#i have emptied my brain for the day i had to answer one semi complicated question and read one uni level text and i am done

[baekuras]

@g-a-y-b-a-c-o-n

I wanted to put this in an ask but then I decided to lay back a bit into my pillow and more thoughts hit me every time I stopped one like a marathon so imma get them all out right now

Let me start with that I love talking to you always just...LOOK at all this art that happened Moreso with the griffins than er-au because thats a wholeass long post at this point (yes i still have ideas for that too to draw i can not stop yet oops) all because of some tags on a post about a cat with baby bunnies-it's amazing

Anyhow What do you mean „idk if this is a Aiden lives situation“ of course it is there is no other option Although my brain defaults to angst

which is why i didn't follow the thought of „Aiden doesn't die“ which was followed by „if he does he comes back“ both which can end super badly so i...am leaving that (and the thoughts of now him outliving everyone or coming back wrong and it's all even worse etc etc you know the deal)

bUT my brain continued a bit anyway and with the griffins au I don't even wanna imagine what would happen if Aiden died An emotional witcher and 4 griffins all angry and/or grieving Not a good mix, maybe for revenge but definitley not for everyone else especially if Lambert has to calm 1-4 kids down while being a mess himself probably (yes my brain also did go to „What if they/one of them gets so out of hand Lambert would have to fight them or would run away from that chaos because it's all too much for everyone and ouch)

So right now my angst braincells are only for my ocs (latest I did was hang someone on their ribcage for a bit after torture after experimentation after lovers betrayal so that's good for now (i am so sorry i will let it end well too but woops)

But luckily for us all Aiden lives v-v

Second though interjected somewhere between those ramblings and how I always get whiplash when I actually play the witcher 3 and hear Aiden spelled out (idk how it's said in polish tbh i am not gonna read subtitles only and i refuse to play the game in german) considering how in german the Ai is spelled like...eye and not like, well, uh (h)ey idk how to word things with words

but now to griffins and half the continent of geralts friends/acquaintances being at kaer morhen

imaging everyones reaction to seeing the griffins first is great fun

Lambert and Aiden either arrive as late as possible for dramatic entrance OR are the first there just lounging with 4 griffins around as if that was the most normal thing in the world (which it is for them but come on, they know)

also tfw you are unsure what's weirder, a cat witcher at kaer morhen or griffins at kaer morhen (how about 2 cats vs 4 griffins, someone grab gaetan quick!)

I also like to imagine that at some point the griffin siblings decided to see how long it'd take them to convince someone to pet/cuddle them and whoever gets them to do so fastest wins New game is „Find the buff-witchers/anyone really (thanks GERALT) and see which one tosses them first“ they will still try even having long outgrown that possibility but come on (Letho beware, he is new and now on their radar of „Bother that Witcher“) Look they are Lambert and Aiden's kids I doubt they have much restraint or....anything

also don't refuse them they got a whole family to go and sulk to and they know how to be cute all big eyed and floofy and shit Even if Lamb and Aiden aren't around they WILL find Eskel (they know who is in charge come on) and be all sulky around him because SOMEONE refused to give them food they don't even like and that was probably bad by now!

I also wonder, considering I drew Aiden on the biggest girl, who rode a griffin first (and who else would gain the privilege) I wanna say Aiden, but I wouldn't put it past Lambert ofc but also i am sure one of the kids just...wriggled through the legs of an unsuspecting witcher until they were able to take off, witcher safely on their back

ALSO baby birds and cats are very mouthy (the amount of scratches and bites kittens can give you is insane and some really dont wanna learn that nothing will happen pls play with the toys instead thank you) so....baby griffins must have been a mess in that department as well

[starshipsofstarlord]

Can I request a Kai Parker smut

stuck in 1903

kai parker x reader / masterlist

summary; being trapped in the prison world after sacrificing yourself to protect your friends, leads to some very embarrassing and frustrating situations / warnings; kai being an annoying lil shit, mentions of death, smut, possessiveness, imprisonment,

the prison world, perhaps it would have been slightly peaceful if an entrapped witch was not following your every move like an obsessed ghost. he was relentless, stalking his threatening footsteps after your own, prowling for a manner of attention.

“if you stop this whole, ‘let’s walk in y/n’s shadow’ charade, i will have sex with you. can we pursue a deal concerning the matter?” instantly, the witch muted his movements, gripping onto the side of the aisle shelf as he studied you, searching to see if your prospectus contained serious regard.

once he had come to a conclusion, he raised his eyebrows. kai had tried his darnest to keep you contained in that house that he likened to call a home. there was something he didn’t wish for you to discover, he was keeping you isolated from everything within the empty world that his family had banished him to.

that made you think, that it was possible, that perhaps other souls had entered the enclosure of this world, and that was why you were seeking, in the hopes of providing yourself with the comfort that you weren’t alone in this cursed nation with the one, and the only, to your misfortune, kai parker.

there wasn’t much that you knew about him, he was a practical talker, rather than a personal one. he had stocks of questions about the modern world, so that he could relish in the imagery of how much it had evolved without him. a part of you pitied him, but another worried that there was a wisp of darkness that he was hiding.

you didn’t know him, he was a stranger, and that truth made him potentially dangerous. it was safe to always remain on your toes, even if he had a habit of trailing huskily after. it gave him no chance of envisioning you as a sitting duck, every day was the same, but he was the one thing that could change that.

one tip of his mindset, and he could remember that he preferred being alone. and he could kill you, piking you on a stake, despite being human, or using his siphoning hands to drain all life out of your body. this wasn’t your first rodeo with the aftermath of death; bonnie had found a way to bring you back, her power flowed through you, keeping you logically alive, to a fault that was.

parker licked his pork rind exploited lips, collecting the dust from the treat, and bringing it into the cauldron of his mouth. the man was thinking, and that idea alone scared you. however you waited for him to persevere with whatever was unravelling in his mind, although you could have easily passed him by, finding elsewhere to seek salvation.

“is there a due date for that offer, because i’d like to take you up on it right now?” a smirk curved his mouth. perhaps not every day was the same, this was certainly going to be different, that was one thing that was for sure.

he noticed how your shoulders withered from the thought; sex in a grocery store, you had never been so filthy, and despite there being nobody around to bare witness to the sin, it still had your skin crawling. hugging your arms across your chest, you sighed, giving into his slick prompt, leaning your head down out of self disrespect.

kai couldn’t be trusted, you knew that. not for the fact that his own family had sent him here, to wallow in nothing more than the loneliness of his own company. there had to be a reason! nobody’s mother nor father would do such an act for no resolving purpose.

gulping, you finally grew the guts to adjust your gaze on him, and how he tapped his foot, silently demanding a response. “i mean it kai, we have sex, and you stop trailing after me like some stray. you got that?”

he got it. his footsteps came closer to you as he backed you into a shelf along the outer wall, enclosing you against the packets of rustling pork rinds, accidentally crushing their interior contents, as you raised your chin up, obscenely glaring at the mysterious man.

“oh, i heard every word.” he held out his pinkie finger to make a promise, and sickeningly you reached your own out, shaking on it, before he rasped his hand around your wrist, pressing a kiss upon the thin flesh. leaning down, kai attached your lips, humming contently, it had been so long since he had endured the contact of another person.

with his unoccupied hand, he slithered it down your chest, dragging his knuckles down your stomach, before he reached the tender edge of your trousers. he toyed with the band, the action making you stifle any sounds of admitted likening to his teasing; if you did, then he would only continue to do so more.

it felt like forever since you had gotten laid, a large portion of you wanted kai to take you on the spot, which it looked as though that was his intent, and that he definitely would do so. but another felt sick of yourself, these were the extents that you would go to to be left alone, and there was not exactly a plan b if he didn’t.

you wanted to obtain a way out of this place, and possibly the only chance that you had of doing so was to wander away from his ever watching eyes, and strive on your own, trying to discover any evidence of life throughout this semi detached world. you felt like a cattle, being guarded by their herder, he was protecting you from anything that could daunt your mind with realisation.

it wasn’t the fact he was protective, it was more in the terms of possessiveness. though he wanted to leave, he claimed that there was no way out, he was intent on descending your hope of uncovering an escape, from not only the ghost town of your home, but from him also.

“what to first? should i just fuck you or make you blow me?” his teeth toyed with a sly smile, as though he were trying to convince you into a conflict regarding the answer. but instead of growing a fuzzy brain, you simply glared at him, pushing his fingers out from where they had slipped under the top of your bottoms, leaving the man to be a confused mess; it was kinda cute, but for all you knew, his often sublime attitude.

“i didn’t say foreplay parker, only sex was on the table. and that will be all you’re getting, unless you want me to leave you high and dry, and find another resolve to rid myself of your attached escapades of following after me like there’s a wire attached from me to you.”

“fine.” he raised his hands in a motion of surrender, chuckling lightly to himself. “i was just testing my luck, which is clear that i don’t have.” he turned, his brows going up higher on his face as he saw a variety of boxes stacked on one of the shelves. he picked one up, reading over the scripture as you scoffed.

“i don’t think your gonna need xxl, unless you’re going to cum that much since nobody has had their hands on you for a long time. you’ve had to suffice and please yourself for how long again?”

“spicy, i like it. eh, you’re right anyways.” he tossed the box down the aisle, grasping for another like a kid in the candy store, this time it was for the variety of average sized men. kai aggressively ripped the box open, causing the contents of packets to spill all over the ground.

“are you incapable of doing anything like a grown ass man?” it was irritating just watching him fail to do ordinary everyday tasks. he was destructive, and it seemed to be a large part of his personality.

“you won’t be asking that in a minute y/n/n.” he sent you a gruelling wink, making you inherently gulp, watching as he plucked a singular condom off the ground, holding it between his teeth as he began to unbuckle his belt, starting towards you.

“whatever you say kai.” rolling your eyes at his constant cockiness, you pried open your jeans, dropping your panties to the ground, as you caught kai frozen, with a slight swab of drool bathing his bottom lip. “come on, i am waiting, so hurry your ass up before i get bored of doing so.”

“you want this as much as i do, you just won’t admit it.” he lightly sneered towards you, and you felt your body flush with composed embarrassment. perhaps you had thought about the ordeal a little during the time you had been there, but there had to be some excuse! he was the only guy in a worldwide radius, that was a reasonable enough purpose.

when he was rid of apparel on his lower half, he rolled the protection onto his length, as he pinned you completely flush against the shelves of the aisle, one of his hands cupping your ass, before he helped you clamber into his arms, as he held your weight up.

you wrapped your legs expertly around his waist, biting your lip as he ran the tip of his cock against your clit, and then pushed into your walls, his moans reverberating erotically along the column of your throat, as he trailed his lips against your tender flesh.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” he uttered as he began to thrust. it had been a long time since kai had endured any physical contact, let alone like this. the siphon was relishing in it, slipping his cock in and out of your folds as though that was his lifelong purpose.

for the first time in many years, he no longer felt trapped, he had inched into a small paving of freedom, all because he was inherent not to leave you to abandon alone. you too were also caught up in the web of pleasure, you didn’t here two specific sets of footsteps enter the store, searching for the witch that had claimed that he knew of a route out of this subordinate hell.

they had survived the enduring loss of their own freedom, being sucked from the force of a collapsing vacuum into this lonesome reality. the other side had fallen, and so had their jaws, as they saw kai not only having sex, but with you, their lost friend whom had given her life to previously save them from complicated doom.

bonnie felt borderline disgusted as she watched you shut your eyes and try to bounce yourself on the man’s cock, whilst damon was specifically disappointed. your hands rasped around his shoulders, though their grip tightened as your name was called.

as you turned and saw your friends, it all suddenly made sense. from kai’s behaviour, to his lack of inclination to leave you alone, it was clear that he was hiding you from them and vice versa. “bonnie, damon!” you gasped, unsure of how you were supposed to compose yourself throughout this predicament.

“yes, bon bon, damey.” kai mocked with a roll of his eyes, as he remained still to his own dismay. “could you maybe give us five minutes, we kinda weren’t done here. just let us finish, and- ow!” you slapped the side of his face, scrambling to situate yourself out of his menacing grip.

with downturned eyes, you hastily pulled your clothes back up into place, glaring at the siphon. “you knew didn’t you? you knew that these were my friends and you purposely made sure i was distanced from them!” you growled at kai, your eyes fluttering with disregard for the imprisoned magician.

“well if i had, then you’d be less inclined to spend time with me, and this, would never have happened.” his fingers pried at pointing between the pair of you, amusedly he would say, though you would think otherwise. “welcome to 1903 baby! the world of lies and disgrace.”

“you’re the disgrace, you killed your own family, your younger siblings.” bonnie spoke, and her words made you feel physically sick. “get away from him y/n.” you followed her command, rushing over to her and damon, with shock established in your eyes. you had just fucked a sociopath.

“well, i guess that the jig is up.” he shrugged as he conformed his own clothes to be put in place. the fact that you still felt a rouse to finish what you started made you feel disgusted with yourself, though he deserved to rot here. why did the bad guys always have to be so hot? it just was not fair.

[actress4him]

Bonus Whumptober Content

I had no plans originally of continuing the story from Whumptober Day 28. As far as I was concerned, it ended badly and that was that.

But you can all thank @outtacommission , because I was bribed into continuing it!

If you need a refresher on the original chapter, click the link above or read it on AO3.

This is the start of the new content, which ended up being super long, so I broke it up into three short chapters. I’m really excited and nervous to share this. Writing sequels for oneshots that weren’t originally supposed to be continued is...tough. This is the second time I’ve done it, and I always feel like the continuation isn’t as good as the original. But I’m pretty happy with how this turned out, so I hope that you guys enjoy it, too!

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Warnings: (big spoilers!) needles, implied CPR, broken bones, blood, brain damage, paralysis, amputation, panic attacks

.

“Quiznak. Oh, holy quiznak, Keith?”

.

“He’s not breathing. I’ve got no pulse.”

.

“Hold him steady, I’m cutting the back of this chair off so we can get to the shrapnel.”

.

“Come on, Keith. Breathe. Breathe!”

.

“Look, I found this in Red’s first aid kit. I’m a universal donor.”

“Get it hooked up, he needs everything we can give him.”

.

“Please, Keith. Please.”

.

“Shiro, his ribs…”

“I know. They’ll heal.”

.

“Wait! Look!”

“Oh my g-...okay. Okay. Hurry, let’s get him to the Black Lion. I’ll need you to ride with him so you can keep up the transfusion.”

“Right behind you.”

.

.

Consciousness came in spurts. The first time, he surfaced from the never-ending blackness to nothing but cold and pain, and the feeling that his insides were twisted into a big knot and trying their best to exit his body. As he retched, body automatically jerking to try to sit up or roll over and sending even more pain shooting through him, frantic voices surrounded him.

“...reaction...blood…!”

“But...O neg...shouldn’t…”

Somebody scooped him up like a baby and ran, jarring his screaming abdomen with every step, before depositing him onto a semi-soft surface.

“...Galra…”

“...sample...synthesize more…”

The words meant nothing to him. All he knew was pain and nausea, and a blur of lights and movement above him.

Just before he passed out again, there was a sharp prick in his forearm that momentarily drew his attention away from the rest of the pain. He couldn’t find the energy to protest it.

.

.

The second time, voices were the first to filter in, hushed tones that sounded as if they were speaking a foreign language. His eyes fluttered open, but the bright lights overhead made him wince and squeeze them back shut. 

“You’re okay,” someone soothed, the only words he could actually pick out from among the rest. “You’ll be just fine. Go back to sleep, now.”

There was a prick on the back of his hand, and he whimpered involuntarily. But a moment later the nothingness was taking back over, and he gladly slipped underneath.

.

.

The next time he woke, he had no recollection of the first two times, or of anything that happened before, but for some reason he was surprised to be waking up. Somehow, he didn’t think he was going to do so. But here he was, awake. Only, he had no idea where here was.

“Keith? Bud? You with us?”

He knew that voice. Turning his head toward it, he willed his eyes to open, and after a moment, they obeyed. A blur of yellow and brown met him. 

“Hey, bud! It’s good to see those eyes open. Can you hear me?”

Keith blinked, trying to bring the person into focus. Once their features had solidified enough that he could make out dark brown eyes and a smile, he licked his chapped lips and attempted to speak. 

“Hunk.” For some reason the N dragged on for much longer than he had intended, but it was a word, regardless.

“Yeah! That’s me! Oh my gosh, you have no idea how happy I am that you’re awake and okay.”

How long had he been asleep? It must have been a while for Hunk to be worried. And he was pretty sure he felt okay, though maybe a bit numb overall. Maybe he really had been asleep for a long time. It kinda felt like he was waking up after one of those naps you take while you’re sick and your fever breaks in the middle of it.

He licked his lips again, to no avail. “‘hirsty.”

“Yep, yep, I’m sure you are.” Hunk turned and snatched something up off a nearby table, bringing it toward Keith’s face. “Here ya go. Small sips.”

The water was the most wonderful thing he had ever tasted in his life. He wanted to gulp it all down, ignoring what he had been told, but Hunk pulled it away after only a couple of seconds. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go get Shiro and Fallenta and let them know you’re awake, alright? I’ll be right back.”

Keith struggled to process that sentence. He didn’t think he recognized one of those names, and he still couldn’t figure out why him being awake was such a big deal. Unless...he had gotten hurt in one of their fights. But then why wouldn’t he be waking up from the pod, not in whatever bed this was?

“Wha...happened?” His words continued to come out strangely, despite his best efforts. Maybe he had been sleeping on his face, because it was one of those numb parts of him that didn’t seem to want to move properly.

Hunk froze at the doorway, turning slowly to face him. “Um...what do you remember?”

It was a good question. Wrinkling his brow, he searched his still half-dazed mind, trying and failing to grasp at the snippets of memories that danced by. It didn’t take long for his head to start hurting, and he shut his eyes, giving up for the moment. “Don’t know. A fight?” He had a vague recollection of being in Red recently. “In the Lions?”

“Um, yeah, well, that’s...one thing that happened.” Hunk seemed nervous, fidgeting with his hands. “I’m gonna go, um, get the others, and they can tell you everything, ‘kay?” Without giving Keith a chance to protest, he disappeared through the door.

Keith sighed, and tested out various parts of his body. Other than most of his right side being curiously numb, and an almost unnoticeable ache in a couple more places, everything seemed to be working properly. He had been in Red right before waking up there...right? Maybe she could tell him what was going on.

Only when he closed his eyes and reached for their connection, he came up empty. There was nothing there. No hum, no purr, nothing. His heart leapt into his throat. Red! Red, where are you? What if something had happened to her? What if she was gone? What if he had done something to make her reject him, and he wasn’t even a paladin anymore, what if that’s what Hunk didn’t want to tell him? If he wasn’t a paladin anymore, then he’d...he’d be nothing. Useless. There would be absolutely no reason for him to be in the Castle anymore, in space at all. The other paladins would take him back to Earth and dump him off, and he’d have no one and nothing yet again.

The door opened, and Keith shot upright, ignoring the way it made his head swim and that ache in his ribs twinge. “I can’t feel Red! I can’t...what happened? Where’s Red?”

“Hey! Hey, shh, Keith, it’s okay!” Shiro was across the room in an instant, sitting down on the side of the bed and grasping Keith’s shoulders in both his hands. “I need you to calm down for me, okay? I’ll explain, but I need you to take deep breaths.”

Drawing in one such breath to appease the man, Keith glanced around the room, taking in Hunk’s worried expression and the alien stranger that stood on the other side of his bed. “Somebody please just tell me what's going on.” The words were still slurred, which was getting more frustrating by the second. “Why’m I here?”

He hated the look that Shiro shot up at the alien before catching his eyes again. They were treating him like a fragile child. Even when he was a child, he had gotten more bad news in his few years than most adults did in their whole lives, so it wasn’t like he didn’t always expect more. 

“You were in an accident,” Shiro finally explained, still speaking far too slowly and softly. “You and Red got hit with a zaiforge cannon and crashed into a nearby planet. Do you remember?”

Keith already knew he didn’t, so he wasn’t going to waste time searching his memory when he still wanted answers. “Where’s Red? Is she okay?”

Offering a sympathetic smile, Shiro squeezed his shoulder with his flesh hand. “She’s in rough shape. All her systems are shut down right now. But Pidge and Coran and Hunk have been working on her, and they’re optimistic that everything can be fixed. With time.”

Letting all his breath out with a whoosh, Keith slumped over forward. It was simultaneous good news and bad news. Red hadn’t rejected him, or at least he didn’t think so. But he hated that she was so badly hurt. “I wanna see her.”

Shiro’s smile twitched up a little higher. “I know. But first, we need to check on you. You’ve been unconscious for quite a while. Everything seems to have healed up alright, but there were some things that couldn’t be tested while you were out.”

As if this was their cue, the alien - an objectively pretty, willowy creature with mauve fur, four long, thin arms, and a myriad of long, thin fingers on each hand - stepped forward. Their voice was light and feminine, and had a lilting accent that reminded him of Lance when he fell into his native tongue.

“I am going to give you some simple instructions to follow, okay?”

Keith frowned. “Who ‘re you?”

“Oh, yes, right.” Shiro indicated the newcomer with one hand. “This is Fallenta. She’s a Tellimite. They’re one of the most medically advanced species in the universe. We wanted to make sure you had the best care possible, so Allura brought us to Tellima as soon as we had you in the pod. Fallenta has been...indispensable.”

His explanation only caused Keith more confusion. If he had been in a pod, then why did he need a doctor? And again, why was he in some bed now? 

Seeming to sense his questions, Fallenta smiled and settled down opposite Shiro. “There were some...complications from your injuries. Coran and Shiro made the right call by placing you into a healing pod right away, knowing that it was the only way to save your life, but that meant that your bones that were broken could not be reset before healing. One of my jobs was to correct this once your abdomen wound was no longer life threatening.”

“Yes, you actually had two different stints in the pod,” Shiro nodded. His brow furrowed. “Well, three, if you count the time that your body rejected the blood Pidge had given you and started trying to shut down. Thankfully, Coran had those samples he took from all of us at the beginning, and was able to synthesize some more of yours.”

Keith couldn’t stand the troubled expression on Shiro’s face, especially since he had been the one to put it there. Lifting his left arm, he gently squeezed his brother’s elbow. “I’m okay now.”

Shiro smiled, but there was a sheen to his eyes. “You have no idea how relieved I am about that.”

“Your cognition seems to be just fine,” Fallenta said, “and losing memory of the traumatic event is not uncommon. There are a few other things I need to check, though.”

She spent the next few minutes shining a flashlight into his eyes, asking him some questions about things that happened prior to the accident, getting him to remember a short list of objects, and observing his reactions to various movements and sounds. All of it led Keith to believe that it was his brain being tested, and it made him nervous. No one would tell him anything else, though, simply repeating that they would explain everything shortly.

It seemed to be going well, though, and everyone was smiling and calm, so he tried not to let it get to him. Until Fallenta moved on to testing sensations. She started on his left arm, lightly touching it with her finger, then poking her claw into his skin, then digging in her knuckle. Everything felt like it should.

“Alright, the right arm, now.” She smiled at him and held his gaze, but after a moment of nothing further happening, her smile faded into a neutral expression. Another moment, and he was wondering why she hadn’t done the test yet. 

“Do you feel any of this, Keith?”

“What?” He looked down, and her finger was on his forearm. As he watched, she moved it up and down his arm, tapping lightly. He swallowed hard. “It's...it's been really numb e’er since I woke up. My face an’ leg, too.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw Shiro stiffen. “What does that mean?”

Fallenta smiled again, and as nice of a smile as it was, he was beginning to hate it. “Let’s complete the tests, and I will be able to tell you more. Can you feel this?” 

This time he watched as she pricked him with her claw, and to his relief, there was a faint jolt of pain. “A little. It's muted, though.”

“That’s good. And this?” She used her knuckle that time, and again, the pressure was faint.

“Same. What's wrong with my arm?” he demanded, glaring first at her, then Shiro. “Why can’t I talk right?”

“Have patience -”

“No!” Keith yanked his arm away from her with far more effort than should have been required. “I'm out of patience! Tell me what's wrong!”

Shiro put a hand on Fallenta’s shoulder, nodded at her, then reached forward and took Keith’s hand. “When we found you…” He paused, his jaw clenching and eyes flicking away for a split second before he seemed to steel himself to continue. “Your heart had stopped. It’s impossible to say how long you had been like that. I was able to get it started again, but it took a few minutes. So your brain…” Drawing in a deep breath, he let it out in a sigh. “It was without oxygen for several minutes, at the least. Brain damage has been a concern from the very start. When I said you have no idea how relieved I am that you’re okay...it was possible that you wouldn’t ever wake up. Or if you did, that you wouldn’t be able to function at all.” An errant tear slipped out, and he dashed it away with his metal hand. “But you’re here. You’re awake, and you can speak and think and...and it’s gonna be okay. I promise, it’s gonna be okay.”

Brain damage? The words hit him like a blow to the chest. That meant his arm...his face...they weren’t just numb, they were...they were…

He ripped his hand from Shiro’s grip. “How can you say it's gonna be okay? Do you hear me? I soun’ stupid! An’ my arm...how’m I supposed to fight an’ fly if I can barely move my arm?”

“But you still have some movement and sensation,” Fallenta broke in. “That is very good news. It means that, with physical therapy, you can regain even more use. You can even have speech therapy to help you build up your facial muscles.”

“Speech therapy?” He almost laughed at that. “We’re in the middle of a war, we don’ have time for speech therapy!”

Shiro’s hand landed on his leg. “We’ll make it work, Keith.”

“No. No.” He shook his head harshly. “Get off. Get off me, I need...” Flailing his one good hand toward Shiro and Fallenta, he gritted his teeth against the tears that wanted to fall. The weight on either side of the bed moved as the two of them stood. “I need some air. I need...” Red, that’s what he needed. He reached for the corner of the blanket that covered his legs. “I’m gonna -”

“Keith, wait!”

Shiro and Hunk both lunged, but it was too late. He had already flipped the blanket to the side, revealing what lay underneath.

Or rather, what didn’t lay underneath.

He was gonna be sick.

His leg. It was…it was missing from the knee down.

Keith screamed.

The next minutes or hours were a blur of tears and pain in his chest and breaths that wouldn’t come. He vaguely recalled Shiro being in front of him, his lips moving but no sound coming out. He vaguely recalled thrashing and slamming his head into the wall behind him. 

After that, though, the nothingness took back over.

Next

[yelena-bellova]

Don’t Be Afraid: Poe Dameron x Solo!Reader - Chapter Three

Chapter Three: Midnight Flight

Series Masterlist

Plot: Reader can’t sleep after the day she had, she finds her way to the hanger where she finds Poe. He decides to take her mind off of things.

Warnings: Literally two suggestive lines, a healthy dose of angst in the beginning and a whole lot of fluff.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This one took a while, I’m trying to build the Reeader and Poe’s relationship with only so much time to do it. I semi hate what I wrote and I also semi like it, life of a writer lol. We’re going to jump into TFA in the next chapter so this is the last chill chapter for a while, enjoy!

——————-

Leia and Han fell in love with y/n the moment they met her. They decided to raise her as their own, no one was more ecstatic about the decision than Ben. He’d been asking his parents about a sibling for a while. He doted on y/n and stayed by her side constantly trying to help her adjust to her new life.

Y/n adjusted quickly, she became just as attached to Ben and the two became inseparable. She loved Han and Leia, though she didn’t start addressing them as ‘mom’ nd ‘dad’ until about a year after Ben found her. She still had memories of her birth parents, though very few, and she struggled with shifting those roles to other people. One random night as Leia and Han said goodnight to their children, she said it without even thinking,

“Goodnight, Mom. Goodnight, Dad.”

Once they were out of the room, Han and Leia blinked, looked at each other and headed to bed.

Ben and Y/n were each other’s best friend all throughout childhood. They became even closer once they both realized Y/n could use the Force. When they’d discovered it, it was a typical day on the Falcon. They were on Coruscant so Leia could attend a Senate hearing and Han was outside with Chewie doing minor repairs. Y/n and Ben had gotten into a fight (they may have been best friends, but they were still siblings) and at one point, Ben used the Force on Y/n to shove her into a wall. He’d never used his abilities on her like that, she’d felt anger towards her brother before but this was pure rage. As if she’d done it all her life, she threw her hand out towards Ben and he went backwards straight into the cockpit and fell onto the dashboard. Unfortunately, he fell on the button that powered up the ship and it roared to life. The siblings looked at each other in horror, partially at what Y/n had just done and partially at what their father was going to do to them. Ben slammed his hand down on the button and powered the ship down quickly as he heard Han and Chewie coming inside.

“What the hell are you two doing in here?!” Han yelled through the ship as he approached the cockpit.

“How many times have I told you to NEVER touch ANYTHING in this room unless I say so?” Han asked with a raised tone, Chewie roaring in support behind him. “Well?”

Y/n opened her mouth to speak and beg for her father’s forgiveness, when she was cut off by her brother.

“We were running around and I slipped and hit the button. I promise it was an accident, Dad, I’m really sorry.” Ben explained, Han looking over at him before turning to Y/n.

“But I was the one that was chasing him, so it’s really my fault.” Y/n interjected, “I’m sorry, Dad, we should have been more careful.”

Han ran a hand through his hair and grumbled something. “Alright, alright. I’ll let your mother deal with the two of you when she gets back. Now Chewie and I are gonna finish up out there,” he pointed a finger at them both, “No more running.” With that, Chewie and him left.

Y/n wrapped her arms around him and cried into his shirt, “I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to do that!”

“Y/n, I’m not even mad anymore. How long have you known you could use the Force?” Ben asked as he pulled her away so he could see her face.

She sniffled, “I didn’t! I swear I never knew about it, I would have told you if I’d known!”

Ben let out an astonished laugh, “This is so cool! Mom’s gonna be ao excited when you show her! Dad probably won’t like it but-“

”Whoa, whoa, whoa, Ben.” Y/n took a step back and dried her eyes, “They can’t ever know about this. EVER.”

”Why would you not tell them?”

Y/n motioned to the dashboard, “Do you not remember what just happened? I hurt you! I’m not ever doing that again.”

Ben rolled his eyes, “Okay, yeah, and I’ll get you back for it at some point but Y/n, you can’t just keep this to yourself.”

”Yes, I can and yes, I am. Ben,” Y/n walked towards him and held his hand, “The feeling that went through me when I pushed you, it was...scary. I felt like I didn’t have control and that’s how you ended up hurt. I don’t want to risk hurting you or anybody else.”

Ben sighed and pulled her into his arms, he didn’t agree with her at all but he couldn’t force her into using her abilities. He also didn’t understand what it was like to discover that power. He’d grown up using the Force, it was second nature to him.

Y/n pulled back after a moment, “Promise me this stays between us. Mom and Dad can’t ever find out UNLESS I decide to tell them.”

Ben nodded sadly, “I promise.”

”I’m serious, nothing to anyone. And that includes Uncle Chewie.”

He scoffed, “Y/n, I would never betray you. I promise.”

—————-

I couldn’t sleep.

I’d hidden in my room all day, too shaken to do anything else after my training session. I’d skipped dinner, I’d ignored knocks at my door, I’d shut everyone and everything out. Come 10 o’ clock, I changed into pajamas and climbed into bed ready to put an end to the day.

Ha. Right.

I tossed and turned for two hours before I gave up and threw the covers off. I was tired, but clearly not enough to sleep. I went to my desk, grabbed the robe that hung off the chair and tied it around my body. I opened my door and left my room, pressing the lock on the datapad and watching the door close.

It was late so there were hardly any people moving through the residential part of the base. There was one pilot coming back from a mission, a tech worker who’d clearly been working all evening...

The general’s daughter who was wandering around base in her pajamas thinking about the lightsaber sitting in her room.

There were reasons for my conflicting feelings towards using the Force. The first time I’d ever used it was out of anger to hurt someone I loved. That was reason enough to be worried about it happening again one day. But over the years of secret training sessions, I’d gained better control of my emotions. I’d grown up seeing my Force-sensitive mother use it only for good, but I’d also witnessed the dark side of it in it’s purest form.

And I’d witnessed it in the person I loved the most in the galaxy.

At the thought of my brother, I leaned my head against the nearest wall and stopped walking. It didn’t matter how many years it had been, losing him still felt like a fresh wound. Maybe the wound had never closed because I was fighting a war and it wasn’t with him at my side. The rest of the galaxy saw the war as the Resistance vs. the First Order, but for me it was brother vs. sister in a fight they never should have been in.

I pushed off the wall and continued down the hallway, passing the empty cafeteria and a few offices. Reading the names of my peers on the plaques next to their doors, I felt envious. All these people knew who they were and exactly what they were doing their lives. I was Leia’s daughter, I was expected to know exactly what I was doing at all times when privately, I was a complete mess. I was fighting a war against my brother, my family had been torn apart, and there was a lightsaber sitting in my room that I simultaneously loved and hated. I wanted so badly to be as stable and steady as my fellow commamnders, the people that answered to me deserved that from me. I wanted to do my part in this war and make sure the First Order’s reign of terror across the galaxy ended.

I just wished things weren’t so complicated.

Somehow, I’d ended up on the opposite end of base outside the hanger. It made sense that my feet naturally carried me there, it’s where I spent most of my free time. Whether it was bringing Jess lunch when she was too busy to leave, watching potential recruits run test flights or helping Poe with repairs on his ship...

Speak of the devil, there he was doing just that. Only the bottom half of his body was visible as his top half was buried in the cockpit of his X-Wing. Intrigued as to his reason for not being in the cantina drinking his squad under the table, I made my way over to him.

“Someone looks surprisingly sober.”

His head popped up at the sound of my voice, turning on the ladder he was standing on to face me,

“The parts came in to fix the guidance system,” he said, wiping his hands on a dirty rag, “Shots with Snap and Jess can wait.”

I hummed in acknowledgement and came to stand below his ladder. Poe turned back around and continued working, “Why are you up so late?”

I put a hand on the ladder, “Can’t sleep, my brain and I aren’t getting along.”

Poe chuckled, “How so?”

”Well, I wanted to sleep but my head thinks that I should evaluate every regret, problem and emotional trauma I’ve ever had.”

He stood to his full height and took a few steps down the ladder, “Well, forget the cantina, you’re having all the fun tonight.”

I laughed and pressed my forehead against the ladder, Poe took a seat on a step so we were face to face. He was dressed in his orange jumpsuit, but it was tied at his waist, and a tight grey tee shirt. He looked surprisingly awake for the time, whereas I looked like a Corellian freighter had hit me.

“You wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head gently against the cool steel of the ladder. Poe was no stranger to my family history, I’d talked to him before about my brother but I could only say so much. Poe naturally looked at Kylo Ren as pure evil, I saw my brother who’d been misled and manipulated by a dark force.

He sighed, “Well, how about we take your mind off of all these deep dark secrets you’re keeping from me?”

I had to stop mself from laughing, if only he knew...

“What’re you thinking, Dameron?”

Mischief came over his face immediately, he gestured up to the massive ship we were standing below. I connected the dots, quickly realizing his ingenious idea,

“No,” I said firmly, causing Poe to smile.

“Yes.” He replied.

“You already almost killed me once today and I’m pretty sure I said I was never flying with you again.”

Poe started zipping up his flight suit, “Yeah, and you’ve said that a hundred times yet you always get back in a ship with me.”

He had me there, Poe was reckless and impulsive yet for some reason, I still trusted him with my life.

He was already climbing the ladder and awaiting my reply expectantly. I looked to him, rolled my eyes and followed him up. Once I was at the top, he was already seated and I realized where I’d be sitting,

“How the hell are you going to fly safely with me sitting on your lap?”


A coy smile appeared on his face, “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Rolling my eyes, I awkwardly stepped in between Poe’s legs and looked behind to see where I was going to land. Why did this feel like it was crossing some sort of line in our friendship? One part of my mind was protesting and the other part was practically shoving my body down happily. Splitting the difference, I cautiously sunk down onto my friend’s lap. Poe placed his hands on my hips without warning to situate the both of us. The warmth of his touch sept through my thin robe and pajamas, simultaneously making me nervous and at ease.

Poe flipped a switch that turned on his beloved ship, I leaned back to look at him. He looked like he did earlier in the day; happy, content, relaxed.

“Ready?”

I smiled softly, “Let’s fly, Dameron.”

Without me realizing, he’d grabbed hold of the controls and lifted us up in the air. I’d flown all my life, but never in an X-Wing, and it moved much differently than the ships I’d piloted. Poe guided us out of the hanger and before I knew it, we were flying above D’Qar’s lush landscapes.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

“We’re not going anywhere, just for a fly.” Poe replied as he made a slow left turn to get us further from base. “I’m also going to teach you how to fly an X-Wing.”

“Seriously?” I asked with a little too much excitement in my voice.

He smiled at my eagerness, “Well, you’re gonna learn how to steer at least. Okay, the joystick’s pretty sensitive so you’ve got to be careful. And make sure not to press any of the buttons, especally the red one or we’re going to eject right out of the ship.”

I blew out a breath, “Right, no pressure.”

“Pfft, if you’ve flown the Millenium Falcon, you can handle this.”

“I never said I flew it, you just seemed to assume that I had.” I pointed out quickly, turning my head to face him.

“Yeah, and you’ve never once denied it.” Poe said smugly as if he’d trapped me.

“Are we going to argue or are we going to fly?” I asked loudly.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to do both,” Poe replied, while making a small turn, “Alright, grab the joystick.”

He let go with one hand and I took hold of it, once I had a grip he let go with his other. I was officially flying an X-Wing on my own.

I laughed, “This is so cool!”

Poe seemed to enjoy how enthusiastic I was, “If this is how excited you get just going straight, I can’t imagine what you’ll be like when you do something complex.”

A smirk appeared on my face, “What, you mean like this?”

Without warning, I pulled up on the joystick sending us straight up in the air. Poe let out a yelp and his arms flew to my waist, I maneuvered the stick so we’d do a loop. Once we’d straightened out, I started laughing, partially from adrenaline and partially from Poe’s reaction.

“What the hell, Y/n?!”

“Now you know what it’s like to fly with you!” I replied, stlll laughing. His arms were wrapped tightly around my waist still as if he was afraid I was going to do it again. He’d started laughing with me and had his forehead pressed between my shoulder blades. This was another one of those warm, relaxed moments that I wished we could share more often. But somehow tonight felt like...different.

“Alright, daredevil, I’m taking us back to base.” Poe said, reaching around me to take control of the ship. I found myself missing his arms as soon as they were gone from my waist.

Within a few minutes, we were landing in the hanger. Poe pressed the button that extended the ladder to the ground and I climbed down first, him following suit.

“That was pretty fun, I’ll hand it to you.” I said as we leisurely strolled out of the hanger into the halls.

“Glad I could help get your mind off of things,” Poe replied, “And, of course, I just brought up whatever you’re trying to avoid.”

He sounded dejected in his last sentence, ”It’s okay,” I put my hand on his arm, “Tonight was great but my problems were going to be waiting for me as soon as I got back to my room.”

“Then don’t go back to your room tonight.” Poe stated nonchalantly.

“So your solution is me going and snuggling with my mommy?”

He chuckled, “No, you can stay with me.”

There it was, that feeling that I’d gotten several times tonight. When I’d sat down in his lap, praying that he didn’t sense how awkward I felt. When he’d wrapped his arms around me and lingered for a few minutes. What had suddenly changed between us where Poe and I put in more intimate situations and I felt nervous?

I tried not to let the tone of my thoughts come out in my words, “Stay with you?”

“Well, yeah,” Poe said, shrugging his shoulders and stopping in our path, “You need sleep and I know you well enough to know you’re going to stay up all night worrying if you’re alone.”

I let out a small laugh, sometimes I forgot how well he knew me. That’s exactly what was going to happen. With Poe there, I’d be forced to try and get some sleep. Against my better judgement, listening to the part of my mind that loved being wrapped in his arms moments ago, I caved...

“Alright, it’s worth a shot.”

Looking victorious, we continued down the hall making a different turn towards Poe’s quarters. He wasn’t too far from my own, we were both commanders, but I was closer to my mother’s room. We arrived at his door and he entered his code into the datapad, letting me in first.

Poe’s quarters were fairly minimalistic. A few knickknacks he’d picked up during his travels stood on his desk. A picture of him and his father, Kes, was pinned to the wall while one of him and Black Squadron hung next to it. BB-8’s charging station laid in a corner, the lovable droid himself plugged in alraedy and turned off. A few jackets and clothes were strewn on chairs, and his bed that stood close to the door. I’d been here dozens of times, yet this time I felt like I was paying more attention to my surroundings.

“I’m gonna do us both a favor and wash up real quick, go ahead and make yourself comfortable.” Poe said, grabbing some clothes from his dresser amd disappearing into his bathroom.

I sat down on the edge of his bed and put my head in my hands, chuckling at my situation. I could think of a dozen girls on base who would renounce their families to spend a night with the legendary Poe Dameron. Here I was trying to slow my suddenly rapid heartbeat at the thought of sleeping next to him, my best friend. When the hell did this happen? I stood up, untied my robe and hung it off of Poe’s desk chair. Walking back to the bed, I flipped over the covers on one side and crawled under.

After a few minutes, Poe exited the bathroom and I peeked over at him. He’d changed into a pair of grey sweatpants and a black tank top that clung tightly to his torso. His eyes fell on me and he gave a soft smile, as if the sight of me in his bed made him happy. He switched off the light to the room and walked over to his side of the bed. I wasn’t sure how to position myself, standard issue beds were fairly small and we’d definitely be somewhat up against each other. He turned on his side and I did the same,

“Thank you for this...It’s just been a stressful day.” I said quietly, I didn’t have to speak very loud considering our faces were only a few inches apart.

“I get it, or maybe I don’t, we won’t know till you talk to me,” he said, his last words spoken in a singsong tone.

I laughed, “Not tonight, remember? Tonight’s about distracting me.”

Even in the dark, I could see that familiar eyebrow going up, “I can think of several things we haven’t tried yet.”

I hoped the darkness concealed my suddenly red cheeks. Usually I could dish it back out to him without a second thought, but tonight I found myself trying not to let my mind drift to the ideas Poe was alluding to.

“Yeah,” I spoke up, “Like going to sleep.”


Poe comically rolled his eyes, “Fine, if you want to go the boring route.”

I reached over and placed a hand on his bicep, “Thanks for always being there for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Hey, that goes both ways, sweetheart.” Poe replied, reaching up to gently run his hand up and down my arm. His touch created goosebumps I hoped he wouldn’t feel, but knew he could. For just a second as we looked into each other’s eyes, I thought I saw his flicker to my lips. But it was too quick a movement to confirm.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, opening his arms to me.

My body went into autopilot mode and I moved into his arms before giving it a second thought. I placed one of my hands on his chest and wrapped the other around his torso. I could feel his mother’s ring that hung from his neck under his tank top. One of his hands cradled my head and the other was splayed out on my back, anchoring me to him. This was the most comfortable and at ease I thought I’d ever been in my life. Poe’s skin smelled fresh from the shower, his firm grip on my back was comforting and his body was the type of warmth you could lose yourself in.

Well, if we hadn’t crossed a line already tonight, I was pretty sure we had now...

“Get some sleep, Y/n.” Poe whispered, resting his chin on top of my head. I softly hummed in agreement as I felt myself already beginning to drift off...

————

A/N: Well, that’s all she wrote. Actually, she wrote many scenes that didn’t make it in but whatever...We’re slowly starting to piece together the Reader and Ben’s history, honestly that’s one of my favorite parts to write. Next week, we jump into TFA. In the words of Anakin Skywalker, this is where the fun begins 😏 Hope you enjoy!!

Taglist: @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @springfox04 @constantdisgrace @holybatflapexpert @seninjakitey @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet @leilei-draws @eternal-fandoms

[blindprof]

It’s Complicated

When people first hear me say that I am blind or severely visually impaired (B/VI), the most common reaction is surprise…followed by sympathy…followed most often by awkward silence. This is totally understandable. Unless you are regularly interacting with differently abled people, disabilities are uncomfortable. I feel uncomfortable and awkward around people who live with other forms of disability.

Heck, I’m still awkward around other people who are B/VI. And even this is understandable. Because each person is unique. Each manifestation of visual impairment is unique. Each path to and with B/VI is unique. Each person has unique life experiences, coping mechanisms, support networks, etc. We are all strangers in a strange land. I’ll have other posts dedicated to the whack-a-doo personal and social psychology of B/VI. For now, the focus remains on the physical, or rather the perceptual.

The second reaction is usually a question: “How bad is it” or “What do you see?” And my answer is “It’s complicated.”

In my first post, I laid out some more technical details: I have a visual field that is less that 10 degrees, night blindness, color blindness, uncorrectable myopia, light sensitivity, etc. But it’s not apparent how these details really affect what I see and how that impacts what I can do. This post will go into greater detail into what and how I see. Later posts will focus on how I (try to, with varying levels of success, stupidity, and hilarity) cope with these limitations.

It probably makes sense to start with my visual field, as this is the aspect of my vision that “qualifies” me as legally blind. However, before getting to that, we really need a basic understanding of how humans see. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short and simple.

It may be easiest to compare the eye to a modern digital camera. A camera lens gathers and focuses light; it also constrains the amount of light passing through by altering the size of a mechanical aperture. In the human eye, these functions are performed by the lens and the pupil, respectively. In a digital camera, the lens focus light onto a CCD or CMOS sensor, which is a dense grid of light sensitive “pixels,” each generating a small electrical charge proportional to how much light (within a certain wavelength) is hitting it. The human retina is the biological, electrochemical equivalent. Finally, a digital camera has wires that transport these electrical signals to a computer, which then interprets the signals to create a digital image. Here, the human analogues are the optic nerve and the visual cortex within the brain.

As I noted in my first post, I have Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP), which primarily impacts my retina. Due to the wonders of genetics and epigenetics, other parts are impacted. But for now, I’ll focus on the retina. Characteristically, people with RP find that their retinal “pixels”—millions of light-sensitive “rod” and “cone” structures, as well as protective retinal pigment epithelial (RPE) cells from which the disease gets its name—stop functioning from the outside in. We don’t know the exact cause, nor is there yet any proven way to slow, much less reverse the process.

Of course, this is a biological process that is unique to each individual. For me, it has progressed relatively slowly from childhood. I can recall early symptoms as far back as age 6. I’ll have a separate post at some point talking about progression. But it is notable the process is neither steady nor predictable. I’ll have periods of relative stability followed by periods of perceptible loss. It’s rarely like a light switch, but rather more like a dimmer. Each area of loss will appear darker with less usable information until it is just “clicked off” by the brain, presumably redirecting its limited processing resources to doing something other than trying to interpret shotty data from dying cells. For me, the progression has also been very spotty—for example, I retained some usable vision in the extremes of my left-right periphery until just a couple years ago, despite progressively losing most of my peripheral vision between there and my center.

The result today is that I have very little of my retina remaining that pretends to function “normally.” I can detect very high contrast light vs. dark in some of my periphery, but nothing there that you would qualify as usable sight. My central vision is still somewhat functional, but has been fading rapidly of late. As I said, it’s spotty, but on average in good light I have maybe 10-15 degrees total horizontal vision and less than 10 vertical. And much of that is probably equivalent to what most would consider to be peripheral vision. To help better “feel” what this means, here are a few examples of how this manifests itself in my day-to-day life.

When I’m sitting across a table from you, I can see your face but not your hands. If I’m not socially distant, I might be able to see your eyes or your mouth, but not both at the same time. I often creep people out during a conversation because I’m constantly losing eye contact and moving my eyes to different parts of their body. I promise, I’m not “undressing you with my eyes”—people talk with their entire bodies, and I’m simply trying to catch as many visual cues as possible.

When watching TV from 10 feet away, I can “see” my entire 55-inch screen. But less than a quarter of that is in my central vision. I have to move my eyes to see detail or read signs or captions. Sports and fast action scenes are difficult to catch. A fast action, dark scene with subtitles…oy…the Battle of Winterfell may as well have been a BBC Radio broadcast.

I can read, though usually only slowly and for short periods, especially if it is paper and ink. I see only a few words at a time, so my eyes have to constantly move. This causes a lot of eye strain, and I have trouble keeping both eyes properly oriented and occasionally have periods where one eye twitches uncontrollably—obviously I’m channeling my inner Mad-Eye Moody.

And of course, navigating unfamiliar or unpredictable environments is very difficult. I navigate by moving from waypoint to waypoint, and if I don’t know the waypoints or if things jump in my way, well, bad things happen. Or maybe funny things.

More on all of these and their many repercussions in future posts.

People ask, “What do you ‘see’ in the places where you have no vision? Is it blackness? Emptiness? Blurry?” Again, it’s complicated, but for the most part, my brain has just removed those areas from its visual processing “algorithm.” So, I see the same thing that you see when something is beyond your peripheral vision…just nothing. There are long periods of adjustment as I lose sight—kind of like losing a limb and still expecting it to be there. But eventually it’s just not a part of the picture that my brain paints of the world around me.

Unfortunately, that’s not all. Night blindness is often the first detected symptom for folks with RP. What is left of my retina doesn’t detect light well, so I need much more of it. The result is that I’m totally blind in low-light situations. I need direct light to see any kind of detail. I carry a flashlight everywhere I go and use it regularly day and night.

So, I need bright light. But it is also my nemesis. My eyes compensate like one would with a digital camera…by cranking open the aperture (pupil) and turning up the gain on the sensor. This does allow me to function semi-normally in certain situations. But it also results in severe light sensitivity. As with a camera, the wider pupil also results in loss of detail, and bright light can almost entirely wash any other visual information. To make matters even worse, although my pupils do function, they are VERY slow to adjust.

The results of all of that are varied. I’ll post more details in the future. But for example, I am no longer able to read a computer screen for any length of time without inverted colors. It’s like trying to read while staring at headlights. I truly need dark mode on all of my devices. Also, changing lighting conditions are challenging, especially when they are extreme. When I come in from outside, my eyes can take many minutes to adjust. And bright light sources like sunny windows in otherwise moderately lit environments can really cause havoc.

Finally, a common comorbidity with RP are cataracts, which cause hardening and blurring of the lens. Of course, this one hit me, as well. A number of years ago, I had cataract surgery. It was great. I was the youngest patient in the surgery center by like 30 years. The process involves using a magic wand to dissolve your natural lens and replacing it with a plastic one. This gets rid of the blurring, but entirely removes the ability to focus. As a bonus, I did go from needing coke bottle glasses to just needing a couple of diopters of correction. But this further complicates reading, and means I’m constantly donning and doffing my specs or having to look below them to read. Minor in the big scheme of things, but it does make me look and feel like a damn old fart.

Okay, if you made it this far, you deserve to be let off the hook for now. There’s more like the fact that my corneas—the eyes’ (usually) clear “lens caps”—now seem to cause my sight to remain blurry for the first couple of hours of each day. Or that the eye strain can sometimes get so physically painful that I have to close my eyes for long periods during the day. But this is a mostly complete and accurate snapshot of what I’m currently living with physically.

I guess I didn’t present too many funny or uplifting or forward-looking things in here. Truth is, you kind of have to muddle along with me through these sewers to eventually find the humor and hope in all of this. Because it’s complicated. But I’ll get there if you’re patient.

[corpse--diem]

Organ’s Out Of The Bag | Morgan & Erin

Summary: Morgan interrupts Erin at work, eats her organs, and learns about the family trade.  When: Week of 5/4 Featuring: @mor-beck-more-problems​

There wasn’t a “How To Operate An Illegal Organ Trafficking Business For Dummies” book to help Erin work out the best system for organizing and storing frozen organs. Shocker. Buying a second industrial cooler would have been as expensive as it was suspicious, which made trial and error the only real option. It was tedious, and there was probably still a better way, but she’d found her groove. Hollowed, block-like shelving units had been attached to the far end of the wall. Other items were stored on top but she could lift the face of each one, almost like a locker, to fill and empty as needed. Only she knew where the latches were and only she could open it. A small feat, sure, but you had to take your wins where you could get them. Maybe she was finally getting the hang of this? That was a thought that should have sat more uncomfortably on her mind or deterred the smirk on her lips. If she had a spare moment at all, it wasn’t for that kind of introspection. 

With her music loud and her focus set, she made quick work of it. Saran Wrap, label, and onto the next. Just another Tuesday. One more load to go and she could break for dinner. A figure filled the doorway when she turned, startling her backwards while some instinctive part of her reached for the knife in her back pocket. “Jesus Christ, Morgan…” she huffed out, freezing before she pulled out the blade. “You scared the shit out of me. What—“ she narrowed her eyes, her panic doubling in that moment. “You’re not allowed down here.”

After the video incident, Morgan hadn’t expected Erin to be someone who was okay with hanging out with her newly dead and only semi-feeling self. But aside from the body horror, Erin thought she was ‘cool’. Maybe Erin lived with death in a way that kept her from feeling it. Maybe it wasn’t a tar pit for her. Maybe it didn’t even pull, but could just...sit its ass down and let her be. Erin had her life pretty together, right?

Morgan traipsed up the entrance of the Nichols’ house since Erin had said she could just come in, but there was no sign of her, or any life going on in the house. So she turned instead to the lower levels where they had passed through for the ritual. She found her bent over a table with...organs. Bags and bags of organs. Morgan stayed put, hand over her stomach, her mouth watering. At least one of those was a heart, and those were thick enough to remind her of meat sometimes. But there was the whole other question of what they were doing here. Morgan didn’t know a lot about mortuary work, but there were too many different kinds laying around near each other for it to have anything to do with her ‘clients’. And if it wasn’t that, than maybe--

Erin turned just as Morgan reached for a bag of brains and a pair of eyeballs. She smiled, bright and sheepish. “Hi…” She drew out the greeting as long as possible. “We had plans. You said I could come and show you more weird zombie things?” Her gaze slid sideways to the table. Stars, it all looked so good. “I knocked, you didn’t answer,” she went onto explain, popping one of the eyeballs in her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. “And since I already knew my way around…” She shrugged and swallowed the eyeball, popped the other one into her mouth, doing her damnedest to savor it before she stuffed the whole table into her mouth. “So, anyway, what’s with all the random dead organs on your table?”

Fuck. Erin had completely forgotten about their plans. Not that she wasn’t excited for some extreme body horror and manipulation. Between the lack of sleep, the mimes lurking around every corner, and maintaining her day and night jobs, things were slipping through the cracks. “Sorry,” she shook her head, moving to turn the music off. “I got caught up in--” she started to explain, until she was watching Morgan pop an eyeball into her mouth like she was sampling an appetizer. It wasn’t bad enough that Morgan saw the goods, she had to snack on them too. Five minutes in and she was already out a couple hundred bucks. This was off to a hell of a start. “Stop that!” She ran for the table, collecting the rest of the saran-wrapped organs in her arms. Fuck. Fuck. “I was about to put them away,” she answered, aware that it was more of a nonanswer. “They’re not hors d'oeuvres so can you just--try to refrain?” She huffed, moving to the freezer. Glanced back, unable to feel just a little uncomfortable at the thought of being alone with an apparently snacky zombie. “I thought you just were into brains, anyway?”

Morgan backed away from the table, frowning as she cradled her snacks to her chest. “This is me trying!” She whined, mouth still half full. This wasn’t a good time to wonder if whatever species this had come from actually tasted better than the rabbit eyes she normally had, but the pull in her, the wanting, was so much she closed her eyes to enjoy the last gummy chunks sliding down her throat as she finished it off. “Um, so, funny story? Brains make my world go round, but dead bodies and viscera are like...well I never did even soft drugs when I was alive, but I can’t help myself. I’ve stuck my face straight into a dead baby deer. It’s like true love...in uh, you know, gross...foodie sort of way.” She swallowed the last of the eyeball, feeling embarrassed. Then she remembered that Erin was the one with the zombie buffet on her table. “You never answered my question. What are you doing with the zombie buffet on your table? This doesn’t look all that much like Funeral Director of the Year stuff.” She opened the brain bag and started to munch on that next.

Erin couldn’t help but stare with vague fascination as she watched Morgan explain herself, chewing on a half eaten eyeball. “I’ll try to remember that next time, then,” she winced a little, watching her money go right down Morgan’s throat. Nothing that could be done about it now, anyway. Flustered a little at the question, realizing Morgan wasn’t about to let up. “Well--I was saving that one for you anyway so, please. Enjoy,” she nodded towards the human brain she was already feasting on. A little sarcastic considering she was helping herself again but more genuine than not. Fuck. This wasn’t at all how she’d anticipated this little visit to go. With a long sigh, she pulled her rubber gloves off. “It’s--complicated,” she said hurriedly, clearing her throat. Had she ever actually straight up told anyone about this? Nic, Marley--hell, even Nell just knew. No explanations had been necessary. “And I’m a damn good funeral director. This doesn’t change that.” Her fingers tapped on the silver table and she eyed her carefully. “If I tell you, this stays between us, right?” Morgan was smart enough to probably figure it out at this point, but the assurance didn’t hurt.

Morgan continued to frown, miffed that she was on the pointy end of the sarcasm stick when she had been asked to come. What was she supposed to do, stay at the door all night and go home sad? But Erin seemed frazzled beyond being interrupted. Morgan’s dig at her above-board job proved that too. Morgan was even beginning to feel bad. She tilted her head, trying to get a better read on Erin. “I’m a zombie, Erin. I know all about awkward secrets to keep.” She started to edge closer, plucking a chunk of brain matter off to chew on. And, holy shit, she had to know how long this one had been left sitting and at what temperature, because it made her taste buds melt like burgers used to--but there were more important things to deal with. Erin had some kind of organ stockpiling problem, and maybe a ‘oops my friend knows I’m into some weird, sketchy looking shit’ problem. “If it helps, it looks like you’re running some kind of under the table organ pantry. So either I’m right, and I just made your job easier for you, or I’m wrong, and you have even more reason to correct me. But...you just saw me eat eyeballs and I used to sell people shiny rocks I transmuted out of garbage. I’m really not gonna judge.”

Erin chewed on the inside of her lip as Morgan spoke. Yep. Of course she figured it out. What the fuck else was a mortician doing with a bunch of unlabeled organs saran wrapped in the embalming room? All signs pointed to shady. This was entirely her fault, which bothered her the most about this whole thing. She fucked up. Forgot their plans. Something had to give, eventually. It was bound to. Juggling businesses, murderous mimes and actively trying to not be a shitty friend was a dangerous game. But she trusted Morgan, as much as that was worth. Had to, considering how calmly she was chewing on Mr. “Mr. Reid’s dearly departed brain, after taking out his eyeballs in less than five minutes flat. “Organ harvesting and trafficking, actually,” she corrected her, taking a deep breath after she said the words out loud. Just rip the bandaid off, right? Felt wrong on her tongue for more reasons than she cared to think about. “It’s--” she shook her head, glancing down at the table again for a moment, then forced herself to stare back up at Morgan. Fingers thrumming against the table again, her nerves alight. “My dad got into it before I took the business over and I got stuck with it because he couldn’t handle it. Please believe me when I say this isn’t something I ever wanted.”

Oh. Oh, this was something serious. Was Morgan still a person who knew how to take on serious things with new people? She was feeling okay today. Sort of float-y in a way that made a distant part of her worried, but she wasn’t tired. Not like she was on other days. But this whole—thing Erin was tearsely explaining wasn’t something looked suddenly less like a dirty secret and more like a two ton brick she’d been hauling for too long. Morgan could at least understand that feeling, even if the rest of the situation confused her. “Shit,” she said. “That explains some of the vague trauma you mentioned. I can’t even imagine…” She stepped closer, more confident now that she wasn’t in trouble, “Can ask if—I mean, is it going well? Are you...going to be okay?”

Relief came with the confession like an exhale. A momentary reprieve to that tension knotting in her chest for months now. The inhale felt just as horrible as it always had. The knot settled back where it knew it belonged in Erin’s chest. Morgan wouldn’t judge. She wouldn’t rat her out. But there was something unsafe about having it out in the open like this. A little bit of control was gone and that almost felt worse than the deed itself. “Good as it can be, I guess? It was a little rocky at first but--I’m getting there.” She tossed on a smile, raising a brow at Morgan. “Don’t worry about it. Just try not to eat my merchandise? Those eyeballs you demolished set me back a couple hundred dollars,” she teased, a chuckle in her voice to hide the very real pain there. Dale was a good scapegoat for that kind of thing anyway--the big oaf was as heavy handed as they came. She leaned against the table, glancing between the brain in her hands and Morgan’s gaze. “Is… that your first human brain?”

“Oh. Oh, shit!” Morgan cried, face dropping with dismay. “I really couldn’t help it. That’s not just like, me being weird. I can probably get Deirdre to reimburse you? I don’t have to mention the eyeballs, or the brain, if you don’t want, but I uh...don’t think she’d mind it either.” It was a little too late with the brain, so Morgan took a sheepish dip back into the bag to pull off another chunk. It was halfway up to her mouth when Erin said the word human. Morgan looked down at the brain again. “Oh,” she said, voice squeaking. “So that’s why it tastes so good.” She continued to stare at the brain. From the size of it, she probably should’ve known it wasn’t just some deer. But holy shit. You’d think there’d be fanfare or at least a good shock of agony over baby’s first lite cannibalism. But it had just been a really yummy brain, no more interesting than another until she’d tasted it. “Uh...yeah. If that’s what this is...yeah.” Was it bad, that it didn’t mean anything to her? That the only thought she’d had was how yummy? Sure, deer and raccoon and cow brain were nice. But this was steak. Or cheesecake. For all that it looked the same, the taste was enough to have let her feel good about something while she’d chewed. Then another question came to her. “Not to be gross, but are these...was this…” she jiggled the bag in her hand. “...One of your clients?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Erin finally gave a genuine laugh, shaking her head. Was that one of those zombie quirks? Like how amputated body parts turned to goo? “I actually really was saving that brain for you.” She had to admit, she was a little surprised at Morgan’s hesitation. This was a funeral home. No way she could’ve thought animal brains were more readily available than an actual human’s. Didn’t deter her, she noted, when her fingers dipped back into the bag. “Well,” she said, starting to pull off her blue scrubs, raising a brow. “My clients have some organs to spare. Waste not, want not?” She offered with a shrug. It was more difficult than she anticipated to keep her eyes off of Morgan. She looked the same, and if it wasn’t for the brain food she was gobbling down, it would’ve been impossible to see anything different about her. But she was eating a human brain. She knew what happened to some of the parts that left her basement, but this was the first time she’d witnessed it first hand. “Doesn’t bother you, does it?” Another pause as she tried not to overtly stare anymore. “You know, I swear I didn’t invite you over for this but--if that’s something you think you’d want on a regular basis, I can definitely help you out.”

Morgan looked down at the brain. She was still waiting for the horror to set in, but mostly she was worried what Remmy would say, or Deirdre. She’d only given her animal brains so far, not even an offer or a suggestion of anything else. They wouldn’t blame her for an accident, but liking it, enjoying it---Morgan saw herself split and cracked between two lenses. One monstrous, one that simply was. ‘Don’t eat the humans’ was the number one thing she heard from hunter types. It was even a question she remembered asking herself. Do they eat people? Do they hurt people? As if it made them inherently better, safer, if the answer was “right.” But here she was, some poor guy’s insides already in her stomach. And as much as she was troubled, it took effort to maintain. “B-bother?” She asked. Shrugged. “Does it bother you? You seem pretty chill with me eating in front of you, all things considered. I mean, would you really….supply that sort of thing? For me?”

There was some kind of internal struggle going on behind Morgan’s eyes. Was this weird for her too? She’d been snacking on them like Erin was going out of business. “I don’t know, maybe I should be more bothered,” she shrugged, running a hand through her hair. “But I fished them out of the guy, you know?” Maybe it was like how a butcher didn’t have any trouble selling even the most obscure parts of the cow. In this case, she was simply more familiar with the human body. “Doesn’t bother me,” she confirmed, giving her a smile to cement that. “Brains are a little more expensive, just so you know. But yeah. This is what I do. It wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

“You...did all this yourself? And the guy still looked like himself at the end? With the--” Morgan motioned to her skull. “I’m usually in a weird...zombie haze whenever I’m eating out in the wild, so things like being careful don’t really make it into the thought process. But...bones are hard. If you get it really wrong, you get a bunch of gross pointy bits in the food. Worse than eggshells in your fried rice. What do you do to get to the stuff and humpty-dumpty them back together?” But something else snagged her mind more than her curiosity, pulling her back. “You really mean it? About the not weird and the...supply? Just, you know, for sometimes? Really?” She wondered how expensive Erin was talking here.

“The brain’s usually always taken out during an autopsy, along with the rest of the organs.” Erin explained. “They all get tossed into the visceral bag, which then gets tucked into the stomach cavity. Makes my job easier because then all I have to do is take them out and pack them up.” This would make the whole process way slower and harder if she had to go in every time and dissect them herself, she knew that much. Her brows furrowed at the thought of Morgan out there in the woods, running around and crushing animal skulls. “Yeah, I mean it. Can’t have you out there chasing after squirrels or whatever all the time, right?” Wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. She shrugged. “My boss usually likes to charge a higher fee but I don’t mind cutting costs. For friends,” she smiled.

“Oh, wow. That’s...one way to do it.” Morgan realized with unsettling clarity that she had never thought of the mechanics of death before. When she had lost her parents and her friends, she had been too wrapped up in the loss and unfairness of it to remember there was something practical, even mechanical to death. Even in humans, with the rituals and the preservation that kept the flies and maggots at bay, there was something. A process detached from all that they had meant before the last breath went out. It wasn’t bad, or hurtful, it was simply...after. Morgan came out of her thought to look at Erin, steeped her whole life in this strange, thankless care. It was essential, even as it rattled and stung the rest of the world, her clients. She didn’t even have much of a chip on her shoulder about it, she just continued, and found a way to make “after” work for other people too. Well, maybe not “found,” but she was still at it. And now that the shock of discovery had worn off, she didn’t seem that ashamed about it. A rush of endearment filled her and she ran to Erin, brain still jiggling in the bag and pulled her into a crushing hug. “Thank you, Erin,” she said. “You’re a really good friend, you know that?” She lingered there a moment, trying to fix words to how...fine all of this seemed. Not normal, they wouldn’t be hiding in a basement if it was normal, but fine. She pulled away, backing up to hop on the table, taking another handful of brain. “You wouldn’t have heard from somewhere about how human brains taste, would you? I feel weirdly like...playing board games. And listening to the radio. Like there’s a hockey game on? I don’t like hockey, but if you know where to put one on--” She gave a thumbs up and took another bite of brain. “But, also, I’ve lost my foot like twice this week. If you wanted to check out weird things my bones can do still.”

Erin looked up just in time to brace herself for the shorter woman hurling herself at her. “Oh, you’re--,” she huffed out a laugh, genuinely struggling to catch her breath. For a moment it felt like she had just ran into a wall with arms. “You’re welcome,” she finished, briefly wrapping her arms around her. Morgan was a lot of things Erin was still trying to properly grasp, but she was a good one. Chaotic, but good. That much she did know. She held her hand to her chest when Morgan pulled away, laughing despite herself. “I’ve never thought to ask,” she answered honestly, leaning against the same table Morgan was perched on. “How does it taste?” When she started to prattle on more questions, things so specific to the man in the ziploc bag in her hands, she couldn’t help but stop in her tracks. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly craving a tall, crisp IPA now too?” She asked, glancing back and forth between Morgan and the bag. His widower had carried on about the man’s favorite things to her just that morning before crying into her shoulder. “You don’t mean you’ve literally lost your foot, right?” As soon as she asked the question, she couldn’t help but realize how very wrong she probably was.

Morgan shrugged. “Rich. Like, a good medium-rare burger. Or like, cheesecake? It’s good. Rich. My mouth is literally watering eating it.” She took another bite. “Ew, IPA? No, I mean, I can’t taste anything anymore, but I came from Houston, and our beer culture is way to evolved for an IPA. Are you saying--” She eyed the brain pointedly. “I actually kinda know Mr. What’s-his-name? When I eat him?” She shrugged, a little uncomfortable. Having real, meaningful parts of people in her head wasn’t something she was sure she liked. But stars, whats-his-name tasted good. “Ooh, but actually, I did mean literally.” She kicked off her flats and wiggled her bare toes. “I don’t have anything to break them with, but if you got anything fancy in here, you can knock yourself out. Like--” She pressed them against a chair leg, more and more until they crumbled and bent over in a way toes normally shouldn’t. It was a satisfying sting of pain. She flexed them again and they righted themselves before both their eyes, only a little dislocated, really. She smiled up at Erin, kicking her legs with a little satisfaction. “I mean, when I ran into this scary eye-hands critter, I just lost the whole thing. And with the killer clams. But we’re good as new now!” She looked around the room for wherever Erin kept her music. “I do kinda mean it about hockey though.”

“Mr. Reid drank IPA’s,” Erin corrected, a slow smirk on her lips as she watched her. She didn’t have any particular thoughts about beer. Beer was beer. Some of it was good, some of it was bad, but it all got the job done in the end. She couldn’t help but stare as Morgan seemed to crush her toes, then flexed them back into shape again. “Whoa,” she said in genuine amazement. An idea sparked and she turned, digging into one of the cabinets. “Yeah, over there,” she said, pointing towards a radio across the room. She pulled out one of her biggest, thickest trocars. This wouldn’t hurt her right? Erin smiled, raising a brow. “Hey--can I try something?”

[jojoingjoseph]

SPEED: I am far from being fast with things. Used to be faster a year or so ago but those days are long gone and I just go with the flow of my motivation and brain being willing enough to work with me. Summer’s worse due to the heat and I want to either sleep or not do anything if I can help it. Some days I can write entire novels and other days I can’t even string together two sentences, all part of the cycle of writing for me.

REPLIES: I usually get them done when I see em in my notifs, but things have slipped by me or I plain don’t have any idea how to reply for a time. Chuck em into the drafts till inspiration hits me or I let it go and wait to catch the next one but this happens very rarely as I like to do the replies and what not. Music is a big help for getting the ‘feeling’ of a reply, so usually when I get down to business, I have a playlist going.

STARTERS I like writing em’. Ranges from a one liner, a few sentences, a paragraph or even multiple para’s depending on how well my writing juices are for that splice of time. The more I know about a character or how Joseph’s feelings are, the more I can write and expand upon. I usually don’t tag as a first-off-the-bat cause I don’t know how new mutuals take to that and I usually wait off on the sidelines ahdfnlgj but don’t let that stop ya. Give a little time, let the developments happen and you’ll end up having a certain Joestar kicking down the door at 3 am to talk about stupid shit.

INBOX -Stares at my inbox- Ehehe.. well.. y’see about that.. its been at least 3 years since I had an absolutely empty askbox anslfjg But I am making an effort to try and cut down on how many asks I got. Usually I try to answer within a few days if I ain’t in the groove or it’ll take anywhere from a week to months. I apologize for this and I apologize again for when I have to just delete some asks cause I don’t know how to answer or feel it’s not relevant anymore. There’s really no two ways about this aldsjgg Don’t let it discourage ya from sending in another however.

SELECTIVITY I’m semi selective only cause I don’t want to deal with any drama that happens in fandom. As long as you’re chill and don’t go about poking things or doing call-outs, vaguing frequently, etc, I’m content enough. I’m like that oasis in a desert y’know? I like my little part of the fandom. May or may not follow back, depending on how well I think our writing styles work together or how compatible I feel with another writer, how fast my dash goes as I dislike when it updates too frequently. Me being semi selective does not mean I won’t accept asks from non-mutuals. I ain’t all that strict on this whole selectivity unless I do need to put my foot down to maintain my sense of peace on this hellsite.

WISHLIST Treasure Hunting AU. Anything that deals with some Ancient/Past v Modern gimmick. Joseph having more time spent with his mother, EoH with him meeting his family and having it NOT become an all out battle royale anldfsjg. There’s like a lotta complications with Joseph I feel.. on a deeper note, a side that’s never touched upon in the show and I love to explore my ideas on what those might entail and how it affects him. In short, I’m usually up for just about anything, just chuck something at me and I’ll say if I like it/don’t think it’ll work/expand more on it with my suggestions/ etc. AU’s are the bread and butter of this blog.

HONEST NOTE I keep saying it-- I’m slow as fuck both on here and on discord but please, never take that as I’m bored with one or any negativity pertaining to that notion. I just have a Hell brain that decides when it wants to socialize and when it doesn’t. Doesn’t help with being Taurus cause we enjoy our solitude and we’re stubborn even with ourselves alfsjgn but I try to get back as I can to people when I am able to. Other times I don’t know what to say so never be afraid to just chuck a brick at me and tell me to come out my cave cause I do forget shit and replying is one of those things.

All in all.. This blog shitposts and the portrayal may not be what people expect from a Joseph but hell, I’m just a guy trying to have a good time. Tired usually but writing’s just one of those enjoyments to life. Plenty of fish in the sea as the saying goes.

tagged by:  Stolen from @shabcn​

tagging:  You are a Pirate.

[angstytieflingbard]

Hero’s Journey - Chapter Two Battle Simulations

Summary: Link does a battle simulation, and finds an enemy in Bakugou. Thankfully, he finds some friends too. He only wishes he didn't notice how empty the sky is.

Warnings: Semi-Graphic Depictions of Canon Typical Violence, Cursing

A/N: Here it is! I’m sick, I think I might be dying, but I got it done, and not too much over the deadline I set either. I was hoping to have it out earlier today, so I’m sorry, but my brain felt like mush so finishing and editing it was a bit rough. I hope you enjoy though, and don’t be afraid to tell me what you think! 

~~

When Link got into class the next morning, chaos had already erupted, despite it only being 7:40.

‘I’m starting to notice a trend…’ Link thought, edging around the commotion in the front of the room to get to his seat. He was near the back of the class, next to a quiet boy with red and white hair. Link glanced over at the boy for a moment, curious, but found his attention quickly dragged back to the front of the room. 

Iida and Bakugou were arguing again, as they had been the morning before (according to Uraraka, Iida had gotten upset over Bakugou putting his feet on the desk, which is what started them both off), Kirishima and Ochaco were attempting to mediate the confrontation, and Midoriya was settled against the wall opposite them, watching their argument with a somewhat anxious expression on his face. Link waved at him, admittedly somewhat obnoxiously, until the greenette finally looked over at him. He gave a quick ‘Come Here’ signal, and Midoriya made his way over, keeping an eye on the group at the front as he did. 

‘You okay?’ Link scribbled onto a spare paper in his notebook and showed it to the boy. 

“I’m alright. Just… it’s been awhile since I’ve seen Bakugo get this worked up over something. And usually when he does it’s at me, so… you know.” Midoriya chuckled uncomfortably. Link narrowed his eyes. 

‘With what you said yesterday, I’m surprised you don’t just avoid him entirely.’ He wrote next, and Midoriya sighed. 

“It’s complicated. We were friends as kids. But he’s… kinda angry, as I’m sure you can tell. I’m- I was, quirkless. So I was an easy target, I guess.” Midoriya explained, spurred on by the intent look on Link’s face. He wasn’t laughing anymore, but he offered a sad, weak smile to the blonde. 

‘He sounds like a bully. That won’t fly here, not if he wants to be a hero. So don’t worry about him being an ass to you anymore.’ Link writes, and Midoriya’s smile gets a little wider. A little more real. 

By now, Iida and Bakugou had both finally gone to their seats, Kirishima and Ochaco following a moment later, and the green-haired boy patted Link’s shoulder gratefully as he goes to his desk too. Class started only a couple minutes later. 

~~

Link hesitated in front of the changing room doors for only a moment this time, turning and heading into the girls’ room as he remembered his experience in the boys’ only the day before. It’s much calmer, and after some introductions, quiet conversation filled the air as as he changed into his hero costume. 

It was a bit complicated to get into, admittedly. First, cream-colored harem pants, tucked into knee-high brown steel-capped boots, and held up by two overlapping hip scarves. Next came the long sleeved olive green undershirt, and short sleeved cerulean overshirt, and then a faux-leather chestplate (one-shouldered, giving his sword arm a better range of motion), and gauntlets, fingerless gloves, and tactical belt of similar make. The chestplate and gloves were also engraved with a gilded symbol of three triangles stacked to make one larger one. For the final touches, he had a shoulder guard on his shield arm, a long, white scarf, and a small headpiece, consisting of a decorative ear cuff, curling over and behind his pointed ear to look reminiscent of feathers, with an earbud attached. 

When he finished getting dressed, he was surprised to see that some of the girls had waited up for him, talking quietly amongst themselves. 

“Wow, your costume looks so cool! It reminds me of fantasy stories, if that makes sense?” Uraraka complimented his outfit cheerfully as the remaining few in the room filed out along with them. Link smiled, feeling his cheeks pinken at the compliment. 

“It certainly looks protective, anyway. I hadn’t even thought of something like steel-toed boots…” Jiro said thoughtfully, and Yaoyorozu nodded in agreement. 

“The design is certainly interesting. Most of our costumes make our quirk pretty obvious, but I don’t know if I could even guess at yours.” Link’s smile stretched to a mischievous grin, and he shrugged nonchalantly in answer. 

Soon enough they were at the training grounds, and the group of four dispersed, only Uraraka staying by Link. Most of the class was there as well, though he noticed Midoriya was conspicuously absent. 

“Where do you think Deku-kun is?” Uraraka asked, seemingly voicing his thoughts. He paused for a moment, remembering the conversation they’d had after school about Midoriya’s nickname. 

“Why does he call you Deku?” Iida had asked, and Link cocked his head to the side curiously. 

‘Doesn’t Deku mean useless?’ He remembered thinking. The word reminded him of trees, though he couldn’t fathom why. 

As Midoriya had explained, Link frowned. This guy seemed more and more like a villain the more he heard about him.

Link sighed at the memory, glancing back in the direction of the training ground entrance. As though summoned by Uraraka’s question, Midoriya jogged out into the area the class gathered in, and Link tapped the brunette’s shoulder, pointing to the boy as he approached. 

“Hey Deku! I love your costume, not too flashy, you know?” She greeted him, and he froze, seeming to fluster at the compliment. 

“Well, I… Uh…” He trailed off, and Link felt his brows raise. Uraraka was right, though. Midoriya’s costume was almost cute in it’s simplicity, a green body suit with white accents, red tactical belt and tennis shoes, white gloves, black knee and elbow pads, and a black and white translucent mask over the lower half of his face. With the long protrusions attached to the head of the suit, it reminded Link of a bunny, and he couldn’t help but smile lightly. 

“I should have been more specific about what I wanted. This bodysuit is skintight!” She complained, and Link huffed out a laugh in agreement. It was true, the suit seemed uncomfortably tight, though he imagined the heels weren’t much help either. He tapped her foot with his, giving an exaggerated glance down at her boots to make his point, and she smiled sheepishly. 

“Well… the heels were my idea. I kind of regret that now though…” She admitted, adjusting her astronaut-like face visor.

“I love this school.” The three glanced over at the comment to see a short, grape-headed boy practically drooling as he looked at Uraraka. Link narrowed his eyes, moving to loom threateningly over him. 

“Uh, Link? Link?” Midoriya asked, concerned. The boy looked up, paling at the malicious intent on the blonde’s face. Link reared his leg back to punt the grape into the nearest wall. 

“Alright students, now that you’re ready, it’s time for combat training!” All Might announced, voice booming across the faux urban landscape. Link paused at the voice and the grape boy quickly scrambled away from him. He sighed, but turned and stalked over to the rest of the class, Midoriya and Uraraka following quickly after. Link spared one more glance at the now terrified grape before All Might started to speak. He gave them a brief explanation on the statistics of indoor vs. outdoor battles, and informed them that they would be doing indoor battle simulations. Several students started asking questions all at once, the pro hero listening patiently to their concerns. 

“How will wins and losses be determined?” 

“How much can we hurt the other team?” Link glanced over at Bakugo dubiously at this.

“Will the losers be in danger of getting expelled like yesterday?” 

“How will we be split into teams?” 

“Isn’t this cape fabulous?” 

All Might cut in, telling everyone to settle down so he could explain the rules, pulling out a small pamphlet as he did. 

“A script?” Midoriya murmured in surprise, and Link snorted. 

The exercise seemed simple enough. They’d be split up randomly into teams of two, and then fight indoors as heroes vs villains, with the villains protecting a fake weapon and the heroes attempting to either retrieve the weapon or capture the villains. 

“Also, as we have an uneven number, one team will have three people!” He said, holding up a box filled with little slips of paper. 

“We’re deciding that haphazardly? And won’t the team with three have an unfair advantage?” Iida interrupted again, though this time Midoriya was the one to answer. 

“Pros are always having to create makeshift teams with heroes from other agencies, and sometimes hero vs. villain teams end up unbalanced in terms of numbers, so maybe that’s why?” He offered. 

“I see. So that too is a reflection of the real world. Please excuse my rudeness!” He said with a bow. All Might accepted the apology, and the students moved to take slips from the box, finding their teams quickly enough. Link read his own slip as he stepped away from the box. 

‘Team G…’ He surveyed the class, skirting around the edges of the group and discreetly checking people’s papers. 

“Uh, Team G? Anyone?” Link turned at the voice, seeing a boy with almost yellow blonde hair, a horizontal streak of black looking almost like a lightning bolt crossing the side of his hair. He walked over and tapped on his shoulder, the boy jumping at the contact and spinning to face him. 

“Oh! Hey, you team G?” Link nodded, and he grinned. “Yo, I’m team G too.” Jiro approached them, holding her slip up to show them. 

“Nice! I’m Kaminari, by the way.” He introduced himself. 

“I’m Jiro, this is Link. He doesn’t talk.” Jiro responded, giving Link a small smile in return for his grateful expression. Kaminari nodded, thankfully not seeming to mind, and the three followed the rest of the class to the observation room. 

~~

The first battle went to hell almost immediately. 

Yaoyorozu was right to call it a lynching, watching Bakugo for all intents and purposes attempting to murder his friend. He felt helpless watching his friend get hurt, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. Even Uraraka had gotten hurt, the overuse of her quirk making her sick, and both of them had gotten sent to the infirmary soon after the battle. Link had glared daggers at Bakugo the entirety of the discussion after the fight. The explosive boy didn’t even look back at him, seemingly consumed in inner conflict.  

Next was Todoroki and Shouji against Ojiro and Hagakure. The battle lasted only two minutes, though it had felt even shorter to Link, attention split between the screens and his partners strategizing next to him. The others seemed horrified at the strength of the bichromatic boy, though Link found himself more intrigued. He kept feeling that nagging feeling of familiarity at seeing the boys quirk. 

Finally, it was his groups turn. They were the heroes, and Yaoyarozu and Mineta were the villains. 

“Alright, so we have a plan. Jiro checks each floor with her quirk, and when we find them I stun them with my electricity, and then Link goes in and keeps them busy until we grab the weapon.” Kaminari recalled, and Jiro and Link nodded. The signal for them to enter sounded not long after, and they filed in, Jiro at the head of the group. 

They followed their system, Jiro checking each floor meticulously with her quirk, all the way to the fourth, when the girl finally nodded, pointing towards the floor above. They headed towards the stairs, and Kaminari gingerly tested the doors, mindful for traps. They realized quickly that the doors were blocked. Link stepped forward, gently brushing Kaminari out of the way, and braced himself to try and ram the door open. 

He took a glance back to make sure they were prepared, and at their nods, he rammed into the door, clenching his teeth at the pain that reverberated through his shoulder. The door gave a little, and he heard a clatter on the other side, confirming his suspicion that the door was blocked rather than locked or held shut by something. He tried again, and this time the door opened, stopped only by the metal bars littering the ground in front of the door. 

Link rolled his shoulder to ease the quickly-forming ache as Kaminari moved in front of him, activating his quirk and blasting the room with electricity. It was a relatively low voltage, as Kaminari had explained earlier that if he tried to do too powerful of an attack he wouldn’t be able to control it, likely putting the two of them in the crossfire in the process. 

As soon as the electricity dissipated, Link charged forward, surveying the room quickly. Mineta was on the ground, whining dramatically about the pain, but Yaoyarozu was still standing, already making something to use as a weapon despite the pain he was sure she was still feeling. He also realized the weapon wasn’t in this room, and clicked his tongue in slight annoyance, realizing they’d hidden it somewhere else. It was a good plan, forcing them to fight while the weapon was safely tucked away, possibly even on a part of one of the lower floors that they hadn’t manually checked. Unfortunately, that meant there wouldn’t be any avoiding conflict with Yaoyarozu still standing. Link grabbed Mineta by the back of his shirt, throwing him (possibly a little harder than necessary) over to Jiro and Kaminari, and started in Yaoyarozu’s direction. 

She swung her weapon at him, a long metal baton, and Link brought his arm up, catching it on his gauntlet with a grunt, holding back a wince. He twisted his hand around before she could swing, gripping the baton and yanking it away from her. He backed up to give himself some time, adjusting his grip on the baton. 

‘I could use it like a sword…’ He mused, and with that thought, he lunged forward, baton connecting with Yaoyorozu’s newly made one. 

From there, it was almost like a dance, and the rest of the room seemed to fade away as he fought with a singular attention. Yaoyarozu struggled to keep up, each blow connecting a bit too close for comfort, and finally their batons locked. They struggled for a moment, each trying to overpower each other, until finally Link grunted and pushed her back with all his strength, sending her stumbling back. He gave her no time to recover, dashing forward and dropping the baton, pulling the roll of capture tape from his belt and wrapping it around her as swiftly as possible. 

“Villains Captured! The Heroes Win!” 

~~

‘Hey, Bakugou.’ Link set the paper on the explosive boys desk. Bakugou glanced up at Link suspiciously. 

“What do you want, extra?” Link rolled his eyes at the boys abrasiveness.

‘I know it’s not my business, but Midoriya’s my friend and I think if you’d stop being such an insufferable child then maybe you could be too, so I wanted to warn you. The kind of cruelty you showed off today wasn’t heroic, and if you keep acting like that eventually you’re gonna get kicked out. You were practically trying to kill Midoriya today, for something that’s not his fault. He’d never want to hurt you, so why would you want to do that to him?’ Bakugou skimmed the note quickly, scowl deepening. 

“You’re right, it’s not your business. What I do to weak, lying little nerds isn’t any of your concern.” He growled, standing and walking towards the door, shoulder-checking Link as he did. Link grabbed his arm as he passed, locking eyes with him and signing something he was sure even Bakugou would understand. 

‘I’m watching you.’ 

Bakugou yanked his arm away roughly, slipping past the group waiting for Midoriya to return from the infirmary and out the door. Link frowned. He’d been hoping that Bakugou would’ve been at least a little remorseful, maybe even understanding of Link’s concerns about the path he was on. With that idea thrown out the window, he at least hoped Bakugou would take his threat seriously. He didn’t exactly have any ill will for the guy, but he wasn’t gonna let his friend get bullied anymore. 

“Link?” He turned, seeing Yaoyarozu watching him with a somewhat concerned expression. “Are you alright? You seem upset.” Link shrugged somewhat sadly, handing over the paper he’d written the notes on, with one addition. 

‘He said that “What he did to weak, lying little nerds wasn’t my concern.”’ Yaoyarozu read the paper over quickly, frowning at the last addition. 

“You were… maybe a bit harsh, in your wording. But correct nonetheless.” She sighed, taking in his dejected expression. 

“If you think there’s a bullying problem here, you could take it to Aizawa? He’d know how to deal with it.” She offered. Link shook his head. 

‘Aizawa doesn’t exactly like Midoriya, so I don’t know that he’d step in. And even if he would, I’m not looking to ruin Bakugou’s chance at being a hero, I just want him to stop being such a relentless ass. Plus, Midoriya would only get mad at me. He doesn’t seem to see a problem with Bakugou’s behavior, not like everyone else does.’ She nodded, reluctantly agreeing. 

“Then the only thing you can do is leave it alone for now. If it gets worse, I’ll come talk to Aizawa with you myself.” Link smiled at her assurance. 

“What are you talking to Aizawa about?” Another classmate, Tsuyu, stepped in, curious at what she’d overheard. Link and Yaoyarozu shared a glance, and when Link shrugged noncommittally she spoke. 

“We’re a bit concerned about Bakugou’s behavior. We were considering talking to Aizawa about it if it got any worse, considering the one he’s actually targeting won’t.” 

“I noticed that too. He seems kinda villain-like.” Tsuyu said, taking a seat on the desk between the other two. 

‘He could be a good hero if he’d just calm down. I doubt he even knows what he’s angry about half the time.’ The girls waited patiently for his response, and he smiled gratefully. He was used to getting left behind in conversations, so this was a nice change. 

“You’re probably right. Maybe-” Yaoyarozu started, only to be cut off by a few cheers from the other kids as Midoriya walked in, with his arm in a cast but otherwise not too worse for wear. They crowded around him, showering him with praise for his quick thinking during the simulation, and he blushed bright as he attempted to brush it off as nothing. 

“Hey, where’s Bakugou?” Midoriya asked, and Link’s brows furrowed in concern. 

“He left just a minute ago, looking all pissed about something.” Kirishima explained with his usual grin, and Midoriya excused himself quickly, running out in the direction Bakugou had left. 

“You’d think he’d want to avoid Bakugou after what happened, not run after him.” Tsuyu commented. Link nodded in agreement. 

“Whatever he wants to talk about, it must be important.” Yaoyarozu murmured. 

The three talked for a few minutes longer, exchanging numbers before they all finally headed out. Once they were off the topic of Bakugou and Midoriya, he’d found that the two were actually pretty fun, though each reserved in their own ways. Momo, as he’d been asked to call her, had a very refined, charismatic personality, and Tsu was very blunt, but also well-meaning and even funny when she wanted to be. 

He was proud of himself, honestly. Making friends had never come easy to him, too shy and, admittedly, stand-offish to really get close to anyone. His unwillingness to speak certainly didn’t help him either. But his classmates here seemed kind, actually interested in him and what he thought. 

He glanced up towards the sky, taking in the gradient hues of orange, pink, and navy blue, sun already disappeared past the treeline. It was beautiful, but he felt like it was incomplete somehow. He didn’t know why, but he’d always felt like that.

He got to the train station just in time to board, mind still fixated on the, to him, unnatural emptiness of the sky, forever missing some crucial piece that he could never know.

[writingwitchly]

The little loop

Pairing: Sirius Black x reader

Word count: 2k

Warning: sadness / mentions of war

A/N: So. SO. Soo. S O. The new Tumblr mobile actualization is being a total @#$%, school is asfixiating me, my sleepless hours keep getting worse, my brain isn’t helping, and I’m surrounded by  t e n s i o n s, with a 105% of probabilities of receiving the whole bad mood discharge on my head... A real fun ride. Anyway, this is for @herondalesucks​, cuz we need more sweet beans in this world and we should thank them when we meet any. Enjoy!

“Honestly,” you pant as you drop the grocery bags on the kitchen’s counter, “You didn’t miss anything too thrilling.”

The clinging cans and ripping of plastic fill up the silence that follows your remark, until your friend finally speaks up,

“Anything would be more thrilling that constantly looking at these same walls, Y/N.” Her head is bent over the rest of the shopping bags, but you can guess her sad expression by the off tone in her voice.

Yesterday, as Sirius and you attended a party at Marlene’s place, thinking about your redheaded friend’s comments if she had been there made the firewhisky’s usual burn bitter, and the same taste now invades your mouth after lying to her. The night was quite something. A moment of escape in the darkness of the actuality.

A little strangled sound coming from near the sink wakes you up from your reverie.

“Oh Lils…”

In a swift movement, your friend buries her face in the crook of your neck and, for the first time in years, she lets her feeling flow in salted water.

The Potters have been hiding for now exactly ten months, with the prohibition of participating to friend gatherings, Order missions, and any other type of outside trips -- including grocery shopping, which you’ve taken care of today as Batilda needed some rest.

For the energy balls that are Lily and James, this boredom is literally a synonym of long and painful death.

“Listen,” you whisper in her ear as you caress her flaming hair, “We’ll fix this, okay? Sirius and I will stay over tonight, so we can try to cook something special and then play some dare games.”

With a childish smile, she pulls away from her hideout, but still grasping to your waist as to life. “And can we build sheet-and-chairs forts and have a pillow fight and sing songs by the fireplace?”

“Of course,” you laugh, “Just like in the old days.”

Her heart a little lighter now, you decide to resume your emptying of the plastic bags, without much of a result as James storms in after a little while.

“Y/N!”

His rib crunching hug is worthy one of Hagrid’s, and it startles you the double as it comes from behind your back.

“Ow- James.” You pat his hands, and end up trying to get them off you.

“‘m so happy to see you,” he says excitedly, his tic of pushing his glasses up on his nose freeing you.

“Me too,” you breathe for air more than you say, red in the face.

The young man standing in front of you looks as clumsy as he did back in your teen years, which builds up his part of his charm, but you note some new seriousness deeply rooted in his eyes. It certainly is a consequence of having to deal with his responsibilities as an adult, then a husband, and finally a father, but you know for sure it is also the result of all you had to face right after getting out of your golden years, right after life as you knew it split into burning hell and awkward chaos.

“What are you two doing here? We’re waiting for you in the living room!” he asks.

“Well, we still have to…” His wife gestures toward the kitchen’s counter, where a considerable pile of food still waits to be stored in the cupboard.

You glance at her puffy eyes and the dark circles that underline them. It seems like all of the energy has been drained out of her body, which before was athletic and brisk, and now still is, but in an exhausted way. Her usual playful expression is just a shadow, a ghost that can be remembered only by those who have witnessed it in the past, and you’re not sure that her formerly joking voice can produce anything now but neutral comments or motherly encouragements.

Trying to ignore the feeling of pity that Lily would be ashamed to know she inspires you, you gently grab her wrist. “The cans won't fly away, Lils, let’s go.”

Still sniffing, but with her fine pink lips stretched in the attempt of a smile, the young woman nods.

As you turn toward the door, your mind registers a look of complicity traveling from her to her husband, but you don’t give it much importance. Couple things, you think. After all, you too have similar expressions sometimes.

“Where’s my little Harry?”

The living room, sunken in a semi-darkness when you arrived a while ago, is now lightened by reduced magical fireworks, much to the eleven-months-old baby’s amusement. Tiny fingers try to catch the bright glows, Harry’s young mind surely making up stories of its own to explain the bizarre shots of lights that he keeps failing to grab.

By the child’s side, on the carpet, Sirius lies on his abdomen, wand swirling to direct the fairy-like spots from his godson’s nose to the roof, and back. The huge grin of happiness plastered on his face, so different from the usual expression of worry that now accompanies him everywhere, tightens your chest. He keeps shouting at Harry, encouraging him to stretch higher to get to his goal, already teaching him the right attitude to face life. When the baby’s giggling convulsions involuntarily throw him off-balance, the man’s hand is there, always, to catch and steady him, which leads to more roaring guffaws and chirp-like laughter.

“Are you okay?”

Now, the roles are flipped: it’s Lily’s time to ask, and James’ turn to pat you.

Tears run down your cheeks, but you couldn’t place the emotion that generates them. Your heart is heavy with a mix of admiration for such a tender scene, for such a pure love. But also with the sight of your boyfriend playing with a baby -- a child that maybe, one day, you two will have the chance to mother too -- and acting like a father. And, unfortunately, the knowledge that this could happen outside, under a warm sun, in the green garden of a happy house, in a world at peace.

You used to think bitterly about having to fight at your young age, about seeing your dreams crush in the perspectives of suffering, about your colored horizon suddenly being replaced by a scale of dark, shapeless sorrow. But looking at Harry, at his pure green irises and his messy hair, you understand how much more he will have to face, growing in a world where innocence is replaced by uncertainty. How much braver he will have to be. And, even if you’re not a seer, even if you can’t declare prophecies like the one that links this infant’s path to that of evil and agony, you have the feeling that he will indeed be.

A warm chest pressed against your back causes your tensed muscles to relax, an exploit that only Sirius can achieve lately.

“Don’t cry, darling,” he whispers in your ear, “Or I might cry too.”

James and Lily take it as a joke, and chuckle a bit. So do you but, deep down, you sense truth in his words. This is a time when everybody, even the strongest, are susceptible of breaking down.

“I’m sorry,” you say gloomily, rubbing what’s left of the tears from your face.

Harry’s moans attract your attention, and you crouch down to take him in your arms, his naive wide eyes warming your interior.

“What do you guys think about putting Mr. Potter Junior to bed and cooking some pasta?” you ask between to pecks on the baby’s fleshy arms.

“Not yet.”

Not yet? You thought that Lily wanted to get a bit distracted.

“Yeah, not yet, Y/N,” her husband seconds her, scratching the back of his neck. “Harry still has a- mission to complete.”

“A mission, Harry?” you smile as you tickle the child’s belly. “What can it be?”

“You can tell Y/N now, Harry.” Sirius’ voice is warm and excited.

James starts shifting his weight from feet to feet, exaggeratedly beaming at you or his son, you can’t tell. “Come on, Harry, tell her to say yes.”

Even Lily seems affected by whatever got into the boys, because she repeats the Word yes over and over as she caresses the baby’s feet.

Harry’s innocent look bounces from each one of you to the next one -- probably not understanding what is going on, like me, you think -- until it finally comes back to his balled fist, which he starts munching.

Immediately, you are assaulted and the child is ripped from your arms.

“He’s going to swallow it!”

“Open his fist! Open it!”

“Don’t you- It’s not here!”

“Harry, spit!”

“Come on, Harry, listen to Daddy!”

“I told you this was the hell of a bad idea!”

In the agitation, neither of the three notices a small object falling on the floor. As you bend down to retrieve it, you distinct its silvery color in contrast with the red carpet. You take the little circle between two fingers and expose it to the light of the still moving fireworks.

Wait a minute: a circle?

“Sirius?”

Three heads jerk in your direction.

“Wha-”

“Surprise, darling.”

Everything, everything, in this moment is perfect. Your boyfriend’s goofy grin, his blushing cheeks, his glowing eyes, your friends’ relieved expressions, Harry’s bubbly drooling, and the little metallic jewel in your hand.

“Sirius, is this a marriage proposal?” you ask, feeling your skin prickle.

“Is this a yes?” he answers, as nervous as you are.

You’re grateful that nothing stands in the way, because you would have knocked out even a dozen of Death Eaters to get to him right now. Your body collides with his in a kiss that you hadn’t shared in a long time. It’s one of those passionate affection demonstrations you used to give each other in your first years as a couple, but that were now replaced by constantly covering each other’s back or worrying to death because of the other’s delay.

You feel his mint breath on your upper lip, and his teeth tugging your lower one. How long had it been since you last took the silky texture of his hair between your fingers? Apparently, he feels the same about the presence of his hands on your waist, as he hugs you tighter.

Your friends have the delicacy to look away until you two finish kissing, which takes so long that James rolls his eyes when you do. “There is a minor in the public.”

Lily pinches him with her free hand, and drags him toward the kitchen despite his waits and I want to see her say nos.

Your chest heaving up and down is on perfect synchrony with Sirius’, and your arms are still safely locked around his neck.

“You didn’t answer, darling.”

“Well, you didn’t properly ask, Black.”

He tries to suppress a smile, but fails.

How is it that you can still, and always, win?

“Fine.” His fingers softly force your hands open and grab the little cold loop from it. With a meticulous slowness and a wink that makes your heart melt, one of his knees reaches the ground, while the other, like his eyes, look up at your face. “Y/N L/N. To honor all the years of mutual love we have demonstrated each other, and still plan to do, would you grant me the-”

“Do you want to marry him or not?”

James’ intruding face quickly disappears back through the next room’s door frame, and through your giggling you hear Lily scolding him.

“Sirius Orion Black. It is with great pleasure that I-”

“Yes! She says yes!”

“James!”

“But Lily- If I hadn’t helped them, these two would still stealthily look at each other with fish eyes from the opposite corners of the room!”

“So would you if Y/N hadn’t stepped up!”

“What does this mean?”

“That they can handle their own thing by themselves.”

Ignoring their discussion, Sirius slides the shiny ring on your finger, enjoying the sight of it.

“Ready to become a Black, Y/N?”

“I’ve always been, Sirius.”

Permanent tag list: @miss-nerd0905​ @funnymrspotter​ @obsessionsandothersandmore​ @daytodayfun​ @electraheart-isdead @laurenslines​

Sirius tag list: @glitteryfreakslimeegg

[poeticblissme]

Grace

Pairing: Castiel x Reader 

Prompt (Request) : Castiel x reader where she had a crush on him when he was human and they meet again once he has his grace back and he tells her he likes her too

Word Count: 1837

Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol and drinking, explicit language, Sadness, then Fluff

A/N: What better way to start my Supernatural writing than a Cas request?? To the lovely Anon who requested this, Thank you! I am sick so this may not be as good as you deserve, but I hope you enjoy! Also if you are on the perm tag list, I did not put you hear in case yall do not like supernatural since I mostly wrote marvel :) 

“I’m telling you Y/N, that man in the booth has been staring at you for the past ten minutes!” Your best friend spoke in a hushed tone to you, turning her head to peek over her right shoulder. 

Your head tilted back, allowing the iced whiskey in the small glass cup to flow through your semi open lips. You face quickly contorted in discomfort from the burn the beverage gave you as it slid down your throat, but once you allowed yourself to relax, you began to enjoy the warm sensation that the alcohol produced. 

You sighed as you held the now empty cup with the tips of your fingers. You swirled the glass in small circles before placing it on the bar table gently. You turned you head to your left, now meeting eyes with your best friend who looked at you, eyes wide with expectancy. 

“And I’m telling you Karen, I don’t care.” You stated, motioning for the bartender to get you both more whiskey. 

“But he’s cute!” She whined, her body bouncing slightly like that of a spoiled child. 

“Everyone is always cute to you after the third cup of whiskey, Karen.” 

“No! I mean it this time. He is gorgeous.” She pushed. 

“Still don’t care.” You answered, nodding in thanks to the bartender as he placed the new glass of whiskey in front of you. 

“Look, I know you miss…Uh, wait, what was his name again?” 

“Castiel.” You spoke, your voice slightly irritated. It was like you were somewhat offended she did not remember his name. 

Sensing your annoyance, your friend nodded.”Castiel, right. Sorry.”  When you turned away from her to look forward, she grabbed her glass and took a small sip before looking back at you. “Cut me some slack, Y/N, it’s hard to remember a person you never even let me meet.” 

She was right, even in her tipsy state. You did not mean to come off as harsh as you did, but even now, after almost eighth months, you were forced to adapt to the fact that the man you somehow became infatuated with, was long gone. 

“I know, I know.  I’m…I’m sorry for my tone.” You spoke softly, looking down to your drink. “I would have loved for you to meet him, however, things were a bit-’

“Complicated. I know, you’ve told me this a thousand times.” She finished as she swallowed the last of her drink. She gave you a smile and continued. “Y/N, you know I love you, but it’s been eight months….-” 

“Don’t start.” You spoke with a shake of the head. “This has nothing to do with that.” 

“Really?” She asked in disbelief. “Before him, you used to enjoy going out and looking at the fine men around us while sipping on glasses of cold whiskey-” You scoffed and snatched your drink from the table, sipping a tiny swivel as she continued “Now, you barley leave the house unless it’s for work, you wear a fake smile every day….You gave everything you had to this man and now that he is gone you refuse to take it back.” 

“Maybe I don’t want to?” You forced out, your voice slightly shaky. “Maybe it hurts less this way.” 

“It will hurt more if you don’t move on.” 

“I tried.” You confessed, turning your head to meet her eyes. “I really, truly did Karen. I tried living my life the way I used to, I thought that if I did, then maybe I could forget about my pain and move on. When I tried, I realized I only did half the things I used to because I was so lonely. When I was with Cas, he gave me something I never knew I needed…He was the only one to ever gave me what I truly needed…..Now that he’s gone, everything I yearn for is gone to, I don’t know…” 

You shrugged and turned away from her before gulping the last of your drink. Your attention went  to the endless bottles of liquor in front of you. After the confession you just made, you silently wished you could indulge yourself with every single one of them.

“I don’t know if it’s the booze, but you look like you actually meant that.” Karen spoke, her hand reaching to caress your left shoulder. “You really liked him, didn’t you?” 

“I did.” You confirmed, nodding slowly. “I really did.” 

“Wow.” She whispered in response. You noticed her eyes dart behind you, and she quickly turned her body and brought her elbows to rest on the table. Both her hands cupped the opposite elbow as she began to speak. “Oh Shit.” 

“What?” You asked. 

“The hot guy from the booth is coming over here.” She explained. “His eyes were fixated on you.” 

“Ugh, Son of a Bitch.” You whispered as you rolled your eyes. 

“He looks determined Y/N.” She warned. 

“Don’t worry. I turn down men for a living.” You reassured with a wink. 

“Excuse me-” 

You held your hand up to stop the mysterious man as your turned your body in your chair. “Look buddy, no offense but I am not intre-” 

The words to describe what you were currently feeling were many, but for now, you focused more on the fact that the man she had been referring to this whole night, was the same man responsible for the sea of emotions you felt in the last eight months. 

“Cas?” You asked, your voice not even loud enough to even be considered a whisper. 

“Hello, Y/N.” 

“Wait a second hold up.” Your friend called out from behind you. “This is Castiel?”

“I am.” He spoke, his eyes not leaving yours. “It has been some time Y/N” 

“Eight months to be exact.” You spoke, your tone now back to normal and full of hatred. 

You turned from him to gaze at your friend. “I’m sorry about this, but I have to go. Do not, drive home. I’ll drive you to get your car in the morning.” You grabbed the loose cash that was in your pocket and slammed it on the table. With a quick glance at the Cas, you pushed yourself off the stool and ran to the exit. 

“Y/N! Y/N wait!!” Karen shouted. You ignored her calls and pushed through the exit, trying with all your might to hold the tears that were threatening to fall.

The air was cold against your skin, though you welcomed it since you were burning from all the booze you had consumed. You were not a light weight like Karen, so thankfully, you were not drunk. 

You were determined to get to your car as fast as possible, seeing Cas sent your brain into overdrive. You were feeling to much at once, relief that he was alive, despite the war he had explained was raging. Sadness, because his face reminded you of the day he said goodbye, how he needed to keep you safe and that his presence put you in unspeakable danger. Anger, because he had the nerve to walk up to you and act like nothing happened, he acted like he had no idea that he broke your heart. 

The car was not to far away now, you rolled your eyes as the sound of the bar door opened. You knew who it was. 

“Y/N, please wait.” He called out to you, you could hear his pace quicken as he tried to catch up to you. 

“Screw you!” You yelled as you turned your head to face him before turning back and walking faster. There was a considerable distance between you, and you knew you could use it to your advantage

You finally reached your car, but unfortunately for you, you needed your keys to get in. 

You shuffled, your hands traveled over your body in a desperate attempt to find what you needed. Anxiety started to build in your heart as you realized the lack of a metal jingle in either pocket the harder you patted the fabric. 

“You keep the keys in the back zipper thing of your woman bag.” 

You jumped backwards in fear. You brought your hands to your mouth and let out a small squeek as you noticed Castiel standing to your right, right next to your car door, his hand resting on the back of your mirror.  

You regained your breathing, but you quickly became confused at his presence next to you. You took a look behind you, trying to remember how far he was when you were trying to escape him, you know you did not imagine it.  “How did  you-….How did……how….You were really far behind me I know it. I didn’t even hear your feet, how did you get up here so fast?” 

“I teleported.” He stated simply 

You nodded. “Ah, well I am assuming then…since you, ya know, teleported to me, that you got your Angle juju, er uh, grace back?” 

“I did.” He confirmed, a smile of pride and happiness on his face. 

You returned the smile, before looking in the back zipper of your purse and pulling out your keys. “Congratulations, well I really need to be going so-”

“Y/N please.” He called out, reaching his right hand to grab your left wrist. “I heard what you said in the bar, to your friend. Was all of that true?” 

“It was.” You explained. “Though it does not really matter since I-” 

“There is really no point in lying.” He interrupted. “Your heart beat is enough to tell me nothing has changed.” 

“Let go of me Castiel.” you pleaded. 

“I like you too.” He rushed out, causing you to pause and eye him I confusion. “I truly do, Y/N. I like you a lot more than a simple human crush, that’s why I came back to you, why I had to see you again. I…I got my grace back now, and I’m willing to do all I can to protect you if you will have me back. The dangers I face are many, but they would all be worth fighting through if you were by my side once more.”

He lifted your wrist and stepped forward, creating only an inch of space between you. He reached down to your right hand and took your purse from your fingers, dropping it to the ground next to your car door. 

“That’s my purse.” You spoke in a whisper as your eyes met his, though you found yourself really not caring your bag. 

“I am aware.” He responded, bringing his lips down to meet yours. 

His lips were truly heavenly, you thanked whatever God he worked for, for giving this man the most precious lips in all of the world. The way he moved with you, the way he captured your being instantly just by touching you, was the very thing you missed about him the most. This was the feeling you craved, this was the feeling he graced you with every time you were around him. 

You would never let him go, never again. 

SORRY IF THIS IS BAD!  I wrote this knowing I am hella sick and the world is wrong, don’t hate me T_T 

 @becs-bunker

[lotus0kid]

Rumbelle meet at a grief support group.

OUaT: Anniversary Fic the 6th

((Warning: dead parent talk. The book featured at the end is by Pat Thomas.))

Gold finishes updating his account book and checks hiswatch.  He pulls on his coat and gloves, andgoes to his car.  He takes a deliberate wrongturn out of town, then doubles back to continue on to the next little patch ofcivilization along the Maine coast.  Hisprecautions eat into his time cushion so he only has a few minutes to limp intothe brightly-lit community center and down the hall to an all-purposeroom.  A sign taped to the room’s doorreads: “PARENTAL LOSS GRIEF GROUP 7PM TO 9PM”.

He sees the usual attendees have all arrived, getting cupsof water or a cookie from a tray set on a table pushed against one wall.   There are some new faces, including one hecan’t help giving a second glance- a young woman talking with Dr. Hopper.  The fluorescent lights catch on her richbrown hair and sky blue eyes.  Gold quicklytrains his gaze on the floor, reminding himself firmly this isn’t a bloodyspeed-dating event.  He takes off hisgloves, tucking them in a pocket before laying his coat across the back of a foldingchair among the ones arranged in a circle. He sits with his cane leaning against his thigh and waits for everyoneelse to take their places.

Once the group is settled, with the young woman choosing thechair directly across from Gold, Dr. Hopper greets them in his soft, carefulvoice, “Hello, everyone.  I’m glad to seeyou all.  Tonight, we’ll start out bysharing our loss.  Anyone who wants tospeak is more than welcome.  If you’renew and aren’t ready to share, listening is perfectly fine.  Aaron, would you like to go first?”

A corner of Gold’s mouth curls up.  “He starts with me because what happened wasso bad it makes everyone else feel better.”

Faint laughter floats up from the circle, most of it uncomfortable,but Gold notices genuine amusement on the young woman’s face.

“It’s not a competition, Aaron,” Hopper gently chides him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, “Well, all right then.  Up to the age of nine, I lived with myfather.  And I loved him, the way a dogloves a cruel master.  Even after heabandoned me, I still had to teach myself to hate him.  Then- let’s see, about six months back- heshows up.  I’ve done well in life, nothanks to him, of course I assumed he’d heard and was after money.  He says he’s sick.  I don’t believe him.  I tell him to fuck off, that he had hischance to be a dad and he gave it up, I didn’t owe him anything.  A little while later, a doctor rings me.  Says my father’s dying.  Somehow, I still think it’s a trick, ascam.  That’s all my father was good at,after all.  Another week goes by, and hecomes back again.  And I tell him to fuckoff again.  He begs me to listen, forgivehim before it’s too late.  I don’t doeither.  I shove him away.  And he… He just collapses, like he’s made of paper.  And he died, there in my front hall.”

The image of the man who once seemed like a titan now lyingin a crumpled heap on the floor is burned into Gold’s mind.  He lets himself stare at it for a silentmoment.

“I didn’t expect to feel much about it.  He was a bastard, who lived like a teenagerinstead of a man.  It’s only surprisinghe made it as long as he did.  But Ican’t…” He coughs against his tightening throat.  “I can’t let it go.  I can’t let him go.  Still a little dog, running after his master.”

His gaze wanders to the young woman, morbidly curious abouther reaction to his tale of woe.  Hefinds her looking back steadily, a pure beacon of sympathy.  He looks away.

“Thank you for sharing, Aaron,” Hopper says, “It’s importantto remember that the relationship you had with your parent is complicated,sometimes it can be more negative than positive.  Their death amplifies a lot of the feelingsthat are part of that relationship.  Andit takes time to process.  Who else wouldlike to share?”

Hopper’s words are more for the new people than Gold- theyaren’t anything he hasn’t heard already. Processing, that’s what he’s supposed to be doing.  Like if he puts the pieces of his grief inthe right order, it will slot into his brain somewhere in the back where hewon’t have to think about it anymore.  Itseems as much shite as it did when he first heard it.  And yet, even he knows coming here is betterthan sitting alone in his big house, emptying bottles of scotch.  Or nearly breaking down in the middle ofcollecting rent from Michael Tillman when his son ran into the room to askabout dinner.

He has to deal with this, process it.  At least beforehis own son’s semi-annual visit.  Milahcan’t find out how unstable Gold’s become or she might take him back to courtto steal even more custody.  And probablymore alimony, to pay the nannies who actually raise Neal while she sails offwith Jones again.

The meeting continues, with more sad stories shared and inthe second half a discussion of the values passed along by the dearlydeparted.  Gold stays silent during this,as does the young woman.  She doesn’t saya word the whole meeting, but gives everyone her earnest attention.

Gold leaves as soon as the meeting ends, his mind the usualmess of muddy emotions and no answers. He’s halfway down the hall when someone calls, “Aaron?”

He pauses and turns, and no one but the young woman jogstoward him, gorgeous hair bouncing on her shoulders.  It’s such an arresting sight it takes far toolong for him to say, “Yes?”

“These fell out of your pocket,” she replies in a charmingAustralian accent while holding out his gloves.

“Oh, right, thank you.” Gold takes the gloves, half embarrassed and half glad for hiserror.  “You, ah- you’re new to thegroup, aren’t you?”

She bites her lower lip for a tantalizing instant.  “Yeah, I am. I’m Belle.”

Belle. Beautiful.  Of course.  “Hello, Belle.  Sorry for… whatever brought you here.”

She winces and he kicks himself.  “Thanks. Anyway, um, I’ve got to go.”

“Yes, I’m sure.  Goodnight.”

“G’night.”  She whipsaround and jogs back down the hall.

“Well done,” Gold grumbles at himself.  Not that he expected her to fall into hisarms, but he could at least not shine a spotlight on her trauma.  He escapes from the community center and backto his car, pressing the gas to get back to Storybrooke as quickly as possible.

—

Belle is at the next meeting, and this time Hopper asks herto share.  Her eyes widen and he seems asecond away from letting her off the hook, but she says, “Okay.  I can… I can try.”

“Thank you, Belle.”

“Well, um… Hi, everyone. Uh, so, a little while ago…” She stops and frowns at her lap. Hopper again seems about to move on, but she speaks again, forcing thewords out, “My mother was very important to me. She was my best friend.  She waseverything I wanted to be.  She wassmart.  And kind.  And… and so brave.  She did what she wanted with her life.  So, um… We were in the car together.  Idon’t even remember where we were going. There was an accident, and we went off the road, into a river.  My mum got me out, but she didn’t makeit.  And now it’s like… Everything Ido- it’s all about her.  If I’m not… IfI don’t do something worthwhile, then it’s like… what was the point of losingher?”  Belle swallows hard, blinks awaytears.  “So yeah.  That’s about it.”

Gold feels a sting in his own eyes, despite how little hecan relate to her story.  Malcolm Goldisn’t worth mourning, which makes his grief all the more irritating.  But for him to die saving Gold- he’s not surehow Belle lives with the pressure.  Hewatches her grab one of the readily-available tissues and blow her nose.  Above the white wad, her eyes dart to Goldand away before he can arrange his features into any kind of warm and caringconfiguration.  Tonight after sharingpersonal stories the group discusses setting up small memorials at home, anactivity Gold will not be taking part in. He thinks Belle might be in danger of devoting her entire living spaceto honoring her mother, if she isn’t careful.

Somehow as the meeting breaks up Gold finds himself holdingthe door for Belle.  And, even moreimplausibly, she falls into step with him on the way out of the communitycenter.

“Can I tell you something?” she murmurs.

“Uh, what?” he suavely responds.

“I’m really not sure what I’m supposed to be getting out ofthese meetings.  I don’t feelbetter.  I really hope I don’t have totell the whole story again.  Just layingit all out like that is not my favorite thing to do.”

“That might be the point of it though,” Gold offers, “Likegoing up in tall buildings when you’re afraid of heights.  If you… let yourself feel the grief againand again, maybe it starts to hurt less.”

“Is that how it’s been for you?” Belle asks, looking at himwith worried wrinkles set in her forehead.

“I said ‘maybe,’ didn’t I?” he quips, then sighs, “It’sgoing to be hard for a while.  You’veonly been to two meetings.  Give yourselftime to…”

“To ‘process’?” she says with a cocked eyebrow.

Gold can’t help chuckling. “Yeah, whatever that means.”

Belle giggles, and Gold feels like Prince Charming.  “Really though, how are you dealing withthings?  It sounds like it was prettyintense, what you went through.”

Gold tries not to gape at her, the first person to actuallycare about his well-being, aside from Neal. He half-shrugs.  “I take it oneday at a time, I suppose.  Try to focuson the good things.  Give myselfsomething to look forward to.”  Neal’supcoming visit is the one shining light on Gold’s horizon.

“Right, right…” Belle murmurs with an odd hunger in hereyes.

“Anyway, um, I have to go. Good night.”

She blinks and steps back, “Oh, yeah, okay.  Good night.”

“See you at the next meeting?”

Her mouth twists into a smile.  “Sure.”

Gold returns to his car with a fluttery feeling in hisstomach he hasn’t felt in a very long time.

—

As twisted as it is, Gold is actually eager to go to thenext meeting.  He takes the direct routefrom Storybrooke, breaking his pattern of disguising his destination.  Just once won’t hurt.  People can’t be that interested in spying onthe town’s miserly beast of a landlord. He’s probably been overly paranoid from the start.

He spots Belle on her mobile outside the community center onhis way in.  When he gives her a wave asshe looks up, she stuffs the device into her coat pocket and smiles wide.  “Hey, it’s good to see you.”

A tiny pulse of heat thrums through his veins.  “And you. Shall we?”

“I guess so.”

After the attendees are given the chance to tell theirstories, the discussion moves to the recent events in their lives they wishthey could share with the people they’ve lost.

“I wish…” Gold starts, hardly realizing he’s spoken whenthe words come out.  The group’s focuscomes to him, and the weight of their expectant silence has him looking only atBelle.  Speaking only to her.  “I wish my father had known about myson.  Not met him, he- he didn’t belongaround children.  But…  I love Neal so much.  I would do anything for him.  I don’t know, maybe I just want to gloatabout it.  That I’m a better dad than him.  Or I try to be, at least.  It isn’t easy, I can say that.  But I’ll never run, like he did.”

“Thank you, Aaron,” Hopper says, “I’m sure all of theparents here know how healing it can be to spend time with their children.  But I’d advise you all to be careful not to suppressyour grief for the sake of them.  Deathis a part of life.  Someday they’ll loseyou too.  It’s important to set anexample of how to grieve in a healthy way. It may be one of the most important lessons you’ll teach your children.”

Somehow that never occurred to Gold, that the day is comingwhen he will leave Neal.  Not in the sameway he was left, but just as permanently. The immutable fact chills him, and he knows his dread is plain on hisface from the concern Belle is beaming at him. The meeting ends soon after, but Gold stays seated while everyone elsestands and prepares to go.  He just needsa moment alone to think, and he decides he shouldn’t be driving a car when ithappens.

Belle lags behind though she’s put on her coat, and he can’ttell if he’s glad for it or not as she wanders over to his chair and asks,  “Hey, are you okay?”

Gold’s muddy mess of emotions only allows him to shrug.

“Do you want to talk about it?  Come on, we can go-”  She’s interrupted by a buzz from herpocket.  He watches her take her mobileout, and her eyes widen as she looks at the screen, jumping from it to Gold andback.  “Oh, um, excuse me, I’ll just be aminute…”

Gold frowns as she all but bolts from the room.  Fresh worry finds him over what might be thematter with Belle.  She didn’t speakthroughout the meeting, hardly seemed engaged at all until Gold’s littlespeech.  He finds himself standing,shrugging into his coat, and nodding to Hopper before leaving the room.  He spots Belle with the mobile held to herear as she pushes through the community center’s main entrance doors.

He follows, trailing her several steps down the sidewalk, movingjust close enough to hear her say, “Sure, Mum, that sounds fine.”

Gold freezes.  Atfirst he’s nearly convinced he misheard, that she couldn’t possibly be talkingto her mother.

“Five o’clock, yes, Dad already told me.  I’ll be there.  Okay, love you too, Mum.  Bye.”

Still he’s willing to believe the poisonous thoughtsswirling in his head are just his trusty paranoia.  But then Belle puts the mobile away and turnsaround.  The guilt that fills her face atthe sight of him floods Gold with anger. “What is this?” he growls.

“I, um… please, j-just let me explain,” Belle stammers.

“Why are you here? Aside from Hopper you never spoke to anyone but me.  Why? Who else have you been talking to? Is it Regina?”  The illustriousMayor Mills has been digging for information on Gold’s father since theambulance left his house.  Gold’s spenthalf a fortune burying Malcolm’s host of indiscretions.  He never thought she’d stoop so low as tosend a spy into a grief support meeting.

“I don’t know who Regina is, I swear.  I… I’m a writer.”

The non sequitur is just enough to interrupt Gold’s mountingrage.  “What the hell are you talkingabout?”

“I write.  Books.  Look, I didn’t lie.  My mother died saving me from a sinking car.  It was in the news, you can look it up.  Her name was Colette French.  It happened in Melbourne on Septembertenth-”  She pauses, shame writhing onher face, “1992.”

The meeting is only for the recently bereaved.  It’s not impossible Hopper made an exception,but everything about Belle in this moment says he has no idea.  “If that’s true, who were you just talkingto?”

“My stepmother, Elisa. She’s been as good as my mum for the last fifteen years, so that’s whatI call her.”

“Convenient,” Gold snaps, “And none of that explains whyyou’re here.”

Belle heaves a breath, eyes briefly slipping shut inanguish.  “I’m writing a book.  And… it involves a character losingsomeone.  I- I know, I could’ve justdrawn on my own experience.  But I was soyoung when it happened.  And I needed adifferent perspective.  A man’sperspective, on losing his father.  Afather who had left him.”

Gold gapes at her, violation roaring through him.  “So, that was it.  The only reason you spoke to me.  To find out what it’s like when a man’sworthless father drops dead on his door step. What the hell is wrong withyou?”

Shoulders hunched with misery, Belle mutters into her chest,“It has to be perfect.”

Gold sneers, “Ah, right, for your poor sainted hero mum, eh?”

Belle’s eyes jump to him and flash with anger as she bitesout, “Don’t.”

“Oh, excuse me,” he simpers, “Do you not like people tomention her?  At least not while you’re busycannibalizing their grief for the sake of entertainment.”

Misery rushes back into her face.  “I’m sorry.  I won’t write it.  I promise I won’t.”

“That is for goddamn certain.  If I ever hear of you publishing a book, youcan at least count on making one sale. I’ll read every bloody word, and if it sounds even remotely likeanything I’ve said, I will ruinyou.  Is that clear?”

She nods at her shoes. “Very.”

“Wonderful.  Solong.”  He stalks past her, taking deepbreaths to clear his mind for the drive home.

Well, so much for his adventure in grief counseling.  Looks like he’s back to downing scotchalone.  That’ll have to do.

—

Gold smiles wide as an airport attendant leads Neal intoBaggage Claim.

“Papa!” the boy cries and races to close the distancebetween them and throw himself into Gold’s arms.  He only staggers slightly on his bad leg,which is impressive considering how much bigger Neal is than the last time Goldsaw him.

“Hello, son, did you have a good trip?” he murmurs into Neal’s hair.

“It took forever!  Can we go home?”

“Of course.”

A few hours later, they’re in Gold’s house sharing a pizzaand catching up.  Neal’s told him justabout everything there is to know about the third grade.  Gold has devoured every word and eagerlyasks, “What else?”

“Uh, well- oh!”  Theboy’s face lights up and he bounds off to where his backpack rests against thesofa.  He digs in it for a bit and runsback.  “Look, I got another Giddy book.”

“Did you?”  Gold iswell-versed in the Giddy series Nealhas been reading over the last few months. He can name all the characters and settings and he’s been spoiled forevery plot twist.  However, he was notaware until this moment of the author’s name.  Belle French glares up athim from the book’s vibrant cover.  Withhis emotions threatening to swirl into another muddy mess, he shoves it alldown and plasters on another smile for Neal. “What’s Giddy up to this time, huh?”

“Well, I don’t know everything yet, because I just started.  Hey, did you know the writer lives near here?”

“I do now.”

“And, did you know?  Sometimeswriters go places and they’ll sign your book for you.”

“That they do.”

“If the Giddy ladysigns books somewhere, can we go?”

Gold would rather set his own hair on fire.  “Of course we can.”

After Neal goes to sleep, Gold reads the book from cover tocover.  Of course it was probably wellinto production before he even met Belle, but he has to be sure.  Also, for kid-lit, it’s actually quite good,damn it all.  He finds himself staring atthe photo of her on the back.  The muddymess rears up again, and now, alone in the dark, he lets it claim him for awhile.

He’s painfully aware of Belle’s unexpected and unwantedpresence in his life for the next several months as Neal continues to plowthrough her Giddy books.  At the end of every update Neal gives him, hereminds Gold to take him to a signing, if there is one.  And, to Gold’s dismay, one August afternoonNeal informs him that such an event is happening, right nearby.  “Mom said I can’t go.  But can I mail you my books to getsigned?  Pleeeaaase?”

“Sure, all right,” Gold says through a tight smile.  He reminds himself to expect an invoice fromMilah for the shipping.

“Yay!  Thank you,thank you, thank you!”  Gold basks inNeal’s joy for as long as he can before the dread kicks in.

No matter.  Once Nealgives him the time and place, he vows to go and get it done.  It’s not like he needs to have a three-hourchat with Belle.  Just in and out.  Short and sweet.  Maybe he’ll get lucky and there won’t be apersonalized signing, just a stack of autographed copies of the new productshe’s out hawking.  He’ll buy whatever itis for Neal and call it a day.

He does his best not to even think about it until the lastpossible moment.  Which is why he’scaught unawares by the fact that it isn’t a new Giddy book Belle’s written. It’s something else.  Somethingcalled I Miss You.  It’s a book for kids Neal’s age oryounger.  It’s bright and colorful, andit describes what death is and what happens when a loved one dies.  Feeling slightly dazed, Gold gravitates tothe rows of folding chairs set before a small lectern and sits down in theback.

With a tall stack of Giddybooks on his knee, Gold watches as Storybrooke Public Library’s managerintroduces Belle to the audience.  Shecomes to the lectern holding a copy of IMiss You and gives everyone a smile which falters the second her eyes landon Gold.  Her gaze drops briefly and sheswallows behind a frown.  Then she setsthe book on the lectern and opens it. “Thanks for having me here today. I hope you like the book.  I Miss You, by Belle French, illustratedby Leslie Harker.”  She begins to read, “Everyday someone is born.  And every daysomeone dies…”

The book is written simply and clearly.  It assures children that death is natural, asis their varied reactions to it.  Thatthey don’t need to blame themselves when it happens.  It presents questions that invite children toshare their feelings and experiences when a death occurs.  It’s not perfect.  It’s gentle, and it’s beautiful.

She takes a few questions afterwards.  “What inspired you to write this?” someoneasks.

“Well, mainly… this is the book I wish I’d had when I lostmy mother as a child.  I’ve been, um,processing that lately.  And it just feltlike something I had to do.”

Signed copies are available as a gift in exchange for adonation to the library.  Gold takes twoand hands the manager a substantial check. “You can have them personalized if you want, sir,” the manager says,gesturing to where Belle is sitting behind a table.

Gold hefts the Giddystack and his copies of I Miss Youunder his free arm, mentally recites his vow, and gets in the growing queue.  His heart thuds a little harder as everyperson ahead of him has their moment with Belle and departs.  When he finally stands before her, sheventures the tiniest, wariest smile and murmurs, “Hey.”

“My son loves your books,” he states.

He sets the stack in front of Belle, who scans it up anddown with raised eyebrows.  “I suppose hedoes.  His name is Neal, right?”

Gold can’t imagine why she remembers, and he almost wants tobe angry she does.  “It is.”

It takes several minutes that Gold spends in silence andmore than mild discomfort, but eventually Belle writes a unique message forNeal in every book.  She pushes the stackback to him, eyes focused on it while she says, “Thank you for coming, Aaron.  It means a lot.”

He could snarl that it wasn’t his choice, he’s only here forNeal, he couldn’t care less about her or her books.  Instead he returns the stack to its placeunder his arm and gives her a nod.  “Goodnight, Belle.”

The next day he’s preparing the books to be shipped back toNeal, idly flipping through I Miss Youonce again when he lands on the dedication page.  It simply reads, “To Colette, Moe, Elisa, andAaron.”

He takes a deep breath around his aching heart, and finishesboxing up the books.  A week later, hesits on his sofa and cradles his mobile to his ear.  “Hello, son, did the books arrive?”

“Yeah!  I can’tbelieve she signed all of them.  That’s so cool!”

“And you got an extra, didn’t you?  Miss French’s brand new book.”

“Uh huh.  ‘I MissYou.’  It’s not a Giddy book.”

“No, it isn’t.  I gota copy for myself too.  I’d like to readit with you, if you’re interested.”

“Okay, I guess.  Why?”

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about something.  Or, someone. His name was Malcolm.  He was myfather, your grandfather.  He passed awaya little while ago.  I know you didn’tknow him.  To be honest, I didn’t knowhim very well either.  But I wanted toread this book and talk with you about it. Is that all right?”

“Sure, Papa.  Let’sread.”

Gold settles against the sofa, and opens the book.  “Every day someone is born.  And every day someone dies.”

[presumenothing]

flash point

for the prompt: “You are a pyrokinetic who tends to accidentally set things on fire when stressed. And today, you’re having a very bad day.”

[~1.5 hours of completely unedited writing, apologies in advance for any glaring errors]

(AO3) (FFN)

EDIT: now continued(ish?) here!

EDIT^2: ...and continued further here?

.

"Damn it," Saguru mutters under his breath, when the edge of his paper catches fire for the third time today.

Acrid tendrils of smoke curl out from where his fingers meet the paper, and he forces himself to take several deep breaths (in why was this happening, out he ought've mastered it completely by now, in just stop already) until the heat flickers and dies out again – which is when the lunch bell rings, and Saguru would've called it divine intervention if he'd been inclined to be religious in the least.

He's just about to stand and leave (to anywhere, really, Saguru doesn't usually have a problem with confined spaces but the classroom feels excruciatingly stifling today) when a voice calls out from behind him.

"Oi, Hakuba," says Kuroba, and Saguru watches somewhat warily as his classmate walks over to his desk. Quite contrary to any of Saguru's expectations though, Kuroba only looks at him for a moment, before nodding towards the desk. "You want to talk about it?"

Or – not quite the desk, Saguru realises, looking down at the slightly reddened patches on his hands. His pyrokinesis doesn't hurt himself, usually, but today had been a bad day on all fronts, to put it mildly. Saguru can't help but grimace. "That obvious, huh?"

"Unless you're blind. Or deaf. And lack a sense of smell, I guess," Kuroba adds after a moment's consideration. "So, like I said – wanna talk?"

Saguru's first instinct is to decline politely, but he forces himself to consider it seriously. He hasn't had a power lapse this bad in a long time (three years, eight months, and four days, to put it precisely), after all. But...

"Thank you for the offer, but I think I'll pass," Saguru says eventually. "I don't think talking will help in this situation, honestly speaking."

Kuroba shrugs, his expression nonchalant. "Okay, whatever you say. Offer's still open, though."

Then he walks off, and Saguru is certain that's the end of it, when –

A small jar lands on his desk with a metallic clink, and Saguru looks from it to Kuroba's oddly unexpressive face, suddenly feeling like there was a whole part to the conversation that he'd missed. "I'm sorry, what – ?"

"Burn cream," Kuroba says, interrupting the question – not that Saguru quite knew what he'd been intending to ask, anyway. "Or at least my version of it, but it should help with your hands."

"I – " Saguru blinks in surprise, and almost wonders if he heard that wrong. "That sounds useful. Thank you, Kuroba-kun."

"Don't mention it," comes the answer, almost flippantly, and Saguru belatedly realises that Kuroba is already halfway to the classroom door. "Literally."

He's still seated at his desk a few minutes later – all thoughts of leaving the classroom gone from his mind – when Aoko walks over and notices the jar on his desk. "Oh, is that from Kaito? It's really effective, I know he uses it during his own practice."

"Yes, Kuroba-kun gave it to me." And speaking of whom – Saguru turns to his other classmate, and wonders if he looks half as mystified as he feels. "Why would he do that?"

He almost expects her not to answer, but instead Aoko leans over to turn the chair in front of his around and sit down, looking pensive.

It's a few moments before she speaks, and in that time Saguru has already applied a thin layer of the cream on the base of his fingers, where the outline of the paper from earlier is still smarting ever so slightly – and Aoko is right, it does work wonders.

"Kaito had quite a lot of trouble controlling his powers when he was younger, you see. Especially after his dad..." Aoko's voice trails off – her words are soft enough that it doesn't carry, though the classroom is almost empty anyway. "Anyway, it wasn't until middle school that he really got a handle on it. So he knows what it feels like, I guess."

Saguru listens with a growing sense of disbelief, because he's seen Kuroba in ability training, and he – or, to borrow a turn of phrase, anyone with a functional set of senses who happens to be in the elemental manipulation section of the class – can see that Kuroba's control of air is basically perfect. And Saguru has been to some of the finest ability training institutions both back home and in Japan, so he knows what he's talking about.

Then Aoko adds, "So, do you want to talk about it, Hakuba-kun?"

And apparently Saguru is more tired than he thought, because the retort slips out before he can stop it. "Are you and Kuroba-kun ganging up on me?"

Aoko giggles. "Not at all, Hakuba-kun, you would definitely have noticed if Kaito and Aoko were working together on something like that!"

Which is... true, if not quite an answer he was expecting, and Saguru is suddenly and forcibly reminded of what he'd heard and dismissed as a myth back when he'd first transferred into Ekoda High – that a previous math teacher for this class had resigned in a fit of terror after she claimed that she was being haunted at school by some particularly persistent ghosts.

He looks again at Aoko, who still has the slightest glint of mischief in her eyes, and decides that (a) he really doesn't want to know, and (b) Aoko would've gotten involved only if the teacher had been legitimately terrible in her own right. Probably.

School, Saguru thinks with a sigh, had never been quite this complicated in London. "It's really not something pleasant to talk about, Aoko-kun. I was just assigned to help Division One with their caseload this week, and... well, it's been a while since I've encountered any murder cases, I suppose."

That isn't the whole story, of course – Saguru hasn't really worked on many homicides since coming to Japan, that much was true, but he'd handled them quite regularly before, enough so that he knows a murder alone isn't enough to trigger something like this. But one of the cases had been worse than the others, and –

A slight crackle catches his attention, but before the flame can escape beyond Saguru's clenched fingers Aoko conjures a little disc of water that extinguishes it with a faint sizzle before vanishing without a trace.

"Thank you, Aoko-kun," Saguru says, then adds, "Your control is very impressive as well, you know."

"Eh? Aoko's control?" She laughs, shaking her head. "Not really, Aoko is just lucky to have an easier element than Kaito or Hakuba-kun! Water has a much more physical form than fire or air, after all."

Saguru recalls several of the more disastrous hydrokinesis attempts that he'd seen with a wince. "I beg to differ, Aoko-kun. A former classmate of mine once nearly brought down a tsunami upon our heads. He had been trying to create a whirlpool, I believe."

"That sounds like he lost control of the direction vectors," she replies. "But as long as you're careful with those, water can be quite predictable. Aoko doesn't even need to worry about factors like viscosity and composition all that much, unlike Kaito."

Before Saguru can argue the point any further, though, Aoko stands up and extends a hand to him. "Oh, do you want to go to the rooftop and watch Kaito practice, Hakuba-kun?"

He raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Practice? On what?"

"On himself, of course!" Aoko says, before elaborating at Saguru's presumably confused expression. "He mentioned something about working out the buoyancy and lift forces on himself, but Kaito's never liked sharing his ideas before he's figured out how to make them work."

Saguru puts two and two together, and comes up with a short-circuited brain and the otherwise unlikely hypothesis that Kuroba is apparently trying to make himself fly, which is – 

He's halfway to his feet before he realises the obvious contradiction. "Hang on, doesn't that mean he won't want us there watching?"

"That's why we're going to be spying on him instead!" Aoko answers cheerfully, fishing out her handphone from her school satchel. "Besides, Aoko already promised to send Chikage-san a video if Kaito actually makes it work, so we definitely have a reason to be there – "

As Saguru lets himself be tugged along in the wake of Aoko's excitement, he thinks about how school had never been quite this interesting in London, either – and really, he wouldn't trade it for the world.

.

.

...no, I don’t know how this happened either? honest. the brain saw it and went, hey, that sounds like a certain Osaka loudmouth – oh no wait! why not let’s make our own lives difficult and pick the one character who’s the exact opposite!! it’ll be fun!!!

......so yeah, that happened. powers assigned at semi-random, Kaito gets air because that would be pretty neat as Kid (what with all the acrobatics and gliders and whatnot), Aoko gets water because why not (it’s a lot harder than she makes it sound obvs). not sure where Akako would be in this universe? also someone really needs to have Layla’s power from Sky High that scene was really awesome okay hush now

[vctrmagazine]

magnetic reality: setting the stage for mass murder in school

john-ivan palmer

Once a metaphysical mutation has arisen, it tends to move inexorably towards its logical conclusion. Heedlessly, it sweeps away economic and political systems, aesthetic judgments and social hierarchies. No human agency can halt its progress—nothing except another metaphysical mutation.

—Michel Houellebecq, Les particules élémentaires, 1998

Anton Mesmer (1734-1815) created a device called the baquet (tub, bucket) large enough for numerous people to sit around in a lavish studio. It was somewhat like a TV with rabbit ears, but the screen was inside your head. The rabbit ears were metal rods you touched so the “magnetic fluid” within the baquet, supposedly held in iron filings and “magnetized” water, could go into you like electricity.

Mesmer’s contraption was nothing new in the history of magnets and therapeutic mojo used by healers since antiquity. Cleopatra reportedly slept on an actual magnet as a skin treatment. But Mesmer’s magnetism, some invisible fluid captured by hocus pocus from empty space, went beyond its claimed power to heal whatever the ailment. It functioned as pastime, entertainment. If you touched one of the baquet’s rabbit ears you went bonkers, rolled on the floor, laughed, cried, kissed your brains good-bye. You were mesmerized. A fee was charged. It was quite the rage.

Those capable of analytical thought (Ben Franklin, to name one) dismissed Mesmer’s “animal magnetism” as nothing more than imagination. King Louis XVI, however, took it more seriously and formed a Royal Commission that concluded, “The spectacle of the crises [crazy responses] is…dangerous because of that imitation that Nature seems to have set as a law for us…In consequence, all public treatment at which the practice of magnetism is employed, can only have, in the long run, sinister effects.” He could not see what those long run, sinister effects would be, but did observe with concern magnetic imitators cropping up all over Paris to everyone’s great delight.

The modern version of Mesmer’s baquet is any object with a mesmerizing screen. Teenagers spend an average of nine hours a day in front of one and four thousand people a year die on the highway from having their attention taken away by its suggestive influence.

I used to demonstrate mesmerism as an educational program. School Assembly Service in Chicago booked me for thirty-six weeks at a time, traveling a thousand miles a week across ten Midwestern states performing two to four assemblies per day. I also worked through Dakota Assemblies, affiliated with North Dakota State University in Fargo, and appeared at a majority of all the high schools in the Dakotas as well as parts of Montana, Nebraska and Minnesota. This put me in more schools in a week, certainly in a month, than most teachers and administrators see in their entire career. A salesperson set up the routes a year in advance, scheduling me as well as folk singers, whistlers, jugglers and magicians who merged what they did with an educational “message,” however lame, to justify the cost, even though it was openly understood that the assembly was an excuse to get out of class for a little amusement. My program consisted of manipulating high school students into rowing imaginary boats and eating non-existent ice cream cones, talking Martian and meowing like cats. It was sold as “Mind in Action.”

There was something I didn’t realize at first because it happened so slowly. Over several years reactions to my program began to diminish. Demand itself declined from four hundred agency booked school appearances a year to fifty that I booked myself. Then half of that, and then half again. The same was true for the whistlers, jugglers and magicians along with their lame messages. School assembly agencies themselves went out of business one by one. With agencies gone, schools gave in to no-cost assemblies by military recruiters, religious proselytizers, or cops talking about drugs. A whole new administrative protocol emerged and principals receded into the background. They no longer wandered among their students like a shepherd tending their flock. They delegated assembly decisions to student committees loosely working under advisors. All pretense of educational message was gone and the committees were more likely to bring in local boy bands popular on Facebook.

The more television monitors I saw in halls and classrooms, the more computers I saw crowding out bookshelves in the library, the more channels available on TV, the more heads I saw looking down at gizmos in the palm, the less impressed they were by fantasy cats and Martians. I tried telling everyone to turn off their smartphones, thinking that would solve the problem of divided attention, but it was as impractical as telling everyone put away their shoes. I was competing against a whole new baquet.

In October of 2005 I arrived at the high school on Red Lake Indian Reservation in Minnesota. Because of widely publicized spree shootings at American schools, most notably Columbine, Red Lake took no chances and installed an airport-style weapons detector at the front door. Schools had been the busiest and most open public places in any community, but they became locked asylums. Two friendly security guards in street clothes were expecting me for my noon assembly. “It’s OK,” said one. “The machine isn’t turned on.” I was trustworthy enough to bypass the weapons detector. One of them escorted me to the gym to set up my sound system and arrange the chairs for volunteers.

I saw on the wall a notice that read: HICKEYS WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. Schools often had their own battle lines over one thing or another: wearing hats indoors, skirt length, printing on T-shirts. One school had a major issue over the π symbol written on walls and mirrors, referring to some incident “too complicated to explain.” Hickeys themselves were no surprise, but this was the first time I’d seen them as an overt issue. The sign went on to read: If you are seen with a hickey you will be sent to the office and it will be covered with makeup. If not, then you will be sent home. In an isolated place like the Red Lake Reservation, what else was there for teenagers to do but suck each other’s necks, especially with the thrilling knowledge that it was forbidden?

Rules against unconventional hairstyles had long since been abandoned in schools so I was used to every kind of coif, but nothing quite like the one on the hefty, alert-looking boy who passed me at the hickey sign. He had gelled his hair up on the back of his head into two horns. As one odd stranger to another we exchanged greetings and went our separate ways.

According to my personal show report, I began my demonstration at 12:01 and ended at 1:13 p.m. I wrote that the audience was unfocused at first, but once the subjects (eight males and six females) were put into a mesmeric state and given suggestions of fishing, surf boarding, and driving a monster bus, responses were adequate, but not as frenzied as past years.

Eighteen months later I saw the horn-haired boy’s face again. It was in the paper. He was identified as Jeff Weise (“Wees”). His grandfather was a police sergeant on the reservation. At 2:45 in the afternoon Weise, now sixteen, stole his grandfather’s police car and crashed it into the front of the school. At the weapons detector (whether it was turned on or not didn’t matter) he pulled out a semi-automatic pistol and shot to death one of the two friendly security guards. The other fled for his life. Weise proceeded to the left down the hall where I had first met him under the hickey sign, entered a classroom and murdered seven more people. Then he put the pistol in his mouth and pulled the trigger. That ended whatever state of mind he was in.

He was not one of my subjects a year and a half earlier and I can only assume he was among the spectators. Whether he was in a “trance state” during his murder spree is a matter of speculation. Whether he was in what’s called “baseline consciousness” is equally speculative. Perhaps he was in a state similar to the one he was in during those many hours he spent alone in front of modernism’s baquet, playing violent videogames and composing bloody “flashtunes,” murder animations composed with easily-obtained software and posted on Newgrounds.com. A year and a half earlier when I was at his school, if he had walked all the way down the hall to the gymnasium where the entire student body sat in the bleachers, he would have encountered a greater concentration of potential victims. Instead of the dubious distinction of enacting the second largest high school shooting in American history (after Columbine) he could have launched himself into first place. He certainly would have upstaged me.

When such an anomalous performance occurs people want answers. Simple ones easy to understand. If we just do this. If we just do that. There is no lack of professional advice. “Cause” is the operative word. Psychologist David Walsh, leading proponent of “scripts” theory, proposes that certain behaviors are “wired” into brains. Note the indirect reference to the combination of suggestive influence and electro magnetism. Dr. George Realmuto, University of Minnesota child psychiatrist, is quoted on Public Radio as saying that certain people are genetically predisposed to school shootings. “I don’t think we have a mechanism for stopping them,” he adds. Clearly, a costly weapons detector did nothing to stop Jeff Weise. One can focus on such proximate factors as bullying and treating mental distress, factors in Weise’s case and in most other school shootings, and addressing those issues, however imperfectly, is about all that can reasonably done besides the lock-ups and buzz-ins. Beyond that that we’d have to turn the clock back to an age of a simpler, less lethal baquet. Dr. Edward Shorter, Faculty of Medicine at Toronto University, says, “It’s hard to imagine an Adam Lanza [Sandy Hook massacre, twenty-eight dead] existing a century ago, before this culture of violence and depravity [was] available at the click of a mouse or press of a button.”

In August and September of 2004 Jeff Weise was deeply immersed in his private baquet on Newgrounds.com, a forum for videogames, many violent, like “Minute of Rage” (“Try to survive one minute on [sic] the deadly arena”) and “Outsourced Hell” (“Manage your own little hell in this dark idle game”). He posted his own reviews of several games and amateur animations, and, curiously, gave the highest rating to a notably nonviolent, minimalist piece titled “Hidden in the Snow,” consisting of just one static image of three small, white, meteor-like streaks on a black background. It’s not known whether Weise saw this image as a symbol of his own disintegrated family (he was the only child of an alcoholic mother and suicidal father), but he did make this comment: “Jawohl… you've managed to captivate my simple, and often moronic, child-like, mind.” He added, “lacks three things: content, naked women, and guns...” The artist responded to Weise’s comment by writing, “wth [what the hell] does jawohl mean?” All he had to do was Google the word and find it means “yes” in German. Why the German? Why did Weise identify himself elsewhere in a chat room as “Todesengel,” German for “Angel of Death”? Because, as a Native American mesmerized by the Internet, he had come to idolize Hitler and was active on the website Nazi.org.

He posted two flashtune animations on Newgrounds.com under one of his various pseudonyms, “Regret” (197 fans). The first was the thirty-second “Clown,” featuring a psychotic bozo trembling to a background of eerie death music by the goth band Evanescence. A male figure enters the frame and the clown grabs him. Cut to the clown’s big shoes on which splats a huge gush of blood.

“Target Practice” is another thirty-second flashtune by Regret with more complex animated movement. A male figure with no facial features except a horizontal bar across the eye area, appears carrying a bag. He coolly puffs a cigarette, removes an assault rifle from the bag and shoots four people, none of whom have faces either. One figure stands with hands behind its back as if a prisoner awaiting execution, another is simply a bystander, and another is sitting on a park bench. When the bullets hit, their heads explode in bursts of red. The shooter throws a hand grenade and blows up a police car before finishing off someone in, paradoxically, a Klan hood. Then he puts a pistol in his mouth and pulls the trigger in a final blood-burst of red. Something like that is more darkly stimulating in a primal way that a live person licking an imaginary ice cream cone. The similarities between “Target Practice” and Weise’s performance on March 21, 2005, are so obvious they hardly need pointing out. Beginning with the word “practice” in the title, it goes on from there. Similar flashtunes by others are just as violent, yet do not result in their creators committing mass shootings. But they still entrance and influence through the digital baquet. “Target Practice” is still posted on Newgrounds.com and registers over 500,000 views.

In their world of virtual unreality, the Columbine shooters, Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris, let the baquet’s mesmeric mania enter and take over their minds. With the imitative quality King Louis’s investigative Commission warned of, they influenced each other and a few pals to become a death cult known as the Trench Coat Mafia. When showtime came around, their staged performance, planned to coincide with Hitler’s birthday, left fifteen dead, including themselves, and twenty wounded, mostly among books in the school library. It was not from the interaction of their personal pathologies with books, but with the baquet.

Through the electro-mesmeric ether (electronic media) the power of suggestion traveled with the speed of thought into the mind of Jeff Weise in the Minnesota boonies. Spending more time at his computer than in the real world, his rational mind slid toward annihilation. Like Klebold and Harris before him he wore a long black trench coat. Like them he admired Hitler and planned his attack on the dictator’s birthday. During the Columbine massacre Harris asked one of his victims before shooting her, “Do you believe in God?” Weise parroted the same question before shooting one of his own victims.

Ironically, Benjamin Franklin, in Paris at the time and part of the Royal Commission, could not see the future power of his own discoveries in electricity to some day transmit mesmeric suggestions over great geographical distances. “Sensitive creatures,” as the Commission described them, in whom “reason has less empire over them,” combined with the discovery of Franklin’s electro-magnetic flow, set in motion the long line of interactive causation resulting in the Columbine and Red Lake massacres. A student in Tuusula, Finland murdered eight people at his own high school. Another Finnish shooter was alleged to have been in touch via the Internet with a teen planning a Columbine-style attack back in Pennsylvania. Evidence found in a chat room led to a similar plan at a school in Kaart, Germany. A plot in Göttingen was based on the anniversary of a school shooting in Emsdett, Germany. A similar plot was uncovered in Cologne. Five years prior, a school massacre in Erfurt was the largest mass killing at a German high school, exceeding even Columbine, with seventeen killed, including the shooter, who missed Hitler’s birthday by less than a week, landing instead on the birthday of William Shakespeare. Ironically, at the very moment Jeff Weise was shooting his classmates, a film on Shakespeare was being shown in a nearby classroom, which he overlooked because it was dark, and thought the room was empty. This grim juxtaposition of the pre-baquet (Shakespeare) with the post-baquet (Columbine) era is similar to another juxtaposition depicted in a photo in Beiler and Smucker’s Think No Evil, Inside the Story of the Amish Schoolhouse Shooting (2009), where an Amish horse and buggy passes by a “media horde” of satellite dishes relaying the event.

Criminologist Frank Robertz is quoted in the Guardian: “The phenomenon of massacres by young people in schools…has only existed since Columbine.” What Robertz does not mention, probably because he is not a mesmerist, is that the seeds of Columbine began to germinate when the two magnetisms (animal and electro) merged to massively inflate the imitative, unstoppable power of suggestion warned about centuries earlier. If nothing could be done about it then, most certainly nothing can be done about it now.

John-Ivan Palmer's work has appeared in Exquisite Corpse, Nth Position, Wild River Review, Wisconsin Review, New Oregon Review, and Other Voices. The Drill Press published his novel, Motels of Burning Madness, and in 2009 and he received the Pushcart Prize for fiction.