#aside from blender being a pain in the ass at times

[youredreamingofroo]

On Repeat

// Click for HQ

Whew,,, I finally finished these! Thank you @elderwisp / @elksun / @living-undead / @dejasenti99 AND @yukikocloud FOR THE TAGS!!!! Holy wow :0

Tagging :

@circusjuney / @butteredfrogs / @mmonetsims / @flovoid

@birdietrait / @venriliz / @retrotrait / @mattodore

plus anyone else who wants to do this! Also feel free to ignore esp if you've alr done this, idk who has and hasn't im sorry 😭😭

// Extras under the cut - below is very long, so open w/ caution if you don't wanna scroll a lot 😭

This has taken the piss outta me (albeit fun), so i'm kinda just gonna explain how I think the featured line in particular is akin to the OC/Ship and not the entire song... as much as I'd love to 😭 Also it's just SUPER hard (for me) to find songs that I relate to my OCs, lyrics as well so skdjhnsjk

Roo's Song Oil & Water by Origami Button "When did I become like the ones I never thought I'd welcome in my home"

The above line in particular is quite literally Roo in the current story/character arc- He's looking at himself from a third person view and going "Oh. I am what I hate." He's looking at his old self, in college, and how he treated Leo, to now, looking at his present self and seeing the way he creeps on Leo, how he clings to him despite being several states over. Roo looks at the progression of his stalker-ish behavior, his obsession, how it went from just general clinginess that Leo could bear, to something completely unbearable after 7 years of no contact, it saddens him. So taking it quite literally, if he was at his own door and he knew how awful he was, he would slam the door on himself. A painful self reflection for him :')

Leo's Song Truth or Dare by Ricky Montgomery "Hiding in the closet, trying not to vomit, didn't even want it"

The entire first verse for this song can be applicable to Leo. As a teenager (15-16), Leo went HEAVY on drugs as a form of escapism from his parents, of course they'd always find him and get on his ass HARD for doing that shit. After a while of being sober, Leo started going to house parties, great idea- Flash forward to his third house party, and he finally cut his year long sober streak for drugs. as many as he could fit in his body. He had terrible influences around him so they encouraged him to do this shit, it didn't take long for his body to feel the god awful effects of taking so many drugs, so he ended up in the bathroom for a while- He tried to hold back the vomit because he was,,, partially enjoying his high, but he couldn't hold it back for long and ended up passing out, but not before nearly gutting himself from vomiting so much. Cut forward in time, and people got worried, bashed open the bathroom door and found Leo's unconscious body slumped over the toilet 🙃 Obv he came out fine, but it's a major moment in his life, because looking back on it, he realizes that wasn't what he wanted, he just wanted attention, he wanted to be cool, he wanted to be rebellious, but he didn't want to (nearly) kill himself. The render isn't one-to-one with the situation, but the lyrics are accurate so :3

Onia's Song Bloodstream by Soccer Mommy Scene used in render "Now a river runs red from my knuckles into the sink and there's a pale girl staring through the mirror at me"

Overall, the song talks about how the artist (Soccer Mommy) has lost her childhood innocence and how she wants to go back to her childhood and putting Onia's Sheep in Wolf's clothing motif aside, Onia misses being a child, and misses not knowing the pain and burden of being the complete opposite of what her parents wanted, so she spirals over this a lot, and like the lyrics say, "a river runs red from my knuckles into the sink," She tends to lean towards harming herself, in this case, her hands, and her knuckles- I can't draw or simulate blood in either blender or GIMP, so the red light is supposed to simulate the blood-sodden sink that she's standing over, and of course, "pale girl," is Onia, she's staring at herself, but additionally I like to think she's staring past the mirror, or staring through it (wink wink), she's spacing out and thinking about who she should've been, or who she could've been.

Hero's Song Following Eyes by Soccer Mommy "An awful feeling started creeping over me and what I saw was like no horror I had seen"

I'm keeping this short and sweet. It's not easy to find a song (that I like) that's about being haunted or cursed so. I had to re-use her song from her intro post, which isn't bad, but I did hope to find a new song kdsjhnsjk Anyways. Hero's cursed, pretty much anywhere she goes, she is forced to perceive ~the horrors~, sometimes she's forced into a blank space, a void (SOMETIMES,,, not a lot,,, rarely moreso), where she'll be tormented for who even knows how long, this moment in particular, she was walking along this catwalk in the dark, she eventually felt something that felt similar to someone dragging their fingers up your spine, in a moment of fear, she turned around and just. saw. She looked onto this,,, being, what she saw was "like no horror I had seen,,," Although to be fair, the creature isn't all that horrifying (which in my defense.. I'm a blender novice so </333)

The Hiraeth Song Nomu by Good Kid "Four eyes entwined draw four separate lines and none of them point to you"

I think this song overall is a perfect example of Roo and Leo's relationship both after Leo's confession and after Roo tried to reconnect with Leo. After Leo confessed, he tried to keep their relationship going, but it didn't work out, so he gave up (Roo didn't realize Leo was pulling such a weight and he just let their friendship fall out) After Roo tried to reconnect (aka the CURRENT storyline), Roo has been trying to keep things together and has been trying to make things work, but Leo has long-since given up on their friendship as a whole. Now in terms of the lyric above; Post-Confession, every conversation they had together would not be the same, they couldn't look each other in the eyes, their eyes would connect momentarily and separate almost immediately; Nowadays, if they WERE to be living together or near each other, they just would NOT be able to talk to each other, because Leo would be fed up with Roo and trying to avoid as much eye contact and general verbal+physical contact as possible with him. Roo, on the other hand, is just terrible with eye contact so he would have a terrible time trying to engage in eye contact with Leo.

The Ithanel / It's All Wrong Song From Eden by Hozier "Babe there's something broken about this but I might be hoping about this oh what a sin"

Ithuriel and Nanel's entire relationship is inherently toxic, they are not toxic to each other, but the underlying (or moreso, the OVERWHELMING OVERLYING) dangers of this relationship makes it toxic, broken in a way. Nanel risks her life going to see Ithuriel outside of work-related interactions and Ithuriel risks her life by just. seeing, talking to and loving Nanel. Whether they know (they do) or care (they dont) about these dangers, they still want this relationship, they live on, literal, prayers that they are not caught and that they can continue to love each other in peace, but overall, their relationship, in the eyes of the heavenly council (ehhh W.I.P term for IAW lore stuff), is a sin, and nothing but a sin.

Ithuriel's Song What You Mean by Rome Hero Foxes "Cause every little god damn thing you do makes me wanna get close to you"

The lyrics speak for themselves... Ithuriel is very dedicated to Nanel, and literally every waking moment of seeing and knowing Nanel drives Ithuriel up the walls because she loves her so much.

Nanel's Song Future Me Hates Me by The Beths "It's getting dangerous, I could get hurt, I know, I've counted up the cons, they far outweight the pros."

This is semi-foreshadowing, but Nanel knows that her and Ithuriel's relationship is forbidden, wrong (not cuz its gay necessarily,, 😭), and the way Ithuriel's heavenly role works means that their relationship status and every interaction outside of a required interaction is a risky game of one or both of them being punished and sentenced to death. But ! Nanel loves Ithuriel wayyyy too much to let how insanely dangerous their relationship is to get in the way of them loving and being with e/o.

Nirvana's Song 1999 by Beabadoobee "And I'm not wasting time again, closure instead of s^x, and I'm not wasting time again" Idk if I need to censor s^x but i am justttt in case...

Oof, Nirvana... Nirvana has always been sxually active, she's always had one-night-stands with other men, she's tried to continue things after that ONS, but it never works, she's tried to have relationships with women, but they just use her for s^x. She's tired of wasting time with people who just want her for her body, she's tired of s^x, she just wants, well, closure, she wants someone who will love her for her, she wants a relationship without s^x, or at least isn't s^x-focused, she just wants to know someone will love her past her body. Although aforementioned is all just a habit so she will unfortunately end up right back where she started and continue this uncomfortable and sad spiral.

[salemsimss]

You may be wondering why I called this meeting...

[hanmajoerin]

A/N: To be honest, I’ve really hesitated on what pronouns to use while Ranma’s Jusenkyo curse is on full display. A really fun aspect of fanfic writing for me is seeing how in character I can keep everyone, and I think being a “man” is important to Ranma. So, even though there are times when he rocks lady bits, he still identifies with he/him pronouns.

Chapter Summary: Ranma Saotome, 20 years old. He’s been the husband of Akane Saotome for five months, but they’ve known each other way longer. His goal? Forget how the heat and humidity of August stayed long after the sun dipped from the party. Akane deconstructed and reconstructed some popsicles or something, so here’s to hoping. And lower body temperatures.

II AO3 II FanFiction.Net II

-x-

In the living room, Soun hollered at Pops for taking advantage of a sneeze. Apparently, he’d swapped their koma pieces while his father in law’s eyes were closed. Ranma rolled his eyes from outside. That tracked. Not that he could hear the argument very well or cared. The TV murmured some crap too, but it sounded as fuzzy as the static he bet clung to the screen like the sweat stuck to his head. And his back. And the back of his knees. And his elbows. Nature was such a pain in the ass. Down to the bugs. The chirps of the crickets and cicadas and moths as they cozied up to the lights by the shoji doors sounded normal. Like the heat of August hadn’t moved them in the slightest. Stupid. Not that Ranma’d been moved either, but in a much more literal way. Like he was a sitting duck, frozen but because of the summer heat. It was all so unbelievably dumb.

Blinking up at the clouds in the night sky, Ranma realized for the fifth time in the past half an hour that he felt disgusting. Never thought his cure-all hot bath would feel like a death sentence, so he was stuck like this. Stripped down to a white tank top and yellow patterned boxers. If it was just him ‘n Akane, he’d have ditched the shirt. But with his family so close and Akane’s hand in punching range, he let himself get drenched in the least sexiest way possible. His boobs felt too heavy, and while resting his head in Akane’s lap was nice and all, she was also pretty hot.

Ranma blinked up at his wife. Of the two, she was supposed to be the most un-cute, but her pink sundress was really doing something to him. Pieces of her black hair stuck against her face like she’d placed ‘em there on purpose. Sweat just gave her a dewy glow that the stars seemed to sprint to. Stupid.

“You think we’ll make it?” Ranma asked as Akane threaded her fingers through his red hair.

Akane hummed. “It’s supposed to be a little warmer tomorrow.”

Ha! They were so dead. He could cook an entire four course meal in the dirt of the yard, even now, when the sun booked it. Ranma groaned, turning to face the koi pond. He splashed his feet in the plastic bin Akane’d brought him a few minutes ago. “Akane, the water’s warm,” he whined.

“Well you haven’t turned back yet, so it can’t be that bad.”

“Aw, come on.”

Akane handed him a popsicle mold. “Just shut up and eat another one. It’s still cool.”

Ranma grabbed the frosty mold, closing one eye to inspect the contents inside. There were way too many chunks, but presentation and Akane didn’t go hand in hand. She’d forgotten to put the tops in so none of these things came with sticks, but with it being so hot out, it didn’t make or break the experience. Ranma opened his mouth, watching as lumps of strawberries ambled out. Snails moved faster. “This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked,” the martial artist droned, knocking back the chunky popsicle.

“I didn’t make it though,” Akane sighed, continuing to run her hands through Ranma’s red hair.

“Sure you did,” Ranma offered, watching the last few chunks meander down. He stuck his tongue out, waiting, but continued talking, “You stripped ‘em and put ‘em in the blender.”

“Yeah and it was basically juice when I was done.”

“So now they’re popsicles again.”

Akane sighed, “I guess.”

Ranma raised a brow, but his wife missed it. How was it that whenever he tried to actually drop a compliment, Akane acted all weird about it? She should be blushing furiously, brushing off his praise yet soaking it all in like a sponge. Ranma sighed too. He knew how to reel her back in hook, line, and sinker. “Guess you’re right; if you put this together from scratch, I’d be on a training trip.”

Akane turned her head sharply, a familiar ire already in her brown eyes. Ranma couldn’t help grinning. “You know I hate it when you say stuff like that,” she huffed. The martial artist just brought his mouth to the frozen treat, licking the last of it. He tossed the emptied mold aside with far too much confidence for how gross he still felt. “Hey! Are you an animal? Our home isn’t some dumpster!”

Ranma shrugged from his spot in her lap. “Can’t move,” he said, proffering Akane a face he knew she’d clock him for.

Akane growled, her fingers sprinting from his hair to be balled into a fist. “Ranma...” she warned and the martial artist snickered. He reached a hand up to clutch hers.

“I don’t exactly see you runnin’ over to pick it up.”

“Just watch me!” Akane exclaimed before pushing Ranma off her. Light brown wood was everything he saw, but his ears were clear. Her stomps were as loud as an elephant’s, and he pushed himself just in time for the plastic to whack his nose. “Look, I found the trash can!”

Ranma tried not to laugh.

[bigskydreaming]

Hey friendly reminder that I honestly do not want anyone to follow me unless they actually WANT to which means they are free to unfollow, refollow, leave and come back and leave again or WHATEVER as many times as they want, for any reason whatsoever. Including if my posting styles of the moment get to be too much for them or are not to their liking, etc?

BUT I have been seeing a surge in comments in notes and stuff on various posts of mine about the length of my posts or the rambling of my posts and like....I know? This is not new information to me? But I post the way I post at any given time based on the resources I have at any given time and the fact that its often a matter of I can post a long rambling post or I can make no post at all.

Like, I really truly do not like going into specifics about my situation more than necessary or when not necessary, because like, my situation is boring to me, I don’t particularly care to dwell on it any more than I have to. But the fact of the matter is its still a thing that exists so here goes: yes I have physical issues like near constant migraines and pain and also vertigo, and yes I have neurodivergencies like C-PTSD and ADHD and yes I have circumstances that include near constant stress from eternally being in the negatives, financially, as well as being almost constantly hungry from a lack of money and limited options for eating due to the physical constraints of my jaw as well as being consistently sleep deprived because there’s only so much sleep you can get when there’s no such thing as a physically comfortable sleeping arrangement for you currently, all while existing in a constant limbo of I literally have NO idea when any of this will change for me because haha fun fact WE LIVE IN A PANDEMIC.

My point is like......all of these are things I’m not shy about, but they don’t exist as bullet points in a checklist of identity or circumstantial traits, they all exist at all times as points of fact that influence and inform and interact with each other.

So my financial situation and limbo of not being able to move forward with my surgery because of the chaos of the health care industry during a pandemic directly informs both the way stress impacts my mental health issues, but also my ability to treat my mental health issues by way of medication, nutrition, rest.....ie, almost every cent I make via work, etc, goes right back out the door to keeping up my insurance premiums of $850 a month, because even though my surgery is paid for, there’s still elements like hospital stay fees, anesthesia, etc, that won’t be paid until the day of surgery itself, and which I will not be able to pay without my insurance remaining current and active. Which means that I had to prioritize an insurance package that would net me THOSE benefits, which means I had to sacrifice parts of insurance that are no longer in that package, but which previously made things like my medications, refill appointments and therapy more affordable for me. 

Which means that I have to prioritize my medication and therapy etc and maintain my therapy and PTSD, depression and anxiety meds as the most important to upkeep, while my ADHD meds are pretty much priced out of accessibility for me at the moment. Like, the specifics of my metabolism and various trial and error with different meds over the years and the way my body rapidly adapts to various meds and plateaus to a point where they cease to have any real impact on me means the only ADHD medication that’s consistently effective for me is Vyvanse, which there isn’t a viable generic form of that I can take, meaning a monthly refill of it is $350 without insurance, which I flat out can not ever afford anymore, which means its been roughly two months since I last popped an ADHD pill.

So yeah, that directly impacts things like my ability to self-edit, make a point briefly, or refrain from circling back to the same point several times over and over because I literally forget that I made it.

Now of course ADHD medication is not the be-all and end-all and its not like there aren’t various other life-hacks and coping strategies for working around ADHD even without it, after all, I didn’t even get diagnosed until I was 26. But these various other adaptations rely on things like good nutrition (which I can not regularly afford, or even consume....most leafy green vegetables for example, or fruits other than berries, are literally nonstarters for me because I don’t have enough leverage with my one-sided jaw to CHEW them in the first place, and the ingredients for making smoothies regularly are again, expensive). So nutrition as a hack for ADHD management is pretty much out - I’m too busy prioritizing eating anything I can, whenever I can afford to. Other adaptations involve getting lots of rest: something that again, physically isn’t all that viable for me these days, even leaving aside the effects of constant stress on attempts at getting meaningful rest, along with the constant stress and constraints of trying to work as much as humanly possible in my circumstances, in order to keep bringing in income to go to insurance, rent, and food and meds. Then there’s also the stabilizing effects exercise and physical activity can have on the brain and various neurodivergencies like mine, but the migraines and vertigo make most forms of exercise a nonstarter for me, with most of the rest invalidated by the fact that I’m pretty much always hungry, tired, and in chronic pain.

Now let’s examine work and the viability of obtaining more sources of income to help with all this. Well, my options are limited there too due to the ecosystem of factors in play. I’ve been trying for awhile to find even a part time job in my area I can do, but the problems are even though I can make myself mobile and active through my pain issues and migraines, and am even good at gritting and bearing it and acting like I’m smiling and laughing and happy even while in excruciating pain (yay, perks of childhood abuse making a career in retail viable even while practically dead on my feet, lololol)......there’s the simple physiological limitation that I just can’t stay upright RELIABLY for more than a couple hours at a time. Eventually, dizziness knocks me on my ass. Downside of a jaw that’s constantly hanging with all its weight from one side of your face, fucking with your ability to even stand up straight, not to mention causing inner ear and equilibrium problems at random whenever you open or close your mouth in the wrong way (or mere approximation of ANY kind of way).

So, standing upright at any kind of customer service or retail job is one issue. Stocking stuff, that sort of thing.....not really an option when you’re likely to drop all of it at any given moment. But then there’s bracing myself at cash registers, something like a job at Starbucks or hell there’s a Jamba Juice nearby, that’d also get me an employee discount for smoothies I can drink regularly. Course, there’s the whirring of blenders and such, which pair great with constant migraines. Etc. Etc.

BUT. I’m a well-rounded person with lots of skills....which lead to things like my freelance graphic design business as a book cover designer, as well as various writing endeavors, etc. And all of these are things that I DO do, currently. They’re how I make my income as is. There’s absolutely more jobs out there, but the fact is as a freelancer, FINDING additional jobs is a time consuming and spoon consuming process, that is additionally impacted by factors like ADHD, so not only does looking for work require time that’s not already being spent working, it also requires the management and expenditure of mental resources that I have to prioritize FIRST towards applying them to what work I already DO have, given the absence of ADHD medication and minimal coping or regulatory habits allowing for me to be all that productive WITHOUT said meds.

Not to mention the strain sitting in front of a computer all day for work in venues like graphic design, etc, puts on migraines, so there’s only so many hours I can devote daily or in one sitting to doing things like cover work. Much of my writing time is spent not actually writing, but me just dictating into notes on my phone and then copying and pasting all that into the appropriate formats for fiction, nonfiction and just random posts. Of course here then I have to prioritize applying my mental resources to first making sure the stuff I write to make money gets edited or properly pared down to size and isn’t repeating the same shit over and over and over, then doing the same to stuff I write fic wise as one of my few escapes from Real Life BS so I can at least point to having SOME kind of life (as this has been my daily existence for years, and uh.....people having things they like or like to do, as much as is humanly feasible, only becomes MORE of a necessity the more stress involved in their day to day life, not less). 

Meaning by the time I even get to posting, like.....as much as it may look like I do a lot of it, the speed at which I write when I have any kinds of spoons to apply to posting or composing thoughts at ALL means I actually pour out a lot in a little span of time.....BUT that’s not like, a Skill so much as its a Fact. Its just the way I am and it comes with its downsides as well as its upsides....Im good at banging out a lot in a short amount of time, but ONLY when I just....let it go, versus try and regulate it all or squeeze it out bit by bit. I’m a sprint poster these days rather than a marathoner, even if the length of my thoughts makes it LOOK like the latter.....the reality is for me it tends to be all or nothing, its whatever I can get on the page BEFORE I lose my breath or train of thought. So that’s why it looks the way it does, because that was the only form it was coming out at the specific time and space when I had the energy and brainpower TO get it out, and going back in hindsight and editing it for clarity or brevity AFTER I gasp it all out requires energy and breath I do not have PAST that point, so it becomes a simple equation of well do I want a post to exist here at all or not at all.....and I err on the side of posting. This isn’t a defense because there’s nothing to defend, mind you, I’m simply explaining my way through my thought process, approach to things, and realities of my day to day existence for you to do with whatever you want. Its just a perspective you may not have had before. Whatever. 

Of course, even this doesn’t exist in a void. Something that’s always a factor in my awareness when posting is like......I’m lucky enough to have a large enough following that cares enough about what I have to say for whatever reasons or puts enough value in what I have to say or the things I write and create, that I’ve been able to supplement my financial needs when absolutely necessary at times, by way of donation posts. I try not to lean on them more than necessary because I am keenly aware that they are a gift from people, many of whom I do not know and will likely never meet, and as such, not something I have any form of expectation for. I make donation posts when and where I do not in the anticipation of getting them met, but simply for a lack of any other options whatsoever. I’m limited in the work I can do, and the time and energy I can devote to finding more of that same work. There’s not a ton of other career paths I can pursue even from behind a computer due to my lack of a college degree, and the fact that even when I’m qualified skill or knowledge wise, I lack the specific credentials for verifying that I possess those skills or knowledge in a way employers are inclined to recognize and/or validate. Going BACK to school to get said credentials is an expenditure of time, finances, and other resources I do not have to spare at the moment or any time soon, especially not in the name of shoring up a lack of all that in the present term. 

I dropped out of college freshman year after my gaybashing and rape. I never went back to it for a variety of reasons that were only half about resources and half about intent. My family is not a presence in my life and hasn’t really been in any significant way since I was eighteen, so college in the first place was something I had to be entirely self-sufficient about....I was only able to afford to go the year that I did go by way of academic scholarships that were dependent on grades I couldn’t keep up in the wake of what happened to me, and that I couldn’t exactly ever get back without a foundation to build upon, like high school and my initial academic career. Then in the half that was about intent, I eventually moved into pursuing my actual interests like writing, graphic design and acting. One of the things I’ve always loved about those is that output and portfolio nets you more than credentials most of the time....they ARE your credentials. I was actually pretty damn successful as an actor for years, not in the way that leads to being someone that people would recognize, but in the way that leads to being able to support yourself doing what you love. All the skillsets that I have but could not back up with things like a diploma were still useful to me as an actor in a way that they’re not in terms of getting things like tutoring or teaching jobs.....I speak multiple languages but I’m self taught, I have a black belt in karate, I’m a classically trained pianist, I know a whole lot of shit about random shit that I just learned because I wanted to, and all of that got me the kind of work that I was looking for and meant I COULD work and make a living off those things for years throughout my twenty....work that I would not have been able to get if I had been back sitting in a classroom instead. The primary currency of my years as an actor were life experiences and I had those in spades, and I was very good at what I did, if I do say so myself, and the reasons I never advanced further career wise tended to have less to do with whether or not I booked the roles I auditioned for and whether I got the auditions at all......

I’m getting a bit off topic here but I’m just saying there’s definitely a convo to be had at some point, about the roles and opportunities I turned down because I wasn’t willing to sleep with someone or put up with their advancements in order to do so. Something that’s a dime a dozen in Hollywood and the thing is.....I was a sex worker, for years, before I moved to Hollywood and started working as an actor. But there’s a distinct difference between the way people talk about, interact with and perceive someone who’s gotten roles because of sex, advanced up a corporate ladder because of sex...versus, gotten paid because of sex. I didn’t turn down offers of roles for sex because of my hang-ups about sex but rather other peoples’......I had a problem with various parts of the industry that would have thought nothing about me getting a role because a producer wanted to sleep with me, but would have turned up their nose at me because I slept with someone to get money for groceries before. Basically I’m just saying the specific bullshit Hollywood has not just about sex but predatory behavior got in the way of my career advancement because there were some games I just wasn’t willing to play....which hails from the very life experiences that oftentimes made me so good as an actor in the first place.

Which brings me back again to my main point......none of this exists in a vaccuum. Being the sum of our life experiences and variables means being the SUM of that, at ALL times, both in large and small ways. We are never just a LIST of identity traits or experiences. They all constantly loop back around and feed into each other and inform where we are at every second of every day and where we GO in each second, what we DO with our days and the choices we make.

Which is where so much of my discontent with fandoms, on social media in general, with PEOPLE in my day to day life comes from: this desire people have to compartmentalize, to ZERO IN on specific factors or variables or instances and act like it even CAN be divorced from all other influences. Its not that you can’t FOCUS on one thing at a time, its just even when you do that, that doesn’t like....snap all existing connections that thing has to everything outside of your area of focus.

As an example, my attitudes on being a survivor and various kinds of fiction get me a ton of pushback from various corners, and its all geared around the same premise: don’t like, don’t read. Put a wall up between you and it. Focus on just what you’re doing and forget what everyone else is doing.

But it doesn’t work like that. It CAN’T work like that. And this commitment people have to pretending it does just because that pretense has been working for them, THAT, I’d argue, is the true wedge in fandom spaces.

Everything about me is connected to something else. I’m a childhood abuse and incest csa survivor. When my therapist asks me to picture a moment from my childhood when I felt safe or protected, I got nothing. I don’t have that resource. I don’t know what that feeling is meant to feel like, because I never felt it. And that connects directly into the fact that when I was gaybashed in college, after they dumped me in a fucking park, bleeding and covered in writing, I didn’t even think about going to the hospital, the police, let alone calling anyone like my parents, I just picked myself up and walked back to my dorm, cleaned myself off as best I could, and went to class next Monday morning. That’s fucked up, I shouldn’t have had to, but its what I did, and there’s no divorcing that from any of the contexts of WHY that’s what I did, and why I didn’t think there was any other logical recourse or option for me then. Just like all of that also links back to growing up in the closet and entering high school the same month Matthew Shepherd was attacked, and then when he ultimately died two months later, and watching everybody’s reactions to that informed the fact that I did not remotely feel safe in the aftermath of my attack, disclosing what happened to people around me, or just like I didn’t take it on face value that even if they said appropriately sensitive things to me to my face didn’t mean that like when I was a freshman in high school and everyone was reacting to that, they wouldn’t revert to callous jokes about fags the second they felt a little less out of the spotlight or in the right company for those jokes. 

And all of that directly links into my feelings not just when people write rape and gaybashing scenes that make no attempt at any kind of catharsis but rather only appear to exist for the fetishization, the glamorization, the VALIDATION of the idea that in the right context, those kinds of scenes can be hot to the right audience rather than demoralizing to the figure who’s pain and humaniliation is required for everyone else’s entertainment....but it also additionally plays into the reactions and attitudes I have when people look at me going “wow, really don’t like the lens you’re using here or the environment you’re creating around an experience that is never anything BUT painful and traumatic for someone who lived it, like I did” and choose to respond to that by saying things that amount to “well you’re basically just like conservative southern assholes who hate free speech when you say stuff like this,” cuz y’know.....that’s describing my literal oppressors. That’s lumping me in with the actual literal kind of people who are the SOURCE of my trauma there, all because you felt butthurt and defensive about how I said I wasn’t comfortable with the kinds of jokes and output you were making about scenes that aren’t that far divorced from my own personal reality, and that I shouldn’t HAVE to divorce from my own experiences just to exist within certain fandom spaces.

And just like the fact that being an incest survivor is directly relevant to the fact that my stepmother always made an effort to keep me at a distance because not wanting to admit to what happened to me and how it played into our family entanglements was directly linked back to the fact that she and my aunt were both incest survivors who never got the opportunities to deal with what happened to them, which in turn directly plays into the fact that ultimately my aunt ended up taking her own life a few years ago, which also very much informs my attitude towards people interacting with incest ships as something cutesy and uwu, as my aunt was literally the only person in my family I ever WAS close to or comfortable with. And there’s no divorcing any of that into nice neat little compartments that make it easier for anyone on the outside looking in to just peek through ONE window to see what they might see, and try and act like it doesn’t matter what’s in any of those other boxes because it has nothing to do with the only one they want to concern themselves with.

And my lack of resources and emotional state post gay-bashing led directly into my sex work for various reasons, which led in various ways to better things for me in some respects, while compounding certain traumas of mine in other respects, and there’s no divorcing any of that from the rest either. There’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was good’ even though some of it was and there’s no ‘my time as a sex worker was bad’ even though some of it really was. And a lot of the attitudes of some of the rich assholes who paid me for sex and viewed me as a plaything they could do anything to directly informs my resistance to letting powerful assholes in Hollywood hold roles over my head in exchange for sex, even though the latter could have advanced my career in huge ways and led to me being a lot more financially stable and self-sufficient by the time my physical issues emerged due to the jaw joint on one side of my head eroding through and snapping completely just like that in turn was a long-building repercussion of not just my gaybashing, but my decision to never go to the hospital and get checked out after it.

None of this can be cut away from the rest and trimmed into neat little pieces that don’t color outside the lines or impact anything else. Just like my gaybashing itself can’t be divorced from my white privilege, and the fact that it played into the fact that I survived that night in the first place. Something I say not in some weird white guilt kinda way like people try and project onto others for even acknowledging white privilege, like no its not like I fucking wish I died to prove some kind of weird point, what I’m talking about is just the simple basic AWARENESS that multiple and even contradictory factors exist in even the most extreme of situations. And its never anything BUT self-serving to pretend that you can frame it as otherwise.

And so when I talk about being a survivor, just like with all the rest of this, I’m not talking about some arbitrary status of survivorhood that exists in a specific point in time and is only relevant to some singular event I survived, its applicable to everything about my life big and small. I’m a survivor every single day I’ve survived, every day I wake up and keep moving forward despite the pain and stress and lingering trauma of what was done to me one night sixteen years ago, I’m surviving what they did every bit as much as I survived it that night and in the morning after as I dragged myself back to my room. Just like my status as an abuse survivor stemming from childhood directly informs everything about not just my coping mechanisms but my entire freaking worldview as someone who grew up throughout childhood learning to view the world through a lens in which he was simultaneously not safe due to the presence of victimizers in his own home, while at the same time still having certain protections that others don’t have in life in general due to not just again my white privilege but my male privilege, my cis privilege.

And that’s what makes it so laughable and so offensive when people act like I’m defining myself by being a survivor as some kind of singular identity trait whenever I raise it as something of relevance in fandom discussions that have EVERYTHING to do with stances of abuse apologism and homophobic ideas that directly play into why I was so unsafe in certain parts and times of my life, because who the fuck is anyone else to tell me how my experiences as a survivor and how they shaped me are or are not relevant to ideas pertaining to those very things, when brought front and center and face to face with me in various fandoms due to the insistence of fandoms at large on KEEPING these things front and center in almost ALL fandom discussions? Like, the hilarious irony of people who have so wholly centered certain types of ship and content in terms of their own personal fandom identities that they can’t help but feel personally attacked when someone so much as says “I don’t like the ideas you’re broadcasting alongside your choice to amplify and signal boost this kind of content because you’re not JUST signalboosting the content itself, but these specific perceptions of it and ideas in support of and in apology for it.”....like, turning around and saying IM too defined by my views stemming from my existence as a survivor. The call is coming from inside the house, lolol.

Again, none of this can be divorced from the rest. It can be focused on one piece at a time, but its connections to everything else that informs it in various RELEVANT ways, can not be made IRRELEVANT just because you don’t like the picture that forms when you’re forced to look at the WHOLE picture instead of just willfully condensing the frame to just the part you like or want to talk about.

And to bring it all home, looping back up to what I opened with:

Do you know how often I hear people say shit about the length of my posts or the rambling nature or in various ways act INCONVENIENCED by various things about how they have to interact with my posts when that interaction itself is still completely voluntary?

Taking in everything I said in this post, the way it all interconnects and informs other things, I’d like to ask anyone who has ever objected to some post somewhere or derided one because of something as ultimately nonconsequential as the length of it, something where its literally just like....scroll a few more seconds......do you apply the same energy and scrutiny to posts that cross your dash that are filled with various things like racism, transphobia, rape or pedophilia fetishization or abuse apologism, or do you let that slide by without acknowledgment before looking at a post that makes you sigh because of how fucking LONG it was and think...this, THIS is what I’m gonna choose to speak up about?

Because that’s ultimately what this is all about. Here’s the kicker with everything I said....my life could be better, I want it to be better, from the biggest aspects of it and pain issues to stuff just like.....the fandom communities I immerse myself in for my own attempts at having something to counterbalance real life stress. But at the end of the day, there’s no my life sucks or my life rocks....its still just...my life. And it has its good as well as its bad, and that ultimately hails from my choices, and the fact that like....even while there are choices I literally CAN’T make, I can be comfortable with the ones I DO make.

And so like......would my life be easier in some respects now if I’d gone back to school and gotten a diploma and had more job opportunities available to me? Yeah, for sure. But that awareness doesn’t mean I regret my choice NOT to go back to school when I DID have more opportunities for that, because the acting career I had at those times instead was the choice I made, with intent, and its one I’m still glad for making. Those experiences still matter, still meant something and still mean something to me. 

And do I wish that I’d coped with what happened to me in college in different, healthier ways that would have given me more tools for how I interact with my trauma and who I became after that, rather than how I did? Yeah, sometimes, for sure. But not without losing my awareness that the choices I did make at the time were not made in a vacuum, and can not be edited in hindsight....there were reasons I made them, reasons that were informed by everything that had happened to me previously and stemmed from a lot of things I still didn’t have control over and as such always placed a cap on the range of choices that were available to me back then, because there’s a difference between choices that exist in theory versus choices that exist as something that might viably be chosen at a particular place and time.

The world is big and complicated. Life is big and complicated. WE are big and complicated. And nothing about understanding any of that is IMO benefited by putting most of our effort into SHRINKING our worldviews, constructing artificial frames that don’t just focus us in on specific aspects of it for finite periods but attempt to then treat that as its own individual thing utterly disconnected from anything else that might be going on OUTSIDE that picture frame.

So if you’ve read this far and you’ve taken anything away from this big long rambling post that could be a lot shorter, could be a lot less rambling, but could also just not have been posted at all and I’d rather have it exist in this form than let everything in it go unsaid.....

My request would be that your takeaway be this: to look at your choices in regards to some specific finite interaction in even just one of your fandoms, and see what happens when you open the frame back up. If you widen the scope. If you let other things into the picture. Are you still comfortable with the choices you make or don’t make in light of THAT image, are they any different from the ones you made or would have made when keeping things as small and contained in your awareness as possible, just because that was easier for you to conceptualize, easier to navigate around, just....less COMPLICATED?

Because things aren’t made less complicated just by the mere fact of WANTING them to be.

And if your choices are more born of what you’d say or do IF the world were as finite or as limited as its sometimes easier to pretend it is......is that really the approach you want to go with and the reasoning you want to stand by?

And similarly, if there are choices you make and that in ORDER for you to feel comfortable making them, you feel a need to tighten your focus or shrink your worldview around one specific element or area and leave out all the rest and only then are you truly comfortable with doing or saying something, like......

Its important to remember that this isn’t the only option you have for making yourself more comfortable with things you say or do or think, or even just have in the past.

The other perfectly viable option exists: you can simply....make different choices.

[justkeeptrekkin]

erasermic one of them trying (and maybe failing) to create a lava cake so they can have a special lava-cake-date. this can be in canon or chef au.

Anon i had to google what a lava cake is and YUM. I think that’s what we call a chocolate fondant in the UK!!! Anddddd you’ve made me crave one now. So thanks lmao.

I’ve based this on my chef au, because i miss those silly chef boys. Link to the whole fic here!

These walls have seen many culinary failures. Even more culinary successes. They’ve seen the birth of liquorice delights and miso disasters. They’ve almost been burned down by triple-cooked-chips gone wrong, and they’ve had smoothie contents spattered all over them. Over a decade of working in the food industry, and Mic still forgets to put the lid on the blender.

Shouta’s warehouse converted apartment, with its big windows and exposed brick and concrete floors, is no longer Shouta’s- it’s theirs. And for that reason, it’s seen twice as many meals gone wrong.

“Shou. Babe. I swear to god, I swear to fucking god, please do not take it out of the oven. Do not take them out yet.”

“I don’t see why not. It said eight to ten minutes in the recipe.”

“And it’s been seven.”

“And by the time we finish this pointless conversation, it will have been eight, and they’ll be perfect.”

“Ok, sure, they would be, except for the fact that your oven is the biggest piece of crap I’ve ever seen and it makes me want to cry.”

“Our oven. And calm down, they’ll be fine.”

Shouta bends down to peer through the oven window. The fondants have risen a little, not too much, just right. And beside his face, Hizashi taps his foot anxiously, knee bouncing.

“You’re making me nervous,” Shouta says dryly. It’s a lie. It’s fun to tease, though.

“I- well, I sure fuckin’ hope so, my entire life is covered in cocao powder right now and I’m super craving chocolate lava cake, so if they suck and I can’t just, eat all of them one go, I’m blaming you and I’m leaving you forever.”

Shouta peers up at Hizashi with an even expression. He doesn’t think he’s smiling, but it’s not always easy to control that impulse around Hizashi. He looks down at Shouta, brows pinched and pouting, huge puppy dog eyes.

“I’m being serious!” Hizashi folds his arms across his t-shirt- which is, in fact, covered in chocolate mixture- and turns his back to him. “I’ll pack my bags and take my skills elsewhere.”

“And what about our restaurant.”

“You’ll have to find another superstar chef. You’ll have to watch my TV show just to see my face again. And I’ll acquire a really hot assistant so you can sit there and burn with jealousy.”

“Speaking of burning.”

Hizashi’s shoulders rise up to his ears and his spins round, aghast. Dropping to the floor, he nudges Shouta aside slightly so he can look through the window.

Shouta snorts.

“Yo, what the hell, you’re such a liar! They’re fine!”

“My oven’s not that bad. They’re not going to burn in eight minutes, you’re totally gullible.”

“And you’re an ass.”

Shouta laughs properly this time. And Hizashi abruptly smiles back. He likes to play up the flustered, stressed out persona when Shouta teases. It makes it more fun for both of them.

They both look back inside the oven.

Hizashi sighs.

“Fine. Let’s take them out. And if they’re ruined and they collapse and they don’t cook properly I’ll cry.”

“I know.”

Shouta takes the oven gloves and opens the oven door. The smell of chocolate is suddenly overwhelming, and the heat hits his face making his skin tingle. Hizashi’s glasses fog up, as they always do, and there’s nothing Shouta can say to persuade him to switch to contacts. Shouta places the tray on the counter, and for a moment, they both just stare at it. Eight perfect little puddings, a luxurious brown with an ever-so-slight dip in the centre. Steam rolls off of them, and Shouta breathes in the warm scent of cocoa.

“We need to wait for them to cool.” Hizashi says this like he’s in physical pain.

“Yeah.”

They look at each other. And then, Shouta takes a serving board and places it on the tray, tipping it upside down so that the puddings slide out.

Hizashi watches, hands in front of his face in apprehension. “It’s almost too much tension to bear!” he exclaims.

“They’re puddings,” Shouta replies calmly, though he can feel a sense of anticipation settling on his chest. “It’s not a competition.”

But they both know that’s not the case. Because even though this is technically a date- one of the rare occasions they get to escape the restaurant- and even though this is supposed to be a sleepy Saturday afternoon spent in each other’s company, this is a competition. This is a test- who has it right? Is it Shouta, who thinks they should have come out between eight and ten minutes? Or Hizashi, who holds a distrust for their oven?

There’s only one way to find out.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, enough that Shouta thinks that time itself has slowed down, he lifts the baking tray. He holds his breath. Feels a bead of sweat falling down his temple. Hizashi bites his fist, his other hand clinging onto his arm.

And the winner is…

The first pudding collapses in a thick puddle of chocolate.

Shouta growls to himself.

“YES! YES, in your FACE!”

Hizashi is slapping him on the arm excitedly and whooping, punching the air and doing a victory dance that makes Shouta smile to himself as he hangs his head in defeat.

He loves this idiot.

“Oh man, victory tastes so sweet, dude, I- people are going to remember this day.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s gonna be called, ‘Mic shoves an undercooked chocolate pudding directly in Chef Aizawa’s face’ day.”

“I thought you were meant to be sad that they didn’t work. Leaving me forever.”

“Oh you’d like that wouldn’t you.”

“I’d actually prefer it to this.”

Hizashi laughs brightly. Everything he does is bright, and Shouta absent-mindedly tucks a strand of hair behind Hizashi’s ear, before turning his attention back to the puddings.

The first one that came out was a failure. But on further inspection, it looks like four were successful. Their physical integrity seems to be fairly strong, compared to the other four, which have collapsed and caused a river of chocolate on the serving board.

“Still edible,” Shouta remarks.

“Well, I mean, dude. I’m eating it all regardless.”

Hizashi takes out two spoons, and Shouta takes a pinch of salt. He looks to Hizashi for permission, who nods eagerly, and he scatters over the top of the puddings. Nothing better than something sweet with a little bit of salt. Just to balance it all out. And Hizashi makes the most ridiculous noises as he ploughs through one pudding, then the second, whilst Shouta eats silently. They stand at the kitchen counter and polish off over half of it.

The Saturday afternoon light is dimming through the large apartment windows, and Shouta realises it’s probably almost time for dinner. He doesn’t think he can think about any more food for a while.

“Babe?”

“Mm.”

Hizashi holds his spoon in his mouth, brows furrowed in thought, and something else. Nervousness. Shouta waits, suddenly apprehensive. And then the look softens, as if Hizashi’s figured out how to articulate what he wants to say.

“What would you bake with kids?”

Shouta stalls. He blinks at him, trying to figure out where Hizashi’s considerably faster mind is going.

“Kids?”

“Yeah. You know, if you were baking cakes with a kid, what would you make?”

Shouta looks down at the serving board, troughs of chocolate made from their spoons and half-eaten puddings left to cool. He rubs the back of his neck. “I dunno. I guess something like this. It’s… messy, quick. Supposedly easy. Fun.”

He feels Hizashi’s eyes watching him expectantly, spoon back in his mouth like he’s trying to stop his mouth from saying anything else. Shouta rarely sees Hizashi self-conscious of his words, not around him. He doesn’t like it.

“‘Zashi?”

“No, just,” Hizashi shrugs, a huge heave of his shoulders, and waves the spoon about in his hand. “I was just thinking the same. You know. That this kind of thing would be nice to cook with kids.”

Hizashi’s eyes widen at what he’s said, and he stares resolutely at the serving board.

And something in Shouta’s chest explodes. From that point, there’s nothing that can stop Shouta from smiling. Light-headed with disbelief and love for the man silently panicking with a desert spoon stuck in his mouth once more.

“Hizashi,” he says quietly. His partner twitches, looks away. “Hizashi. Are you asking me if I want to have kids?”

Hizashi immediately turns to look at him again, and there’s a shine to his eyes. His lips form a wobbly smile. “I think I am.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m so sure. Like, one thousand percent sure. You’d be the best dad in the world.”

“I. Hizashi, you know I’ve always wanted this, but-”

“Shouta, I’m so ready for this.”

And he hears the sound of a spoon clattering to the floor before he throws his arms around Hizashi, picking him up and spinning him around in the kitchen. Hizashi yelps and squeals in surprise, but eventually wraps arms around his neck and laughs against his shoulder. He could twirl him round like this for hours. He feels rejuvenated. He feels his eyes sting with tears.

When he drops Hizashi back down, Hizashi takes his face in his hands.

“Shouta,” he says seriously.

“Yeah,” he breathes, his face hurting from grinning.

And then Hizashi laughs, looking down at the serving board of chocolate, then back at him. “Our kids are gonna be so unhealthy.”

“Chocolate’s a bean. Beans are healthy, it’s fine.”

The sound of their euphoric laughter fills the room. Shouta kisses him, and his lips taste like chocolate.

[lisinfleur]

Ravished - Chapter Three: Queen in the North

Author's notes: man, I gonna be beaten because of this chapter. I feel like I picked Ramsay Bolton, placed on a blender with Viking's clothes, some Jofrey flavored spices and voilá! Erik Draupnirsson. This man is a bastard!

Warnings TRIGGERING CHAPTER! Visual rape, described violence against woman, abuse, verbal abuse, physical abuse, violence, mentions of death, dismembering, treason and pretty much more. +18 PLUS

Words: 4.895

You never felt yourself so lost.

Erik had held you under his hands until Ubbe's image disappeared on the horizon. You were still marked by the terrible fight you put against his fingers when he made your thralls to put you into your mother's wedding dress.

The beautiful dress you thought would be yours in the most sublime moment of your life. Placed in front of the mirror, you saw each piece of that dress being mounted and your hair being brushed, your appearance changing, until you looked like the most beautiful pearl in the snow of the North.

But your eyes were empty.

The color in your iris had disappeared and your face was wet all the time. It doesn't matter how many times the thralls had dried your face, there was always some new tears rolling down as if your soul was disappearing drop by drop, trying to flee for the terrible fate your body was locked into.

After you were ready, Erik came into the room, looking at you with a bright smile on his face, raising your face towards his, obligating you to see him.

You were barely moving for more than blinking, but when one of his thralls tried to take away Ubbe's ring from your hand, you closed it looking furiously to the woman.

"Don't you dare to touch it!" You yelled, causing the thrall to become little.

Something inside of you was still fierce. Something inside of your chest wasn't totally dead. And Erik took your hand in his hands brutally pulling it, hurting your body to look at the ring in your finger.

For a second, you thought he would cut out your finger with the ring, but he just caressed the jewel in your hand, looking at you from near it, causing the shining of the metal to reflect in his damn cursed hazel eyes.

"I'll let you keep it, as a sweet memory of what will never be yours. Someday this ring might be useful. Keep a piece of your king for when I rip his body into pieces this one can remain in the North." he said, pushing your hand away. "Now come. You're beautiful and I don't wanna spend the freshness of your perfume with this stupid conversation."

His steps took the way to the door and your eyes found your own reflect once again.

You were so similar to your mother now... Did she felt this way on her marriage day as well?

"I said come." Erik's voice echoed again, threatening.

And you had no choice but following him into the principal hall of your castle.

Your memory remembering you of each laugh, each kiss, each moment you desired to last forever with your precious, gentle and kind king that refused to take you as his before you could really belong to him.

Oh, gods, how you wanted to have laid yourself with Ubbe. How you wanted your body to had belonged to your beloved king. Now, in a few hours, it would be stolen from you in a terrible way.

In a few hours, your world and your dreams would be destroyed.

In a few hours... Or a few minutes.

There was no feast, no guests, no reason for you to be on that dress but Erik's sickness. There was only your father, some papers, and ink. The right over his lands and everything that made Erik his legit son in law was there to be signed and your father gave you the feather with an icy gaze in his eyes.

"Sign it. And do me the favor or bear him a child, a male child, before I go into my grave! At least I could think your useless mother gave me more than just disgust."

And there was your answer. She couldn't be different from you. Who could be happy being married to a bastard like your father? Who could have been happy with a man who couldn't thank the gods not even a single time for his food, his life, his lands, his wife... His daughter.

You signed the papers, but your eyes looked fiercely to your fathers and for the first time you saw him looking back into your (y/e/c).

"That's where you are, in the end. And old fat envious boar that couldn't handle the fact his prick wasn't able enough to make a male child, selling your daughter's womb after being the reason why the gods closed your wife's. Faking to yourself that this bastard you call son in law is your own blood when you know he is here only for lands and a warm cunt. Betraying your king and all the vows you did to lay your head on your empty bed tonight hearing the screams of despair from a daughter you will have raped under your roof by a man you allowed to do it. You're killing my dreams, father, as you did to my mother. And I might die under this monster's hands, but I'll be watching from Fólkvangr when your king comes to avenge me. Because unlike these two pigs I have around me now, Ubbe is a man and a man of word. He said he will come back and he will. And when he comes, I will gladly receive his sacrifice of blood. And I will gladly serve his mead and wait for his time to meet me on Freyja's halls or claim me to his side at the Valhalla who awaits the men like him and rejects despicable creatures like both of you!"

You never felt so empty. Your words took every weight you ever felt in your heart from your father's contempt for you, every drop of guilt. It was never you.

It was him.

But your ears captured a clapping sound and you looked aside to see Erik's sarcastic face while he was clapping his hands, applauding your words.

"Bravo!" he said "Wonderful wedding vows, my love. Did you wrote them for yourself or it just came into your mind right now? You're amazing!"

His hands continued clapping, reducing its rhythm until the claps disappeared and only his disgusting smile remained. He walked forward one or two steps, touching your lips with his fingers, causing shivers of despair to go down through your spine.

"Fólkvangr... Freyja halls... Such a beautiful place. What makes you believe that a filthy whore like you could ever touch your toes on that clean and bright place? Uh?" he continued, bringing tears to your eyes on breaking your most minimum dreams or hopes with his meek ironic tone "Oh, no, no, no... Fólkvangr is for bright women, loyal warriors chosen by Freyja itself. And the Valhalla is not for disgusting, immoral, vicious traitors like your precious Ubbe, no..."

You took a breath to answer him and defend your king but he placed two fingers over your mouth, hushing your voice.

"Sh... Shh. You made your vows, my love. Now it is time for me to make mine. Listen, precious treasure, because you are right... Your dirty king will come back and when he comes I'll be here, waiting to clean the world from his disposable existence. But until there..." he tilted his head; his steps pushing you against the wall, cornering you between the table and the wall. Your father doing nothing but put the papers you signed together like nothing was happening in front of his eyes.

"Until your beloved king comes back, your precious little body will be mine, sweet bird. And I will use you. I will satisfy myself from you until I'm tired of fucking your pretty warm cunt, as you said."

His hand slid through your face and you saw your father leaving the room.

You heard the door being shut behind his back and the thralls leaving.

And your eyes got wide when you noticed Erik wouldn't even wait for you to be in your room...

"And I will start fucking you right here, as the filthy whore you are"

His hand grabbed your hair causing you to squeak in a mixture of pain and despair. And he turned your body, throwing your torso violently against the table where the papers were before. His free hand pulled your waist behind forcing your body to bend and so he took your arm bending it until your hand was placed in front of your eyes. The beautiful ring Ubbe gave you still shining for you to see when you felt Erik's hand leave your hair, destroying the dress behind your back, ripping it apart, touching your naked skin.

He slapped your ass cheeks making it burn. And so you felt his weight over your body.

He forced your hand against your face and mumbled on your ear before you could feel him forcing his cock against your virgin womanhood.

"Remember him, sweet bird. That's all you will have from your precious Ubbe now: memories… Nothing but the memories and plans I will crush, one… By… One".

In a single push, he destroyed everything, making your voice echoes in the room in a strangled squeal. Your sore body started moving under his thrusts, shocking his hips against your ass, pushing, stretching, hurting...

You could hear him grunting, you could feel him sweating, moving, breathing.

Your eyes were frozen at the ring, lost, trying not to drown into tears while your memory was trying to travel to your tree. Your secret place and Ubbe's arms... his kisses... his promises...

He would come back.

He needed to.

"You're so fucking tight!"

Erik's pace became intense and so your cry under his body when, in a few more thrusts, he pushed himself strongly and entirely, spilling his disgusting seed in the depths of your body.

The sobs took you when you felt his body collapsing over yours; his panting breath causing you nausea when hitting your naked neck.

You moved underneath him, trying to force his body out of yours, but he just pushed you stronger against the table.

"Who told you we're done, love?" his voice invaded your ears, sharp.

And when he started thrusting once again, you knew your suffering would be long.

And so...

 You started praying.

--

When Erik finished, it was already morning again.

Your body was sore and tired, marked with his teeth, his hands and his seed all over your skin.

No one dared to get inside that room.

No one dared to help you.

And no one dared to question when he opened the door, leaving as if he hadn't raped your body for hours, destroying all the beautiful dreams you had built for that moment.

You slid to the ground, covering yourself poorly with the rags of your mother's dress, and cried for a long time. Your fingers tightly pressing the ring of your beloved king in your hand.

You weren't dignified of him anymore. Erik has taken everything from you. But even then, you would find a way to frustrate his plans and warn Ubbe of what they were planning.

You dragged your wounded body to the nearest wall and used it as support to get on your feet, walking slowly and poorly to your room. You locked the door dismissing any thralls.

Slowly you filled your bathtub with water and some herbs to help with your pain. You left your mother's ripped dress on the ground and dove your sore body into the water covering yourself completely, resting on the bottom of the tub where not even the sound could reach you but the few bubbles leaving your nose to disappear at the surface of the water. You learned, with the fights of your parents, how to spend a lot of time without breathing underwater, just because you didn't want to hear them screaming or your mother being beaten.

So you lost yourself in your thoughts, looking at the surface of the water, thinking about what you would do to blow Erik's plans...

But you took too long and one of the thralls thought your locked door could mean something. So he called his master, as a good dog, barking to any shadow of danger around his owner.

Erik broke your door kicking it down. In one second you were staring the beautiful empty surface of the water; in the other, Erik's face appeared on the water mirror and his hands went into the bathtub, pulling you violently out, throwing your body on the ground, causing all your pains to come back at once.

He was so furious...

"Oh, don't you dare to try it! Don't you ever dare to try it! Did you listen to me?" he yelled, gripping your hair again, shaking your body to force you to look into his hazels

"I was just... bathing... I..." you tried, whimpering.

"I know exactly what you were doing, you bitch! No! Did you listen to me? You will not flee from me or try to kill yourself! You're my property and I decide if you live or die! If I want you to die, I will decide how! You belong to me (Y/N)!" he yelled again.

"I wasn't trying to kill myself! I was just bathing!!" you yelled.

And so his hand found your face, heavy, slapping hard as once your father did because of him.

He raised you by your neck, looking to your burning face and the purple mark that was forming on your jawline.

"You... will never lock a door once again, did you hear me, love? Doors open from now on. And I want one of my slaves by your side on each of your bathes. A male one, just to be sure that he will be strong enough to force you out of the water if necessary. SATYR!" he yelled his favorite slave...

The one you hated the most.

"Follow her. Wherever she goes. And if she tries to kill herself, prevent her to do it. By any necessary means!"

He nodded and from this moment on, you weren't alone anymore.

Satyr followed you the entire day, walking around you to wherever place you wanna go. Erik dragging you to his bed whenever he wanted and for the entire nights, fucking your body senselessly, hurting you every night for you to try to heal in the time between.

Your life was a mess and after the first months, you were almost mute. Your body was skinny and you were tired. Your shame disappeared: to be naked wasn't a problem anymore. You knew Satyr had already seen everything and your husband didn't have problems about fucking you in front of his eyes so what was the matter?

Six months had passed and no sign of Ubbe back on the horizon or any means for you to destroy your father's and Erik's plans. You were starting to become hopeless.

Your eyes have lost completely their color, but in exchange, your skin had earned purple tones all over your body where Erik used to press too much.

Or from the spankings.

You were really thinking about taking your life now. Maybe running into the iced lake under your tree. Satyr would never be able to reach you before the ice was broken under your feet or, with some luck, he would be dragged by the cold water with you and die as well.

"What do you look so intensely at this lake, love?" Erik's voice came when you were seated at the margin of the frozen lake under your tree.

"Mother used to tell me stories under this tree" you said, "It is a special place from my childhood."

You knew that hiding would be worst.

"Living from past. Tsk. Come. We have visitors".

You followed him, ready for more of that stupid rebellion against the crown that was already being spoken in open mouths inside your house. Earls were coming from all the north to talk about the idea of separating the North or taking the crown. There were so few people loyal to your beloved king...

But this time it wasn't a normal visitor.

"We don't care, Ármóðr!" your father's voice came and the name called your attention. "They're a bunch of brats and the North needs a real leader!"

Earl Ármóðr, your uncle, half-brother of your mother you didn't see long ago. A loyal man, who told you a lot of King Ragnar's stories and how he went to the lands of England besides the king.

When your eyes found him, he knew something was wrong.

"Sweet (Y/N)... You look just like your mother".

It wasn't a commentary. It was a hidden message you got perfectly.

You were looking just like your mother: dying day by day as she was before you. However, you smiled at him, giving Erik what he wanted: a meek wife.

Your words giving your uncle more than your father and stupid husband could understand.

"It couldn't be different, my uncle."

You had her same destiny and Ármóðr's eyes went from you to Erik's before he smiled again.

A  bastard. Just like your father.

You served the meal for the guest and your family, serving all of them of mead. And your uncle could see the marks in your neck and arms while you were serving him.

But when you came with the mead he couldn't avoid noticing the king's ring in your finger.

"How did you get this, my niece?" he asked and you didn't even need Erik's gaze to lie.

You knew your uncle would see through the lie.

"A mere symbol of the king's favor for he liked what he had when received in our lands. Nothing really important, my uncle" you said, satisfying Erik with your answer.

But your eyes seemed to have learned from Ubbe's and were screaming the ring on your finger was pretty more than just his favor.

It was his love...

A love that your uncle could see into your eyes.

At the end of the lunch, your uncle stretched his back.

"It is a pity, but since you and I don't agree, my brother, I'll leave back to my lands. May (Y/N) take me to my sister's tree? There is a time I don't speak to her."

Your father just motioned his fingers and Satyr got up to follow you.

You and your uncle walked silently for all the way to that place, taking the horses by their reins, without mounting them, exchanging eye glares that slave couldn't understand.

But your uncle knew he only had one chance to know the truth and you knew it would cost you dear.

You had one chance to warn your king. But it would cost your life.

Erik would never forgive your betrayal. But if your uncle could warn Ubbe, your life would have worth the price to save your beloved king.

So when you reached the tree, you started walking into the ice of the river.

Satyr looked at you, alert.

"Lady  (Y/N), don't make me force you to the margin. Lord Erik told me to use force to prevent you to get hurt if necessary." his voice echoed, and you just continued, causing him to start walking towards you. "Lady (Y/N)! Come back here right n-".

His voice choked when your uncle's blade cut his throat in a single strike.

Ármóðr's eyes were on yours when the body of the slave reached the ground. You knew you haven't too much time.

"What is he doing to you? What is that bastard doing to you, my dear?" he said, touching your face, but you took the ring from your finger, separating yourself from your best and warmest memory, putting in into your uncle's hands and looking into his eyes.

"He loves me, uncle. And I loved him with all my heart. My only regret in this life was not to have belonged to my king when I had the chance. Take this ring and make it reach him. Tell our king what my father and my husband are planning. Warn Ubbe about what happened here and tell him to leave the North, go back to Kattegat and set up his army. There will be war and his life is in danger. Tell him, my uncle. Tell him." your eyes were filled with tears.

"What about you, my flower?" he asked, and you smiled.

"I'll find him in Valhalla, uncle. I'll find him. Now go." you pushed him towards his horse. "Go!"

He mounted.

You could already hear the noises of Erik's horse, probably coming after you, annoyed you took so long to come back.

"GO!" you yelled, slapping your uncle's horse, forcing him to leave you behind in a run for Ubbe's life.

You grabbed the knife on Satyr's body, but before you could cut your own throat with it, Erik jumped from his horse, holding your hand. Causing your cry to become a scream of frustration when he pressed your fingers against the cable of the blade, forcing you to let it go, almost breaking your fingers with the anger he pressed them.

His furious hazels saw your uncle's horse going away and he twisted your hand, missing the ring in your finger.

"You filthy whore..." his voice sounded threatening, but you spat on his face.

"You traitor bastard! I hope Thor strike you dead and may Frey dry my womb before I can bare you a child, you monster!"

He punched your face this time, causing you to fall dizzy in his arms. So he put you over his horse, running back home, throwing you into your room and screaming for his slaves to bring him chains.

"Chain this bitch to the wall! Arms and neck. Let her legs free to be open. Want you to be treated as a whore? So a whore you'll be from now on!"

He left, and you fought his slaves with all the strength you still have while they were chaining you to the wall of the room as he said them to do.

In the principal hall, your father was questioning Erik what was going on and without cutting his steps, he ordered some men to come with him, remounting his horse.

"The bitch you call daughter sent your brother in law to the king. I'll go there clean up her mess and warrant she will not destroy everything! You were right and so was she: Your damned wife served for nothing but to birth a seed of disgrace! That snake will be confined to my room now and don't you dare to release that bitch!"

"Why should I? Go, before Ármóðr ends up fucking everything! Go!" your father pushed him and Erik left with some men after your uncle.

The hours passed slowly and the night was already high when he came back, breaking into the room and rolling Ármóðr's head to your feet, filling your eyes with thick tears when he pushed your head towards your uncle's dead eyes.

"Look what you made me do!" Erik yelled "From now on, you're not my wife. You're my whore. My slave. And I'll be sure to make you suffer the worst this world can offer. Look closely at this dead eyes, (Y/N). Soon it will be Ubbe's eyes in front of you!" he said, kicking Ármóðr's head and clenching his hands. "Now, this is for betraying me, you damn bitch!"

From the first punch forward, you felt your heart empty of hope. The more your mouth was filled with blood, the more you felt the words vanishing from your tongue. There was no hope and no god was listening to your prayers.

You were lost, just like your uncle. And soon, Ubbe would be lost as well.

--

In the middle of the north, two weeks later...

The sound of horse hooves caught Ubbe's attention and he looked behind to see a young man over a white horse, coming as a bullet through the road.

He passed through him running as if the world depended on his mission, leaving Ubbe behind in his slow trot, worried with what could be making that man run so fast.

However, before he could disappear on the horizon, the horse made a turn and the man came back, stopping and rounding Ubbe's horse before stopping in front of him.

"Name the three kings of Kattegat," the man said, snooty, causing Ubbe to look at him curiously.

"Ubbe, Hvitserk, and Ivar Lothbrook", he said, "And who is questioning?"

But the man ignored his question, questioning over it, and so Ubbe understood it could be a code, giving the man's words a little more of attention.

"And how are they known through the world?" the man said, waiting for his answer.

"The Quiet Beast, The White Shirt and The Boneless" he answered, looking into the men's eyes.

There wasn't in his words the names for what they were being called between the rebels. The man's shoulders became tense and he sighed, begging the gods he was talking with the right man.

"The noble Earl Ármóðr, from the Northern lands of Albedar, my master, has a message for his king. What is your name, young man?" he asked.

Ubbe straightened his horse, looking at the panting man in front of him.

"I'm Ubbe Ragnarsson, The second son of Ragnar Lothbrok, King of Kattegat by my birthright, first between my brothers. And the recipient of your message," he answered, extending his hand to the man to receive a small parchment written in a poor calligraphy of someone who wrote as fast as it was possible.

"All hail King Ubbe, All hail the Lothbroks.

Sadly I won't be able to see my king's glory once again since this message will reach your hands while I will be probably feasting with your noble father if the gods allow me to.

From the last Earl loyal to your highness at the North, I beg the gods this warn can reach you..."

Ubbe's eyes were running through those lines in disbelief. He was with Ármóðr not long ago and now that letter said he would probably be dead by now?

"The Earls in the North aren't making true vows. They are rebelling against the crown and my brother in law Bolduir and his son in law Erik are now the leaders of this riot. They intend to claim the crown by war and sealed alliances behind my king's back even marrying my niece with this bastard they intend to settle on my king's place. (Y/N) will probably be suffering the consequences of her brave actions of loyalty telling me all that happened since you left her kingdom so I could warn you, my king.

Here is the ring your highness gave her as a proof of our loyalty and the reality of these cruel words. Believe us, my king, your life is in danger and so is the crown.

Come back to Kattegat and prepare for war and may the gods make you stronger to defeat all your enemies and crush their terrible intentions.

If it's not too late by the moment this message reaches your highness, I beg you for my niece's life. I die with honor and pleasure, serving your noble highness with loyalty until the end of my days."

Near the signature, over the seal of wax, there was the ring he gave to (Y/N) as a symbol of their love now broken by that terrible news.

She was married with that bastard Erik and worse than that, suffering for her loyalty in the middle of so many snakes; her father mislead him and he fell like a fool.

Ubbe grunted in anger looking at the young messenger dressed as a slave.

"What is your name, young boy?"

"I'm Ully," the young man answered and so Ubbe touched his shoulder.

"You're a free man now, Ully. Take this with you and go back to Kattegat as fast as your horse can run. Tell my brother Hvitserk to prepare for war and show him this when you ask to talk to him. He will know it is a true message from myself" he said, giving Ully a necklace Hvitserk once gave him as a protection and a bag of gold for the travel.  

His brother would recognize the piece with no mistake.

"As my king commands." the boy said, taking the necklace and the gold and leaving at the same accelerated pace he arrived.

Ubbe turned the horse back, leaving at the same pace.

He remembered to have seen some crows at the nearest farm and for some gold coins, the woman from that farm allowed him to send one of them addressed to Ivar.

He watched the crow flying in the air before his eyes could reach the metal ring back in his finger.

He knew he should go back to Kattegat and remaining in the North was too risky. But his precious (Y/N) wouldn't be there for him if he waited that long.

He pressed the ring in his hands and kicked his heels on the horse, causing him to start running at a faster pace towards Bolduir's castle.

He would rescue his precious (Y/N) even if he had to start stopping the rebellion in the north by killing her father and that bastard that dared to steal her from him first.

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[suzie-guru]

Suzie’s Decidedly Non-Coherent Thoughts Regarding Trollhunters Season 3.

OKAY.  

So I fully acknowledge I’ve been putting this off, but to be fair to myself, I am still in the midst of some pretty intensive training for this job, and also...

THERE WAS A LOT TO PROCESS WITH THIS SEASON. 

LIKE, A LOT. 

So this post will honestly be a hodgepodge of all sorts of things, and I’m pretty damn sure it won’t be the least bit coherent, but...I made a promise to y’all. 

By far and away, A House Divided was my favorite episode, and that’s really fucking saying something because this Season was RICH with good episodes. I said it once and I’m saying it again, A House Divided is peak Trollhunters - I was breathless and shaking from the power and emotion of that ending scene. Trollhunters is a great show all around, but when it’s when it stops and allows the emotional weight and poignancy of Jim’s journey, all of the sacrifices he has made, to set in and gives its due course...it’s heartbreaking and it’s magnificent and so incredibly powerful. 

Jim’s journey has never been an easy one, but episode hit me like a hammer to the heart - he can’t come back from this. His human life is effectively over. He’s giving up so much, so incredibly much, and he keeps on choosing to answer the call, give himself over again and again and again. This episode brought this all home, and my God, it was heart-wrenching. 

I will admit, I was at first puzzled and a little upset that after everyone saying that it was Jim’s humanity that made him such a strong Trollhunter, suddenly that wasn’t enough. It felt like such a slap in the face. But if there’s one thing about Trollhunters that stays strong, it’s the theme of sacrifice. Jim sacrificing his right to have a normal life to be the Trollhunter the world needs, Draal sacrificing his arrogance and dreams to be the protector and friend of the Trollhunter, Strickler sacrificing his desire for power to be worthy of Barbara’s love and Jim’s trust...

Sacrifice isn’t easy. It hurts a hell of a lot at times. And that’s what makes Jim such an incredible hero. When all the pieces are down, he chooses to be selfless, to put the world above himself. He ends the life he wants to have the life that will save others. I can’t even put into words what that does to me...

Phew. Okay. Deeeeeep breath, Suzanne, and collect thyself. Now onto other things...

All the above being said, Merlin is a dick. Look, I get it - he sees the bigger picture, he cares but he has to look at what needs to be done. I understand that angle. But he’s still a fucking dick. And I’m not only thinking about how he manipulates treats Jim. 

Yeah, I’m thinking about Strickler. 

Who Merlin dismisses as Changeling before walking away...

Sure, Walter was groveling to him at that moment, but...Jesus Christ, you musty magic man. Yes, absolutely, look down like everyone else does upon the race that your goddamned pupil created - hell, you probably look down on them BECAUSE your goddamn pupil created them. Don’t stop to think about they had no choice in the matter, don’t stop to think about how YOU’VE could have helped them and turned them away from Morgana if you had stepped up and set an example of acceptance that other trolls could have followed. Dismiss them just like everyone else does. Let your own bitter disappointment about Morgana color your feelings to them. JERK. 

ALSO. YOU WANTED A “CHAMPION WITH A FOOT IN BOTH WORLDS”!?! GOSH, I DON’T KNOW, MAYBE A FUCKING CHANGELING CHAMPION WOULD HAVE BEEN A BETTER SOLUTION THAN A POOR TEENAGER WHO JUST WANTS TO LIVE HIS LIFE AND LOVE HIS MOM AND COOK GREAT FOOD AND RIDE HIS VESPA. JUST AN IDEA, JACKASS. 

Look, fuck Merlin. Just fuck him. Jim deserves to be a champion of someone SO much better. Merlin and Morgana are both using their champions as pawns although, to Merlin’s credit, he makes a point of opening Jim’s eyes and making it about Jim’s choice. But yeah, I’m gonna write a very cathartic fanfic featuring Barbara Lake giving Merlin all kinds of hell in regards to his gross negligence over the whole changeling thing...

Okay, what else...what could I possibly be missing...

Oh yeah!

STRICKLAKE. 

Man, I was one happy camper this season after the decidedly dry spell of Season Two. And by “happy camper” I mean gloriously tortured, but I figured you would gather that. 

So many good things, so many gorgeous scenes! Walter on gravesand being brought back by his love for Barbara, his UTTER NERDNESS nervousness and psyching himself up with French (THIS FUCKING DORK) to talk to her again, Barbara being a MAJOR FUCKING ARTIST (MY GIRL IS SO TALENTED) and trying to cope with Walter running off, Walt being tempted by Morgana!Barbara (oh my god my son my son be strong my son but at the same time THIS SHIT IS ALL THE FLAVORS OF MY JAM)

AND THEN THAT SCENE IN THE MUSEUM?!

(HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT WE GOT A MOONLIT FLIGHT MY STRANGE MAGIC HEART WAS QUAKING WITH JOY AND I MAY HAVE MURMURED “THE MOONLIGHT IS PERFECT RIGHT NOW”, DON’T JUDGE MEEEEEE)

Okay, one big ass complaint though: 

WE DID NOT GET A SCENE BETWEEN WALTER AND BARBARA WHERE SHE LETS HIM KNOW SHE REMEMBERS EVERYTHING. 

...WTF?!?

On one hand, this is perfect fanfic fuel. 

On the other hand, WE WAS ROBBED. 

Also, did she just tell the other parents that he was in on everything? How on earth did that go down? I’M SO CURIOUS. 

THAT PLAY.  THOSE FUCKING DORKS. DICTATIOUS BEING ROPPED INTO IT AS WELL. THE FACT THAT WALTER ACTUALLY CHANGED INTO HIS TROLL FORM FOR IT. I’m super confused, did the other parents (aside from Barbara, obviously) think it was makeup or what? 

Meanwhile Walter’s just like “fuck it it might as well happen at least Barbara let me into her house I’ve sat through parent teacher conferences with these plebs before I can handle doing this rag-tag-ass play”

AND THEN!

Okay, I fucking CALLED Usurna pretending to be Barbara as soon as she pretended to cower next to Walter. BARBARA LAKE IS NOT ONE TO COWER, YOU STONY BITCH. 

“My life is not worth the world!”  “...It is to me.” 

*Regina: Stricklake*

*The Heart She’s Holding: Mine* 

then...

“May the world forgive me. For without you, there is no world!” 

I’M OKAY, I’M FINE, I SWEAR I’M FINE. 

Okay, what else...here’s a random run-down: 

THAT LAST FIGHT SCENE WAS STUNNING. Like, granted, the animation is always good, BUT HOLY HELL, THAT WAS SO BEAUTIFUL AND BREATHTAKING, EVERYTHING WAS CHOREOGRAPHED SO WELL. 

Walter FINALLY coming back to his rightful place of being Concerned Instructor/Father Figure to Jim. “Young Atlas, you are not alone! Don’t do this! Open the door!” 

(I was literally eating ice cream during this moment, this gif is all too real). 

STEVE AND ELI’S REACTION TO NOMURA WAS A BLESSING. LIKE, AN HONEST AND TRUE BLESSING. WE GOT THE SLOW MOTION AND MUSIC AND EVERYTHING. 

Oh fuck oH FUCK, I JUST THOUGHT ABOUT NOMURA’S REACTION TO FINDING OUT ABOUT DRAAL’S DEATH

OOOOOOOUUUUUUCH

Okay, enough pain...

(for now)

ANGOR REDEMPTION. WE HAVE BEEN BLESSED. 

So I had seen that Walter had wings in the concept art of the show, but I was under the impression that they had decided to forgo that. COLOR ME HAPPY WHEN IT TURNS OUT, NOPE, THEY DID NOT. 

So can Walter just decide he’s feeling more like his knife cape today? I wonder how that works...

(totally not planning a fanfic exploring this and Walter wrapping his wings around Barbara like a cocoon)

((totally not))

(((she lied)))

“I think these kitties are from a bad neighborhood” 

“B is for blender, fur ball.” BARBARA, MY SAVAGE SWEETHEART, FUCK ‘EM UP, FUCK ‘EM ALL UP, YES YES YES. 

So I have personally figured out how I would solve Walter being stuck in his Troll form in my own fanfics (WHICH I AM SO EXCITED TO WRITE, OH WOW) but I’m pretty darn sure that there are multiple other ways for us to work with that (glamour masks, potions, et cetera et cetera...) 

I’m pretty damn sure that Barbara and Walter AREN’T gonna be raising all those babies, but you never know. I personally like the idea of them seeking out adoption centers over the world (Walter knows them because of his work with the Janus Order), but then they decide to raise the REAL Strickler as their own. 

YES I HAVE A FANFIC PLANNED DO NOT JUDGE ME

And yes, I’m sure I am not alone in this, but I let out a soft sob when I saw that dedication to Anton. Rest In Peace, darling. 

What else...

Oh yeah:

Jim’s Troll form is hot. 

There, I’ve said it. 

So yeah, this is all just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to my emotions over this show, especially with the fact that it’s officially over. But yeah...what a beautiful and brilliant ride. I couldn’t have asked for me. 

...except an on-screen Stricklake kiss.

But that’s what fanfic is for. 

[bladesofyuri]

My Excess Weight is Falling Off: How, Why, and What’s Different

This is a different kind of post for this blog, but I think it’s worth sharing.

If you’ve been following me for a few months, you may have seen a post I made asking for fitness/healthy lifestyle/accountability buddies. My weight is something that has always fluctuated and that I’ve always had a hard time with, even when I was dancing all the time and trying all sorts of “diets.” Over the past two years I found myself in a really dark place, and the weight started piling on for a number of reasons. No, I’m not telling you that as an excuse--it isn’t one. I simply wasn’t taking care of myself like I should’ve been. I was eating fairly well but not well enough, skipping meals I just felt too tired to eat (and sometimes, I’d go an entire day without one), and when I’d go to the gym, I wouldn’t do much more than the elliptical for an hour or a half hour plus some resistance training that really wasn’t challenging me. I knew I needed to work differently, but I had no motivation and my heart just wasn’t in it at all. The combination of graduate school and work was, to be frank, kicking my ass. On top of that, my social life had become nonexistent, I had no boyfriend, and didn’t really feel like I had anyone aside from two close friends who no longer even live in the same city to talk to. 

I’d even for the first time in my life grown very uncomfortable at the gym, despite knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt from my own experiences on the other side that nobody cares about what you’re doing or is even paying attention to you there. Still, I felt like a big, bloated puff waddling around it in comparison to everyone else and more importantly, compared to how I used to feel in it: strong, confident, and calm. 

Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly the epitome of health at the time.

There was something else too that’d been bothering me: more than anything, I wanted to get back into dance, despite having been out of it so long. I just needed that familiarity, that something, even if I wasn’t really in good enough shape in my mind to be doing it. One evening, I saw an advertisement, and I decided to try a class. 

That in itself was a little jarring: I suppose in the 7 years I’d been out of dance, I’d forgotten how tiny dancers really were. I’d always been thicker for a dancer, at my fittest usually being mistaken for a cheerleader or gymnast. This was also the time when I was extremely involved with martial arts, which literally shredded my fat in those tougher spots right off. I’d gone from literal fighting shape with a six-pack to fat, and on my kind of build (which is average height and very curvy), even being a little chubby shows. 

So here I was, in this dance class for a style I’d never tried before feeling very much like a potato among shorter, more toned versions of Victoria’s Secret models. It was a bit overwhelming to say the least, though it was fun. 

That said, there were a ton of concerns going through my head. This class happened to be one where you’re partnered by men the whole time, and I began to wonder what effect my weight may have on them. There were no lifts at least--but moves that involved leaning, dips, etc. were common. Not to mention, I imagined my larger body must be much harder to lead.

So, I worked out a little more, still doing the same types of thing. Elliptical, treadmill, occasional resistance. I tried cutting carbs (more on that later), had a brief and desperate stint of limiting myself to one small meal a day (unhealthy and disastrous--I gained weight), and several other things that were so ineffective they aren’t worth mentioning. I thought that maybe despite my age my metabolism had already begun slowing down rapidly. 

Not knowing what else to do, I decided to see a nutritionist. 

We started meeting regularly, and she worked to figure out what exactly was going on. On paper, I wasn’t eating particularly badly: I had a few off days here and there, but combined with the amount of exercise I was getting daily (from walking back and forth to work and class, those 3-4x a week gym sessions, plus the new dance class additions), she had a little trouble deciphering what was wrong at first. I was particularly frustrated--I’d lost weight before, dropped my body fat percentage to a staggeringly low but still healthy amount for a female, and yet nothing I was doing now seemed to be working. My weight just fluctuated naturally as it always had. I had my resting metabolic rates checked, and some other tests run too.

Well, I thought when everything checked out to be within normal range, at least I was finally having some fun. I loved my dance classes and each made me feel quite a bit better on a daily basis even if I did still have those occasional nights when depression and anxiety really decided to kick in. Though the styles were different, I was doing something I loved again and meeting new people who were kind, informative, and encouraging, and that was more than I’d had in some time.

It still wasn’t enough for me, though. Not really. I’d dance around my apartment, listening to the kinds of music I used to dance to--hip-hop in particular. It always had been my strongest style, and I decided to try out the studio’s advanced class. I had, after all, done it for many years, and was still pretty confident I could move like I used to if my probably hilarious apartment dancing was any indication.

I took a class. 

I realized they filmed everything. 

And I watched those videos back. Sure, I still had it and had somehow managed not to lose much of my skill, even if I had been out of it for so long. No doubt this is thanks to the physical activity I’d maintained, even if it wasn’t up to par with what I’d done in my dance and martial arts days. Seeing that first video generated two thoughts in my mind:

1. I was still good. Very good. 

2. I was still good, even keeping up with the pros in my class, but the person dancing in that video wasn’t me. 

People have different opinions when it comes to being on camera. Some think it’s unhealthy to use it as a motivator, believing that it can develop an obsession. But I’m not that type, and in my mind, using videos to hold myself accountable is no less unhealthy than sitting on Tumblr feeling sorry for myself and eating myself into a blob, which is exactly what I felt I was. Nobody was “shaming” me. It wasn’t society or beauty standards or anything of the sort. I simply wasn’t happy with myself, and this video proved it. 

I kicked it into high gear. As much as I may not often admit it I’m a highly competitive person. I see either someone who’s better than me at something and what to get to their level or surpass them, or I see myself and want to overcome that current self and transform it into something better. This, for better or worse, was exactly the blend of both I needed. I could dance like the people around me, and where I was a little rusty I knew I could get back, but I didn’t look as strong as them just because of my body.

I made small changes to my diet. I’ve always had a running joke about having the appetite of a lineman, and to this day that’s true. I like my food, and I like to eat. A lot. But I changed what I ate and when. I eat no breads or rice after lunch, instead loading up on lean meats and veggies. I don’t snack on things like yogurt at night anymore, either. Instead, I whip up some egg beaters (I highly recommend the southwestern flavor, by the way) and throw some lean, deli-cut turkey breast in with it. That’s my current go-to late-night snack. Other snacks are usually hard-boiled eggs or something along the lines of raw vegetables, fruits with a light dusting of Stevia over the top for those sweet tooth days, and carrot fries with a light ranch. I also make good use of frozen fruits that keep forever and that I can throw into a blender with some Greek yogurt. Breakfast is often something like a grilled chicken breast with eggs (my ultimate weaknesses is Chick-fil-A’s egg white grill when I need a speedy breakfast on the go), a poached egg with half an avocado and a slice of wheat toast, or something along those lines. I’ve also tried the toast + peanut butter + banana thing, though it was a bit sweet for my taste. Lunch is a bit broader: I enjoy salads but not enough to have them daily, and lunch admittedly tends to be my least healthy meal of the day. I had a cheeseburger today for example, which I do not recommend, but if you’re going to do something like that, just make sure you’re opting for a side salad or something similar instead of fries. My aim for lunch tends to be a light salad or a something like a burrito bowl with very little to no rice. I focus on lean meats and vegetables for both lunch and dinner, so depending on what I’ve prepped or am planning to make/have, I make the according adjustments to my lunch. 

One thing I cut out completely--and a cut that pains me as it will my fellow Southerners--is sweet tea. I love sweet tea. I grew up on sweet tea and it’s quite literally the taste of home. This is something I had to ween myself off of over the course of a couple weeks on the days I ate out, ordering 1/2 sweet, 1/2 unsweet drinks. I’m happy to say I’ve already broken the habit, and it’s already become natural for me to order or make unsweet tea and either drink it as is or add just a pinch of natural sweetener in. Likewise, I cut back on sugary coffee drinks, though that wasn’t as difficult for me. I don’t mind the taste of black coffee, so that’s all well and good.

Once I did all of these things, I started noticing little things. Those leggings that had been too tight suddenly started to fit perfectly. My workout pants that I’d gone a size up on because of my chubbier areas started falling off--literally, to the point where I constantly have started having to pull them back up. My stomach and waist area--which is the one and only area I always have lost weight quickly in--has already gone from being jiggly to flat. My lovely (yes, this is sarcasm) Viking arms I inherited from my dad and my thick cyclist legs I inherited from my mom are already slimming down and toning. I started bodyweight circut classes and free weights again, though I definitely still enjoy my resistance days. It turns out I don’t need any additional cardio now that I’m dancing again, and I really only do short stints of it for stamina purposes.

And suddenly, it’s all been put into perspective. 

My biggest block was settling for not enough. 

I was eating in a more healthy way than the average person, but it wasn’t enough. I was working out regularly, but not in a way that was enough. I had no real routine or regulation for what I was eating beyond just staying under a certain calorie count, and not a good enough routine in the gym.

I’m not saying don’t go get on that elliptical or treadmill if that’s something that makes you feel good and helps you. Everybody’s different. Some people really can drop weight as long as they’re up and moving, and it really doesn’t matter what they do during that time. Others, like myself, need more specific exercise, and from experience I know mine is a combination of dance or martial arts and weights/bodyweight. Running does nothing. Ellipticals do nothing. Cycling does nothing. I have to do weights, and I have to have workouts that engage my entire body.

I’m happy to say within the past month of really hitting it this hard, not only have I lost weight, but I’m nearly down a size in everything (the latter of which is more over the course of two months). It really was just making the right changes and remembering what works for me, along with figuring out the new things that work for me since I obviously no longer live under my parents’ roof like I’d done the first time I’d really gotten fit. I had to figure out a way to cook for myself and make the right decisions when I do get fast food. I had to really start putting in the right work at the gym.

And you know what? It’s worth it.

I’ve even developed something of a social life through my classes again, and I’m loving every minute of it. It’s worth it to go into those classes and meet people, encourage them while they encourage you, and let them help to make you the best you can be through their sheer dedication and skill. 

As for the darker mental side of it all, depression and anxiety don’t go away, but you can train yourself to push through them again, and you might just find those spells starting to dwindle a bit when you do. For me in every way, shape, or form, these changes have all been worth it. 

Find what works for you and go for it not halfway, but all out. 

[buckykingofmemes]

Tell us a story about a cow.

the howlies were an unconventional unit. we moved faster than most other groups, and we were willing and able to take bigger, harder targets than most our size could. we also had the advantage of all being experts in our respective fields, and combined with steve’s conniving artist brain being in charge, we came at problems in unexpected ways. 

all those things meant that we ran a lot of what phillips misleadingly called ‘precision ops,’ where our small team would covertly reach and then take out a target beyond our own lines, then exfiltrate back to safety. generally whatever our target was wound up as a massive heap of ash and rubble, because the howlies had a really unnecessary number of guys who wanted to demolitions. uh. ill admit to being guilty of that one myself. 

(The rest is under the cut!)

so we would get dropped at whatever point the brass thought they could get us to without detection, and then we’d make our own way overland to the target. sometimes we had transport for that, but pretty often we were on foot. (on a couple occasions, we had bikes. literal actual bicycles, not motorcycles, which was….not ideal.)  we’d take the target, and then get back to the drop point for transport home. usually, we had no backup and no extraction plan beyond: “get your reckless asses back to the drop point, or get dead.” (another nugget of wisdom from colonel phillips.)  often, that meant we walked back. not fun, when you’re carrying 50lb of gear through hostile territory, but not the worst thing. 

the problem was that if anyone got injured, the only way to get them out was to carry them out ourselves; we couldnt exactly call in an airlift. luckily, serious injuries were surprisingly rare for the howlies. i mean, i lost an arm that one time, but it worked out. i got a new one. 

so one such op had us crossing several miles of bombed-out farmland to get to blow the crap out of a nazi supply depot. blowing up supply depots is great, because often they already have explosives inside, so you get more bang-for-your-bomb than usual. op went off without a hitch; depot went up with a boom, and we cleaned up and got ready to head back. 

which was when jim morita tripped. 

he didnt even trip over anything in particular, just kind of stumbled over his own feet and went down with a pretty hilarious yelp. morita was generally a graceful, sneaky sort, so that kind of pratfall was hilariously out of character. it was great until he stood up and found he couldnt put any weight on his right foot. he’d sprained his ankle. 

now, morita was a little guy, and we had no shortage of muscle on the howlies. aside from steve, dumdum used to be a circus strongman, and im no slouch myself. the physical task of piggybacking him fifteen-odd miles back to the drop point was doable, but frankly it was gonna be a huge pain. its just not comfortable, and morita and whoever was carrying him would have to pass their gear off to other people. 

so, being inventive sorts of guys, we took a  look around to see if there was anything we could use to make our lives easier. gabe jones located a cow. 

yes. a cow.

now, us howlies were a surprisingly urban group–steve and i were born brooklynites, and gabe was a new yorker too. jaques was parisian, dumdum bostonian. morita was from fresno. falsworth was sort of the exception, but he was born and raised on a manor outside london, so you couldnt exactly call him a country boy. 

so us street-wise city slickers took a look at gabe jones’s cow, and figured well. it was kinda like a horse, right??

cows are not kinda like horses. 

we were later informed that our four legged friend was a dairy cow, and she was generally a pretty docile lady. whatever farm she’d been from had probably been caught in the bombing, and she’d been wandering around since. she was so glad to come across some friendly human faces that she pretty readily allowed us to loop some rope around her front half. (cowboys we were not. we basically just wrapped rope around her until there was something to hold on to) then steve picked morita up and set him on the back of the cow. 

for a long, glorious moment, it seemed like it might work out. 

and then the cow realized there was something on her back. 

and that she DID NOT LIKE IT.

i’d never seen a cow run before. theyre not particularly graceful, but man, once they get started they are damn hard to stop. morita was a tenacious sonovagun, and he hung on to that rope like his dignity depended on it. 

little did he realize that his dignity was long gone. 

the cow was galloping, his legs were flapping, he was bouncing around like a bullet in a blender. if any of the rest of us had managed to stop laughing, we probably would have gone after him, but we could barely breathe, let alone run.

turns out cows are not really riding animals. who knew?

after an acre or so, the cow, being a gentle sort of lady, realized that the thing on her back was staying put, and she slowed to a walk, then ambled over to some grass and started munching.

the rest of us caught up, figured out a lead rope, and set off towards friendly territory.

im not sure what exactly passed through phillips’s mind when we showed up with a freshly-commandeered dairy cow, but it was hardly the worst thing we’d ever turned up with, so he let it slide.

the cow got adopted by camp kitchen staff, and we had fresh cream in our coffees most mornings, which was nice.

 the KP boys named her Heil Heifer, and im told that she served honorably until the war ended, and was then passed off to a nice french-jewish family. 

[marvelhead17]

Miracle (Original Female Character x Cable)

Chapter 19

Summary: “How did you fix it?” he asked. “Ask Ellen the Teenage Warhead,” Wade shrugged as he stood up, “As for baby Hitler he ended up having a diaper change, funny story I was actually going to call Cable since he was so keen on killing Russel, I thought this would be like taking candy from a baby, if that means replacing it with a bullet that is,”

Warnings to cover the whole fic: Graphic depictions of violence, use of weapons, mild to strong language, mentions of rape, mentions of pregnancy and miscarriage, referenced torture and psychological abuse/manipulation, nightmares and night terrors, sexual humour, sexual content.

Word count: 2k

Two Weeks Later

Nathan entered the kitchen after his morning run to start working on a protein shake, he jumped slightly when he realised Hayden was on one of the chairs, her head rested on her arms on the counter as she slept quietly.

He noticed she had those dark rings he’d seen when they had first moved into the mansion, a sign that she was not sleeping much, possibly due to nightmares again. He decided to just have his powder and shake the bottle rather than to use the blender and disturb her sleep.

He sat on a stool opposite her and sipped his shake quietly, taking in her soft features and the quietness without Wade’s presence, which is part of why he got up so early in the day, to avoid the merc with a mouth.

 “Aw, isn’t this sweet?” Wade spoke suddenly which made Nathan jump in his seat, “Doesn’t she just look so peaceful?”

“Whatever you’re thinking of doing is probably a bad idea,”

“Ah, yah. That’s why I killed that little voice in my head years ago. It was always telling me not do bad things,” Wade turned to look at no-one, and then moved his one hand to his face and pointed at Nathan. “Get a load of this guy huh? Party-killer,”

“It’s way too early to be dealing with you asshole,” Nathan sighed.

“What are you talking about, I’m a treasure,” Wade waved his hand at the notion. “Now watch this,”

He walked closer to Hayden’s side and lowered his head to her level before cupping his hands around his mouth, “GOOD MOOOOOORNING VIETNAM!”

 Hayden jerked up from her sleep in fright and then angrily slammed her hands on the counter, “FUCK YOU!” she shoved Wade hard. “I’m not in the fucking mood for you right now, piss off!” she stormed out the room cursing under her breath in a different language.

“Good job asshole,” Nathan nodded to Wade who was grinning proudly.

“Oh, I’m just getting started Super Stud,” he rubbed his hands together.

“Do you have a death wish?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Nathan rolled his eyes as Wade walked out the room cackling evilly.

                                                          * * *

  Afternoon

                        Nathan decided he wanted to lift some weights since he hadn’t been for some time and headed to the gym, as he walked in he noticed Hayden running on a treadmill, her skin glowing with a thin layer of sweat and earphones stuck in her ears.

He nodded to her as a way of greeting without interrupting her and she simply nodded back, he wondered if Hayden had been able to avoid anymore of Wade’s antics for the day, she didn’t seem any happier from this morning’s incident.

As if he had summoned the devil himself by mere thought, Wade entered the room, Nathan shook his head and started placing the weights he wanted onto the bar, he then took a seat and lay back on the bench to start pressing.

Wade approached Hayden and without hesitation she turned the treadmill off and walked away, trying her best to ignore his presence, instead of walking away like any normal person would, Wade followed her to the weights that she had set up earlier and stood crossed arms staring at her as she began lifting the one-hundred and fifty pound dumbbell with one hand.

Nathan stopped his pressing and sat up watching, he was lifting the same weight with both arms at the press, the muscles in her arms flexed and she raised and lowered her arm steadily. She had a very feint glowing of violet in her arm, but Nathan could tell this was effortless for her, Wade waved his hands to get her attention.

“C’mon, talk to me,” he whined.

  “I told you to leave me alone Wade,” she hissed.

He moved closer and took the earphones out, “There now you can actually hear me, god you have these on full volume,” he looked at them and managed to pull so that the phone came from her pocket and he set it aside.

“Wade-”

“You’re having nightmares again, aren’t you?”

“I don’t want to talk to you about anything right now, if I did I would have already,” she glanced at Nathan’s direction and glared at Wade, “And I’m certainly not getting into this now.”

“Is it your father again?”

“Not, talking about it,” she lifted the weights with more speed now, feeling her anger build up, but Nathan knew that he wasn’t going to drop the matter that easily.

“Hydra?” he pressed on.

“No,” she answered through gritted teeth.

He lowered his voice to a near whisper, “Cable?” Nathan raised a brow as he heard his name.

                             “Oh for God’s sake Wade!” she lowered her arm, “Enough! I told you to leave me alone, yet you decide to be a persistent pain in my fucking ass today by following me everywhere and asking me to talk. There’s nothing to fucking talk about alright? Now leave me the fuck alone,” she growled which unsettled Nathan to his very core.

He’d only heard her like this when she had threatened to kill him five months ago when they’d first met when he had killed Wade unintentionally.

“It is about him isn’t it?”

She launched the dumbbell straight into Wade’s chest, he fell to the ground and then she picked it up and pressed it firmly against his chest. “Piss me off one more time and I’ll do more than this, alright?” she cast the dumbbell aside like it was a set of keys and with that she grabbed her phone and walked out the gym.

“You’re such dumb cunt, you know that?” Nathan shook his head.

“If you knew her like I know her, then you’d know that she’s going to mull over whatever’s bothering her and make herself crack, I’m making sure she knows she can talk to me,” he turned to leave but stopped and looked over to Nathan, “Nice erection by the way.”

  Nathan looked down and realised he did indeed have an erection, Wade chuckled and left, he covered himself with the towel he had brought feeling embarrassed that he had no control of himself.

  Damn woman.

  He left the gym and decided it was best to take a shower to cool off, the thoughts of what it means that Hayden sees him in her sleep prodding the back of his mind rather annoyingly.

  It’s probably nothing. Right?

                                                           * * *

  Late Evening

Despite having a cooling shower Nathan was feeling uncomfortably hot, granted he lately kept having dreams of Hayden holding him tightly on the motorbike, which often morphed into memories of seeing her completely naked from when she caught that fire mutant months ago.

Tonight had been exceptionally too much for him, his dream had somehow changed itself from the memory of seeing her at the gym earlier in the day to her making suggestive glances and slowly undressing for him, he woke up breathing heavily when it reached the point that she had straddled onto his lap being entirely naked.

It wasn’t real Nathan, Jesus. It was just a dream.

He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck feeling some sweat dripping down.

A really, really good fucking dream.

He sighed and decided he could just watch some crappy television in the rec room to keep his mind away from his wild dreams.

  He was taken by surprise when he walked into the rec room to find Hayden rocking on the couch with tears in her eyes.

Déjà vu, I guess the dickhead was right.

He walked over and sat down next to her, he wrapped his arms around her shoulders as he had done once before, this time around however, she did not start at the touch. Instead she leaned into it, he rubbed her arm gently with his thumb as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she spoke quietly. “I’m really sorry,”

“For what?” Nathan frowned down at her.

“That I let all that shit happen to you, with that fucked up doctor,”

“Hades- that happened almost three months ago, besides that it wasn’t your fault to begin with,”

“If I hadn’t taken so long to get there-”

“You came when I needed you, I was about to be turned into human bacon,” he squeezed her reassuringly.

  “Still,”

“That’s what’s been keeping you up lately?” he asked, she simply nodded.

“That and my old nightmares came creeping back,” she stared forward, “I hate how shaken I feel after them,” she muttered and lifted her head up.

“Maybe it’s time to start helping you be on some level of okay,” he gave a side smile as he looked at her, “The way you helped me.”

She sighed putting her face in her hands and chuckled lightly, “I knew that was going to come back and bite me in the ass,”

“So, let’s get started.” He crossed his legs onto the couch and moved himself to face her. “You’ve already started on step one,” he said mockingly.

“You’re full of shit,” she laughed now as she shoved him lightly. “What do you want to know? I guess it’s my turn to be open after all these months,”

  “For starters, your mom was murdered when you were four?” he asked.

“Of course you chose the hardest thing for me to talk about,” she sighed and pursed her lips, “Well let’s put it like this, my father was one of the higher leaders of Hydra-”

“Hydra?” he repeated, remembering Wade mentioning them earlier.

“Um, your typical group of bad people that want to take over the world with their own horrible viewpoints and morals,”

“Alright, go on,”

“He was one of the higher leaders of Hydra and he decided I was going to be part of their latest experimentation project, my mother of course wanted to protect me and he shot her in the head as she was holding me close to her, at the time I was too young to understand that even though he’d killed her he was dangerous and could hurt me too, instead I had gone to him for comfort,”

“Shit, that’s why you froze with that little girl and her mom,” he realised, “when those crazy soldiers came with the tank; you were remembering your mom,”

“Y- yeah,”

  “I’m sorry about your mother; she obviously cared a lot more about you than your father,” he said sincerely.

Hayden chuckled, “Ooh yeah, my father was freaking fantastic. He taught me how to build guns from scratch when I was seven, by the time I was eight I could do it with any weapon blindfolded and I could shoot targets perfectly, everything a growing girl needs to know.”

“What the hell? Then what were you doing when you were six?”

“Six? Oh that’s when I was forced to start gymnastics, to the level of Olympic qualifiers eventually, I mean, so I could be flexible and nimble,”

“Jesus Christ, my little Hope is six that must have been hell.”

“It was, that’s why I eventually ran away, then I met Wade and when Hydra tried to come after me he protected me, this was before his mutation came out. I decided to be on my own so that Wade and his girlfriend would be out of danger, and we kept contact even when he had cancer, ran away and all other joyous things he went through up to this point,”

“Now I understand why you’re so close to him, despite him being a pain in the ass most of the time,” She nodded and yawned, barely managing to cover her mouth, “You should get some rest,” he stood up and pulled her from the couch.

“Ugh fine, grandpa,” she moaned and he led her to her room, his hand pressing against the small of her back gently.

“Yeah, yeah you’ll thank me later,” he nudged her through the door, “Night.”

“Night,” she smiled sleepily and closed her door, he smiled and shook his head lightly before returning to his room.

________________________________________________________________

>> Chapter 20 << 

[shuzo]

#2

“You are annoying.” Chihiro followed him, grabbed the cup that was offered even though he doubted Seijuro had the strength to hold it up for himself.

“Yeah? Well so are you. So is Sei.” Shuzo tugged him along by the wrist. “And yet here you are, stuck with the both of us. Tough luck.”

pairing: nijiakamayu words: 2770 

*

Akashi Seijuro, the bastard, had to be the best at everything.

Even watching Seijuro wake up irritated him to no end. Chihiro was big enough to admit to his own flaws; he knew he woke up with a bedhead that could rival only the hilarity of Seijuro’s haircut in third year, okay, he knew that there’s gunk at the corner of his eyes more often than not and his mood was even less desirable. Shuzo’s flaws - his voice became hoarse (pending flaw), sometimes he involuntarily woke up at five fucking am (how and why?), and breathing on Chihiro’s face half-asleep meant a (well-deserved) kick to both shins.

Seijuro, on the other hand, woke up as though he had not gone to sleep in the first place. His eyelids flutter open delicately and refreshed, even after four unconscious Shuzo-style kicks during the night. He pushed away whatever sweaty limb holding him captive and then starts the day like that. Just like that. Those commercials, Chihiro thought, that promote cereal like porn and mornings like a godsend have nothing on Seijuro.

So it was more than a little alarming when he woke up one morning and Seijuro still had his eyes closed – asleep, messy, pale, and by the looks of it, still in REM cycle.

“Hey,” Chihiro grasped Seijuro’s shoulder and shook him a bit since 8AM meant Seijuro probably had a lecture to attend. Apparently ‘smart’ (completely idiotic) people specifically chose that hour to go to class. “Get up.”

He drew back, because that was definitely a slap to his arm and Seijuro probably thought that was okay. An incoherent mutter came out audible but faint and did nothing to help Chihiro’s disbelief.

“What’s the matter with you?” He smacked Seijuro on the forehead where sweat had accumulated and - ah. A fever. A bad one. Chihiro wiped his hand on a pillow with a grimace, listening to Seijuro’s pitiful sigh.

“Stop,” Seijuro’s body was pushed back down as it misbehaved, Chihiro stretching over him to grab a thermometer from the first aid kit. Seijuro inevitably started to fidget again and Chihiro was left with very few options but to squish the young man down with his upper body, ignoring his mangled groan.

“Stop it or I’m sliding this up your ass instead.” 

He watched as Seijuro’s mouth opened and closed and then opened again with great difficulty. Eventually a sound was made.

“Chihiro.” Seijuro rasped and it sounded painful enough to make Chihiro wince.

“I know.” He realised he didn’t need effort to muster the gentleness that came to his tone - it just sort of, quite irritatingly, happened. The thermometer was removed and Seijuro blinked at him slow before promptly tucking into Chihiro’s side. Slim fingers pushed into Seijuro’s matted hair and scratched at his scalp, eliciting small, pleased noises from the younger man.

Chihiro’s eyes softened, Seijuro’s went glazed.  

The thermometer read 39 degrees and he cursed because Akashi Seijuro, the absolute bastard, had to be the best in being sick too.

*

It was quite easy to take Seijuro’s wealth for granted but the fact that he had a private doctor at his beck and call was the best news Shuzo had heard all day. Influenza, the doctor had unsurprisingly said, the young master will be better by next week.

Seijuro’s absence in their daily routine (consisting in all three of them ignoring each other in the lounge room while they tended to their own business) resulted in an anxious silence; anxious on Shuzo’s part, silence with Chihiro.

“Can you stop?” Chihiro asked once Shuzo’s continuous walk-up-and-down path reached him. It was becoming irritating and rhythm games on his phone plus irritation was not a good mix. He took the folded crossword book from the dinner table and smacked the other’s hip with it. “Here, do your old man puzzles.”

Shuzo swatted him away with a mutter and sat himself down on the chair across Chihiro. He still had a stupid look on his face but that didn’t stop Chihiro from propping his feet up on Shuzo’s lap.

“Don’t, they stink.”

Chihiro gave him a dirty look, “I took a shower.”  

Shuzo’s hands moved as though to push him away but opted to rest on his ankles instead. His hands seemed to automatically move, kneading at Chihiro’s calves and caressing the skin soothingly. Chihiro internally sighed; it’s usually very difficult to keep a straight face with Shuzo’s massages. His hands were just so nice, callused and steady and likely bigger than Chihiro’s and undoubtedly bigger than Seijuro’s.

“Why am I doing this? You should be massaging me. You don’t even look concerned.” Shuzo kept up his ministrations regardless.

“Oh, I am concerned for Akashi all the time. Trust me.” Chihiro said, in a deadpan so unfeeling his mother would surely scold him. His claim was genuine, he insisted, though perhaps a tad bit misplaced. A tad. 

“What are you worked up for anyway? He’ll be fine in a few days. Also, Shoto and Shoko get sick all the time. This isn’t like you.”

“I’m sorry,” Nijimura frowned, jabbing recently cut nails into a bony ankles, “am I not allowed to worry about a person sick in bed with a 39 degrees fever?”

“It went down after the medicine. Stop being dramatic, it’s embarrassing.”

Shuzo didn’t like this tone; this tone was classically used for dealing with brats. Last he checked, Shuzo was not a brat.

He scowled, and then scowled harder knowing he was probably doing the lip-thing. Damn it all. “He’s never been that sick before, not even in middle school. And I know about the flu, stress only accelerates the process…”

“Humans get sick. Getting sick is a human thing.” Chihiro muttered, but the thought managed to make him a little cross. “Besides, if there really is something going on, we won’t be able to do anything unless he tells us.”

A silence of mutual understanding followed his statement; only very recently have they accepted the idea of opening up to each other - which would have been seen as little progress judging by how long they’ve been ‘together’, Shuzo thought, but to each their own.

“How contagious do you think it is?” Shuzo asked after a moment.

“Why.”

To which Shuzo only stared.

“If he gets you sick too, I am not going anywhere near that room. You two can die alone.”

“Sure.” Shuzo’s hands clamped dangerously over his ankles. “As if you have anyone else in the first place who’s willing to babysit you or your shitty moods.”

“I’m one year older than you.” Chihiro said dryly. “And yeah, because you and Seijuro are total angels. Remind me whose mood it was that completely ruined Seijuro’s formal dinner last year – fuck!”

“When did you get such a vulgar mouth?” Shuzo sighed and released him, having successfully yanked Chihiro closer by his ankles. Chihiro was now fifty percent on his lap, fifty percent falling off the chair. “Could have sworn you weren’t half this bad before.”

“When did you get so annoying?” Chihiro pushed himself up by his elbows and grabbing Shuzo’s arm to right himself. “You were supposed to be the good one.”

Shuzo cracked a smile. “That was faulty judgement on your part, if you ever thought I would be the good one. Correct in how you eliminated yourself, though.”

“…For the record, I hope Masaomi’s death stare comes back to haunt you. Actually, he scolded me more than he did you and he couldn’t even see me half the time. And you broke the blender. How is that fair?”

“You deserved it and so did he.” Shuzo said icily, the want for this conversation to end clearly present. He was embarrassed, Chihiro could tell. But who wouldn’t be, after (rightfully) snapping at a boyfriend’s Father on his birthday? “Besides, it was paid for and replaced, okay?”

It was. The new blender was nowhere near as expensive as the old one but Chihiro often acted fonder with the treasured household item than he did with Shuzo himself.  

“Well, where is my payment?”

“You laughed and deserved what you got – which was my payment, I don’t know why you think you need one.”

“I bled.”

“I’m incredibly sorry.”

“Back off, sarcasm is my thing.”

“Is sincerity is mine?”

“Sigh.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“I know,” Chihiro rolled his eyes and hovered closer. “I know because right after that, you laughed. I can’t believe I’m saying this but maybe Akashi really is the good one.”

“Huh, or neither of us are. I’m not sure what your definition of good is but for me, falling sick and still demanding to go to work is definitely not it.” Shuzo stared indifferently at the quickly closing distance, not moving an inch further or closer. Though he did close a hand over Chihiro’s as it questioned its place on Shuzo’s leg.

“Really.”

“Brat.” Shuzo agreed.

“No, I meant really. You’re saying this?” Chihiro said in a manner that clearly spoke: I know you and you know yourself and if you think you wouldn’t do the exact same thing, I’m totally going to punch you in the face – Shuzo recoiled and flashed a guilty smirk.

“Okay, like I said. Your poor judgement.”

“My judgement?” Chihiro scoffed, and with each word the distance between their noses seemed to decrease. “Your stupidity. If you and Akashi don’t die from sickness, you will from overwork and what will I do then? Actually we should really think about life insurance, remind me tomorrow. Peace aside, there’s got to be more good to come out of your deaths.”

Shuzo wanted to complain but the urge immediately ceased when he felt warm hands on his hips. “Was that your really tsundere way of saying you care?”

“Stop stealing my light novels and shut it. Forget I said anything.” And when Chihiro’s lips pressed against his, he’s more than happy to comply. The only time Chihiro’s eyes became expressive and more silver than the usual dull grey was when lips kissed lips and skin was on skin, and Shuzo always made sure to appreciate this fact by returning the enthusiasm vigorously.

He bit Chihiro’s lower lip harder than intended and received a stifled groan in response. He didn’t have to say sorry with the way the other gets revenge by digging nails into Shuzo’s exposed skin, hard enough to leave tiny crescent indents when they leave. Even entangled like this, quarrels were extended one way or another and physical retaliation was never out of the equation. At one point, Chihiro shifted so Shuzo was more on his lap than vice versa, feeling rough hands tug at his nape.

“I don’t steal your light novels.” Shuzo said after regaining his mouth and Chihiro frowned because what was the purpose of the kiss then, if he’s still not shutting up - “How is it stealing when you just leave them lying everywhere, stupid. Ringo-tan’s cute.”

“No, no. Do not make me relive my past trauma by saying the exact same thing Akashi said in third year.” Chihiro’s hands were warm where they rest curled at the small of Shuzo’s back. “The two of you don’t get to ruin Ringo-tan for me.”

“Alright fine, I’ll lay off your girlfriend. Speaking of,” Shuzo unplastered himself from Chihiro’s chest. “I’ll go get him some water.”

“Go then.”

“Let go.” He made a move to stand but Chihiro’s arms refused to budge around him. When he tried to take them apart, he’s met with more resistance. “Oi.”

“I change my mind, let him suffer.”

“Stop trying to prove you don’t have a heart,” Shuzo dully stated, pushing Chihiro back to successfully wriggle out of his hold. “We all know you do.”  

“I hate you.”

“You don’t.”

“You are annoying.” Chihiro followed him, grabbed the cup that was offered even though he doubted Seijuro had the strength to hold it up for himself.

“Yeah? Well so are you. So is Sei.” Shuzo tugged him along by the wrist. “And yet here you are, stuck with the both of us. Tough luck.”

*

“God.” Chihiro groaned hours later when he stepped into the room to witness Shuzo feeding Seijuro like a child. To do this, Shuzo had to be close enough to breathe in Seijuro’s sick particles and that did not sound good at all. Not when he, one, lived with these two bastards, two, had a 5000-word essay to submit next Monday, a personal preference to breathe without physically suffering and an alleviated nasty attitude to go.  

“What.” Shuzo said, sounding very insulted by his presence.

“This,” he said, pointing at the doorframe. “Is the line. All area on this side is quarantine and neither of you are allowed to cross it.”

“Then suffer when your ungrateful ass gets sick and no one’s there to nurse you back to health.” Shuzo pulled the glass back quickly as Seijuro started to cough, a large hand rubbing soothing circles into his lower back.

“Actually, I’m on this side of the line.” Chihiro said. “Meaning I won’t get sick, meaning I won’t need to be taken care of.”  

“I’m afraid you’ll need to vacate the whole apartment,” Seijuro said in the most dignified voice he could manage (it wasn’t very) before another nasty cough escaped him. “…For the full guarantee. Though there’s a high chance you’ve already been caught.”

There was the pitiful sight of a weakened Akashi Seijuro scratching the tip of his nose and sniffing. Chihiro has never seen him more human (to be fair, the memories of Seijuro writhing under him felt too illegal to be human).

“Sei,” Shuzo warned lowly.

Seijuro took the glass from him and set it on the table after a short silence. “Admittedly I haven’t been feeling up to par since Friday last week.”

That little…Chihiro felt the muscles in his forehead tighten in exasperation, he could see Shuzo fighting it off, too. No wonder it got so bad.

Shuzo hummed deceitfully sweet, “I’m going to flick your forehead.”

“Please don’t.”

He ended up not flicking any foreheads because Seijuro said please and that was always a hard thing to say no to. And while it was irritating knowing Seijuro had masked it for more than half a week, it was typical behavior for the brat. Admitting vulnerability now meant a big step from where he was a year ago. Also, he was down with the flu. There were just too many factors to take into account – no, Shuzo was not getting soft, definitely not.

“But Chihiro has a point,” Seijuro said. “This is - thank you, Shuzo, but you may not want to get too close to me right now.” 

“Shut up.” Shuzo crossed his arms and leaned back on his chair. “I want to take care of you so I’m taking care of you, okay? When was the last time anyone did anyway?”

“Ah.” Seijuro backtracked, glancing up at the ceiling. “The last time it was this bad was in senior high school, and my nanny did. She made me hot cocoa.”

“Right.” Shuzo confirmed, pinning Chihiro with his eyes before he could escape. “You there in quarantine, whip up some hot cocoa?”

“Excuse me?” Chihiro, happy about being momentarily forgotten, wondered for the second time tonight if he really deserved all this. “Why do I have to do it?”  

Shuzo stared. “We’ve been told not to cross the line?”

The glare Chihiro shot then was completely void of all compassion and sympathy and absolutely capable of physical slaughter. Unfortunately, the duo on the receiving end were freaks to society and were therefore immune. Seijuro coughed once to hide a chuckle, and that was enough for Chihiro to walk away unimpressed, thoroughly regretting his life choices.

(Later he came again, a mug in each hand.)

*

(He tried not to be too smug when Shuzo was bedridden a week later and Chihiro was perfectly fine.)

[subcutaneous7]

Five Minutes- [Grace/Frankie]- Chapter 3

Thanks for all the love so far! Hope you enjoy this next part (: Full chapter here on A03.

***

Frankie felt like her head was no longer attached to her body. Some days were like that, mostly after a few too many bong rips. But this…this was not that.

Ever since she kissed Grace, or Grace kissed her, or whatever combination of fear and desire conspired to bring their bodies together, she could think of nothing else. This is so not wise, kept telling herself like a hopeless mantra, trying to talk herself out of it, which was ridiculous because she had been fully, deeply in it long before the kiss. She didn’t know exactly when, but it had been a while, and it was too late now to turn back. She’d tried the whole denial thing, and that, like always, blew up in the most spectacularly painful of ways, wounding another person in the process. A very kind person, one whose yams were delicious and whose company made her feel safe and cared for, if not totally excited or inspired.

These were crazy times, and Frankie stuck to her mission of establishing new boundaries with Grace as best she could, given that she now knew what kissing Grace felt like. Frankie wasn’t sure she’d ever been kissed like that, not even by Sol. Not that there was anything wrong with the way he kissed, or their lovemaking. What they had was beautiful, even if her memories of it had been tainted by lies. But their last time together wasn’t the only time it felt forced, polite more than passionate, like something they both felt they should do because that’s what people who loved each other did. They were so young when they met, and it had been fun then, full of laughter and experimentation. But over time it grew into more of a meditation on their commitment, a spiritual exercise rather than true worship of each other’s physical and emotional forms, and truly, Frankie longed for both.

With Grace, ironically, she felt worshipped. Even in the briefest of moments they’d shared so far, Frankie felt more ecstatic, more alive than she had with anyone in years. Grace oozed sexuality. She was full of fire, sometimes too much, playful and eager, at least until her head got too involved. She was soft and firm in all the best places, incredibly sweet and a huge pain in the ass, a gorgeous mess of contradictions. She was also shockingly strong for a woman made of toothpicks, but that was a good thing, because Frankie never felt as unsteady on her feet as she did these days.

It wasn’t just Grace. The stroke had knocked her back more than she was willing to admit. She was recovering slowly but surely, but it was still a process. It certainly made her not want to waste any more time, but that’s exactly what she’d asked Grace for: time. That was the only way she could think to protect herself, even if she knew her heart was already too far gone to put a fence around. Grace and her stupid soft skin and comically chiseled cheekbones had done Frankie in, not to mention the exquisite way she smelled, her persistent nagging, her intense desire to look out for her, or the indescribable bliss and relief she felt just being in Grace’s presence. That was why it hurt so much to not spend every waking moment together lately, but that’s what Frankie needed, and she figured it was about time she took charge of her own needs for once.

“Good morning,” Grace greeted cheerfully as she came downstairs, fully dressed for the day. “What is that?”

“A peanut butter and banana smoothie,” Frankie shared, flinging another scoop into the blender.

“That’s not a smoothie,” Grace debated, smirking as she shook her head. “That’s a liquefied sandwich.”

“Well you don’t have to eat it,” Frankie retorted. “I made eggs too if you want some of those.”

“Thanks, but I’m meeting Robert for breakfast,” she told her, grabbing a bottled water from the fridge.

“Oh. Okay.” Frankie deflated. “That’s sweet, actually, you two spending time together.”

“Never thought you’d see the day, did you?”

“Definitely not,” Frankie smiled. “Not even in one of my vision quests.”

“I’ll be home later though,” Grace stood at a safe distance, perched at the other end of the island. “What about you?”

“Not sure yet,” Frankie sighed. “Coyote asked if I could help him scout some locations for his tiny house. I don’t know how long that will take.”

“Ah, got it,” Grace smiled sweetly, backing away. “I guess I’ll just…see you when I see you then.”

“You will,” Frankie nodded. “I’m never that far.”

Grace looked like she wanted to say more, so much more. Her forehead was all crinkled, eyes so sad and blue, it took everything Frankie had not to scoop her up and make her see how badly she wanted things to be okay, wanted to skip ahead to the good parts. But this was healthy, for now. This was the way it needed to be.

“Alright then,” Grace headed for the front of the house. “See you later.”

“Alligator,” Frankie couldn’t resist, shutting her eyes when she heard the door close.

She flipped on the blender, drowning out her self-pitying thoughts with the sound, letting it run a little longer than she normally would have, until the substance was good and mixed. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she began pouring it into the tallest glass she could find, but soon enough she heard knocking.

“Did your forget your keys again?!” she shouted as she grinned, slowly making her way to the front door. “I knew you wanted a smoothie too. Good thing I made extra…”

She halted immediately when she turned the corner, spying Jacob on the other side of the glass, heart catapulting into her throat.

Her first impulse was to hide, duck behind the sofa and pretend she wasn’t home, but he’d already seen her. He was waving in fact, smiling just enough to show he wasn’t there to make her life miserable, as far as she could tell. That wasn’t Jacob’s style anyway, but she still hadn’t expected to see him just yet. That wasn’t in the plan for today.

“Hey,” she swallowed as she opened the door.

“Hi there,” he breathed. “Can I come in?”

“Sure,” she stepped aside, letting him pass through the hall, following him into the kitchen as she fidgeted. “Grace isn’t here. Not that…that matters, I mean…just, in case you were…”

“I know,” he nodded. “I saw her car pull out of the driveway as I was coming down the street.”

“Oh. Well…good.”

“I figured you’d be in here making one of your famous smoothies,” he smiled sadly. “I just wanted to bring some of your stuff back.”

He handed her the box he’d been carrying. She hadn’t even noticed it at first.

“My geodes,” she set the contents on the counter. “I guess I do leave a trail of them everywhere I go, don’t I?”

“You do.”

“You know, chrysocolla is really good for balancing the Earth energies in the home. That’s why I put it in the northeast corner. Are you sure you don’t want…”

“No,” he shook his head. “Thank you though.”

“What about my throat singing tape?” she lifted it out of the box. “I thought you said they made the yams bigger and more…yammy.”

“Frankie,” he exhaled, leaning against the counter with one hand. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” she questioned. “Let the yams get any bigger? Are they taking over the other crops? Are they sprouting legs and threatening to take you over? Because legend has it…”

“No,” he put a hand on her shoulder, grimacing before pulling away. “I can’t…do this.”

“Oh,” she whispered, her best efforts to dodge this awkwardness averted. “I get it.”

He stared at her for a few moments, as if he were questioning all her decisions, giving her one of those looks that made her feel like she’d kicked a giant puppy, or maybe several dozen puppies. It was almost more than she could take.

“Jacob…” she swallowed. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did over the phone. But I had to do it.”

“It wasn’t much of a surprise, honestly,” he admitted. “When I saw you the last time, you made it pretty clear where you stood.”

“I know,” she nodded. “But still, I…”

“I guess…” he continued wearily. “I just thought we really had something. I thought…well, I was pretty sure you loved me.”

“I did,” she sighed painfully. “I do.”

“But?” he tried to help her out.

“But…” she swallowed harder, not wanting to say it, but knowing she needed to. “…not in the way you deserve to be loved.”

“Because you love someone else?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She froze, a wave of fear and nerves crashing through her, the voices in her head silenced by the accusation. She was in no way ready to acknowledge her feelings to the outside world, not to anyone other than the “someone else” in question, but she figured if Jacob was asking, if he already knew, the least she could do was be honest. She would have wanted the same.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes back up to him, taking a deep breath, before nodding yes.

“Well,” he sighed. “That’s how this all started too, isn’t it? Except with Sol? Your heart was never completely in it. At least I know it now.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated.

“I know,” he breathed. “I just hope you’re not repeating patterns.”

“Me too,” Frankie held her hand to her sternum, clutching the amethyst hanging around her neck. “But I think this is different.”

“I hope so,” he nodded. “For your sake.”

“Can we be friends?” she asked. “Please?”

“I don’t think we can,” he told her flatly, but kindly. “At least…not now. Maybe one day.”

“I’d like that,” she swallowed back tears. “I never meant to hurt you, Jacob.”

“I know,” he smiled softly, reaching for her shoulder again. “Take care, Frankie.”

“You too,” she whispered, squeezing his hand, before letting go.

She watched him walk out the door, closing it behind him, leaving her alone with her smoothie and a new sense of closure, but no less hurt.

She took a long, decadent gulp of her creation, making her way to the living room, opening the doors, letting the warm breeze, the smell of salt wash over her. There was at least an hour until she had to pick up Coyote. She took a seat on one of her fluffiest floor cushions, breathing in the ocean, breathing out the pain, hoping the voices in her head would stay silent until they were ready to tell her it was okay to move forward.

Read the rest on A03.

[loveurn]

company.

it’s surprising to say the least. it’s the digital kind, so she’s not complaining - much. it’s still a quarter to 2am and if she weren’t such a revered work-a-holic she’d almost be offended that he thought she was awake. but soohyun’s schedule is a bit more strict in terms of accurate sleep and relaxation, in that he tends to leave studio matters at the studio. so she’s picking up her phone after pausing the music that was helping her get through the finer details of her presentation. 

“are you drunk?” ‘hardly.’

there’s no tinge of laughter, there’s nothing in his tone that adds to the joke or the banter they engage in. she’d known though, with the timing of the call, with how unexpected it was - something was off. though, hyerim’s chain of command for the company was unmatched so she had an inkling about what was going on. 

“soohyun....” ‘i’m not drunk hye.’

there’s a grit to the tone, like he’s speaking through his teeth, speaking through frustration and whatever emotions are rearing ugly and raw in the middle of the night. whatever it is that’s prompted him to call her instead of drowning it away or leaving it for another morning, for gym buddies or colleagues he works closer with. it’s not her area of expertise really so she’s not too sure why he called. 

the news reached her, amidst the chaos of whatever happened, she wasn’t damage control, PR control or even in charge of medical expenses, anything of the sort, but she was involved enough that her phone was quick to buzz as soon as it happened. she’d read about how he’d passed out backstage, how they carried him to the waiting room and were insisting on getting him to the hospital after the show. she’d read it all, in strategically placed sentences as they relayed it to her. it’s not the same as the way some departments heads probably had play-by-play updates, but it still buzzed and she’d known of the incident within an hour of it occurring as if she were at the venue overseas with the entire team. 

in fact, hyerim’s flattered someone took the time to tell her right away despite her feeling so far removed from the process. jun’s closer to it, production is his forte, if anything the concert director as well but well - they all work together so it makes sense. no use in her trying to outline the why’s and how’s. 

it doesn’t stop her though, from wondering why he’s called her. not even a message but a call when she knows if anyone was first to hear word of it, the circle the dancers operate in is even smaller, more intimate. he had to have known before she did, probably the minute it happened and in that time he chose to call her. did he call anyone else? did he wait until he’d heard a clear from the team on seojun’s condition before calling? what did it mean? what could it mean?

“it’s late. you need to get your rest.” hyerim’s decided it’s far too late for her to try and dwell on this. on the possibilities and the buried feelings, the discarded and the hidden feelings. it’s late enough for her to need another cup of coffee to get her through her notes and maybe for her skincare to suffer a bit but she can handle that, it’s far too late for irrationalities and anomalies. both of which he always seems to enjoy pulling from her. 

there’s silence on the other end and she does pause to check if he’s still on.

‘if i didn’t know better, i’d say you sound concerned.’ “if you knew better you wouldn’t ring my phone this late.”

‘hm.’ she hears it, the telltale sound of the smirk that’s sitting on his face right now. chaos and concern aside he still manages to be the smug pain in her rear. of course. she knows what the sound means ‘you still picked up’ and of course she did. he’s her friend and he’s called for a reason. soohyun knows her schedule as well as she knows his. in times that he’s had to pull her from her desk back to bed, days where he’s up early for his run and she’s throwing pillow after pillow at him for how his blender wakes her up. he knows she’s busy. he knows this isn’t quite her area of coverage. 

but there’s a reason. there’s some kind of need, and it’s not for this meaningless banter. so with nothing but silence, she takes a shot. 

“he’s alright, seojun - he’s fine.” ‘i know he’s alright. i know. i just...’ “you just...”

seojun was fine, he gave the team quite the scare, members and venue staff alike. yichen would probably give a rather detailed speech to the trainees and artists alike when they returned. it was nothing new. but seojun was in his hotel room, in a splint yes but recovering and conscious. 

‘am i - did i push him too hard?’ she’d been multitasking in the moment, trying to divide between his needs and the screen that still blocked any blessings of sleep. she stops then, all thoughts ceasing because oh. 

oh.

there it is.

the plague. the ugly emotions that rear. the need.

“you - you can’t be serious.” ‘i am. did i miss something? did i not pay enough attention?’ “that’s not fair, you can’t do that.” ‘i pushed them so hard for this concert, for the choreography.’

“god and you think no one else did?” and for all her composure, hyerim takes no note for how her voice rises, hoe quickly she cuts in as she realizes - as she understands. “jun implemented new stunts and a set of stage concepts, they’re working with a new stage director too. yichen’s been driving them up the wall with workout training and sunghoon? god he’s around them all the time snapping up their ass and you somehow think you’re responsible for seojun passing out?”

titles and expectations aside, the care that soohyun has for his trainees and his pupils is one of the main things that brought him the job at abc. strict regimens and top-notch choreography yes, but his ability to mold and understand, in a way that made him closer to everyone he worked with, despite his rougher than average approach. it was hard to see but once people understood him, they understood his methods.

so here he is, beating himself up because he thinks he didn’t do enough, thinks he probably did too much and hyerim is fed up. maybe it’s the lack of sleep, her eyes hurting from how many lines she’s read and re-read. 

‘i pushed him, you should’ve seen them in the studio preparing for this.’ “it wouldn’t be any different from how i’ve seen them before. or you.”

some things are out of their control, much in the way hyerim gives demands and expectations and tries to mold her workers to understanding her vision and her views of efficiency, it’s the same with the choreographers, the coaches, the managers. it’s a battle. not everything is received exactly how it should and one can only wonder if their communication is to blame. hyerim has long learned all she can do is communicate where there’s been an oversight, people are human they seek to please and shy at the very thought.

“you didn’t tell him to push himself to passing out, no matter how you replay it, you didn’t.”

no one’s to blame, having to work and manage so many people has taught her that. there’s just growth and when it comes to the artists, when it comes to their minds and their bodies, it’s probably harder for those in soohyun’s position. which is why she knows she might come across crass, their perspectives too drastic. 

‘i didn’t...but i could’ve kept a closer eye on him.’ “so could his other managers, so could his members, just how he could’ve monitored his health better.” the words start to tumble, the disproval becoming rough on her tongue, the anger because she can hear the pain, she can hear how he must feel, how he looks, deflated, beating himself up over that pristine counter of his. hyerim composes herself, tries to anyway. “the list goes on, the blame is no one’s to take.” all that’s left is to learn and that’s probably what frightens people the most, being trusted to learn in spite of it, in spite of the mistakes.

‘you’re - awfully fired up.’ “cut it out. you called me.”

‘mm.’ and you picked up. it’s unspoken again, but hyerim pretends she doesn’t know it’s there.

‘i’m flying out tomorrow, to help adjust the choreography, see what changes need to be made.’ “don’t drive jun nuts, you know he hates you towering over him, especially during rehearsals..”

that brings out a laugh, it’s rough and abrupt and it’s more throat than chest but it works.

it’s something.

“don’t smother seojun either, he’s bound to be sensitive if he’s getting benched.” ‘oh, she does have a heart.’ “goodnight soohyun.” ‘actually go to sleep when you hang up.’

oh she hangs up at the speed of light at that.

and maybe - maybe she does type a few more sentences into her presentation before closing her laptop and retiring to her bed. and she definitely, definitely ignores the coffee ( her signature order by the way ) and chocolate cream madeline cookie ( her favorite ) waiting for her when she heads into the office the next day. she definitely ignores the silly smile scrawled onto the bag when she picks it up.