#but this has been on my mind for a while. this achievement's title has stuck with me since and NOW i think i know why

[icebrooding]

I adore Cerus, he's a fun villain and was such a powerful threat to even Isgarren. But I think there is an underlying layer of tragedy that comes with his character.

Cerus admired Febe ("Oh, he was the best of us.") long, long after the man's death, and in spite of the fact that anyone aligned with Eparch and his beliefs would view Febe as a traitor. He believed in their autonomy; was an idol to it. Why would Cerus idolise someone so divorced from what his beliefs should be?

Eparch raised Cerus and Deimos both, instilling this violent and cruel nature that is not an inherent trait of kryptis. And Eparch favoured Deimos enough that Cerus developed feelings of inferiority; desperation to match up to Deimos in Eparch's eyes. He is the one stuck between his prized brother and his spoiled sister. While Peitha describes him as having no reservation, it's entirely possible that he was trying to assert himself, being the seemingly overlooked one of his siblings.

Maybe Febe was kind to him. Febe, who was gentle and careful and believed in autonomy. Freedom. He went against what Eparch wanted from the kryptis, and maybe, just maybe, that spoke to a young Cerus who was resentful that Eparch would look any which way but at him.

Cerus would look up to Febe and find he didn't have to compete with Deimos or Peitha to be noticed for once.

And why do I think this is what Febe's relationship was to Cerus? Because of the way Febe died.

Cerus was there with Eparch when Deimos killed Febe in the temple that would be named after him. But why? We know Eparch has a sadistic streak for watching people suffer, but why take Cerus there too?

Unless Eparch was afraid that Cerus had started to drift from his control and towards Febe, and he had to stamp out that possibility in a way he knew would stick. By having Cerus watch his idol be slain in front of him while he could do nothing to intervene, all at the hands of the brother he could, would, never be able to live up to.

"That's what happens when you fight back."

Maybe that's why he did the same to Isgarren all those years later; letting him go for the briefest moments to have to witness Mabon's death with full clarity, but with no way to prevent it. Breaking Isgarren the same way Eparch broke him.

And after that, there is nowhere to go. He pushed those thoughts away of what Febe inspired in him, and Eparch helped. Succumbing to Eparch's grip on him because there is no other choice now. And as hundreds of years pass, he grows to like it. He thrives in the brutality and does what he is ordered to.

But he never forgets his admiration, despite it all. And he still never matches up to Deimos, no matter how hard he tries.

It is even faintly implied that his own mate, Heitor, yearned for Deimos before him. Deimos was once the 'young glaive of House Nephus', implying that 'glaive' may have been a title that Cerus only gained upon his brother's disappearance or death. And through Kanaxai's own words, long before either of them left for Tyria: 'Earlier, the Glaive's hands clasp my shoulders. Prideful. Assuring. Heitor's envy, sumptuous.'

Even up until his dying breath, Cerus never compares to his brother.

And he could have. He could have had it all, presenting Isgarren to Eparch and finally receiving the validation that he was as good as his brother. If not for Peitha.

He would have achieved his dream, if only she hadn't stepped in.

But instead he lost his life, body broken with the aid of his sister like his mind had been broken with the aid of his brother all that time ago in the very same temple devoted to the man he'd idolised.

(This is not a Peitha hate post, I love she)

[chiililisatoo]

My take on gilgamesh's obsession with Artoria's ideals and conviction

this is a GilgameshxArtoria theory / headcanon post , if you are not into this pairing this content may not suite you so i recommend you skip it but you are free to read through and share any criticisms /thoughts you may have on it :

So gilgamesh finds artoria's wish to redo the past be it her rule or to not become a king at all naieve which it is and her full dedication to such an ideal is amusing as rewriting her own rule as a king is both naieve and a very anti-god dream , he too in his life after enkidus death searched for immortality and found it and lost it and just as Artorias mountain of losses and regrets he was on one too metaphorically but since he was alive and could live on he moved on ammended himself his outlook on life and adapted and thus died with no regrets while artoria was mortally wounded and thus desperate on her mountain of regrets and losses and had to make the deal with the world in her desperation as else she would just die without being able to do anything

Meaning Artoria is Gilgamesh after snake ate his herb of immortality and chose to go back and get the herb and this time consume it immediately or some other direct , not through legacy or achievements but literal way of achieving immortality , gilgamesh in that moment became wise and focused on his rule which flourished and approved his decision but had gilgamesh still stuck on immortality would be have been able to attain it how would his life and his legend progressed then this what if was always on his mind and artoria is the living what if

So gilgamesh has wisdom no heroics , while artoria is mostly heroics with little wisdom but gilgamesh as he states to artoria does not put one over the other though he considers artoria's choice much harder than his own so when artoria's defeats casters abomination with excalibur that beauty and power is an approval of artorias choice and her her conviction and her ability to achieve her naieve but real ideal , this spurs on gilgamesh to reconsider him being a HS in silly war to take it more seriously as now he sees a reward to it - artoria and the continuation of his own dream of heroism which are same in nature to artorias dream of redo/reset , he wants them both to achieve their dream together and feels some inferiority/rivalry to artoria and wants to test his conviction against her own but he does want to continue his/her dream together with her as he pines for her and proposes to her before he is aware of the true nature of the grail and grail mud or current modern age and has no incarnated human body but he still proposes to her "marriage" - i do not know how a marriage between 2 HS would work out but since they are magical being there has to be some ritual that is considered marriage ,

so gilgamesh wants to continue his pursuit of greatness/immortality/heroism with artoria the HS but what is his dream which he wants to continue as we are well aware of artoria's but not gil's dream I think eventually in the nasuverse in seraph / extraverse / extella we will see gilgamesh as a HS produces his own noble phantasm which is a true grail a true wish granting device to enforce a living human beings will on a very great being like an outer god cause he lacks his own title NP weapon this could be his but to produce something that powerful he would be deleted from throne of heroes and this would manifest his NP,

since I lowkey ship artoria and gil due to above take o it as i find them somewhat similar having reached different conclusions due to different choices due to circumantances being different

so this is my head canon gil wants artoria as his queen/vassal but she would never be that so his best bet to team up with her is to be her Merlin and provide her with weapons with which she can charge their enemy , so gilgamesh creates this uber powerful will enfocring NP and loses his HS form and disappears and then since this NP requires alot of power artoria would create an opening using avalon to their enemy and then pour her energy into it to charge it and ready it for use and this usable NP on the now open to take strike enemy would be taken downby their living human master who enforces their will on this powerful enemy outer god or something and both artoria and gilgamesh are deleted from the throne of heroes thus concluding their dreams would that not be very romantic ?

this is my interpretation / theory / headcanon on it , thoughts ?

[supermaks]

~personally~ of course as someone who is very interested in 3344 i would love to hear from lewis what his perspective is on max, who is compared more to senna, who is lewis' hero within his senna stannie fan card. like if senna wrote the fucking book max wrote the smash remake. like obviously humans are messy and complicated but like in ur pysche if the guy you "hate" is cut from the exact same cloth (and even sharper!) than the guy you love hmmmm. there's a lot of things to be talked about when drivers talk about who they idolize and why (or don't idolize). but i also love what u posted form that 1991 article bc f1 has never not been messy and human and solely about "wheel" or whatever and that makes it more interesting.

This is such supermaks bait anyway lets TALK about it 🌷

Literally thats the whole thing wid Canada that really stuck wid me after Max broke Sennas most wins oat, like Lewis' lil selfie wid him and his 'this is a pretty iconic podium' and that whole sloppy toppy moment wid fellow old Dawg Nando ((yall remember Nando podiums . damn 🕊️)) like theres a certain gravitas here. Max ended the most dominant streak by an f1 driver in the most controversial, soul crushing devastating fashion and followed that shit wid his own brand of dominance. That is fucking brutal lmfao. U said it like this is thee smash f1 remake this is textbook Senna, we've seen the script, we know what kind of driver it takes to enact the script. Its not gonna be a nice lil driver, its gonna be somebody who has a deep cynicism for the whole thing while simultaneously being unable to not execute it to perfection. That is Senna. It is Lewis. And it is Max. Max is, by all measures, in his current form, wid this red bull team, driving this car, untouchable. Bro is the final dawg. And the way that he still drives bro, that aggressiveness he has, that unwillingness to give up the line, thats every ((good)) drivers' dream to face a driver like that and come out on top because, ironically, thats as close to racing as it gets and it is old school. It does emulate a different time, a time that Lewis not only grew up watching but contributed to himself. It is about 'wheel' in the end but theres also a person in that car that can break you, which is like an extraordinarily human thing.

I've always found Lewis' bias for Senna very interesting because I think prolly until he was 25, and mind u I havent watched every Hamilton title winning season only 2008 and then obvi 2020 was my first so like obvi really influences how I c him, but he had that same restless nature. The shouts Max was getting even in 2021, Lewis got them too, including being a risk to his own peers, being rash, arrogant, etc. But then Lewis moved past Senna, imo, and became ‘Hamilton’, took over his own narrative, his team, made his own legend, wid his own dominant cars, and like he was settling back into that. Max came in at a point where u thought a Senna-like figure had no more space in f1. But Max created room, literally by force, and is also slowly outgrowing that to become ‘Verstappen’. I think thats the thread that wont snap between them, the knowledge that they are the last true protagonists of their respective eras. I have in faith in sharl, I think sharl wid a competent car, a good team, can achieve history too, but I dont have faith in Ferrari. Ferrari cannot perform to that level rn. So u have this monster at 25 whos like alone in his greatness and refuses to act the part. I get why people who dont fw Max's achievements might not like it, but that doesnt keep him from being the racing driver he is. That has no bearing on it, on him. Its a complete fabrication from fans. That is why Max feels so inevitable, and like, genuinely upsets people who dislike him by saying or doing anything because he will always own up on track and like theres an almost existential horror u cause haters wid that type of aura. Lewis is that same breed of driver, so he recognizes it, he knows what it takes be f1's villain. U cant cast a shadow on something u dont stand over.

After Silverstone he said: 'for a long, long time we’ve had periods of dominance. I’m lucky to have had one with my team. Michael Schumacher had it, Sebastian Vettel had it, and now Max’s period has arrived.' Just now in Hungary right after taking pole he said some shit like 'Max was doing 'Max things' in quali' which is a lil crazy to me. 😐 when the fuck did u ever hear Lewis Hamilton refer to a 'Max thing' except when Max has his ((much beloved)) category 5 Jeddah moments or bullies him during fp1 because he liked dared to breathe in his direction. Like since when is 'Max thing' a compliment. Like something shifted here and part of that is Max's inevitability in this car but also like how Lewis perceives that inevitability. Yk personally I cud only ever measure myself thru the people who beat me. In sports truly competition is all that is, u find somebody better and u chase after them. That's what Max did. He's rewriting those same records, because he can. And everybody who was ever somebody in motorsport did the exact same thing, including Lewis. And Senna right up until he died, because of the way it happened too, unfortunately, changed not only how u saw motorsport but also how u saw the person inside the car.

sharl was recently asked about lewis and max and had a very Leclerc type answer that I found very interesting:

Q: You were able to beat both Verstappen and Hamilton, who is more difficult to deal with?

Charles: "Both of them, they have completely different driving styles. Max always goes to the limit, I like his approach. He is aggressive and creates spectacular fights. Lewis on the other hand is very clever. In the way he positions the car after a corner, for example. He is less aggressive but thinks more. If he doesn't overtake you in one place, it's because he's thinking of an easier one in which to attack!"

Like is this not the most senna prost shit you've ever read in your entire life 😭😭. I think it comes down to how u approach a race and what u do wid the machinery ur given and faced wid certain track-specific challenges. Like look at this Spa weekend and you'd think it's the opposite of what sharl described, but it isnt. Max and Lewis can both be very aggressive, they just came up in the sport differently and established themselves wid different cars. Also neither of them about to let checo catch a break djdkdkd. In CONCLUSION ‼️ motorsport in general is a narrative driven competition wid a mechanical element that can make or break anybody no matter how good they are. Max himself becoming part of the mechanical element is unique to him, tho. Its above and beyond. Trust that the driver who became synonym for dominance in f1 is definitely paying attention lmfao

[stitching-in-time]

Worlds 2024 thoughts on the women:

Hell yes Queen Kaori Sakamoto! First three-peat since Peggy Fleming! We stan a strong beautiful legend! If anybody could shake off that fourth place short to win the title like it's no big deal, it's her. She just exudes confidence, but also kindness, it was so sweet when she went to get a flag for Isabeau Levito at the medal ceremony. Sh'e'd just won the title, and in a moment that could have been all about her, she was still assisting the girl next to her. Just a class act all around. I love that girls have a female role model like her.

Sad for Loena Hendrickx though, I really thought she would make the podium after killing it and winning the short, but I didn't realize she was injured. That honestly was so brave of her to come and compete anyway, knowing how much harder a freeskate is to power through when you're not in top form. I'm not usually even a fan of pop music in skating, but I'm a fan of her because of how she revels in being authentically herself out there, in addition to being a powerhouse technically. She tried her best, and she's still European Champion!

Isabeau Levito though! Perfect ice princess honestly. If I could skate, she's exactly the kind of skater I'd want to be. Balletic, graceful, sensitive to the music, mature beyond her years, and can jump. Just the whole package. Especially after her rough Nationals, it's so nice to see her achieve this success on the world stage. I'm glad she switched her short program too. While she did the snake dance one well, that music still belongs to Chock & Bates in my mind, and hers kind of suffered in comparison. Nella Fantasia suits her better, and she made it her own.

Amber Glenn did so well in the freeskate, and I'm so sad to see that she was disappointed, I really wish she could give herself the credit she's due. She landed a clean, fully rotated triple axel at worlds! The only woman to do so! That's an achivement! Yes, she made a few mistakes after that, but she held it together, it was a totally respectable program! She made the top ten at worlds! And with Isabeau finishing 2nd, I'm pretty sure that's enough to give the US women three spots next year! That's huge! I really, truly hope she has, or gets, people around her who celebrate her successes rather than fixate on her mistakes, because she has all the goods, and she is improving every time she competes. Even small steps are upward progress, and I hope she sees that, and believes in herself as much as we fans believe in her.

I'm tired and need to go to sleep, but those were the ones that stuck out most for me. I think all of the women did pretty well on the whole, and this was a great competition!

[em-writes-stuff-sometimes]

I don’t know why I had this random thought popped up in my head all of a sudden but I feel like what the thing Alicent is most jealous of Rhaenyra is her motherhood like we all know that even though Alicent is resentful towards rhaenyra bc rhaenyra does essentially gets treated like the bby of the family in which she can pretty much do whatever she wants w/o consequence from her father (kind of giving me the eldest sister who suffers the most consequence from her actions & held to a more higher standard vs the youngest who gets away with everything, which is understandable but I lost empathy w/ Alicent a bit when she lets it consumes her & extend it to her children to cause even further división even though it’s not 100% her fault in a way that her shit of a father warped her into this person but still as an adult she’s also aware of what she’s doing but anyways..) but when I watch Alicent along with her children, there’s such a disconnect between them vs when I watch rhaenyra along w/ her children, there’s so much emotions, love, & bonding that I can’t help but think further cause her resentment towards rhaenyra bc not only she gets favorable treatment but motherhood just comes naturally towards her as well. Idk, sorry for the disorganized ramblings, it’s just what stuff like this pops in my head it takes me for a ride lol

Hey, nonnie!

I really like this analysis. I do think a lot of her resentment comes from this, too, on reflection. Alicent was only a child when she started having children; I'm sure on many levels she feels frozen at that age. It makes sense to me, the respective casting of her children and her - I know there's criticism of how there's like NO age gap IRL between the casting for the characters of a mother and her children, but I appreciate how this highlights Alicent's juvenility at the time she gave birth. In many respects, she's stuck where her children have aged from the neglect they've received. Sorta an incidental casting flub that makes for some really interesting symbolic subtext to the narrative the show is presenting.

All this in mind, there's no wonder that Alicent would come to feel envy for Rhaenyra. Her role in society is marriage and motherhood, and she is not able to excel at either by virtue of circumstances out of her control. Still, she pushes for duty and devotion, because she's good and she's been raised to do the right thing. And then you have Rhaenyra, who has "flouted all" and done as she liked, and yet somehow has managed to achieve her societal goals and do it better than she has. Her children clearly idolise her; she first has Laenor, who was friendly enough with her to willingly claim her sons, and then Daemon, who while a wild card is evidently in her corner; and she even holds the vaunted title of heir over Alicent's sons. It must be infuriating. I don't blame her for that. I do blame her for how she's acted on those feelings, though. Well, blame isn't the word for it. More that I think it's dangerous in ANY respect to use someone's past trauma as a catch-all to absolve them of wrongdoing. Alicent is not a good person, but that doesn't mean she didn't also have a horrible youth and a right in her own mind to behave the way she has.

Lol, sorry for my disorganised and rambling response! It makes me froth to think of all the baggage these characters have. It's why I cannot truly despise any of them (notwithstanding the fact that it's just a show and none of it is real, of course). They all have their own damage and they do bad things because of that. What a fucked-up world they live in. Give me more of it!

[lulli5ed]

Alhamdulillah ‘ala kulli haal

I used to stamp this phrase on joyful photos as caption or use it for the main titles for journal entries about the better days. Today I got reminded of this phrase again. But in a state of melancholy and contemplation. Lately, I’ve been trying to practise gratitude; a life strategy that seems to be doable everyday. It’s easier to count the blessings than to count the problems some people may say. And I agree cause there can be too many things to be grateful for whenever you choose to seek it.

But it is an immovable fact that there will be days when the mind and body gets stuck in survival mode and any kind of emotional regulation would cease to operate. The inner critic gets loud while the faint voice of hope is still somewhat audible in the background but slowly fades away. So it can be an insurmountable task to have seeing eyes of gratitude on days like this. Not forgetting the fact that the brain can be even more unkind and remind you of the negligence of the past self, in my case the misuse or unacquainted use of this phrase of constant gratitude: Alhamdulillah ‘ala kulli haal. Not to be confused with Alhamdulillah, this phrase is usually expressed in difficult circumstances with intentions to accept and surrender to God’s plans. So definitely not to be used as a caption which accompanies a cute photo of you and your girls after a nice hang out lmao.

Despite the phrase’s beauty and wisdom, I feel it’s still akin to a bitter pill that’s hard to swallow. It’s like walking into darkness hoping to find light that can guide. It renders you powerless and blinded at best. And I think to myself, how do I feel grateful for something that’s causing pain and sadness? How do I feel grateful for loss? Perhaps it’s okay to feel everything else other than gratitude for now. Perhaps it’s part of healing. Perhaps wisdom for this can only be attained through time. So many uncertainties yet the best thing to do is to hope.

If I had to be grateful for one thing right now, I guess it’s for the abstinence that Ramadan has called upon us to fulfil. Somehow the emptiness that we feel within can move us to fill our time with greater purpose and inshaaAllah all of it achievable. I hope in God’s eyes, there will always be merit in trying. I hope whatever that I am and whatever that I do is enough for now.

[kaylaesquivel]

Readerly Exploration #1

September 4, 2023

Readerly Exploration #1

Title: “Reading with a Crayon: Pre-conventional Marginalia as Reader Response in Early Childhood”

Citation: Fischer, S. (2017). Reading with a Crayon: Pre-conventional Marginalia as Reader Response in Early Childhood. Children’s Literature in Education, 48(2), 134–151. https://doi-org.ezproxy.messiah.edu/10.1007/s10583-016-9292-4 

Takeaway: The big take-away that I was left with after reading this article was that children should be allowed to express their ideas and thoughts through a media that can be exposed to them at an early age, expanding their imaginations and having their creative minds roam free, even in a picture book. 

Nugget: A nugget of information that stuck out to me was that as adults and essentially as teachers, we must encourage young children to achieve their own personal goals, even if it is to scribble on their favorite page in their favorite book.

Narration: The task I used to work with this article is under the realm of exploring relationships. I chose to talk to my boyfriend about his personal experience with coloring and scribbling in books. First, I did not plan the conversation, and I allowed him to ask a question about my assignment, giving me the opportunity to engage with the article. Second, I told him about the research I had just read about and then asked him if he used to color in books, whether it be with a crayon or just random pencil marks. Next, I allowed him to think back to those times. Last, he told me that he never scribbled in books, in fact, he would always choose a book in school without any marks in it so that he would get the sense that the book was brand new. I found this very interesting, as I had just read about how a child’s mind works. I had to stop and think, then remembered that everyone thinks differently and that we all learn in a unique way. I better comprehend that we should allow children to use their ideas to learn and encourage them to achieve an interaction between their minds and literature. In addition, I understand much more that as a teacher, I must slow down and remember that each child is unique in their own, amazing way.

Multimedia documentation: While reading this article, I remembered that I had brought a few books from home that I read when I was a child. I had brought these books up to school so that I could show my boyfriend (who I did my reader exploration with) these books. The interesting thing about my childhood books is that most of them are in Spanish. Since I am also teaching my boyfriend how to speak Spanish and I had this conversation with him about the scribbling in books, I thought it was a perfect time to start reading the Spanish childhood books. He was very happy to see the books had no coloring or scribbles in it. (Side note: teaching an adult a second language is probably just like teaching a young child, so it has been very interesting!)

No coloring on this page! However, a very colorful page...so I probably thought there was no space left when I was little. The translation of this page if you are curious is, "Why does there have to be so many kisses?"

[mellowthorn]

I was tagged by @gwenllian-in-the-abbey, thank you so much for the tag! (and sorry that it has taken me forever to do this)

How many works do you have on AO3?

Three currently (I’ve written more for other fandoms but I orphaned those years ago)

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

55,643

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I only post for Realm of the Elderlings, but I also sometimes write Kingdom Hearts fics purely for myself

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Uhh, I only have three on my current account, but in order, Someone Other Than Us, After The Sun Has Set and then Ever Your Fool.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, or at least I try to! I have a bad habit of thinking my response but never actually writing it down and then forgetting about it completely... But I try my best to remember to reply, even if it ends up taking a while.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Neither of my finished fics/oneshots have closed endings, so I guess it depends on what you imagine happens afterwards. Neither of them are exactly happy though.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I haven’t finished posting it yet, but it shouldn’t come as a surprise that After The Sun Has Set will soon take that title. I mean, it's already happier than anything else that I've written

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do, occasionally. I don’t know exactly how to describe what kind, other than that my smut scenes tend to be quite sad?? I like using them as a way to explore or exaggerate some complicated character dynamic, and I guess that’s why they often turn into something at least a little uncomfortable. As much as I enjoy reading smut that’s all sexy and romantic, for some reason I can’t write it myself at all haha

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nah

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

13. Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Nope

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Fitzloved is my current favourite (and I've never been this intense about a ship before), though Zemyx (from Kingdom Hearts) is the one I always eventually return to

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Last spring I wrote about 45k words of post-Assassin’s Fate happy ending AU. The outline for it is massive, and what I’ve written so far covers maybe one tenth at most. I know I will never have the patience to finish it, but somewhere at the back of my mind I refuse to let it go. I’ve been trying to see if I could turn parts of it into one-shots or something, but who knows what I’ll end up doing 🤷

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’d say I’m fairly good at characterization, as well as building up tragic and angsty scenarios. My favorite thing when writing fanfiction is to take some (usually sad) aspect of a character/relationship/etc and then dive deep into that, and I think I do it pretty well.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

My prose, especially detailed descriptions and creative similes and metaphors and the like. Writing those does not come naturally to me at all, and I feel like I often get stuck using cliches and specific words or phrases, and then have to spend half my time editing to make things less repetitive.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

 Not my thing, I prefer to keep everything in one language.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

 Harry Potter, I think? Way back in like 2008 or 2009.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

From RotE stuff, After the Sun Has Set. It’s the first time I’ve managed to fully write, edit and post a multi-chapter fic from start to finish, and that alone is a huge achievement for me. Writing every chapter from a different character’s PoV was also a really fun (if sometimes frustrating) challenge and I’m really glad to have done it. Outside of RotE, a few years back I wrote this super self-indulgent novel-length Zemyx fic. I never posted it anywhere and it’s kind of crap quality-wise so I never will, but since it’s basically just every romance trope I’ve ever liked, it’s fun to reread for comfort every once in a while.

[beforekokomo]

my fav words used by taylor and their meaning

disclaimer 1: yeah i like a lot of words, yeah i love all words in mastermind and glitch, but i'll spare you of all that.

disclaimer 2: i ADORE all of taylor's lyrics, if she made her grocery list available i would probably include idk broccoli on this list, but thank god the woman is a genius

disclaimer 3: english is not my first language

midnights

melancholia (noun): deep sadness or gloom;

haze/hazy (noun): vagueness of mind or mental perception;

carnation (noun): flower, botanically known as Dianthus Caryophyllus which means “heavenly flower” or “the flower of love”;

legacy (noun): the long-lasting impact of particular events, actions, etc. that took place in the past, or of a person’s life;

anti-hero (noun): in brit eng a central character in a novel, play, film, etc, who lacks the traditional heroic virtues; in american eng the protagonist of a novel, play, etc. who lacks the virtues and estimable traits of a traditional hero;

lurching (verb): to move in a way that is not regular or normal, especially making sudden movements backwards or forwards or from side to side;

fleck (noun): a small mark or spot;

unbeknownst (adverb): happening or existing without the knowledge of someone specified;

unglued (adjective): not or no longer stuck; (of a person or state of mind) confused and emotionally strained;

periphery (noun): a boundary line;

wasteland (noun): a large area of land that has not been developed, usually because it cannot be easily used;

pretender (noun): a person who claims or aspires to a title or position;

montage (noun): the art or process of making a composite picture by bringing together into a single composition a number of different pictures or parts of pictures and arranging these, as by superimposing one on another, so that they form a blended whole while remaining distinct; a picture so made;

unravel (verb): to undo (something woven or tangled); untangle or separate the threads of; to make clear of confusion or involvement; solve;

contempt (noun): the feeling or attitude of one who looks down on somebody or something as being low, mean, or unworthy; familiarity breeds contempt to say that if you know a person or situation very well, you can easily lose respect for that person or become careless in that situation;

aura moonstone: a gemstone made from feldspar, which is a mineral of the earth's crust. the magical glow of moonstone is called the adularescent effect, which is an optical phenomenon caused by its unique inner composition that refracts and scatters light; moonstone is thought to harvest the energy of the moon, which embodies yin's passive and relaxing energy, its believed that this stone promotes positive well-being and enhances your intuition;

opacity (noun): the condition of lacking transparency or translucence; opaqueness;

bounty hunter (noun): a person who pursues a criminal or fugitive for whom a reward is offered;

summit (noun): the highest point of a hill or mountain;

humming (verb): to make a continuous low sound; to be busy and full of activity, excitement, sounds, or voices;

countermove (noun): an action by one person that is a reaction to an action by someone else;

assess (verb): to make a decision about a person or situation after considering all the information;

pawn (noun): the least valuable piece in the game of chess; a person who does not have any real power but is used by others to achieve something;

free-flowing (adjective): able to move without anything stopping it; happening or done in a continuous and natural way

groundwork (noun): work done in preparation for something that will happen later;

cascade (verb): to fall quickly and in large amounts;

mastermind (noun): someone who plans a difficult activity, often a crime, in detail and makes certain that it happens successfully;

machiavellian (adjective): using clever but often dishonest methods that deceive people so that you can win power or control;

blur (noun): something that you cannot see clearly; something that you cannot remember or understand clearly;

bloodshed (noun: destruction of life, as in war; the shedding of blood by injury, wound, etc;

ember (noun): a piece of wood or coal, etc. that continues to burn after a fire has no more flames;

poppy (noun): poppy is a plant with a large, delicate flower, usually red in colour; in Britain, on a particular day in november, people wear an artificial poppy in memory of the people who died in the two world wars;

pine (verb): to strongly desire esp. something that is difficult or impossible to obtain;

freeloading (verb): taking advantage of other people's kindness;

glitch (noun): a small problem or mistake that prevents something from being successful or working as well as it should;

happenstance (noun): chance or a chance situation, especially one producing a good result;

starry (adjective): full of or lit by stars;

blood-moon (noun): an instance of the moon in total eclipse appearing red as a result of red or orange light from the sun being refracted by the earth before reaching the moon;

counterfeit (adjective): copied exactly in order to make someone believe that the copy is the original;

solitaire (noun): a game played with cards by one person;

honorable mentions because i didn't find the meaning in reliable sources, only theories that deserve a specific post, or the meaning was too obvious:

burgundy

collarbone

graveyard

daisy may

blood-soaked

peppermint

half-moon eyes

meteor strike

sapphire tears

crimson clover

alleyways

brainwash

[blue-opossum]

A "Fake Book" of Music and Typical Flight Teaching

        3 minutes to read.

        Monday morning, 24 October 2022.

        A "Fake Book" of Music and Typical Flight Teaching

        Dream #: 20,398-03/02.

        I am looking through an unknown "fake book" of various sheet music in a dream that follows a different long dreaming experience about flying. Zsuzsanna is with me. (For those who don't know, a "fake book" is an unfortunate collection of ridiculously downgraded sheet music with one-note melodies for popular songs with most content missing.)

        Although I read many unfamiliar titles, I do not recall much of what I read. It is clear text, and I even correctly play a couple of the songs (one-note melodies) on an electronic keyboard with a realistic sound, an activity unusual for a dream to render with realism.

        I notice one "song" has no notes. The staff is blank from beginning to end. The title is "Fiat." I tell Zsuzsanna the score is for part of a song that only featured the sound of a car's engine (so there are no music details anywhere).

        I began to recall my previous dream (uncommon while dreaming, but it depends on my depth of sleep and perceptual level of transitional states).

        I ask Zsuzsanna to look up information about an actor I think was in "Stargate: Atlantis." (My previous dream featured David Hewlett, but I did not recall his name in either dreaming experience, and I was unsure what shows or movies he had been in.)

        I see Zsuzsanna is using her right foot on the cell phone instead of her hand, lifting her leg. (This segment is an unusual association with attaining real-world mobility, which occurs at one point or another in all dreams in this mode. The cell phone is a "seeking cognizance" factor ambiguously tied to achieving mobility and viable communication between mind and body that does not exist in the dream state.) The activity is unrealistic. For one, the cell phone's screen is more sizable than her foot, and her position would not be possible in reality. My dream fades at this point because of the usual mobility catalyst described above.

        My dream before this was a typical "teaching others how to fly" narrative. They do not occur with viable lucidness or more focused intent, as I use "walking with intent" to stabilize and vivify a dreaming experience. Because I fly automatically every sleep cycle (because of my spontaneous vestibular-motor phasing response to REM atonia), I prefer "walking with intent" to be in a dream's environment (with more vivid detail and orientation) and explore it rather than flying over it.

        In this dream, David Hewlett (as in "Stargate: Atlantis") is passive protoconsciousness and supports me in my views. Others disagree that walking is pointless. I tell them I started flying as a toddler by lifting my legs while standing and floating. I demonstrate this activity as I speak.

        I tell them that if gravity existed or if flying was not more natural or easier than walking, Earth would become stuck in the sun. The scenario stems from virtual amnesia. As I said, I prefer "walking with intent" to flying in most dreams. It brings about more bliss, vivid self awareness, and peace - and there is an actual environment to explore rather than just soaring above it. Even so, flying does not usually occur in high lucidity (other than when rain is present, which also brings me bliss) because physicality and physical weight, and momentum are too realistic.

        With this report, there are three inherent concepts that most people who write about dreams (more so "researchers" and disinformation agents) get wrong.

        One, reading (and seeking text) has occurred regularly in my dreams for over 50 years, despite the fallacy that one "cannot read" in dreams for whatever asinine "reason" they make up to deceive people.

        Two, there is also a ridiculous claim that cell phones (or televisions, computers, etc.) "cannot appear" in dreams. Words fail me, but because most dream lore is wrongful and asinine to "dumb down" the public, nothing surprises me about people's extent of "mental absence" anymore.

        Three, flying in dreams has occurred every sleep cycle for me (even before I could walk in waking life), often spontaneously, but also with intent, though intent more so stemming from dream state intuition without direct recall of what the dream state is. No, it does not have an "interpretation," as disinformation agents might infer or "astral" anything, as the slow-witted enjoy pushing. It is unrelated to being "lucid," and lucidity is unrelated to dream control.

[ruby-whistler]

Why c!Dream should (and probably will be) redeemed

Hi! I’m bad with intros. You’ve read the title, so, let’s start with the definitions.

In this essay, we are considering the popularized definition of “redemption” instead of the classical one, which is, as per the Oxford Dictionary, “the act of saving or state of being saved from the power of evil; the act of redeeming.” That’s not however the way the word is used in fandom and media.

/dsmp /rp

The definition of redemption I’ll be working with in this essay is not forgiveness by the people who c!Dream has hurt, nor is it removing himself entirely from his past actions, but moreso the decision to change for the better and abandon destructive mindsets for himself and others.

A “redemption” in a narrative sense would be circumstances and a character arc that would allow that kind of healing and betterment.

I’d like to start this off by the fact that being “irredeemable”, in this sense, also doesn’t exist; redemption is a thing of conditions and choice, not of being allowed by someone else. You can’t gatekeep healing from people who seek it, just to be clear, and that even goes for people who have done terrible things.

Since I understand there is a lot of concern for c!Dream’s past actions, here is a post from people who are much more fit than me to speak on the matter, about the way in which they see a possible c!Dream redemption arc.

Another disclaimer, I am not going to be considering c!Dream only from the perspective of c!Tommy in this essay. c!Dream appears in other people’s perspectives and he himself has his own, unseen perspective. As a character, he is an individual person in his own right rather than just the antagonist of c!Tommy’s story, and so I do not have much concern for their narratives intertwining too much should this writing choice occur.

I’d also like to note that redemption is, in this sense, always a positive thing for everyone involved - someone who’s been prone to doing bad things in the past deciding not to do them anymore and try to change, or just simply heal enough to consider it, isn’t going to have a long-term negative effect in any of the characters, but rather the other way around. Healing is an unlimited resource, and the victims do not have to heal first for the person who hurt them to consider being better.

Here’s a well-written thread on Twitter that elaborates a bit to finish off this point, and let’s move on to actually talking about redemption in the context of the Dream SMP, and c!Dream specifically.

Why a c!Dream redemption arc is not only a good writing choice, but in this case the only good writing choice;

c!Dream, as we all know, has been subject to mental and physical abuse to the point of straight up torture by both c!Sam and c!Quackity (to different extents). He has been in indescribable amounts of suffering for the past 74 days at the time this essay will be published. That is six and something times the duration of the entire exile arc in canon.

Whatever the interpretation of his words in prison is, what is undeniable is first of all the fact his mental stability is absolutely crushed at this point, second that no human being could possibly ever deserve to undergo this, and third, his stay in the prison is showing off his humanity and making him out to be sympathetic.

Now, consider this; how would it feel if c!Tommy died at the end of the exile arc? Empty, there would be no catharsis to such an end, especially because of all of the hurt he’d gone through. Objectively, a bad writing choice.

Let’s compare, narratively of course, this situation to the prison arc. Even though I would never say one of them is “better” or “worse” than the other, since both are terrible and undeserved, c!Dream’s current state checks off all of the boxes that would make his death unsatisfying in the storyline; even if people want him gone, there would still be the dissatisfaction at the current build-up and why they even did it in the first place (it really wasn’t necessary to anyone else’s story to make him out as a victim, and yet they did) if they were planning to kill him off anyways. And since the prison arc is naturally meant to induce sympathy, even from an angst perspective it would simply not make sense within the themes and writing of the plot.

So, c!Dream can’t die, and he also can’t stay in the prison forever - the build-up must lead to something, which is logically a breakout. Great… what now?

Well, the Dream SMP prides itself in accurate representation of trauma and mental instability, specifically cc!Tommy and cc!Dream who have pulled it off incredibly during the exile arc.

Now, undoubtedly, after the prison, c!Dream is going to be just terribly traumatized- considering the writers’ past creative decisions, would it make sense for him to play the role of a dangerous, heartless villain in other people’s stories, while completely ignoring the logical fallout of what he’s been through?

In my mind, no. The most possible result is that cc!Dream is going to rightfully portray someone who’s been hurt so much he is broken, scared and tortured into submissions over months of agony and slowly stripping away of his agency, his dignity, his humanity. And that is… not going to be pretty, nor is he going to be in any way the same as before.

After everything, I’d be surprised if he can properly look at shears without shaking. That’s not villain behaviour, that’s the behaviour of someone who needs help.

Which leads me to another point, which is relatability. Believe me or not, there are people out there who heavily relate to c!Dream because they have been through things that allow them to see themselves in the character - abandonment, mental illness, etc. - or who have had destructive mindsets they have struggled to let go of in the past.

To them, as well as to the viewer, redeeming c!Dream could actually be a very good example, showcasing that anyone who has done bad things or has been hurt in the past can learn that it is possible to be better, to move on, to not be stuck in a loop but to actively seek help and then use that support to find the path to healing.

Making c!Dream a better person, who in a way, wins over his past, over his trauma, over the hurt he’s caused, and manages to actually get better… is inspiring, in a sense. It shows that you can abandon unhealthy mindsets, you can find a support group of people who care about you, you can make your life better simply by deciding to be better and then sticking to that, no matter how difficult the process.

This is why I believe that redeeming c!Dream would not be bad writing, but quite the opposite, and that the prison arc is an obvious set-up. Alright, but how does that work with the character? How could someone so widely hated mentally improve in such a seemingly violent and terrible environment? Would it even make sense within the context of c!Dream’s character so far? Well,

Why c!Dream has the capacity for healing and the Dream SMP the ability to provide it;

First of all, let’s remind ourselves that through c!Dream’s entire spiral he wasn’t ever directly given a chance to change. He was regarded as someone to defeat in order to accomplish a happy ending, or as someone who needed to be removed in order to achieve power on the SMP. Ever since the 16th, which is when the corruption of the character is the most obvious, there have been no attempts to reach out or to help him. I do not blame the characters for this - I am simply pointing out that since it has never happened before, we do not know how he would respond, and that, after everything he’s been through, any bit of kindness or compassion towards him will be a new concept he will have to learn to deal with somehow.

This point is especially driven home by the fact that both c!Quackity and c!Sam would often tell him he is a monster who deserves nothing but to suffer, and that what he’s going through is never going to amount to all the hurt he’s caused - basically removing any possibility for ever getting better (because by this logic, he doesn’t deserve support, and he doesn’t deserve to get better) from his line of sight.

He also hasn’t had a support system since shortly after the 16th, when his friends left him over c!George’s dethronement and made no effort to mend their relationship afterwards. c!Dream isn’t used to having allies and people on his side, but to being hated; again, wouldn’t that mean positive reinforcement could very well be all he needs to make the choice?

His bad mindsets - attachments are weakness, ends always justify the means, people will consider you a bad person no matter what you do - have been continuously proven right by his environment, even in prison. Any kind of subversion, plus an explanation as to why they are wrong, could be of great help to c!Dream.

Just another disclaimer; I do not believe c!Dream would change thanks to the treatment in prison, but rather despite it. His mental stability is non-existent at that point, and in order to get better he needs genuine emotional support from the people around him as well as to heal before he can redeem himself.

Alright, but… c!Dream has hurt a lot of people. Who would be fit to help him?

Let’s start off with the worst option and why it’s impossible the writers would even attempt this; c!Tommy.

c!Tommy has no responsibility to help or ever forgive c!Dream - not to say he could. The two, as it is, would drag each other down instead of helping in any capacity, and only make matters worse. The two of them shouldn’t even interact in the best case scenario - the best thing for both of them would be if they got enough healing and support individually that they could live around each other and not get their trauma or toxic habits triggered when interacting for whatever purpose of the plot.

So, if not c!Tommy (and c!Tubbo neither by extension), who could redeem c!Dream?

Well, he can’t do it on his own for sure. Being in nature with animals is nice, but further isolation from other people would merely help with the prison trauma, not with the state of his tendencies when interacting with others. He, once again, needs positive reinforcement from other people for him to heal properly.

There are two main options for this in my mind, and then there’s a few individuals he could also find comfort in, including people from both groups or those unaligned.

1) Kinoko Kingdom

From the people of this new country, c!Dream has never negatively interacted with c!Karl before, he has never hurt c!George and he hasn’t directly harmed c!Sapnap. Although the relationship with his old friend group could be difficult to rekindle, none of them have grudges against him that are too personal, and they have been canonically close friends since the beginning of the SMP, so it would be very much possible to rebuild burnt bridges. They’d be familiar, and with the addition of c!Karl they could be a good source of comfort for c!Dream after he either breaks out or is released from prison - just gotta convince c!Sapnap not to kill him first.

2) The Syndicate

From the Syndicate, c!Dream has never directly interacted with c!Nikki, and from what I know of her character she never seemed to be very affected by his actions - even doing his work for him when he was planning to burn down the L’Mantree. c!Techno is an ally who doesn’t have anything against him, and as for c!Ranboo, here is why I believe c!Dream being in the Syndicate could be positively influential on his character arc as well;

c!Ranboo and c!Philza have had a conversation about change, during which c!Ranboo made it clear he thinks everyone can change except for c!Dream; who, in his mind, is “too deep down the rabbit hole”. c!Philza replied that he thinks anyone can change if given enough time.

… you see what I’m getting at?

c!Dream has been implied to be an ally to c!Ranboo’s enderwalk state (or the state when he has access to his full memory), and hence would most likely not behave negatively towards him at all. While it might make it more difficult for c!Ranboo to deal with his own issues, it might also give him more motivation to get to the bottom of it as well, especially since he now has access to the person who, presumably, started this all. While this is going on, c!Dream would show himself in a much different light than c!Ranboo sees himin, which could lead to confusion, realization of the flaws in his own logic, and hence, positive character development.

Here’s a great post about why c!Techno as a character could be a great asset in c!Dream’s healing process & redemption, and why there is not much need to worry about him not knowing or finding out about c!Dream’s actions.

Of Kinoko Kingdom and the Syndicate, as far as I know, neither c!Tommy nor c!Tubbo have ever been directly involved with these groups, nor are they planning to.

Another important point to make is that, while c!Tommy needs to be kept away from c!Dream in order to heal properly, the same goes for c!Quackity and c!Sam in c!Dream’s case. While c!Quackity has high chances to interact with either Kinoko Kingdom or the Syndicate in the future, there’s an even higher chance, in that situation, that c!Dream would be offered protection, which is also important; there is no healing from trauma without the knowledge of safety, to some degree.

So, this was an essay as to why I think c!Dream’s recovery and redemption (one needs to come before the other, naturally) is not only extremely possible but also could be pulled off well and have a positive impact on both the characters, and the audience.

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence. 

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.” 

Ao3 Link: Here 

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here 

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return. 

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks. 

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo. 

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.” 

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew: 

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious. 

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him. 

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…” 

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat. 

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove. 

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.” 

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—” 

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.” 

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.” 

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—” 

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.” 

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs. 

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk. 

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did. 

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue. 

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—” 

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.” 

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—” 

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.” 

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses. 

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.” 

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot. 

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him. 

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.” 

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached. 

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.” 

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore. 

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure. 

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.” 

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head. 

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do. 

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations? 

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability. 

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position. 

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.” 

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.” 

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!” 

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.” 

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova. 

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.” 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current. 

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out. 

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies. 

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight. 

He needed a fucking drink. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs. 

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy. 

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets. 

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools. 

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb. 

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again. 

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more. 

Except… he’d been standing still that time. 

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet. 

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving. 

“What the fu—” 

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later. 

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs. 

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face. 

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots. 

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth. 

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight. 

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue. 

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky. 

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way. 

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them. 

Dynamight was here to get the job done. 

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head. 

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc. 

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him. 

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet. 

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god. 

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch. 

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him. 

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought. 

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze. 

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar. 

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals. 

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again. 

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air. 

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window. 

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then… 

Nothing. 

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

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time. 

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes. 

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop. 

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat. 

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place. 

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way. 

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to. 

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled. 

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business. 

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia. 

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite. 

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least. 

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers. 

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst. 

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things. 

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself. 

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps. 

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself. 

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good. 

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet. 

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help. 

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful. 

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful. 

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own. 

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone. 

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train. 

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you. 

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.” 

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief. 

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.” 

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts. 

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking. 

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away. 

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out. 

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments. 

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes. 

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor. 

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass. 

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms. 

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms. 

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash? 

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs. 

That sounded… closer. 

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky. 

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals. 

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person. 

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth. 

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack. 

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down. 

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air. 

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air. 

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached. 

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street. 

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill. 

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed. 

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it. 

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later. 

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames. 

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene. 

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him. 

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped. 

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window. 

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

[yostresswritinggirl]

and, if Albedo have his own personal botanist, what about xiao have his own personal chef, or something like that? the reader working at wangshu inn as the chef or maid 👀 (this the request... If you want to make something from this absurd idea 👀👀)

Hehe I like your thought process, anon. Albedo and Xiao really just: 😏👉👉 *finger guns* 👈👈 😑 for having reader assistants in my masterlist huh.

Making this solely a personal chef/maid thing would defo make this response hella short so I added in more info and background just like I did with Albedo's, so I hope you guys end up enjoying this one too!!

It isn't an absurd idea, but I sure as hell made an absurd answer to it kek

Xiao's Devoted "Chef"

Xiao with a Reader who is not only his Personal Chef but assistant

Background (let's gooo)

The arrival of the Adepti Yaksha in Wangshu Inn was really something I've been intrigued about for a while now, but I won't make much assumptions here because his banner is coming and more info would be given to us.

Xiao had long since been residing in and spends a majority of his time in this Inn yet its owners, Verr Goldet and Huai'an, barely knows anything about the adepti or his lifestyle.

So on a sunny, quaint day like any other where calmness passes through the lands without worry, they expected the Adepti to resign himself to a moment of peace and rest too.

So color them surprised when they save the familiar silhouette of the adepti ascending to the top floor. Porcelain white skin and clear tank top glittered with fresh blood as a broken and bruised figure lays unconscious in his arms. The couple was thankful that there were no customers out and about that day, because it would be a disaster for an audience to witness such a thing. Also bad for business, but they'll hold that in at the back of their mind.

Skilled workers were quick to work with their seemingly extensive experience with such a protocol. As they tended to the victim, the Boss stayed behind to tend to and inquire with the Adepti. Yet such a conversation between them came out strained:

There were no visible wounds that require immediate medical attention but there was a look in his eyes that feels much more broken than anything they can fix. Verr's hands hover over him in an attempt to urge him to clean up his still bloodied form. His amber eyes that were usually sharp looks through a distance light-years away.

"Xiao," the woman started and the eyes snapped out of its reverie, subtly looking around to ground himself. "What happened? And are you okay?"

"Their- the parents died from a Hilichurl ambush, I was only able to save the child," his crossed arms gripped at his forearm in the realization of his utter mistake. "32 seconds."

"32 seconds?" The Mondstadtian offered a fresh set of hot towels he had taken, and he had flinched when he saw the carnage that stuck close to his skin.

"I was 32 seconds late."

Your parents were adventurers who brought you with them as big fans of traveling and nomadic lifestyle, no set home yet freely living by. You were in your younger teens and you'd clarified you had no other family to go to.

The death of your parents came as an obvious shock to your young self yet you grieved in silence and sobs, as the only person you trust hovers next to where you rest in silent contemplation.

Verr knows that look, and it was something she hasn't seen on the Adepti before. Of pure guilt and a sense of responsibility.

That night you rested surprisingly nightmare-free as your savior stands his ground next to where you rest.

Present Times

The couple had adopted you into the Inn family without a second's hesitance and you were thankful for them as you were to Xiao. You were no heavy expense or disadvantage and that made it all the more easier to adapt into your new lifestyle.

Despite no words or explanation, you were perfectly aware of the deeds your savior had done to save you and keep you alive, and with that you had sworn to serve him until the end of your time. A life for a life, equivalent exchange.

Coming into terms with being in Liyue and the Inn, your life choices were meddled with commerce and the importance of livelihood. You were young but your guilt of being under the care of such people forced you to take on any and every responsibility you can handle.

Despite your background you were expertly skilled with cooking. Your mother and father always taught you the importance of a meal for adventurers whenever you'd camped out. And your special touch on dishes that saves adventurers had drawn in many appetites.

Business boomed and the Inn wasn't just famous for being a temporary residence, but a sanctuary that offers tastes paired with the divine sense of Celestia. You became Wangshu Inn's Head Chef, with your sous-chef Smiley Yanxiao.

At times where Xiao is forced to make rounds to seize looming threats, he'd find himself picking fresh and healthy ingredients he'd find on the way back and present to you for new recipes to experiment on.

But you also pride yourself with a different title, or titles: The Adepti's Personal Chef, Tender of the Yaksha, Adepti's Devotee.

This title was emphasized by the Sigil of Permission sewn into an armband hanging by your right arm, something you proudly wear even beyond the walls of the Inn.

You found out the Adepti's favorite during your daily visit and breaks, usually done so by hanging out in the balcony with him with a brand new recipe you recently made and wanted to test out.

While he sat parallel to you, he eyed the transparent syrup and the gelatinous substance in the obvious curiousity he shows for all your new creations, silently awaiting your opinion by watching your expression: whenever you show even the slightest distaste, he'll pointedly ignore his curiousity and the dish altogether. And if you express such pride and achievement, his interest will get the better of him, if you haven't offered the dish quickly enough.

"What is this?" He'd finally ask after your delighted moans, indulging on your own creation.

"Mmm, Almond Tofu... do you wish to try it?" Without an answer he'd pick up the only spoon on the plate and tasted it himself. And just like that, he'd froze, eyes full blown in surprise and awe.

"Do you like it?" He can only hum in response as he scarfs down the plate by himself, chewing respectfully yet with a hint of vigor in every scoop. "It tastes... like dreams..." the way he looked at you, with eyes possessing such childlike wonder, you couldn't help but fall.

After that, Xiao had requested a daily plate/offering of it. It became a routine to the point that all workers heard of the favoritism and are encouraged to learn the recipe. But it's usually your dish that is served, unless special occasions calls for someone else.

There has been an influx of dormers and adventurers recently as citizens around Teyvat flock to the Liyue continent in hopes to watch the most extravagant celebration of the new year, the Lantern Rite Festival.

Your best efforts manning the kitchen together with Yanxiao took gruelling hours just to prepare for the dinner's first course even with hours of prep time available. Even both bosses had to lend some hands as your sous-chef can barely keep up with your stride. And after the dishes are finally distributed to the dining hall, you were already set in cleaning up the kitchen, and before you knew it-

"It has been an hour."

"It was a busy day, I'm sorry, Xiao." You could only muster a mumble in guilt as you kept your head down on the usual table, refusing to look at the disapproving expression he definitely wore, except he doesn't. His face has the slightest hints of worry and wonder at your deflated composure.

But his focus now was on the food he has been craving the whole day, already digging into his dessert. And you just tried your hardest not to fall asleep on the cold, wooden tabletop. Until your tummy rumbled through the silence.

A hum. "You haven't eaten?" You shake your head as you lift your head, gazing at the cute sight of your guardian tilting his head to the side in slight distaste for your lifestyle. You open your mouth to retort until you felt the cold utensil touch your bottom lip. "Here, I saved you the last bite. After this, get yourself a meal and retreat to your quarters, I don't want to hear any excuses." He softly urges a little push with the spoon so you get the hint, and you wrap your lips around it, chewing and gulping down cold dessert. He offered his favorite food, used the same spoon, and spoon fed you with it—

"Wha... don't- don't bite the spoon," you squeeze your eyes tight from the embarrassing thoughts in your head.

When people wish to have an audience with Xiao, most of the time they head to you for guidance after inquiring with Verr. They require a sigil of permission, and most of the times, your own sigil has been under fire a lot in their desperation.

An old merchant who desperately wants to hire the adepti to aid his caravan with personal security once tried to claw at your armband, but a split second after the tip of his fingers had touched the cloth, he was blown away to the nearest wall.

"What-," a pressure on your left shoulder pulls your other against a lean chest, protectively squeezing as a polearm materialized in front of you. You can feel the ragged vibrations of the Yaksha's unusually heavy breaths, his amber eyes sharp and dangerous, dilated like a predator.

"What gives you the idea that you had the authority to lay a hand on my assistant?" Black and teal embers conjure around you two as a dark shadow slowly creeps up from the ground. "That is their sigil of permission; I want nothing to do with you mere mortals."

If not for Verr and the other staff, things would have gone gruesome and unsightly for the business. Yes, business. Everyone disliked the guy enough to care more about the Inn than his actual well-being. When he'd come to, he was forced out of the Inn (he would have done so himself anyways as he was already traumatized).

"Sir Xiao, why did you do that?"

"He didn't have a Sigil, he was pretty much asking for it. And why have you gone formal?" You pouted at him and his only response was a quirked eyebrow. Walking over to stand behind him, you slowly wiggled your arms through the gap between his waist and slack arms, finding it easy enough with how thin his waist is as you wrapped him in a hug.

He tensed from the secretly ticklish feeling before letting down his guard in your arms. This was one of your leeway as his most devoted follower. Your constant exposure with the aid of the divine sigil has made you immune to the negative effects of Adeptal energy, enough to make him nigh worry about your safety around him anymore.

And him letting you hug him like this... let's just say it's from your mannerisms of comfort when you were still young and around him.

"Take an indefinite leave," Xiao broke the silence a few minutes after, forcing you to crane your head to the side to look at him. He meets your gaze with an amused glint. "You have no debt to pay here, you shouldn't be holed up in a place like this."

"It is true that me leaving wouldn't have majooor repercussions, but what's with the sudden idea?"

He huffs. "You're my only follower and yet you divide your attention serving temporary mortals that will pass by without remembrance. And besides," you tense at the sight of an upturn on the edge of lip, pearly whites subtly peeking, "personal does not mean sharing."

You were an adventurer at heart and it's time you indulge in that glorified life of excitement, with your guardian by your side. It was the only gift he can come up with for your undying devotion.

Holy - I had to cut this thing A LOT because I wrotE A HECKIN LOT WTF?! It's not even done in my mind, my goodness, there should be an adventuring unit here too but hhhh I got too conscious of the length sksksks I'm so sorry! P-Part 2-?

I enjoyed writing this a tad bit too much sksksks but now that the second to the last installation of this even is published, the next request should be the last one! And that means I'll have to stop the poll and start working on the requests for the 100 followers one! So if you haven't voted there, you should before it's too late!!

[shushiyuii]

Here is a writing request! I hope you have fun with it! You can put noms in if you want to! :D : Giant warden hybrid Wilbur lives very deep underground and is very lonely. He meets a lost avian hybrid named Phil and decides to help him out of the cave system. When they get out Wilbur is sad that Phil has to go. Phil then decides its time to adopt another child and brings Wil with him home to a surprised Techno and Tommy.

AAAAAA I LOVE THIS SO MUCH! THANK YOU ANON! I DID HAVE A LOT OF FUN WITH IT and may also have gone a bit crazy with it? lol

(I didn't include Nom's in this story but if you ever wish for a part two with noms or anything i'd be more than happy too!)

Warnings: Injury, (Maybe some heavy subjects such as a child being lonely)

Words: 2.6K+

He doesn’t remember his younger days; he honestly couldn’t be sure who he was or how he even came into existence. One thing for sure was sounds, the tapping of a spider’s legs, creepers occasional hissing, skeleton’s bones rattling and a zombie’s growls.

It was always so dark, he’d seen the light of lava, sometimes even the light of day but the sky was always so high, so out of reach. And he couldn’t quite fit into the cave systems to find a way, so he was stuck.

He’s alone, he hates it. It’s too dark.

…

Phil flew high above the clouds in laughter, it’d been a while since he’d gone out on an adventure. Well, if you counted a much-needed mining trip of coal, iron, and such. But it was nice to be out of the house for once, especially with the kids out of the way.

Not in a bad sense though, he loved his kids but sometimes things were so busy he couldn’t keep track of things. Raising a toddler and a somewhat crazy child is well chaotic.

His two kids, Techno and Tommy. Techno had been adopted by Phil a bit early on, when Phil first met his now-wife, Kristin. He found Techno on the streets of a village, trying to fend off bandits. Phil’s fatherly instincts kicked in, a thing he’d always had and couldn’t help but take the boy in. Much to his reluctance.

Techno grew up with Phil and is now a very healthy and happy 11-year-old, and then there’s Tommy. The most recent member of the family, his little bundle of joy of about 3 years old, Techno found it odd being an older brother, he still does but he copes.

The feeling of his feathers swaying, his hair blowing, him having to attempt to keep his hat on every second, he missed this feeling. He was glad he just managed to find a babysitter since their mother was currently out on ‘business terms’.

…

The vibrant blue sky, below the loving shades of green passing with every flap of his wings. He wondered if his wife was watching over him, with her being a god and all.

He was happy how life was currently going as of late, he only hoped that fate had a good future ahead of him.

He shook himself out of his thoughts as he finally arrived at the destination. He had been well prepared for this trip; it was a mine that he’d been wanting to adventure for ever so long. He could tell there was something about it, something special.

And judging by the vibrant minerals just shining from the sunlight of the entrance, something told him there was more than just iron and coal in this cave, perhaps something more valuable, diamonds.

…

He wasn’t sure how long it’d been, but it had been a long time, he had quite a bit of iron, coal. But not only that gold and emeralds, a valuable currency. He wouldn’t have to worry about mining with the number of minerals he now had. Not only that but diamonds could be used to create powerful weapons.

He knew Techno would be happy, he’d always loved shiny things. Probably due to his Piglin features. And he could make Kristin some beautiful jewellery. It made him happy to say that his family was going to be good for a good while.

…

He picked up different noises, it was odd to hear such things. He could hear strange padding noises, perhaps some creature moving? Not only that but he heard the breaking of stone, which was a rare sound in his caves.

It was somewhat crazy to think something else could be coming closer to him, to hurt him. He knew he was strong not he didn’t even know If he was as strong as the outside monsters.

He wasn’t sure how he came to be in this world, he was always so alone. But sometimes the vines would speak to him, telling him of things like a place called the surface, which was colourful and bright.

…

The breaking of stone could be heard again, it only got louder and louder every minute. Whatever was making those sounds had found him and was coming for him. His antennae twitched anxiously; he was scared he didn’t want to die.

His claws bared as he readied his sharp teeth, he scanned for wherever the sound was coming from and waited to attack.

…

He panted as he broke at the stone, it’d been a while since he’d done so much mining, he was much out of shape. He had no idea where he currently was, he was long lost in this cave with no way of finding his way back. Despite the torches, he had no lead to where he came.

He was now trying to mine into the walls, hoping to find another branch of the cave that would finally lead him to a way to the surface. After the struggles of breaking through the wall for however long, he finally found another branch of the cave.

Big mistake as the first step he took into this cave, there was a loud crashing sound. Something had tried to hurt him, and he barely dodged it, the ceiling of the cave barely supported the impact, rubble falling from the ceiling.

He readied his sword for battle as he ran to behind a rock for cover. Something that caused that impact was definitely big, like strangely big. Not only that but the cave was one of the darkest caves he’d ever seen, the only light being from his torch.

He had no idea of where if he was honest, he couldn’t even tell if he was hiding properly. Anything could creep upon him at the current moment, it was oddly quiet, the only sound being his heartbeat.

…

He heard a strange growl behind him, it scared him with how deep and shallow it sounded, definitely a monster. Hesitantly he turned to the right, and right there was the monster staring right at him. But the monster flinched back when Phil turned around, the bright light in the monster’s face.

It seemed to hurt its eyes as he held his eyes and stumbled back in pain, from what he saw he saw about four eyes, antennae, and dark greenish-blue skin, with some light green bioluminescence that reacted to light. It appeared to be a Warden, a creature Phil had read about.

A creature of great mystery, one that mostly relied on sound, one that could communicate with plants. It was an odd creature, but the thing is about this Warden. It had a set of hair, not only that but it looked a lot more humanoid than what he’d seen drawn of the creatures.

It looked rather young too… No! No fatherly instincts! Monster?...

…

He winced in pain and stepped back from the strange being, he hadn’t seen light in quite some time. This thing was nothing like he’d ever before. He had never seen such a strange light. It hurt. This thing was strong if the creature had that then it could definitely kill him.

It came prepared.

“Hello?” it spoke. His eyes dilated as he scanned for the light, he saw it move around. He could see the creature’s confused features. It seemed almost scared itself, not only that but concerned. Something he wasn’t quite familiar with.

He was surprised by the fact that he could understand the creature, it was an oddly familiar language. “Hello?”, he replied with hesitance. He was scared that the monster’s features would change, and the creature would attack him.

“Oh! You talk? Good, because I think there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding!”. The creature made a strange sound, but seemed relieved and happy? Laughter?

“Sorry about the light, I didn’t realise it’d hurt you, my name is Phil. How about you?”

“What’s a name?”

“Oh? You don’t have one, well I guess a way to describe it would be a sort of title, something people can call you to identify you from others!”.

“… I don’t have one?”.

…

The creature- Phil had come closer, more friendly than before. No weapons, a smile. The once bright light is now dim, more adjustable.

“Well, if you don’t have a name. How about we give you one?”.

“Okay…”.

“Hmm… You look like a.. A Wilbur!”.

“Wilbur?”.

“That’s your name! Wilbur! Do you like it”.

“It sounds nice. I like it!”.

A name? It sounded nice, it made him feel unique, different from others…

…

“Well, Wilbur. Do you think you could help me?”, “How?”. “Well, you see I’m kind of stuck here. I don’t know my way out.”.

“Where do you want to go?”, “The surface.”.

…

“The surface?”, “Yeah! I need to get home!”. “Home?”, “Yeah, it’s where I live with my family!”, “Family?”, “A group of people who are very important to me, I have to get home or my sons, I don’t know what will happen.”, “Okay. I’ll help.”.

Wilbur lent his hand, confused Phil just stared at it. But Wilbur just ended up scooping up Phil and standing up, wandering through the caves.

“So, you live in these caves?”, “Mhm”, “Aren’t you lonely?”, “… Yeah…”.

“How old are you?”, “I don’t know, they say I’m a youngling…”.

…

Phil’s fatherly instincts kicked in, a kid on his own in a fucking cave system? No fucking way. He had no choice; his mind was already made up. This kid was now his, he now wanted nothing more than to smother this boy in the love he never had, care for Wilbur. Like how he met Techno.

The two ventured the caves for a while, surprisingly no mobs. The two at this point had spoken for a while and gotten to know each other a small bit, Wilbur seemed fairly interested in his family too! So, it made him happy to think that he’d achieved a new son!

But he spoke a little too soon, a loud bang frightened Wilbur. Wilbur jumped back and dropped Phil from a height. Phil landed with an oof and looked back at Wilbur who was now crouching in fear, immediately he ran over to comfort the boy despite his aching leg.

“Hey, hey. Wil, it’s alright, it was just a creeper.”. He ran his hand over the boy’s own hand, “I-I, it was loud...”, “I know, I know. But it’s okay! It’s not gonna hurt you anymore mate! I’ll protect you!”.

…

He released his hold on his eyes and looked down to Phil… Protect? As in guard him? Phil’s eyes were enough to reassure him, it brought him comfort despite the small time of knowing him, he’d never known such a kind person before.

He picked up on a sound, the tugging of string. Phil didn’t seem to hear it as he was concentrating on him. He looked back to see a skeleton aiming an arrow at Phil. Scared, he quickly brought Phil to his chest as the skeleton shot the arrow.

Phil screamed but immediately calmed as he heard the arrow hit the ground, realizing that Wilbur had only been protecting him. He smiled and looked back furiously at the skeleton.

He reached for his sword and despite his aching leg, wiggled out of Wilbur’s hold and sliced the skeleton in half, its remains turning to dust and bones. He looked back to Wilbur, “You okay, mate?”.

“I’m fine! How about you? You’re walking differently.”. “Ah, I’m fine mate. My leg just hurts a bit!”. “Hurts? As in pain?”, “Yeah? Wh-“.

Phil was cut off when Wilbur brought him back to his chest, standing up and continuing their adventure to the surface. Being sure Phil was secure in his hold, not wanting to bring any more pain to this man.

…

A bright light could be seen in the distance, “Hey Wil! I think that’s the surface!”. Wilbur looked over in the direction of the light, he winced slightly but his eyes adjusted as he made way to the light.

Once they were outside, Phil took a good breath of fresh air. Wilbur copied, confused as to why and surprised with how fresh the air felt in his lungs. It was refreshing.

“Wil! We’re outside! Thank you so much!”

“It’s nothing but…”

“Hmm, what’s wrong?”.

“Where do I go now?...”

“We can go to my place if you want, you can meet Tommy and stuff.”.

“Really?”.

“Of course, Wilbur!”.

Phil then flew upwards and directed Wilbur to follow him, along the way Wilbur would get distracted by the views and greenery. Phil was more than happy to wait for the boy.

Now that he thought about it, he had a clearer view of Wilbur, who was definitely a lot more humanoid than he first thought, perhaps he was a hybrid of sorts? Only time could tell.

But at the break of dawn, Phil arrived home as was greeted by a worried Technoblade running towards him, a Tommy trying to follow behind him, wanting his father’s hold.

“Techno! Tommy! Are you guys okay?”. “Dad! Where have you been?”.

The worried words of his son and the rambling of his toddler were enough to make him scoop them up in his arms and cover them in kisses. Which seemed to cheer the two up.

But all hell broke loose when Techno stared up at Wilbur, he stood in front of Phil to protect him. “Who are you?!”, “Techno! Calm down! This is Wilbur! Your brother!”, “Brother?! Really Dad?!”, “Yes really”.

…

Despite the reluctance, Techno grew used to his new sibling, so did Tommy who seemed to really like Wilbur. Not only that but Kristin was more than happy to have Wilbur adopted into the family, and that’s how Wilbur joined the family.

… Bonus …

“Bitch!”

“Oi, don’t use those words, Tommy!”.

Tommy was now about 5 years old, a very clingy 5-year-old. One who never left Wilbur alone, not that Wilbur hated it, he loved his younger brother a lot. It was just sometimes he could be quite annoying.

“Wilby! I want cuddles!”. His antennae twitched as he closed his four eyes, pinching his nose to be as dramatic as possible and let out a long sigh, “Finee!” he dragged out. Tommy’s excitement as he ran to grab blankets was more than enough to make him smile.

Wilbur sat down against the wall as Tommy dragged pillows and blankets against the floor, the things being double his height and dragging behind him. Then made his way to throw the pillows at him and attempting to climb onto his lap.

He failed multiple times, “Wil! Help me!”. Finally with the help of Wilbur’s claw he adjusted and cuddled within Wilbur’s hold.

“Tell me that story again!”, “The one about the civilization and the brothers?”, “Yeah!”.

Wilbur laughed, “Okay!”.

Within 5 minutes of the story, Tommy had fallen asleep, so Wilbur changed to a simple lullaby whilst playing with his baby brothers’ hair. Something precious, something he’d always protect.

“Got room for one more?”, Techno stood there in his crowned PJs, who seemed barely functioning, his blanket and pillow dragging behind him. Usually, he’d never do such a day but today seemed to be an exception. “Of course Tech!”.

The three then fell asleep together.

…

“Awwhh! Look at them Phil!”, Kristin whispered as she peered into the room of her son’s bedroom. Phil giggled, “I know! I’m glad I have such a good family”.

Within the palm of her hand, he laid. Thankfully for them, Kristin was a giant, so the house was already pretty adaptable for Wilbur. She placed a kiss on his forehead. “Love you, hun!”, “Love you too!”.

[sparklingdust4612]

Prieta Melleen (the conception)

A/N: I was washing dishes and thinking of my soulmate Reylo fic, then I thought of Kylo dying but since they're soulmates, cant the soul find its other half to reside in? thats when the idea of body-mates began (while doing dishes, thank you very much) and then my thoughts drifted to Prim whose death devastated us and since I am me, I decide to write that asinine piece of idk-what-that-is garbage for my beloved @jhsgf82.

The title will make more sense once you read on.

Lets move to our story ;)

Post-MJ, Humour, rated M to be safe. No triggers except canon-ish violence (which is teeny weeny like Gale's willy). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK CUZ IDK WHAT THIS PIECE OF SHIT IS!!

"Katniss?" Prim asked, turning and looking at her frantic sister before the explosions went.

There was pain, so much pain, and screaming and it took Prim a while to realize her sister was screaming much louder than anyone who fell victim to the disguised bombs.

"Primrose!" Katniss wails and Prim screams as she feels herself being violently torn into two until the pain and noise is no more and there's a feeling. It feels like...flying?

Prim slams her eyes shut (which she shouldn't have done but she did) and prays for it all to be over, prays to whatever deity is out there to bring her back to her sister who she'll never leave again.

And then she floats, she floats for who knows how long until she finally feels well-rested and decides to face whatever the fuck it is head-on.

Well, whatever Prim thought she'd see after opening her eyes would never come close to what she actually is seeing.

It's dark but she can see. She's in somewhere that's obviously dark, warm, cozy, and well-lived. There is only a distant source of light and that's too high up.

That's when the sound of someone stomping hits her ears and she's instantly on high alert, years upon years with Katniss making it instinctive.

"Who are you?" she hisses, trying to sound as threatening as Katniss would but she doesn't know if she achieves her goal.

Stompy-feet comes close enough and she traces it's, his, features with her eyes because he looks famili-

"Peeta?" Prim gasps and Peeta jumps several feet in the air. It would be comical if Prim wasn't utterly done with the universe's bullshit by now.

"What are you doing here? Where are we? Katniss?" Prim asks, she's about to unload more questions but the sight of his wide, terrified eyes makes her clamp her mouth shut.

"Primrose? You're okay!" he sounds stunned and then excited as he pulls her in his arms.

"I don't know where we are Prim but I've been eying that light up there and I think it'll answer all our questions," Peeta says, pointing up at the small source of light.

"How do we get there?" Prim asks and Peeta thinks noisily because the fucking man literally talks to himself and considers it thinking.

"How do we get up there, Peeta? Hmm, this feels like a dream don't you think? I agree, so maybe we can fly up there and hope we find answers? Sounds valid enough but-" his loud thinking is cut-off by Prim leaping in the air and floating up.

She shrieks in excitement and is joined by a grinning Peeta who dampens her mood by saying, "Great minds think alike."

"Oh shut up, you walk loud, you talk loud, you think loud, you ogle loud," Prim says and Peeta's face looks like a lump of coal that's been sitting in the fire too long.

They both fly all the way and as soon as they're close, they realize there are two sources of light and they're small.

They don't have to say it because they're thinking the same thing. Let's peek.

Peeking from the two wasn't a good idea because as soon as they do, they see a mirrored ceiling and a sleeping Katniss, and focusing on the mirrored ceiling has them falling back down because two blue eyes are staring from the mirror, one more grayish, the other bluer.

"What the fuck!" Prim yells and Peeta gives her a nasty look.

"It looks like you're stuck in my body too now," Peeta calmly says and Prim's eyes fill with mischief.

"Does that mean no more crampy period?"

And Peeta groans, his face turning red once again.

"No, no no! This isn't happening!" he wails, sounding pathetic and utterly defeated.

"Cheer-up Peeta, we'll find a way to split up," and a flash of an image appears in her mind of Peeta's body split into two even pieces, running in two different directions and Prim gags.

"What was that?" she asks and Peeta gives her the stink eye.

"Well, sharing my body includes my fucking organs which includes my brain, and said brain has thoughts and feelings and memories you can now see," he grits out and Prim's smile turns maniacal.

"We'll find a way, at least until then, refrain from kissing or having intimate relations with my sister, yeah?" she says and Peeta looks so embarrassed he's ready to combust.

"How can we?" he wails, "my body doesn't have a library or computer in it."

There are a few minutes of blissful silence as the two contemplate what it means for them.

Peeta jumps and stares outside both windows feeling a rush of air so strong he closes his eyes. Opening them again, he finds himself in bed and Katniss beside him, holding his hand. There's no sign of Prim and Peeta breathes a sigh of relief.

Katniss wakes with a start, her bloodshot eyes lighting up for a minute before she kisses him and he melts. Tangling his hand in her hair he-

Peeta for god's sake stop eating her face and come down here! I told you not to do that! Ughhh! comes Prim's voice in his mind and he abruptly pulls away from the girl he's been in love with for more than a decade.

"I love you," he croaks before his eyes roll back and he finds himself inside his body, standing beside Prim once again.

"So if one of us goes there, we can have control of the body, thoughts, and everything. It's the perfect way to find out what happened to us!" Prim squeals before adding "Now to figure out how we'll tell Katniss."

And Peeta feels dizzy because this isn't fucking happening. He refuses to believe it.

And then Prim grins and it's so damn evil, purely devilish that Peeta prays it's nothing bad.

"So what do we call ourself?" Prim asks and Peeta rolls his eyes at her use of 'ourself'.

"Pri-" her words are cut off as Peeta ends what he was saying.

"-eta" and the miserable duo looks at each other and then tries to snag the last name.

"Mell-"

"-een" Prim ends and Peeta facepalms.

"Prieta Melleen, I like it!" she giggles and Peeta hopes he can wake up and find out it's all a nightmare.

"Come, fellow Prieta, let's decide who'll talk to Katniss about our...predicament," Prim says and Peeta can't stop himself from fainting this time.

A/N: And this is how Prieta Melleen came into being lol. This is me reversing the concept of soulmates (one soul, two bodies) to make it body-mates (one body, two souls+personalities). Idk if I'll write more of this but maybe if my brain concocts more body-bound duo's shenanigans, I believe I'll write them because in the end, the two love Katniss 😂

[fyrecatpickles]

So I'm re-watching Water 7 and this idea has been rattling in my brain for a long time, and after freshly watching the Usopp vs Luffy fight it really hits home just how different each crew member views their journey up to this point, and even further along. Not everyone wanted to be a pirate in the beginning except for Luffy. He recruited people for their skills, not their innate desire to be exclusively pirates. Their dreams are achievable by being one, sure, but it was never their first choice, except, again, for Luffy. Luffy, since a child, was always serious about wanting to be a pirate. He knows what he wants, as well as the danger and reality, of what a pirate actually is. Seeing Shank's crew kill a man in front of him to save him was just as much as a reality check as Shanks saving him from the sea and even Sabo 'dying'. Luffy knows the danger of what being a pirate entails. This was never a game for him. He wants to be the King of the fucking Pirates. He was, and is always serious, albeit is an idiot a lot about his dream and what he wants to be.

But what about the rest of the crew? I'm only gonna go over the East Blue crew otherwise this is gonna get WAY too long.

Zoro doesn't care about titles of pirate or pirate hunter. His end goal was, and is, to be the Greatest Swordsman. However he gets there doesn't matter, at least that is what we were led to believe. He admits he didn't care about being labeled a pirate hunter in canon. That it was something that just stuck with him and he never bothered to change people's mind. What he does care about is respect that is earned.

Luffy earned his respect. Zoro saw Luffy was someone he could follow that will help him obtain his dream, and very quickly adapted his path to align along with Luffy's own. I would argue since at least the Baratie arc Zoro was dead serious about staying with Luffy as an actual pirate. Full stops this is his fucking job now, and he takes it seriously very early on. He is First Mate to the future King of Pirates and he damn well earned that spot. Not because he was the first recruited, but honestly was the first to take Luffy's path just as serious as Luffy himself. There are hints scattered all through Zoro's musings that he takes his role in the crew seriously. That this isn't just a fun adventure they are all going on, but the real fucking deal. Not everyone took the journey seriously, but Zoro did from the very beginning.

Sanji on the other hand takes his job as a cook seriously, but it's different. While Zoro takes his role as First Mate for Luffy sincerly, Sanji takes his role as just a Cook seriously. He doesn't really intergrate himself fully until way later. What he knows as reality is the danger of the seas and what it means to starve. It takes Sanji longer to accept he wants to stay and follow Luffy, and Only be Luffy's Cook. It's a slower acceptance riddled with trauma I could go on for hours about, but Sanji does understand the impotance of roles on a ship and what those roles entail. This was never a game for him, but an actual job just like Zoro.

Nami is a bit complicated. She knows the danger of the seas like Sanji, but she has been working by herself/for Arlong for so long that being labelled as a pirate with Luffy is still surreal for her. Luffy is so carefree that it doesn't feel like they are a real priate crew. Nami always tries to dissuade Luffy from going all out because it's dangerous. She knows the danger there, but Luffy knows it too, but he wants to face it head on.

Usopp however thought it was a game until Water 7. It was more of an adventure as a crew of friends playing pirates. Usopp wanted to be a brave warrior of the sea. You can do that just by sailing. He constanly would try to overstep Luffy as Captain, and there were times Luffy was annoyed but he let it slide. It took loosing to Luffy and loosing Merry to understand Luffy isn't playing pirates, he is an actual fucking pirate. This is Luffy's life and he wants Usopp to follow him, but he has to respect that Luffy is an actual fucking leader.