‘I wanted all eyes on me’ – The OA and Shadow and Bone star Patrick Gibson on his acting pedigree

After the Netflix series that gave Patrick Gibson his break-out role was cancelled, it was no doubt tempting to jump at the next thing that came along. But the Dubliner — who has been acting since age eight — has chosen his roles carefully to forge a long-term career. It helps that he’s had his thespian parents, Lenny Abrahamson, and a clown professor to guide him.

A solidarity exists among those who survived hotel quarantine during the pandemic. On encountering a fellow detainee in the free world, an immediate bond forms over a shared experience in enforced confinement, and occasionally, so does a dynamic of oneupmanship.

“A fortnight without an open window,” I’ve smugly responded of my own quarantine episode, to those who underwent a mere week to 10 days with a terrace. “It was tough, yet strangely cathartic, and actually quite spiritual in some ways,” I then deliver with a martyred air.

Consequently, I feel completely diminished by Patrick Gibson’s multiple bouts with room-serviced captivity. “I think I did it five times,” the actor casually estimates, scratching a whiskered chin. “Once in Australia, once in America and a couple of times while going back and forth between the UK and Belgium.”

He’s unsure how long in total, something I chalk up to a coping mechanism from the residual trauma. “Maybe,” he agrees. “I mean, the days blended into each other. I did keep a video diary as a way not to lose my mind, but I’m too terrified to look back at it now. And I had it easy compared to some of my friends who’re actors. A couple I know were in and out of quarantine once a month.”

With each stint in confinement preceding an acting job, Gibson explains that all delivered the perfect duration in which to learn lines; to find a character’s motivation, and even workshop with a clown professor. Yes, you read that right — a clown professor.

“I was quarantining in Brisbane to work on a film I was shooting in Australia called The Portable Door which has a lot of physical comedy in the script, something I’ve never done. I’ve never done comedy — there’s actually nothing scarier than doing comedy because the reaction is so much more immediate. You know if you do something and people don’t laugh, you’re in trouble. It’s not as nuanced as drama.

“So I did workshops on Zoom with a clown professor. He’s an amazing movement coach teaching in one of the best drama schools in Australia. And it was about facing the fear of falling on your face, which is at the core of clowning; getting comfortable with that, not giving a shit if you make an idiot of yourself. It was actually way more philosophical than I expected. The theory of clowning is so fascinating.”

I’m disappointed with the distinct lack of clown tropes in his account of the experience: no red squeaky nose, no water-squirting flower. There must have been some slapstick involved.

“There was a physical [slapstick]. He would get a chair, give himself a simple task to unfold the chair and do a 60-minute routine, which was hilarious. And I learned from that, just doing simple things and allowing myself to flow with it. He’d have me waving my arm around, and then he’d click his fingers, and I’d be waving the other one, or my leg, or some other crazy action. Jumping up and down. Using my whole body.

“If I was being monitored [during quarantine], they’d have thought I was losing it in there.”

It’s Friday evening in Los Angeles. Gibson (27) who found fame with the Netflix cryptic fantasy series The OA, talks to me from his hotel room. “At least this one I can come and go from,” he laughs with a drawn-out titter.

He periodically repositions the camera during our video call, often at an upward angle, which for most of us would manufacture a furl of unfortunate chins, but only serves to enhance his pale, cinematic features.

The Dubliner, raised in Stillorgan and schooled at Gonzaga College in Ranelagh, is on a flying visit to meet his agents, Dar Rollins and Andrew Kurland at Creative Artists Agency (CAA), who between them represent and negotiate for screen luminaries such as Michael Keaton, Samuel L Jackson and Sarah Michelle Gellar.

I’m imagining the agency as an open-plan office, with blinding white furnishings, floor-to-ceiling views of the Hollywood sign, and skittish assistants clumsily clutching scripts and offering green juices. “Well no, not quite,” Gibson smiles.“ But we went for a coffee on a roof of some fancy hotel, which was still very LA.”

Since a breakout role as a disaffected delinquent in The OA — a supernatural, sometimes baffling series, circling near-death experiences and alternate universes — Gibson has ricocheted from sumptuous costume saga in The Spanish Queen; to Gen Z romcom In A Relationship, alongside Emma Roberts; and a West End stage debut in Lynn Nottage’s Pulitzer-winning Sweat.​

Meanwhile, the fruits of his quarantine labour are set for imminent release, including a second season of Channel 4 crime series Before We Die; independent teen drama, Good Girl Jane, lauded at the recent Tribeca Film Festival and a central role in the next run of Netflix mega-hit Shadow and Bone.

As a rule, agents largely guide and counsel an actor towards success, while sometimes inadvertently steering them into failure. Does Gibson feel comfortable placing his full faith in his LA-based representatives?

“Good agents, who you feel completely at ease with, who understand your goals and what’s right for you, they will have your back. And [my agents] have my back. Right now, there’s so much content being made with all the streaming platforms, it’s important to know the next thing you’re going into is right for you. Because once you’re in, it’s a big commitment.

“Shadow and Bone, that’s six months of the year. That’s a massive project to sign on for, so it’s important to have a team of people to discuss with, feel it out. Some have their own motivations and will encourage you to work on something that serves the immediate, rather than the long-term plan. A good agent will encourage you to say no if you need to.”

At just 27 and still in the infancy of his career, is saying no to work frightening? “Saying no is scarier than saying yes but it shouldn’t be. Also, if you say no to something, people can then assume you’re not working but I don’t think it’s good to make decisions over what others might think of you.”

For Gibson, performance is in the DNA. His parents, Irish mum Kate and his dad, Richard, who was born in Uganda and raised in the UK, met and fell in love as actors on London’s West End. “One of them was doing a Noël Coward play I think, I can’t remember what the other was [doing].”

While Kate walked away from acting, ultimately transitioning into marketing, Richard continued his career on stage and screen, notably doing a 10-year stint as Nazi buffoon Herr Flick in the iconic BBC sitcom ’Allo ’Allo!.

During summer breaks from school, young Patrick and his older brother Billy played backstage during Richard’s touring stage productions, mingling with cast and crew. For Patrick, a seed was planted. “The costumes, the transformative atmosphere, the creativity — it captured my imagination.”

Gibson tagged along to his father’s theatrical agency in Dublin, communicating his desire to act. Aged eight, he landed his first commercial for Vodafone and enrolled in afterschool drama classes, the latter a futile exercise.

“I remember briefly doing Betty Ann Norton, Billie Barry [stage schools], and my parents being told, ‘This kid is not designed to be in this environment, he’s too mental’. I imagine I was incredibly annoying to teach; must have been a nightmare. I had no interest in group collaboration. I wanted all eyes on me.”

This unapologetic self-interest proved rewarding on the local audition circuit, with Gibson and his brother cast as Liam Cunningham’s sons in a 2007 RTÉ production of Maeve Binchy’s Anner House. Shot in Cape Town, it’s the only time Gibson has travelled to the African continent. While far removed from his father’s childhood home in Uganda, it gave Richard the opportunity to introduce his children to a taste of his African upbringing.

“Dad left Africa when he was 10, moved to London when his father was working there and he had a mad transition. Uganda was all he knew, and he’s told us how wonderful it was to grow up there and then he moved to the UK where it was grey and miserable. So being able to revisit Africa with us as kids was significant for him. He brought us to Kruger National Park, which isn’t in Uganda but he had been there as a child and it was a special trip for all of us.”

By the time Gibson attended Gonzaga, he had appeared in a couple of episodes of The Tudors and was a ‘lost boy’ in Neverland, Sky’s expansive adaptation of Peter Pan. “That’s where the penny dropped. That’s when I realised, ‘Yeah, I really want to do this’.”

Disappointment came with an audition for Game of Thrones’ adolescent despot Joffrey Baratheon, a role which ultimately went to Cork’s Jack Gleeson. “I was 15, maybe 16 and I know I got close. Not final two, but I got really close. But Jack was Joffrey. There’s a DNA in every part that casting directors are looking to match that up with. When you see it, it’s undeniable. I’ve had parts I don’t get because no matter how hard I work on that character, there’s somebody who matches up [more than I do].”

A successful casting for Lenny Abrahamson’s What Richard Did as an impressionable young sidekick to Jack Reynor’s titular anti-hero heightened his profile and fostered an enduring relationship with the Oscar-nominated director. Abrahamson was directly instrumental in Gibson studying philosophy at Trinity College.

“I was thinking about doing philosophy, and at the same time talking about drama school and Lenny gave me the nudge. He said: ‘If you want to be an actor for the rest of your life, do something now that’s different. And if you’re going to act for the rest of your life, philosophy demands you look at everything from every angle.’ It encourages you to analyse and assess beyond a linear point of view.”

However, Gibson struggled to balance work and college. “I missed classes, tutorials. I missed my exams two years running,” and after landing The OA in 2015 and relocating to New York for five months, his studies had to be ultimately sacrificed. “I will go back, some day,” he promises with a cackle.

The OA was a complex learning experience for Gibson. Conceived by Brit Marling and Zal Batmanglij, the creative duo behind indie efforts The East and Sound Of My Voice, the series was a psychedelic blend of comic-book fantasy and murky mystery, and hailed as being both brilliant and baffling. One critic called it, “bonkers with a vengeance,” while another dismissed it as “gripping but annoying”.

With Marling taking centre stage as a blind woman missing for seven years who reappears with her vision restored, a mysterious carving on her back and a flat-out refusal to disclose where she had been, the show amassed a keen audience who were left bereft after the shock cancellation in 2019, leaving the storyline on a cliffhanger.

Some were so disappointed they raised funds for a ‘Save The OA’ digital billboard in New York’s Times Square, with one devotee going on hunger strike outside of Netflix’s LA offices.

Gibson was deflated by the cancellation. “I got a call from Brit and Zal when I was coming back from a music festival, which was a slight buzzkill. And they said, ‘We have some sad news’. From their side, while everything in that show had been a challenging thing to make, I found the whole journey was so bizarre and magical. And it didn’t feel that out of the ordinary the way it ended. With something like Shadow and Bone, that would surprise me if it was cancelled that way but, with The OA, it felt right in a strange way.”

Shadow and Bone is Gibson’s second punt with the Netflix machine. Joining the hugely successful show in its second season, after the debut series drew in 55 million viewers in its first 28 days, long-term success appears a more likely outcome.

Adapted from a series of popular fantasy novels by Leigh Bardugo, the glossy saga boasts a central band of heroes and cads with varying degrees of magical capabilities. Starring Chronicles Of Narnia’s Ben Barnes, British-American actor Zoë Wanamaker and Irish newcomer Danielle Galligan, audiences were gripped by an interspersing, sweeping narrative framed against the battle for Ravka, a fictional realm heavily influenced by Imperialist Russia and the reign of the Tzars.

Joining the conflict is Gibson’s Nikolai Lantsov, a prince of Ravka masquerading as a pirate — a duality the actor relished. “He’s a prince and a pauper, an alter ego in disguise and he brings this massive bravado; a pirate who has this massive ship, has got this massive swagger. Kind of like Robert Downey Jr in Iron Man, he gets on people’s nerves but he’s also hard to hate. Underneath, he’s vulnerable, not given a chance by his family. It was fascinating to be able to explore both sides of that person.”

With Lantzov a standout fan favourite of the book series, the actor is keenly aware of a pressure to please with his take on the character. Unusually for an actor in his 20s, Gibson employs a veteran’s perspective to quieten such anxieties.

“With movies and TV shows, everything is talked about like it’s life and death, and it can often feel like it is, but at the end of the day, it’s not. Other people’s jobs are — some literally.”

He tells me his brother Billy — now a father of two, who works as a cardiologist in a Dublin hospital — is a massive inspiration. ​

“Working a 24-hour shift, then taking his kids to the pool, has a few hours off, then goes straight on to another night shift. And the stakes he’s dealing with, the health and well-being of people, their actual lives — it always puts it in perspective for me.”

Quite the effective reality touchstone, I remark. But does it always work?

“You hear actors complaining all the time. We’re the number one for it. But you know what, it’s absolutely unwarranted because to get to do this as a job is the most fortunate thing in the world. It really is. And I won’t take that for granted.”

Ramble of the month August 2022: An autistic-eye analysis of the Lizzo lyrics gaffe on “Grrrls”

Reminder: If anything in this article causes offence, please know it’s not intended to do so, and I welcome any polite, constructive feedback to help me avoid committing the same errors in future.  As ever, abusive/trolling responses of any kind will not be tolerated.

Back when I wrote out my monthly rambles for June and July, back in late May, I wondered what I was going to follow up with for August and beyond.  Having trusted that if I waited, inspiration would come along as it did for my June ramble, I patiently waited.  Sure enough, late in June, I see a video a friend of mine posted on their Facebook page. It was a clip from the show of South African comedian and presenter Trevor Noah regarding a recent controversy in the music industry.

 Not long ago, the female artist Lizzo put out a song called “Grrrls”, which contained the use of the word “spaz”.  Apparently in the United States, this is a common slang term meaning to “freak out” or “go crazy”, though never having heard it in any US entertainment media I’ve watched or listened to, I’m taking that claim with a pinch of salt. However, the word is also a common abbreviation of the term “spastic”, which is medical parlance for the spasms that occur in people who have cerebral palsy or similar forms of disability.

 Here in the UK, where I am from, the abbreviated term has long been used as an insult against the differently abled in general, and as an autistic person, I can vouch for this from first-hand experience.  Such terminology is, of course, deeply offensive and in recent times collective known as ableist language.  To someone like me, ableist terms are the equivalent of sexist and misogynistic language being used against women, racist language being used against people of colour, homophobic or transphobic terminology, and so forth.

 Now apparently, one fan who knew the term’s other meaning was quick to point this out to Lizzo, and apparently, she was very quick to do the right thing; she admitted to ignorance, apologised and corrected the lyrics of her song to mitigate the incident.  All in all, up to this point, exactly how a mistake like this should be handled when it comes to using prejudiced language; quietly point it out, fix it and apologise for the error.  In theory, that should presumably be the end of the matter.

 Sadly, it’s not; Lizzo then took a huge virtual beating as a ton of angry messages blasted her on social media.  Discounting the trollers and those using this as an excuse to be bigoted towards Lizzo herself, this would be an unfortunate but not totally unexpected reaction. Someone insults you or the groups you are in, however inadvertently, you’re going to react and it’s going be negative. To expect otherwise is like boiling water to its boiling point and then expecting it not to turn to steam.  You boil something, it steams.  Action, reaction.  Cause, effect.  Simple as that, at least at the most basic level.  After all, human beings can channel their reactions to varying degrees, but ultimately, we are still compelled to react with sufficient stimuli.

 Now it’s at this point that Mr Noah loses some agreement from myself, because while he’s trying to point out that context matters, backing up Lizzo’s mistake being just that and generally defending her, he also ends up generalising those making the comments.  In effect, he ends up conveying the message that context matters in judging Lizzo’s mistake, but not necessarily in relation to how people have reacted to it in the negative.  Granted, I suspect that’s unintentional, and perhaps at least partly influenced by Noah and Lizzo both being people of colour, thereby engendering a certain level of camaraderie and mutual protection.  In essence, Noah probably sees much of the online comments as being primarily about racism disguised as false righteousness, and he’s trying to back Lizzo up as a fellow person of colour.  If the mistake had been committed by another differently abled person against another group, especially if it was committed by a fellow autistic, I might well act in the same way.

 However, if context truly does matter, then we have to look at all the contexts involved, not just Lizzo’s.  To do otherwise is to say context doesn’t matter, or only matters for some and not for others, which is part of how marginalised groups like women, people of colour, the differently abled and so on stay marginalised.  As such, we need to consider three key areas that Noah didn’t address on the video I saw; who the people making comments will be, in what context is Lizzo’s mistake received, and what else needs to be done about this.

Identifying the players:

Sadly, I’ve not been able to find the video to check back on this next part, and I apologise if I’m somehow getting this wrong, but based on my memory, Trevor Noah didn’t seem to acknowledge any distinctions within those commenting on Lizzo’s gaffe.  He seemed to be claiming that all the commenters were “SJWs”, people who were piling on the band-wagon to be disrespectful to Lizzo without any true connection to the cause of equality for those of us who are differently abled. If so, this is quite a major generalisation, and like most if not all generalisations it quite simply isn’t true.

 That being said, I will not deny that at least some of the backlash will be from people who don’t really have anything to do with wanting to defend the differently abled.  In any incident where a marginalised group is treated badly, whether by accident or intent, there will be trolls piling on for their own amusement and bigots trying to capitalise on the situation for their own gain.  That’s a sad reality that must be faced, but it’s only part of the group.  You’ve then also got posers that feign righteousness in service of a cause not their own for whatever strange pathological reasons they have.  Again, only part of the group, and as with the trolls and bigots, they’re a distraction from the real issue, so it’s best to filter all such people out.

  This leaves us with the genuine members of the marginalised group in question, and I tend to break these down into three main groups.  In reality, any group is more of a scale of shades, but for ease of reference, I use a three-way split.  To explain this, I’m going to be using the twin metaphors of Martin Luthor King versus Malcolm X and the X-Men characters of Professor X and Magneto, largely because a lot of what I understand of the first metaphor is known to me through its analogy to the second.  I apologise in advance if I’m getting anything wrong about the first metaphor as I go on, and I’m more than happy to be corrected on any error (respectfully, of course).

 The first group is what I would call the hard-line activists, the people who will take the most militant stance regarding the marginalised group’s search for equality.  This is best typified by the likes of Magneto in the X-Men, who preaches so hard against mutant mistreatment of mutants that he becomes the mutant equivalent of human bigots like Bolivar Trask, Stephen Lang, Cameron Hodge, William Stryker and Graydon Creed.  Aspects of Magneto have also been likened to Malcolm X by others who have analysed the X-Men’s metaphorical representations of real-life prejudice, so I presume he would, in turn, be an example of this group in terms of real-life activism in the history of Black people.

 Group number 2 are the true SJWs as the term has come to be used.  For those who don’t know, SJW stands for Social Justice Warrior, which was originally used as a positive term for equal rights activists.  In the past decade, however, it has become the term used to describe people who advocate loudly from behind keyboards for their groups or groups they are allied with, yet do little to nothing in the real world.  In looking at this group through the metaphors I’ve chosen, I take the rare course of not likening Professor X and his X-Men to Martin Luther King.  The two are not the same, and for those who may not immediately see that difference, I’ll explain it.

 If I know anything about Martin Luther King, it’s that he believed in non-violent protest, in standing up against injustice without resorting to violence.  It’s invariably the most effective form of protest, which is why those who oppose the aims of peaceful protesters often try to incite protests to become riots, so that the protests can be undermined and opposition against them can be strengthened.  However, if you look at what Professor X and his students do, the same methodology is not in evidence at all.  Xavier takes in those students with tactically useful powers, then trains them to become part of a strike team aimed at taking down so-called “renegade mutants”, as well as anti-mutant humans, all from the comfort of a mansion posing as a school.  In essence, it’s the equivalent of one person of colour training other people of colour to police their own group while also taking on groups like the KKK.  No peaceful protest, no real investment in trying to further equality, just keeping the worst people in line to maintain a crappy status quo.  Very dramatic and necessary for a superhero narrative, but ultimately ineffective in real-life or in fiction as a means of improving equality.

 As such, it’s the third group, that of the non-violent peaceful activist that may voice anger, upset and disappointment but never resort to discriminatory language and backs up their views with peaceful protest, that Martin Luther King comes under, and the one that’s always worth listening to.  The ultimate advancement of each marginalised group towards true equality depends on this sub-group being heard above the other sub-groups and the band-wagon groups that latch on for their own amusement or to undermine equality.  Sadly, if people keep generalising based on the loud and stupid instead of listening to the smart and peaceful, marginalising groups will just carry on being marginalised regardless.

The context the lyrics were taken in:

We know the context for Lizzo well enough at this point; she was using a supposedly local term for people in the United States not realising it’s an insult over here.  As I’ve noted already, though, this is the first time I’ve come across it despite listening to and watching a reasonable amount of US-made TV, film and music, so I’m not certain how much water that context holds.  If it’s a relatively recent addition to America’s slang vocabulary, specific to some under-featured group or region relative to the things I’ve watched or listened to, that may well account for it. It’s also possible the term has previously been censored in UK markets and this is the first time it’s “slipped the net”.

 However, I’m well aware that there are many things we can all be ignorant of because they happen in countries we don’t live in or visit.  An example Trevor Noah used in the video I saw was the word “fag”; in the UK, this is a synonym for cigarettes, whereas in the US it’s homophobic terminology.  Other terms doubtless have this same kind of localised difference in meaning, and that’s just looking at two nations that use English as a language.  When you deal with countries that have different languages to each other, the potential for accidentally saying something wrong is bound to be higher unless you know both languages well.

 Moreover, it’s not just languages that can be region-specific.  Laws and codes of polite conduct can also change across international boundaries.  The extent to which the Japanese value politeness, for example, puts any British concept of “minding yours Ps and Qs” to shame, while other nations can at times be more liberal than some of our own attitudes.  However, the most intriguing, and concerning, example I think of when it comes to how localised our attitudes and laws can be is that of laws involving an age-limit, especially that most provoking of laws, the age of consent.

 Hypothetically, if I was to go on-line and randomly post somewhere, without providing context, that I’d had sex with a 16-year-old while I was in my mid-twenties, I’d get a lot of comments vilifying me as a monster, a lot saying “so what?” and very few asking me to clarify the context.  As a Brit, 16 is my nation’s local age of consent, but internationally, most nations have age limits anywhere between 14 and 16.  A few out-riders go as low as 12, some like the US and Mexico vary regionally, and some use marital status instead of age to determine who can or cannot have sex.  Everyone who would comment in the above hypothetical, with the exception of the minority who understand context and would seek it, would respond based solely on their local context without realising that their local law is just that; local, not global.

 Given this, it’s easy to understand why Trevor Noah’s defence of Lizzo doesn’t look at the other context, that in which her gaffe was received.  He doesn’t look at it because he probably doesn’t know it. How can he?  He’s a regularly abled person dealing with a matter involving the differently abled, and he probably doesn’t happen to have anyone in his personal life who is differently abled.  He knows something of Lizzo’s context as the two of them are fellow people of colour, and they are both celebrities, so this creates points of commonality that aid in seeing the same perspective.

 As such, it’s important to look into that other perspective and try to understand it.  What is it like to be a person who is not regularly abled, whose mind, body or both has to interact with the world in ways other than intended by the world’s present design?  As someone who is autistic, and has had the privilege of a relatively sheltered existence and no intersectionality into other marginalised groups, I won’t pretend I can somehow capture the full and exact answers to such questions, but I will try and answer them as best I can from what I know.

 Now as I’ve just noted, the world is not really designed with the differently abled in mind.  Most of it is still designed by and for the regularly abled, who seldom if ever pay us any heed as equals.  When we are considered, it’s often as an after-thought, and it usually involves dragging the regularly abled in power kicking and screaming into making changes for our benefit.  When they do, however, it’s not really folded into the mainstream of the world. Rather, it’s another after-thought that just draws out the sense of alienation we feel, assuming we’re privileged enough that our different abilities don’t rob us of the cognisance to recognise that we are alienated.

 A good example of what I mean is how differently abled children are accommodated in the national curriculum.  In England, this doesn’t happen by default; instead, schools are encouraged to buy in support, either from traded services within their local authority or reaching out to charitable institutions, on top of a default level of funding granted to them to support all SEN (Special Educational Needs) pupils they may have. If these solutions fail, they can either apply just for additional funding or ask for assessment for an EHCP (education, health and care plan), which is the legal document that replaced Statements of SEN back in 2014.

 Now while all this sounds like a lot of good support, it all stems from a single faulty premise; that the differently abled are inferior beings only worthy of after-thought measures.  The EHCP’s reality in comparison to the intention of its underpinning legislation is proof of this; the idea was that EHCPs would only be used by the most severely different of the differently abled, while the rest would only need additional funding or reasonable adjustments.  However, the legislation expanded the age range covered by the EHCPs from what was around for statements, so instead of an age range of 4 or 5 up to somewhere in the 16-18 range, now it would be anything from new-born to 25.  This together with growing awareness of various conditions and parental rights regarding SEN support caused a huge upsurge in demand that is still going on today.

 The only way the EHCP legislation could work is if the national curriculum also changed to facilitate the inclusion and integration of more SEN pupils into mainstream learning environments without after-thought measures. This, of course, didn’t happen, partly because those who devised and passed the legislation didn’t think it all the way through, and partly because we Brits have a poor habit of not updating some of our institutions as they actually should be updated.  Instead of taking a chance to be truly inclusive, we just tried to slap a new name and set of rules on a broken system.  A system broken because it was based on the faulty premise I have just mentioned.

 The adult world isn’t any better in this regard; despite legislation intended to help the differently abled into work, many have little to no success in this regard, and many can’t even face the idea of working.  Many are so impaired by their conditions that their families, the state or both will be compelled to look after them, and that is often a postcode lottery as to whether that support will actually be fit for purpose or just something that will simply do those needing support more harm. Plenty of care homes for the differently abled have been seen on the news for failing in their duties, the clarion call for those in power to correct the situation has gone out, and those in power all too often turn a deaf ear, which is a remarkable trick considering all those in power are supposedly regularly abled and thus surely not deaf at all.

 For those of us who can work, we face the dilemma of whether or not to disclose our status as differently abled people, and if we do how much support do we ask for.  Many employers won’t risk hiring the differently abled, and most who do will somehow expect their employees to tackle the job as if they were regularly abled. Despite laws being in place stipulating that reasonable adjustments must be made for people like us, many employers don’t want to do so, especially if there’s expense to them involved.  As a result, the differently abled can at times be mistaken for lazy spongers when the reality is that either our own bodies or ableist employers create a glass ceiling for our community.

 Where someone can’t work, accessing the right level of support becomes crucial, and those in power love to make that similarly impossible.  In recent years, changes to the benefits structure in the UK has hit the differently abled community hard, and as I’ve recently been discovering as I try to seek formal documentation to prove my autistic status, getting the right support from health professionals is similarly inefficient, convoluted and confusing.  This is by design, of course; a one-two from government and the NHS to avoid helping the differently abled.

 Such systemic prejudice is nothing new, either; many people forget that in the era of Nazi Germany, the Jews were not Hitler’s only victims.  In addition to the Jews, other groups were also thrown into concentration camps; Black people, homosexuals, gypsies and, believe it or not, the differently abled.  While our group was not necessarily the largest (in fact, I believe it may have been the smallest), the fact is we were as much victims of that horrific point in history as the more publicised groups targeted by the Nazis.  Before and after this, human society in general has not been kind to the physically or mentally different, and many of the conditions we now recognise in terms of neurodiversity were once simply written off as being mad, or worse.

 To this day, there are still some in the world who take ableist attitudes to extremes, especially in religious circles.  I have read at least one story in which autistics have been harmed because their families were convinced by priests of the Christian Church that autism was actually a form of demonic possession.  This is a key reason why, although I respect faiths, I am fundamentally opposed to all forms of organised religion, because religion has been used to vilify people like me just for existing.  The same is true of anti-vaccine campaigners, who have bought into fake science claiming that vaccines cause autism as an excuse to reject vaccines, and in the process vilify autistics as science gone wrong, rather than seeing us as people.

 Because of things like this, differently abled people in general have good cause to be afraid at times of the regularly abled that rule our society. We’ve suffered at their hands in the past, it’s not necessarily getting better in the present, and every time we see ableist acts or language coming at us, we’re scared it’s not going to end or will get worse.  It’s especially worrying in that our difficulties can prevent us advocating for ourselves.  Many of us are dependent on friends, family and professionals who believe in accepting us as we are to fight in our corner.  As a result, we can be more easily dismissed in our concerns because we’re not necessarily the ones voicing them.  Our dependence on advocates and lack of our own agency in essence undermines our legitimacy in the eyes of others when it shouldn’t.

 This lack of our own agency to protest relative to other marginalised groups also means we struggle to get our fair share of media attention, as does the fact that most of our marginalisation is done through legislation or systemic imbalance.  Many of us aren’t targeted by physical aggression to the same extent that people of colour, women or the LGBTQ+ community are.  As such, the media focuses more on their struggles and less on ours, and please bear in mind I’m not complaining here; just stating the simple reality.  The more violent the prejudice, the more media attention a group gets.  It’s the media model of putting drama first that creates this, but only in part.  The other part is that the people in power don’t want marginalised groups to gain equality.

 To this end, they limit the amount of media coverage given to those groups, the idea being to promote a kind of in-fighting among those they seek to oppress, and this certainly plays into how people responded to Lizzo, and how Trevor Noah and others will come to her defence.  The more it looks like the differently abled are piling on any prejudice against Lizzo for her gender, skin colour or body shape, the more the backlash against the differently abled and the less anyone involved is taken seriously.  It’s for this reason I’m taking the most logical perspective I can; to avoid playing into a cycle of counter-productive cross-group fighting that just sets us all back.

 All this effectively illustrates what Lizzo’s lyrical error means to British differently abled people; we’re severely held back by the society around us not meeting our needs, we’re afraid of being treated worse by those around us, and then some high-profile celebrity throws a bit more ableism out into the world. It’s a carelessly discarded match landing in a pool of petrol, so of course the whole thing is going to go up in flames a bit.  Of course people are going to turn all their fear and frustration into anger, and naturally they’ll direct it all right back at Lizzo.  That’s the context the mistake has been received in, and it’s the exact same context in which all other marginalised groups receive every word or action against them, accidental or intentional.

What do we do next?

The third and final part of this ramble is going to focus on one of Trevor Noah’s better questions that he asked in response to people hitting out at Lizzo after the fact.  The question is what did those responding want from Lizzo, given that she’d already apologised for the error and corrected it.  Well first off, lets discount those who don’t matter, like the trolls, the bigots and the loud-and-stupid portion of the differently abled activists.  The first two aren’t interested in making anything better and the third has good intentions mixed up with very bad or useless methods.  Instead, lets focus on those reacting from a position of peaceful protest.

 Part of what many will have wanted will just be to make it known how badly Lizzo let them down with this error.  That’s a valid reason provided the comments weren’t being taken to extremes. That’s not easy, I know; at times I have been one of the loud-and-stupid ones losing self-control over something done against a fellow differently abled person, especially those on the autistic spectrum.  However, the fact is trolling and insulting people is a waste of time beyond the personal need for catharsis; it’s only through reasoned debate that anything ever gets better.

 Another part, however, will be a desire to see the hurt against them penalised. For many, especially those who can only really see their personal context and not the other contexts at play, the idea of people injuring them, physically or otherwise, and then not paying for that is appalling.  I certainly can’t fathom how Donald Trump’s ableist mockery of a differently abled reporter during his 2016 presidential campaign wasn’t penalised in some fashion at the time. Ableism, to my knowledge, doesn’t seem to given the same credence as other prejudices, so it’s very important that there be some wider semblance of accountability here.

  Sadly, however, there doesn’t appear to be any mechanism for formal reprisals in this area.  Whereas some institutions within society have censors, complaint boards, investigative branches and so on, the entertainment industry doesn’t seem to have anything like this.  To my knowledge, there’s no independent body people can go to that can go out, investigate Lizzo’s actions and hand down a penalty to herself or her record label. This makes it even more likely that social media backlash will be the only recourse for many, and without that or some other solution in place for the future, this kind of incident will almost certainly occur again, backlash and all.

 However, it’s important to recognise that part of the reason the entertainment industry often lacks formal bodies to handle these kinds of situations is because music, film and TV are all artistic forms of expression.  These often can’t work if they have to operate under strict rules, and where they do have rules in place, sometimes those rules backfire by compromising the art being made.  That’s not to say some rules shouldn’t exist, but rather that rules and regulations can clash with artistic expression if you’re not careful, so at best it's only a partial solution and not the most positive overall.

 Instead, my recommendation to the entertainment industry as a whole, and to record labels like Lizzo’s in particular, is to take a page out of the book of the Disney and Pixar film Soul.  During the making of that film, the creators hired a group of people to act as a cultural trust.  The idea of a cultural trust is that it is composed of people from a community that a particular project is trying to represent.  They can provide various details about their culture that outsiders may not notice or appreciate, which then adds accuracy and authenticity to whatever is being made.

 To my mind, this basic concept could be expanded; instead of having a handful of people coming in project by project, standing cultural trusts could be established that can be a resource for record companies as well as film and TV studios.  Artists in all entertainment mediums could consult these trusts for guidance around their latest projects.  Creating an album and want to be sure you’re not accidentally using language with prejudicial meanings, either in your own nation or others?  Consult those members of the trust, and they can tell you from their own personal background if you’re making a mistake with a given word or phrase.  Want to create a film or bit of TV that’s showing Soul-level authenticity instead of being like the early Star Trek: TNG episode “Code of Honor”?  Same principle.

 Ultimately, this is what everyone would probably really want; for Lizzo and others to go beyond fixing this single error and instead use it to help make sure it won’t happen again for any musician.  Also, we need to stop fighting each other when situations like this come up. Many of those lashing out on either side in this situation will almost certainly have overlooked a key element when it comes to addressing how people are marginalised in our society.  That element is intersectionality, also known as cross-over or over-lap.

 All too often, when certain groups are trying to push for greater equality, many of us forget that there is sometimes overlap.  In this case, we’ve got the differently abled on one side, Black people and women on the other.  However, the reality is that there will be black people and women who are differently abled, and in fact you will probably have people out there who are black, women and differently abled all at once.  As such, the groups should not really be opposed because in reality, some members of each group will be members of one or both of the other groups.

 Because of this reality of intersectionality, I don’t agree with the idea of each marginalised group in society having to compete with other groups in the same boat, nor with members of those groups acting against each other. As I’ve already noted earlier in this ramble, that kind of infighting is part and parcel of how such groups remain marginalised, or even out-right oppressed.  Each group needs to act in concert with its peers, backing each other up and forming alliances instead of being goaded into clashing with each other.

 As such, I honestly hope everyone that’s been upset by this incident has managed to calm down and to see it in its full context.  I hope that all the groups involved can work together for mutual gain instead of being pulled apart by this incident.  Most of all, I hope that Lizzo’s willingness to take responsibility for her mistake inspires more people in the entertainment industry to be more careful not to use prejudiced language in error, and that more will be done to make that industry’s products more inclusive.  Lastly, I hope I haven’t bored or offended anyone with this analysis, and that you’ve found some worth in reading all of this.  Until my next ramble, ta-ta for now.

i found a crash-inducing bug in my art software

i updated to the newest version to verify if the bug still existed

the bug has been fixed. ú_u

Deepcolor in the middle of getting air-juggled by gladiia, begging for her life, trying to explain how she simps for the doctor too hard to betray everyone, only to unlock Skadi's rage mode and getting home-run-derbied through several feet of sheet metal

Gladiia, giving Deepcolor history's first ever toiletless swirly with her S3, making her ricochet through the dorm walls like a pinball: "Feel like telling us everything you know yet, or should I let my associate, Shark, have a round with you? She's known as a genius physicist back in the Second Company, you know? She was the first one to create an object to achieve perpetual motion airborne."

Deepcolor, catching her breath: "W-wait, she did what? I don't have anything like that in my records..."

Specter: "Oh, I most certainly did! The theory was pretty simple: First you grab a slimy little nobody, like say, oh, a traitor or a spy, both to known to be remarkably craven and aerodynamic, and you ask them something you want to know. If you don't feel satisfied with the answer, then you make a very, very hard fist and make it connect with their cute little lower jaw, in an upwards motion, with such force that they go up."

Deepcolor: "A-and then...?"

Specter, knuckles making a horrid sound like the jaws of life tearing apart the steel structure of a crashed car: "And then they go into orbit, past the exosphere. And they don't come down. The end. It's quite practical science. Is it not, Swordfish? Remember the last time we did that? It was a spy, too, that time."

Gladiia: "The experiment was a failure that time, technically speaking, since the subject did eventually come back down. Well, rained down on us would be more correct, given in how many pieces he had the gall to descend as. I remember we had to scrub the base's rooftop for hours to get him off of it. Up for an experiment, Trash?"

Skadi, stepping forth: "Alright, enough of that, you two. Deepcolor, at this juncture, I really suggest you just spill the beans, as they call it on the surface, before these Second Company hooligans make a you-shaped hole throughout all the dorms and the Command Center's floor and ceiling."

Deepcolor: "Waaaait! Wait wait, you've got it all wrong! Well, not all wrong, but, s-some of it! You could technically say I'm, mmh, kind of an... Observer with a vested interest in particular details of utmost importance and delicate intricacies, I'll admit, but you have the intent of it all wrong! I've been here for a while, you know? I'll admit there may be some purposes to my actions here, but my vocation to what Rhodes strives for is real! I'm really working myself thin here, I'm not sparing any efforts, even if I whine here and there, because, well... They are worth it, you know?"

Gladiia: "Tsk, she actually spilled them."

Specter: "Wow! A round of applause for everyone's favorite killjoy and party pooper! Give it to Skadi, archnemesis of science, vanquisher of fun!"

Skadi: "Remind me to ask Kal'tsit if she can pump you full of more Originium and make you nice and docile again."

Gladiia: "Who do you mean by 'they'? Rhodes Island? Your fellow Operators?"

Deepcolor: "Well, them too, but I mostly mean... You know, the Doctor."

Gladiia: "Oh, singular pronoun 'they'. Elaborate on what you think about the Doctor."

Deepcolor, fidgety: "W-well, see! The Doctor's kind of very weird, but they are both gentle and fun, they know how to party, but will also see to your every need without even having to ask them. The Doctor's office is like a haven of tranquility and domestic joy in this thrice blasted, needlessly dry surface world, and it is not coincidence that there's always at least someone there basking in the ambiance, be it to find some inner peace or spend some time with the Doctor..."

Skadi, usual Doctor's Office squatter, nodding: "Indeed, indeed."

Deepcolor: "And when they direct Operations, it's like watching a true Maestro of Aegir six-dimensional chess with retroactive time travel! They are like an artist painting a solemn winter's scene after a spring feast! Like a composer who can just feel the music! Like a precise surgeon, nary a movement wasted! As artists of different crafts, you too can tell, right?"

Skadi, nodding faster: "Very true, they are a cut above any other field marshal, commander or warlord I've seen both in the surface and in the depths -- no offense, Gladiia -- and yet, they go well out of their way to assure everyone makes it... Yes... No one gets left behind, no one has to be left behind. You know, I'm thinking maybe Deepcolor isn't that bad, she seems truly, genuinely moved by the Doctor."

Deepcolor: "Well, it's a bit embarrassing to admit it, but yes! I quite like the Doctor, I'm hoping that, once all of this is resolved, in all of its myriad of fronts, I get the chance to take them to the depths, show them the true colors of the ocean, from the most onyx and turbulent of blacks like midnight ink to the most incandescent and still of sun-kissed ceruleans!"

Skadi, nodding stopping abruptly: "...Hm?"

Deepcolor: "And I'll show them the allure of a world more expansive and gorgeous than anything the surface could possibly offer! Aah, how the vortexes of the depths take in fish of all colors and make unique whorls of rainbow, each and every one like a snowflake, a unique experience that's as ephemeral as it is enriching, each visage but a fleeting moment that permeates as a dear memory spent arm in arm with their lover and the one that promises to love, forevermore! And then I'll introduce them to my parents, who'll give us their blessing, and--"

Skadi: "Shark, pass me the floatie behind you."

Specter, tossing her the red orca floatie: "Here's your marketable pool toy. What do you need it for?"

Skadi: "Deepcolor."

Deepcolor: "--And after we're all sweaty and stuck to each other, I'll look into their eyes and whisper a most heated murmur, enticing and full of promi-- Yes?"

Skadi:

Deepcolor:

Specter, as Rhodes Island's security systems blare a red alert, having detected a warhead-like impact on the hull: "Swordfish! Skadi did it! She scienced!"

Gladiia, as her smartphone already has 14 very concerned texts from Kal'tsit: "She's made us proud, Shark, she successfully created a perpetual motion airborne object. Truly a daughter of Aegir."

And it was that day that a new constellation, the Deep Colorful, joined the sea of stars, inspiring millions of artist and spies dripping in libido. The end.

Comforting Student Reader ft. Aizawa and Present Mic

Warnings: crying, bad times, death, mourning

Requests are open!!

Although no one knows it, he always keeps an eye on his students. He can almost always tell when someone is upset.

He noticed how your actions changed. You were always quiet and reserved, daydreaming from time to time. You would always turn your work in, getting mostly A’s with a few B’s. So when you started failing the class with F’s and D’s, Aizawa knew something was wrong. He also noticed how everyday you would space out even more than you did before. He noticed the way you acted, slow and solum. He saw how sleep deprived you were. You had missing assignments and late work, unfinished tests and work.

Aizawa confronted you one day after class.

“L/N, stay after class please.” You nodded, taking in a shaky sigh. This day cannot get any worse, you thought. The bell rang and you packed up, walking slowly to Mr. Aizawa. 

“Yes, sir?” you asked quietly, giving a fake smile. He sat on his desk, looking over you. Your uniform looked as if you had just thrown it on. Aizawa brought his eyes up to yours. He could see how dull the had become.

“L/N, what is going on?” Aizawa asked. You gave him a confused look.

“What are you talking about?” you questioned, although you knew exactly what he meant. Aizawa gave you a soft look.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he started.

You looked around nervously, avoiding his gaze. “I, I… I don’t know what you mean.” Aizawa stared at you for a moment, analyzing your body composition.

“Your grades have dropped drastically, you’ve started falling asleep in class,” he listed off. You looked away, ashamed. “Y/N,” he said, resting a hand on your shoulder. You looked up, surprised by both his hand and the use of your first name. “What’s going on?”

Tears welled up in your eyes. “Can you close the door?” you asked quietly. Aizawa’s face softened.

“Of course.” He closed the door and came back to you. He pulled two chairs to face each other and he sat down in one. When he saw that you hadn’t moved he motioned for you to sit and you did as asked. The two of you sat in silence for a while before you bury your face in your hands.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, silent tears falling down your face.

“It’s ok,” Aizawa said softly. “Take your time.” 

Silence.

You lifted your head and Aizawa’s heart broke slightly. Although he would never admit it, Aizawa would die for his students and seeing them cry made him feel bad. He saw the tear tracks on your face and leaned forward.

“Y/N,” he said quietly. You looked at him. “You know you can trust me, right?” You nodded, sitting up.

“Yeah,” you answered and wiped the tears from your face. Once you compose yourself you decided to speak. “I’ve just been having a really hard time lately. I’m sorry,” you apologized again, tearing up.

“It’s alright,” Aizawa assured. “Can you tell me why?” You nodded.

“It’s just…” you took a deep breath, “My dad… he, he’s a pro hero and a villain hurt him pretty bad. He’s, he’s my only family left and the doctors said that they’ve done all they could. 

Aizawa’s eyes softened as he stood, pulling you up with him. He pulled you into a hug, holding you tight. This caused you to burst into tears. Aizawa pulled you closer as you sobbed, clutching his shirt in fists. He used on hand to hold your head against him and his other to rub up and down your back in hopes to help calm you down.

“I’m sorry,” you sobbed.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Aizawa soothed, resting his chin on your head. He stayed with you until you had calmed down. When you finally pulled away you discovered how tired you really were. Aizawa saw it as well; the way you swayed slightly on your feet, the way your head bobbed down and how it took a lot of energy for you to keep your eyes open.

“Are you tired?” he asked with a small smile. You shook your head.

“No,” you slurred, rubbing your eyes and fixing your posture. Picking up your bag, you got ready to leave. “I need to get to my next class. I’m already late.” As you started to walk towards the door Aizawa caught your shoulder. You turned to face him and saw the look in his eyes. 

“Yes you are, I can tell,” he said, stopping you. “I can tell you haven’t been sleeping for several days.” He smiled, “you’re beginning to look like me.” You smiled slightly as well. “Come with me.” You followed him to a room connected to the classroom, his office. You looked around to see a cot against one of the walls.

“Rest here,” Aizawa instructed. You cocked your head.

“What about class?” you asked.

“Who do you have?”

“Mr. Hizashi,” you answered, yawning.

“Alright,” Aizawa smiled. “I will let him know that you are with me. Now, rest. You really need it.” He ruffled your hair as you nodded. He turned to leave the room before you stopped him.

“Mr. Aizawa?” you spoke. He turned towards you and smiled softly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling slightly as well. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome,” he responded. “But, hey, don’t tell anyone about this. I can’t go around with people thinking I’m soft.” You giggled.

“Ok.” You laid down on the cot, suddenly feeling extremely tired. Aizawa watched you fall asleep and smiled, knowing that you’d be ok in the long run.

Since Hizashi has such an outgoing personality, he always tries to make sure his class is awake and happy. He tries to make school exciting for his students and fellow coworkers. He always enjoyed how you smiled and laughed at his jokes. He even enjoyed when you would sing along quietly to the ear-blasting music he played sometimes during class.

What happened that day was hard on the both of you. On your way to school a villian decided to attack in your area. Because you live on the outside of the city, the big heros were not around. You watched helplessly as the villian with a fire quirk snatched your brother, taking him. You screamed running forward. Pro heroes fought against the villain as you ran forward to fight back.

“L/N!” Present Mic yelled but that did nothing to stop you. “Stop!”

You continued moving forward as Hizashi grabbed you by the waist and pulled back.

“No!” you sobbed, suddenly aware of what was going on. Hizashi’s grip tightened as he pulled you away from the scene.

“Shh,” he shushed, trying to calm you down. He dragged you into an alleyway. You continued to scream and cry, fighting against Present Mic.

“(Brother’s name)!” you shrieked. You tried to use your water quirk to escape but red eyes stopped you.

“Y/N,” Aizawa called, running up to the two of you. He kneeled down in front of you. “You need to calm down. You’ll hurt Mic if you keep it up. Calm down, ok?”

Something in his voice calmed you and you quit struggling. He smiled softly and patted your head, blinking. He stood and ran off. “Stay with her Hizashi. We’ll be ok.”

You fell limp and both you and Hizashi fell to the ground. You grabbed his arms and sobbed harder with each scream you heard.

“Shh,” Mic soothed again. He pulled a pair of headphones from his bag and plugged them into his phone. Pulling up Youtube Music, he typed in (favorite artist) and placed the headphones over your head. Hizashi picked a playlist, rocking the two of you back and forth. After several songs you finally calmed down, breathing heavily.

“You are alright,” Present Mic whispered, very unlike him. “Would you like to go home?” He realized you couldn’t hear him.

“How is she?” Aizawa asked, running back over to the two. He saw Hizashi’s headphones around your head.

“Much calmer,” Present Mic answered. “But I don’t think taking her home would be the best option.” Aizawa nodded.

“She certainly is not in the right state of mind to go to class.”

“I can keep her in my classroom,” Hizashi offered. Aizawa nodded. “That way she isn’t alone or have to go to class.” He picked you up and you didn’t bat an eye. You lay limp and silent the whole way to UA. When the three of you arrived to Mic’s class, Aizawa and Hizashi noticed that your eyes were closed.

“F/N?” Aizawa said, tapping your foot. Your eyes snapped open and you shot forward. Hizashi nearly dropped you as you landed on your feet.

“Wow, it’s alright hot shot,” Hizashi said as he placed his hand on your back. You pulled the headphones down to hang around your neck, looking up to your two teachers.

“You’re going to stay with Present Mic today, alright?” Aizawa explained.

“What about class?” you whispered.

“Y/N,” Hizashi started, catching your attention. “We just think it’ll be better if you stay with me.” You thought about it for a moment before nodding. Aizawa left for his class. Your puffy red eyes met Mic’s and he smiled softly.

“You can sit over there,” he said, motioning to a desk in the front row. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you. “Just relax, ok?” You took his phone and nodded, heading to the desk and laying your head down.

Hizashi kept an eye on you for the rest of the day. He even stayed quiet during his classes just in case you had fallen asleep. When someone tried to bother you, he’d get defensive and tell them to leave you be. He even brought you lunch, figuring you wouldn’t eat unless he sat down with you and ate. He kept a good eye on you for several months and talked with you to make sure you were ok. Let’s just say that you appreciate what your teacher has done for you.

Serendipitous Synergy

“I can’t believe I got stuck with you, of all people, as a dance partner.”

“What? Scared I’ll steal the spotlight?”

“In your dreams, Lee.”

member: haechan

au: dance partner and rival!haechan x gn!reader

word count: 4.9k

genre: angst, suggestive, fluff

warnings: talk of insecurities and thoughts of self-doubt, a house party, stubborn reader, smug haechan, mentions of ‘sexual tension’ in the context of a dance, kissing, slight innuendos

author’s note: As a dancer myself, this idea came to me after we learned the choreography for Thriller in class one day! And yes I know Halloween was weeks ago but shhh. It’s my first time writing an enemies to lovers au, so I would greatly appreciate any feedback about things I can improve on in the future. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

network tags: @neo-constellations

“...You’ll be partnered with Haechan.”

The words of your instructor seem to swallow up the dance studio you’re standing in, echoing off of the walls with a piercing sound that makes your ears ache, your gut twist, and your blood boil.

This could not be happening.

Said boy seems just as averse to the idea as you are, the corners of his mouth downturned in displeasure.

Your teacher, however, continues to rattle off the rest of the pairs, some of them a little surprising but none nearly as unexpected as the two of you being put together.

Eyes narrowed and gazes sharp as daggers, both you and Haechan turn to stare each other down.

The standoff makes everyone else in the studio uneasy, and though the other dancers aren’t unaccustomed to your endless rivalry, they fear the potential hostility of your reactions. But to their astonishment, it never escalates beyond these stinging glares directed at one another. You’re surprisingly professional about it on the outside, not letting a single swear word slip out from between your lips, while he bites back a snarky insult.

On the inside, though, you’re a mess.

Haechan has been somewhat of an enemy of yours for as long as you can remember, though by no fault of his own. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, ever since you were both young students struggling to find your footing in the artistic world, he’s always been better than you. At everything.

If you managed to nail a double pirouette, he’d step right up and do a third like it was nothing. You finally got your split? He’s already had it for a month, at least. It just wasn’t fair. You both had started dancing at the same age, at the same time, with the same amount of experience: zero.

In all honesty, Haechan had done nothing wrong. The combination of poor timing and better luck had worked against him all those years ago to brew these bitter feelings inside of your heart, rising to the surface whenever you would set foot inside the familiar studio.

These constant sentiments of inferiority took their toll on you, making you fear being compared to him above anything else. It was childish, but you couldn’t stand to be reminded of feeling completely and utterly incompetent next to him. Whenever you performed, you were grateful for the large amount of other dancers occupying the stage, leaving little opportunity for the two of you to be noticed in conjunction with one another.

Now that it’s going to be just the two of you under the bright beams of light cascading down from the rafters, dancing in close proximity, this worry is at the forefront of your mind.

You would do anything to be able to go back to your first year at the studio, when you were young enough to recognize that his skills seemed to outweigh yours, but as a carefree child you remained largely unbothered by this fact. As you got older, it was like a switch inside of you flipped and made you extra aware of each and every thing that you did. Perhaps it was the heightened self-consciousness that puberty brought combined with the already stressful lifestyle of a dancer, but something changed one day, and it was all you could think about when you saw him.

Your internal doubts always translated into being eerily quiet during practice, asking a question to clarify the movements only when it was absolutely necessary. Even your teacher noticed a shift in how you danced. Your gestures and steps lacked their usual precision, and all the confidence you had built up for so long vanished into thin air.

Not sure how to interpret your sudden silence, Haechan took it upon himself to get a word out of you in whatever way that he could, with comments and jokes and even the occasional compliment on your technique. It hardly helped, though. In fact, your constant failure to respond to his attempts created a sort of resentment in him as well, one not generated by envy or insecurity, but simply by confusion and frustration.

During practice one afternoon, you had become so fed up with him trying to talk to you that you lashed out, pushing him away with surprising strength. “Just leave me alone!” You had shouted at Haechan, but you instantly regretted it when you saw the way his eyes welled up with shiny tears, full of hurt after his genuinely good intentions had been totally rejected by their unwilling recipient. Your guilt, however, failed to overpower your stubbornness.

This sent Haechan into his own spiral of the silent treatment before he started to channel his feelings into a similar bitterness. From that day forth, you each became the other’s arch-enemy, challenging one another in any way that you possibly could inside the studio and on the stage. Your instructor, choreographers, and fellow students quickly became tired of the implicit competition that always existed between you, but what on earth could they do to stop it?

At the present moment, they’re contemplating this exact idea, along with just why your teacher thought pairing you with each other would be a good idea. She had done it with the intention of putting a long overdue partnership into action and hopefully eliminating your immature rivalry. Selfishly, she’s also very eager to see how your mutual contempt translates into movement, inwardly predicting that the tension levels will be off the charts.

Not long after, you’re dismissed from practice for the day, but not without a warning look from Haechan. Against your better judgment, you join him by the doorway once everyone else has filed out of the studio.

He clearly called you over for a reason, but you cut him off without even waiting for him to speak.

“I can’t believe I got stuck with you, of all people, as a dance partner.”

Oh, so this is how you’re acting? Two can play at that game.

“What?” He snickers, “Scared I’ll steal the spotlight?”

“In your dreams, Lee,” you scoff, already tired of his taunting attitude.

“Anyway,” his voice is stern before doing a complete 180, now a bit more gentle, “If we’re going to be dancing together for the next few weeks, we might as well be on speaking terms, don’t you think?” The expression Haechan wears on his face is the softest you’ve seen it in a long time, which is definitely saying something.

“I suppose.” Answer short and tone abrasive, you huff a lousy excuse for a goodbye before marching out and into the hallway, but he’s faster than you. You spin around to shrug off his hand from your shoulder, and it gives him the chance to tell you one last thing.

“Look, if you’re going to be like that, it’s not going to make working together any easier. We’re not little kids anymore. You can go back to hating me once this is all over, but can we at least try to put our differences aside and just cooperate for once?”

You nearly split your lip as you bite down on it, holding back a burst of aggravation at the situation you’ve been put in. “Fine.”

You have no idea how you’re going to get through all the practices and all the shows while simultaneously dealing with the boy, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to prove that you are just as skilled, and just as talented a dancer as he is.

The next time you see him is two days later, at your first rehearsal for this dance. Your studio has always had a Halloween-themed showcase, but it wasn’t until this year that you were old enough to finally be cast in a more exclusive number. The fact that you’re no longer a part of the large group routine, always performed to the same upbeat tune and with the same easy steps, is one of the few silver linings that your duet with Haechan presents.

Faces lined with fatigue and eyes still heavy with sleep, you both arrive at the studio in the morning, duffel bags in hand, the comfy slides on your feet dragging across the hallway carpet with every step. Loud music blares from inside the room, brightly lit despite the early hour. Beside you, Haechan instantly recognizes the tune to be Michael Jackson’s Thriller, and perks up a little at the sound. Too tired to poke fun at his near obsession with the singer, you let his little celebration of the choreographer’s song choice slide.

It’s not your usual instructor that’s going to be teaching you the movements to go along with the piece, which means you have the added challenge of adapting to a different set of preferences, expectations, and choreographing style.

It’s certainly a dance that’s unlike any you’ve ever learned before.

The rehearsal starts off well, and both of you quickly catch on to the basic steps that are somewhat like those of a waltz, except they have a more sinister feel to them in order to match the spooky time of year. Facing each other but standing on opposite sides of the room, you step forward, to the side, to the back and then to the side again. On each accented beat you throw your heads back sharply, mimicking the way the neck of an inhuman creature might snap under any sort of force.

In the next section of choreography, your gazes are supposed to meet once you tilt your heads downward, slowly this time, but it’s difficult to maintain eye contact with Haechan for more than a few seconds. Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t even hesitate to stalk towards you in this part of the dance, which calls for you to circle each other like a hungry predator and its timid prey. Maybe it’s the animalistic glint in his irises that throws off your balance and makes you stumble when you see it. Or maybe it’s the fact that your rivalry with him has been entirely disregarded at the moment, brain focused solely on absorbing all of the new information and ingraining the movements into your muscle memory, nothing else.

What frightens you even more than the things that go bump in the night is that all those years you spent... well, not hating, but strongly disliking him could go to waste. It usually takes a lot of time for you to get over things like this, and in a way, you feel like you would be disappointing yourself if you let all of the agonizing feelings of self-doubt go, just like that.

These thoughts swirl around in your mind as you listen to the choreographer’s next words.

“Okay, put your hand here.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, now you’re going to drag it across him, from there to there,” she directs you with a finger, “And then he’s going to pick you up in a scissor lift.”

You’ve never done one of those before, but with some helpful guidance, you begin to have a small bit of faith in yourself that you’re capable of pulling it off. The music starts and you go from the top all the way to the part you were just taught, taking a deep breath in preparation for what’s about to happen.

Just like you had been instructed moments ago, you step very close to Haechan, right behind him, actually, and place one hand on his shoulder as you trail the other across the front of his chest, fingernails scratching the skin underneath through the flimsy t-shirt he’s wearing. You step around to stand in front of him and continue the motion, peering at him with a hesitance that melts away and into an assertive gaze once you see the apprehension in his own eyes. His skin crawls a little, not out of fear but an odd satisfaction and excitement at the feeling of you so near and the sight of your eyes bright with so much determination and dominance, lingering touch tracing the base of his neck and stimulating his nerves from head to toe.

You yelp slightly at what he does next even though you knew it was coming, your self-assured exterior evaporating only moments after it appeared. Haechan turns around and sweeps you off of your feet to hold you in his arms. In the blink of an eye, he helps you hook one of your knees behind his head as he tosses you into the air with seemingly no effort whatsoever, flipping you around to face the other way and catching you immediately after. The complicated lift makes your heart leap to the front of your throat with exhilaration, and you mentally applaud yourself for succeeding on the first try.

Haechan finds it odd that you were so willing to do this lift in the first place, since trust is a key component of partner work in dance. He can’t explain it, and neither can you, quite honestly. A small part of him, however, is glad you didn’t object to the prospect of him being directly responsible for your safety for even the most instantaneous of moments.

“Alright, so for this next part, I’m sure you’re aware of that fact that Michael Jackson was famous for his pelvic—”

Okay, that’s enough, you’ve heard enough. Tuning out the conversation and whirling around to face away from the floor-to-ceiling mirror, you twiddle your thumbs while the choreographer teaches Haechan one of the iconic dance steps in Thriller, and your evident shyness at her unabashed explanation makes him smirk. Thankfully, she has a different set of movements prepared for you.

Since when are you ever shy around him, though?

You still can’t bring yourself to watch your reflections in the glass when you practice the new part together, since he gets so into the provocative motions. His eyes seem to taunt you with the smugness they hold, and you hate the way he’s testing you. You can’t stand it, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand those eyes for all the times they send a shiver down your spine, for all the times they come alive with a beast-like glow. Those eyes can go from soft and sympathetic at times, although the moments are rare, to something else entirely. His mocking stares make your stomach turn, reminding you of why you’ve felt this way about him for so long.

But you’re scared that a new and different feeling is developing inside of you, one that’s telling you he’s not so bad, that you should give him a chance. Haechan has noticed a similar one within himself, and he begins to regret the way he immaturely perpetuated your own resentment for so long.

Even if you do end up making amends eventually, he’s not sure he’ll be willing to abandon all of the playful glances and teasing remarks with flirtatious undertones he sends your way. Do you even notice these things? If your periodic blushing is any indication, then the answer is most definitely yes.

You spend another couple of hours under the choreographer’s direction, stopping only when you had been taught each and every step from the piece’s beginning until the end. Though a Halloween-inspired performance, there’s a surprisingly large amount of eerily romantic undertones within it. You don’t have enough fingers to count the number of times you ultimately caress some part of the other’s body in a forbidding manner, with locked eyes and threatening, fiery glares.

The two of you also have a second but more simple lift, in which you jump and Haechan catches you by the legs to pull your torso against his, while you cling to him tightly like a koala. He supports your weight fully, and never once does the possibility of falling cross your mind. It’s strange how your body is so trusting of him, much more so than your mind.

Towards the end of the song, the lyrics mention something about cuddling close together, the timing of your movements intentionally mirroring the words. Haechan walks in a circle, still carrying you in his arms, and unlike when you’re standing on your own two feet, he actually has to look up slightly to meet your gaze with his own. Something doesn’t feel quite right, though, both of you sensing that you should be putting more effort into the eye contact between you right now.

“No, no, no! Stop for a second.” Your choreographer looks frustrated.

“You have to look at each other like you really mean it,” she corrects. “Just imagine that you’re two lovers on Halloween night, clinging to each other for dear life as you’re being surrounded by every kind of monster imaginable.” Even Haechan flushes a deep red at the descriptive picture she paints in your minds, hoping to inspire you. “Try again, please.”

Putting every necessary emotion into your expressions, you both stare each other down as he lifts you up again, this time with a never-before-seen passion burning in your eyes that could only be described as crazed, lustful desire.

Haechan has always admired your skills, although internally these days, ever since he met you, especially your ability to easily adapt to the message or tone of a piece. Happiness, sadness, anger, whatever your instructor asked of you, you could embody the exact feeling on your face, not to mention in the way that you moved to the beat. Out of all of the scenarios your choreographer could have illustrated, this one is something he never would have expected you to be so ready for. He’s taken aback by how smoothly your facial expression transitions from sheepish to seductive in no time flat.

You wish you could say that you’re not flustered by how well he matches the look in your eyes with his own tantalizing gaze, but alas, that’s not the case.

It’s undoubtedly a dance with a more mature theme than either of you are used to, but you’re both such naturals at it that she compliments you once Haechan sets you back on the ground.

“That’s exactly what I want to see! Keep it up, you two. Are you sure you’ve never been in a piece with any sexual tension before?”

You’re glad you hadn’t quite taken a sip from your water bottle yet, because you definitely would’ve spit it out from pure shock and embarrassment at the bluntness of her remark. Haechan was not so lucky.

The two of you run through the dance almost endlessly, and by the end of your rehearsal your legs are threatening to give out at any moment. “Last time,” she alerts you, “And then you’re done for the day.”

A chorus of some minor corrections but mostly proud affirmations meets your ears as you practice the piece for the final time. “Other foot, Haechan... Strong arms! Good... And lift! That’s it...”

About to collapse from exhaustion and grimacing at the disgusting feeling of sweat on every inch of your skin, both of you thank the choreographer once she dismisses you.

“You two did a great job today, now go home and rest. You worked hard.”

Fishing your car keys out of your bag, you hear her packing up her things inside the studio before she exits the room and strides into the hallway, flipping the light switch and shutting the door behind her. “I’m going to recommend to your teacher that she should partner you up more often. I was really surprised by how well you collaborated.” She chuckles a little, “And to think she told me that you might not get along.”

Exchanging questioning looks, you both nod and smile at her before she makes her way down the hallway, leaving the building through the staff door.

“What was that all about?”

“No idea,” you reply to Haechan with nervousness in your voice, not sure if this is the right time to apologize for several years’ worth of constantly being at each other’s throats.

The moment passes before you can make a decision, and Haechan bids you farewell with a “See you around” over his shoulder. You can’t get the choreographer’s comment out of your mind as you drive home.

But she’s right: your chemistry with each other is unbelievable. Each time you practice this dance in front of them, the rest of your friends stand wide-eyed and open-mouthed at how you move in perfect unison, leaping and turning and touching at all the right moments. Your instructor is sure her jaw is on the floor. Sure, she was expecting something powerful, something fierce, but nothing like this.

The weeks leading up to the Halloween showcase are hectic, as they always are, filled with the rush of adrenaline and last-minute preparations being made, ensuring that everything would be ready for those long nights spent on waiting behind the curtains, moving amidst the stage fog, and dancing below the bright spotlights.

You think you’ve spoken to Haechan more in the past 4 days than you have in the past 4 years. He doesn’t know if it’s just his imagination, but it seems like you’ve gotten more comfortable performing with him as time has gone by. Maybe he should be paying more attention to the steps instead of the way you lean further into him as he clutches your form in his strong arms, torsos pressing into one another and the crevices of your bodies aligning with ease. Maybe he shouldn’t get distracted by the closeness of your lips to his forehead, by the distance that always seems to decrease each time you run through the dance. One day he’s sure he’ll feel their delicate curve against his skin, or maybe they’ll slip down a little to be more level with his. Either way, Haechan isn’t complaining.

The rehearsals that spill over from their scheduled time slots into the late hours of the night leave everyone in the show drowsy after the intense quantities of repeated exertion, running piece after piece over and over again until just standing up is a feat within itself.

And then, all of a sudden, it’s the day of the first show. Costumes have been tailored, makeup has been applied and hair has been done up with an ungodly amount of products and pins.

It can’t be much longer until it’s your turn to perform, so you’re not sure why you find yourself grabbing Haechan by the sleeve of his intentionally tattered shirt, meant to look like that of a zombie, and pulling him into a dark, secluded corner of the backstage area.

“We’re on in 5, what are y—”

“Can I apologize?”

He blinks a few times, processing the word he never thought he would hear leave your lips.

“For... huh?”

“Everything.” You’re thankful that the lighting is minimal back here, concealing the glistening water drops that are beginning to gather at the rims of your eyes.

Voice nearly breaking, you can’t articulate why it feels like the right time to say all of this. But here you are.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for so many years of unexplained anger and outbursts towards you, I’m sorry that I’ve been acting so immature even after all this time. I’m sorry for blaming you and making excuses to justify my actions and my feelings, I—”

You have more that you want to say but the words are no longer coming out, and maybe it’s because your throat feels like it’s burning from all of the emotion it just conveyed in the span of just a few seconds. Maybe it’s because you’ve somehow lost your voice even though you hadn’t been speaking above a whisper. But the most probable cause of them all, is this: maybe it’s because you’ve been rendered speechless by Haechan’s own apology that he delivers by messily crashing his mouth into yours, any further thoughts melting away against his soft lips.

For once, you don’t mind being cut off by him if it’s like this.

His heart begins to sink when you pull away after only a few seconds, but a small smile graces his features once again as you lean in so that your lips hover next to his ear.

“You better not mess up my makeup, Lee Haechan.”

“Donghyuck, actually.”

“What?” Quizzically, you arch an eyebrow.

“My name. My real name.”

“So why do y—”

“Shh, no time. Kiss now, talk later.”

You can’t argue with that. Not when he’s beholding you with a long-awaited forgiveness and a fondness long-concealed in his eyes. Not when the thrill of a time limit has your brains going a mile a minute, an electric buzz erupting over the expanse of your skin his hands are grasping.

You kiss him like it’s the only thing in the whole world that you know how to do. The setting is far from picturesque, with the tangled technical wires littering the floor at your feet and leftover stage equipment haphazardly leaning against the wall, but neither of you really care. Taking care not to snag the fabric of your costume, his fingers find purchase on your waist and his lips on the dip of your collarbone. At first they dotingly imprint fleeting pecks onto the rise and fall of the skin there, but when their pressure and his haste starts to escalate, you know you have to stop him before he starts something you can’t finish.

“Hyuck!” The abbreviation of his name makes his head snap up, bewildered but pleased.

“You can’t leave marks, I told you...” you trail off. “Hey, why are you smiling like that?”

“Please never call me anything else, ever.”

Donghyuck brings you in for one more kiss, well aware that a stagehand could turn the corner at any given moment. Drinking you in, he captures your lips between his, letting your body press his back into the wall behind him, and a few sharp inhales later, you break apart.

You fix his hair while he adjusts your clothes, and you’re just in time because a technician spots you and urgently gestures towards the stage. “You’re up!”

Positioning yourselves on opposite sides of the large performance space, the lights go down and you hear the rush of air from the heavy curtain opening as it glides past you. The thick artificial smoke partially obscures his form, but you can see his eyes clearly, nearly glowing in the darkness.

As the music starts, slow and quiet at first, you step to the rhythm just like you practiced. When a loud, electronic chord blares, you both pick up speed, launching into that waltz step you first learned many weeks earlier. For the first time ever, you’re able to look into his eyes.

Anyone could see that your movements complement each other effortlessly, but only your teacher picks up on the shift in mood after the countless times she’s seen you perform in the studio. Only she notices the shift in both of your gazes. You look... happy. Focused. Confident.

Donghyuck was able to bring you out of the shell you retreated into so long ago. You don’t feel subordinate as you’re dancing next to him, or being held in his arms. You move as equals, two parts of a whole.

When he picks you up, you can’t help but allow a small smile to stretch your lips. Donghyuck tries to remind you that you’re supposed to have lustful looks in your eyes by narrowing his own at you, but it’s no use. Your slight grin is contagious, and it ends up taking over his face as well.

You finish the piece smoothly, ending in a pose with your backs pressed together and hands clasped. Applause erupts from the audience, and a few cheers come from the rest of the performers waiting in the wings, shielded from the view of the crowd sitting in the seats below.

Needless to say, as you pass other dancers in the halls and receive countless congratulations and compliments, all you can think about is having Donghyuck’s lips on your skin again.

One long heart-to-heart and dozens, no, hundreds of kisses later, all is right with your world. It’s foreign territory to you both, not wanting to pounce on each other at every waking moment. But it’s something you’ll explore together, figuring out how to make up for lost time and just how to go about this newly-repaired relationship.

Exiting the empty dressing room, you take his hand in your own and head backstage once again to watch the rest of the showcase from the side, with your head leaning on his shoulder and his arm pulling you close.

At the party held for all the members of the show’s cast that night, it’s far too loud for your liking, and there’s no room to properly dance with Donghyuck. Despite you all being professional dancers-in-training, everyone else seems to have reverted to the mindset of your average high school student, thinking that jumping up and down repeatedly qualifies as dancing. You disagree, but whatever. It’s not important.

What is important, however, is the fact that the two of you would much rather escape the suffocating crowd of young adults. You would much rather slip out through the sliding glass door that leads to the house’s backyard, marveling at the fading sunset that melts into a deep blue night sky dotted with splashes of clustered lights. The stars are nature’s spotlights, shining down on you as Donghyuck takes you in his arms, one hand finding yours and the other resting on your side, somewhere between your hips and your waist.

Swaying in the silence with only the noises of the evening as your soundtrack, the boy that you would’ve sworn was the devil incarnate a month ago looks so angelic, so lovable. You can’t believe this is what you’ve been missing out on.

“So, should we start over?”

“Definitely.”

There’s no one else in this world you’d rather dance the night away with.

Every story ever written

“Attention passengers“ A pleasant voice echoed trough the hallways “We will be arriving to Nithra 5 in half an hour. Please prepare to disembark“ John Was excited and nervous. He was a part of the group representing Earth at the art festival of the Galactic Assembly. Considering it was Earths first Time sending representatives and hew as the one giving the speech his nervousness was justified. AS they disembarked the cruise ship they were greeted by a tall and slender “It’s my pleasure to extend the greetings in behalf of the Galactic assembly. I am Nithra Suenn and was assigned as your guide during your stay“

John  stood on his toes so he would be able to look Suenn in the eyes. “ Oh, thank you. I’m Jonathan grace, you can call me John, This here is Antonio Morena..” “Toni for short” the man replied “...And this is Maria Petova“ “I’m Just short” Maria replied baiting a chuckle out of their Guide May I ask something before we start though“ Sam said “Of course“ Suenn replied “Could you tell us where the envoys of the other two newcomer are.“ “Of course. If you wish I could notify their guides and see if they would be willing to arrange a meeting later today“ “That’d be lovely“ “Now If you would follow me to your quarters. I presume you would want some rest before we start the tour“ “Lead the way miss Nithra“ Sam said with a smile AS the trio followed their guide they took in the sights of the Spacedock, during the 10 minutes shuttle ride to the planet surface Toni and John were debating their upcoming speech while Maria quietly hummed a lullaby as she stared out of the window. “Miss Maria“ Suen said as she noticed the humming “oh, yes Suenn?“ “May I inquire about the melody you were... singing“ “Oh that, I was humming a lullaby I usually sing for my daughter. This is the longest I’ve been separated from her so I’m a bit Melancholic“ “Oh,  quite understandable. We Tlii also have a strong  bond with our family ... I’m nearly 40 and I still call my parents daily.“ The rest of the ride was marked by present small talk. When they landed The Group was given an hour to rest before they head out towards the “Palace of Art” The most famous gallery in the Explored part of the galaxy. “So folks“ John said “First impressions“ “Bit too formal for my taste but not bad. The Guide is cute too“ Maria replied “I’m hungry“ Toni replied “Well go grab something from the hotels restaurant. Suenn Said all the costs will be covered“ John said as Tonis eyes widened “So ... Free all you can eat buffet?“ “Yes“ “And we are staying here for a week“ “Yes“ “...Good bye my summer body“

“You’re a pig“ Maria said as Toni was closing the doors A few minutes later Suenn knocked on the doors “hello again. I have contacted the guides of the other two newcomers and their envoys said they would gladly meet you but they also requested we arrive fifteen minutes early so that you can have a proper meeting“ “Thank you very much Suenn. Tell them we agree“ Maria said Suenn nodded and left “Why do you wanna meet them anyway“ Maria asked John “Well they are new here, we are new here, none of  us actually knows what’s going on. It might be easier for all of us if we feel confused together“ “Fair point“ The human delegacy arrived 10 minutes earlier than agreed, mostly because of Johns insistence. “Why were you so adamant on arriving early Mister John “ “Well... I was too anxious for waiting in the hotel“ “And waiting here is... not causing anxiety?“ “No, because here I’m sure I won’t miss anything important“ “I can not say I fully comprehend that logic but if it lessens your anxiety I see no problem with waiting here.“ “Can I ask you something Suenn?“ “Of course?“ “I noticed your First name was the identical to the name of the planet. Is that Just a coincidence or something else?“ “It’s actually Tradition. Tlii name their children after  their Birthplace and a name chosen by their parents. I was born on this planet so My Birth Name is Nithra while my Given name is Suenn.“ “Huh. Interesting.“ After a few more  minutes of casual discussions the two delegations arrived. The D’Dret Delegacy consisted of twelve members all sporting their environment suits. “Greeting fellow children“ the leader of the delegation said as he reached out his hand

“Children?” Antonio asked quietly“ “The D’Dret word for artist is the same as their word for child“ Suenn replied “Kinda fits right“ John shook the delegates hand “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m JonathanGrace, leader of our delegation. You can call me John “ “I am afraid my name is quite impossible for the translator to handle so feel free to call me Otra, considering that’s the Star system I hail from“ From the other vehicle disembarked a delegation of twenty Beings of Yellow christening appearance. a leader of the group stepped forth and greeted the gathered “In behalf of Veq Hive I speak the words of greeting” the translator read “In be half of Humanity I accept the gritting and send my own“ John said and bowed, Otra mimicking his actions saying “ I do the same on behalf of D’Dret autonomy“ The Veq leader let out a low pitch pleasant click returning the bow “This one is called Ruea“ “My name Is Jonathan Grace“ “Call me Otra, shall we head inside“ “Certainly“ Ruea and John replied While there were no delegates yet there was a descent amount of visitors to the Gallery and the three delegations as well as their guides drew a number of looks. This seemed to make Johnnervous again, but also even more excited than ever. His companions seemed to share this attitude along with the D’Dret delegates. The Veq did not experience emotions, or at lest not in the way  Humans did. They didn’t know fear,Happiness or anger, but could be inquisitive,curious and mistrusting or frustrated. Although the latter was extremely rare and fairly mild. “How come Humans only sent 3 creators“ Ruea asked “Well Humanity is aware of its reputation. Lots of people in the assembly consider us borderline insane due to our contradictory nature. SO our Academy decided that the best course of action here would be to send a small delegation and not draw much attention on ourselves.“ “A reasonable approach Otra said“ “Yeah, but us three decided we have something else in plan for our speech“ “You would... defy your superior?“ Rue said in intrigued Disbelief “to a Veq that causes great pain.“ “Well If i am not wrong, you are biochemically connected, so acts of defiance are extremely rare since your communication is almost instant and complete” John said impressing Ruea “In our case that is not so. We are very Individual even though we are social beings, and sometimes people in authority refuse to listen to suggestions because they see themselves above others. In that case we become defiant“ “You are a weird people“ Said Otra with a little pause “but than again I’m the one in the EV suit“ The lengthy conversation about differences in cultures and approaches to art between all the members of the 3 delegations attracted a crowd of intrigued listeners even Suenn and the other guides were intrigued and occasionally asked a question or two.

After A an hour Suenn spoke up “Excuse me delegates, but the Ceremony is about to start. Would you please follow your respective guide to your seat“ “Oh certainly.“ John said “Ladi Ruea, Otra It has been a pleasure. Hopefully we can continue this discussion sometimes soon“

Suenn Lead her delegation to a circular room with many levels. filled to the brim with delegations from thousand of species. Humans were somewhere around the middle,Maria Noticed the Veq being almost at the bottom and one of their delegates apparently noticed her waving and looked curiously at her. she than put her opened palms on her troth imitating a traditional greeting they taught her. John noticed Otras suit about two levels above them sat juxtaposed to them and covered one eye with his hand greeting his new friend with their greeting to which Otra replied with a peace sign. “hello and welcome everyone to the annually art festival of the Galactic Assembly.” said a small alien “He looks like a plushy” Toni whispered and baited another chuckle out of Suenn. ” This year the assembly welcomed three new species The Pedantic Veq hive, The crafty D’Dret autonomy and ... Diverse Alliance of human worlds. As is tradition the newcomers will hold their speeches first. Starting with the Humans.“ John stood up “I think you for this opportunity but before I hold my speech I must ask, on behalf of our new friends of the Authonomy  and the Hive. would you allow them to speak before us, as they asked me if I would be willing to swap places with them“ “Well... no one ever turned down the offer of being first to speak before, A kind gesture indeed. I don’t see why not. Verry well. Who of you wants to speak first“ “The Authonomy children will gladly hear out our comrades of the Hive before we speak ourselves“ ”I thank our new friends for granting this request of mine.” Lady Ruea replied as she slowly walked to the podium. Suenn turned to John “What you just did was unprecedented. May I inquire why have you done this“ “As we were about to go our separate ways lady Ruea noticed that her translator was running out of battery and her spare was left in their hotel. considering she didn’t want to miss any of our speeches so she asked if I would let her talk first so she can switch her power cell after her speech. and considering I’m nervous as hell right now I decided to give myself a bit more time to relax and see other speeches before I step down there“ “Coward“ Maria teased him “and proud of it“ he replied

The speech of Ruea was simple it briefly described the way her people think and the way they approach art, or as they call it creation. How they prefer writing in strict form but are also constantly looking for new forms to write. how their statues are  trying to be symmetrical in every way and yet innovative. After her Otra came down doing the same talking about how Their culture sees artists as people who never lost their child imagination how every new creation is a new unexplored wonder, just like every next step is a new experience for a toddler. Than came John’s turn. He was still a bit nervous but he kept his cool. “As you know. lady Ruea asked me if I would do her a favour and let her speak first. I let my new friend Otra speak second because I was too nervous to do it myself“ a few chuckles were heard among the crowd “AS you know Humans have a reputation and  I was given a ready speech by the people who sent me here to read and stay out of trouble so that I can alleviate that reputation. But than again That’d be to deny human nature.“ Nick said as he ripped a sheet of paper with a written speech “Oh boy here we go“ Toni commented “What is he doing“ Suenn asked “Being true to himself ... and being a jackass“ maria replied “Our leaders only allowed us artists one speech, and a small delegation. I can live with that. But if they want me to speak I will speak however I see fit. And yes I will get in trouble for this if you were wondering“ A few more chuckles and murmurs started among the crowd “I am know that whatever stylistic figures, whatever topic I can think of, someone else in this room will think of as well. The  Ka’ran are called the masters of Romance and yet some of their poets wrote works of horror I find exquisite.  The Hevar are proud of their odes and marching songs and yet I find their lullabies to be incredibly soothing. So I don’t see a point in pretending that you are going to find something new in our works.“

This statement caused shock, intrigue and utter confusion. Are humans really so self destructive they would sabotage their own nation for an act of defiance? But the whispers and murmurs didn’t bother John

“In our statues, in our poetry, in our novels or paining ... all the motives we use I have seen with one quick stroll trough this gallery. So on this day I claim every story ever told has already been told. we just mixed up the words a bit differently.

A silence fell upon the room

I am looking forward, my fellow delegates, to read how you layed out the words we use.“

*Tink* a sound of two crystals hitting each other was heard from the lower levels *tink* as John walked off the podium and the Veq delegacy tried to imitate human clapping with their christaline limbs. *tink,tink,tink* Soon the D’Dred joined in, followed by the Ka’ran and Hevra that John Mentioned. after a few seconds most of the delegates gave a hearty applause.

“Well...“ the  alien small alien from before stepped back on the podium. “... I guess that a lot of rumours about the humans are true. They certainly are unpredictable and reckless... But If more of them are like their delegation I can only imagine how their artwork looks like. I suggest we take a half hour break before we continue“ The rest of the festival passed in a breeze. with the human delegation being followed by numerous new fans wherever they went. after a week and the conclusion of the festival several species decided to take the “scenic rout home“ as Humans said. and stopped on Cyrenca prime, Nueva Galizza, Earth and other human worlds, buying novels, visiting art museums and observing statues... Jonathan Grace was financially penalized for his “insubordination”, but considering he refused to return to earth, proffering to travel the Worlds of the assembly in search of new ideas to write about, that debt was never prayed. _ _

If you managed to get this far congrats, and thanks for reading.

I wrote this because I’ve noticed a lot of stories under these tags ... even the 2 I wrote are always going towards military and conflict situations. SO I turned it around to something I like much more

Serial Killer!Armitage Hux x Blood Spatter Analyst F Reader/DCI!Ben Solo x BSA!Fem Reader

A/N: THIS IS A DARKFIC. This is a only prelude for the whole fic which I am still working on. Exploring Hux’s potential darker side is something that’s been on my mind for a really long time and then I watched Hannibal and my serial killer enjoyment kicked up again 🤣 just the picture for this weeks Writer Wednesday prompted this little snippet. Also RC does enjoy her job probably as much as Dexter 🤣The first half is from Hux’s pov and the second is from RC’s. DO NOT READ if you are sensitive to anything remotely dubious. 18+ Minors DNI. @autumnleaves1991-blog @clydesducktape

Warnings: description of taking life, stalker Hux, dark thoughts, he’s a strangler so be warned. Mention of food, moving between jobs, description of blood. Set in London but I am using artistic licence in this fic so not 100% accurate with locations, but I have done my research into BSA and the job they do. (My google search is not something that the police should look at right now 🤣)

Word Count: 1541

Read the Prelude here on AO3.

These places were perfect, it was dark, the lighting wasn’t great and he could hug the shadows as he watched people go about their unsuspecting lives. It had been a few weeks since he’d felt the strain of his garrotte and his hands itched, his mind cried out for that relief he felt when the life left their body.

The heaviness of their form was always a comfort and he wondered often if his father felt the same way after he’d killed his wife. It played in Hux’s mind every time he took a life, he felt like he was in his fathers shoes. The only time he was good enough to step up to his fathers legacy. Killing was a habit now, he craved the rush it gave him that they couldn’t over power him or take anything from him, unlike everyone else in his life. He was taking the most precious thing from them and it gave him such a heady feeling.

He looked up when a few people arrived at the temporary diner, the soft light highlighted you as you stepped up to deliver your order and he was instantly captivated. The way you moved was enchanting, life seemed to blossom from you, alighting everything around you and he couldn’t look away. You looked up at the man you were with, your beautiful face breaking out into a smile and your laugh reached Hux’s ears making his fists clench in desperation. The garrotte was in his pocket ready and waiting to wrap around the column of your beautiful neck but when Hux finally paid attention to the man behind you he withdrew around the tree.

DCI Ben Solo…the copper who had suspicions about Hux but had no proof. Oh, Hux knew about the board of supposed facts the DCI had in his office, like a shrine to Hux’s misdeeds and he smirked into the darkness. Taking one right from under the nose of the DCI was so appealing, a game with high stakes and strict rules, a game Hux wanted to play.

He peered around the trunk of the tree, watching you with a renewed intensity, the desire burned through his blood like a fire that only one action could douse. His eyelids flickered as he imagined the way your throat would constrict, the way you’d fight, he could see you had spirit. You’d be a challenge. His gaze fixated on the column of your throat and he rested heavily against the tree, the longer he watched you the more he wanted….no. He needed you. He needed to feel your soft skin, he needed to hear you struggle, he needed to pull you close to his chest as he choked you. To smell your hair, to feel your warmth, to know that he was in that moment, the most powerful being in your life.

Your gaze swept over his hiding place and he moved, now was not the time. He needed to be patient, it would come down to a particular moment and only when that moment was upon him, would he know how perfect it was.

“What do you fancy? My treat.” You turned to Ben, his cinnamon eyes roaming over the menu over the top of your head because he stood so much taller than anyone else.

“I think you’re doing enough for me, this is my treat,” you exclaimed firmly.

“But I called you here…”

“So? This is on me.” He shrugged, a smile pulling on the corner of his mouth and you swatted his arm, a small laugh bursting forth as you tried not to notice the dimples that appeared in his cheeks. The soft light of the mobile diner gave them a sense of life which he snuffed out as he ran a hand over his stubble.

“Nah, come on. I’m starving,” he moaned and you rolled your eyes.

“Ok ok,” you peered at the menu asking for a basket of loaded fries and Ben ordered the same. You both sat down on the red stools which were much more comfortable than they looked. You turned your seat round, lifting your face up to the dark sky and letting a gentle breeze flow over you. The quiet trickle of conversation filled the air around you and people sat at the tables dotted around enjoying their food, some music played in the background and if you closed your eyes you could easily imagine you were across the pond sat in a real diner. The smell of the coffee, the sizzle of the fries, it all coagulated together into a comforting sensation in the middle of your chest and you let out a little sigh. Ben nudged your arm alerting you to food so you turned and grabbed the Tabasco bottle off the little sauce shelf.

“Tabasco. Really?” You smiled as you dribbled some over the melted cheese.

“Yeah, you don’t like spicy food?” You asked. He wrinkled his face in distaste and you couldn’t stop the giggles.

“Anyway,” he started clearly in an effort to change the subject. “How’s the lab? You think I could persuade you to stay here, permanently?” You shook your head, chewing on a chip and reaching for some napkins before answering.

“I’m a nomad. I like moving around…”

“But you have no home. Doesn’t it get you know, lonely?” You shrugged. You’d never really thought about it, you went where the blood was flowing the most, following the trail of destruction across the country. You didn’t tell many people but you enjoyed the thrill, when you stepped into a new blood soaked crime scene it gave you a sense of awe. None of the patterns were ever the same and it fascinated you how a simple flick of the wrist could produce different results for different killers. Your eyes rose to meet Ben’s and you felt like you wanted to tell him, I wanted to explain the way your job made you feel. As a fellow colleague he might understand but you always kept this part of you locked away. There was a fine line between enjoying your job and enjoying your job.

“No, not lonely, just means I can do what I like or work as long as I like.” Ben licked his fingers, reaching for a napkin he nodded.

“Yeah I get that. My parents are constantly on at me to find someone but I refuse to date a fellow copper and aside from the victims' families I don’t meet anyone else.”

“Oh, that’s not much of a dating pool,” you mumbled and he smirked at your words.

“No, no dating pool. If my mother had her way I’d be all “I’m really sorry your husband died, looking to remarry because my mother wants grandkids!” Yeah, no thanks.” You giggled wiping your greasy hands on another napkin.

“She sounds like she just wants the best for you.”

“The best for me isn’t meeting someone on the worst day of their lives,” he rumbled, suddenly withdrawing into himself and you turned to see him looking down at his food with a vacant expression.

“There’ll be someone. I have to believe there is someone for everyone, otherwise what’s the point of all this.”

“Yeah.” You didn’t like the dip in mood and you looked around trying to see something to distract you both. Some movement caught your eye, over by a tree just outside the pool of light and you squinted, but instantly dismissed it when you saw the railings along the edge of a pond beyond the tree.

“Come on,” you tugged on his arm offering no explanation and dumping your empty basket into the bin provided. You waved and thanked the staff getting a chorus of farewells back and sauntered over to the path.

“Where are we going?” He asked, finally catching up with you. You peered into the darkness, hoping your eyes were playing tricks on you because you swore there had been someone standing next to this tree, but there was no one here.

“I saw a pond, I wanted to see the ducks,” you said without thinking.

“You do know it’s around ten thirty at night the ducks will be sleeping. Like we should be,” he muttered.

“It was your idea to get dinner.” He huffed in resignation, stuffing his hands in his pockets and picking up his pace to follow you to the edge of the lake. You peered into the darkness, something didn’t feel right and your skin prickled. Ben instantly noticed and followed your line of sight.

“What is it?” His tone hushed as though not wanting to disturb you.

“You know, I think I should head back now.” The sense you were being watched was increasing, making your stomach flip uncomfortably with nerves.

“Ok, I’ll walk you back. I left my car at the station anyway. Your hotel is on the way.” You flinched slightly when he pressed his hand against the top of your back steering you back down the path. Finally you turned, telling yourself you were being stupid you were safe here and yet the sense of danger was there, nibbling at your subconscious telling you no matter where you went, you were never completely safe.

WORDS OF SHAKESPEARE: The Return of a very Supa Occasion! (Special guest: Richard)

On the 19th of June 2021, my old friend, Maiwel alumni and acting veteran Richard and I went to the Supanova Comic and Gaming Convention at Sydney Olympic Park in Homebush Bay. The 2021 edition of Supanova was the first time in two years that it was held in Sydney as last year’s edition was called off due to “You Know What” alongside Adelaide, Brisbane and Perth.

To implement with the health and safety protocols, the layout of the convention was more smaller and laid out to comply with physical distancing measures as well as entering via a QR Code.

When I first entered the Dome Exhibition centre seeing all of the convention goers and Cosplayers of superheroes, sci-fi and anime. I kneeled down and proclaimed “HALLELUJAH!” as many of the convention fans from NSW were starved of a taste of a full-on convention since the world went upside down early last year (Outside of the smaller edition of Oz Comic Con titled OCC POP UP which was held earlier in March of this year).

Supanova contained a teeming amount of Cosplayers from DC Comics and Marvel Superheroes, Rick and Morty, Steven Universe, Star Wars, Ghostbusters, Doctor Who and Power Rangers, Cosplayers from anime such as My Hero Academia, JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure, Naruto and Disney films including Mary Poppins, Mulan and The Little Mermaid, Cosplayers from Video games including Overwatch, Pokémon, Super Mario, Sonic the Hedgehog, Street Fighter, Resident Evil, Mortal Kombat, Cyberpunk 2077, Final Fantasy, Sonic the Hedgehog and Undertale, Cosplayers from Web animations for instance including RWBY, Hazbin Hotel and Helluva Boss as well as various furry Cosplayers and cosplays of my childhood such as Pingu. There was also a very innovative cosplay such as an attendee dressed up as a giant functional Nintendo Game Boy System! The costumes looked absolutely well designed and spot on as I asked kindly for photos!

A number of RWBY fans and Cosplayers noticed me wearing Jaune’s Pumpkin Pete Hoodie. I must admit, I’d make a pretty good Jaune cosplayer if I could get his armour, his “Crocea Mors” sword and shield and dye my hair blonde!

There was also the Cosplay stage across from The Dome where there was a competition for the very best and innovative costume, as well as seminars of the bigger name Australian celebrities.

Speaking of the celebrities, Due to the international borders being closed until either the middle of next year or when the majority of the population of Australia is vaccinated, Supanova relied heavily on home grown talent from our country for example (but not limited to) Manu Bennett, David Wenham, Josh Lawson, Kodi Smit-McPhee, Georgia Haigh, Nicholas Hamilton and frequent Supanova Attendee, John Jarratt who is famous for portraying the infamously ominous and frightening Mick Taylor from the horror movie franchise “Wolf Creek.” I still remember being scared straight to high heaven watching the movie when I was very young due to Jarratt’s portrayal of the heinous horror character next to Bill Skarsgard’s portrayal of Pennywise the clown in Stephen King’s IT Chapters one and two, but alas Jarratt was a very generous and friendly larrikin!

There was a lot of great activities to do including the “Black Widow Obstacle Course” where you had to complete a number of tasks within the time limit in order to win a prize, Star Wars Lightsaber demonstrations and tutorials and the “Battlecry” LARP (live action role playing) battle displays and demonstrations where you could fight your friend or one of the friendly Battlecry veterans such as Sammy Owen from the recent Medibank Commercial with a rubber sword or axe. This was a very great debut for my LARPING alter ego, “Boar-Head: The Sworded Brawler” and I am very interested in joining a Battlecry LARP group in the future!

There was a very colourful display of artwork, comics and prints at the Artists Alley, with various comic book artists from across Australia such as (but not limited to) Queenie Chan of Fabled Kingdom, Anthony Christou of Luminous Ages and Camillo Di Pietrantonio famous for illustrating the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles IDW comics.

The Fabulous Wonder Mama also made a guest appearance as she is a superhero representing the LGBT Community.

The Artists Alley also had tables of independent artists selling comics, prints, bookmarks and badges available. Looking at the artwork made me feel like I was at an Art Museum for the fans of pop culture!

For those who want to spend some dough, there were also stalls selling new and vintage comics and trading cards, Pop Vinyl Figures, Animation cells from cartoons and movies of yesteryear, Action figures and gaming consoles from the eighties and nineties, LGBT pride flags, rock and metal band t shirts and apparel and Plushies from Japanese anime and video game franchises such as Pokémon and Digimon. There were also games to play such as Super Smash Bros Ultimate for the Nintendo Switch so fellow gamers can smash their friends out of the arena! For the con-loving geeks who were hungry, Dominos had a stall selling various flavours of pizzas and garlic bread and the canteens in the Sydney Olympic Park Dome sold fish and chips, bagels, sushi and coffee. Byron Beef Jerky also had a traditional stall selling all kinds of flavours such as Teriyaki, Chilli and the infamous “Devil’s Doo-Doo!” (Not for the faint hearted!)

Whilst Supanova Comic and Gaming Con in Sydney was a fun event for the inner nerds, parts of the con had to be completely modified and or removed in order to be healthy and safe for example, the discontinuation of handing out free goodie bags containing the guidebook and map of the layout of the con and other cool things making both the map and guide digital exclusive via the Supanova Website.

Another notable absence was the Australian Wrestling Federation wrestling ring where the pro wrestlers of the aforementioned promotion would host a series of three wrestling matches per day and the wrestlers would hand out free autographs, this really kind of hurt me as a fan of pro wrestling for sixteen years but it’s better to be safe than sick. At least the Battlecry LARP displays and demos filled in its place!

For the seminars, gone are the days of staff handing the microphone to the audience for the Q&A’s as they have to lineup behind the microphone in order to ask an interesting question to the guests.

I also didn’t like how some parts of the convention was a bit squashy when you first entered, in the artist’s alley and in some of the stalls. Like I said, we are in a receding health crisis and we need to wear masks, be physically distant, wash our hands and get the much needed vaccine shot against the you know what!

All in all, Supanova had a amazing return to full flight in Sydney despite the scare earlier in the week and the lack of International guests. I was starved of a full on convention throughout the year of misery last year and as a person on the autism spectrum, cons are such an amazing way to make new friends and to show out your inner geek, nerd,fanboy or whatever via cosplaying, gaming, greeting guests, purchasing artwork and so on and so forth all in a very safe measure!

I give this year’s Supanova in Sydney a 7 out of 10. This edition was absolutely different compared to last year’s and I have strong confidence that next year’s edition in Sydney and abroad will have well known and beloved international guests back to the much loved Comic and Gaming convention next year, just in time for Supanova’s 20th birthday!

Next time I am in Sydney, I will be going to the Vivid Festival which will be in August so stay tuned for that!

Happy trails!

K.J (Kane)

The President’s Son [15]

Chapter 14 - Chapter 15 - Chapter 15.5 OR Chapter 16

➜ Words: 2.7k

➜ Genres: 100% Fluff, Slice of Life, Bodyguard!AU

➜ Summary: Kim Taehyung is the President’s son, mischievous and playful, and infamous for being a troublemaker. When everyone’s given up, they call for you to be his personal guard. There’s no other choice when your dad’s assigned you to it and surprisingly Taehyung doesn’t mind either. Maybe because you happened to grow up with that brat.

It’s getting harder to understand Taehyung. And even harder to comprehend your reaction.

  “Hold my book for a second, dumbo.” He rudely chucks it aside, and you barely manage to catch it. It’s piled on top of the other textbooks you’re holding for him like a maid, the tower tipping back and forth, nearly spilling all to the ground.    Your glare is unforgiving. “Can’t you ask me nicel—”   Taehyung suddenly drops down. “Your shoelaces are untied.”    “O-oh.”   The college student ties your sneakers gingerly, making sure they’re secure. He loops two bunny ears around the knot and then stands up with a smile. “All done! Now you won’t trip. I can’t always be there to catch you.”   Taehyung takes his book off the pile you’re holding and walks off. You’re left staring at his backside before you pick up the pace, unable to help feeling a little perplexed and caught off guard.    It’s becoming increasingly difficult to understand him and predict his actions — but it’s not like they were ever predictable in the first place. He’s always had a knack for spontaneity. It’s your susceptibility to surprise, that’s changed.    “I know you said you weren’t hungry—” Taehyung sits down across the picnic table and slides a brown bag towards you. “—but I got you the jelly doughnut. It was on discount. You liked this one, right?”   “Y-yeah. Thanks.”    You watch him go to town on his hash brown, chomping like a ravenous beast.   You’re agitated, muddled, but also more than that. You’re not sure what this emotion is. It’s puzzling to pinpoint, challenging and strenuous on your mind. You just know it’s different from annoyance, disenchantment, and the usual disenthrallment.    “Oh, look!”   Taehyung’s pointing to your left shoulder. When you look down, you’re unable to see what he’s indicating. Running out of patience and without thinking twice, he leans himself over. You flinch back on natural instinct, but he’s undeterred, paying no mind to the reaction that’s conditioned you since childhood.   You feel his chest hovering above yours, thin lips a millimeter away, and you hold your breath. But Taehyung’s eyes are nowhere near your body; his stare isn’t greasy or purposely flirtatious.    It stays quiet for a moment too long before he draws back.    “It’s a ladybug.” Taehyung shows you with a grin, one that had landed on your shoulder, and one he sets down into the grass behind him. “See you later, little guy.”   You’re absolutely bewildered, though finally able to breathe again.   There are times Taehyung’s unbearably cheesy and teasing, trying to get under your skin or vying for a reaction when he yearns for a kind of attention he receives from nowhere else, much like how he was when he was a kid. But the times that affect you the most are his unintentional actions — when he’s being sincere, genuine, his innocent self.    You’re not sure what to think of it. It’s confusing.   And the worst part is you can’t comprehend Taehyung lately — your own head’s become chaotic and you’re not quite certain of the reason for it.    “Y/N, hang on tight.” Taehyung pedals harder and glances over his shoulder. “The road ahead’s under construction. It’s gonna be bumpy.”   “Want to switch spots?”   “Nope,” he sings. “Just hold onto me.”   You obliged, grasping onto him, locking your wrists together around his waist.    Apparently it’s not enough. “Tighter.”   Your head leans on him, front pressed against his back, holding on. Taehyung laughs, the noise drawing out from his chest, and you can already envision his satisfied grin. “Good.”   You wonder since when his laugh became so melodic and pleasant to listen to.   It seems when he’s not trying whatsoever, he’s the most charming. When Taehyung’s not trying to flirt or retain intense eye contact or shower you in excessive compliments — and instead being his mischievous self, caring in quiet ways without making a whole show about it, laughing and smiling — he’s the most charismatic, much like his dad.   The magnetism that draws people in seems to run through the Kim blood.   Maybe you just never realized it before, but stepping back from your own biases and objectively analyzing him, Taehyung is rather appealing. He has a handful of good traits, and you’ve noticed the way females and males murmur as he walks past or stares across the room, not quite because of malicious rumours either or due to his status.    He’s a tall, strapping, blonde fellow. Even before when he had shaggy hair and was trying to grow a moustache, he wasn’t terrible on the eyes. Now that you recognize it, you gotta give it to him...he’s impressive in many ways.   You wonder why you’re only recognizing this now.    Why you didn’t see it sooner.   Maybe your childhoods that overlapped inhibited your perception and clouded your judgment, or perhaps you had learnt to overlook such trivial details.    But if there’s one thing that you’re beginning to learn about Taehyung, it’s that he’s the most attractive when he’s serious. You wish more people saw him like this — they wouldn’t take his words or opinions for granted otherwise.    Though now that you know this, you don’t really need a front row ticket to it...   “You want to what?”   “I want to draw you.”   “Absolutely not.”   “Why?” Taehyung pouts and he doesn’t know it’s because you don’t want him to stare at you intently, because it would be too intimate for your liking. As good as you are at pretending you’re a statue at social events, this is not part of your job description. The last thing you are is a piece of art. “I promise it’ll be quick. Half an hour, tops. I just need a rough sketch of someone as part of my portfolio.”   A sigh befalls your lips. “Can’t you pick someone else?”   “I don’t have anyone else. C’mon, it’s for school. Don’t you have to make sure I’m doing well in my schooling too?”   “But…” You look down at yourself. You’re not one to pay mind to futile things like your outer appearance, but you know you’re not in appropriate attire to be sketched. Once it’s permanently on paper, there’s no going back or reversing time. “I’m not even dressed properly, Taehyung.”   “You look fine,” he emphasizes and reaches over, grabbing your elbow. Taehyung walks you towards the center of the small studio. He turns you away from the sunlight, holds your shoulders and scoots you an inch to his right until it’s to his liking. “There. Good. Now stay still, okay?”   He smiles and struts back, plopping down onto his stool. With a sketchbook in hand, he looks up and begins.    The sound of graphite scratching against the paper fills the space between the four walls. It’s awkward, dreadful as you stare straight at him, and you release your held breath. “Do you want me to pose?”   “No.” There’s a full ten seconds of silence. “Just stay still.”   You feel out of place, stiff. The only thing you do is blink and barely breathe, not wanting to ruin his efforts.   “Can I ask you something, dumbo?” Taehyung mutters out of the corner of his mouth, eyes still pinned to his sketchbook.   “I...guess.”   “It’s kind of a stupid question, but I’m really curious as to what you’ll answer. So….think about it before you answer.” He hesitates for a moment and then goes for the kill. “Would you ever date me?”   “What?” You blink at him, unsure how to answer.   “Don’t move,” he suddenly barks out and you freeze at once, catching yourself halfway to stepping forward. “Thanks. Anyways I said, would you ever hypothetically date me or go out with me?”   “I don’t date.”   “Yeah, but let’s pretend that you did,” he mutters again and doesn’t even look at you properly to read your expression. Taehyung’s still concentrated, brows furrowed, the tip of his tongue peeking past the seam of his lips. His pencil comes out to measure something and then he quickly returns to the sketchbook. It’s not uncomfortable when he’s not full on staring and waiting for you to respond. There’s less pressure when he gives you time to reply.   “Well….that would be highly unprofessional. I’m your bodyguard—”   “Then let’s pretend you’re not,” he says carelessly as if this is small talk or a game of ‘would you rather’ to pass the time and make you less bored.   You hum, unintentionally relaxing in your spot as you give in and consider this what-if scenario he’s handed to you. “In a hypothetical world where I happen to have enough time and commitment to want to even date and I’m not your bodyguard and we happen to run into each other and we got the opportunity to go out….in a non-platonic sense…”   “Yes.”   “I….don’t know.”   “Wow, that’s it?” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls, but it’s a dangerous question. You’re uncertain of what he wants you to say, what you want to say. The possibility of such a circumstance makes your palms clammy.   “Well, I wouldn’t know.” You shrug. “You kind of have to be in the moment to know.”   “Hmmmm, I see.” The artist at work nods to himself. “Interesting.”   As reckless as it is, you find yourself asking, “How about you?”   “Me? Yeah, I’d date you. If you’d even let me.” Taehyung laughs and a smile appears on your face. He announces it like he’s so sure of himself, and it almost makes you...nervous. But you’re probably sweating from the heat of the room. “I don’t see why not.”   “But why me?” you question. “Like you said, I’m emotionally stunted. And I wouldn’t be able to offer you anything.” It doesn’t make sense to you — you’re not exciting, adventurous, or fun. The type of person you imagine Taehyung to be with, you can’t find any shred of it in yourself.    In fact, you feel more like a drag on people’s lives. The sidekick or background character that helps them accomplish one mission and hints them to the next. Never the hero. Most certainly never the love interest.   Taehyung’s hand pauses.   He glances at you with a frown, earnest in his words. “Don’t sell yourself short. Seriously.”   The student continues his sketch. “You’re responsible and hard-working and smart and capable. Most people aren’t like that. They’re not like you. And you keep me grounded. Make sure I don’t make stupid fucking decisions and end up breaking my legs.”   The corner of your mouth pulls again. “Okay, fine. That’s fair. But is it really enough to date me in this hypothetical world?”   “In this hypothetical world,” he pauses to inhale, “Yes. But there’s so much more than that. I wish you knew. I’d be the lucky one here. Not the other way around.”   Your face heats. He gives you more credit than you deserve, but you appreciate the wholehearted praise. For once, he’s not trying to butter you to succumb to whatever he wants, to get you to roll your eyes and banter with him. There’s nothing he can gain from it. It’s meaningful and you’re brought back to the time he told you no one could replace you...   “This is going to sound so lame and I know for a fact it’s one sided,” Taehyung mumbles as his eraser scrapes along the drawing you can’t discern from this distance, “but you’re my best friend, Y/N.”   Your chest is tight and you meet his eyes, staring at each other. His pencil continues to move on the paper, having sketched your curves, the dips of your waist, the slope of your nose, shape of your lips and strands of your hair.   “It’s not one-sided.”   Taehyung smiles.   He looks down and the rest of the time is spent quietly as he tries to finish, focusing. The conversation sinks down onto your shoulders and unlike his promise, it lasts longer than an hour. But you don’t find it difficult to stay in place anymore under his gaze.   Eventually, he finishes and sets his pencil down with a grin. “Good enough. You wanna see?”   “Yes. In case you wasted an hour of my life….” You walk over, dragging your sleeping leg behind you to peer over his shoulder. At once, your expression wipes away.   He looks up at you in worry. “What do you think?”   “It’s….pretty decent,” you admit with an approving nod. “I look so….” Pretty. Happy.    The sketch isn’t so rough as he said it would be. It’s a clear drawing of you, standing with arms behind your back, facial expression melted into a sheepish smile. It’s uncanny to how you remember your mother when you used to look at her, back before she became worn down, cynical, disappointed in how her own life turned out.   You wonder if this is how Taehyung sees you. In a way that’s so lovely and carefree.   “It better be decent. My hand hurts.” He shakes it and stretches his arms above his head with a groan. “I’m beat too.”   “Can I get a copy of it? When you’re done….”   Taehyung sets his notebook down on the table and spins around in pleasant shock. “You like it that much?” A stupidly wide grin begins to expand into his cheeks.   You try to shrug casually. “It’s not bad.”   He walks across the room, falling onto the worn sofa in the corner. “I’ll let you have the original when I get it back. Come here.” Taehyung pats a spot beside him, but you glance at the watch on your wrist.   “Shouldn’t we go get dinner?”   “Yeah, but I’m so tired. Let me rest for a second.” Once you give in, moving to sit down beside him, he scoots closer to you. Side-eyeing Taehyung only causes him to smile. “Thanks, dumbo, for letting me draw you.”   “It’s fine. Better than your idea of going bungee jumping.”   “I still wanna do that.”   “Maybe when it’s not my shift.”   “So you can actually join me?”   “So I’m not responsible if something goes wrong.”   He bursts out with a scoff and a laugh before settling down, tearing his eyes away from the profile of your face he had tried to recreate on paper and failed. He shifts to look straight ahead instead. Another thought bubbles to the surface of his consciousness. “In a hypothetical world where we never grew up together, where you weren’t my bodyguard, if I wasn’t the President’s son, and we met here...do you think you’d be my friend?”   “What’s up with you and hypotheticals today?”   “I just wish things were different.”   “Different how?”   “I don’t know,” he says, but you think he does know.   You don’t push him to tell you if he doesn’t want to.   It goes quiet.   Every blink that is taken is heavy. The exhaustion of the day catches up to you, muscles sore, feet aching. But you’re suddenly broken out of your trance when there’s a newfound weight on your shoulder. You flinch from the affection, yet Taehyung stays, chest rising and falling.   He’s leaning on your shoulder, fast asleep.   Your eyes soften, staring at the icy blonde strands of his hair. Your breath steadies and you sigh gently, allowing him to stay.   You don’t notice the way Taehyung’s mouth tugs upwards discreetly, how he sheepishly smiles, noticing the change. Just a month ago, he had tried the same thing and you shoved him off without waiting a single beat….   And just like that, he falls asleep on you, lulled by your scent and warmth.   It’s now that you’re sitting right beside him, peace allowing you to think, that you can finally put your finger on the feeling that’s been brewing inside of you ever since he embraced your body in his bed, underneath his covers, and the pair of you fell asleep in each other’s arms. You know it now. And it brings a whole plethora of emotions washing down on you — confusion, worry, fear.    You’re agitated, muddled, but also more than that. It’s different from annoyance, disenchantment, and the usual disenthrallment. It’s fluster.   Kim Taehyung’s made you flustered.

Songbird 2 - New Beginnings

Songbird - Chapter 2

A/N:  This chapter focuses more on certain BNHA characters, but there's still some Asa thrown in there.

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to the BNHA/MHA universe, nor its characters. This work is intended for entertainment purposes only. My own characters are, however, of my creation.

Content warning: mentions of jumping from planes, talk about character deaths, !spoilers for the manga!, some AU stuff cause what is cannon if not a suggestion, tattoos, talk about physiotherapy and injuries, swearing/language. If I forget anything, please let me know so I can correct/add it!

Summary | Chapter 1

If Keigo knew anything, it was that he hated the Hero Commission more than he hated Endeavor. And that was saying something, considering his longtime idol was a child abuser. He hated that they made him into a monster. They took an innocent child and distorted his reality. 

Keigo decidedly hated a lot of things. 

But he couldn't hate Aizawa. Not after everything that's happened. Not ever, actually. The man was every bit the hero Keigo once thought Endeavor was. Yet, he couldn't help but feel like the teacher had ulterior motives. The two sat across from each other on a small wooden table in a secluded pub. It was just on the outskirts of Musutafu, which made it the perfect place for this kind of encounter.

"I want you to teach at the UA."

There it was. The ulterior motive the hero Hawks was trained to identify. Keigo cursed in his mind. He really didn't want to find a reason to be suspicious of Aizawa of all people.

The man had literally sacrificed an eye and a leg for others, for fuck's sake!

"Shota... I don't think I can. What could I possibly teach? I'm a monster... These kids need an actual role model. Not some bastard murderer with a hero title." Keigo's voice was small and quiet. He was miles from the great Hawks he was supposed to be.

"We've all done things we're not proud of, no matter how big or small. You did what you thought you had to do. In the heat of the moment, it was your only option." The older hero sighed.

Aizawa looked at the young man in front of him. He looked so broken and fragile. But he understood. Killing Twice, someone so vulnerable yet dangerous, weighed more than Keigo let on. The Winged Hero Hawks died then and there in Keigo's mind. And Aizawa knew it was taking a long time to heal from that loss.

"Look," Keigo looked up from the table, "Killing Twice-" He visibly flinched, but Aizawa pressed on, "That wasn't the best thing you could do. The man could've been helped. Maybe he could've become a great hero or teacher even." 

Keigo was about ready to stand up and leave at that. He wasn't going to sit and listen to yet another person throw his wrongdoings in his face. He didn't need it. His mind was cruel enough.

"You're right in feeling like shit. But I'd be more worried if you weren't. You're still a hero, Keigo. You saved lives that day, even if you took a drastic measure. Even if your decision was a horrible one." Aizawa took a deep breath. "You know it was wrong. You know it was cruel. But you had good intentions-"

"Hell is full of good intentions, Aizawa." Keigo gritted, hitting a fist on the table and standing up. 

Aizawa stood up as well. "Then teach those kids to not make that mistake. Teach them about good intentions and good actions combined."

With that, the older male went to the cashier to pay for their drinks. Neither of them had taken one stingy sip, but Shota still thought ordering drinks was the polite thing to do. 

The two left together. Being grounded was new to Keigo. Sure he walked every once in a while, but he'd be flying to his penthouse by now. He'd be soaring through the skies. The thought of the wind blowing through his feathers made Keigo look up to the sky. He longed for the day his wings grew back, then he'd flee and never return.

"I know that look," Aizawa's voice snapped him back to reality.

"The day I have my wings back..." The blonde whispered, "I'm leaving and never coming back, Shota. I'll be free."

"Will you?" 

"Will I what?"

"Will you actually be able to leave?"

Keigo stopped in his tracks, making Aizawa pause as well. Would he really be able to run away? Would he be able to just take flight and never look back? Keigo wondered if he'd have the guts to do that. 

"I don't know," He admitted with a sigh before starting to walk again.

"But I'd sure love to have the chance to find out."

On the other side of the world, Asa was packing her bags. She had very little time to prepare, and she wondered why the Queen and Santos hadn't informed her of this mission weeks ago. From Asa gather through the reports and files she read, the confrontation between heroes and villains in Japan was months ago. So why was she only being sent now?

She'd have to go through the other files Santos gave her. Maybe then Asa would know what was really going on.

"Asa!" Caique's voice rang from behind her door. Asa smiled softly.

"Come in, punk!" She shot back.

"Can you believe it? I'm Commander! I went from Captain to Commander!" He looked like a puppy that's just been given a new toy.

"Oh, shut up!" Asa laughed at his happiness. 

"So, my subordinate," Caique sauntered over to Asa, putting an arm on her shoulder, "My first order is that you let me kick your ass once." He grinned cheekily.

Asa rolled her eyes and pushed his arm off her. "No way in hell, babe. I've got a rep to keep, you know?" She winked over her shoulder as she walked to her closet to gather more items.

"Hey!" Caique pouted. Asa giggled at his face, shaking her head.

"Don't pout," She scolded playfully, "It makes you look five."

"Right, and you hate children," He added teasingly.

"I do not!" Asa shot back laughing, "It's them that hate little ol' me." She shrugged.

"That's not true," Caique huffed and took a seat on her king-sized bed. "By the way, I never really understood why I got the position and not one of the generals."

"Cause I've been preparing you for the position for three years now. I was gonna retire right before the summer festivities."

"Retire?! Girl, you're like 23! The fuck you mean retire?"

"I've been at this for almost 16 years, Caique. And I'm unhappy."

Her words silenced Caique. He knew very little about his Commander. Asa was strong, intelligent, agile, cunning, and charming (if she wanted to be). She was 23 years old, soon turning 24, and she was quite attractive. But that's all he knew about her.

"You never really told me how a 7-year-old became a soldier."

"And I don't think I can ever tell you. I can't remember it myself without having a breakdown!" Asa tried to play it off as a joke, but they both knew this was a sensitive topic.

"So, are you done packing?" Caique quickly changed the subject. It was her last day here, and he didn't want Asa to be tackled by ugly memories.

"Almost. Most of my things are already on the plane." Asa gave him a small smile. "I slept a total of zero hours last night. Santos was adamant that everything needed to be loaded onto the plane before sunrise. And I mean everything!"

"That man is wound up way too tight," Caique shivered. "Is there a way I don't have to deal with him directly?"

"Sorry, but that stick in the mud is your issue now." Asa bit her lip to stop herself from laughing at Caique's disdainful expression. 

"Thanks, that's really encouraging," His sarcasm made her lose her composure and laugh, "What's the mission anyway?" He looked at her attentively.

"You know I can't tell you that..." Asa trailed off, unsure how to keep her promise to the Queen without shutting Caique out. 

"Ah, you're right. If the Queen asked you to keep it a secret, then you must," Caique offered Asa a small smile.

Ever since they met six years ago, Caique and Asa were joined at the hip. Neither went into battle without the other. It was common knowledge among the guards and soldiers that one should never mess with either of them. Now they were being separated, and it already felt like they were miles apart.

A few more minutes pass as the two make jokes and chat. Asa began to think about how she could remember her last moments in Pindorama forever. She needed something to look at or touch every day. Asa never dealt well with homesickness. As Caique helped her fold some clothes, an idea hit her. She grabbed his hands, inspecting the many drawings inked into his skin.

"What's up? Why are you suddenly so interested in my tattoos?" Caique chuckled as he let Asa twist and twist and turn his arms around. 

"Let's get a tattoo together."

"What?! Now?!"

"Yes, right now. Call the artist!"

Keigo couldn't believe this was happening. He took Aizawa's offer and applied to a position in the UA High School. However, he didn't think they'd actually accept him. And he was even more surprised to learn the Commission authorized it. Had everyone gone insane?

The world really did turn upside down...

But here he was: sitting in Nezu's office and listening to him drone on about the rules, the teaching plans, and other things Keigo wasn't paying attention to. Shit, he actually got in. Now what?

"If you have any questions, feel free to ask Aizawa. I've put him in charge of your training. Please be prepared to start in April next year." Nezu smiled at Keigo, standing up to shake the blonde's hand.

After that, Keigo left the headmaster's office in a daze. The last six months were hell: grieving the loss of fellow heroes, dealing with his demons, going back and forth from the hospital and his residence... Keigo couldn't remember a time in which he felt carefree and at ease. And now he's shaking whatever peace he still had.

"What have I gotten myself into?"

"Probably your greatest challenge yet." Aizawa lazily lifted the corners of his mouth as he limped towards Keigo. 

"Oh, I don't doubt it..." He muttered to himself.

"Follow me. I'll give you a short tour, then we can head out for some coffee." Shota offered as he pointed his chin to the hall he came from.

"A tour would be nice, I guess..." Keigo shrugged his shoulders and followed the older man. 

Aizawa could be surprisingly chatty, it seemed. He showed him as many classes as he could. He took Keigo to see the event arenas and other facilities. Last but not least, he took him to the teachers' room.

"We prepare our classes here," The hero explained, "Over there, we have the cabinets with students' tests and reports. Next to that, we have the teachers' lockers. You can keep some personal items in there." 

Keigo walked over to the lockers, tracing the names of the heroes that taught at the UA. He recognized some of them. These lockers had belonged to some of the fallen heroes. Keigo's back ached with phantom pain. Seeing those names triggered the torturous memories from six months ago.

"They haven't had the heart to remove the names," Aizawa explained.

"They shouldn't." Keigo placed his fingers over Midnight's name tag, "She'd want us to remember her."

"Other teachers survived and will be returning."

"They won't be the same."

"No one's the same."

"Nothing's the same. Everything and everyone is different," Keigo sighed, "And different is bad."

"Different allows growth."

"So it seems." Keigo scoffed at his own words. 

Was he even still capable of that? Growth was such a foreign concept for someone who was fabricated. Oh, the irony. He was built from scratch, molded to the Commission's wishes. He "grew" under their supervision. Would he have grown at all if they hadn't taken him in?

"How about that coffee?"

"I think I'll pass. I want to start working on the material I'm gonna present in class."

"I suggest a more hands-on approach. Depending on which class you're assigned to, theory won't get you anywhere. I speak from experience." Aizawa thought of the many setbacks a specific class had due to the students' tempers.

"Right. Still, I'd like to-"

"Form a strategy? Make a plan? You're not patrolling, and you're definitely not in an undercover mission. This is teaching," Aizawa paused, trying to think of the right words, "You need a base, but you're gonna have to improvise from time to time. And these are teenagers, not villains. The most they can do is piss you off." He smirked teasingly.

"Got it," Keigo answered simply, already flipping through a book on teaching methods he found lying about.

Aizawa rubbed his face, watching the ex-hero with something akin to pity. The boy had never been a real teenager. How was he supposed to deal with so many of them at once? He'd need a lot of support, that's for sure.

The two sat at the table near the pantry. Keigo was reading aloud some parts of the book he found, asking Aizawa for his input. Whenever the older hero gave a tip, Keigo immediately recorded it on his phone's note app. Halfway through the fourth chapter, Principal Nezu walked in.

"Aizawa, I just received great news from Tokyo!" His ears twitched in excitement.

"What news?" Aizawa raised an eyebrow.

"The Prime Minister has successfully contacted Pindorama. They're sending the hero we discussed last week. She'll be arriving next week!" Nezu informed with a smile.

"You mean the one with the practically extinct quirk?"

"Yes, exactly."

"I heard she was trouble."

"Oh, I doubt she'll be a burden to us."

"Sorry to interrupt," Keigo lifted his head from the book, now curious about the person they were talking about, "Who are you talking about?"

"Oh! Hawks!" Keigo stiffened at the use of his hero name, "I forgot to mention it to you earlier, but you won't be the only newbie. A special guest is coming from another country to help with things around here. She has a very rare quirk, which will greatly help us as a country bounce back from the events of March." Nezu beamed, folding his paws in front of his chest.

"What kind of quirk?" Keigo squinted his eyes.

"It's of a healing nature, but no one is sure of how it works," Aizawa explained, "There's not much written about this quirk. The only group of people that knew everything about it are all gone." He slumped in his seat, feeling sleepy already.

"So, there are no records on it? How can we trust this stranger?" Keigo frowned. 

"That's a reasonable question," Nezu lifted himself onto one of the vacant chairs and looked at Keigo, "But there's no need to worry. She's a show of the alliance between the two countries. If anything goes wrong, it'll be a war declaration."

"That just makes her even more dangerous. I don't think we should let someone so-" Aizawa interrupted Keigo by clearing his throat.

"Rest assured, Keigo, that she won't be a problem to any of us," Nezu added. He smiled widely once more before hopping off the chair and bidding the two heroes goodbye.

A few minutes passed as Keigo continued to read the book and ask Aizawa questions. Meanwhile, the raven-haired man was fighting to stay awake and help the young man understand the methods and concepts. But he had drained himself during his physiotherapy session that morning. He needed a nap, or he'd pass out right there.

Sensing the older man's tiredness, Keigo decided to excuse himself. He told Aizawa he'd continue reading at home and that he'd take notes of any doubts that might surface. After packing his things, Keigo bid the teacher goodbye and left.

The next time the two men met, Keigo was at the school to look for more teaching supplies. They greeted each other at the gates with a quiet nod each. Aizawa seemed better, stronger, Keigo noted. Maybe his physiotherapy sessions had been paying off. Eri's contribution probably helped too.

Aizawa had once told him that Eri wanted to heal him and give him his wings back. But Keigo had refused. He didn't want them back, not like this. Hawks died, and if Keigo had any say in it, he'd stay dead. So, if his wings grew back, he wanted to earn them and start anew.

For days, he and Aizawa would sit together near the pantry in the teacher's room. Keigo would read excerpts from teaching books or bring teaching plans and ask for Aizawa's input. Day in and day out, the older man would reassure the blonde that the material was suitable. And day in and day out, Keigo would create different versions on the same plan. He swore they were only backups in case he forgot to prepare for a class or something. But Shota Aizawa knew very well that the young man was scared of messing up.

After what happened in March, Class 1-A was going to need a lot of support. So Aizawa often found himself praying to a whatever higher energy that they'd be okay. That every student and teacher would find solace in being a hero and saving lives. He prayed for everyone to find a way to cope.

These prayers always startled Shota. He wasn't religious at all! He never cared about gods or spirits or ancestors. But he sure as fuck hoped that something was watching over them and that things would be fixed. He knew better than anyone how naive thinking like this was. But he also knew it was better than wallowing in self-pity.

Yet, Aizawa felt like Keigo would be the one getting support from the students.

Aizawa just wished Keigo would accept any form of support.

"Ready when you are, Siren!" The pilot yelled over the radio system of the plane, "We are one minute away from the drop-off point!"

"Roger that, Captain!" Asa shot back, preparing her equipment and adjusting her suit.

Her first mission was to infiltrate the HPSC building and bug the president's office. If she had time, Asa was going to try and bug any other high-ranked offices too. She had to be precise and fast. One slipup and the whole mission could be compromised. 

Once they reached the drop-off point, Asa removed her protective headset and put on her goggles. She waited for the crew to open the plane's doors while she made sure everything was ready. The plane's doors opened, and Asa saluted the soldiers behind her before throwing herself out of the plane.

Asa had missed the exhilaration of jumping into the night. She forgot how thrilling it was and how powerful she felt. The dropping point had been 14000 feet (around 4267 meters) high, so Asa had about a minute of free-falling before she could open her wings. Having done this many times before, Asa successfully landed on top of a building south of the HPSC headquarters. 

She retracted her wings, thankful for her suit being backless, and prepared to jump onto the next building. They dropped her off a little away from the premises to not alert any busybodies. 

Asa wasted no time getting to work. In just under 10 minutes, she had made it onto one of the windows on the 14th floor of the HPSC's building's south side. And in less than 20 minutes, Asa had located the president's office.

Asa managed to open one of the smaller windows and slithered in. She placed a bug on one of the far corners of the giant window behind the desk. She also placed another under the desk table and one behind a few books. Asa put the fourth and last bug under the clock that hung over the entrance door. After that, as quickly as she got in, Asa was out. She checked her watch. Asa had some time left before a helicopter picked her up at the designated rendezvous point. So, she decided to find the vice-president's office, or maybe a lab of some sort. 

Flying around the building, Asa used her enhanced vision goggles to see if she could locate any useful information. On the west side, she found a lab with the words "authorized personnel only" printed on the door. Squinting, Asa flew closer and found a way in. Smirking at her findings, she bugged the lab as thoroughly as she could.

Once she was outside again, Asa dropped onto a nearby building and sprinted to the rendezvous point.

"This is Siren speaking," Asa's voice was barely above a whisper, "Heading to the pick-up point." 

Asa dropped down from a building, disappearing into the night.

Chapter 3

Finding Cinderella | Series | Chapter Two

Title: Finding Cinderella

Pairings: Donghae x reader,(Primary) Heechul x reader (Secondary), Kyuhyun x reader (Secondary)

Author’s Note: I have been planning this story for a while but have been battling many writers’ blocks in doing so. This story will mainly focus on Donghae and the reader but will have branching stories between Heechul, Kyuhyun and two secondary OC characters.

Sidenote: Yes, this series will include Kangin and Sungmin. This was originally started back when the two of them were still active members and in my heart they will always be members so I will include them wherever I see fit.

SM Entertainment plans to host the event of the century and you are invited!

The news headline offered as click bait got a lot of people talking. It wasn’t a complete lie as SM Entertainment was gearing up to host what they believed to be the event of the century and even a handful of lucky fans were going to be granted access to this exclusive party. But there was a catch.

Only a few lucky fans were going to receive a V.I.P. invitation to the party, a chance to meet all their favorite artists and celebrities as well as experience the best food and music they had ever come across.

In order to be considered for an invitation, fans had to record a video message stating why they loved SM Entertainment, what they felt like the company’s artists changed their lives and why they should be one of the honorable guests for the party. SM Entertainment artists would judge the videos and each group would collectively vote on one fan to personally invite to the party.

Some netizens criticized the requirements, stating that they were basically begging for people to praise them on video so they could use that to their advantage later as part of a sneaky promotional stunt, while other netizens praised the company for including fans who helped the company gain so much success over the past year.

Videos came flocking in as soon as the signup had opened, people had to create a personal account on the official SM Entertainment event page, fill out their profile and personal information and upload the video. On the first night, the event page managed to crash due to the traffic from all over the world though many netizens claimed the company would end up picking fans within Korea as they always seemed favorable to their country.

Not all the applications were valid to the competition, however. Some people thought this would be the perfect opportunity to get their own rise to fame and uploaded a video of them dancing, singing or acting in a desperate attempt to get discovered. Paying tribute to their favorite artists they sang their hearts out and tried to mimic the complicated choreography for as much as possible to showcase their own talents and abilities. Unfortunately for them, SM Entertainment wasn’t looking for new trainees and took no heed of these desperate audition attempts. And then there were the desperate fans who were just grasping the chance of conveying their messages to their favorite idols, hoping that their love confession would set off a series of events only seen in dramas.

Some, however, took it to the extreme. This platform was also the perfect opportunity for the so-called “sasaengs” to come forth with extreme and desperate messages stating that their “oppa” needed to love them and whoever would love them instead would face serious consequences. Most of them would receive a message that their account had been disabled for not following the rules and the company even issued a warning that those would continue sending disturbing messages would face legal repercussions.

   Lee Chanhee had hesitated several times about signing up and giving it a shot. She had been a big SM Entertainment fan for years, their artists and music ignited a light within her which sparked her passion for singing. There had even been people who told her she had actual star potential, the only thing that held her back was her fear. A fear to audition and get rejected. A fear of people who were supposed to be experts, rejecting her and crushing her dreams, killing the fire that fueled her passion. And the idea of the stress and demanding schedules she had heard about, it definitely made the idea of signing as an artist less favorable. Having all eyes on her, judging her every action and movement, commenting on anything she did or said or didn’t do or say, the pressure of being perfect… That was something she rather lived without. Instead, she decided to keep it low and sing for fun. Releasing online songs under a pseudonym to keep the mystery going, she gathered quite a fanbase of followers and viewers. And that was enough, for the time being.

But a chance to be invited inside SM Entertainment, to meet, greet and party with her favorite artists and get an idea of how the people she admired were in real life, without the cameras and the pressure to keep up their good image, that intrigued her. And so her mouse hovered over the signup button on the event page. But she didn’t click.

“Signing up means I have to record a video...” She let out a soft sigh as she considered her options. “Which means people will see my face… And they’ll judge my story...” They made it quite clear in the promotions that the artists were actually going to be reviewing the applications themselves and personally pick out a fan to invite. Which would mean she could have the chance to personally convey her feelings and experiences with her favorite artist, but that could also mean making a great fool out of herself. She could just imagine the groups watching her video, laughing at how ridiculously cringeworthy she looked.

But what exactly did she have to lose? None of them knew her and if her video was laughable at best, they wouldn’t invite her over which means that they would just as easily forget about her embarrassment. And if she did get invited then maybe, just maybe her video wasn’t as cringeworthy as she imagined it in her head.

“Yah! Chanhee-ah!” A voice called from the hallway as she heard the front door slam shut. Footsteps approached her bedroom door and a second later the door flung open revealing the dark haired girl that had burst into her apartment. Sometimes she regretted giving her the password. “Aish, there you are!”

“Oh, Miya-ah!” The curly haired girl nodded as she finally moved from her spot behind her computer and greeted her friend. Miya was a student at the Korean National University of Arts, majoring in vocal and dance courses whom Chanhee had met online right after she released her first ever song online under the pseudonym 월광 신데렐라 (moonlight cinderella). Miya was her first subscriber and commenter and had proceeded to comment, like and even promote every song she released after that. When Miya sent her a message asking if she was a student at her university and that she could introduce Chanhee to one of the music producer majors, she took the plunge and met up with Miya. And they have been friends ever since.

“Sorry, I’m late since the semester is ending they are killing us with exams and preparations,” The slightly shorter girl huffed as she dragged her bag over the floor.

“No problem!” Chanhee smiled as she inched closer to the girl with a curious gaze down on the bag she was dragging along. “So… You got the goods?”

“Ah?” Miya exclaimed, looking up at the taller curly haired girl with a somewhat confused gaze before realizing what she meant. “Oh! Yes! Miya's goody supplying service has done it again!” She grinned proudly as she crouched down and rummaged her bag until she pulled out the small USB stick. “Tadaa! I swear, Yunghwa was going to have a mental breakdown since his program kept crashing and it deleted his final project, you should have seen his face!” She mused, showing no signs of consideration towards her music producer friend she put in charge of helping produce and mix Chanhee’s releases.

“Aigoo, please thank him for me!” Chanhee humbled as she held her hands out for the USB stick, impatiently waiting to hear the final product. She had worked hard on this release, usually, she only produced covers of popular and lesser known songs, but this was the first re-write of a song she composed and she was eager to hear how it turned out before releasing it online.

She did feel sorry for putting so much pressure on Miya’s friend who she could imagine was under a lot of stress as was with finals creeping up. And to top it off, Yunghwa wasn’t even getting paid for the producing he did. Chanhee did offer, but Miya somehow found a way to have him do it without any reward. Chanhee decided not to ask questions.

“Psh, all he needs is a couple of cups of coffee and he’ll be good to go!” Miya smirked as she placed the USB in her hands. “So what were you up to?”

“I was wondering if I should sign up for the SM Entertainment event...” She muttered as she made her way back to her computer, playing with the USB in her hands.

“Oh, right… The fan event where they’re asking you to stick some feathers up their butts to make them feel good,” Miya hummed thoughtfully. She had heard about the event, not surprising since it was advertised everywhere and several of her fellow students had signed up. Not to mention her former roommate had been talking about all the things she had to arrange for it seeing as she found a full-time job at the company after dropping out of university.

Personally, she didn’t feel the appeal of the event, she highly doubted those lucky fans would even catch a glimpse of their idols and would most likely be stuffed in one corner of the venue. She could imagine most of the people that signed up merely did so to get to meet their wannabe husband or wife.

“It would be a chance of a lifetime to attend… Even if it’s just for the food.” Chanhee explained. “But I’m not sure if I’m so comfortable with recording a video message. Especially since the artists will hand pick the winners themselves.“

“Huh, you would think they’d have better things to do than to go through millions of fan videos.” Miya clicked her tongue as she brushed her fingers through her already messy hair. The thing about college students was that after a certain amount of time you stopped giving a crap about your appearance, the dress code was pajamas and dark eye circles most of the time anyway. “But these idols don’t know you, right? So what’s the worse that could happen? You’ll be one of a million rejected and they’ll probably not even remember your face or voice or anything.”

“See, that is what I was telling myself but still...” She bit the inside of her lip as she stared back at the signup screen.

“C’mon! Just do it, you know you want to or you wouldn’t be hesitating so much!” The smaller girl pressed her finger onto the curly haired girls to make her point. “Don’t think too much and just do it. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain!”

“Yes! Yes, you’re right! Let’s do it!” Chanhee encouraged herself as she finally clicked the sign-up button and filled out the information they requested. It also asked for a preferred group, seeing as they were going to divide the applications between all the groups to limit the amount of time their artist had to spent on watching and judging the videos. After thinking about it, she decided to sign up for Super Junior, reasoning that the group barely seemed to take themselves too seriously so if she ended up making a fool out of herself they would most like just brush it off as adorable at least. Or that’s what she kept telling herself as encouragement.

“Lemme know how the track sounds before releasing it and if you need anything changed hit me up and I will pester Yunghwa into fixing it!” Miya mentioned as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder again. She didn’t have enough time to stick around unfortunately, a student’s duty called and she had to get back to campus for a couple more classes.

“Thanks a lot, Miya!” Chanhee beamed as she turned to look at her friend. “I owe you a lot!”

“Aye, what kind of fan would I be if I didn’t go to the extreme for my precious unnie!” She flashed her a cheeky smile and winked as she finished her words before heading out. “Good luck!”

Chanhee waited for her friend to leave and the sound of the door falling back into its automated lock before opening her recording program and turning on her camera. She stared at her own reflection in the screen, huffing as she brushed her fingers through her soft curls trying to get them to twirl a way that would look decent on camera. Patting her cheeks she wondered if she needed to add some more makeup or if it were best to just go with the natural look to give them the right idea of the girl proclaiming her love to the company.

“Ok Chanhee,” She took a deep breath, her finger hovering over the record button. “It’s now or never, I can do this!” She cleared her throat and hit the red button.

“Annyeonghaseyo, Lee Chanhee imnida. Twenty-five years old, veterinary assistant... “ the curly haired girl introduced herself with a shy smile and soft voice. She was fidgeting with her curls as she seemed to try and think of the right words to say.

“I guess I should be answering some of these questions…” Her eyes darted off to the words on the screen for a moment as she mouthed the question first before turning back to the camera with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Um… How has SM Entertainment influenced my life? I guess I would say it has turned my world upside down...” A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she finished her words. “Ah, but not in a bad way! Not at all… It has shown me that music is so much more than a simple melody and some words. It’s about the feeling and message that it’s trying to convey. Connecting people with a mutual feeling, regardless of boundaries set by society… I think that’s what makes it beautiful.”

She seemed to really be contemplating her words as she no longer focused on the camera and as her mind wandered off to the message she was trying to convey, she seemed less nervous. “The first song from SM Entertainment that I had ever heard was sung by Super Junior, and it seemed to speak to me in a way I never expected music to do… In particular when Kyuhyun’s part came up. His voice managed to capture the words and the message, touching every heartstring by singing. It felt like he was conveying the message straight to my heart without ever having met. That’s the power of real talent, it says a lot about the artist's abilities.”

A soft hum escaped her lips as she let her own words sink in for a moment, hesitating whether or not she should keep speaking. It was clear that there was more to say, but she wasn’t sure if she could. “Music has saved my life in more ways than one. And to show gratitude I have always supported all the artists. If I ever had the chance to meet them, I would like to thank them for all the strength their music has given me…”

Her eyes moved up to the question on the screen again as she read the final question. “Ah… In all honesty, I’m not sure if I can answer the last question. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who would deserve being invited more than me. So I’m not going to answer why I think I’m more deserving or special than all the other fans, everyone has their own reasons for being and their own story to tell. So if I get chosen I will feel blessed and thankful, but if not then I will still be right here, supporting the artists to the best of my abilities, that’s the least I could do.”

As she spoke her final words the screen turned to black as the video had finished. The boys stared at the screen for a moment as they let the message sink in before speaking.

“Wow, that has to be the most genuine message we have seen so far...” Sungmin finally spoke up, breaking the silence filling the Super Junior office.

So far they had seen fans declaring their undying love to the company and them as artists draped in every single Super Junior merchandise they could find. Swinging lightsticks, screaming out their names, high on energy drinks and showing the posters that covered their bedroom walls.

But this girl seemed to really take the requirements seriously. She recorded a video and answered the questions diligently and genuinely. Judging by appearance compared with some of the other videos, you could hardly tell she was a fan. But listening to her words, it was clear she thought long and hard about what she wanted to say and she actually knew what she was talking about.

“Tch, unbelievable she chose Kyu’s voice over mine!” Heechul smirked as he nudged the younger male playfully. He had seemed flustered when the girl started speaking about his ability to convey a message. Sure, he had been praised for his voice and talent before but for some reason the way she praised him felt different.

“She knows her stuff, that’s for sure!” Ryeowook nodded in agreement, it wasn’t surprising that someone praised Kyuhyun’s voice. He was one of the main vocalists after all.

“Let’s just pick hers since I doubt there will be any other actual entries on this list!” Kangin stated as he pulled out his phone. They had been watching videos for several hours now, some more cringeworthy and loud than others. He could understand that people were excited to have a chance to meeting them, but after several hours of sitting in one spot and watching these videos, he was in dire need of some change of scenery.

“That wouldn’t be fair towards the other fans,” Leeteuk felt somewhat guilty about the idea of skipping the rest of the entries right away. “I’m sure all of them put a lot of thought and dedication into it.”

“Well, can we at least call in for some food and drinks then?” Shindong suggested, maybe if they had food to keep them busy, enduring these videos would seem a lot less tiring. It was nice to hear all the praise their fans had given them, it definitely made all of them feel grateful for having such a dedicated fanbase.

“Pizza?” Yesung suggested, feeling peckish himself.

“No, chicken!” Eunhyuk protested as he was craving the taste of juicy fried chicken a lot more at the moment, already licking his lips at the thought of it.

“Why not both?” Donghae shrugged, it wouldn’t be the first time they mix and matched their food preferences because honestly, trying to decide on what to eat with ten - thirteen different cravings wasn’t exactly the easiest task in the word.

“Pizza and chicken sound good to me!” Kyuhyun nodded, finally joining in on the conversation. His mind had been replaying the words of praise Chanhee had spoken before, wondering why those specific words seemed to get to him so much.

“I’ll be right back, you guys keep watching!” their manager nodded as he left the room and headed down the hallway. “Ah! Park-ssi!”

The girl stopped in her tracks as she heard her name being called, turning in the direction of the voice as her crimson locks danced around her face. She bowed in greeting as the manager approached her.

“Yes? How can I help you?”

“I need you to order a couple of pizzas and boxes of fried chicken,” the manager told her as he nudged his head back to the office behind him. “The boys are going through the applications and they’re starting to get restless so they need some food to tie them over.”

“The boys?” She arched a brow curiously as she glanced over at the door leading to the office, hearing muffled voices from the other side. “Ah, Super Junior right? Pizza and chicken? Sure, of course, I can arrange that for you.”

“Thank you, I knew I could count on you!” he smiled thankfully as he bowed his head in gratitude. “Don’t take too long, though. They still have a lot of applicants to review.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have them deliver in fifteen minutes,” Eunmi grinned as she nodded in understanding. “You know how persuasive I can be after all.”

The Goddess of Life, The King of Death; Chapter Six.

Sorry this one is so short! It’s mostly filler, as the next one is going to be a lot of action!

Marinette stayed in her seat, watching and listening. Felix had grabbed her elbow, and was clearly trying to find a way out. Marinette jumped when she felt someone grab her shoulder from behind. She twisted, to see Juleka with one arm around an inconsolable Rose. The dark goddess shot her a pleading look, and Marinette understood. Juleka was never the best with emotion, and needed help. She set on hand in Felix’s wrist, before leaning in to whisper.

“I need to help Juleka. Take the chance to find a way out, and find the others.” He nodded, still searching desperately for his friends. She stood and looped around to reach her fellow goddesses, before setting a hand on Rose’s back. “Rose, it’s Persephone. Do you need to be distracted?” The sobbing goddess nodded, and Marinette reached into her pocket and grabbed her notebook. She flipped a few pages, and gently turned Rose by her shoulder. “Take a look.” Rose glanced at the book, and her eyes grew wide. Sketched on the page was a pink flower, with dozens of tear-drop shaped petals, layered in concentric circles.

“It’s so pretty.” The delicate goddess sniffed, rubbing at her eyes. Marinette pulled out her handkerchief, and Rose dabbed at her eyes. “I’ve never seen this kind of flower before.”

“It’s called a lotus, it’s my favorite of the ones I’m working on. Would you lie to see the others?” Rose nodded, smiling weakly. Marinette flipped the page again, revealing a trio of blue trumpet-shaped flowers. “These are azaleas. I’m planning on there being multiple colors.” Rose studied the page for a moment, and smiled.

“They’re so pretty.”

“Thank you. These,” She turned the page again, and handed Rose the book. “are cyclamen.” The triangular flowers were purple, with long, thin petals. Rose stared down at the paper, before glancing at Marinette.

“Can I show these to Marc? He would love to see these.” Marinette internally winced. She really needed to get out of here, but if she said no, then Rose may start crying again. Marinette had never been good when people cried, but Rose was usually so bubbly that it hurt to see her upset. She nodded, and Rose stood, looking around. She spotted Marc sitting in the corner. She grabbed Marinette and headed across the room. If not for her red face and puffy eyes, she looked her usual happy self. Marc looked up from where he had been sketching, and smiled at Rose.

“Marc, look at what Persephone showed me! Aren’t they all lovely?” Rose handed Marc the book, and he studied the sketch of the cyclamen. Before he could say anything, Rose turned the page, all the way back to the lotus. He looked at it, before she turned the page to the azalea drawing.

“These are amazing, your majesty! Where did you learn to draw like this?” He gushed, green eyes sparkling.

“I learned from my mother. She was a wonderful artist. Unfortunately, she faded several decades ago. Her domain was small, and she just didn’t have enough believers.” Rose gasped, and tackled Marinette in a hug.

“Oh, that’s awful, Persephone!” Marinette patted Rose on the head, and smiled down at her.

“It’s okay, she was in a lot of pain. Really, I’ve come to terms with it.” Rose hesitated, before seeming to accept this.

“Rose!” Someone called from across the room. The trio turned around, to see Luka waving them over. They all crossed the room, to where most of her class was gathered in a huddle. Nino was up at the altar, where Adrien was sitting with his head in his hands. Juleka was chatting quietly with her brother, who seemed disturbed. Mylene, Alix and Nathaniel were all murmuring to each other. Chloe was just watching everyone, making the odd sly comment to Sabrina. Max was consulting with Marco, a golem he had made several decades ago, while Kim was trying to catch Chloe’s eye. Ivan was just standing behind Mylene, silent as ever. Alya was ranting loudly, pacing back and forth.

“- and we fell for it! It’s all Adrien’s fault!” She screamed, wheeling to point at the shocked blond.

“Hey! You’re the Goddess of Truth, you should have known she was lying!” He shot back.

“You’re the one with the bond to Marinette!” Alya huffed.

“The bond didn’t solidify on my end till a month ago! That’s just how it works!”

“You’re both wrong!” Chloe yelled. “It was everyone’s fault!” All of the deities in the courtyard turned to face the angry goddess, who was standing with her arms crossed and her hip popped.

“What do you mean, Chloe?” Sabrina asked.

“NONE of us, none, asked Lila if she was telling the truth, or even looked for Dupain-Cheng! We didn’t even ask her parents if she was okay! She could be really hurt, or hidden so well we’ll never find her, and we have no clue! If she dies, so does the earth and all the mortals! If the mortals all die, so do we!” She snapped, clearly furious. “I don’t care what the rest of you do, but I’m going back home! I’m going to scry and see if I can locate Dup- Marinette.” She whirled on her heel, and grabbed Sabrina by the wrist. Before they left, she paused, calling over her shoulder. “If we find her, we all need to be ready to grovel. If it was me, I wouldn’t forgive any of you.” She resumed her determined march, and Marinette frantically tried to look around for Felix. She saw him standing by the door with the others, watching. She gently tapped a shaken Rose on the shoulder, and gave her a quick hug.

“I have to go, as is we’ve been away from the underworld too long. I’ll write to you later.” Rose nodded, and squeezed Marinette tight. The flower goddesses parted, and Marinette hurried over to her group. She slid her hand into the crook of Felix’s elbow, and shook her head at Allegra’s concerned look.

CONTROL FREAK

(Yandere Melone X Female Reader)

Every person lives a double life. Some display a different persona around different people, sometimes their persona changed with their work.

Melone may have a life beyond that of an assassin but that never seemed to change his actions. No matter what side of him you met he would always deep down be a sick, depraved and paraphilic individual. It wasn't like he could just change his thought process after the job was done. However he still just managed to live among the rest of society and blend into the crowd.

🍉🍉🍉

You were nothing special. You were just another struggling waitress that was only just above water. You had dreamed of being an actress however you managed to screw up when you performed for a production in middle school. All that you could say was there was a lose board on the stage and a large cluster of arachnid nests... However things had gone a little differently for a close friend from high school Andrew Prince, who was now a costume and prop maker as well as a make up artist for the big Italian movie productions.

Today was just another tiresome day. Bringing plates and glasses back and forth while also juggling complex orders from multiple patrons and with three of your fellow waiters and waitresses off work due to 'illness' didn't make things any better. You let out a sigh of relief as the lunch time chaos had ended and the numbers of customers declined but one of the few that had walked in had caught your attention, you remembered this man's wavy light brown hair, his jet black eyes and you couldn't mistake that Gucci handbag. It was Andrew Prince himself.

"O my God Andrew it's you" you squealed as you pulled him in for a hug.

"(Y/n) I didn't expect to see you!" He stuttered in shock

"What are you doing here?" He asked as he looked at your uniform.

"Oh no don't tell me your working here" he gasped.

"Maybe we could catch up later when I finish my shift" you said as he sat down at one of the nearby tables.

"Sure, so what time do you finish?" He asked.

"5pm" you answered. He looked at his expensive watch before replying.

"Sound good for me, I'll just grab a coffee and some cake while I wait"

"Just wave me over when you make up your mind" you said as you handed him a menu.

"Sure will"

So time went on, he ordered you served him his coffee and cake, everything was normal. You watched the clock tick by.

Four o'clock struck and the place had almost been empty. The bell rang to signal your attention to the door once more.

A tall blonde haired male walked in wearing a pair of black dress pants, a white dress shirt with a loose dark Gray cardigan over it. His long hair flowed in the small amount of breeze that passed the door. His blue eyes locked onto yours for a matter of seconds before he took a seat and looked at the menu. He looked at the menu for not even a minute before placing it down. You walked up to him.

"Good afternoon sir, are you ready to order?" You asked as you gave him a smile, he gave you a small smile in return before replying.

"Yes I have, I just want a Vienna" he responded.

"Ok I'll need right on it" you said before going to the barista and giving them the order.

You walked back to Andrew's table to grab the plate.

"I think that guy likes you" he whispered in a sly tone.

"What? No..." You replied.

"Yes, I see how he's looking at you" he said in a smug tone.

"Come on take a chance, what's the worst that could happen?" He continued.

"Your right..." You mumbled.

"Then go! Get his number!" He stage whispered.

"Fine..."

You got the blonde males drink and brought it to him.

"Here's your Vienna" you said as you placed the cup down.

"Thank you" he said with a smile.

"Umm I know I shouldn't be saying this while working..." You began.

"I don't mind, please continue~" he cooed while giving you a devilish grin, you felt your chest tighten and you whole body heat up.

"I was wondering if I could have your number?" you asked. He grin became even more suductive as he grabbed out a pen.

"But of course my darling (Y/n)" he replied which at first frightened you a little, until you remembered that you were wearing a name badge. He began scribbling down his number on a clean napkin before handing it to you.

"The name's Melone by the way" he stated as he gave you a wink. If looks could kill then this man had just made you have a heat stroke.

🍉🍉🍉

Meeting that man was the biggest regret you had ever made...

It had started of normally, you would occasionally ask if he wanted to catch up and have a coffee. The conversations started of normal. After a while be began to flirt with you, which you didn't mind but then certain comments started to creep you out but the breaking point had been when you had invited him over your house.

You had been sitting on the couch talking to him when all of a sudden he pinned you down.

"Melone" you squeaked in surprise as you felt his tongue glide across your neck.

"Yes" he whispered huskily.

"This is to fast, I don't want to do this" said as you tried to push him off.

"You mean sex" he cooed as he pecked you cheek. You affirmatively nodded.

"Oh (Y/n), how cute" he gushed.

"You don't have to worry about anything, I promise I'll be gentle" he continued as he tried to lift your shirt, you however quickly stopped him.

"I'm not ready to have sex" you stated.

"Everyone says that a one stage but trust me, it's not a bad thing. Why do you think so many businesses make money from it and don't even get me started on all of the health benefits" he rambled as he licked his lips in anticipation. It seemed like he wasn't listening to a word he said. You quickly grabbed onto the decorative breakfast tray that  was on the coffee table and slammed it into his head three times.

"Get out of my house now! I never want to see you ever again!" You screamed as you pushed him on the floor. He complied with your order and left without a trace.

You had thought that had been the end of it until he started calling you.

"(Y/n) please answer me, I'm sorry"

"I acted out of line, please forgive me"

"I promise it'll never happen again"

"Please give me another chance"

Your phone was jam packed with all of these voice mail messages daily. You had gone to the police to file a restraining order against him but the police had shooed you away telling you that he was no threat.

"He may not be a threat now but someday it's going to escalate, so many passion crime start just like this" you pled but they ignored you.

And it escalated quickly, quicker then you realised. It happened so suddenly and you had been in no way prepared.

🍉🍉🍉

"(Y/n)" a voice rang in your unconscious mind. You tossed and turned in your sleep until a hand gripped your shoulder, your eyes opened wide due to the foreign touch.

"Good morning, or should I evening" a familiar voice sung, you turned your head slowly and to your horror Melone was sitting next to you.

"Oh what's with the horrified expression?" he chuckled with a hand over his mouth. You simply couldn't speak, no words could amount to the absolute horror.

"Don't look at me like that, I can explain" he giggled as he tried to close the distance between you two. without a single thought your fist collided with his chest, which caused him to fall off the bed. You quickly jumped out of the bed but as soon as your feet hit the ground a jolt of electricity surged through your body. You body dropped to the ground and you felt something around your neck that you hadn't noticed earlier.

Melone stood up, waving a small controller in his hand.

"I didn't want to use it but you made me..."

"But now since you've given me an example I'll tell you what this is" he said as sat down in front of you.

"This thing wrapped around your Pettit neck is a shock collar" he said as he pointed to your collar.

"And this is the controller" he said as he waved it in front of your face.

"This little knob allows me choose how many Watts it sends into your body and the button below allows me to apply it" he explained as he moved the knob up a fraction before pressing the button. You screamed as your muscles had a momentary seizure.

"Do you understand that?" He asked as he gave you a bright smile.

"Y-yes" you mumbled.

"Excellent! I'm sure that you'll graduate out of the shock collar stage in no time but you must be hungry" he chimed in joy as he stood up and helped you up.

"Lucky for you I prepared us a three course meal" he continued as he dragged you out of the bedroom and into a dinning room, pushing you down into a seemingly normal chair, that was until he strapped you in by the waist and legs.

"I'm not taking my chances of having you try to escape me" he smiled as he gave you that wave of the index finger; which honestly felt more like having someone flip you the bird.

"Why the fuck are you doing this!" You yelled at him.

"Don't give me that foul language unless we are in bed, you hear me?" he scolded as he shocked you again.

"Honestly, image if our future offspring heard that language from you, their mother" he continued. Your eyes widened in shock as he said that.

"And why do you assume that we are going to have kids" you hissed, your voice dripping with venom.

"I'll be honest with you, when we first met I thought you were a strong 7.5. You were above average in most thing I look for in a woman but I felt that you lacked in self confidence and passion however when you attacked me with that tray that's when you proved me wrong and because of that you became a absolute 10 out of 10" he explained.

"What? So you just rank women like we're products!" You spat.

"No no no, you have that all wrong, I don't see any woman as a mere product... I see a woman just like anyone else" he said he placed down the controller before leaving the room.

He came back with two plates, placing one in front of you and another in front of him. You looked at the plate in disgust, it was a salad and not any normal salad. It looked like something that younger you would have never thought and most likely feared of being served to you.

"Oh (Y/n) it's just a kale salad made with pomegranates with a soft camembert cheese and a Vinaigrette dressing" said as he pushed your plate closer. You still refused.

"If you don't eat this then you'll miss out on my salmon carbonara and also the dark chocolate mouse with a raspberry compote that I made for dessert" he spoke to you like a parent trying to encouraging their child to eat.

You folded your arms and refused again. Melone raised an eyebrow before slowly reaching for the controller. Never had your mind changed it's decision so quickly. You grabbed the fork and picked up a small amount of each component of the salad before eating it and to be honest it wasn't as bad as you thought.

"See it wasn't worth all that resistance" he chuckled before taking another bite. The room became deadening silent for a solid minute.

"I think I should lay down the guidelines now that you've calmed down" he said

"I'm sure that you'll adapt to this new lifestyle very soon"

Through His Eyes - Part 8

Summary: Losing your sight after your accident was traumatic, and Jaebum’s guilt of knowing it should have been him instead creates an intricate bond between you both, as you overcome adversity and try to find your way in life again.

Genre: angst / romance

Characters: Im Jaebum x female reader

A/N: This story is emotional and raw compared to some of the content on my blog. It is in no way an attempt to glamourise or undervalue the lives of those who suffer from something similar. This story is purely fictional.

Through His Eyes will be posted every Tuesday at 10am NZST.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 [M] | 13 - FINAL

“I’m home,” you called out after successfully unlocking the door to your apartment within the first three attempts and stepped inside. You turned and bowed to your new minder, Suzie, and fare-welled her before closing the door.

“You’re home much earlier than I anticipated.”

You sighed heavily, stepping into your slippers and following the ramp up into the living area. You were now used to calculating your steps in the back of your mind as you did other tasks, and placed your bag down on the table before heading to the refrigerator. Feeling in the door for a bottle of water, you pulled one out and took it over to a chair at the table. “Don’t ask.”

“You seem unhappy, was your day bad?” You heard another chair pull out and your mother sat down, reaching for your hand gently. You frustrations eased with her touch, and you forgot all about your initial barrier of continuing the conversation.

“I have to do a group project.”

“On what?”

“We’re reading a classic novel called Jane Eyre at the moment and instead of doing an essay on it, which I would have much preferred, our lecturer has assigned us into groups of four to come up with a presentation on a topic within the novel. And of course, none of my partners are happy they got stuck with me.”

“I’m sure they aren’t that put-”

You placed your bottle down with more force than needed and shifted your head towards her direction. “They must think blind people are deaf as well, because they didn’t seem to realise I was nearby when they started to complain about having a disadvantage!”

“Oh.” Your Mum shifted uncomfortably in her seat, no doubt feeling angry hearing of another incident of you being singled out. You felt sorry for her having a daughter that faced so many woes within her education, when in the past you had never caused her any need to be concerned about your academics.

“And to top it off, others were very happy to not have me in their team. Do they think I can’t do the project because I’m blind?!”

“You work even harder than the average student to make sure you don’t fall behind. I’m sure when they realise that, they’ll be more accommodating towards you.”

You shook your head. “It shouldn’t be that I have to prove to them that I’m good enough though. They have no idea who I am, and how many offers I used to get from artists and galleries for my work in the past.”

“But that isn’t who you are now, Y/N,” she reminded gently, and you snapped your head towards her again, anger rising within your chest. She seemed to sense it and reached for your hand once more, which you shook off immediately. “It’s hard I-”

“IT’S ALWAYS HARD, ISN’T IT?!”

Getting up in a rush, you stumbled towards your bedroom and then slammed the door shut, panting heavily with your outburst. Soon the tears came and you sank to the ground, wrapping your arms around you for comfort. Ignoring the knocking and the calls on the other side of the door, you felt ashamed for taking your mood out on her. You hated that even when you were hurting the most, you still felt guilty towards how much she did for you every day and the sacrifices she had taken to help you.

“But for one day, I wish she would just allow me to complain without giving me the known answer,” you mumbled aloud before burying your head into your arms.

Two days went by and your mood had darkened further with the lack of faith from your fellow partners with the presentation. Since it was the weekend, your mother went to help your Aunt run her vegetable store, which you welcomed greatly.

You didn’t intend to move from bed for the entire day.

Around mid-morning, your stomach had other ideas however, so you relinquished to the hunger and went out to make some breakfast. Once fed, you stood within the middle of the living room, wrestling with your options. Bed had been your original safety zone, but now that you were up, it was tempting to go on your computer and waste your day listening to Youtube videos, catching up with online friends in the blind community, and peruse some trivial websites. After grabbing a bottle of water, you headed back into your room and opened the curtains, wincing at the same time as rejoicing in the bright light invading the room. It was an odd experience, you hated the intensity of the light at times, yet it made you feel as close to normal in your greyscale world as you could be.

“Let’s check my emails first,” you said to yourself as you set about the computer, mimicking the sounds the accessibility settings did as you navigated your way around the device. You opened your emails one after the other, listening through the message the robotic voice delivered and then discarded or replied to them as necessary. You were onto the last email when you froze, listening to the message as a cold sweat rushed over you.

“Y/N is invited to the opening of Lee Jaemin’s debut art exhibition, by the title of Expressive. The event-”

The computer started making incomprehensible sounds as you banged on the keyboard to make it stop talking, your breathing becoming erratic. You held your hands to your heaving chest as the sentence repeated over and over in your head, your body shaking at the idea of the girl opening her own exhibition. She had been your biggest competition throughout the years and had always come second to you in major events. Now with you out of the competition, not only had she been able to take your places within the local art scene, but was also offered what you had been working towards earlier this year.

For the first time since the accident, you hated Im Jaebum. For those first few moments, as you digested the information, you cursed your love of GOT7, of kpop, of even knowing the seven men existed. As your body shook all over with anger, you wanted nothing more than to return to the day you had won the exclusive pass and decline the opportunity.

You wanted your career back.

Yet, just as fast as it came, your mind travelled to that fateful moment, your once seeing eyes widening as you noticed the faulty beam first. Your instant reaction to save him, and the weight of the beam hitting you before it all went black. As the tears fell rapidly, your thoughts stopped on every gesture Jaebum had done for you since your world had turned upside down. The anger subdued for a bit, as you coped with the intense grief and guilt you suffered from wishing the beam onto him briefly instead. You rocked back and forth in the chair, unable to cope with the rapid directions your emotions were taking you, hoping your thoughts would ease off.

Instead, your needs narrowed onto one thing and you eventually stood up, heading out of your room as you roughly wiped the tears aside, as if the removal of them would assist in your blind search through the apartment for what you required. Feeling yourself around the walls, you found the storage closet and began using your hands and other senses to locate what you knew your mother hadn’t thrown out like you had insisted her to. It didn’t take long, your fingers falling upon the well-known texture of canvas, shifting along to find four others beside it. You yanked them all out from their hiding spot, tapping around on the ground for any of your tools. You found a bag and pulled that out as well, stopping when you banged into something as you moved the bag. You took that out too and then dragged your discoveries out around you, dropping in between it all and taking a steady breath.

You felt irrationally calm in that moment, and not because you were finally surrounded by what your life had consisted of. The need to feel each object in a slow, methodical examination outweighed anything else, letting your fingers run over every inch of each item. You became familiar all over again with how your tools felt, brushes and sculpting tools all being recognised by your hands. You soon realised the item next to the bag was the prized vase you had made earlier in the year, the ribbons awarded to it still attached. Your attention soon turned to the canvases, the bumps and textures making you think of all the Braille lessons so far, except the words were spoken in an art form, with no distinct answer as to what each piece was. For an immeasurable time, you attempted to guess what was which piece you had created. Every time you thought you had an answer, the next bump of paint would throw you off, frustrating you further. By the fifth canvas inspection, you were rigid, unable to understand anything you were touching.

The pent up emotions built until you could no longer suppress them and you got up, throwing the canvas down with a heavy thud. The sound it made seemed to provoke some kind of release in you and so you bent down, fumbling to find something else to throw, becoming fully invested in destroying everything you had just spent intricate effort in deciphering. The more noise, the more vigorous your actions became until the sound of the shattering clay hit you as if you were shattering your own heart. You crouched down in exhaustion from your emotions, crying consistently until you heard the keypad signal go off.

You didn’t have any energy to move to greet your mother, or to do anything about cleaning your mess either. You waited for her scolding to begin but the rushed feet towards you sounded too heavy to be her. You were confused and for a moment, you guarded yourself, not knowing what to expect.

“What…” You heard Jaebum utter and this was enough to make your legs give out, a cry leaving your lips as you landed on the shards of clay. “Y/N what are you doing?!”

“How did you know the passcode?” you asked tiredly, not giving him any help in lifting you away from the destruction scene. All the same, he attempted to pick you up again, your body trying to fight but had no energy left to leave any effect. He placed you down on the couch and you glared at what you hoped to be his direction. “Im Jaebum!”

“Your mother called me,” he explained, his hands ceasing in their examination of injuries. He shifted back, concerned at how you had spoken. “She told me you were having a hard time and so I said I would come and see you today in between my schedules. I was outside banging and pressing the doorbell, but you didn’t hear me at all. So I used the code I’ve seen you put in.”

You didn’t answer, unable to decide if you were angry with him for interrupting or thankful for his presence.

“Why were you doing that?” he questioned softly, his hands slowly returning to your legs. “Y/N, you’re bleeding.”

“I don’t care.” You looked away from him and tried to push his hands away. He grabbed your hand instead, his gentle nature having an effect on easing your frustrations. Even so, you attempted to hold onto the agitated emotion for as long as you could. “You should just go.”

“I’m not leaving you like this, you should see this place!”

“I wish I could!” you blurted out, and his grip on your hand eased off. You got up shakily from where he had put you and walked back down to where you had been. He grabbed you before you stepped on anything and you pointed to it desperately. “This is me, this is my world. Do you see how shattered this all is now? That is me!”

“Is it really?”

You nodded fervently. “You told me to express how I feel so I am! I’m sick of becoming something new. I am not an English Lit major, but an Art and Design student! I created all of this myself! Now… now I can’t even paint a single line across a piece of paper! Whilst people who I had worked hard to impress for years are now giving Lee Jaemin all the opportunities I was aiming for, I’m here in sweatpants and a tee with no hope of looking good to anyone, let alone impress them that I am someone to invest in. I’m here unable to do anything I want to because, because-”

“Because of me,” Jaebum concluded from behind you, lowering his head to your shoulder and his body began to shake with his own emotions. You moved around in his arms and hugged him tightly, both crying until you could no longer.

For some time you didn’t speak, not having any words to share with each other. And then you felt Jaebum move away from your side, his hands reaching for something on the ground. “This is beautiful.”

“What is?”

“This sunrise over a building top,” he mentioned and your mind went towards the artwork you had created after watching their You Are music video. “It’s captured beautifully.”

“It was inspired by you.” “It was?” You nodded and felt Jaebum move back to your side again, his hand reaching for yours and passing you the canvas. You felt the weight within your hand and sighed.

“I painted it after the You Are MV.”

“Ahh.” He was silent again, but moved back to the mess upon the floor. From his examination, three of the canvases were salvageable, whilst two remained helpless on the floor with the ceramic vase.

“I guess there is a lot of mess to clean up,” you said sadly, lowering your head and holding onto the sunrise canvas more preciously than you had all day.

“But we can clean it up and heal from it together,” he replied firmly, referring to more than the physical mess you had made.

You smiled, nodding your head. “I like the sound of that.”

_________________

[Part 9]

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caught blue-handed LL

Finished with caught blue-handed, my first RvB fic (aside from the ass fax meme and McD's stories used to cleanse my brain palette).  There were definite high and low moments, but I'm pleased with the outcome overall.

As is customary at the end of any project, personal or work-related, I write out some "lessons learned" in order to reflect and provide myself insight for improvement.  Meaning, I barf out a shitload of text to figure out how to be better at doing stuff.  So if you feel like wasting 5 minutes reading some rambling, sMASH that link below.

caught blue-handed

Fun Stats

Runtime: June 17, 2019 - August 11, 2019

Word count: 30261 (4963 per chapter average sans 1st chapter)

Top 3 used words:

Simmons = 561 (That’s right-- 1.8% of the fic is reading Simmons’ name.)

Grif = 529

fuck = 180

Fun Stuff First (favorite moments)

Hands down, all the Grimmons dates in the Grif chapters, where the day/night/date continued as expected, mostly.  Easiest, most fun, and most natural to write.  This was probably due to the form being more back and forth described-but-unsaid dialogue, a breather from the one-sided "I AM GRIF/SIMMONS heRe aRE mY ThOUGhts hElp i aM in loVe" dialect I originally started with.  I keep saying that I really wanna do comics of all the little scenes some time in the future, so I should do that.  And tHEY KISS AHHHHHHH.

Creatrix's commissioned art for the beach date!  She did a freakin' awesome job, I literally squealed and was grinning for like 10 minutes straight when I got it (just as I'm doing now that I'm looking at it again).  Art is a magical thing.  Always support your favorite and fellow artists in whatever way you can!

Grif's interactions with Lopez and Sarge in ch 3.  I think how that tiny section was written was more true to canon voicing than any other part of the story, probably because I wasn't worrying about forcing Grimmons down everyone's throats.

Caboose liking Simmons because he's part robot.

The idea that Grif would ever get jealous of Caboose.

On the same vein, finding as many excuses to use Caboose in italics as possible (ex., "Did Caboose just call you a dick?", "You took relationship advice. From Caboose.", "Are you seriously getting jealous?!  Of fucking Caboose?!”).

What Did Well (and what didn't)

Writing serially with your first chapter as a hard outline is both a blessing and a curse.  I think the first chapter was voiced well, a good length to hook and let readers know what to expect for the most part, and provided a mini set of prompts for me to help set up following chapters.  However, the skeleton plot I wrote caused me to freeze while starting a couple chapters because I had no idea on how to get from point A to B, feeling like I needed to be more creative to get there.  On the opposite swing of the pendulum, it had me stuck creatively at times because of the mindset, "Well now I have to write about this."

Writing with swapping POVs is fun for character study and good (but difficult) practice for trying to maintain a consistent writing voice.  I'm pretty self-conscious about how I tend to write (way too verbose/clinical at times, so much going back and deleting, as I'm doing right now).  Going into this, I 100% thought that the Simmons chapters would be the easiest to write (as far as voicing goes because of inherent anxiety and my vernacular in general).  And man, was I 100% wrong.  (Except for that fake smut chapter which had me dying while coming up with cringey and cliched things for Simmons to think and came far too naturally which raises concerns for myself.)  The other big problem with alternating POVs was that I didn't want to break the flow of thought by ending a chapter until it went to the other person.  That resulted in chapters with 3 or 4 scene breaks in the middle, which felt dragged out sometimes and would have come off better as individual chapters.

Getting to Grif to realize he's crushing.  Fuck dude, that was the hardest chapter, which is why it ended up taking longer than all the others (plus the fact that I just returned from a 10 day vacation at the time).  I just didn't know how to pull it off convincingly, and it's most likely the weakest part of the whole plot.  If I built up him thinking about it and persuading himself more in a less repetitive way, it probably would've been more effective.  Or realizing that it's been going on/repressed probably for a decade and not on a whim like, "Oh hmm, I shall use my brain today, oops I am in love, when'd that happen?"  I absolutely chalk this up to a trait of mine, where if information is discovered and is deemed to be true/factual in some way by my brain, then I switch gears completely (as Grif is projecting for me here).

Nice Try, Next... (takeaways)

Allow more leniency by not forcing a structure from the beginning (re: POV swaps and vaguely specific plot points).

Show what characters think through action rather than literally saying what they're thinking.  (To be fair, gave myself an excuse with this 'cause of POV.)

Shorter chapters.  Break when it feels right.

More drawing.  Helped refresh my brain doing a different kind of creative thing in between bursts of writing.  But uh, not too much drawing, because that created procrastination.

Less is more; clearer and more concise writing style.  Try not to think about five things at once and repeatedly end up with the pattern of, "Grif said, 'This,' while doing that, and this is what he is admitting to thinking about himself doing that (but sometimes he thought about this other thing, too, not like he'd say it out loud)."

When writing POV specifically, careful about making too much content internalized thought.  I get out of control and go on a neurotic rampage of "oh but they could be thinking this and this and this" and overanalyze things.

uhhhHHH THE END!  See ya next time.