#so had a really horrible anxious response to anyone who wasn’t his people including friends he’d met before. this is huge for him

[catlordewrites]

Where the Roses Grow: Chapter Two

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

This story can also be found on fanfiction.net and Ao3.

@killtherandomness​

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mild violence, strongly implied child abuse, slavery and associated themes.

Chapter One - This Chapter  - Next Chapter

Chapter Two

It was hot.

The walk hadn't started out horribly. Despite her trepidation, she was still able to appreciate a change in scenery after being penned up in the compound for so long. Thankfully, they'd only been in direct sunlight for about a half hour. After that, they walked in the shade offered by the maze of shallow canyons that stretched out around the compound in every direction.

The baby was having the time of his life. He perched in his bassinet, happy as a clam as he watched lizards skitter in and out of cracks. Life in the compound had been boring for Elsi, but it had been even more frustrating for him. Elsi had done everything in her power to keep him entertained and happy, but a child needed more than his nanny to play with while locked in the same building for so long.

There had been so many games of hide-and-seek.

To him, the change in scenery was magical. He would communicate this to his caretaker, who would humor him by nodding and forcing a smile. He also tried talking to his new friend - the Mandalorian - who ignored him entirely.

Elsi, mindful of annoying a new master - even if it was only a temporary arrangement - had to repeatedly reinforce their little 'be quiet' signal. Each time she held her finger over her lips, the baby would dutifully copy the motion and fall silent, only to forget a minute or so later and go back to chittering for attention.

Not that she blamed him. Their joint existence had been a lonely one.

. ~0~0~0~

Elsi didn't dawdle.

'Daddy's special quests', as Hetta so eloquently put it, was a not-so-discreet euphemism for 'Underworld Contacts'. Like almost every nobleman that managed to cling to power through the rise of the Empire, Lord Burkisn made deals - most under the table, some not - with Imperial officials and dealers. Elsi didn't hold it against him; he was a politician, and that's what politicians did. But now that the Empire had fallen, Lord Burkisn was scrambling to appease the New Republic while still managing old promises.

Although the Empire was technically gone, the power and influence of the Imperial Underworld remained. When an Empire Remnant called in a favor, you did your best to accommodate.

Elsi's soft shoes were soundless on the shiny tile floors as she bustled through the ornate halls, keeping to the walls in order to avoid other servants and the odd protocol droid that bumbled past.

Lord Burkisn had a wide range of servants in his household - approximately a third of them were slaves. Droids could do a slave's work, but weren't nearly as fashionable. House slaves were much harder to replace; you couldn't program them or fix them when they broke. They had to be taught. Fed. Like most pets: a potentially expensive long term investment.

She bypassed the main study - where New Republic representatives were often hosted - and down a set of stairs into the lower levels of the house. Lord Burkisn's private study was well-cushioned and unassuming, but Elsi couldn't help but feel the very air had been tainted by the people that had been hosted there over the years.

If you thought there was nothing worse than a nobleman that both owned slaves and had the gall to manipulate the New Republic system into letting him keep them - you'd be very wrong.

The prospect of a baby was troubling. Why would Underworld entities have a baby in the first place? Let alone a sick baby? Even then, why the hell were they bringing it to HER? Surely they had deep enough pockets to buy their own doctors and nannies to care for it.

She reached the polished oak door and took a moment to straighten out her cotton dress, ensuring she was prim and every hair was in its proper place. This gave her a moment to eavesdrop.

The conversation came in bits and pieces, muddled by the door.

"... Hays Minor. They won't…"

"...sold… from spice dealers on… delivery."

"We couldn't take it to… when it's…"

Lord Burkisn's voice rose above the others, shrill and irritated. "Where the hell is that damn nanny? I paid twelve thousand credits for that overpriced whore…"

Elsi grimaced, realizing that she'd already pushed her luck too far, and knocked.

"Enter!"

Elsi eased her way into the room, head down with her eyes politely on her toes, hands folded chastely in front of her.

"About fucking time," he swore at her, which wasn't out of the ordinary. However, it WAS uncharacteristic of him to do so in front of business associates. Lord Harl Burkisn was tall and on the back side of middle aged with charmingly light blue eyes, chestnut hair streaked with grey at the temples, and impeccable jawline; handsome, really. He took great pride in his appearance. His usual suave, put-togetherness was a huge part of his professional image. "What took so long?"

Elsi lowered her head further in the perfect imitation of shame. "I came as soon as I was told, sir."

He growled under his breath, "Hetta…"

Elsi did nothing to confirm or deny the inference.

Thankfully, Burkisn moved on. He flicked his fingers to summon her closer. She obeyed without question.

Though her eyes were down, she quickly surveyed the room through her eyelashes. Her master was accompanied by two other men, a human and a twi'lek. They were reasonably well-put together, but their dark, closefitting clothes suggested mercenaries, not anyone high-ranking. They were all looming around Lord Burkisn's desk, upon which sat a large metal storage container.

Lord Burkisn led her to it and gestured for her to peer inside.

When Hetta had said that there was a baby, Elsi had assumed that it would be the child of another nobleman - perhaps a bastard that they didn't want their spouse to know about and were secreting away to live somewhere else.

She couldn't have been more wrong. Or confused.

It was a child, alright. A tiny green baby with massive bat ears held flat against a dirty brown sack of an overcoat. It was short, squat, and unlike anything Elsi had seen before.

The little creature was beyond pitiful; curled up in on itself like it was trying it's hardest to be swallowed up in the dirty sack that it wore, which was already much too big for it. It sat with its back to it's audience, pressing the front of its tiny green body into one corner of the box like it desperately wanted to hide.

It was awfully, awfully still.

Elsi's heart broke for it. She looked to her master for instructions.

Lord Burkisn seemed troubled. "Can you care for it?"

Elsi didn't like making promises. "I've cared for many children."

He scoffed and dragged a hand through his hair, making it stick out in every direction. "Yes. Yes. But this one?"

"I don't see why not. But…" She hesitated. "Is it alive?"

Burkisn whipped back around to study the child more closely. His eyes glittered nervously as his less practiced gaze caught what Elsi had seen at once: the unnatural stillness, how quiet it was. Children weren't supposed to act like that.

He turned and fixed the two couriers with a glare.

"Err…" The twi'lek shuffled nervously, very much out of his comfort zone. "Should be…"

"When did you last check?"

"This mornin'," the human said defensively. "It's been sluggish since we got it, but it hasn't done much since midweek. It just sits and stares."

"What changed then?"

"Nothin'! We kept in the landspeeder, just like always - "

"On Hays Minor? It's freezing there! And you just left it in the speeder?" Burkisn accused, dark eyes thunderous with disgust. "This precious, EXPENSIVE asset? And you've treated it so carelessly? Can you even BEGIN to understand what they'll do to m… to YOU… if it perishes? Do you change it? When's the last time it had anything to eat? Have you bathed it recently?"

Rich, coming from a man that hadn't done any of those things for a child in his life. Elsi wasn't fooled by the righteous tirade. It had nothing to do with the baby's welfare.

"Is it alive or not?" He went on to demand. He was worried. While coming to the 'rescue' of something valuable could be beneficial, having the asset die while under his roof would be very, very bad indeed.

The courier closest to the crate reached out a gloved hand and gave the box a sharp shake. Elsi was no stranger to cruelty; her expression didn't change.

The baby gave a barely audible squeak as it was loosened from its makeshift safe spot. Other than that, it's only response was to weakly shift to press its face back into its corner.

"See?" The twi'lek said triumphantly. "It's alive."

The poor thing was half frozen. Lonely and terrified. No wonder it was sick.

Elsi grit her teeth, anxious to be rid of the other adults so she could take over.

"If it's sick, shouldn't we take it to a medical facility?" The human courier piped up. His eyes ghosted over Elsi's form appraisingly. "No offense, but why're we just giving it to a house slave?"

Burkisn sniffed. "You've lost the right to make those decisions. And do you think I'd let my daughter, my own flesh and blood, be cared for by any less than the best?" He prodded Elsi roughly in the shoulder. "Your credentials."

Elsi's collar felt tighter than usual. It was the same practiced spiel she'd given to potential buyers since she was twelve, and she delivered it with less emotion than a droid. "Educated by the Flirkgen Order of Servitude, First Class. I am trained in all forms of childcare from birth to adulthood, including, but not limited to: childbirth, nursing, emergency first aid, education, and nutrition. To date, I have cared for…"

Burkisn silenced her with a wave of his hand. "You see? We can't risk calling for a doctor, anyhow. The asset doesn't exactly blend in, does it? And if they found out it…"

He cut himself off. Elsi didn't bother wondering who 'they' were.

"Can you care for it?" Burkisn repeated. "Nurse it back to health?"

"I'm not a doctor, master," Elsi said warily. She wouldn't know the full extent until she'd had a chance to look it over properly, but the poor creature already seemed half dead to her. "But I will certainly do my best."

"Good. It's settled." He clapped his hands with an air of finality. "You'll make it your top priority. All of your other duties are suspended till further notice."

That was fine by her, so long as she didn't have to be the one to tell Hetta. The child did NOT like sharing anything, especially the slaves that were at her beck and call. There were other childminder's in the household that were more than qualified to care for the master's child, but none of them were Elsi.

Elsi bowed deep. "Yes, master."

We waved her away. "Take it, then. I'll inquire later as to your progress."

With a final curtsy, Elsi bustled forward and picked up the crate, closing the lid in hopes of making the little creature feel a little safer. The metal was icy cold against her skin. Without a moment to spare, she hurried out of the room.

~0~0~0~ .

Elsi was exhausted.

The skin under her collar still burned, the already tender skin actively being rubbed raw by the collar every time she moved her head. Every muscle in her body threatened to give out at a moment's notice. She moved in constant fear that the next step would be the one to send her sprawling to the ground.

She wasn't sure she wanted to suffer that brand of embarrassment today. Not that she had much pride left after a lifetime of humiliation and servitude, but she already had enough to worry over.

She stumbled a few times, but didn't fall. She kept walking.

After several hours, their pace had begun to slow. With every step, a little of the strength she'd pretended to have was leached away. It took everything she had to put one foot in front of the other.

The Mandalorian didn't comment, but Elsi noticed how the brisk, utilitarian pace he'd originally set had dwindled to something that was clearly designed to accommodate her. She appreciated, yet hated it.

Being thought of as weak was usually a good thing. But it wasn't in this case because it was the truth. Being underestimated gave her an edge, one that - staring at the tattered, dirty cloak of the silent wall of armor that stalked silently ahead of her - she wished she still had.

The baby finally settled down, tired from the day. He sat in his bassinet, nibbling his cloth frog and peering out at the changing scenery. His dark eyes flickered as he sought out the lizards that occasionally darted across their path.

Elsi knew he must be getting hungry. She was, too. Their last shared meal had been that morning, and it was well into late afternoon now. Elsi was used to functioning on very little; years of being fed the bare minimum had taught her to ignore the empty gnawing in her gut.

She didn't want the baby to have to learn the same way she did, but had a feeling that the Mandalorian wanted to get somewhere specific before nightfall. The canyons weren't exactly the best place to spend the night. Too many places for an enemy to hide.

She would wait until then before asking for a brief respite to feed her charge.

As if to confirm her suspicions about the canyons, the Mandalorian suddenly came to a halt. He lifted a gloved hand, cautioning Elsi to do the same. It was unnecessary, of course, because she'd heard it as well.

A near-silent footstep. The soft clink of a rock being kicked out of place and knocking into another. A quick, panted breath.

Then silence.

Elsi cast a warning glance at the baby, who didn't need to be directly told to stay silent. The adults' sudden tension was more than enough. He gripped his frog tighter.

Elsi watched the Mandalorian closely, taking note of the tension in his shoulders, waiting for some kind of signal.

She saw the Mandalorian's hand ghost over his blaster.

When the first bounty hunter exploded out of the shadows, Elsi was already on the move. While the Mandalorian met the threat, both of them, head on, Elsi made a beeline for the bassinet.

Sand flew as the sound of battle echoed throughout the narrow canyon. The baby whined when she scooped him into her arms. She hushed him, giving him a little reassuring bounce before slinking away from the conflict.

The baby cried out, distraught. He'd tried to take his frog with him, but dropped it. Elsi cast a glance backward to see it lying prone in the sand, only a few meters away from where the bounty hunters fought.

She went on, melting into the shadows and through a passage in the canyon walls. Worst case, she could make him another.

Elsi turned twice down different paths before deciding they'd gone far enough. She leaned her back against the stone, tucking them away in a dip in the rock face. The sounds of the fight had faded, leaving the pair washed in a heavy silence. Elsi struggled to quiet her breathing, which rasped loudly in her throat as she fought to catch her breath.

The baby buried his face against her chest and grumbled.

"Froggy's fine," she sighed, tipping her head back against the rock and closing her eyes. "We'll get him in a minute."

From what she'd seen, the Mandalorian had been holding his own fairly well, so hopefully they'd be able to go back to the bassinet in a few minutes. Not that she wanted to go with the faceless hunter, but for now she preferred him to the others. At least she was almost certain that he didn't have any immediate plans for killing her or the baby.

Also, he had her fob. She couldn't go very far without it.

Suddenly, the Mandalorian was there. He appeared without warning, scaring the shit out of Elsi - though she'd never show it.

He was more or less unscathed except for a gash in his upper arm. It looked nasty, but he seemed unbothered.

His helmet ticked forward minutely. "You good?"

Elsi's response was collected and emotionless. "Yes."

The child chirruped to say that he was fine, too, thanks for asking.

The Mandalorian cocked his head slightly, then held something out to him. The baby's ears perked forward when he recognized the beloved patchwork frog sitting in the warrior's hand. He gave a squeal of delight and all but threw himself out of Elsi's arms to get it.

Elsi almost dropped him, but was able to adjust fast enough to prevent him from falling. With a weary sigh, she moved to place the baby back in his bassinet, which still floated obediently at the Mandalorian's elbow.

The baby hummed happily and snuggled down in his blankets, squishing Froggy against his cheek.

Elsi's quick eyes went back to the gash on the Mandalorian's arm, then lowered submissively, fixing on the diamond shaped indent on his cuirass. "Your injury looks painful. I can dress it, if it pleases you."

His shoulders settled back; in surprise, Elsi thought.

"It's fine," he rasped. "We need to keep moving."

Elsi didn't argue.

. ~0~0~0~

Despite the awkwardness of the box, Elsi took the steps of the narrow servants' staircase two at a time, doing her best not to jostle the baby.

She winced and murmured an apology when she accidentally bumped it against a wall as she turned a corner, feeling the occupant slide from one corner to another.

Elsi bumped the door to her room open with her hip, and then closed it with her foot. As the head child-minder of a prestigious household, she had been granted her own quarters. She was still a slave, so it wasn't much: a small bed, a fireplace, a couple of chairs, a minuscule refresher, and a table that was covered with her current sewing projects.

She swept the half-finished articles of clothing off the table without a second thought, no longer caring if they got trampled and dirty, then sat the crate gingerly in their place.

Finally alone, Elsi flipped open the lid. Now she was closer, she caught a whiff of what could only have been the child; an unpleasant mix of bodily waste and mildew.

A distraught sigh hissed between her teeth. Elsi cautiously moved to pick up the baby.

The baby seemed to know she was coming and pressed itself more firmly into the corner. She crouched beside the table so that she was level with the box, reaching out tentatively towards the cowering child to smooth the fuzz on the back of its head.

The baby squeaked weakly, somehow succeeding in making itself look smaller. Elsi recoiled. Time was at the essence, but the last thing it needed was to be frightened even more.

"It's okay," Elsi hummed in her most reassuring voice, the same tried-and-true one used to soothe nightmares. She settled back just enough to kneel in the chair and rested her forearms on the edge of the crate.

The baby whined.

"Hey, hey. Shhh," she murmured, reaching out again and brushing her knuckles gently down the baby's spine. It quivered. She repeated the motion, "It's okay. You're okay. Shh."

The baby gave a plaintive squeak that was muffled by the side of the crate.

"Yeah, I know you're cold," she crooned. "Will you let me warm you up?"

The baby didn't comment, but it did turn its head, daring to peer at her with dark, watery eyes. Elsi noted the crusty discharge that had dried at the corners. Then the dampness of its nose.

"Can I hold you?" She asked, holding out her hands to it expectantly.

The baby squeezed its eyes shut.

Elsi figured that it was the closest thing to permission she was going to get. She gingerly wrapped her fingers around the baby's middle and lifted. He weighed next to nothing; she could wrap her hands all the way around him. She immediately transferred him to her chest, tucking his fuzzy head under her chin. Tiny claws curled into the fabric covering her collarbones.

Holding him in place with one hand, she bustled around the room, humming softly for the baby's sake as she unearthed cloth diapers, towels, and wash rags.

She took the supplies to the refresher, where she spread out one of the towels on the counter next to the sink, which she then filled partway with warm water. The child was far too small to consider using the tub.

Careful to cradle his head, Elsi eased the baby down on the counter. His sallow green skin stood out starkly against the fluffy white towel. The child stared up at her blankly through half-closed eyes.

"We're gonna get you clean, m'kay? The water's nice and warm for you. Then maybe you'll feel a little better. That sound good?" She explained to him kindly, but he only blinked in response.

The baby was heartbreakingly easy to manipulate out of his clothes, making her suspect that he was used to being handled roughly. She made a point to be as gentle as possible.

"Do you like bubbles?"

Before his bath, Elsi wiped him down and checked for injuries. He didn't react much to the water, leaning heavily into the hand that was keeping him propped up while she smoothed his skin with the gentlest soap she had and ran a kitten-soft washcloth over his ears.

After, she wrapped him in a small clean blanket instead of redressing him. His tiny robes would need to be cleaned before she would even consider putting them on him again, and even then, they were past use.

She would make him others, but that would take some time.

She laid him against her chest, lifting one of his little three-fingered hands to her lips to press a kiss to his knuckles. Elsi toed off her shoes and settled down on her bed. The baby snuffled a little, but otherwise stayed quiet as she tugged the other blanket over top of them both.

He felt much warmer now, at least. Elsi nuzzled the top of his head, breathing in the gentle smell of flowers from the soap. The baby mumbled softly before blinking his eyes closed.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep. Elsi rubbed her hand up and down his back. Pressed kisses to the top of his head. Stoked his ears. Hummed a lullaby. Then another.

It seemed that he had given up, but children could be dazzlingly resilient. As awful as he seemed now, he could be up and playing in a day or two. She'd seen it before. Hopefully, a little love and attention would be enough to breathe a little life back into the poor little runt.

She wasn't optimistic, but that wouldn't stop her from trying.

~0~0~0~ .

The trio walked well into the evening, not stopping until the canyons were far behind them and they were surrounded by nothing but flat, rocky plains.

Elsi saw the logic. Out here, nothing could sneak up on them. The Mandalorian would see or hear anything a long time before it became an active threat.

Though she appreciated the strategic value of the decision, she loathed the bounty hunter for forcing them to travel so far before resting.

The last of the sun's rays were fading below the horizon, painting the desert in a myriad of lovely violet hues. The Mandalorian chose a flat-ish expanse of rock to kneel down, producing a collapsible lantern. He set it down at the center of the space and turned it on, casting them all in an orange glow.

"We'll camp here tonight."

Music to Elsi's ears. She all but collapsed to the ground, disguising her exhaustion as productivity by immediately starting to dig through the russack bag. She found the water and two jerky ration packs that she and the baby would share. She uncorked the water and drank, nursing it to make it last.

"Muu?"

The last few hours had them walking directly into the setting sun, prompting Elsi to close the bassinet shutters so as to offer the baby some shade. He'd been quiet for the most part, but now that they'd stopped moving, he seemed to have enough reason to draw attention to the fact that he still was still secluded.

"Muuuu?" Muu? A soft, drawn-out squeaky sound, always turned up at the end like a question. It was the baby's name for his caretaker. It was cute, really. So much better than Nan.

Elsi forced herself back to her feet, ignoring the screaming of her aching muscles in favor of retrieving the baby. When the shutters peeled away, he rewarded Elsi with a wide, toothy grin.

Mood slightly improved, she got him out, but also tugged the bassinet over to where she'd been sitting: away from the Mandalorian.

The baby trilled conversationally at the bounty hunter, who continued ignoring him. In the time it had taken Elsi to get the baby and sit back down, the Mandalorian had removed his cuirass and sat prodding at its inner workings with a tool from his belt.

The baby was entranced by the occasional shower of sparks tossed into the air as the Mandalorian worked, but not so much that he was distracted from consuming every morsel of food Elsi placed in his greedy little hands.

She figured that she ought to hurry. While she was no expert on Mandalorians, she was vaguely aware of the limitations regarding the helmet. He hadn't been able to eat or drink all day, and while Elsi didn't really care much for his welfare, she knew she would if he became frustrated and decided to take it out on her. He could also die from heatstroke, which would essentially trap her and the baby in the middle of the desert.

Until a better option presented itself, he was their best bet.

Elsi didn't give two shits about seeing his face. She had better things to worry about than satisfying basic curiosity - especially curiosity that could end with him killing her out of rage. If he simply asked her to not look, she wouldn't. As her (temporary?) owner, he could also order her not to look, and she'd have no choice but to obey.

But she didn't think he would do either. The Mandalorian would probably wait until they'd both fallen asleep to remove his helmet; which was absolutely no problem for Elsi - she was already half-asleep sitting up. The baby was a little trickier. Elsi would have to make sure he was asleep before settling down herself.

Luckily, the baby hadn't slept much throughout the day. By the time he finished eating, he was snuggling into Elsi's shoulder, making the soft little grumbling noises he made when he was tired.

Elsi hummed to him, soft enough that only he could hear, rubbing his back in time with the melody. It was an old slave song, one she distantly remembered her mother singing for her when she was fussy and small.

The humming also kept the baby from hearing the sounds that the Mandalorian was making. Forgoing Elsi's offer to clean and dress the wound on his arm, he'd settled on cauterizing it with the same tool he was using to repair his armor.

It looked painful. She almost insisted that he stop and let her tend him, but then remembered that she didn't care.

Elsi tucked the sleeping baby in the bassinet, ensuring he was snuggly wrapped in his blankets and clutching his stuffed frog before she closed the shutters.

Confident that he would sleep through the night, Elsi lay down on the stony ground with the russack bag tucked under her head. Mindful to keep her back to the Mandalorian, she allowed her exhausted and abused body to finally rest.

~0~0~0~ .

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[midnightrooftops]

Don’t Blame it on the Kids

Drabble #2

Story here

Summery: Shouta talks with All Might.  Drabble.

Characters: Shouta Aizawa (Eraserhead), Yagi Toshinori (All Might)

MANGA SPOILERS: ch. 303 (well past season 4 of the anime) post-war arc

TW: mention/referenced abuse, mention/reference character death, canon-typical violence, PTSD, amputation, hospitals, panic/anxiety

“Oh, this is a cool one,” Mic says, holding out his phone for Shouta to see. “I think this is what Rumi is getting.”

Aizawa is ignoring him as he looks over the file in front of him. 

“She’s getting an arm, not a leg.”

“Yeah, but I think this is the designer.” Mic goes back to browsing. “You think about that fake eye yet?”

“I’m not becoming a cyborg,” Aizawa says, too tired to put any malice in his voice. He rubs his eye from the mention of it and holds back a flinch at the image he sees. He’s getting used to blinking and seeing the fight, really, he is. It’s annoying as hell, though.

“But it’d be so cool,” Mic continues. “Matching glowing eyes. Tracking system to lock on your prey.”

“And yet, I still wouldn’t be able to see 3D movies,” Aizawa deadpans. He’s grateful for Mic, though. The first few days were tough, but Hizashi has gotten better about downplaying it all and Shouta is thankful for it. He can handle losing a leg and an eye. He can. But he didn’t have to weep about it.

“You don’t even go to movies,” Mic says and he’s back on his phone again.

There’s a soft knock on the door, so soft it doesn’t even register to Aizawa until he hears Mic get up.

“Hey there big guy,” he says in his friendly DJ voice. It’s still softer than normal but Aizawa owes that to it being a hospital more than Mic’s sense of comfort for his friend.

“Hello Hizashi,” All Might says and Aizawa looks up and past the curtain to see the skeleton of the man in the door frame. “Could I have a moment with Aizawa?”

“More secrets?” Mic presses but he’s only teasing the old man. All Might, for his worth, looks ashamed by it. Mic laughs, pats him on the shoulder and offers Shouta a wave. “I’m off to refresh the playlist,” he says. “Text me if you want anything from the cafeteria.”

“Thanks,” Aizawa says and watches Mic leave. 

All Might closes the door. Not all the way, but enough to imply privacy. He shuffles slowly across the room to the chair next to Aizawa’s bed and sits gingerly.

“When are you getting out?” All Might asks.

“Tomorrow,” Aizawa says, pushing the papers back into the manilla folder. 

All Might nods. “They expect Midoriya can leave by the end of the week.”

“That’s good.”

“Indeed.”

The silence settles between them. Aizawa let’s it. 

“He hates the hospital,” All Might says and Aizawa almost lets out a real laugh. Of course he does. The poor kid spent more of his first year of high school in the hospital than actual classes. But the reason why that’s the case dries up Shouta’s amusement. 

“He doesn’t say that, of course,” All Might continues. “He wouldn’t talk back to a nurse or doctor. He’s not like me. I fought them tooth and nail any time I ended up here.” A smile creeps onto his face. “No, but I can tell. He gets anxious as soon as he has energy back in his body. He’s desperate to leave, even now. After telling you, I could see how eager he was to go home.”

“Was it his decision?” Aizawa asks, knowing why All Might has come.

“Yes.” All Might looks at Aizawa and his eyes are heavy but honest. “It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you.”

“I know.”

“It’s a big responsibility.” It’s an excuse.

“Too much for a kid,” Aizawa says.

All Might nods. For his worth, he seems to sincerely agree. “In my retirement, I’m beginning to think it’s too much for anyone to bear.”

Aizawa sees the way his shoulders hunch, the way his spine, even through the suit, is still visible. He sees the skin pulling at the man’s face and hears the rattle of blood in his breath. For all the times All Might has been in his natural form around Aizawa, he never wanted to see the hero. It was a painful sight. 

He thinks, for all Shouta’s criticism, he can agree with that. Which begs the question…

“Why him?”

Why Midoriya? Granted, he knew now he knew nothing of the kid. He’s been pouring through Midoriya’s records, trying to figure him out, trying to make sense of what he was just told.

A smile crosses All Might’s face and his eyes aren’t looking at anything in the present anymore, they’re seeing the past.

“He asked me, once, if a quirkless kid could be a hero. And for all my honor and duty, I told him no.”

Quirkless? Quirkless?!

“And then, when a villain was attacking his friend and no other heroes, including myself, could step up to save him, Midoriya ran straight into the fight.”

Aizawa knows about the sludge monster incident. Mostly from Bakaugou’s file but he knew Midoriya was involved. Jumping in without permission. It was a red mark against the kid.

But not in the version All Might told.

“Put simply, that boy reminded me why I was a hero. He has that power inside him, the one we can’t teach, the one that has nothing to do with One For All.”

Aizawa knows what he’s talking about. Usually, it’s the reason why Midoriya is the problem child of the problem class. But it’s a spirit he’s seen in the best heroes.

“I know you don’t agree,” All Might says. “I thought All For One was dead. I thought he had more time. Time to grow and develop...” All Might bows his head. “It’s no excuse.”

It’s not, but it explains some things.

“You said he was quirkless?”

All Might nods. “I should think that’s his part to tell,” he says and again, Aizawa can agree with that. 

But…

Damn. Midoriya being quirkless makes sense. Aizawa remembers the beginning of the year. He remembered the entrance exam. 

Midoriya wasn’t a lazy kid. He wasn’t just overusing his quirk to get attention or try to impress people, like Shouta originally assumed. He literally had no control. 

“Who else knows?” All Might looks confused and Aizawa supposes this was one of the things he missed in the discussion earlier.

“Nedzu,” he says and Aizawa has to hold back a groan. Of course he did. At least All Might wasn’t the only one at the school to blame. “Chiyo. Mirai did. Detective Tsukauchi and young Bakugou.”

Aizawa nearly chokes on his own spit.

“Bakugou?”

“He’s been helping Midoriya train,” All Might says and… yeah. That makes a lot of sense. Aizawa can probably put a date on exactly when Bakugou learned. 

“The after-hours fight?”

All Might nods and there’s a smile in his eyes. 

Of course.

“He respects you,” All Might says. “It’s one of the reasons why he didn’t tell you. Not just because I asked him to keep my secret, but I suspect he didn’t want to influence how you saw him. From my time knowing him, he hasn’t shown the least interest in fame or admiration. He wants to be the best, but not for the title. He wouldn’t want you to judge him based on my quirk.”

“He’s going to have serious issues,” Aizawa says and All Might coughs, spitting blood. Aizawa doesn’t let go of his glare. “You gave a quirkless child the perhaps the most powerful quirk in the world and asked him to carry on your legacy. These kids are under enough pressure at school.”

All Might had the good sense to look ashamed but then he smiled.

“I know it’s unfair to ask it of Midoriya,” he says. “And, to be truthful, part of keeping the quirk a secret is so that he doesn’t have to carry on my legacy.” All Might’s eyes twinkle and Aizawa doesn’t know if it’s tears or just how he looks when he’s inspired. He’d believe either. “When I gifted young Midoriya my quirk, it was to give a quirkless child a chance to achieve his dreams. He was never supposed to face All For One. I thought I had ended that monster. On my life, I thought he was gone.”

It was the closest to hatred Aizawa had ever seen from All Might. The tone of his voice, while still constrained, seethed something Aizawa never heard from the hero. He couldn't tell if it was directed at the villain or the hero himself.

Shouta sighs, his head pounding with this new information. Not just that Midoriya was supposed to face this horrible threat but that Bakugou knew about it and that, perhaps, some of the other students. He wasn’t even focusing on Todoroki yet and all the news about his life out there. 

“It’s not my business,” he says. 

“I’m respecting Midoriya’s wishes,” All Might says. “He wants you to know. And I’m glad you do. Without you, I can’t imagine what would’ve happened to him.”

What would’ve happened to Midoriya? It was Midoriya, Bakugou and Todoroki who had saved Aizawa in the fight. For all the pro heroes there that day, those three showed up and beat the villain back. He could scold them. But when had that worked before? And, as he was currently down a leg and eye, he couldn’t fault them. 

Even when it was Midoriya who, after identifying the threat, had run and led the villain away from civilians. While he could scold Midoriya for returning to the fight, Aizawa would be dead if the boy hadn’t returned. How do you explain that to an up-and-coming hero sworn to protect others?

Even so, all three of them had gotten so close to unlucky. That’s what it was, really. He could preach all he wanted about talent and skill. But in the end, sometimes it was pure luck. Sometimes, it was just him who got picked up over another hero and that’s how he’d survive. Sometimes it’s self-sacrifice, sometimes it’s just luck. Sometimes he thinks-

“Aizawa?”

Shouto looked up, unaware how long had passed since their last exchange. He couldn’t remember the last thing they spoke about.

“I suppose I should let you rest.” All Might moves to leave.

“All Might,” Aizawa says, then corrects himself. “Toshinori. Thank you for telling me. I’ll teach him everything I know.”

He doesn’t think he sounds desperate, he hopes he doesn’t. He doesn’t know why his heart is beating so fast. He doesn’t understand why he’s suddenly so upset.

But All Might, Toshinori, gives him a small, soft and warm smile and nods. 

“I wouldn’t trust him to anyone else,” All Might, former number one hero, says. He leaves the room.

Aizawa doesn’t know why the room is spinning. He doesn’t hear when Hizachi comes back. He hears his ridiculous excuse of a joke bring him back to the present and settles back in.

#shouta aizawa #eraserhead #all might #yagi toshinori #bnha #bnha fanfic #drabble #manga spoilers

[ts-unsolved]

Final Wrap-up for Chapter One

((since chapter one will be coming to a close shortly and there is still an assortment of questions left over, here is a masterpost of responses to queries that couldn’t be addressed during the story! 

[reminder: the ask box will be left open, however the characters are not available. please keep in mind that non-plot related questions will not be answered by the characters after this post.]

Anonymous said: ((Just wanted to tell you your drawings are so pretty and I love ur blog. That is all I have no braincells to ask questions))

Anonymous said: OKAY MOD I JUST WANT YOU TO KNOW I LOVE THIS AU SO MUCH AND ITS SO COOL AND GOOD AND YOUR ART IS TOO!! sorry for caps I’m just excited

Thank you! Sorry I didn’t always get around to answering asks like this, but for every one that was sent in, I appreciated it with all my heart. You guys are angels 💖

Anonymous said: What is one haunted location you guys would really like to visit someday?

Poveglia is definitely the highest on the list for the notoriety alone, although they would likely never get the permission to go (the history in general is almost excessively horrible and tragic, so nothing good would come out of doing an episode there. Maybe it’d be good as a final-chapter type location? 🤔).

@anxious-fander-bean​ said: Hey Logan, have you ever tried swing dancing? It's really fun and good excersize! There's also a lot of bouncing and upbeat music, so Patton might enjoy it as well! ((I'm doing it. I need the qpp boys to be happy and have fun, bc they deserve it.))

(LOGAN: I’ll...consider it.)

You did it, you got them to go on some good ol’ platonic dates! B)

Anonymous said: I feel bad that I don't have any deep question or something along those lines, but what's your favorite thing to bake, Pat? - 💐

That’s alright! Questions don’t have to be deep to be fun/interesting. 

(PATTON: Cupcakes! You can make so many different flavors, and there are tons of fun ways to decorate them!)

@why-should-i-tell-youu2 said: Why cant anyone else see the seal?

You need to have The Sight to be able to see demon sigils. Patton has this ability naturally, and Dee has it because Elliott taught it to him. Otherwise, Virgil and Roman would be the closest in terms of gaining this ability, but a scared/skeptical part of them is holding them back. 

Anonymous said: My good dorks, is there a way to, I don’t know, get a better/more effective charm for your office? One that costs more than $10? -🍁

Anonymous said: Hey, Logan, potential naturalistic explanation for ya: depending on what the charm was made of, shifts in ambient room temperature could have caused minuscule expansions and contractions in the material that would eventually crack the charm. Do I believe my own explanation? Absolutely not. Am I grasping at straws for a non-supernatural explanation? Absolutely. And ambient room temperature doesn’t even begin to explain the red symbol around the charm

(LOGAN: Our budgeting is already a mess as it is, the last thing we need is to waste more funds on decorations. And that theory seems much more reasonable than the contrary explanation.)

Anonymous said: Is the demon that Pavreen summoned the same demon that possessed Elliott?

Anonymous said: Welp Virge SUMMONED A DEMON- (Why do I have a feeling Remy was the demon that possessed Elliot-)

Nope, they’re all different demons! The demon that Parveen summoned is notoriously difficult to contact, so a bunch of teenagers wouldn’t have been able to do it. Likewise for Remy; you can only summon him once you have his True Name, and he’s already destroyed most references to that (sorry Patton).

Anonymous said: omg omg omg what part of mythology is remy part of???

He’s not from any particular mythology, but he is partly based off of Alps from German folklore and the general mythology around sleep paralysis!

Anonymous said: Can Patton see supernatural beings like ghosts and demons and stuff? I just think it would be interesting if his scars make him able to see them :3c

Anonymous said: If both Dee and Patton can see the sigil, and Dee can see ghosts, does that mean Pat can see ghosts too? With the whole red glowing thing (forgot what its called) it seems to be connected.

Yes he can see ghosts/demons, and you’re right that the scars (or rather the deal with the demon which gave him his powers and scars) are what lead to him being able to do it. The red is just a general indicator of something supernatural/not of our Realm.

Anonymous said: Wait so if Patton and his family all have that mark could that mean Patton is not completely human 👀 -🌈

I supposed you could say that Patton’s not entirely human because he’s a witch who was born without a soul, but he’d find that pretty offensive tbh.

Anonymous said: Are Elliott and Patton maybe related, even distantly? Also, roman needs to suck it up and have Feelings for the Snake Man

There’s no relation between Elliott and Patton. Elliott is the child of a seer and a psychic, Patton is the son of witches. They’re similar, but different. (Also you’re assuming that Roman hasn’t liked the Snake Man since high school, but considered him off-limits because he’s his brother’s best friend).

Anonymous said: Does Patton know that Dee can see spirits and does Dee know that Patton is protecting them all?

Anonymous said: Dee, pat, do you know that each other can see the sigil? 

Anonymous said: is ... is patton a witch and dee a dee-mon and that's why they don't like each other.....?

Anonymous said: Pat what do you think about making deals with demons?

They’re both aware of each other’s secrets! Technically they’re both doing their best to protect everyone, but that doesn’t mean they agree with each other’s methods or bond over the shared responsibility. 

Patton is indeed a witch, and Dee is a regular human who happened to summon a demon one time. Patton thinks Dee is the occult equivalent of a satanist, which he disagrees with because dark magic is unnatural/dangerous in his eyes (making deals with demons only leads to trouble!), and would prefer Dee not endanger his friends. Dee doesn’t like Patton because of his perceived moral superiority, and finds the way he can be so secretive and two-faced creepy 

Regardless, they’re both sitting in glass houses and have more in common than they think.

Anonymous said: Patton Should Hug Dee *

Maybe. But he won’t. 8′D

Anonymous said: Since Dee has been able to see ghosts for a long time, was he an open believer in ghosts before Elliot died? Since it was mentioned that the reason he lies about his belief is because he knows that they're dangerous, he wouldn't have had a reason to hide it in the past. And if he did are any of the others aware of the belief change? Well, besides Remus. I'm guessing that one is pretty obvious.

He may have been more involved as a believer in the past, though that doesn’t mean he was ever super open about it. He was aware of how it would look like to outsiders (being genuinely skeptical at one point himself), so he wasn’t going to paint a target on his back by talking about ghosts and demons and things most people can’t see.

Of course, that didn’t stop people from stereotyping and making those sorts of assumptions about their friend group anyway, but no one besides them really knew about their secret-- not even Virgil.

Anonymous asked: What would happen if one time, the gang ended up getting something supernatural on camera?

The result of that would depend on the being. Ghosts can kinda appear on camera, although it’s very rare for them to appear as a full bodied apparition, which is why they usually only manifest in spirit orbs or light/shadows. Poltergeists are better since they’re able to interact with objects, but likewise since they can’t manifest into a physical form they can easily be brushed off. Demons and other miscellaneous creatures will straight up not appear if captured directly on film; you’ll simply get video glitches and distortions.  

So essentially, they may technically have found something already, but capturing evidence that’s also compelling is a lot more difficult than you’d think. I imagine there’s a good chance that anything legitimate wouldn’t get taken too seriously because of how easy it is to fake evidence nowadays.

Anonymous said: Okay so a little bit of a rant but not really ig but imagine the ladylike and unsolved crossover for this AU like I can see it as like Thomas' friends dressing up Roman and Dee in style and seeing a blushing mess and maybe flirting going on because of how good the clothing complements each other but this is kinda a weak idea lol

It’s not a weak idea at it, it’s really cute! (though I may just have a soft spot for the Ladylike cast and crossovers). 

The only thing to note is that I’ve chosen not to include Thomas’ friends in this AU because I personally weird about writing fiction about real people? (I was on the fence about including character!Thomas for a while too, tbh). So, apologies to anyone who’s sent similar asks or wanted to see any of Thomas’ friends; they wont be around!

Anonymous said: Did Dee and Remus ever have that talk Dee said he would try to have a while back????

They might have gotten the opportunity to chat back when Remus came back to help shoot the Room 1046 video. It wouldn’t have been a complete reconciliation by any means (dealing with years of baggage in one sitting is Hard), but now Remus is aware that Dee is open to discuss things again at some point in the future, so progress!

Anonymous said: wait wHAT?! When did he (Emile Picani) die?? Give us the deets oh wise one

Anonymous said: emile is... dead? what happened?

I see y’all, but unfortunately you’re not getting any answers from me just yet! You’ll have to wait until the next chapter~.

Anonymous said: Shit is about to go down and I am worried about the next ghost "adventure"

:) Don’t Worry About It.))

#OOC #((that should be all the big questions! #i'll update this later if anything comes up))

[imaginefodlan]

I have something! How about a feral Dimitri x fem Byleth one? During the war, Byleth has had to restrain and keep Dimitri under control, which includes him privately abusing her and emotionally insulting her, even using her body for his own needs. Each passing day, he breaks her over and over. After the war, when it was decided that she would be Archbishop, she breaks down and is ready to run far from Fodlan when Dimitri stops and comforts her.

Precursory Disclaimer: TW for Stockholm syndrome, a bit of gaslighting, verbal and physical abuse, and generally a lot of toxic behavior.

Okay, so Dimitri. Sweet baby Dimitri. He’s just not the same after Byleth disappears. He’s completely feral, driven mad by grief over all the people who’ve given their lives to protect his. He hears their voices everywhere he goes, haunted by the memories of his dear friends and protectors telling him how worthless he is, how unimportant he is, how unfortunate it was that they had to die for his sake, above anyone else’s.

This seriously fucks with him, to the point that when Byleth does reappear, five years later, he can’t bring himself to believe it’s really her. He feels a bit better that way, because if it’s not really her, he can take his aggression out on her more easily than if he were to believe it was. He worships Byleth. He doesn’t want to hurt Byleth. But at the same time, he doesn’t really believe this is her. He can’t. What if it’s some shapeshifter like Kronya, here to take away everything he ever cared about from him all over again? So in public, he keeps his distance. In private, he berates her, slanders her, curses her. He tells her over and over how she isn’t needed, isn’t wanted here. How she abandoned him, abandoned the war efforts when they needed her most. How she’s the reason he lost his eye. 

Anytime they’re alone, especially in the privacy of his chambers at night, he finds some sick sort of relief in belittling her in any way he can. He grabs her by the wrist, by the hair, by wherever he can grab her. He manhandles her, and forces himself on her more times than Byleth cares to count (she doesn’t exactly say no out loud, but is more than passive enough to indicate she isn’t offering enthusiastic consent - more that she’s just going along with it in hopes it’s what he needs to help get him back to normal). If this is what he needs, if this is how she can prove she’s here, for him and him alone, then she’ll put up with it all for him. She’s dedicated to him, to giving him what he needs from her to understand that he’s not alone anymore. But over time, it weighs on her that he seems to hate her, and seems more than willing to torment her than to show her any sign of affection, and eventually, she just can’t deal with it anymore.

She puts up with Dimitri’s horrific behavior behind closed doors from the moment she returns tp the Monastery until the moment the war ends and Dimitri is officially crowned the King of Faerghus. The moment she’s told she’s meant to be the next Archbishop of the Church of Seiros, to rule alongside him, though? She’s out the door faster than anyone could imagine, sprinting toward the Monastery gates. The Gatekeeper can hardly call out “Hello Professor!” before she’s out the gates. She runs as fast and as far as she can, until she reaches the Red Canyon, and enters the ruins of Zanado.

She cries there for a long while, hidden amongst the ruins, just wishing Sothis could tell her what she should do now. She hopes more than anything that being there, in Sothis’ home, will help her hear what Sothis thinks she should do, although it’s to no avail. She gets no response, of course. As much as she wished she would, she knew she wouldn’t get a response. But Byleth can’t handle more of Dimitri’s abuse, she can’t lead a nation with him when he clearly doesn’t trust her or care about her in the way she does him. She can’t handle being alone with him anymore. She can’t keep putting herself through it, no matter how much she’s loved him over the years. So, she resolves she needs to leave.

It’s a few hours later when she hears the hoof-beats of a lone horse pounding into the ground. Tucked away in an alley, she peeks out to see who is riding toward her. 

It’s Dimitri. Byleth can’t fathom why he’s come here. He wouldn’t come looking for her. He hated her, or at least, that’s how he acted. Why would he come looking for her? She withdrew deeper into the alley, hiding in the shadows, until-

“Byleth? I know you’re here. Come out, now.” His voice rumbles, soft and deep. “We clearly need to talk.” Byleth barely suppresses her surprised gasp at the lack of abusive language, at how much he sounds like the Dimitri she once knew, long before the war. He’d hardly said a single sentence to her that wasn’t full of aggression or abuse since before the war began, all those years ago. She hesitates, but slowly creeps out from the alleyway into the main path through the ruined city, to hear him out, and eventually, to tell him she was leaving. 

“Wh-what do you want, Y-your Highness?” Byleth stumbled over her words, too anxious to speak without stuttering. She didn’t want to risk setting him off, but she wanted- no, needed, and frankly, deserved- answers. 

Dimitri looked over the woman before him, how she trembled like a leaf, observing how her tearstained cheeks quivered with anxiety as she stumbled over her words, just to try and convey to him a simple question. It was as if he suddenly understood what he’d been doing to her from the moment she came back into his life. “I understand you’re scared. I- I’ve been horrible to you this last year, and I... I know I can’t atone for that. But I need you to know, as selfish as it is, that I want you here, with me. I want you to rule at my side, to be my advisor and my companion. I want you to stay with me, so please... Please, don’t leave me alone again.” He rambles, trying not to cry himself at the thought that the woman he had loved for years might leave because of his disturbing, awful behavior.

Byleth couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her. “I- You-” She hesitated, looking away from him. She spoke carefully, her voice low, devoid of emotion as she steeled herself against him. “What happened to me not being needed, or wanted, King Blaidyyd? What makes you think I’ll be willing to stay for you, when you’ve treated me so terribly? Why shouldn’t I walk away right now?”

Dimitri was shocked at the cold tone of voice and the unfamiliar title she used to address him. “Byleth, have I not shown you my love over the years? I’ve made love to you numerous times, shown you how I feel.” He couldn’t comprehend that his behavior was completely uncivilized and unloving, despite how he had interpreted and intended it.

Byleth laughed harshly, scoffing at him as her eyes blurred with tears. She had to stand her ground now, or she never would. “Your love? You think that’s what you’ve been showing me by abusing me with every aggressive word that leaves your mouth, with every bitemark and scratch and cut you’ve left on me? With every time you’ve rutted against me for your own release and played with me for your own entertainment? You think that’s love, now? The Dimitri I once loved would have known better than to call that love.”

Dimitri frowned, biting back a curse. “Is that what you think? I- I know I’ve been harsh, and crass, but have I truly been so unbearable that you can’t see how much I care for you still?”

Byleth shook her head. “The fact that you can’t understand that you have done nothing to show your care, shows just how long you have to go before you’re ready to truly love someone. I’m leaving, Dimitri. I can’t stay here and take more of this from you. I can’t lead the church and deal with you at the same time. Goodbye, Dimitri. Maybe one day, our paths will cross again.”

She moved to cross his path to leave, but as she did, a hand reached down and settled on her head. She flinched, expecting him to grab hold and pull at her hair. She could feel the panic rising in her again, seeping into every crevice of her mind. But the expected pulling never came. Just a large hand resting firmly upon her head, stroking her hair in a surprisingly gentle way. The first gentle physical action he’d taken toward her in years. 

“I understand your urge to leave. I cannot blame you for it, because I caused it. But please, I beg of you, consider staying. You are powerful, intelligent, and beyond brilliant. You are what the people need, more than I, or any other leader. Fodlan needs you to lead them, and I need you to lead me. I swear by all that I know and all that I hope to learn that I will never willingly hurt you. Never again. I want nothing more than to worship you, and to serve our people together, for the rest of our days. I know I cannot reassure you, or make you trust me. But I put my faith and trust in you, whatever you choose to do. You can lead the church, and you can lead Fodlan. Together, there is nothing we couldn’t do for our people.”

Byleth sighs softly, looking up at him with slightly warmer eyes as she addresses him with a sort of fondness in her voice, a tone reserved for the Dimitri she knew all those years ago. “I promise you that I will consider your words thoroughly. For now, though, I must still leave. There are too many wounds that need time to heal before I’m ready to lead anyone properly. But I will return when it is time for me to take up the mantle of Archbishop, be it a year or five or ten from now. And when that time comes, we will talk again.” And with that, she pulled herself away from his touch, and walked away.

Five years later, Dimitri finds out through whispering rumors that a woman with mint green hair has returned from the eastern lands beyond Fodlan, and found her way to the Garreg Mach monastery. Not long after, he received word from Seteth that Byleth had finally returned to take her place as Archbishop, and would be visiting Faerghus to discuss unfinished personal matters with him at a later date. 

He can’t help feeling a sense of anxiety and giddiness at the opportunity he’s been blessed with to see her face again, and to speak with her once more. Whatever was to come of it, whether she would claim him as her own or not, he was ready to face her once more, and to show her he had taken his own time to heal and become a better man, a more deserving man, one who could be worthy of her love and affection, and who could reciprocate those feelings healthily.

[tiny-maus-boots]

Soulmates AU pt 1

Summary:  Inspired by Soulmates au and soulmates au pt 2 hc by @fandom-heaux . An AU in which everyone is born with a smudged birthmark. As you find your mate in life the smudge forms their name when you’ve made an impression on them. In this world Beca doesn’t realize she has any, let alone three.

Author’s Note: I’m gonna try this thing where I post once a week. I say try because…well. Tis I. Queen of zero follow through. I blame @chloes-yellow-cup for dragging me into this fandom and then making fics that have ruined me. RUINED ME. Let me clarify. RUINED ME.

 Beca

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

“You are not. Everyone has one. This dude I dated, Boochie, got dragged behind his ATV at Glamis and got a wicked road rash. Like peeled the whole fucking side of his body including his mark. The shit came back, darker. My hand to God.” Stacie put her hand over her heart and raised the other as if she were giving oath. As if this would somehow make her story all the more believable.

“First of all who the fuck is named ‘Boochie’?” At Stacie’s smirking shrug she moved on. “Secondly. Ew dude.” Stacie laughed at the face Beca made but waited for her to say something more. Waiting for her to say ‘Just Kidding!’ or something equally confirming that she was joking in some way.

Beca shrugged and took a sip of her beer. These were the conversations she hated. It wasn’t that she was ashamed exactly. It wasn’t anything that she could control so why should she be ashamed? Beca just hated dealing with having to explain it to people. Explain that she didn’t have that thing that made a person complete. Whole. Normal or whatever. The responses were all the same and they happened in stages. First there was disbelief.

“I mean. I don’t really have a reason to lie so…” Stacie gave her a leveling stare as if she were trying to see if Beca was being completely truthful. She was sure there were people out there that didn’t want a soulmate, didn’t want to find the one person in the whole world that would always be there, would never leave, and would always just…get them. But she didn’t happen to know any and she didn’t think Stacie did either. Whatever the taller woman was looking for in Beca’s face she didn’t find because she gave a soft ‘huh’.

Beca didn’t trust it. Stage two was curiosity. There was no way, NO WAY, that Stacie wouldn’t ask questions. After moving to Los Angeles Beca had found herself cut adrift in a sea of unknown variables. She didn’t know the area, or the people, or even any of her neighbors. She moved into a three story building that was perfect for her. It was dark and brooding and no one gave a shit about anyone else. They just kept to themselves for the most part. Except Stacie.

Stacie had made it a point to smile and say hi every time Beca passed her in the halls. There was something a little predatory about the way she did that made Beca a little nervous at first. Her stuttered greetings were rushed and she usually tried to slink away into the shadows whenever possible. Until Stacie had come over one Wednesday night with a six pack of beer and endless questions.

Six months later the questions hadn’t stopped. But then neither had the beer so it wasn’t horrible. Beca didn’t know why she even enjoyed it so much, she had never really needed gal pals before but she counted on these Wednesday nights now.

Somehow Stacie had made a place in Beca’s life and the smaller woman found herself not minding having a standing drinking date. Stacie tossed her long legs over the arm of the overstuffed chair in Beca’s living room and full on man-style belched. Beca’s face twitched in a smirk as she shifted her position on the floor to rest back against the couch. “Nice. I see now why you’re so popular.” It was an attempt to deflect, move away from stage two before it even began but it was futile and she knew it when Stacie only blew her a kiss and forged ahead.

“Yeah but like…don’t you want to be with someone?” Beca raised a shoulder in a half shrug as if it didn’t matter much. Even though it kinda sorta mattered a lot.

“Not really.” Lie. “I have goals. I’m here to get into the industry and claw my way to the top. A relationship doesn’t really factor into it. So I guess being a freak of nature doesn’t really matter.” It was coming. She could feel it. The inevitable stage three. Pity. There was always pity in the eyes of every single person she’d had to explain this to. And Beca liked Stacie, she didn’t really want to feel the weight of all that, she already felt broken enough.

An abrupt laugh made her jerk her head up to blink owlishly at the other woman. Well she hadn’t wanted pity but this seemed somehow worse. “You think you’re a freak of nature? Check this out.” Without a hint of warning or even a second’s consideration on whether the blinds were closed or not Stacie peeled her shirt off and pointed to a row of three smudges down her rib cage. “THIS is a freak of nature.”

It was enough of a shock that Beca almost forgot not to stare at Stacie’s bra clad chest. Almost. She blinked and dragged her gaze to Stacie’s side. Beca’s eyes went wide and she reached out a hand to touch them before she realized what she was doing and jerked it back. They hadn’t quite formed yet, but one had a definite outline of an A. “Dude…”

“I know right?!” She shrugged and pulled her shirt back on, content to reach for her beer as if she hadn’t just flashed someone she barely knew. “My mom thinks it’s some kind of divine blessing or something.” It was clear she disagreed but Beca couldn’t help but feel a little jealous because maybe deep down she thought it was kind of a blessing too. She would have given her right hand to have one of those marks even if she tried to convince herself that she was better off without one.

“So is that why you date so much?” It was putting it politely and they both knew it. Stacie gave her an affectionately amused look and shrugged.

“I just like sex.” Okay then. Beca flushed a little at the bluntness of the statement but nodded anyway. “Is you not having one why you don’t date at all?”

“Fair if somewhat stinging. I just…don’t see the point. Whoever I date is going to have one and that’s not going to be my name. It just leads to hurt feelings and wasted time.” Stacie reached down and pulled another pair of bottles out of the cardboard holder and held one out to Beca. The DJ cracked it open and gestured vaguely to the marks on her friend. “So who do you think A is?” This wasn’t the turn she had expected for the conversation but she couldn’t say she hated it. Once people found out she didn’t have a smudge of her very own they tended to not want to talk about it at all. As if that would somehow offend Beca. The avoidance of it had just made Beca feel all the more lonely. This was almost refreshing.

Stacie’s dark head tipped to the side as she considered it. “I think it’s this guy Aaron I met at The Greek last summer. I was there with this other guy Tony, but we got separated. I ran into Aaron, all tall, blonde, and green eyed, with a banging body.” She gave a mild smirk at the memory of said body and moved on. “He’s just boring as fuck. I mean he’s in the Army or whatever so that’s cool. But he kept talking about his guns and his little sister. And more guns. He talked a LOT about guns. It was annoying.”

It was Beca’s turn to smirk and she didn’t even try to hide it. “Yeah…he sounds like a real winner, Stace.” Who didn’t love a guy that could gush about guns all day long? “I dunno. You don’t seem that into him, not that I have any experience in this but aren’t you supposed to know when you meet your one? Or…three? Don’t you just instantly know and fall in love or whatever?” Beca kept her face blankly bored hoping that Stacie wouldn’t see how much she actually wanted to know the answer.

Stacie was slow to answer and she shrugged. “I dunno. After I met him the A showed up. We didn’t really get to do more than make out and exchange numbers. I didn’t realize until I got home that the A was even there. I’m not exactly anxious to find out. Once I know…it’s like I don’t get to be Stacie anymore. I have to be A’s girlfriend. Or wife. Until that’s over for whatever reason and the next smudge shows a name.”

It hadn’t even occurred to Beca that Stacie had three because she would go through a string of soulmates. She had just assumed they would all be together. It was a thought that should have seemed strange but for some reason felt oddly right. “Huh.” Stacie raised her brows in question but Beca shook her head. “It’s nothing it’s just I didn’t really think about what it could mean to have…three.”

“I just can’t imagine myself tied to one person forever let alone three at the same time. I read up on multiple marks but all I could come up with were extremely rare double marks. No triples. And out of the doubles only two or three out of the half dozen were concurrent relationships.”

Beca narrowed her eyes at Stacie. For someone that went to a lot of trouble to appear brainless she certainly was anything but. “You just…read up on it. Like no big deal let me research all the known cases of multiple marks…” Stacie blinked at her blankly and said nothing. Beca was starting to think that a little part of Stacie did want to find her one. Er. Ones.

The sound of Stacie’s phone jerked them both out of the quiet tension. “Food’s here. You got change for a twenty? I hate giving tips on the app.”

Beca reached over to her coffee table and picked up her wallet. “I got the tip. You covered dinner.” She got up and thumbed through the cash she had. She was sure she had a five in there somewhere. The knock at the door got her attention if only for a second. She didn’t even look up at the delivery guy as she continued to dig around. “Hey thanks…dude you wanna grab som…” Her words trailed off as she finally found what she was looking for and met the eyes of the person at the door.

“Hi…”

“Hi.”

“Hi…” Beca felt like she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe and could only just manage to repeat the one thing that was being said. The red haired woman smiled widely and Beca blinked all at once dazzled and stunned by just how blue her eyes were. The woman’s lips curved into an amused smile and Beca had to remind herself to close her mouth.

“Did you order…?”

“Yep! That’s us.” Stacie bounded over to grab the bags of food. It was enough to bring Beca back to the here and now. “Thanks. Hey B, ya got that tip?” Beca mutely raised the bill without taking her eyes off the delivery woman.

“That’s so kind, thank you.” It should have sounded sarcastic and on anyone else it would have. But it sounded sincere and so sweet that Beca could only nod in response. She licked her lips as the woman pocketed the bill and turned away. Just for a second she had the urge to follow after her but she stayed rooted until the sound of the front door on the building opening and closing reached her ears. She shook herself as she shut the door and turned to find Stacie with a revoltingly smug look on her face.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Beca glared at her for a second before she tossed her wallet on the table and moved to sit on the floor again. She should have known it wasn’t going to be that easy. Stacie’s voice practically purred. “She was hot. Like really hot.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” Beca opened a container of noodles and picked up her chopsticks. Stacie just laughed in a way that caused a shiver to chase down her spine. Stacie smiled and reached for the carton of orange chicken. The banter was nice. Stacie made her feel like she could just be herself. It was something she’d never had before. She kinda didn’t even mind the teasing.

“Yeah because you give a fifty dollar tip to every delivery person.”

She snorted and shook her head before stopping as that last bit sunk in. “Wait. What? I did what??”

#soulmates au #stechlobree #bechloe #chaubrey #steca #staubrey #chacie #bellasquared #polyshipping

[zoemurph]

blistering feet, ch2: warm up

on ao3  1

yup i dont know anymore. hope youre having a good week, im suffering and college is horrific

tw: panic attack. a lot is the same as that first day of school scene through waving through a window, so keep that in mind

Evan knows his mother means well, but he’s also pretty sure she’s somehow out to kill him.

Which isn’t true! She’s trying her best and works long hours and pays for all his classes and therapy and medication and he’s just a burden that— that’s a huge expense. Which is why Evan can’t understand why over the summer she brought up moving dance studios to a more expensive one (even if it’s a little closer). He also can’t understand why she wants him to compete.

Competition is terrifying. And the idea of it makes him want to throw up. His hands start getting sweaty and his breathing gets shallow and everything gets bad.

His mom had said something about putting himself out there in his last year of high school. Doing things he fears and going outside his comfort zone.

Evan doesn’t know how to tell her that everything is outside his comfort zone.

Which is why instead of thinking about the fact that he has his first class at the new studio in two days or writing a letter like Doctor Sherman always wants him to, he’s laying in bed scrolling through some dance forum Jared signed him up for a while back.

Most of the posts and threads don’t get much of a reaction from him— some people are very open about where they dance and use the forum to discuss classes and teachers and (if bribed correctly) studio secrets, but Evan tries to remain as anonymous as possible. He doesn’t have a name on his profile, his username has no indication of who he is, his icon is the silhouette of a dancer doing an arabesque against a tree, and the most anyone can tell about his location is his timezone. The only one who knows who he is is Jared.

Jared, who created an account for Evan, which Evan immediately deleted because he couldn’t figure out how to change the username and he could not have a username like that. Surprisingly and thankfully, Evan’s online persona is one of the few secrets Jared has managed to keep.

Evan rolls his eyes when he comes across of Jared’s posts.

(5:32 pm) yalikejazz: FUCK ballet ↳ (5:47 pm) checkyourattitude: Fuck you

After posting his response, Evan goes back to scrolling. The posts kind of blur together into a mess of advice, complaining, and screaming about song choices that no one can share without studio heads get angry. He’s squinting at a really long rant about fake eyelashes from someone with the username ‘fondueforfrogs’ when he gets a text from Jared.

From: here comes that boi To: fake friend      i know your username evan fuck you too

From: fake friend To: here comes that boi       I know you d o

From: here comes that boi To: fake friend       ha ha very funny       i had tech today so fuck off

Evan rolls off his bed. He hasn’t stretched in a few days and being in pain during warm up doesn’t sound like a great way to start at a new studio. If he can minimize the things he has to worry about, that’d be great.

From: fake friend To: here comes that boi       Id rather  be in tech than in a ocmpetition class

Evan is perfectly content spending the rest of his days privately practicing solos in the studio. One recital a year was bad. At least one competition a month during the season is too much.

From: here comes that boi To: fake friend       yeah but youre fucking weir d

Evan rolls his eyes and leans down and touches his toes. He lays the phone on the floor in front of him so he can still see Jared’s messages as he stretches. He turns his feet out into first position and does a slow demi plié, stretching out his back as much as possible. Something in his back pops and with a sigh, Evan stretches a little further.

From: here comes that boi To: fake friend       comps are great you get to spend an entire weekend wiht me

Evan ignores Jared’s text until he’s sitting on the floor stretching out his hamstrings.

From: fake friend To: here comes that boi       Yeah that sound s like a lot of fun       I sitll blame you and  your moms for thi s

Jared’s moms always go on and on about how great competitive dance has been for Jared. Whenever they talk about it, Jared rolls his eyes and calls them dramatic, but Evan knows better. Jared always seems happier after he’s spent long periods of times with dance friends. A group that Evan is now awkwardly edging in on.

Him and Jared aren’t actual friends, they’re just family friends.

From: here comes that boi To: fake friend       fuck off im super fun       dude i t might suck but youll get over it       its really not that bad       plus itll make your mom happy

Evan leaves the texts on read and works on his oversplits.

 Walking to the studio kind of sucks, but the shorter walk actually makes it worse. Now, Evan can get to the studio faster. And everything can go horribly wrong faster.

When he opens the studio door, he’s welcomed by a waiting room filled with loud elementary schoolers and their parents.

All classes start today, that includes non competitive classes.

Evan weaves his way through the yelling children to the front desk. “H-hi I’m um— I’m a competitive da-dancer? And...new so I’m just wondering where I—” He squeezes the strap of his bag and tries to stop himself from rambling.

The woman at the desk smiles. “Welcome to Elite, then, sweetheart. I’m Alyssa and I’m here most days if you ever need anything. I teach some of the babies.” She gestures to the kids running around the waiting room. “Most of the competition classes are in the extension of the studio.” She leans forward to point toward a set of stairs. “If you go up the stairs, there’s a room of cubbies where all the comp kids leave their things. Then if you go down the hall and to the left, you should see all the competition studios. They’re all labeled and there’s a schedule up in the cubby room that should tell you what studio to go to for what class. If you need any help, all the dancers are very nice and would be happy to show you where to go. Have a good class!”

Alyssa turns back to her computer and Evan has to take a moment to try and process all that information without freaking out.

Stairs. He can do stairs.

There’s no door on the entrance of the storage room. A few people are sitting on the floor, one stretching and the others scrolling on their phones while laughing about something Evan is not privy to.

He left early because he was anxious about being late, but now he’s anxious about being early. Perfect.

Evan takes out his ballet flats and puts his bag in a cubby by the door and sits down as far away from the other people in the room as possible. Not that it helps.

“Are you new?” the girl who’s stretching asks suddenly.

Evan looks up with a jolt, noticing that she is a lot closer now than she was before. “W-what?”

“New,” she repeats. “Are you new? I don’t recognize you.”

“I— yeah, yeah. I’m…new.” Evan ducks his head and hopes the conversation will end. He recognizes her from school — it’d be impossible not to considering she does everything — but it’s not surprising she doesn’t remember him. Evan isn’t sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

“I’m Alana.”

“Evan,” he mutters.

“What happened to your arm?” Alana asks.

Evan winces. “I uh— I broke it. I was climbing a tree…”

“Oh really? My grandma broke her hip getting into the bathtub in July.” Evan’s eyes widen. “That was the beginning of the end, the doctors said. Because then she died.”

Evan stares at her.

Is he supposed to respond to that? What’s the socially accepted way to react to someone you’ve just met telling you that?

Alana stands suddenly. “I have to go. Have a good class!” She steps around Evan and is gone.

Evan stares at the spot she was sitting in for a second before he pulls on his other ballet flat.

A bag is dropped onto the floor next to him and his heart almost leaps out of his chest.

“Hey nerd,” Jared says, tossing shoes into a cubby.

Evan takes a shallow breath. “H-hey.”

“Can’t believe you made it without getting hit by a car.”

Evan picks at his cast. “You’re— that’s not helping, Jared.”

“Yeah, yeah I get it.” Jared grabs Evan’s good arm and yanks him to his feet. Jared pats Evan’s cast. “How you doing, acorn?”

Evan furrows his eyebrows. “Can we, like, not call me that?”

Jared shrugs. “Think you can survive a few classes?”

“No.”

Jared snorts. “Brutal. If you can survive a class with Oana, you can survive anything.”

Evan thinks otherwise.

Jared pulls them away from the doorway and further into the storage room to let the other girls in the room out. “Seriously, get over it. We all suffer for our parents.”

“Ha, yeah but—”

Evan cuts himself off as someone stalks into the storage room, dumping his bag into a cubby without giving Evan or Jared a second glance.

Until Jared decides to open his mouth.

“Hey, Connor. Haven’t seen the hair down in a while and I’m loving the length. Very school shooter chic.”

Evan wants to die. More than usual.

Very slowly, Connor turns around. He stares at Jared with scary and almost empty looking eyes and Evan realizes he knows this Connor. Because this Connor is Connor Murphy, who’s been in Evan’s grade for years but Evan has avoiding for almost as long because Evan avoids everyone.

“I was kidding,” Jared says. “It was a joke.”

Evan can literally feel the floor opening up beneath him.

“Yeah, no, it was funny. I’m laughing.” Connor leans forward. “Can’t you tell? Am I not laughing hard enough for you, Kleinman?” he hisses.

Jared laughs awkwardly. “You’re such a freak.” He darts around Connor and skids out the door.

Oh no.

Evan coughs. Laughs. Makes…some sort of noise. Because he’s panicking and doesn’t know what to do and his body is freaking out and everything is uncomfortable and awful and he doesn’t know how this day could go so bad so fast.

Connor’s eyes snap to him. “What the fuck are you laughing at?”

Evan freezes. “What?”

“Stop fucking laughing at me!” Connor snaps.

“I’m not—”

“You think I’m a freak?!”

“I wasn’t—”

“You’re the fucking freak!” Connor shouts. He shoves Evan back toward the wall. “Get the fuck to class.” Connor snatches his bag from the cubby and storms out of the room.

Evan stumbles backward until his back hits the wall. His knees give out and he crumples to the ground and his nails scratch at the plaster of his cast as he tries to figure out how breathing works again and he has class he has class he has class he has— 

“Are you okay?”

Evan’s eyes snap up and there’s Zoe Murphy. She’s frowning down at him with her hair tied up in a near perfect ballet bun and is offering a hand to him.

“I- I’m just—” Evan takes her hand and lets her help him up.

“Did something happen with my brother?” she asks, slipping a bag off her shoulder. “I just saw him storm out of here and— he can be awful. It’s probably best just to ignore him when he’s in a mood.”

“Oh.”

“Evan, right?” Zoe asks. “Jared mentioned you. I think I’ve seen you around at school.”

“Yeah. Evan. It’s Evan.” Evan rocks back on his heels.

“I’m Zoe.” She shoots him an awkward smile.

“I know,” he says quickly. “I-I mean I’ve— I went to a jazz band concert? I like jazz— I love jazz. Jazz band, not all jazz but jazz band. That’s so weird, I’m sorry.” Evan can hear Jared laughing at him in his mind.

Zoe gives him a sort of confused look as she puts away her bags and pulls out a waterbottle and her flats and pointe shoes. “Uh, okay? Are you…going to ballet with Oana?”

Evan nods.

“Same. Most of the senior comp kids are in it. The ballet classes are the biggest ones, since they aren’t competitive, they’re just required.” She gestures with her pointe shoes. “Do you know where the studio is?”

“N-no,” Evan admits, trying not to cringe.

Zoe smiles at him again and it’s a little like an angel is saving him. “Follow me.” 

—«·»—

After Oana’s class — it’s really not that bad, Evan has no idea what Jared’s problem with it is — Evan pulls out a notebook and rips out a piece of paper and scribbles out the beginnings of a letter before he can forget what he wants to say. Whenever Doctor Sherman asks “how did you feel this week?” Evan feels his mind blank, so despite the fact that he trashes most of his letters, they do help him sort of place his emotions throughout the week.

It doesn’t take too long for Zoe to show up in his words.

#evan hansen #connor murphy #jared kleinman #zoe murphy #deh fanfic #my fanfic #blistering feet #bleh

[violyntfemme]

rules:

1. always post the rules. 2. answer the questions given by the person who tagged you. 3. write 11 questions of your own and tag 11 (or however many) people to answer them.

I was tagged by @hisreindeerjumper (first set) and @futuredescending (second set) so I am answering two sets.

Sorry this took so long but I started it last night as the meds were kicking in and it quickly devolved into incoherency :) 

1. what fandom have you been involved in that’s your favorite to date? Kingsman, hands down. Things are a little rough now and then lately, but I am hoping we find that live and let live attitude we all had less than six months ago, both before and after K2

2. what did you want to grow up to be when you were little? An archeologist, or a writer, or a fashion designer. I can’t draw and I hate chipped nails so really only one of those were going to work out for me.

3. favorite places to shop online? My Pretty Zombie cosmetics. 

4. first kiss! tell me all about it! and i you haven’t been kissed yet, how do you want it to go down? do you want to be kissed at all? It was at my grandmother’s house. I was 13, he was 18. He played the guitar and I thought he was a god. It was horrible though. I mean I knew nothing about kissing and he, like a typical guy, thought that he had to inhale the lower portion of my face. 

5. who was the first author that you read with a voracious hunger? Poppy Z. Brite. I still have my original, and falling apart, copies of Lost Souls and Drawing Blood, along with most of her (now his) books that have been released. I read and re-read them a million times.

6. what color looks best on you? Black. Always.

7. do you read your horoscope? If I come across it, but I do not seek it out.

8. what are you most proud of in your life? My published LGBT erotica. You think it would be becoming an attorney. Nope, it’s my porn that makes me proud. 

9. favorite food & why! Milano Cookies, dark chocolate preferably. They are wonderful with a cup of tea. They remind me of staying up late with my mother watching old BBC shows.

10. what scent do you have the strongest memory association with? CK One. I can’t stand it now, but one sniff and I am back in 1995 instantly. 

11. favorite tea flavor! Earl Grey, more specifically, Hooded Figures blend or a London Fog.

------

1. What is the nicest thing someone has done for you? When we had a rare ice storm and it was super cold out, my husband got up while I was getting ready for work and turned on my car to warm it up and de-ice it. Then he took some small rugs, the kind you wipe your feet on, and placed them over the ice as a path so I could get to my car safely (since I use a cane). Inside the car was my coffee and lunch waiting for me. This is the kind of thing he does on the reg. I don’t know why the man stays with my salty and bitter ass.

2. Do you have NOTPs? If so, why are they NOTPs for you? In Kingsman, Roxy/Eggsy. I am not hating on the ships at all, they just don’t work for me because I can’t see any tension between the characters. Roxy and Eggsy are my number one BROTP though and any fic that can capture that relationship well has all my love. In Sherlock John/Mary/Sherlock or Sherlock/Mary. I cannot stand her. Well, I take that back. The Mary that lived in John’s head in the last two episodes, her I actually liked quite a bit.

3. Summarize the worst film/book/song/story you’ve ever read/watched? Girl gets cursed by an old woman because Girl denies the lady a loan extension. Cue the worst. movie. I. have. ever. watched. My husband and I hated it so much that every time we watch something shitty we say that was terrible, but it wasn’t Drag Me to Hell terrible. It is the movie that all shitty movies are measured against. My best friend loved it and he is no longer allowed to rec movies to us. 

4. What are some fandom/fic things that irrationally annoy you? The mob mentality that crops up when there is a disagreement over anything. It happens in every fandom. Conversation devolves into vague-blogging and and passive aggressive tags. We are adults. Somebody doesn’t like what you like or vice versa? Cool. You keep liking your shit the way you like it and they can keep liking their shit the way they like it. There is more than enough shit for all of us to like. There will never be a shortage of shit, trust me on this.

Don’t agree with someone? Wonderful. Either talk about it like an adult and have a conversation or leave it alone. For example, there is a topic that I 100% stay away from in the Kingsman fandom because it makes me very uncomfortable and anxious. I do not agree with the popular opinion of the fandom regarding this topic. However, I realize that it is a popular topic, which very few, if any at all, of the rest of the fandom has an issue with, so I either blacklist it or take a little tumblr break until the conversation dies down. Because I am an adult and I am responsible for my internet experience. 

5. Write a summary for the fic you want to write but never will? Q has been clean for years, before even MI6 got their hands on him. The day James leaves with Madeline, however, Q finds himself in a ratty hoodie and torn jeans, walking down the same street where he once traded favors for whatever drug he needed that day. Cocaine for coding, X for laughter, morphine to forget. He just needs it this once. Morphine to forget James and whatever they were becoming before Swann, well, swanned, in. Cocaine to get him to work the day after. 

He has this under control. He does.

Until he doesn’t. Until Q is one needle away from existing and Geoffery, the addict, is about to take his place again. 

Until James comes back and sees what he left in his wake.

6. Someone writes a story that perfectly hits all your buttons. That story includes: _____, ______, and _________.  HC, Dom/Sub and ANGST. Kill me with the angst (bonus points if one of the pairing is in a downward spiral of self-destructive tendencies). 

7. I’m stealing @colinfilth’s question once asked on twitter bc it was SO GOOD: what is the fic one would write that clued your readers in that your identity had been stolen? A fic where there is a MCD of one people in the pairing, or the pairing the fic centers around does not end up together in the end. I want everyone to suffer terribly, cry and gnash their teeth, but they have to end up together and happy by the last sentence. It literally can be the last sentence that brings them back together, but it HAS to be there. After much pain and suffering of course.

8. Most embarrassing celebrity crush, past or present? I thought George Hamilton was the shit when I was really young for some reason. For the life of me I can’t even remember why or what show he was in that I watched. 

9. How much research will you do for a fic? Wing it? Get lost in a wikipedia hole? Read actual books on a topic? Google translate? Get consulting with native speakers? I will go as far as I need to to make sure whatever I am writing is as correct as possible. I don’t have a brit picker though because I am too introverted to ask, so that is an opportunity I have in my fics.

10. The one thing the creator of your current fandom could do to kill your fandom love. Not give us multiple shots of Whiskey’s ass in those Levis. 

I jest. A little.

Honestly, even if the movie sucks, I will still be here because the fan fic is phenomenal and I love the people I interact with within the fandom. And if the fandom falls apart, I will still be here by myself, re-reading the fan fic that has already been written. 

My questions:

1. What is something you loved as a child that you still love as an adult?

2. What is a show/book/band/movie that you love but are embarrassed to admit to?

3. If you have a day completely to spend as you please, what do you do?

4. What book or fic can you literally read over and over again to the point where you could probably recite it, but you still read it?

5. If you wear makeup, what is the one thing you could not live without?

6. Who is a role model for you? (Fictional or Real)

7. What fandom were you in, that you are no longer in, that you miss even though you won’t go back to it?

8. What is your aesthetic?

9. If you had to choose on to give up, would you give up reading or listening to music. Why?

10. What is the one thing that you feel as if you must do before you die? The number one spot on your bucket list.

11. How long have you been friends with your best friend(s)?

I’m tagging @opalescentgold, @timetospy, @mannersmakethmoi, @privatelyvex, @alethiaii, @plotqueen and @eggsy-youcheekytart, and anyone else who hasn’t done it yet.

[scriptshrink]

If a character experienced a lot of trauma and has panic attacks and disassociation episodes triggered by being in enclosed spaces like cars and elevators, unexpected physical contact (particularly around their face), and unexpected loud noises, what would be some strategies they could try to not just deal with those triggers from day to day but to actually become more comfortable and less anxious about them in general?

nothowiplanned

So exposure is one (horrible) way of doing this. Taking cars as the example, and depending on at what point the panic kicks in, they could stand touching the car, then sitting in the car with the door open and their legs out of the car, then sitting in the car fully with the door still open, then sitting in the stationary car with the door closed, then sitting in the car for a very short journey, then gradually building up the length of time they stay in the car. This would be extremely emotionally demanding, the character should probably have someone they trust absolutely with them, and they will have panic attacks/dissociate while doing this. It might not progress in a straight line either - one day the character might be able to sit in the car with the door closed but the next day they might really struggle getting in to it.

rarmeowz

Exposure therapy is pretty much the only thing I know of to actually get rid of triggers like that, and depending on the level of fear/panic that the trigger causes it can take a pretty short time to get over it or it can take a very, very long time.

[[Post continued after the jump]]

Snail

Apart from exposure therapy, your character might work on grounding techniques to prevent from dissociating, or to help return them to their normal self. They may also do work to prepare for panic attacks and put safety mechanisms into place for when things go wrong (cure rather than prevention). This could help relieve some of their anxiety about having the panic attacks.It won’t be possible for your character to completely avoid panic attacks (although they may well attempt to do this as much as possible by avoiding possible triggers), so a good strategy is to start developing techniques for dealing with the aftermath of panic attacks. 

They may prepare an “in case of emergency” kit to help them recover from panic attacks. This could include sensory stimuli like strong mints, fidget rings, etc. that can be used for self-soothing; snacks to help with energy (panic attacks can really take it out of you); a mantra/affirmation (“then is then, this is now”); a playlist on their phone of songs that make them feel better; a recording of or letter from a loved one. This kit might be a real “kit” that the character carries around in a little box or bag, or they might keep the objects squirrelled about on their person (fidget ring on their finger, strong mints in their pocket, mantra at the front of their notebook, playlist on their phone, letter in their wallet). It might take a bit of trial-and-error to work out what contents are best for them. Maybe the playlist is no good because headphones in means they can’t hear their surroundings. Maybe the strong mints get replaced by essential oils.

There will likely be a lot of learning to do for your character as they find out what works for them. After having a panic attack + dissociation episode where I ended up wandering around central London with no money or phone and having lost the ability to recognize streets that I knew very well (I wandered around for hours, at night, trying to find my way back to the restaurant where my belongings were), I had to change my strategies:

After that I made sure that I always had a phone and money on my person - they could not be left in my bag or in my coat pocket, because if I became separated from them I would be stuck. 

I also began always carrying a scented rag in my pocket (contained in plastic bag) so that I had a sensory stimulus to help ground me (especially good during flashbacks). 

If I could avoid it, I didn’t put my bag down at all. If I did put my bag down, I made sure that it only contained things that I could abandon - valuables went into a second small bag that I kept on all the time, unless I was at home, or at a small number of specific locations.

You also eventually get better at predicting what situations will be triggering, and better at actually taking action to look after yourself - even if you know that going into an elevator will be triggering, it’s embarrassing to not be able to do something so commonplace, and I saw it as weakness on my part - that I should be able to take the elevator, and so I didn’t have a justifiable reason not to (this didn’t have great results for me). Even once I realised that I needed to take the stairs whenever possible, I then had to learn how to tell others I wouldn’t be going in the elevator with them. Usually I went for the “health” excuse (I got a pedometer so I could say that I was trying to make ten-thousand steps per day), but if time was an issue or there was what seemed an unreasonable number of levels to go up I would have to say “sorry, I really don’t like elevators - I’ll meet you up there?” 

If we take the example of elevators, I can now almost always take them - I will sometimes choose not to, but it is a real choice - if I do take the elevator I may feel uncomfortable while riding, but it doesn’t have an impact that continues afterwards.How did I get to this point? My problems with elevators were twofold - 1) I was scared of being trapped in the elevator; 2) I was scared of being attacked by whoever I was sharing the elevator with. When I first started trying to use the elevator again it was in a glass elevator that they had at college. This meant that I knew other people could see (so I was less likely to be attacked, and I would be able to get people’s attention if the elevator broke down and the alarm system wasn’t working). I also took the elevator for tiny journeys - *I am going to travel one floor. If I change my mind when it gets here, I’ll take the stairs instead*.Sometimes that meant I didn’t go in the elevator, but other times I did. And for quite a while I only used an elevator for going short distances and only if there weren’t any strangers in the elevator. I probably wouldn’t have gone through this learning process, but one of my coursemates couldn’t use stairs and I went in the elevator with her. 

The next push was when I got sick and began to tire very easily - I spent 18 months with very limited energy supplies. Now I had to use elevators that were not glass. It was difficult - I would sometimes still try to use the stairs, but I really suffered for it afterwards. By now I was working on the basement level of my place of work, so it was still a short journey, but the opaque walls and lack of choice made things much more difficult. One thing that really helped was having a colleague who understood trauma and accompanied me during elevator journeys. I trusted her and didn’t worry that she would attack me. When everyone left to go home and I would start walking towards the stairs she would ask “shall we take the elevator?” This was an agreed code for her to say “you are allowed to take the lift even though everyone else is going to the stairs and I will go with you to make sure you’re ok”.

I was still the one in control - sometimes I chose to take the stairs anyway - but she was reminding me that I had a choice and that she could help me follow-through whichever decision that was. The short journeys that I did with her several times a day were essentially training me - the more examples of safe, panic-free elevator journeys I had, the more comfortable I was with elevators in general, and the less likely I was to panic in the future.

(Sorry if that is too much about me, but I thought it might be relevant to your question) 

For cars- does your character drive? If they do, they may find it easier to drive than to be driven because they are in control of the vehicle and can stop and get out whenever they want (obviously this doesn’t work so well if they’re driving on the freeway, but they might choose to start trying short drives around a parking lot, and then around town, but make a conscious decision that they are not going to drive on the freeway and they are not going to drive to appointments or anywhere that there’s a time limit for arrival that means that they can’t get out and walk around for half an hour if they need to during their journey. They could use driving their own car (or just sitting in there for a bit) as a way to get accustomed to cars in general. They might try using larger enclosed spaces as a way of working up to using cars - maybe riding the bus for a short distance. OR they might just find ways of avoiding cars - obviously how feasible this is depends on where they live, but they might move to using public transport, or cycling, or getting a motorbike. 

They might avoid unexpected physical contact by avoiding crowds or places with lots of people. They may tell people that they know that they don’t want to be hugged - in my experience if people know you don’t like hugs they tend to be more cautious initiating physical contact (although thinking about it, this may have been partly due to my exaggerated startle response which also communicates “I don’t like being touched” very well). Knowing that people will ask before touching me helps reduce the anxiety I have around them. Another thing that the character may do is emotionally distance themself from other people - people are less likely to touch you if the relationship is professional than if you are friends. Of course, the social isolation this causes has its own impact.

Anon 217

Regarding physical contact/physical proximity, this is another situation where my service dog comes into play. One of his tasks is blocking – placing his body between me and anyone who gets too close. Having a giant mobile barrier goes a long way towards getting me out of the house. Before I had a service dog, if I left the house once a month, it was a busy month. Now, I can go out a few times a week, even to crowded or unfamiliar places, and it’s generally okay.

Disclaimer

#blanketed in stars #asks #exposure therapy #how do I therapy #nothowiplanned #rarmeowz #anon 217 #Snail #this is not psychological or medical advice #this is writing advice #scriptshrink consultants #consultant #panic attacks #trauma #dissociation #trigger #anxiety #character critique #characterization #phobia

[spuriousbiped]

People don’t really understand my enthusiasm for K-pop. In celebration of BTS’ 4th anniversary, I decided to write a little blurb about why they specifically are important to me. It turned into an essay. And, I’ve decided to post it here, because it’s the most personal thing I’ve written probably since the start of my transition. Keeping the starting bit from when I posted it on the Discord server. 

OK, everyone: I have a lot of stuff to unpack, so buckle up. This is a lot more about me than BTS directly, I guess, but I need to get this out there. So, here goes:

I turned 26 last month. I didn't expect to turn 15, let alone 18, or 20, and certainly not 26 - so I'm kind of surprised sometimes that I'm still here. But glad, mostly.

It hasn't been easy. On top of horrible depression since I was 12, as well as some anxiety & OCD issues and probably some things that missed detection, I also developed chronic pain for no identifiable reason when I was ~19, which is manageable but has changed my life significantly. I am also transgender (FtM).

To put it mildly, my life is complicated, and has been for years. I never really learned how to plan for the future, because I never saw myself having one. Then, a bit less than 3 years ago, a lot of things fell into place, and I realised I needed to transition in order to live.

This... is not an easy thing to navigate. tl;dr had a lot of baggage and trauma to sort through, horrible dissociation, and a surge in anxiety as I tried to move forward, come out to people, etc. etc.

It was in my fairly early days of transitioning that I met a couple of other guys in a similar boat on the web. One of them was into K-pop and used to post a lot about it on his tumblr. Eventually, I decided to look into it.

This turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made. (I used to be really self-conscious about saying this, but I ran out of fucks to give a long time ago.)

The place I live in is a city, but not a huge one, and attitudes around here are pretty old-fashioned still. I was also extremely uncomfortable with myself, so meeting new people wasn't something I could fathom in my early transition days. But I essentially had to build my identity from the ground up, and had no frame of reference. I was always X and Y's daughter, Z's little sister, a niece and granddaughter; I was "different from other girls"; every aspect of my life was defined by womanhood and I had no idea how to be a man. Even if nothing about my personality had changed, the whole way the world was defined was through a lens that had always made things a little bit blurry, but was at least familiar. With clarity did NOT come confidence; and with my tendency to dissociate, I had a difficult time pinning down exactly what it meant to even be a person anymore.

Discovering k-pop changed that for me. It opened a door to so many different things. Most importantly, it provided role models for me that I so desperately needed.

BTS didn't come onto my radar until I Need U, and it was a little longer before I was really dedicated to them. But once I woke up to them, I signed up in a big damn hurry. Even before I was on board, something seemed different about them. Once I was paying attention, it became obvious.

They move together like a well-oiled machine. Their voices complement one another perfectly. They actually get along with each other, are obviously good friends, and openly & unabashedly admire one another and none of it feels forced. They are stupidly talented, and I was really struck by the fact that their work is truly their own and they are allowed to put so much of themselves into it (since it's extremely uncommon in the industry). Everything about them has such presence. They are extremely professional, but also so personable that they don't feel untouchable. They share so much of themselves with the whole world, and have allowed people such a close look at their lives, their struggles, everything. And right now, they are so on top of the world, and they're staring the future in the face and refusing to blink or back down.

I learned a lot from the exploration of Korean culture that followed my discovery of k-pop. I learned that the definition of "masculinity" is far from universal, for example. But I learned how to be the man I needed to be in large part because of BTS. They are so completely themselves, and each of them is so many different things - and sometimes these aspects seem to contradict, but they don't. They have so much passion for what they do, and they embrace one another so fully. Through them, I learned that all parts of myself - including the ones people read as "feminine", even if I knew on the surface that was bs - were OK, and all I really had to do was just exist as the same gentle, loving, ridiculous person I always was. People would read these aspects of me differently based on the gender they attributed to me, but that wasn't up to me. The only thing I was responsible for was being a good and genuine person.

There are so many other elements that have factored into my sense of self, but it's safe to say that without BTS, I wouldn't have made anywhere near the kind of progress I have. The last year especially has been huge for me and they are an enormous part of that. When Fire came out I listened to nothing but that song for weeks on end, before finally opening up to at least BTS in general, LOL.

Of course it's still hard. My body still hurts constantly, and my brain is honestly pretty bizarre. As of now, I've been on medical leave since the end of March, and I'm not convinced I'll be able to go back to my job because the physical and mental strain of retail is more than I am capable of - yet I'm not qualified for much more. It saps all my strength and leaves no room for me to pursue hobbies, or much of anything. I have so many things to do in order to get my life on track that if I let myself think about it and what I'm going to do for income, I get very very anxious. 

But, I have a future. I may have had to burn out before I took time off, but now that I've been able to rest, I can feel my own passions lighting up again. Instead of drifting, hanging on to the only job I figured I'd be able to keep, and just surviving, I'm actually making plans. I still can't see that far ahead, and I have no idea where I'll go with what I'm going to do, but what I do know is that I have to live for me, for now, and do something I love in the best way that I'm capable of. BTS is 90% of why. I have never seen anyone more in love with what they do than these seven men. They belong together, and they are meant to create, to perform, and to be exactly who they are.

There is no way I would be where I am now without BTS, and I will be forever grateful to them. I used to be defined by what I was missing. Now, I'm slowly getting back into dance, something I haven't done seriously since I was 22. I'm working through the long agonising process of updating an absurd number of things after finally legally changing my name & gender marker, which sucks but I'm getting it done. I'll be applying for a textiles & apparel design program once I have the paperwork I need from my former university. I haven't started yet, but I plan to learn Korean - it'll be the 5th language I've studied, and while I know how hard it is to maintain foreign languages with nobody to speak to, I know how good I am at this, and I have fought to maintain a certain level of competence with German, which I've studied the longest formally and with the most passion (another story for another day), so I know that if I maintain that same kind of drive, I'll be able to learn it just fine. I have no idea what's coming for me, but I'm sick of being afraid to do things because of what might come. I still struggle to plan long-term, but I'm much more flexible about rolling with the punches, making necessary changes even without a clear outcome, and just doing things. Even if the future is a haze, and I don't know where I want to be, at least I know I'll be somewhere, and I want to still have a future. I may not know exactly how I managed to live this long, but there are still so many years to come, probably, and I'm at the least OK with it, if not actively overjoyed.

Thank you, BTS, for being instrumental in my continued will to exist authentically and as unflinchingly as my various ailments allow me to be. I am so, so lucky to be here at the same time as a group of people so incredible. I owe them a great debt. 

#personal #long post #gender #bts

[jellyfishfics]

Some News on the Landscaper AU

I’m putting this under a cut because it’s quite lengthy, but I think this is a very important topic that needs to be addressed, so I hope that if you like the Landscaper AU, or just support fics and writers in general, you’ll give this post a read.

I found out last night that someone on ao3 took many aspects of my yoi Landscaper AU fic to spin their own fic off of it. The very beginning of their fic has the same setting as mine: Viktor retiring and moving into a mansion to live in the luxury he can afford as the top skating champion of the world. Even the phone call with Chris is there, and there are so many parts of the fic that are blatant rip offs and cheap imitations of what I wrote, I couldn’t get far because I just felt so awful. I had friends who read the fic on my behalf, and what they told me was appalling.

I’m very heartbroken that this was the fic and project, out of everything I’ve written, that was stolen from. My initial thought was: why me? Why such an obscure author with flimsy, paper-thin confidence, why steal from me of all people? But I wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone else, so it’s up to me to address this and explain why this ao3 user’s actions were so damaging, and I hope no one ever attempts doing something like this again.

I debated speaking out about this or just letting it slide, but I don’t think I can let this go. I want to let everyone know that under no circumstance is this ever ok, and for me personally, that’s for two reasons: I’ve been offended both as a writer, and as a person who identifies as trans.

As a writer: I want everyone to know that I take my writing very seriously. I’ve been writing for a long time; eight years old being as far back as I can remember writing my first story. I’ve been working on my craft for a long time, entering contests, sending work to journals in hopes of being published, and devoting my minor in university to creative writing. I’m constantly seeking to improve, which is why I took up fanfiction in the first place; my first fic was written as an objective goal--write a story that’s the same length as a novel. I had no idea that fanfiction would be so much fun, that it would lead me to so many important friends, and that the immediate reader-writer communication could be so beneficial. So I care about my fanfiction just as much as any of my original work.

Every piece of my writing is an extension and expression of myself, and fics in particular are how I explore a lot of my own feelings and identity in a safe space where I don’t need to worry about judgement from peers, professors, or family. The Landscaper AU was especially important to me because I decided to have Viktor identify as nonbinary trans just like me, as well as live in the same area of my home, which I’m away from right now because of school. So please understand this rip-off fic is actually the worst insult to me ever.

Listen, I get it. A very small part of me knows you probably meant no harm to me. You like my fic, you’ve made that very clear with your bookmark of it, and the comment you left (after writing your imitation fic no less). You liked my words and idea so much, you wanted to use them for your own story. Alright. But, I have to express how horrifying it is to find that the words I put so much time and effort into writing, drawing from my own experiences and feelings, twisted around and made into your playthings. It’s simply not fair. And I’m afraid I can’t stand for this.

As a trans person: Now I want everyone to understand that as much as I’m open and proud about being nonbinary trans, I’m also very insecure about the way I present myself, and I get dysphoria easily. So this fic series was my first attempt at representation for myself and others like me. And it had me so so so very anxious!!! Any of my friends can attest to this, there were so many times I wanted to give up the series all together before I wrote a word of it! That’s why art for the series existed before I even drafted the first fic, my friends were trying to motivate me. And it worked, I was able to get the first fic out. But I was still very insecure, I wasn’t sure how well nonbinary trans Viktor would be received! So to everyone who sent me positive comments, additions to me post, and tags, thank you so much!!! Every single one of those words meant the world and more to me.

This past week, I was having a rough patch in school, and my anxiety was through the roof, so despite all the support I was given for this fic and the series, my paranoia was getting the better of me, which is why you saw me so indecisive and wanting to delete the fic. I apologize if I alarmed anyone, and thank you for sending me encouragement through it.

I really wanted to use this fic and series to give some validation for my gender, and do it for a character who I love and proportionally gets less trans headcanons and fics than the rest of the main yoi cast! And out of the eight fics for trans Viktor (including mine and the imposter), the majority are about the struggles of being trans. Which is very important, and something I know too well unfortunately, but you know? Damn me if I wanted a light-hearted, fun fic where there isn’t anything inherently wrong with being trans and nonconforming, and there’s a trans character being treated with nothing but love and respect in a natural way. I just wanted to give myself and other nb trans peeps some positivity, and show that we’re just as deserving of a quirky love and comedic romance as any other gender.

I’m not going to sugarcoat this; this rip-off fic is literally my worst nightmare in writing. It’s quite literally the most transphobic piece of writing I’ve ever had the displeasure to look at. Now I believe all gender is fluid, and that people can go through different identities in their life; I know I have. But what this ao3 user did was the most invalidating and fetishizing piece of work I’ve ever forced my eyes to see. I never want to read the line “her original sexuality” ever again in my life. The ending was super heteronormative, super binary, reducing a trans identity to the idea of “it’s just a phase, and once you find ‘the One,’ you’ll go back to normal.” I’ve honestly never wanted to throw up at a piece of writing until now. This offends my whole being, just as a trans person, and then this ao3 used took my words to fuel this horrible fic.

In response to some blunt comments this fic received, the ao3 user said they didn’t do any research. I…really wish that they would have. Maybe then this fic wouldn’t have been so horrible. Oh yeah, and not stealing from me would be a good improvement too.

My point is, trans people are disrespected, harassed, and thought of as a joke enough in mainstream media, so I really don’t need a fic like this, given a tag that’s supposed to represent us, and then you throw that representation out of the fic completely because you didn’t know how to write it and wanted to create your own disgusting, heteronormative ending. I’m very, very, upset about this, and I’ll be honest that there is no way I’ll forgive this.

Now, this was a very disheartening discovery. I almost wanted to stop writing the Landscaper AU altogether. But, a friend of mine told me something important, and I’ll quote her now:

“Could you imagine if fic writers like you with firsthand experience of being trans didn’t write about being trans in various contexts? This is such potential for presenting Viktor, comfortable with his identity, totally working it, and having his friends and peers respect that and him being nonbinary, rich, and successful. Finally there’s a great representation of a nonbinary trans character that is so casual within its context.”

This reminded me of what I set out to do when I started planning this fic series. I want to see content of trans people just being confident, happy, and loved. So I won’t give up. I’m going to approach the Landscaper AU and other trans positive fic ideas I have the same way I approached my first fic; I’ll make posting a fic weekly my new objective writing goal. This way, I have a steady schedule to build my writing stamina and productivity back up.

I’m still in school, and as it’s my last semester of university, I’m very stressed out, so I might not be able to stick to this schedule, but I’ll do my very best to do so! I hope you’ll all support me, and send me more encouragement in any from you can; whether it’s kudos, comments, messages, tags, asks, additions to my fic posts, or tweets. I appreciate every single one of these.

I’ll see everyone in part 2 of the Landscaper AU!

#yuri!!! on ice #yuri on ice #yoi #landscaper au #fanfic stuff #fanfic and writing #den rants #den rambles #trans stuff #this is just all my bitterness and sadness in one post #but i hope whoever reads it understands me a little more and supports me #i'm not gonna tag anything else #personal