only one with these visions and giving in for a second. My heart, guys.

So then they introduce themselves. Hawk’s first name is Emory and he tells Anthony they are going to his house.

They get to Emory’s apartment and there’s some awkward frantic frottage. The part I want to point out is this,  “’Fuck.’ Emory tightens his hold, the rolling, upward movements of his hips losing accuracy as he gasps out, ‘Arthur, god, Arthur, don't—‘ All Anthony can do is reply with a low, ‘Merlin,’ and, ‘Merlin, Merlin, Mer—‘ as he kisses his way down his jaw, tilting up to get his teeth on those lips--Christ, those lips—but Emory turns his head with strained certainty, muscles moving as he clenches his jaw. Anthony tries to follow it, but Emory stops him with a forced, ‘Don't.’” Emory’s reaction to Anthony calling him Merlin is important later. For Reasons. Afterwards, Anthony just leaves without a word.

Magical Paragraph Break: “(day three)”

Merlin is super busy doing the work of a bunch of other servants because Arthur has given him nothing to do for two days. Arthur finds him working and says they should go for a ride. Merlin tells him he can’t. “Arthur wants to know why. Why, why must Merlin ruin all the fun, must insist on getting himself absolutely filthy doing a job that isn't even his to begin with rather than have mad fun with Arthur—which is, theoretically speaking, more or less his job. ‘Because,’ Merlin explains quietly, ‘the rest of the household dislikes me enough as it is.’ Arthur gives him a disbelieving look. He pushes off the table, flopping onto the bench next to Merlin without much grace. ‘Why would they dislike you?’ Merlin pauses for a moment. ‘Do you know of any other servant who gets time off to laze about with his master because it's too hot to work?’” I can’t say I blame the other servants. I’d be so pissed if I was working my ass off and there was one coworker who I looked over at and was doing nothing. Oh hey…

Arthur then proceeds to follow Merlin around bothering him when he’s working. It’s cute but oh man I would be so pissed if I was Merlin. Arthur spends his time making sexual comments and asking stupid questions, “Arthur flitters behind him as he works, following him around with that stupid grin, chewing on the fruit and asking what's that (‘A spatula.’ ‘Oh, right.’), what was that? (‘Dunno.’ ‘Felt like—the ground was, uh, shaking.’ ‘They're probably just taking down the chandelier upstairs.’), and once, when they're alone, sliding close with a hey, hey, what're you doing? ‘Washing the cutlery, Arthur.’ ‘Is the cutlery dirty, then?’ ‘What?’ ‘Is it very, very dirty, Merlin?’ ‘What?’ ‘Is it very, very—‘” 

HAHA Four for you, Arthur, that made me laugh. I’ll even forgive the mess that is the structure of that paragraph.

Merlin throws dirty dishwater at Arthur, they play fight and then Arthur decides to help Merlin wash dishes. “Merlin raises his eyebrows at it, but doesn't look up—doesn't say a thing. Arthur, all nonchalance and soapy clumsiness, starts to idly chatter about the feast. The new servant maid who set fire to the tapestry. The tapestry they used to have in the east wing with the weird imagery that made no sense until someone hung it upside down one day, and once it did make sense it had to be taken down altogether.” This is hilarious. I could totally see something like that happening.

Afterwards, they make out a little in a corridor. I feel like they could have easily been caught but what do I know. End Scene!

Anthony is still having a meltdown. He googles “King Arthur” and “Merlin”, learning nothing, then for extra funsies googles “gay.” He starts watching gay porn but can’t get into it. Then he has a little flashback of Arthur and Merlin and has a big gay crisis about it after he gets turned on.

Anthony spends the next few days hiding out in his room with all these new memories. His mother reminds him he’s missing another exam. Damn, how long has Anthony been locked up in his room? How many exams does this class have?

Anyways, Anthony misses the exam but hangs outside the room looking through the doors to see if he can find Emory. Like a total fucking weirdo. Art comes out of the classroom and Anthony asks him if Emory is in there. “’I don't know?’ Art says by way of a question, looking puzzled, as if unsure of the funny in the joke. ‘I don't give a shit? Look, Anthony, are you—‘ ‘You were just in there, what d'you mean you don't know? I mean, for fuck's sake, the guy has a skateboard with him, how fucking hard is it to miss someone walking around with a—‘” Calm down, Anthony. Damn. Not everyone is obsessed with Emory like you are.

Anthony then stalks his way over to Emory’s apartment and bangs on his door so much a neighbor comes out and tells him to leave since Emory isn’t there. Anthony just goes back the next day. Damn, dude. 

He ends up buzzing the neighbor’s apartment and the neighbor tells him Emory is at work at the supermarket nearby. Anthony then stalks Emory at his place of work. Not. Fucking. Cool. He demands that they talk. “’It's . . . ‘ He sighs, rubs a hand to his brow. ‘It's getting worse. I don't know. I keep on—remembering. You. And, well, these things that we—‘”  Emory isn’t a fan of having this conversation at work, you know, with coworkers around. So they go into the alley behind the store. Which wasn’t a very good idea because then Anthony shoves him up against the wall and the start more awkward frotting. They continue calling each other Arthur and Merlin.

When it’s over, Emory attempts to go back to work and they have a little fight because Anthony doesn’t want him to leave. “Emory, going from wary to a kind of angry in a flash, lashes out in a hissed, ‘Listen, you're having your weird, quarter-life gay—crisis of—whatever. I don't care. And somehow, ironically, you've decided to take it out on me. So excuse me if I'm not thrilled to—‘ ‘Do not,’ Anthony interrupts with another half-aborted step. ‘Do not make me out to be the crazy one. Don't even—You were there. On that train. Out there. You were there. You—when I touch you, you call me—‘ ‘Shut up.’ Emory says it with a threatening finger in Anthony's direction, then again, ‘Shut up. Stop.’” What I like about this is that we get another subtle hint that Emory isn’t 100% cool with all of this.

Emory ditches work and they go back to the train to find the field again. It’s not there so they decide to drive up the next day. Emory tells Anthony to pick him up at his parents’ house.

The next day Anthony discovers that Emory lives in a massive house. Anthony runs into Emory’s brother who knows exactly who he is since they attended the same school. Emory finds them and they leave on Anthony’s motorcycle.

They reach the field and the big boulder isn’t there. After looking around they sit down in the grass and Anthony asks Emory about the big house. “He turns away with a scowl. ‘Don't talk to me like you know me.’ Anthony stares at the back of his head. He frowns, notes the tense set of his shoulders under his worn shirt—the taut lines of his back. Reaching out, soothingly stroking the small, exposed stretch of skin along the side of his lower back, Anthony quietly says, ‘I do know you.’” Poor Emory. Anthony needs to fucking chill.

Anthony asks Emory if he remembers other people from back then. “’They're not my memories.’ Looking at Anthony, then, serious and nothing like the short glances from before, Emory says, ‘We're not them, you know.’ ‘We look the same,’ Anthony replies, feeling weirdly defensive of this point. ‘Yeah, but that's a part of the mindfuck. And that's what it is.’ He keeps his gaze level, earnest. ‘A mindfuck.’”

Emory mentions how confusing the whole thing is, “’I know. Me too.’ Anthony tries to catch his eye. ‘But I remember him, though. All of it. It's like . . . at least it feels like I'm remembering you.’ ‘I am not him. I'm not.’” So again, we get the hint that Emory is super uncomfortable with all of this and Anthony is oblivious.

When they get to Emory’s apartment, Anthony asks him to go get a drink with him and Emory tells him he wants to ignore whatever’s been going on and that he and Tony aren’t friends. Anthony is upset by this but he doesn’t really argue. After Emory goes inside, Anthony calls up his friend Art to hang out. He and Art go to a club where he hooks up with a guy who looks like Merlin/Emory. Art catches him and asks him about it. Anthony gets super defensive and then leaves.

That’s it for this part. Off to an interesting start. I like how Anthony and Emory have different names and personalities from their previous incarnations. I also like how much the flashbacks/memories negatively affect them. Often times when you read a reincarnation fic, Arthur and Merlin just kind of are like, “huh. Ok then!” and it’s all easy peasy. This feels like something much more organic to what would happen if this was a real situation and I like that. It also like Emory’s constant insistence that he isn’t Merlin, something Anthony isn’t quite willing to grasp, which will end up causing a bunch of problems later on. My only criticism would be that the structure of some of the paragraphs is odd but whatever. It’s not so bad that it distracts too much from the story.

Until Next Time:

[fictionalrat]

let it happen | chapter 4

read on ao3

9:40 A.M.

Lance saves the document, closes it, stares at his laptop desktop image until his eyes start to sting, groans in frustration, and slams his laptop shut. Puts it aside. He crosses his arms like a petulant child, he chews on his bottom lip, his eyes roam around his room.

He watches as the wind plays lazily with his curtains, making their shadows dance, swaying back and forth.

Something moves in his peripheral vision. He rolls his head to the side, fingers hovering over the keypad. The sight that meets him makes him pause, his fingers freeze, Keith looks so peaceful, he looks almost… ethereal. It’s kind of disturbing, yet mesmerizing at the same time.

Keith’s pale face glows a tender hue under the morning light, the sun tinges his chapped lips a deep pink, the scar under his left eye looks almost translucent.

Keith’s so… unfairly beautiful.

He catches himself tracing down the slopes of Keith’s face, the lines of his jaw, the curve of his upper lip with his eyes like a piece of chalk on canvas. He’s never seen something quite this stunning before in his life (granted, he’s only 22, but that’s beside the point), if only he knew how to draw like Keith does.

Lance can’t take this, his heart’s too weak.

He wants to bury his face in Keith’s ruffled hair, wants to breathe him in, wants to have him in his arms, wants to touch, but he seems so out of reach like this. Lance curls his fingers into fists, aching to touch. He restrains himself from charting pale, fading freckles down with his fingertips.

It… it’s very distracting, is what it is.

Keith scrunches up his nose, grumbles and throws an arm over his eyes. Lance’s breath catches in his throat.

Lance… Lance is fucked, he knows he’s fucked, he already knew that then (when Keith suggested this… arrangement), he knows that now, he’s known that for some time now, but it never fails to catch him by surprise. This… feeling never fails to overwhelm him. He fucking hates this… whatever this is, he has no fucking word for this… feeling. It claws at his throat, it kicks him the gut, it scorches his heart, it clenches his heart in a death-grip, it steps on it, it rips his heart apart.

Lance covers his face in his hands and rubs, groaning in frustration. This is ridiculous. He forces himself to look away, and focuses on drilling a hole into the wall with the force of his glare instead, running his tongue over one of his canines.

Do not distract yourself with cheesy rom-com bullshit, bitch, he scolds himself, Write. Yes, writing is good. Stressful, but good. Go back to writing. Avoid contact. Don’t look. Avert your eyes. Work. You’ve got work to do, so do it.

After about five or so minutes of glaring despondently into fucking space and hating himself for being pathetic, he does. He’s always been good at taking all his frustrations on his writing.

He pulls his laptop into his lap, opens it, double taps, and the document appears on the screen. The cursor blinks curiously at him, he blinks back, and sighs. He starts scanning it for typos, and corrects them, all the while grumbling about how fucking stupid he is, and how fucking stupid all those mistakes were.

He adds some of the worst expletives in big, bold and italic capital letters next to shitty, weird ass sounding paragraphs that don’t ever seem to get any better, even after rewriting them seven thousand three hundred and eighty-four fucking times. Doesn’t matter how many times he tries, how many times he bangs his fists on the keyboard, how hard he hits the keys, the words don’t ever seem to come out quite right.

Rinse, lather, repeat.

“¡BESA MI CULO, PUTO!” He snaps at one particularly dumb typo, and deletes its whole sentence out of spite.

Keith stirs, and groans next to him, turning his body towards Lance. Lance tenses, holding his breath and sitting very still until he’s super sure, 100% Keith won’t wake up. Keith sighs obliviously in his sleep, and turns on his stomach. Lance lets out a relieved breath, closing his eyes.

He snaps them open and shakes his head in frustration, “No seas tonto, Lance.”

He hits ctrl-z and skips the paragraph entirely, jumping to two paragraphs bellow, he reads it and gasps, “¿Qué carajo? Who wrote this? A fiveslgfjdjdfds.” A hand lands on the side of his face with a smack, smooching his cheek. Lance screams, - of course he does, how could he not. - and almost falls off the bed.

“SHUT YOUR ROTTEN MOUTH, I’M TRYING TO SLEEP,” Keith growls at him, voice raspy, and low, and terrifying. Even muffled by the pillow and drowsy, his voice doesn’t lose its aggressive edge. What the fuck.

Lance, after recovering his soul, turns his head so he can stare at Keith with raised brows, and huffs, “Hella lot of words coming from a sleeping person, I’d say.”

Keith groans and lifts his face off the pillow, glaring at him through squinty eyes, “Shut that fucking trap, you moldy piece of bread, or get out.”

“This is my fucking room, Keith,” Lance sputters, snapping his laptop shut for added effect, “you get out.”

“I’M SLEEPING, PISS OFF,” Keith kicks at Lance’s leg with enough force to bruise.

“OW! CAREFUL WITH MY COMPUTER, YOU BRUTE!”

Keith grumbles, turning his back to Lance and covering his head with Lance’s comforter. He curls into a ball, shutting Lance out.

Lance relocates his grumpy ass to the couch after flipping an oblivious, snoring Keith off.

He loves the guy, but damn, can he be an asshole so-

…Wait, did he just-

Oh, hell no.

10:34 A.M.

stud muffin so………….. do i even wanna know? probably not, but you’re gonna tell me anyway pidge, cover ur eyes

pidgeotto shut up hunk im not 5 GIVE ME DA DEETS LANCE

space boi lance AWWW MAN MY DUDES MY BROS MY PALS MIS HERMANOS

pidgeotto oh boy here we go…….. im regretting this already

space boi lance SHUT IT BIRD TURD anyway where was i before i was so rudely interrupted??? ah yeah OH MY GOD MY DUDES hes a screamer KEITH KOGANE OUR KEITH IS A SCREAMER ITS LIKE AAAAAA GUYS boi so thicc too goddem cant wait to have him up my ass honest such a nice dick 11/10 reallygreat work of art grade a AND DAT ASS!!!!!!!! GUH SO FUCKING SMOOTH he looks really nice when hes sleeping too so soft i want to chomp on his cheeks ughhhhhh how can he be so perfect its so unfair im swooning i swear to GOD he looks hot even when hes kicking me out of my own room which UNFAIR

A facebook notification pops up at the top of his phone screen in the middle of his rant.

Hunk Garrett tagged you in a post, it says.

Lance arches an eyebrow, “Huh.”

He taps it open.

Hunk Garrett is listening to the less i know the better, by tame impala i’d like to dedicate this song to my good pal Lance Martínez you know /why/ Pidge Holt and 5 others 

Pidge Holt  HOOOOOO BOY THE BURN THATS Y UR MY MAIN HO HUNK I LOVE U

Matthew Holt lol babe look at The Shade Takashi 

Takashi Shirogane Ah yes, that is indeed The Shade Of It All *scratches chin* Lance Martínez shiro i love u but dude ure embarrassing get off the internet Matthew Holt dont trash talk the baby lance Matthew Holt he’s sensitive Matthew Holt (ure adorable babe) Takashi Shirogane I take offence to that Lance Takashi Shirogane No more dog memes for you Lance Martínez NOOOOOO DAD NOT THE DOGGO MEMES Takashi Shirogane ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Pidge Holt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Hunk Garrett ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Matthew Holt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Lance Martínez u guys are absolute TRASH

Lance Martínez the WORST I TELL U WORST

Lance Martínez I NEED NEW FRIENDS ASAP 

Pidge Holt awwwwwwww lance i love u too Pidge Holt u can tell me everything later i’ll allow it Pidge Holt bring food Pidge Holt and redbull Pidge Holt tons of redbull Lance Martínez ure… ugh Lance Martínez i hate u Lance Martínez u tiny bird turd Pidge Holt URE tiny Lance Martínez GASP U TAKE THAT BACK Pidge Holt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Hunk Garrett ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Matthew Holt ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Takashi Shirogane ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Allura Ourania ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Lance Martínez LULU NOT U TOO Allura Ourania ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

11:35 A.M.

He’s avoiding the huge ass, one-sided, and glittery elephant in the room, he’s avoiding the fuck out of it. He’ll avoid the fuck out of it until it goes away, until it disappears for good, until it goes to fucking hell, until it’s burning in the fifth circle of hell.

He has no time for this.

This project is worth 40% of his grade.

His prof’s a mad man, yeah, but that’s how it is. He won’t flunk this class just because he can’t control his feelings.

He can’t, won’t, jeopardize his project just because of fucking feelings.

¡No, de ninguna puta manera! 

He needs a shower. 

And a joint. 

And coffee. 

Tons of coffee. 

But a shower first, then facials, then weed, then coffee.

Tons of coffee. 

He’ll also down a shot of tequila, because he’s feeling adventurous. 

(Reckless, he means reckless.)

1:45 P.M.

Lance’s minding his own business, stirring his way into his fifth?? possibly, probably, he’s not sure, cup of coffee, and stuffing his face with ham and pineapple pizza rolls in the kitchen after smoking a whole joint by himself in the bathroom, when he hears it. It is terrifying. A dull thud reverberates through the apartment, echoed by it; the most earth-shattering, ear-splitting shriek he’s ever heard.

“LANCE!”

He freezes, his heart plummets.

His spoon drops and clatters on the floor.

“LANCE, YOU’RE FUCKING DEAD,” the deity roars.

Lance squeaks like a fucking mice, and squats, hiding behind the counter.

Run. Pack your things and go, get out of town. Flee to Europe, change your name-

He presses his overheated cheek to the counter and sighs, so good. He grins wide.

Keith’s feet smack on the floor as he stomps, over-aggressively, I dare add, out of Lance’s room, “What the fuck did you do to my ass, you rotten egg?” His voice is louder now, much louder. Lance jumps mid giggle-fit, which sets him off into another one.

“ME!” Lance peers over the countertop and raises his hand, waving sluggishly and cackling, bloodshot eyes wide. Well, as wide as they can go, which, honestly, isn’t much, considering, “I DID THE FUCK! I PUT MY DICK IN - HAH - YOUR ASS! YOU LET ME - HAHAH - IT WAS WILD!”

Keith takes a long look at him and, like a flip has switched, his scowl melts and he bursts out laughing, his nose crinkling up. It’s so fucking adorable, Lance’s heart hurts. It burns. It screams in pain. Lance laughs the pain away like the idiot he is, or maybe just because he’s high as fuck. One can never be too sure, ya feel.

“I know that, you fucking stoner, I mean THE BRUISES.” He points at his bare hips, trying to catch his breath.

Lance’s eyes travel south.

Helloooo there, legs.

Wait, he went too far.

Go back two frames.

There, hips.

Lance blinks, and tries to open his eyes further. He can’t.

He blinks again.

Oh.

Ho boy, he did a number on the guy alright.

Also, this part is super wild, bare with him, it looks weirdly… beautiful? It’s gorgeous, actually. It’s a masterpiece, Lance is an artist.

The red and purple splotches scattered across Keith’s skin are… kind of blurring together in one big ass bruise, that reminds him oddly of the Milky Way. Lance fights hard against the white urge to draw an alien-head above Keith’s hipbone. Keith probably wouldn’t mind it, though. The nerd. Lance chuckles.

Keith clears his throat.

Lance flicks his eyes up at Keith, blinks languidly at him several times. Keith’s waiting for something, isn’t he? What is it again? He rakes his brain for an answer. It beeps.

Ah, yeah.

An answer, right. He needs to answer Keith, duh.

Lance cackles at his stupidity.

“Oh, that.” Lance wipes his eyes on his sleeve in between chuckles as he finally answers, sniffing. He braces his arms on the counter and pushes himself up on his feet, winking, “I’m not sorry about that.” He lies his torso on the counter, smooching his cheek against the cool surface, and shoots Keith a lopsided smile.

Keith shakes his head, “You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, but you looooooove me,”  Lance sing-songs, finger gunning lazily with a grin.

Keith rolls his eyes fondly, and gets closer, dragging one of the stools from under the counter, and sitting down gingerly, wincing a little. His eyes flicker swiftly to something as he settles, before they land on Lance again. Keith frowns, “Should you be drinking coffee?”

Lance frowns back, puzzled, turning his head so he can look at his mug. “Shouldn’t I?” He wonders.

Keith leans over the counter, elbows propped up, and starts picking idly at one of the pizza rolls sitting pretty on the plate in front of him, “It doesn’t affect your high?”

Lance gasps. His pizza rolls. “No touching, you fugly mullet, it’s mineeeeee,” Lance whines, reaching forward and swatting Keith’s fugly hand away. He snatches the plate from Keith and brings it closer to himself, tucking it in between his arms, away from pizza roll-thieving mullets. Lance sticks out his tongue at him, before fitting two of the biggest rolls in his mouth. At the same time. For emphasis. His cheeks puff out.

Keith ducks his head to hide his grin. “You look like a chipmunk,” he comments nonchalantly, tapping his knuckles idly on the surface.

“Nhobowdshy ashkd yuh, Puhtrish,” Lance shoots back.

Keith rolls his eyes and flips him off with both hands, leaning back on his stool.

Lance flashes him the half-chewed food.

“Fuck, that’s gross.”

“Ah.” Lance struggles to swallow all of it dry, but manages, “I forgot to - clears throat - answer, coffee doesn’t affect my high much.” He shrugs, taking a bite off one of the rolls. Keith hums.

Lance swallows, “Pass me the straw, please. The long, bendy one.” He gestures a thumb back.

Keith slides from the stool in one smooth movement, makes his way around the counter and goes for the drawers. Lance hears as it slides open, “Which color?”

“Purple,” Lance answers over his shoulder.

He stretches his arm when Keith pulls the straw out and makes a grabby hand at him.

“Oh no, you don’t,” Keith holds the straw over his head.

“Gimme, or I’ll punch your di-I-i-aaAAAAAah,” he tries to steal the straw from Keith, but loses his footing and almost dives face-first into the cold, hard floor. “¡Coño!” He fumbles to keep upright, hooking a hand on the edge of the other side of the counter. Thank fuck for long fingers.

Lance manages to get his balance back by planting his feet firmly on the ground. Keith makes his way back to his stool, and once he’s settled, he hands Lance the straw already stretched. Keith’s lips quiver in a poorly concealed attempt not to laugh, eyes twinkling mirthfully.

Lance rolls his eyes as he throws the straw into his cup, propping himself on his elbow and resting his chin on his palm.

Keith makes gagging sounds, bangs falling on his eyes.

Lance ignores him in order to bring the straw to his lips with his free hand, and suck the coffee, swallowing in an obnoxiously loud gulp.  

Keith’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “You’re gross,” Keith comments, tucking his hair behind his ears.

“Thanks, I try,” Lance grins around his straw, then frowns at Keith’s bare chest. “Shouldn’t you put on some clothes, though?” Lance asks, eyes half-lidded, “It’s freezing, Keith.”

Keith raises an eyebrow, looking down. “Off-topic, but no, Lance, it’s not,” he shoots Lance a look, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “And how would you know, anyway? You’re high.”

“What’s this jealousy I’m feeling? There’s more, you know.” He pats the breast pocket of his sweatshirt with a dopey smile, and meets Keith’s eyes as he takes a sip, waggling his brows. He swallows and winks, “Don’t need to get all broody on me, grumpy pants.”

Keith hides his face on his arms and groans. Lance can see the blush rising on Keith’s neck, and allows himself a mental pat on the back as he pushes himself upright.

“Okay, let’s go,” Lance trots towards his bedroom.

3:32 P.M.

When they sober up enough to get stuff done, they throw themselves on the couch, legs tangled because why not, right? It’s not like Lance’s life makes any sense, anyway.

Lance with the camera in his hands and laptop on his stomach, Keith with his headphones around his ears, and one of his weird, edgy sci-fi books resting on his thighs.

Lance rests his head on the armrest and hits play.

Keith’s feet tap a comforting rhythm against Lance’s.

4:02 P.M.

Keith falls asleep against the couch, mouth slightly open.

Lance does a poor job at reducing the volume of his laughter at his dramatics on video. Even though Keith’s got his headphones on, Lance still manages to wake him up, and ends up getting kicked in the shin by a very rumpled, grumpy, and over-sized baby with a fugly mullet for that.

He tries not to laugh again.

…He fails miserably, and both his shins suffer.

Terribly.

4:30 P.M.

Because Lance has shit luck, and the universe is out to get him, they didn’t manage to catch Keith’s o-face on video. Life is unfair, God hates him, Jesus hates him, even Buddha must hate him, because this, right here, has got to be some sort of twisted divine punishment. Maybe it’s Karma, maybe he was a murderer in his past life, he doesn’t know. What he does know, though, is that this must be fixed.

“Dude,” he kneels on the couch and shakes Keith’s knee to wake him up, “Dude. DUDE!”

Keith’s eyes flutter open and he squints at Lance, blinking blearily, utterly confused.

Lance sits back on his heels and he offers Keith the camera, “Look.”

Keith, while frowning up at him, sits up and takes it. He yawns, unplugging his headphones from his phone and into the camera. He hits play.

Keith snaps the camera shut after about ten minutes, a furious blush burning his high cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He still looks mildly confused, though, and astoundingly flustered, bringing his knees to his chest.

Lance bites on his bottom lip and heaves a huge breath. “We’ll have to tape chapter 1 again,” he clarifies.

Keith lifts an eyebrow, face still bright red, “Because…”

“I can’t see your face when you’re coming, dude.” Lance explains, waving his hands at the camera in exasperation, “That’s unacceptable, you know. really preposterous. I can’t have this, I can’t WRITE like this. This is a disaster. We gotta redo this, Keith. It’s a matter of life and death.” He grabs both Keith’s knees and shakes.

“But- I’m awake now, dipshit, quit shaking me,” He snaps, batting Lance’s hands away from his knees, “But… don’t you remember my face when I was actually coming yesterday?”

So, you see… remember when Lance mentioned he has shit luck, and the universe is out to get him, and some sort of divine punishment is being inflicted upon him? There’s another reason to back up that assessment.

They not only hadn’t caught Keith’s o-face on video, but he also didn’t get to see Keith’s o-face in living color yesterday because he had his fucking eyes closed. Which rude, Lance. That is just plain rude. There’s no excuses. That’s probably why God, Jesus, and Buddha hate you this much.

Lance hangs his head. “I- I had my eyes closed,” he confesses, accepting defeat.

“You’re hopeless.”

Lance’s head shoots up and he gasps, “Excuse!”

“No,” Keith stands up abruptly, almost kneeing Lance’s nose in the process.

Lance squawks and reels back, out of reach, eyes wide, “Wha-”

“Shut the fuck up, you dry raisin,” Keith glares accusingly at him and Lance flinches, “I’ll fix this.”

“Kei-”

Keith’s arm shoots up, and he points his index finger at Lance, thick eyebrows pinched. “Stay put,” he warns, waving his finger, “don’t fucking move, don’t breathe.”

Lance is too confused to react, or even say anything, so he just gapes.

“Just… stay there, I’ll be quick.”

Keith returns buck naked, with a dildo and the lube in hands.

Lance’s at a loss, he’s a loss for words, his sass is gone, along with his ability to form coherent thoughts. Keith has that effect on him, apparently. Keith always finds a way to give Lance whiplash.  

Keith dumps the stuff on the coffee table and turns his attention to Lance, he chuckles at what he sees there, “Shut your mouth, Lance, you’ll catch a fly.”

Lance finds his voice. “Wha-” he clears his throat, and shakes his head before continuing, “What the fuck?” (Eloquent.)

Keith rolls his eyes as he picks up the camera, “You’re gonna tape me as I touch myself.”

Keith hands Lance the camera.

“I don’t…” Lance takes it, still completely dumbfounded.

Keith cuts him off, “I told you I’d fix this, didn’t I? So this is me, fixing it.”

Something in Lance’s brain seems to click.

“Oh,” he replies dumbly.

Oh no, is what he means, no fucking way. He’s gonna die today.

Yup, today is the day.

“Okay, so…” Keith claps his hands, “scooch over, I need the space.”

Lance’s eyes widen, “You really gonna do this here? On the couch?”

“Is there a problem?”

Yes. There’s a ton of problems, actually. Not with Keith doing it on the couch, but still, there’s a problem. Tons of problems. These problems have problems. For one, Lance will probably die. For two, he can’t do this anymore. He can’t but he has to, and he will because his project is worth 40% of his final grade, he will because he has to. He has the moral duty to prove to Keith, and to himself, that he, as a matter of fact, can do this, even if he’ll end up hurt. Fuck his feelings.

“No, no, nope, no problem at all. I’m all up for jerking off on the couch, sign me the fuck up. It’s just…” Lance blows a raspberry, scratching the back of his head, looking around the room, uncertain. He can’t meet Keith’s eyes, “it looks too cramped, I think? I was just, uhm, thinking that maybe, I don’t know, you’d prefer doing this on a bed?”

Keith snorts, “Nah, it’s okay.”

Lance finally looks at him, searching his face, “You sure? Like, 100%?”

Keith rolls his eyes, “Yes Lance, don’t worry, just… keep the camera on me.”  

Lance sits upright, crisscrossing his legs, and points the camera at Keith.