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op-peccatori · 4 years

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Hopefully, Yours (part 2) | MLQC Victor

Fandom: Mr Love Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Victor/Fem!Reader

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 8326

Summary: It took some cake, a friend, and some impulsive behaviour, but they got there. (part 2 of Hopefully, Yours)

Warnings/Tags: making out, language, my cheeseball antics

a/n: I was afraid of opening this doc at one point because every time I did I added more words to it ;; Also accidentally deleted the first draft, so I hope I didn’t leave anything out for this one.

[video]

After Hours | Victor and Y/n

200, 280 views • Feb 8th, 2020

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JTV ✓

1.19M subscribers

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5100 comments

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somsom 5 minutes ago

They’re both so nice. Victor’s always made out to be this heartless CEO, so it’s nice to see this side of him :)

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tooktiktook 7 minutes ago

hmmmMMM

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cheribb 15 minutes ago

their eyes said more than enough <3 <3

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saltqueen 16 minutes ago

what i wouldn’t give to have someone look that soft over me

⌨⌨⌨

Victor eyed the cheerful grin splitting Jason’s face, just a little uneasy in his seat.

While having eager eyes on him was not an unfamiliar experience, he’d never been in a position where he was expected to talk about his feelings on camera. Not that he was about to confess in front of the entire crew of the show, but when it came to you the lines always got a little too blurry for his comfort.

He got a little too eager.

“Just be nice,” Jason had instructed gently, and Victor steeled himself.

They started, quite predictably, by asking him about his ideal type. Resisting the urge to scoff, he tried to stick to the script he’d worked on with Goldman, who had insisted on being present for today’s shoot. Not that Victor was complaining; it wasn’t exactly part of the job description, but Goldman had been enthusiastic, which Victor could appreciate and would certainly reward.

Goldman had also spent most of yesterday handling the public relations department in his absence, preparing them for his appearance on the show. A tentative plan would be sent to him by tomorrow morning. He had faith in them, believing that they would be able to make this look good for him.

“Someone who works hard,” he answered, knowing you would laugh at that. “Who can be themselves around me, someone I can be myself around. Someone...kind.”

The times you’ve spent in Souvenir flit through his mind, some quiet and some full of bright-eyed chatter.

“You’ve known Y/n for some time, right?” the interviewer asked. She looked nice, but he’d been on the block long enough to know that even the kindest faces can often hide the sharpest teeth.

“Yes.”

“What do you think of her?”

“She’s a very kind person,” he said easily. “One of the most hard-working and inspiring people I’ve ever met.”

You would surely gape like a fool after seeing this. It was a little embarrassing, but Victor was determined to leave your image shiny after this. He would not have any words of his twisted to give you a bad name. If it got even a fraction of his feelings across, well, that was a bonus he wouldn’t mind having. The intimate setting of the ferris wheel had seemed to help some, but his admittedly indirect confession didn’t reach you as he had hoped.

God, but his father would love this.

“Did you have fun on your date?”

“It was lovely.” They tacked on another question and he nodded. “I...yes, I’d love to do it again.”

It was a little curt, but he didn’t really get what Goldman had meant by ‘nod tenderly with a far-off look.’

What would you think of that?

The interviewer raised a brow, her smile widening. “Let’s get to it, then. How do you feel about her?”

For some bizarre reason, the first thing that had come to his mind at this question was his inexplicable need to check your social idea every day. And the way his heart beats just a little faster when you’ve posted a new picture. How, in moments of weakness, he’d given in and saved a few to his phone. Even a mental reminder of it made him a little hot under the collar.

There were many things he couldn’t even begin to try and explain when it came to you.

Really, the list is endless.

Victor’s current favourite was the video you’d uploaded of eating the tiramisu he’d cooked. He watches it at the end of a bad day and just like that, he feels a little better.

“I think anyone who ends up with her would be the luckiest person in the world,” he said honestly. “She’s beautiful in every single way.”

The last three words were supposed to have stayed in his head, but saying them felt natural. Goldman seemed to approve, shooting him a discreet thumbs up.

When you walk in, sleep-deprived and grumpy but trying to hide it, thinking he won’t catch on as if he isn’t running sharp eyes over every inch of your face. When the first sip of your coffee is too eager, leaving your tongue burnt and him with a pressing need to soothe it with his own. When you eat too much sugar and complain about a stomach-ache; he scolds you for it, but his arms are left straining with the need to wrap themselves around you.

He cherished these moments and wanted every single one all to himself.

She makes me greedy.

“Would you want to be that person?”

Victor laughed, light and incredulous.

Yes. Yes. Yes.

“I guess time will have to answer that question for us,” he said, the ghost of a smile on his lips, leaving it at just the right note to keep viewers hanging—right along with him.

lightscameranaps ✓ @jasonp

Hope y’all enjoyed the episode! #HopefullyYours

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bandanaman @headaccs

@jasonp sooo really sorry about this but we’re kinda dying over here

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@headaccs Victor’s acc is still private. Maybe there’s something there?

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@berryberry But Y/n’s isn’t private, and there’s nothing there. Give it up guys, they’re just friends.

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bandanaman @headaccs

@hotsauce bruh that look?? was not friendship

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raspberrydream @berryberry

@hotsauce those words?? were not friendship

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srirachafire @hotsauce

@headaccs @berryberry you two?? are hopeless romantics

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lightscameranaps ✓ @jasonp

@headaccs honestly? me too D:

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bandanaman @headaccs

@jasonp !!!!!! asdfgdvsd

Closing your Moments and the entire thread discussing the episode, you flop back down onto your mattress. Reaching for your newest plushy, you hug it tight, perhaps a tad too aggressively.

It’s odd. You struggle between the visceral sort of pleasure that comes from a job well done—because the response is terrific—and the trembling nerves that come from watching yourself on a date with Victor.

Watching the episode had been harder than you had expected; you hadn’t quite been expecting the way Victor was looking at you—the intense gaze was a little too convincing, and watching it from the audience’s perspective was flustering.

You spent most of it trying to suppress the inconvenient surges of hope, telling yourself it wasn’t real.

There really was nothing to know. The ferris wheel shot had ended there because you had nothing to say to Victor’s answer. You don’t know if he was referring to his past or his present, but the look in his eyes made it clear: his feelings were still there. Instead of pressing him, you chose to stay quiet, exhaustion clear in your face and sinking deep into your bones.

Victor had seemed to understand and maybe even appreciate it, probably not wanting to discuss it either, and only insisted on dropping you home. The ride to your place had been mostly silent, but you had tried to ask him his thoughts on the day and the shoot. He kept his answers concise, appearing a little distracted, which was so unlike him it made you wonder if he regretted opening up.

You’d spent the entire ride trying to quell the delicate little thing trembling in your chest.

The next video started while you were lost in your thoughts, and it happens to be your individual parts. Curious, you lean in, wincing slightly at the way you were fidgeting.

And then they switch to Victor. You both had to wear the outfits from the date for these, but you still weren't quite expecting the impact his voice alone would have on you.

And as always, those fierce eyes have you freezing in place.

“Let’s get to it, then. How do you feel about her?”

He looks unfazed by the question. Of course, they go over the questions with you beforehand, but you still remember how nervous you’d felt when asked how you felt about him; Victor’s eyes flick towards the camera, filled with intent, as if addressing you—and you close the laptop with a snap, your throat tight.

You don’t have to watch that right away.

You had been very careful about what to say, how to act, channeling your inner-Victor to adopt a marble-smooth expression. Say nice things about him? Easy, you didn’t even have to make anything up. Imply just enough to keep people guessing.

Keep your unwanted feelings to yourself.

Palm coming to rest over your heart, pressing down as if it would alleviate the ache there, you try to sort through your thoughts. You never really thought there was a chance, but to hear it confirmed was a blow you weren’t prepared for.

It’s ridiculous to feel so insecure, you think. You feel like you lost a competition you had never even had the chance to compete in. And over an unnamed, mysterious figure? So silly!

But another part of your mind says it’s okay to feel this way, that it’s only natural. You’ve had such strong feelings for Victor for so long. And all of these feelings, the good and the bad, are yours; the wounds of your heart, the light in your laughter. Fighting them would only make you suffer. The love and the hurt are part of you, both important in their own right.

Knowing all of that doesn’t make it easier, though.

After all, Victor had alluded to his feelings on camera, to your face. Knowing him, he would never do that unless he was sure about the person.

“This fucking sucks,” you admit out loud, and at the heels of your words come the tears. Because, to make it even worse, people really seem to think it’s you.

You can’t blame them, because even you had been taken in by his soft looks. Anyone watching would believe he’s smitten with you. Good for the show, terrible for you.

You’re not strong enough to reply to them, to tell them you aren’t that fortunate, and have been hoping Victor, or someone from his team, would put a stop to it.

But there hasn’t been any word from them and you curse out loud at the fact that he expects you to do something about it. As if there’s any more emphasis needed, your phone vibrates. Unlocking it with a miserable sigh, you scroll down quickly.

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Minor [19:40]: am I watching this right? Boss, are you dating the CEO? PLS SAY NO

Chik [20:21]: You bitch. When were you going to tell me you snagged THAT? So I was right back then, ha! Anyway, you two are adorbs. The puppy eyes are disgusting. I’m proud of you.

Chik [20:22]: also...deets. Now. I’ll even throw in a please!!!

Lucien [20:40]: Well, now. I seem to have missed out on quite the opportunity.

Kiro [20:45]: I wish you’d invited me. But I guess it wouldn’t have mattered. I hope he makes you happy, Miss Chips! He better, or else ;P

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Frowning at the texts you scroll back up, hoping, hoping, hoping, and at the sight of the name that always sits at the tip of your tongue, you curl up tighter.

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Victor [21: 05]: Are you okay?

Y/N [21:20]: I’m fine. Moments seems to be blowing up, haha. Did you watch the episode?

Victor [21: 20]: Yes.

Victor [21: 21]: Did you?

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You pause at that, looking guiltily at your laptop. You had, sort of. Fighting off your own thoughts had taken up most of your attention. Resolving to watch it again—a clear display of previously dormant masochistic tendencies, roused by Victor— and actually pay attention this time, you turn back to the screen.

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Y/N [21:22]: Yeah, but not the individual parts. It was nice, they made it seem so real! But we’re going to have to say something to let them know there’s nothing like that.

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You wait anxiously for a reply, a part of you clearly suffering from delusion hoping he’d oppose that. When there’s no text from him for a few minutes, you plug your phone in to charge and get out of bed, heading for a quick shower before you get something to eat.

Heartbreak hasn't been enough to curb your appetite, and you feel more than ready to let dessert have the chance to make you feel better.

Who needs Victor when you have cake, right?

Just as you’re halfway through cutting a slice of the cake Jason—well, his team—had sent as thanks, trying to keep your thoughts away from the bottle of wine you‘ve got tucked away, your doorbell rings, breaking the melancholic silence of your apartment. A part of you wants to roll your eyes at your dramatics, while the other feels you have the right to wallow for as long as you need to.

The irrational side of you stirs once more, conjuring thoughts of Victor rushing over, and you peep through the hole with a wildly thumping heart.

Lucien’s serene smile chases those thoughts away, and you open the door with a sheepish grin.

He looks a little tired, his dark bangs ruffled; unlike his usual sharp appearance, he looks impossibly soft in his barn red sweater and comfortable looking track pants. He’s also got a folder tucked under one arm.

“Hi!”

“Sorry to drop by so late,” he greets you, his warm eyes bringing you a little comfort instantly. “But you mentioned you’d be working on Miracle Finder tomorrow and I wanted you to have the chance to go over my remarks before that.”

“Lucien! Thank you,” you insist, waving away his apology. “Would you like to come in? I’ve got cake.”

He searches your face for a moment, and his eyes narrow the slightest bit. You feel a little self-conscious in your over-sized sweatshirt and shorts, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen you in various states of disarray before.

“Can’t really say no to that. Let me get my laptop,” he finally agrees. You wait at the door as he gets it, before leading him in. But you notice his curious, inquisitive looks, so subtle and so Lucien, as he toes off his shoes.

“Everything okay?” You reach for another plate, cutting a second slice as Lucien takes a seat at the table.

“Yes, of course. It’s just,” he hesitates, and there’s that odd scrutiny again. “I wasn’t expecting you to be alone.”

“On a Sunday evening?” The first bite of the cake tastes like sweet comfort over the taste of despondency, and you send a silent thanks to Jason. “I spent the day napping.”

“Well, after the show I just watched,” he says, quite slyly in your opinion. “I wasn’t even sure if you’d be home.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in dating shows.” You’re aware your tone is more than a little petulant, but Lucien only laughs around a mouthful of the cake.

“I am if you’re in one,” he retorts. “This is quite nice, by the way.”

“The director, Jason sent it. And, honestly, it wasn’t planned. We were supposed to have Kai and Hollow on, but they ended up clashing horribly. Jason asked me and Victor was around, so…” you trail off, uncomfortable.

“Is that why you texted me that day?” He seems to have remembered your message, and you wince slightly. You had texted him later with an apology, but hadn’t really expected him to cotton on. He doesn't look mad, just expectant.

“Well, yes, but Jason wanted, he wanted Victor.” Stumbling over your words, heat suffuses your skin as you flounder for a moment.

Lucien watches you with the eyes of a fox and the understanding of a good friend. “Just Jason?”

“Huh?”

“Was it just Jason who wanted Victor?” he asks, tilting his head as your mouth purses.

No, no, of course it wasn’t. You stare down at your half-eaten cake, the other half of it beginning to churn in your stomach. His small, soft smiles. His scent. His rants on street food and the way he dragged you away from food that would ‘absolutely make you ill, you absolute dummy’ as Jason resigned himself to having to cut all of that out. It all comes back in a rush, your head left feeling heavy.

And then it feels the weight of a hand, as Lucien reaches over to pat it gently. “Never mind. Why don’t you get your organizer and we can go over tomorrow’s episode?”

Relieved, grateful and slightly emotional over his silent acceptance, you rush to your bedroom to find your notebook and laptop, barely catching the light of your phone screen before it went black. Unplugging and checking it as you exited the room with your materials in hand, your train of thought comes to a screeching halt.

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Victor [21:59]: Do you really believe that?

Victor (2 missed calls)

Victor [22:15]: Y/n.

Victor [22:16]: ...Did you fall asleep?

Victor [22:18]: Dummy. Goodnight.

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Unwilling to delve into what his first text means, you shift your thick planner in your arms and type a quick reply.

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Y/N [22:19]: Hi! Sorry. I went to get something to eat and then Lucien dropped by. We’re going to get to work haha ^^

Victor [22:19]: …

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You wait for a whole minute before Lucien calls for you, and let your hand fall, phone locked, with a sigh.

Well, at least he’ll be happy to hear you’re working hard.

Sinking into familiar, engaging discussions with Lucien is easy. Even with the thoughts of Victor looming at the back of your mind, you straighten out a plan for the shoot. Lucien listens to your input carefully, adding his own notes as you squint at yours. His voice, familiar and soothing, lulls you, distracting you from yourself for a short while.

Before you know it, it’s eleven and you’ve got a fantastic plan in hand.

“I’m sorry I kept you so late,” you say for the second time in a minute, and he gives you an exasperated look. “And thank you.”

“I’ve told you, there’s no need for all that between us,” Lucien repeats, crossing one long leg over the other as he adopts a thoughtful look. “However, perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity regarding one thing.”

“What is it?”

You were prepared for a philosophical question. What he comes up with is, in your opinion, way more difficult to answer.

“Why aren’t you with Victor?” he asks seriously. You blink, uncomprehending.

“Like, right now?”

“Right now, or in general. I didn’t think he would just...let you be,” Lucien mutters the last part under his breath, but you still catch it. He continues to say something about possessive bastards, but you’re not touching that.

“I think you’ve misunderstood,” you say, slowly, with a nervous laugh, shoulders hunching a little. “All of that was just for the camera. Victor and I aren’t like that.”

“But you have feelings for him,” Lucien points out, cutting straight to the heart of the matter and yours. Really, this is almost cruel. Lucien turns to face you fully as you sigh and sink back into the couch.

“I do.” It’s the first time you’ve admitted it out loud. Sure, some of the people in your life have had an idea, but you’ve never said it. Lucien seems like a good person to start with. “But he doesn’t feel the same way, so.”

And you’ve never said that out loud either. It hurts, as you put it out into the universe. As if shying away from it before would have increased your chances.

Lucien looks at you oddly. “Did he say that? Because the way he looks at you says otherwise. It’s quite embarrassing.”

You feel heat creeping up the back of your neck.

“I’ve never told him how I feel,” you mumble, pressing the side of your cheek into the soft fabric, hoping it would swallow you up.

“Then how do you know how he feels?” Lucien continues to probe, and you exhale forcefully because it’s so clear to you; why isn’t it ever as clear to everyone else?

And Lucien is supposed to be your smart friend!

‘Well, there’s also someone else in his life but I can’t exactly say that.’

“Because it’s Victor,” you declare with an emphatic sweep of your hands, hoping it would somehow get your point across, that it would explain how unattainable he is. Just as you do, two things happen successively.

One: Lucien looks at you as if he wants to boink you on the head or laugh really loudly. He does neither, but his mouth twitches violently.

And two: there’s a series of loud, heavy knocks on your door, before the culprit seems to remember you have a doorbell and rings that instead. It only rings once, but you can sense that the person is still there.

Exchanging alarmed looks with Lucien, you rise to your feet and shuffle towards the door.

“Let me,” Lucien murmurs, stopping you before you can reach the entrance, and steps forward to look through the peephole. His only reaction is a quick, sharp exhale before he steps back to unlock the door.

Without telling you who was just knocking at your door like a maniac.

“Wait, who i-” the words fall away with your panicked thoughts, as Lucien opens the door to reveal your uninvited visitor.

It really is Victor this time, with his chest heaving as if he’d run up the stairs. Victor, with his inky hair pushed back carelessly, in dark grey sweats and a light grey t-shirt and indoor slippers.

Victor, with a furious look in his eyes as he pushes past Lucien, who looks a little too entertained in the face of such ire.

“Sorry to intrude on your cosy evening,” he says, after a short pause, through clenched teeth. You stare at him in disbelief, unable to form actual words at the moment. It feels as if a concentrated storm itself has swept into your living room, ready to swallow you up.

Of course, a part of you would be more than okay with that. Even with that knife-sharp glint in his eyes, you can’t help but want to throw yourself at it, let it graze the softest parts of you, in an emotional variation of bloodletting.

Sometimes you surprise yourself with the things you think.

Maybe you should’ve changed into nicer pyjamas after all, damn it.

“Victor? What-is everything okay?” You look him over carefully, seeing no visible signs of injury. The stony look on his face, however, keeps you from coming too close. What could you possibly have done now?

Swiftly, you run through a list of work-related tasks. Nope. Nothing. You’ve been sure to give it your all this week just so Victor wouldn’t feel the need to call you.

Even now, though, something under your skin starts buzzing, as it always does when his entire attention is on you.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t everything be okay?” he says mutinously, crossing his arms over his chest. Okay, you’re sensing more than a little hostility here.

And, because life is unfair, bitchy is also a good look on Victor.

“Well,” you draw out, looking past him at Lucien, who shrugs lightly. Victor frowns at the exchange. He levels a downright lethal glare at Lucien, who tilts his head in clear interest. Kinda hot, but you should probably keep that to yourself lest you push Victor to the point of spitting fire. “It’s...late...and you’re here…?”

That has his mouth doing that little spasm it does when he’s pissed. “And I notice I’m not the only one. What, is it just me who’s barred from coming to your place this late?”

“Well, n-no,” you stammer, looking once more at Lucien who seems content to watch and be unhelpful. “But Lucien was just here to talk about tomorrow’s episode.”

Why are you here?

The question seems to hang in the air, unsaid yet clear.

Victor says nothing, standing tall in your living room like an indignant matron. You feel helpless, confused, elated and increasingly offended because of the implication in his words that only catches up to you now.

You pick the path of offense.

“But what, exactly, did you think Lucien was doing here?” you ask, your tone turning decidedly cooler. He returns your glare. Behind him, you see Lucien trying to hide a smile. “You seem to be under the impression that I make it a habit of entertaining people in my evenings?”

Victor blinks at that, arms coming loose, and you hold up a hand.

“And even if I did want to have friends over at night,” you say loudly, through gritted teeth. “What business is it of yours?”

“It’s inappropriate,” he insists.

“No, what’s inappropriate is you coming into my house and telling me who I should, or should not, be spending time with, regardless of the time.” Much to your frustration, you find yourself blinking back tears as your voice cracks towards the end.

Victor deflates at that, the ice in his expression melting in the face of your furious tears; Lucien, concern clear on his face, takes a step towards you. Your eyes squeeze shut, as if that would hide you from them; anger and embarrassment war within you at not only crying in front of Victor, but to have a quiet Lucien witnessing this ridiculous drama.

Where did your peaceful day go?

You hear footsteps, hesitant and barely audible, come closer, feel the heat from a body as it nears yours.

“I’m sorry. I’ll leave.” It’s Victor.

Your eyes snap open to the sight of his back, your feet carrying you forward without the aid of your thoughts, a hand curling loosely into his t-shirt.

Leave? Just like that?

He stops in his tracks, looking back down at you in surprise. You’re not sure what he sees as you keep your eyes fixed on his shoulder, but it makes him sigh softly.

A thumb wipes under your eyes, gentle, and strong arms wrap around you carefully, pulling you into an—unreasonably broad, you think—chest; his comforting scent envelopes you, pulling you back from the edge.

It’s frustrating. You want to yell at him for barging in like a lunatic. But you don’t want him to leave. You want to sink into his steady embrace and allow the solace it brings.

With your face pressed to his t-shirt, you miss the way he looks back at Lucien, who nods and turns to leave, but not before holding Victor’s gaze for a moment longer—you don’t see the warmth drain from his face, the vicious warning warning clear in his eyes.

Victor pulls you closer, nodding once.

If Lucien’s answering smile is a touch more resigned than amused, neither of them can really acknowledge it.

You try to pull back when you hear the door close gently, but Victor cards a hand through your hair and you slump back into his embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, stroking your hair, with a gentle hesitance uncharacteristic for the decisive man. “That was...extremely inappropriate of me. I should not have done that. I can leave. I should.”

He should. But neither of you move. His heart beats a little faster, the sound clearer the longer your ear remains pressed into his chest.

With cotton in your mouth, your mind totally mush with the knowledge that Victor’s hugging you, and with the little voice yelling that he does not get to hold you after driving you to tears—it takes you a moment to form a response.

But you can’t resist. “So what you’re saying is you made an impulsive decision.”

The soft motions of his hand pause before he huffs into your hair. There’s no other response, and it makes you smile a little.

“Why did you?” you finally ask. Victor quite visibly lost his cool. While he did seem to have something against Lucien, this was a bit much. You hadn’t been aware that the hostility ran this deep.

He tucks your head under his chin, the arm around your waist tightening, and as the anger subsides, your face begins to heat up as you realize how intimate this is. But Victor seems content to stay like this, and your heart hammers when you feel something brush the crown of your head.

“Dummy,” he mutters, and yes, his words are slightly muffled by your hair, and you feel the urge to stick your head in the refrigerator. “You had that guy over this late at night. Do you really need to ask?”

“It’s just Lucien,” you respond, and this time he lets you pull your head away to look at you with abject disbelief.

“Just? There’s no just with that guy.” He seems serious, so you swallow the laughter bubbling up.

“Lucien is a dear friend,” you assure him. “You were really that worried about it?”

“Worried,” Victor repeats, staring at you. Your confusion is clear in your face, as the feeling that you’re missing something creeps in. “Worried. Yes. I was worried.”

You nod encouragingly, and take a quick step back when he laughs. It isn’t one of his airy laughs, that escapes him when he finds something funny. It’s low, almost strangled—and then he steps forward, expression melting into sheer intent.

When he speaks, his voice is a full octave lower and it scrambles your brains with shameful ease.

“Since he was the one you considered over me for our date that day. Yes, I suppose I was worried,” he muses, matching every unsteady step you take backwards with one towards you. You refrain from pointing out that it was for a show, and all too soon, the back of the sofa hits your hips and Victor looms over you.

You tuck the part about him knowing you wanted to ask Lucien first away for later. Victor, his soothing scent, the heat from his breath, his tempestuous gaze—your senses flood with him.

“Y-yeah. But you didn’t need to be, he always helps us out,” you point out confusedly, and he gives you a familiar, unimpressed look that brings a small, and odd, measure of relief.

“What kind of a person would I be,” he says, and your stomach swoops as he leans over you, hands resting on the top of the sofa as you lean back. “If I let dangerous men like him think they have a chance with you?”

“Dangerous? He’s…” The rest of his words catch up and you can’t think, tongue struggling to form coherent speech. “Not...dangerous?”

“Too dangerous,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your temple. Something in the back of your throat trembles. “Even if I don’t have the right, I…”

He doesn’t continue.

Holding your breath, you count to five before releasing it, pulse beating an anticipatory beat in your veins. “Why should anyone think they don’t have a chance with me?”

You know he hasn’t, but with how everything in you stills after asking that question, you wonder if he stopped time.

You’re not sure if it’s the right question to have asked, or the worst.

But it gives him pause, and when the tip of your tongue slips out to wet your lips, his eyes slide down to your mouth. A large hand slides up your spine to rest at the back of your head, your skin erupting with goosebumps at the touch.

Your lips part on the softest sound and it makes something rumble in his chest, quiet but clear with how close he is.

It gives you what you’ve been dreaming of—Victor’s lips falling over yours, soft, with a rushed breath and fervent eyes, something desperate at the edge of it. Everything goes quiet, with only your blood pounding in your ears. It feels as if every inch of you is awake in a tingly sort of way, your thoughts deserting you at the way he looks at you, ready to devour.

There’s hunger in his eyes, and you feel faint when it hits you.

It’s also his answer, you realize, mouth opening to say something, anything, and he pulls you back, kissing you fiercely. Something in you caves, spilling into your blood, setting it alight with a burst of sparking desire.

Victor kisses with his entire body, like he does everything else: controlling every inch of it, sweeping your mind clean, licking into your mouth with the determination that drives his every action, to conquer.

But you’ve been determined to match him since the day you first met him, all too eager to push back and clash. You don’t mind the clack of teeth, the lack of rhythm, and Victor only presses in harder as your arms slide over his shoulders, fingers weaving into his hair. Your tongue is a sly thing that licks along his, your mouth a clever warm weapon that sucks at it, and he unravels.

Hands that were so careful lose their caution as they dig into the sides of your hips, slinking down and hooking around your thighs as he lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“You’re not stopping me,” he rasps against your lips, almost questioning, pupils blown wide. He looks so good you might just lose your mind, and this is after a kiss.

Taking a page out of his book, you kiss him again.

He carries you around the sofa—with a strength you’ll be sure to admire deeply once you’ve regained the ability to form thoughts—even as he sucks bruises into the delicate skin of your neck, sitting down with you sinking into his lap.

You’re shivering, you realize, at this sudden fulfilment of a desperate, impossible wish. Your knees press into the sides of his thighs as Victor kisses the corners of your mouth, the curve of your upper lip, the plush, swollen jut of your lower lip—and you feel deliriously drunk.

He watches you carefully.

“Oh,” you say, half-slurring, kissed stupid. “That’s why.”

“Hm,” he agrees, nuzzling the side of your face. His eyes are bright, his arms a grounding touch around your back. “No one should think they get to have this.”

“No one but you?” It’s meant to be clever, sharper, but it comes out shy instead. He nips at the shell of your ear, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad about it.

“If you allow it,” he confirms. He presses his lips to the soft skin behind your ear.

Something swells within you, sweet, sudden and threatening to dissolve you into tears. It breaks open, everything you’ve worked so hard to suppress spilling out like hoarded treasure out of a box now too small to hold it.

“I like you.” It comes out in a rush, and you slap your hands over your face. This time, his low chuckle rings clear in your ears. But when your breath hitches on a sob, his grip on you tightens, lips finding your forehead. “I really like you. So much. I have for a while. At the fair, all of it, I wasn’t...wasn’t acting.”

“What, and you thought I was?” He looks a little offended when you take a peek at his face. But the sight of his ruffled hair and kissed-puffy lips sends a hot, thrilled jolt through you, and you have to restrain yourself from pouncing. “I have many skills. Acting, admittedly, is not one of them.”

“I thought maybe it was a hidden passion or something,” you mutter, trying to repress a wet laugh at the withering look he gives you, gentle hands wiping at your eyes. “What, you were great!”

“Nope. That was all real,” he declares, pulling you in to rest against him, your head on his shoulder. You feel a little awkward, but that’s mostly outweighed by how much you want to stay here. “...well, maybe I was a little…”

“Nicer than usual?” you offer, and he huffs into your hair. “Cheesy, like you binge-read several romance novels the night before?”

“Cheesy?” He protests, and you laugh with warmth building and rushing through you. “I thought you liked all that.”

“I do.” This time, the kiss he presses into the crown of your head is firmer.

“Then I’ll do it.” You look up at him, a little enchanted, a little bewildered, but the former wins out as the corners of his mouth curl up. “Every silly thing you want to do. Oh, and I really like you too.” It’s almost a scoff, but the tremor in his voice and the flush that spreads across his skin speaks his truth.

“Really?” you ask, your grin a little mad and ridiculously beatific. It feels unreal, the joy and relief spreading through you; he pecks the tip of your nose.

“Have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” Victor asks, and the solemn sincerity in his voice prompts you to deliver a loud, smacking kiss to his cheek, just because you can. To your unending joy, the lobes of his ears are almost impossibly red.

“Never,” you assure him, peppering more kisses over his skin, fascinating by the sight of him pinkening. A thought strikes you, dampening your rising spirits. “I thought...thought there was someone else.”

He makes a soft, surprised noise in his throat, disbelief winning out over the tenderness for a moment. “Who?”

“I don’t know!” You press your face into the side of his neck, inhaling his comforting scent, hoping it would help with the remnants of hurt. “Some mystery goddess.”

He’s quiet as you nuzzle his rapidly warming skin, feeling the first hints of sheer mortification settle in at the way your voice just cracked. He whispers something.

“Sorry?”

Victor clears his throat. “Just you.” He buries his nose in your hair before you have the chance to lean back like you want to. “It’s only ever been you.”

Not expecting the sincere confession, it feels as if the breath was punched out of you. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

He toys with a strand of your hair, curling it absently around a finger. “I didn’t want to overstep. And to make you feel like you had to reciprocate.”

You stay silent, sensing that he has more to say, even though you want nothing more than to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

“I’ll admit that I feared you would feel pressured to be with me. And that would...I would rather see you happy with someone else, than see you miserable with me.”

“I could never be miserable with you,” you protest at once, feeling almost offended by the mere suggestion.

“I’m not...I know I can be difficult.” The words fall out in a rushed exhale, as if he wants to get them out before they can be swallowed; you feel weak with the force of your emotions. “But I can try for you. I did that day. I wanted you to relax, to have fun, like you do with your friends. I didn’t want you to be so...cautious.”

It’s true, you realize guiltily, that there are times where you can’t completely relax in Victor’s company. Those are the days where your feelings sit a little heavier in your stomach, when his words strike a little sharper. The thought of disappointing him, of doing something not to his taste, of judgment, held you back.

But the day of the fair had been different. He met you halfway, maybe even more than that, and never said a word of complaint. You’d assumed that had been for the camera, though.

“Please,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and you realize you’d said that out loud. “No, that was…” He lowers his gaze, long lashes fanning over the tops of his cheekbones. “That was to show you that you can have fun with me too. I...like you. The way you are. Every bit. The determined, unyielding parts.”

You stare at him.

“The hurting, unsure parts,” he says, a little quieter. “The silly, ridiculously cute parts—don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what,” you ask, your overworked mind trying to process his words, knowing your smile is probably embarrassingly dopey.

He scowls at you. “Just be yourself with me. Dummy is fine.”

“Victor,” you exclaim all of a sudden, startling him. “How am I supposed to stay standing in the face of you saying things like that?”

He rolls his eyes again. “First of all, you’re sitting right now, and I don’t plan to let you move for a while.” Predictably, you feel a little lightheaded at that. “And as for the future...then don’t try to stand, dummy. You can just rest here.” He pulls your head to rest on his shoulder, patting it firmly.

“I’m going to die,” you say with absolute certainty into his shoulder. “I can’t survive this.”

“You have to,” he mutters dryly, tucking you more firmly against him. “Haven’t you seen the discussions? Our ‘love story’ can’t end in your death, too many would be left devastated.”

“Including you?” The look you direct at him is positively vulpine, and he snorts, pushing your head back down. Bully.

The titillated fluttering in your stomach makes you smile.

“...I can’t become a widower before we even get married,” he says solemnly, and you can nearly feel the blood drain from your face as you rear back.

The corners of his mouth twitch with something like mischief, and the smack you deliver to his bicep is perfectly justified.

The undoubtedly chiselled muscle you feel very briefly will also require further rumination once you’re alone.

He’s cracking marriage jokes, no doubt referring to the few comments gushing about a secret wedding. An hour ago, you had been under the impression that he was madly in love with some mystery figure.

Like a bird just freed, your heart flutters at the thought of him having feelings for you.

“Say it again.”

To his credit, he doesn’t do you the disservice of pretending he doesn’t know what you’re asking for. He clears his throat, eyes flicking to the side before finding their way back to yours.

“I like you,” he says, a little lower, a lot deeper. “Dummy.”

You wish you could see what your face was doing, because it makes his eyes go really, really soft. Now that you aren’t weighed down by the frantic need to hide your feelings from one of the most astute people you’ve ever met, you feel like you could float away the way you’ve seen Gavin do, just from how free and happy you feel.

“Just for the record,” you say quietly. “I like you the way you are too.”

“Hm?”

“Even when you’re being a jerk.” He tweaks your ear lightly, rolling his eyes when you giggle. Your heart beats a harsh beat as you try to come up with the right words. “But you’re also the best man I know. When you have it together, and when you don’t—I’ll be there for you. Always.” The way he’s always been there for you.

He kisses the tip of your nose, his pretty eyes a little shinier than before.

“We should aim for a real date first.” He sounds decisive, and a little hoarse.

“...I have a list of places I thought would be good for our first date,” you admit, eyes still locked with his despite your shy admission. He looks pleased, always happy when you take the initiative, and you watch his mouth do that tender thing for a second before leaning in for a swift kiss, catching his lower lip between your teeth as you pull away.

“Good.” His head falls back onto the sofa as your lips trail down his neck curiously, mouthing at the slope of his adam’s apple. Just because you can. “Send it to me.”

“Good,” you murmur, breath hitching in your throat as his hands curl over your waist, skimming the hem of your sweatshirt. “We’re doing this, then.”

“Most definitely.” With how throaty his voice has gotten as you reach his clavicle, a gentle explorer, you’re not sure words will be your allies for much longer.

“Will you be my boyfriend then, Mr. CEO?” you ask playfully, tasting the words in your mouth. Victor makes a soft, content sound in his throat.

“I’m all yours,” he affirms, relishing the words in his mouth, raising his head to look at you through hooded eyes. You both know it, just a little, but saying the words brings a giddy, vulnerable sort of feeling with them. “And you…”

With no need for hope, just certainty, you rise up to kiss him softly.

“I’m yours.”

BTS:

Goldman stares at Jason in horrified disbelief, shocked by the words that had just left the director’s mouth. He glances at his boss, whose only reaction had been to cock a brow.

“Would you be open to replacing Kai?”

“I’m...not really one for such shows,” Victor says, quite delicately in Goldman’s opinion, knowing the man usually has no qualms about being savagely blunt.

“I’m aware. I just thought it would be something different, something that would let people see a different side of you,” Jason explains, still completely at ease.

Victor’s expression makes it quite clear he doesn’t care about people seeing other sides of him.

“Who’s the other participant? Did Hollow come back?” Goldman asks, curious despite himself. In his very personal opinion, which he will definitely be keeping to himself, it might be nice for Victor’s image if people saw he isn’t always heartless.

“Oh, no. She didn’t,” Jason says pleasantly. But the look in his eyes is almost hawklike as he keeps them locked on Victor. “I asked Y/n to do it instead. She agreed.”

Now, to the untrained eye, Victor gives no outward reaction to that statement.

But Goldman sees the way his brow twitches, the way his lips purse the slightest bit. He wonders if Jason, as a director with many years of experience under his belt, caught it too.

“She agreed?” Victor asks, sounding as if he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Yes,” Jason answers, suddenly distracted as he glances at his wristwatch. He sighs, a touch too dramatic to be convincing, but Goldman doesn’t think Victor cares about that. “But I understand. We wouldn’t want you to do something you’re not interested in. I have to go check on her, we’ll keep you updated.”

Something is happening here, Goldman realizes. Jason isn’t rushing out, but seems to be waiting for something.

Victor, staring at the surface of the coffee table, is struggling.

Goldman struggles too. He struggles not to roll his eyes in abject exasperation, to pray for divine patience. Why is he like this? Of course, to step into such an obvious trap surely goes against all the instincts he’s honed over the years, but none of that matters when it comes to the delicate matters of the heart!

Instead, he catches Jason’s eyes, pushing his glasses up his nose, eyes glinting.

“But who else would you ask to step in on such short notice?” Goldman asks, pointedly.

And finally, Goldman holds his breath as the ghost of a smirk passes over Jason’s mouth.

This is it.

“Oh, it shouldn’t be a problem. Y/n said she could call Professor Lucien, having already guessed Victor wouldn’t be, um, up for it. She really knows you well, huh?” Jason informs them cheerfully, and even Goldman isn’t expecting that. He thought Jason would go for the ‘who will help poor y/n’ route.

It’s obvious manipulation, and they all know it. Knowing Victor, he will stubbornly refuse to give in and suffer for it. At least, the way he’s glaring at Jason seems to indicate that.

Goldman rushes through several justifications in his head, forming a rapidly coherent argument as to why he should do it, carefully keeping ‘if you don’t want to see her with someone else, suck it up’ and ‘please, please, watching you sulk is really sad I can’t do it’ off the list.

Surely, Victor wouldn’t let the sexy professor sweep you off your feet? He’s heard the man talk, that kind of smooth talk should not be allowed and holy hell, Jason has played this really well.

“They do get along well, so it should work,” Jason muses, slathering a little more icing on his three-tier cake of clear-cut manipulation, drama, and subterfuge.

“I’ll do it.” It’s said through a tightened jaw, but it rings clear in the silence of the room. Goldman abandons his mental speech, head whipping around to stare at Victor.

“Oh?” Jason sounds genuinely surprised, as if he hadn’t been aiming for this from the start.

“Yes,” comes the answer, leaving no room for argument.

“Are you sure?” Jason asks, oddly somber, finally abandoning the pretense. So he is in possession of some morals, who would have thought?

“Give me the briefing,” Victor says, shoulders set in a firm, determined line Goldman is all too familiar with.

Jason relaxes into his seat, relief clear in his face.

And as Victor turns to him, giving him specific instructions about his outfit, cologne and flowers, determined to do this right with that familiar, besotted spark in his eye, Goldman feels warm pride trickle in.

‘We’re gonna get you the girl, boss.’

Aaaaaaand...CUT.

I know the last behind the scenes thing wasn’t really needed but I had to

Thank you for reading, I hope you liked it!

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc fanfic #mr love li zeyan #mlqc li zeyan #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice #my writing #tag yourselves im lucien

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proudlylost · 3 years

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My 6+1 favorite SPN fics: AU

After the SPN finale I kinda got sucked back into the fandom. The excessive amount of fanfiction reading ensued (I re-read all of my SPN fic favorites and then some) and I realised I have actually read quite a lot of them. So I thought I could share them, to highlight all the talented authors there is and also to gather all of my favorites into the one place. This post contain my favorite AU fics, the SPN universe edition of this fic rec can be found here.

Ninety One Whiskey by komodobits

“In the spring of 1944, the 104th Medical Battalion of the United States Army is disbanded, and its men reassigned to various infantry companies in preparation for their invasion of occupied France. For First Lieutenant Novak, this is less than helpful, as he has so far met his platoon’s designated medic a grand total of twice, and has both times found Sergeant Winchester to be the optimum combination of reckless, arrogant, and downright insufferable so as to make cohesive platoon function near impossible. When the time comes to move out, however, Castiel has to reconcile himself to the fact that men are going to go down and trust that Dean Winchester may well be the only person who can put them back together again. WW2 ETO infantry AU. “

READ! THIS! Well, there is some really disturbing war related and time period related stuff, but if you can stomach that, read it! Along with the Angel’s Wild, this is my favorite fanfiction. This fic is heart wrenching and so, so good.The characterization is on point. Historical accuracy is on point. Slow burn is on point. Everything is just perfect. However, as I said, this fic is heavy stuff. There is some serious angst (I cried. I almost never cry when reading) and trauma. But there is glimmers of hope, even if sometimes it feels hopeless. Expected recovery time: at least two weeks. Word Count: 401,183. Explicit

Angel’s wild by LimonadeGaby and riseofthefallenone

“But that’s the whole reason he’s here, isn’t it? He’s not out here hunting Humans. He’s not even hunting deer, or bears, or anything else that featured in Bambi. He’s out here, freezing his nuts off every night, because he’s hunting Angels.

Sometimes Dean wishes that Angels were like how they’re described in the Bible. How people from time too old for him to care much about thought Angels were messengers and warriors of God, protectors of Humans. He knows that how they’re really described in the Bible is actually pretty terrifying, but at least they were told by God that they’re supposed to love Humans, right?

That’s a thousand times better than what Angels really turned out to be.”

This was first longer fic that I read from Supernatural fandom and I fell in love. So this is “the fic that got me into the fandom” but I have read it multiple times since and it is still very, very good. I love everything about this fic. It is very original and the lore is amazing. I love how Dean and Cas are both quite young (in Cas’s case, relatively speaking) and how their love develops (slow burn! <3) I love how Cas is described and I love how he communicates (unintentionally) with flowers. You can also read this without having any knowledge of supernatural series (like I did) which is always impressive for a fic. Wor count: 389, 271. Explicit

For All You Young Hockey Players Out There, Pay Attention by thursdaysfallenangel

“Dean Winchester knows two things about hockey, two things his dad made sure he knew. One, hockey is a guy’s sport, and two, hockey is family. Hockey meant Sam and Bobby and Benny and Victor and Gabriel and hell, his entire team. So when Victor gets traded, Russian-star-turned-new-teammate Castiel Krushnic becomes a threat. As much as Dean hates him for that, the longer he sticks around, the more he begins to threaten that first rule too. Dean’s been taught his whole life that those who play hockey should not be captivated by deep accented voices and the way a guy handles his stick, so how the hell is he supposed to justify what he’s starting to think about Cas? All Dean wanted at the beginning of the season was to win, and now all he wants to do is figure out how he feels about Cas and how to deal with it without ruining his career and tearing his family apart. “

Ah, three of my absolute favourite things smashed into the same fic: sports, slow burn and enemies to lovers. This fic has lots of cameos from supernatural characters, because hockey teams require lots of players. So it is easy to spot your favorite character in this fic. This fic is probably one of may favorites, because of the sport environment (Outside the fandom, I have been super into sports. Like so much I have several national championships medals from my sport. Anyway, not a point here): also the sexual tension between Dean and Cas is so good, especially when they are pumped with the adrenaline. You don’t really need to understand sports to enjoy this fic, though. Word count: 143,592. Explicit

Formula Won by cardinalwrites

“Of all the places Castiel Novak thought he would take in his career, an internship as a Formula One Paddock Correspondent (or journalist, for short) was most definitely not one of them for a few reasons. One: He had no clue what the hell Formula One was. Two: He knew nothing about sports in general. And Three: He should not fall in love with the people he’s supposed to be asking hard-hitting questions to, least of all the head driver of one of the oldest and most well-renowned teams in the sport’s history.

This is a love story told around the world through the eyes of the person that knows the least about where he has found himself in. Come follow a 20-race season finding love in the lost, learning the truth, and figuring out what the hell Formula One is along the way.”

Another sports fic with a slow burn. This is probably not everyone’s cup of tea, because there is quite a lot information about formula one, and the reading experience is more enjoyable if already know about formulas/do your research. Don’t let it stop you though, because this fic is very good. The friendship between Dean and Cas is very natural, and later the romance as well. The plot is very engaging and the drama inside the formula one organization is so good. This fic is also not so “heavy” as the other ones in my list (of course, there are problems along the way, but even the fic’s tags say there will be fluff). The rating is T, which is kinda surprising, because I did not notice it until I already had read the whole fic. Word count: 123,777. Teen

Have Love, Will Travel by squeemonster

Castiel Novak is a reclusive writer with a childhood so tragic it's left him terrified to leave his home—until his overbearing brother, Gabriel, drags him out for a night on the town full of booze and strip clubs, and he encounters Dean Winchester, a mesmerizing and mysterious stripper with secrets of his own. Both men find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other, and soon Dean's private dances for Castiel become much more, as both men confess their troubles and find solace in each other's company. But neither can seem to find the courage to take their relationship further than the intimacy of the club's VIP Room—and just when Dean's own brother gives him the excuse he needs to finally admit his feelings, Dean discovers something that brings it all crumbling down. Will they find a way past their demons and their trust issues, and back to each other?

This is one of the fandom classics and quite rightfully so. Both Dean and Cas have issues, in other words: what’s new? The sexual chemistry between them was so good and well written, but there is also angst and mental health issues (mostly Cas). Sam is quite young in this fic, but manages to be very much a little brother. I honestly loved this fic when I was a bit younger, but I think it is still very good and deserves its place in this list. Word count 94,054. Explicit

Pick It All Up by thepinupchemist

Army veteran Castiel Novak is a wreck after his tour in Afghanistan, brought home to his brother's apartment in Lawrence, Kansas with scars both mental and physical. He copes poorly, and during one night of bad decision making, meets somebody just as much of a disaster as he is -- a prostitute named Dean Winchester. And suddenly, two damaged men might not be as irreparable as they believed.

Ah, it seems that I’m incapable of picking nice, fluffy, happy fanfics. This certainly is not one of them. There is full warnings in the tags, because there is some triggering stuff: PTSD, mentions of past abuse, alcoholism etc. But, this is also very healing story in its own way (It has happy ending. I guess I can spoil that because it reads in the tags) . I avoided this fic for a long time, because the prostitute!Dean tag scared me away, but this was so worth of reading (as I said, happy ending)! Gabriel is super supportive and sweet brother and Dean and Cas are dysfunctional but they work so well despite all the trauma they have endured. Word count: 126,611. Explicit

Bonus: Twist and Shout by gabriel and standbyme

What begins as a transforming love between Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak in the summer of 1965 quickly derails into something far more tumultuous when Dean is drafted in the Vietnam War. Though the two both voice their relationship is one where saying goodbye is never a real truth, their story becomes fraught with the tragedy of circumstance. In an era where homosexuality was especially vulnerable, Twist and Shout is the story of the love transcending time, returning over and over in its many forms, as faithful as the sea.

Well, I don’t think this fic needs any introductions. This is the fic, the most popular in SPN fandom and one of the most popular ones in the whole ao3. I thought that I could read this, because I don’t generally have many triggers, despite all the warnings. I was a wreck during reading. And I have managed to read it once and I can’t make myself read it again. But it is good and amazingly written. This fic plucks every emotion out of you and does anything it pleases with them. You have been warned. Word count: 97,556. Explicit

(When I wrote this fic rec I also realised I have a serious problem with long fics. Like, most of my favorites are at least 100,000 words. At this point I think I don’t even consider a fic to be slow burn, unless it takes several days to complete the fic. Oops)

#supernatural fic rec #destiel fic rec #supernatural fanfiction #destiel fanfiction #destiel slow burn #supernatural #destiel

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ipuckwithhockey · 4 years

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Always In Your Corner- Part 4

a/n: Originally this chapter was going to be a little longer, but I’m not satisfied with the second half so I decided to go ahead and post. Sorry about the long wait! Please ignore my grammar mistakes. I hope y’all enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Summary: You were happily engaged to your perfect boyfriend when everything came tumbling down on you. The person you turned to just so happened to be your long time friend, Boone Jenner. The ever loyal Boone is there to help you get back on your feet. Little did you know, Boone had been pining after you for all these years, he’s just not sure if you’ll ever feel the same way about him.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, swearing, drinking

-------

Almost a year later…

The season wasn’t quite under way yet, but everyone was back in Columbus for camp and preseason. The summer without Boone was a long one, but it was good for you to be independent after relying on him for so long. You still talked everyday and he came back to Ohio a couple of times to visit. Since he got back you’ve been spending more and more time together. Boone would be lying if he said that one of his trips back to Columbus was just for a voluntary charity event. He would have used any excuse to be back in the city with you.

You had grown a lot since you walked out on Craig. Living on your own was a hard transition but you got the hang of it. You were starting to find the head strong and excited girl you used to know. You also felt like you had finally started becoming your own person, independent from a man. For the first time you did what you wanted, when you wanted, and you loved that part. There were always days that were harder than others, but you had come along way, and you were proud of yourself.

The first time you ran into Craig was definitely one of the hard days.

It was nearly six months after you had walked out, and shortly after Columbus had been knocked out of the playoffs. You were walking out of a coffee shop one morning when you saw Craig, hand in hand with Chelsea. They looked happy and if you hadn’t known them you would have thought they made a cute couple, but you did know them. You knew that she was the girl who your fiancé had slept with. You also knew, that the blame couldn’t just be put on her. Craig made the choice just as consciously as she had.

You thought that if you looked down and didn’t say anything they may not even notice you, but just as you passed them you heard Craig’s voice, “Y/N? Is that you?”

“Oh hey! I didn’t even see you guys!” You probably seemed too eager, but they were both being overtly nice too.

“Wow, I didn’t even recognize you at first.” Craig was probably referencing the hard work you had been putting in at the gym over the last few months, in an attempt to help yourself get back on track.

“Your hair is a lot longer, I don’t think I’ve ever seen it styled like that.” Chelsea was now referencing your grown out hair that you recently added some highlights to. You knew she was trying hard to make polite conversation. You hadn’t been dying to do go full on break up bangs, but you figured some fresh color couldn’t hurt.

“It looks really good,” Craig was looking at you, and you knew he was looking at you in a way a taken man shouldn’t be looking at a single girl. You knew that look, proving that you still knew parts of him like the back of your hand. But the thing was, he was never a huge fan of your hair when it was long. Once he even said that he thought you should keep you hair short like some celebrity he had seen on tv. You always thought it was kind of sweet that he cared about little things like how your hair was, but now you saw how controlling he was.

You wanted to be the bigger person, you wanted to just let it go, but you couldn’t, “That’s funny, you never liked my hair when it was long,” You let out a laugh as a weak attempt at keeping it light. You could tell Chelsea was uncomfortable and Craig was searching for the right thing to say. “Well, it was good seeing you guys, but I’ve really got to run!” You gave a fake smile and made your way back down the street to where you had parked your car.

Finally, you got to the car and you slammed your door shut behind you. In the silence of your car, your strong facade was stripped away, and you felt tears pierce the corners of your eyes. Feelings of sadness, embarrassment, and anger filled you to the brim. For months you had been working on recovering from your downfall, and in this moment you couldn’t help but feel like it was all for nothing.

It’s like Boone knows when you need him, and you felt your phone vibrate in the pocket of your jacket. When you looked down and saw that it was him you automatically answered it, “Hey B, what’s up? Miss me already?” You tried to hide your uneven breathing caused by your sobs from a few seconds ago, but it did little to deter from the fact that you had been crying.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen? I’ll get on the next flight to Columb-“

“Boone, I’m fine. Really. I just ran into Craig and Chelsea, and I know it’s stupid, but it just sucked seeing them together and now I’m just crying in my car, and I’m pretty sure I freaked out some little kid when he walked by because I look scary when I ugly cry.” You stumbled your way through the rest of the story and Boone did his best to understand you through your crying and hiccups. When you first went to stay with Boone, you had been reluctant to share things with him, not wanting to overshare or burden him with too much. Now, you were more comfortable talking with him, even if he did have to pry a little at first.

“I’m not sure if I got all of that, but fuck him. He’s a loser and so is that Chelsea bitch. I wouldn’t care what you did with your hair. Your hair is great, don’t get me wrong, but it isn’t the only reason you’re beautiful. You’re a good person, and you’re probably the smartest person I know. You’re funny, even though I hate to admit it.n Plus, you’ve got killer friends, like me. I meant it when I said I would come back. If you need me, I’m there. You know that.”

You of course hadn’t asked him to come back, but take note that his protective manner towards you has definitely grown over the last few months. After reassuring him that you were going to be fine, you decided that you weren’t going to wallow in this. It was in the past, and you knew then more than ever, that you had made the correct decision in leaving Craig.

Tonight, Alexander’s girlfriend Felicia, was throwing a party for his birthday. As always you were invited, and Janelle had insisted that you come. This was their last big hurrah before the season started, and most the mom’s in the group had made sure to get babysitters for the special occasion.

The “small party” you were invited to didn’t seem that small when you arrived. The house party was full of people you didn’t recognize and it wasn’t until you made it to the kitchen that you found some familiar faces.

“HEYY! Y/N! YOU CAME!!” Pierre and some of the other guys cheered and pulled you into hugs as you entered the kitchen.

“I don’t think Janelle really gave me a choice.” You’re laughing but everyone standing around knows that it’s true. She can be very persuasive.

Pierre starts making you a drink when you feel an arm come around your side. You don’t even have to look beside you to know that it’s Boone. You take in his scent and the safety of his arms settle you in this crazy party setting.

“Hey, there you are.” He greets you.

“Hey,” The way Boone looks down at you makes your heart rate rise. Lately, you’ve been feeling differently around Boone, and it’s taking everything in you to suppress those feelings, especially with Boone’s arm hanging around your body. You wonder if he’s noticed that your hugs have been a little longer and that you keep to his side more often. You try to tell yourself that it’s because you have become closer friends, and not because you might have feelings for him.

“So, who’s going to claim me for their beer pong team?” You ask the room, and all the guys jump at the offer. You were known as a pretty big competitor on the Jacket’s beer pong circuit. Usually Josh would rope you into being his partner, but tonight Boone seemed eager to draft you for his team.

An hour later, you and Boone have basically defeated all of your worthy opponents, and you part ways to get a new drink. Josh and Seth wave down Boone to come join their conversation.

“So what’s going on man?” Seth asks.

“What do you mean? I just kicked your ass in beer pong!” Boone chirps back at Seth knowing that’s not what he’s talking about. The guys, and even some of the girls have asked him about the status of your relationship. The thing is, nothing has actually changed.

When Boone got back to Columbus a couple weeks ago you started to hang out almost everyday. Whenever either of you had time free, you were together. The ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ hugs seemed to linger longer, as did the accidental touches, and cuddling on the couch.

“Dude, what’s going on with you and Y/N? You guys both look at each other with heart eyes. It’s disgusting, but it would be better if you just made a fucking move. At least just fuck already! I think everybody in here can feel the awkward sexual tension!” Josh is chiming in now, and the alcohol he has consumed is making him a little more liberal with his words.

“Fuck off man. We’ve barely even seen each other in the past four months. I’m not sure if she’s ready to date at all, let alone wants to date me.” Boone chooses to ignore the “fucking” suggestion.

“Booner, I say this with the utmost respect, but you’re a fucking idiot.” Seth just pats him on the back and leaves the two other guys to talk.

While Boone goes to hang with the boys, some of the WAGs pull you into their conversations. Eventually Felicia pops the same question, “So, what’s going on with you and Boone?” Everyone is quick to turn to you with big eyes, waiting for a big reveal that isn’t going to come. “Nothing, we’re just friends.” You shrug and hope that they will leave it alone. You had been feeling differently about Boone lately, but you couldn’t let yourself think about it that way. He was your friend, and he helped you get back on your feet when the world’s biggest asshole cheated on you. You probably just thought you liked him because he was so nice to you. He would do anything for you because he’s your friend, not because he has feelings for you.

“Ok, you can keep living in denial, but all of us will be over here waiting for you guys to get your shit together and just confess your love to one another!” Janelle has been on you about this since they got back to Columbus, saying that you needed to get back out there, and that Boone was perfect for you. She insisted that he had feelings for you too, but you knew she was just determined to get you back into the dating scene.

Boone watches you from across the party and wonders what you are talking about. He thinks about how well you fit into his life here in Columbus. Natalie Atkinson must have said something funny, causing you to laugh. He loved watching you throw your head back when you laughed. For a long time after Craig he wasn’t sure when the next time he would see that would be.

He didn’t want to seem too clingy, especially with the guys already on his back about the two of you, so he tried to keep a safe distance for most of the night. He made sure to keep an eye on you for two reasons: one being he wanted to make sure you were safe and the second being the fact that he quite literally couldn’t help himself from watching you.

Throughout most of the night you talk with the other girls, but somehow Pierre and Tex pulled you into doing shots. It was nice to let your hair down a bit, but your alcohol tolerance wasn’t anywhere close to that of the hockey players you were trying to keep up with. It’s not until almost 2am that Boone finds his way back to your side. Somehow Boone had been pulled into a deep debate over whether or not a hotdog was a sandwich, and had missed you getting pulled into doing shots. When he glanced around the room to find you he didn’t see you, so he went to see if you were in the kitchen. That’s where he found you, multiple shots in, with Pierre and Tex.

“Hey, where have you been?” Your words are definitely slurring, and you can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around his neck. He looks so good tonight and your inhibitions have been clouded with alcohol.

“I’ve been here the whole time, but it looks like these guys have gotten you into some trouble.” Pierre and Tex are trying to play coy and leave the two of you in the kitchen before they get scolded anymore. You’re just trying to focus on Boone and not on the fact that his hands are balancing you on your hips.

“Well I missed you,” not able to control your tongue, some honest thoughts escape your mouth.

“I missed you too, but we should probably get you home.” He laughs.

Boone, ever the responsible adult, stopped drinking a while ago and was planning on driving home. The two of you say your goodbyes as you continue to hang onto his sturdy arm.

“Do you need help getting in the car?”

“No. I can do it!” The false sense of confidence that was induced from alcohol gave way when you tried to lift your leg to the car step. You about fell on your ass. Boone was of course there to catch you, and help you into the car. He makes sure you’re all buckled in before he hops in the driver’s seat, and pulls out of the drive.

“Hey Boone?” You move your head to face him and you admire the way his beard is perfectly trimmed to emphasize the outline of his strong jaw. He’s just so goddamn handsome under the lights that line the streets of downtown Columbus.

“Yes?”

“Can we go back to your place? Cus, it’s just that, your bed is so much comfier than mine, like it’s just so warm and cozy. And it smells so good.”

He can’t help but laugh at how cute and small you sound, “Sure, but you know you have the same mattress at your house, right?” He glances over to see you staring up at him.

“Yeah, I know. But it’s not the same….”

“…Hey B, you’re pretty handsome, you know that? Like you’re kind of a total man rocket.” He can’t help but laugh, but your confession lingers in his mind. Maybe you did feel something for him…

You can’t really stop yourself now, words are falling out of your mouth without warning. “You’re like way hotter than Craig ever was. AAND you’re so nice. Like what’s with guys being selfish assholes all the time? But you’re not like that. You’re one of the good ones. Some girl is gonna be really really lucky one day.”

Once your rant is over neither of you say much else until you pull into Boone’s apartment. You’ve dozed off, and Boone is careful not to wake you as he picks you up out of the passenger seat. When he makes it into the apartment he brings you to his room and sets you gently on the bed. He works to take your shoes off and moves around quietly, getting ready for bed.

“Hey B?”

Your whisper startles Boone at first, but he moves over to check on you, sitting on the edge of the bed, “Yeah? What’s up?”

“You’re not gonna leave are you?” The look in your glazed over eyes could have broken his heart. He wasn’t ever going to leave you.

“Not if you don’t want me too.” You give him a soft smile back as he moves to turn the light off. When he gets into bed, you roll over to snuggle into his side, and his natural reaction is to wrap his arms around you. The way your bodies fold into each other feels so right, and even though you’re halfway passed out, you can’t help but feel a sense of serenity wash over you.

Just as you’re about to fall back to sleep you ask again, “Hey B?”

“mhmm?”

“I love you.”

#boone jenner #columbus blue jackets #boone jenner fic #hockey fic #nhl fic #hockey imagine #always in your corner fic

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dallonm-archive · 4 years

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Lemon Teeth | Short Story Updates #2

cw for death and murder talk, and fire imagery (and one mention of sleeping pills)

Hello hello!

I’ve really wanted to share another short story update ever since I posted about Ammonite, but my process became a little ~messy~ since then and now - jumping between different projects and struggling to focus mainly, but I have a system now that’s working well. I’ve also been working a lot on redeveloping my initial collection idea from nearly two years ago. It’s been going great and I like where it’s headed, but my main struggles are a) title?? never heard of her and b) oops! I created a very broad but clear tone and atmosphere for this collection and started coming up with stories that go completely against that. I’m hoping to talk more about it in the next update as the next two stories I plan to draft next are very much in line with the idea I’m going with. But this story is as well, so for now lets talk about a house, an unhinged couple, and lemon cake! Because this post has been half finished in my drafts all month and it is! Haunting me!

In Lemon Teeth, a house narrates the nights its inhabitants decide to burn it down, and struggles to understand the human condition.

Genre: literary short fiction, might be surrealist (?) POV: 1st person present tense / inanimate narrator (the house) Atmosphere: TV static in the background, dusty wood, stuffy summer air, overfilled ashtrays, cigarette burns, smoke inhalation, bitter citrus flavour, lemon cake

This was originally called Lemon Cake and Gasoline and that was the title for most of the drafting process, but I’d juggled between that title and Lemon Teeth with my only rejection for Lemon Teeth being that I had No Idea what it meant. But I always found that title to be much more interesting and with a story where not a lot makes sense, it’s actually a perfect fit and I’ll use the editing process to figure out it’s full meaning. This image has been in my mind for a year and a half now, of a couple standing in front of a burning house, and it remained stagnant until I realised it wasn’t just about the fire and that the narrator was the house itself. This draft ~sucks~. Finding lines I wanted to share was really a needle in a haystack moment, but I have a lot of hope for this story and I really like it as an idea! There is such a chaotic vibe to it that I really want to highlight in further drafts. Also it is 2020 and we are loving and embracing drafts even when they suck!

I was designed for cosy Christmas mornings and ardent family dinners. For boisterous children who crayon the walls and grow up to be doctors and lawyers. But not everyone wants that. Some people thrive when they’re on fire.

(In this episode of oh my god just because the story is about fire doesn’t mean there has to be all this fire imagery but this part really cemented the house’s voice for me. This story also definitely takes inspiration from the American Dream and I wonder if the house dislikes its inhabitants not because they’re bad people, but because they reject expectations and traditions.)

The most interesting part of the process was creating a voice for the house - this is my first delve into inanimate narrators and I’m lowkey obsessed. The house is petty, sarcastic, and looks down on the inhabitants - Lawrence and Frances. My idea was that the house’s knowledge is limited and only influenced by who lives there, but it knows everything about these inhabitants, how their minds work, and secrets they’ve repressed deep inside. I really like the cold, distance “observer” nature of the narrative, which leads the house to struggle to understand why Lawrence and Frances act the way they do, and why they decide to burn down their home. That’s where the heart of this story is: it’s full of contradictions, unanswered questions, and nonsensical decisions from the characters, and the aim is not to explain or justify any of it (not that I’d want to with characters like these two who are just. very morally fucked up).

Lawrence and Frances are awful people, but they are super fun to write. They’re married, but they’ve known from the start that they don’t love each other in that sense. They shout, fight, challenge each other, try to kill each other, but they don’t hate each other. There is this sort of mutual respect between them, that they both know the type of people they are and have no interest in improving or redeeming themselves, so are perfectly content in this messy, tangled “harmony” they’ve found together. But also they would definitely kill each other for the life insurance?? And there’s probably an unspoken competition over who can get it first? The chaos of it all!

Frances imagines baking Lawrence’s favourite cake - her famous lemon drizzle - and pouring the contents of his ashtray into the batter. She daydreams of crushing his sleeping pills into icing sugar. She’ll collect his life insurance with a funeral veil in time for New Years and kiss the neighbour’s wife at midnight.

Frances is textbook Unhinged Gal and one of my main goals to improve this story is to really push her boundaries because she already has little to none. She locks herself in the bathroom and pretends to fall asleep so she can berate Lawrence for not checking on her, she daydreams about poisoning him with baked goods, she has an affair with the neighbours wife. That being said I don’t think I’ve figured her out on a deeper psychological level, and I plan to focus on her specifically in the edits. The house takes a particular dislike to Lawrence because he only got the house via inheritance and is again, awful. Lawrence is a liar first and a human second but it’s like he doesn’t even try to make those lies believable, my personal favourite lie of his being when he pretended to be a war hero to gain the respect of neighbours and be invited to parties so he could steal ashtrays and other little trinkets (pack it up magpie). He gives me the impression of someone who doesn’t care if he isn’t believed, because he probably believes the lies himself.

He grins to nobody, licks non-existent blood off his lips from non-existent prey.

My favourite part of the story is the ending even though it has been SO difficult to navigate and it needs the most work. What I love though is there’s a distinct tonal shift and it gets very intense. Not to go to town with the fire imagery but the story really feels like holding a lit match and not thinking much about it but the flame keeps growing and growing and suddenly its burning your finger and oh geez how did the fire get that big so quickly. But overall, very fun story, very chaotic, needs a lot of work. I don’t really know when I’ll go back to this, I’m lowkey dreading it, but I would love to give this messy story justice!

To summarise:

Frances:

unhinged but it’s kinda hot??

good morning i am wake and ready to cause problems

literally would not endorse her in real life but like it’s my story and i’m allowed to have fun with the chaotic female characters

what if we were neighbours in loveless marriages,,,, and we are both girls?

makes a mean lemon drizzle cake tho

Lawrence:

clown man

literally being bullied by a bunch of wood

was a magpie in a past life and now he’s not even that good at it

why is everyone mean to me???? all i did was be the worst

honestly surprised he’s not dead yet either from his wife or his own dumbassery

The House:

kinda savage

why do humans feel emotions they are so complicated and annoying

longs for the boring white picket fence but also it is a bunch of wood and cannot have dreams or desires and all of this is based on taught traditions and false ideas of worth

??? what are the rules for when your oc is a house ???

there are none. go wild

And that’s it for now! I would share the playlist but it is literally 3 songs, and all the moodboards are just Houses On Fire And Maybe A Lemon Tree. As I said this has post has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for most of September, so I’m just happy to get it out there. I do love this story a lot but it needs a lot of work, and I’m real excited to talk about the stories I’m working on currently and hopefully (!!) where my collection is headed.

-Chloe

#writeblr #writerblr #amwriting #short stories #writeblr community #writers on tumblr #no proofread we die like men

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erin-epica · 4 years

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Woop-de-doo, it's Lord Scarlet stuff part 2

This was a post I planned on making WAY sooner, but I accidentally lost the original draft so I didn't even bother to try doing it gain until recently. And just now something happened that changed everything; and I mean what both DID and DIDN'T automatically give me the right to post this. I almost deleted my first post at that, and here's why:

In the first post, I mentioned that when I initially found out Vic was lying to me, I was quiet about it and just stopped talking to her out of fear, and then when I asked for help on what to do I was told to leave without a word. I don't think that was entirely the right thing to do in the long run, because it may have been the easiest way out but I'm better off with proper closure.

And the thoughts she left me scarred with never left my head. Time and time again, I'd find myself crying myself to sleep again at the thought of Brock forced to hide romantic feelings for Master Frown and not know who he was anymore while Frown was left unaware and in love with someone else, even if it wasn't Lord Scarlet.

And the pain sometimes came with a want to confront Vic one last time and open up to her about how I wasn't blind anymore, and how much she really hurt me. But I, again, wass scared she wouldn't care and would cut me off.

So when the pain got worse, I did what any coward would do: tell everyone else about my pain.

Now I DID tell friends of mine other than the Unikitty Amino staff about what happened, and they were all sympathetic and understanding about it. But then I told almost everyone, and then made my vent post on here (as well as Wattpad). As much as I wouldn't want to call them call out posts, they might as well have been. I didn't want people to harass Vic and make her mad...but at the same time I kinda did. I was too scared to face her that I was hoping that someone would do it for me. I even tagged accounts of Vic's. Not cool of me at all.

Now the Tumblr and Wattpad posts got me pretty much more of the same: sympathy, and acceptance that I had moved on. No one came after Vic but we could still agree that none of her actions were justified (I even got @careeningle's attention...sorry about the aneurysm)

Now comes the next important thing that happened, because I mentioned @friffinx kinda being responsible for me getting back to the Lord Scarlet Amino to write the message that I did. In it, I said that after I sent the message I did I would leave the Amino again & for good.

Well...I lied. I still checked in every day for the same reason I started venting: I kinda wanted Vic to see my message. Even if she'd ban me, I wanted to see if she'd ever notice my message. And that would've been the end of it if it wasn't for Brook.

I briefly mentioned Brook in the last post. She was another OC of Vic's, and was exactly to Brock what Lord Scarlet was to Master Frown; a carbon copy love interest. Except Lord Scarlet was far more developed and drawn & written about more. Brook didn't even really have a distinct personality, she was a girl Brock and that was it. But with reptilian overlord eyes. (To be fair, Vic drew Brock like that sometimes too)

(I didn't include Vic's art unless it was in chat bgs or whatever in the last post, but for the sake of referencing/proving a point, this is what Brook looks like)

No one really paid attention to her for the longest time. She was there in the fanfics because according to Vic, "Scarlet needed a friend." And like I said in the first post, Brook wasn't said to be canon so I never found a reason to really care for her. Plus I can only recall someone giving Vic fanart with her, and it was with Scarlet (@plastic-papercuts made it, go follow her she's gr8).

But then one day, for some reason, something in me clicked. I actually thought of a story idea for her. Somehow this bland cutout of a character had potential in my eyes, and I weirdly started liking her because of it. She suddenly felt...more real. I got pretty invested in my idea and newfound interpretation of Brook, and describing it would make this post way longer than it is so if anyone asks about it, I'll probably make a whole other post about it.

Anyway, I came up with a little plan: draw out this idea in the form of a comic and post it to the Lord Scarlet Amino. And see if Vic gets suspicious and checks out my profile and then maybe bans me. It felt a bit better than total silence and she'd probably see that someone gave a crap about Brook after all.

So I started a new chat called "It's Brook" to share my progress with the other members of the Amino, which there weren't too many of but we had fun in it. It was basically me, @friffinx , @soapycocacola, @plastic-papercuts, and a few others who aren't on Tumblr (or at least don't think are) chatting about how awful Vic was and calling out her lazy art tactics like tracing and using assets/clips right from the show. And of course me sharing the comic progress I was making. Again, this doesn't make anything we did right but it felt good getting everything off our chests. We were like a secret rebellion against an absentee dictator. One time Vic came online as we were chatting and even viewed my profile, but nothing happened. And it stayed that way until I opened Amino up one morning. For those of you who don't have it, the menu shows all the communities you're in when you open the app, and all of mine were there except for the Lord Scarlet Amino. I assumed I must've been banned overnight. But I wasn't banned from Vic's other Amino so I commented on her wall on that one. For Vic's sake, I won't show how the conversation went (and I'll explain why at the end) but here's how it went:

Me: Did you ban me from the LS Amino?

Her: There was drama in one of the chat rooms and I'm not having it. I didn't want to do it and it's not a big deal It's just an amino and you're still on this one AM I RIGHT?

Me: Yes, but I assume you read my updated bio. As I hoped you would.

Her: Nope.

Me: Oh. But you know what? Ban me from here too for all I care, I feel like you deserve to know why I left and came back: *insert me finally telling her how I know she lied, that she hurt me, and what I did was wrong here*

Her: Lol ok be that person but keep in mind that I'm one of those people that doesn't gibe a fuck lol

And then she banned me from that Amino too before I could type and submit a fitting farewell reply.

At least I finally got all the built-up emotional pain out of me, but it did help me realize something important: we never really were friends. I wanted more of her content despite all her red flags as a person so I tried enduring them, thinking it'd be worth it, and she only kinda cared about me when I was being a yes man. She never kept any promises and didn't respect me the same way I did her. So I could at least feel confident knowing she most likely didn't care at all when I first left.

@friffinx and the others didn't get banned, though, and Friff even started another chat on the LS Amino called "It's Brook 2" where they talked more about Vic being a terrible person. And it didn't take long for her to shut that chat down too and ban everyone from it that time. Friff sent me screenshots of what happened next (which again, I'm not gonna show), where Vic basically had a meltdown. She changed her username to "Little Miss Guillotine", and made a post about her being "finished with the bushit". In it, she announced that she didn't even like Unikitty! anymore but was still gonna keep/use Lord Scarlet because she wanted to. The part that made my blood almost boil wasn't her views on the show, she's free to have her opinion and I couldn't care less about it. What DID was that she acknowledged that she lied the whole time because "she didn't care anymore" and said that it was "our faults for believing it in the first place" and that "we needed to grow up"/"stop brining it up"

Ooooh boy, victim blaming, my favortie...

Since then she changed the Lord Scarlet Amino's theme to make it about The Penguins of Madagacar (again, fine with me). Either way she was still a narcissist and I thought she'd, sadly, likely never change. And my friends and I all thought that was the end of it.

Until a few hours ago...

I was browsing the Unikitty Amino and saw a new member named BlueCat. Didn't think anything else of it until the user PMed me. And this is what happened:

I didn't know what to think other than "I thought this day would never come", I was that shaken. This was so left field-ish that what else could I do but believe her? It didn't even seem suspicious or like she was trying to be a suck up, that wasn't Vic at all.

But the one thing I knew I had to do was ban her because even if she meant well and did it for the right(?) reasons, but I still asked if I should in the staff chat. @girly-glorious (also amazing so pls check her out :D) told me that yes, it was ban evasion so since I'm a leader too now I could to it on my own. But I knew I had to message Vic first and Girly told me to be careful, so this is what I sent:

And then I banned her, the end (not really)

Now I don't understand how or why this sudden behavior change happened but I don't know if I should question it in case it's personal. But again, I at least want to believe that she's really being genuine and had a change of heart because never in a million years could I imagine her being this mature. Again, she didn't demand that I forgive me or probably even expect me to. But the message still does leave me feeling sorry for her.

Now I thought that was the real end of it until I see the Penguins of Madagascar/old Lord Scarlet Amino on my sideboard.

She unbanned me.

Now I don't know where we'll go from here, if anywhere. I'm not too sure if I can really let my guard down around someone who hurt me so badly just in case she does it again. So I may not talk to her again, but if she really asks something from me, I might try and build up courage to ask her more about how she came to apologizing to me. Plus she followed me on Wattpad too.

But this is why I didn't show our conversation right before my ban or her "f.u." posts. Because I don't want people seeing more of Vic's past behavior and possibly embarrassing her about it if she ever sees this. But that's kinda why I felt like it was 100% necessary to finally make a sequel post in the end; I'm hoping people at least acknowledge Vic has changed and don't keep thinking about based on what I shared out of attempts to gain sympathy like a crybaby.

So before I go: PLEASE, DON'T GO AFTER OR HARASS VIC. I KNOW YOU PROBABLY WON'T, BUT THIS IS SERIOUS. ALL THE PROBLEMATIC LORD SCARLET DRAMA IS STUFF OF THE PAST AND NEITHER OF US WANT TO KEEP LOOKING BACK ON IT.

I hope this helps whoever's reading as much as it did me.

#unikitty #unikitty!#master frown #brock #lord Scarlet #brook #vic #vicslayer #scream queen savage #Victoria #update #amino

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comradekatsu · 4 years

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“you’re dead to me.”

“I don’t know what you’ve been told,” Deku started, spitting the words out with malice, “See, I am not your enemy.” “Oi, what the fuck are you talking about, ner-” “But if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that you’re not a friend of me.”

a bkdk fic inspired by dead to me by kali uchis

word count: 1.9K

CW: anger issues, angst, not a happy ending, cursing, romantic if you squint

A/N: this is my first fic on here! i guess we could start off with a bang, huh? i also posted this to ao3, under the username greenolivetree. im looking forward to writing more in the future! i’ll probably do both ships and x reader stuff :) and maybe later today i’ll post a get to know me, haha. enjoy!

Bakugo can admit when he goes too far. He’s brash, stubborn as fuck, angry, and loud, but if he fucks up too much, he can recognize that. Perks of having human empathy mix in with your anger issues, you know when you’re in the wrong in the middle of an argument. His friends don’t mind, they know him. Kirishima would pull him aside and make him breathe. Kaminari will whisper something about not needing to prove himself all the time and to drop it. Mina and Sero deal with the aftermath of Bakugou blowing up on someone. However, sometimes, his friends aren’t there.

They had a plan. When given ten minutes of prep time, they drafted an intricate plan that would take less than thirty minutes to complete. It was sprung on Class 1-A, and anything that was not planned set Bakugo on edge. He already had Kaminari tell him to calm the fuck down the second he heard Aizawa explain the mission. The two were halfway through their plan, and Deku tripped on a piece of debris.

“Can you get it fucking together, Deku? Damn it,” He snapped, the tension in his chest building bigger and bigger by the second. If he didn’t say anything, it would physically pain him. When he’s angry and does nothing, it felt like a python squeezing his heart. Bakugou usually resorted to things like breaking hangers in his closet, but it was training, and there was nothing to break. “God, you can’t be this fucking incompetent. How’d you even make it this far in life?”

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He panicked, racking his brain for something to say that would soften the blow but not compromise his ego. Bakugo couldn’t come up with any. He froze, the pressure in his chest increasing, trying to think of anything to say that wasn’t harsh. His mind wasn’t merciful. All the ash-blond could think of was how easy, how fucking simple their mission was and Midoriya kept ruining his plan. It wasn’t fucking rocket science, so why couldn’t he get it? Was Deku trying to sabotage Bakugou? Why wasn’t he following the fucking plan? Katsuki just wanted the thoughts to stop, so he could say something--anything, anything that could not make him look like a vile human being for lashing out.

All Katsuki could do was stand dumbly in the middle of the training. They sent him and Midoriya to a makeshift building, paired together, with the instruction of saving hostages. The kidnappers were Eraserhead and All Might, with the hostages being general study course kids who wanted the extra credit. Midoriya looked at him, stonefaced. This was an unnatural reaction for Deku, who usually just rolls his eyes and tells him to focus on the mission. He was simply standing still, staring at Bakugo with wide eyes. Not the wide eyes of someone who was scared of him, no, someone who was tired. Exasperated. Exhausted by his actions.

“I don’t know what you’ve been told,” Deku started, spitting the words out with malice, “See, I am not your enemy.”

“Oi, what the fuck are you talking about, ner-”

“But if there’s one thing that I know, it’s that you’re not a friend of me.” Bakugo stopped breathing for a second. He went too far. What did Kirishima say about breathing? He tensed up, balling his hands into fists to relieve the rage that was burning inside of him. Kirishima said to breathe in for eight, hold for four, out for eight. He could do that. Breathe. Bakugo can breathe.

He considered Midoriya a friend these past few months. They’ve grown close, been nicknamed The Wonder Duo. They haven’t had a sole mission together before, and of course, that’s when Bakugo couldn’t control himself. High pressure, a low consequence for snapping. He just assumed that something like this could be looked past. Bakugo knows, when he’s not clouded with rage, that it is not anyone’s responsibility to cater to him. Bakugo has to hold back, not others. Sometimes it gets too much too fast and he just… can’t hold back. This was one of those times, as he stared into the emerald eyes he’s grown to be fond of. His childhood best friend, who’d fought and crawled his way into a soft spot in Bakugo’s heart, even if he didn’t understand Bakugo as Kirishima or Kaminari did. Deku was still someone he’d cared for. A little too much.

Bakugo just wished anger had a filter. No matter the closeness, anyone was subject to it at one point or another. It made him weak, it made him cruel. People thought he was heartless. Maybe he deserved it. He didn’t like being vulnerable, only a few people at few times get to see him like that. Calm down.

Bakugo breathed out. “What are you talking about?”

Deku just stared at him. It was then Katsuki noticed the tears streaming down his cheeks, he hadn’t realized because his face was neutral, lips pressed in a line. Midoriya’s tears gave away what he was feeling. He took off his mask that hung from his neck, holding it gently in his hands. Midoriya’s eyes tore away from Bakugo’s to stare at it for a moment, contemplating. Bakugo’s chest was close to collapsing in on itself, anger inflating like a balloon. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted to pop the balloon, to get his mind to stop racing with insults and berating comments and intrusive thoughts for two fucking minutes so he could keep Deku from saying what he’s going to next. It doesn’t work that way.

He remembered the first time he realized that this was a problem. It was after Bakugo had fought those fourth graders (and won), but still went home with that now-familiar aching feeling in his chest. Bakugo ignored his mother and stormed up into his room, slamming the door shut. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind until his Quirk activated and suddenly he was punching a hole in his wall and the entire drywall crumbled where he stood. Mitsuki was thankfully outside his door, quick to take him and run before any debris hit him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” She asked, softly caressing the dust off of his face. Mitsuki wasn’t mad, just concerned.

“They bumped into me, I didn’t bump into them. They bumped into me, I promise, why would they say that,” he mumbled, refusing to make eye contact.

“Baby,” Mitski whispered, wiping the last of the dirt on his face. No hug. She stood up and walked away from him. “I need to call the police. We need to get you a new wall.”

Bakugo shifted back to reality as Deku cleared his throat with passive-aggression. He hadn’t meant to zone out. Bakugo had a tendency to dissociate when angry, to the point where he’d be lost in his daydreams in an attempt to calm down. This can last from minutes to days. Usually, Kirishima or Kaminari grounded him.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya whispered, realizing that Bakugo wasn’t listening, “You… you just don’t care… you… you…!”

“I what? Come on!” Now that he was fully alert, Bakugo was yelling at this point. “Spit it the fuck out! Come on, Deku, if you’re so big and fucking tough, say it!” He couldn’t control his words. Katsuki just wanted to shut himself up. “Not a friend to me… tch. Oi, at least I’m not so fucking sensitive I cry at a single fucking sente-”

“You’re dead to me!” Midoriya screamed, louder than Bakugo had heard before. His voice cracked on every word, denting his mask from how hard he gripped it.

The balloon in his chest popped.

“You’re obsessed, you keep comparing yourself to me. I’ve never treated you like you treat me, Kacchan! You don’t treat Kirishima, Kaminari, Todoroki, no one! You’re so threatened by me, you think I’m out to get you. I’ve done nothing but love you for years, and you still treat me like I’m nothing! I can’t handle you anymore. Just because you can’t be fucking normal and nice to others, doesn’t give you the excuse to be a bad friend! For what? Class rank? You’re obsessed, just let it go,” Deku said, closing his eyes tight. It was as if he’d been thinking this for a long time. “You’re dead to me.”

Bakugo was suddenly hyper-aware of everything around him. He could hear every creak in the building, the hum of the AC, the way Midoriya’s feet shifted on the floor. His costume was too tight, too fucking tight, Bakugo felt like he couldn’t breathe. His wrists ached by being weighed down, something that doesn’t usually happen. He could smell the dust in the air, the fresh coat of paint that they’d put on the walls for the training. The ringing in his ears grew to the front of his head and it was too much, it was all too much. He put his fists to his neck, squeezing slightly.

“You’re just saying that,” he grumbled.

“I’m not somebody you know.”

“Stop it!” He yelled, hitting his neck with his fists. Angry tears fell down his face, but he was quick to rub them off. “You don’t mean that! I do know you, I do! Fuck!” Katsuki reached out his hand to grab onto Midoriya’s arm.

“Could you just leave me alone?” Midoriya yanked back, throwing his mask at the taller boy. He looked up to a camera watching them. “Exam over. We failed. I’m going to the dorms. Let me out.”

“You can’t just fucking fail me! Over that?” What Bakugo wanted to say was that he was sorry, he wanted to make it up to him, he knows he fucking sucks-- but nothing of the sort came out of his mouth. “Don’t you dare fucking open up any doors!” He yelled to the ceiling, not really sure who he was yelling to. As long as it wasn’t Midoriya. “Fuck you! Don’t fucking fail me! Stop it! Stop!” Heavy tears pounded on his cheeks like rain.

“Let me out!” Midoriya said once more, and a voice sounded over the intercom.

“Well… we can’t just keep students hostage. Follow my voice and you’ll be taken to the exit,” Gang Orca said. His voice was taken aback like no student had done this before. Especially not in the 1-A class. They usually just fought through their problems.

“Don’t go. Please, Izuku, please,” Bakugo begged, his voice small. He didn’t feel mad anymore. Bakugo messed everything up. If he could control himself, it wouldn’t get to this. If he could just apologize, everything would be okay. But he can’t, and he has to deal with the consequences. One of the only times his mother consolidated him for his problems, the only piece of advice she gave him, was that no one owed him their patience. He has to overcome it himself, because she won’t take him to a therapist. How could the future number one hero have a mental health record? Bakugo had to deal with it. And, he was doing a horrid fucking job at it.

Midoriya smoothed out his hero costume and walked towards the door. The green-haired boy turned around right before he left.

“You’re dead to me, Bakugo.” Midoriya’s voice held some eery form of finality. He spun on his heel and left the building, leaving Katsuki alone. If Katsuki sobbed alone until he had to be forced by All Might to leave for the next pair, no one had to know.

#bakudeku #bakudeku fic #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #my hero academia #bkdk #i wanted to write about anger issues bc a lot of people villainize them #and as someone with anger issues... there's a lot of bad takes on here #boku no hero academia

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sleepfight · 4 years

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Bart’s Tattoo

I’m still on my first rough-draft so this is still a little messy and bare bones but since I’m posting more Bart art, I thought I’d share a little excerpt from my fic where Bart tells Uri the story behind his desert rose tattoo.

Uri belongs to @iigoeyei! TW for referenced child abuse, internalized ableism, mental health issues, and alcohol consumption

Uri knocks back the last of his beer and crushes the can in his fist before chucking it blindly into the flatbed of his truck behind them.

“What about this one?” He asks and hooks a finger into the collar of Bart’s hoodie so that he can tug it down, exposing the soft, pink petals of the tattoo on his neck. “It looks older than your other ones.”

Bart looks down at his feet as they swing below him, restless hands fidgeting with his own beer. He’s quiet for a moment, trying to think of how he can condense the story of this tattoo in a way that won’t leave them parked in the oppressive humidity all night, but he doesn’t think Uri would mind if they did. That’s why Uri is one of Bart’s favorite people; he has an abundance of patience regardless of whether Bart is going a million miles a minute or has been paralyzed by silence.

He drops one shoulder so that he can pull his shirt down further, letting Uri have a better look. The tattoo is one of his oldest but the colors are still vibrant and the shades of blended pink and yellow stand out against his otherwise chalky complexion like a rash; a flash of something beautiful somewhere it doesn’t belong.

“It’s a desert rose,” Bart murmurs while Uri tilts his head closer and scrutinizes the small flower. “When I was a kid, we had a neighbor who was really into nature-mysticism and shit. Lynn-Marie Porter. She used to watch me and my sister sometimes after church and she’d make us help her in the pastor’s garden, picking weeds and stuff like that. She made us memorize different types of plants and flowers and what they meant.”

“You mean like if they were poisonous?” Uri asks.

“No, like what they represented. Spiritually, or whatever.”

“And there were desert roses in the garden, I take it?”

“No.” Bart scowls and stares at the ground. He doesn’t like telling this story, it makes him feel stupid.

“I was always--I was a different kid,” he says, voice low enough that it can’t carry with the sound of croaking frogs or rustling catkins in the pond, content to keep this between Uri and himself. “My parents took me to all kinds of doctors but they gave up after a few years and everybody in town knew it. Most of ‘em just accepted I wasn’t right and let me be but just as many people tried to stick their noses in with ‘advice’ on how to fix me.”

Bart licks at his dry lips. “Miss Porter was one of those people. She kept telling my mom to hang a dreamcatcher above my bed or that she should put echinacea under my tongue before I went to sleep. One time, I got in trouble for yelling during Sunday service which is something dad would normally slap me around for but Miss Porter took me outside before he could. Sat me down in the garden and told me I had to start behaving properly if I wanted to stay welcome in God’s house.”

Uri’s brow wrinkles in distaste and he blows a long, exasperated sigh out of his nose. “Fuckin’ hell, church sucks,” he grumbles, reaching into the cooler for a fresh beer.

"You're named after an archangel, dude, I don't think you're allowed to say that," Bart smiles crookedly.

There was a time he enjoyed going to church, back when he still thought belief would be the refuge he needed from his own mind. Back when he was little and his ‘eccentricities’ were accepted as normal growing pains and the pastor would still reassure Bart and his parents that God’s love was eternal and unconditional; before the congregation started to view him as a troublesome distraction to be hidden in the back row where the good word barely reached his ears.

“She told me I needed to find a desert rose and carry it with me wherever I went,” Bart continues after a long moment wherein Uri slurps loudly at his Budweiser and Bart picks the skin around his fingernails.

“Said that a desert rose would help my brain be quiet and would help me--” he grimaces, almost a flinch. It all sounds so absurd now that he is an adult. “That it would make me understand my emotions and give me serenity.”

“So you got one tattooed?”

“Not at first,” Bart shakes his head. “I didn’t know what a desert rose looked like but I spent all summer looking for one. Got in more trouble rooting around in people’s lawns than I ever did fucking around in church.”

Bart huffs a laugh, eyes unfocused on the horizon and setting sun. “I hunted everywhere. Broke into hardware stores, backyards… even took a bus all the way to Billings once because I heard MSU had a greenhouse but they wouldn’t let me in.”

His hands flex around the can he holds and Bart scowls, familiar anger bubbling in his throat along with the equally intimate feelings of shame and inadequacy that are always resurrected when he thinks about his old life.

“I thought if I could just find one, then all my problems would be solved and I’d get all my old friends back. That I would be normal for as long as I could hang onto it. I was completely obsessed.”

Uri smirks and nudges Bart’s ribs with his elbow, a good-natured jostle that pulls Bart back to the present. “Some things never change, huh?” He teases. “Did you ever manage to get your hands on one?”

“Naw,” Bart sighs. “When I was sixteen, I found a picture in a field guide and convinced my sister’s boyfriend to tattoo it for me. I figured that would be the next best thing if I couldn’t get a real one.”

Now comes the part of this story Bart hates telling and he yanks the zipper of his hoodie back up his neck despite the sweltering temperature. “I found out a few years later that she wasn’t even talking about flowers. A desert rose is a type of fuckin’ rock that hippies use to meditate with or some shit. I got a stupid flower tattoo for nothing.”

Uri leans back on his palms and considers Bart from beneath his eyelashes, brown eyes glowing amber in the dying light. His expression, so open and non-judgmental, makes Bart’s stomach churn.

“Y’know,” Uri drawls. “I don’t know much about spirituality or however you’d define this kind of thing but I’m pretty sure it’s not the object that counts so much as your belief and conviction in what it does.” He claps a wide palm in the center of Bart’s back. “You were just a kid, misinterpreting the message is nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah, well.” Bart drains his lukewarm beer in a few quick gulps and throws the can as far away from himself as he can manage, watching it sail into the approaching shadow of the treeline. “Belief obviously wasn’t enough because I’m still--” he points at his own ear and mimes a spiral with his finger, the universal sign for cuckoo-crazy.

Uri’s face falls. “Bart,” he prods gently.

Bart shakes his head and pulls his hood up over his hair, burying himself beneath his clothes again before hopping off the hood and crossing to the passenger-side door.

“I have shit to do tonight,” he grumbles and folds his exhausted body into the cab before Uri can stop him. “Take me home.”

#working title is between 'machinehead' and 'weeping somnambulist' haven't decided yet #i'll eventually post the whole thing but it's kinda....turning into a whole ass novel oops #oc: bartholomew #oc: friends

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shiro-0197 · 3 years

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God no I'm sorry 😭😭😭 the way Tumblr eats all my drafts, and now your replies. (Someday I'm gonna eat Tumblr grrrr) that must've been so frustrating tho, I'm sorry love.

someday we could go to a country with Highlands together. It'll be super cold and nice. And the views would be really really pretty too!! WE COULD EVEN BE AMONGST THE CLOUDS >//< aww yes I hope you'll be able to try them soon in the future!! I died and had to stay in bed for an hour, (because my spice tolerance is nonexistent <3) but yeah I'm better now! Name is: "대박 ghost pepper noodles" the Korean word 대박 literally translates to "awesome" but— 😭😭

oh I see!! I hope school goes well, it's good that you're excused for a part of the day :D and aww I understand. Replying can be lengthy sometimes, so please please only do it when you're free and comfortable >:(( we're in no rush, after all :D

I was studying earlier too. and I texted my principal about the exams ( because apparently none of my teachers know anything about it, and I was so frustrated with everyone being so clueless ) she just replied with a : "hi Ariana, will let you know on Friday" like excuse me, ma'am. GRRRRR >:( STOP BEING CLUELESS.

awww that's okay!! I'm sure those prep slides were really pretty too :D aww that's sweet of you. some of my online friends sometimes sit in on my Leo events (if it's open to everyone) and it's pretty fun when they do (once, one of them had to talk for like, an activity and my club mates were like "SHE HAS AN ACCENT??". It was hilarious hehe) zoom is great for that reason, and only that. they're just ready-made slides tbh, I use canva :D

Shiro, love, you won't disappoint anyone, I promise you that. I'm sure your mom is more proud than you know, and from the way you talk about her, I can tell that she truly adores you. tho I also understand your worries. If you want to rant or anything, you know I'm here. And I'll just continuously reassure you of how amazing you are :)

that's my boy 🥺🥺 grr, you're so feisty, please imagine me holding a "you go, Shiro" sign everytime you tell someone to fuck themselves :D Laurent is indeed amazing. He's my favourite character for that exact reason >//< there's another character, from a book I read, just like that. His name was uhh, Kieran. And he knew so many different languages, and was just in general; super smart. I remember being so in love with him when I first read it (The title of the book is "genius")

HAHA. ikr. They're all hot, and most importantly; smart. nevermind, when I meet you someday we can cry over them together 😭🤚 pffft no offense, but being evil is hot sometimes 😾 (I mean, Kieran was evil. So's Moriarty :] and I am: a simp for them all)

aww bae that's okay 🥺🥺 your feelings are valid, and it's not wrong to express them whenever you feel like it. Grrr if I ever see your dad, he might be missing a limb >:( sorry, that was violent, but I get especially mad if anyone upsets someone i love )

exactly?? It's been a year?? Where's that blink meme where someone blinks and it's suddenly 2021. Oooh that sounds really nice!! Adding it on my list of things to try in March >.< Honey is really delicious. especially all those desserts which have a lot of them.

glad I made you laugh >////< grr my sense of humour is just so weird tho, so I'm glad you aren't freaked out by it.

KAJDKSJSKS SIR WAIT. There was an explanation for that u but I guess it got cut off in my notes 😾😾 IT WAS MEANT TO BE A Ü (smiley) but I was using my computer and I couldn't add the two dots above, so I typed "imagine the eyes" (but apparently that part got cut off and now it just looks like a random alphabet SKJSKSK IM SORRY 😭😭😭

I understand, the lack of opportunities can really get on one's nerves. But oh yes, Japan and Norway are beautiful countries. Apart from Japan, I've been really into Korea and Switzerland. The Alps 😻

grrr y'all have tough exteriors. But it's so rewarding when you finally get them down, tho I think, you guys have tons of other layers to yourselves. I guess that's just the charm, I find it endearing, because it just means there's a lot more than meets the eye :)

MY FRIEND MAKES FUN OF ME FOR LIKING PINK. HE TEASES ME MERCILESSLY SKSJSKSK (so I published a poem line in the school magazine to get back at him for it, because I'm petty like that)

that's so funny >.< There are two girls, and a girl and a guy, who share the exact same names in my class, and it's so funny because they're opposites of each other xD

he really is precious. The best leader, I would literally die for him, he's wonderful. yeah the book actually started out different, with them just being best friends. Best plot twist 😭😭 AWW

NOOO I'm sure it's cute, in it own way? :P tho that meme tho. LDJCJSBSKS. Don't worry, hehe, the character may be .... Unpleasant to look at?? , but you're not the least bit at all :)

how was your day btw? My day sucked ass and was literally the worst day in the history of uh, days. Yeah. sad. tomorrow will be better.

God, you're so adorable wtf. Marry me rn. AKDJSKSJS I didn't find it lame at all, (tho were you flustered? Because that was cute as hell xD) I love you too 🥺🥺

—☃️

It's okay, it's not your fault. We could storm the Tumblr building together or something..:3

Oh I really hope we can!!! I love cold weather. You can wear sweaters and hoodies and all that💞 and you have an excuse to cancel everything and cuddle up with a blanket or someone else😝

Im so glad you're better now!! Spice sickness or whatever is the worst😔 WBHDJWKX that's hilarious I hope I come across those soon! Let's see who wins😼

Yeah, about that, they started making us do after-class activities, which now leaves less time for the stuff I have to do .... which sucks . But I'm managing, I think, so it's cool xD yeah, I've always been kind of cautious about the timing, it's nice to have a little freedom now, thank you so much <3

Wow😭😭 our teachers usually have the dates set two weeks before the exams, we always recieve a message. Though I've been there, where the teacher have no clue, it's so annoying😭😭

Ohh, that's so cool! I hope I will be able to visit one someday. Though I dont think itll be too soon, but I'm looking forward to when I can😝 also that's funny, whenever I speak people go "he doesnt have an accent???" Even though I so obviously do. They just have no idea 😭

Okay..... that's the best words of encouragement I've ever received, I'm so touched- thank you🥺💘

Bwahah, that's gonna make my day every time 😭 Yeah, hes my favorite too!! He seems like a simple himbo at first, but the more we see of him the better he gets. (That sounds cool!!! I'm gonna check it out when I can!)

Thank you🥺 also, dont worry, I wouldn't mind that. I'd love that, actually, wanna go rip off guys arms together?

MZJXKGJJAKXKAKX IT'S ALRIGHT HAHAH, ITS REALLY FUNNY SO DONT WORRY😭😭

JSNFNMWMDMS IM GONNA MAKE FUN OF HIM FOR MAKING FUN OF YOU how could he . I will eat his eyeballs. Also I 100% agree with the poem and I'm glad you posted it. I hope some people thought about it.

Wow😭😭 its honestly so funny, because they're all so different and yet their names fit them so well either way.

Also, wow I feel so bad it's been almost a week since I responded😐 I'm really sorry. I've been writing snips of this message any time I could and yet it still took me days xD I'm getting free, though, so I'll try to respond faster now. I missed talking to you so much😭 thank you for your patience🤍🤍🤍

How've you been? I'm pretty good, tired but feeling good because I can finally respond😩 I hope your day went well. Love you!♡

#Ari💕#ive been meaning to send you short messages but the internet said no💔😐

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esepoimipullula · 3 years

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So, there’s this reply to that “do you ever read you friend’s writing and you wonder why they even put up with you” post, about how that’s an unhealthy attitude that will only hurt both you and your friend, even if you pass it off as a joke. About how you should try to better your writing because you love writing and it gives you joy and improving makes you feel proud, not because you keep comparing yourselves to others or because you’ve been told you can’t be too confident in your achievements and now think hating everything you create is the way to improve when it’s really just a way to both destroy your self-esteem and make creating unnecessarily difficult. And the thing is, I agree with it. The wording feels a bit harsh to me, but I’m kind of an oversensitive softie, and I suppose people do need a good kick in the pants once in a while. And I really do agree.

I think love is fundamental, and if you don’t love writing or what you write, you should either stop or take a good, long pause to figure out if you can love it, again or at all. I write because I love it. Or at least, I feel something close to love for it. I don’t really think about it. Sometimes a sentence, a description or a line of dialogue or a simile or anything else, pops into my mind out of the blue and I’m like either, “Oh, what is that? Who or what is it about? Where do is it lead me?” or “Yes, that’s it, hold that until a less ungodly hour/a moment when I’m free to try and do something with it or at the very least write it down.” Sometimes I’m watching or reading or doing something and my brain says, “Yeah, but you know what would be cool? If this thing happened to these characters!”, and the thing that should totally happen to the characters may or may not be related in any way to the thing I’m watching or reading or doing. And sometimes I have a sudden craving for a certain story or character or scene, or a want that has built up through years, but of course I know I won’t find any piece of fiction that fits my tastes exactly and precisely and because I don’t know any writers who happen to be mindreaders and I’m not about to become the kind of prompter who feeds the plot almost line by line to the unlucky writer their asking for a story, so in the end I go, “You know what? This is actually a very good idea and it’s a shame no one has written it yet so I’ll just do it myself!” And sometimes I feel frustrated or unsatisfied or irritated or even just a little too frantic and in too deep to actually feel any love or joy or anything else while I’m writing rather than when I take a step back to reread and edit what I’ve written, but I wouldn’t trade all those other “sometimes” I’ve just mentioned for anything in the world. And honestly, I wouldn’t do it even with these less pleasant “sometimes,” as much as I like to complain or joke or jokingly complain about them. Because they are all part of what makes me me and the idea of ever giving them up, even for some relative peace of mind, feels as absurd and unnecessary as the idea of consciously trying to change my tastes in food or music or fiction or jokes or pets --- I can only guess at where some things come from, so how would I even go about upturning or taking away things that feel almost more like instinct than anything else? And why would I ever wish to? And I don’t think I’ve never been in romantic love, I’m not even sure if I know how that’s really supposed to feel like or work out, but this is kind of love I know. The kind of love I feel for my family and my friends, who all have annoying, stupid habits because that’s what people do and I’m sure they find my habits annoying and stupid, too, and that’s fine, and the kind of love I feel for our cat, who yells at me when he’s hungry and scratches me when we play and bullies the neighbour’s overly friendly, peace-loving dog and does a lot other things that made me fear and wonder, “Oh, god, what if the novelty of having a cute little cat all for ourselves wears off after a while and we don’t want him anymore and we become one of those families that take in a pet and change its whole life only to immediately give it back and give it trust issues in the process because they’re not actually fit to have a pet” before we’d actually gotten him but now they’re just part of him and you’ll have to fistfight each and every one of us in a parking lot if you try and take him away from us. That’s the kind of love I have for writing, and even if it’s not always joy, and sometimes it’s annyoing or irritating or no more pleasant than merely, simply breathing, what does the unpleasantness or the lack of enthusiasm really matter? Nothing, or at least, very little. It’s my love, I can only guess where it really comes from, it’s always with me and I can’t imagine it ever going away, and you can fight me in the aforementioned parking lot.

And I think it’s this love that allows me to... not quite be carefree about my writing, but something a bit like that. What do comments and reviews and kudos matter, if my love expresses itself through fandoms most people don’t even think can be considered as fandoms or themes nobody but me thinks or cares about? Sure, validation and compliments and people genuinely enjoying what I create make me feel great and may even warm my heart, depending on how much thought and effort I put into a particular work or how long I’ve wished to be able to find other people interested in a certain fandom, but they’re not my reason for writing or even something I really need -- I’ll keep doing my thing whether I get a hundred kudos and fifty comments or only three views. I did use to compare myself unfavorably to other writers and despair over all the ways I found myself inferior and lacking, but then I realized... what good is wishing I could be as good as someone else, or even someone else altogether, if my writing is part of me, stems from who I am? What influence on me could another writer’s success and the methods and techniques used to reach that success even have? I should strive to satify myself while doing what I want, to become as good as I can be according to my standards and through the methods and techniques that work for me. I can take what I like and analyse it and try to make it mine and incorporate it in my style and my ideas, there’s nothing wrong with that and it’s a good way to broaden my horizons and challenge myself and improve my work and love writing even more, but in the end, I can’t be anyone but myself --- and I may have lots of flaws, but in the end, there’s nothing fundamentally wrong with that. Actually, there is some joy, and even pride, in that. And so, I reread my old works and see them with new, more charitable eyes, remembering the fun and the satisfaction and the need to write precisely that specific thing, pushing aside the old doubts that gave me nothing but endless nitpicking and rewriting and saying, “You know? Maybe my use of em dashes wasn’t actually as overbearing and cringy as I thought, maybe I should start using them a bit more freely again.” I reread my new works and tell myself, “Fuck it, of course I enjoy this and I am actually a bit proud of it, I wrote it for myself, according to my own tastes and following my own inspiration and putting as much effort and care into it as I thought it needed!”

I still have doubts and fears like everyone else, but they’re more along the lines of, “I know I can write better than this, so why am I not doing it right now? What is the problem here?!” or “I love and care and believe so much in this idea and I want to be good enough to do it justice and make sure it’ll make me feel perfectly satisifed and proud with the final result”, than “Everybody is doing the thing I feel is my thing better than me” or “I’ll never be this other writer I admire.” My writing blocks are usually more about getting stuck in the middle of a work while struggling to find the right words to put the exact feelings and actions I have in my mind on the page precisely as I’ve imagined them (”No, thats not it! There’s something missing and I can’t go on until I find out what it is! The words here don’t sound right!”), or struggling to find the Right Words to start a new project at all because I still have to work on internalizing that perfectionism is the enemy and a first draft is meant to be changed and corrected and maybe even kind of suck even if rationally I understand both concepts, or having Something Big in mind but knowing I usually just follow the flow of my ideas until it dries up and feeling my best works really come from truly getting lost into it and then worrying about how difficult Building An Actual Plot Like A Rational Person will be, or having scenes or even whole stories feels just so complete in my head that laboring to get them out of it feels like doing the same exact work twice for nothing (which isn’t true, but tell it to my brain), or just... not being able to start or go on or even end even if I have everything from ideas to motivation ro the right, relaxed but willing and driven state of mind, for some reason. Or, like, utterly dumb stuff like, “This paragraph will only make me feel good if I manage to get the lines to align in this specific way without changing the meaning or ruining the tone and atmosphere, so I will now modify it four or five times until I get it right even if I know this doesn’t make any sense.”

Except... there’s this friend. Her writing is the kind that uses a scant amount of sharp, essential words to tell whole worlds made of unsaid things, so soft they make you feel like you’re inside a dream or so harsh they're like a punch in the gut but always so clever and full that you always feel you’re always missing somthing, you just aren’t smart enough to figure it out. I have to make a conscious effort not to compare them to my works, because then mine feel overwrought and overdramatic, childish and naive.

And I know, believe me I know, that despite how much of yourself ends up in your writing, despite how much your writing can be a part of yourself, skill as a writer is not synonymous with worth as a person. You can be a good and/or succesful writer and be a complete shithead, and thinks like kindness and open-mindedness will always be fundamentally more important than the ability to string words together in a pleasing manner. But she’s kind (perhaps kinder than I deserve, because I know sometimes I can be a real dick), and open-minded, and sweet in her own way, and brave, and confident, and so smart and cultured, and sharp, and funny, and interesting, and she seems to understand people a lot better than I do. And even when we’re just chatting, I’m not always sure I understand every layer to everything she says, I’m not sure I can keep up with her wit and her mind. The confidence I feel while writing evaporates and I feel slow and shallow and boring and dumb and wonder why she puts up with me, how she hasn’t realised she could be talking to her people more like her yet.

The worst thing is, it’s not even her doing anything to make me feel like this and I know it too well. I don’t even think she knows, and I hope she never finds out. She’s not just kind to me, but affectionate and supportive, and in a honest and genuine way, and I know it’s irrational and stupid to think I might have tricked her into behaving like that with me, or that she’s not being sincere, or that she just doesn’t care enough to take a good look at me and find out what my brain thinks is the truth. I know it would be hurtful and ungrateful to tell her.

I also know she’s not perfect, because no one is. She has her flaws, too, and sometimes she says things that make me roll my eyes or sigh in frustration. There are some things I know more about than her, too. And we don’t even live near each other so I’ve never even met her in person, so I know if that happened at one point, I’d probably find out a bunch of annoying things about her.

But when she compliments my writing, sometimes my brain either shortcircuits for a moment or starts coming up with all kinds of bullshit like, “She’s just saying that because you’re friends and she’s a very supportive person. You’re pretty much the only one writing for this ship, so this is more like when you’re desperate enough to run fics in Russian and Chinese through Google Translate and you still leave kudos even though half of it came out as gibberish. It’s like when you read something you know is actually not well-written or well-plotted at all just for a certain specific character or trope in it, she’s just the type who doesn’t believe in guilty pleasures. She’s using a very happy and pleased tone but that doesn’t mean anything on the internet, almost everything here is hyperbole anyway so her actual reaction must have been a lot more lukewarm.” And when she writes to me or says she enjoys talking to me, sometimes my brain will go, “That’s great and I appreciate it! ... but seriously, why.”

*sigh* I guess that’s another thing I’ll have to try and work on this year. Being more open about what I feel -- at least on a sideblog read by only *checks* fourteen people, none of whom are the friend in question or any friends we have in common or any of my regular internet friends at all -- instead of keeping everything bottled up inside at all times is another one, apparently. Let’s see if it’ll really make me feel lighter.

#personal #rant #please don't reblog #might delete later

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metallicarules5 · 5 years

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My Big Takeaways: Thoughts and Opinions on TDP Situation

It has been almost 72 hours since the most recent accusation and allegations were brought forth by Danika, Lulu, and Diandra. Aaron Ehasz has finally decided to respond to the allegations brought forward. For many of us, opinions have changed, and despite me and others advocating against it, many have vehemently already picked what sides we lay on, either staunchly in support of the women, or staunchly in support of Ehasz. I have read the perspectives given by many people here and on Reddit (since these have been where most of the discussions have been taking place), have read and reread the accusations, as well as the statement by Ehasz. These are what my thoughts are based on what we do know:

1. Aaron Ehasz is a shitty boss. Whether you 100% believe the accusations, mostly believe, or even somewhat believe, I think there’s enough evidence there to say that Ehasz, who is a talented writer, is an incompetent manager. He is not a leader. He is either incapable, or simply doesn’t want to, communicate with his staff, treats surrogates and those beneath him less than professionally, either outright lies or makes promises he ends up not being able to keep, and is someone who’s stuck in his way of doing things.

2. That being said…I’m not seeing evidence of sexism, abuse, harassment, misogyny, or bigotry. Sure what’s accused of is bad. It makes him look like an asshole, a douchebag, an egotist, an authoritarian, and various other names. However, sexist is not one of them. Even Danika mentioned in her tweet thread that his behavior extended to both men and women alike, and none of the accusers said that the reason for his behavior was solely because they were women. While certainly unprofessional, the behavior he displayed isn’t criminal.

3. In any workplace, not all of your ideas are going to stick. One of the most common accusations made in the accounts was that Ehasz supposedly didn’t listen to or acknowledge their creative input all the time. On the surface, this seems horrible and bad, but the fact of the matter is that this happens all the time in the workplace, regardless of where you work. I’ve come forward with ideas or suggestions to my managers as to ways I think we can run the business better. Sometimes, my ideas were accepted, but other times, they weren’t and were flat out rejected. It sucks when you have what you think is a great idea and it gets shot down by a higher up, but that’s the reality. Other times, the managers would enforce a new policy or a change in the workplace, despite the fact that I preferred the old way of doing things. Did it make me angry, sure, but to call that harassment, abuse, or anything along those lines, definitely not. I figured out how to work within the new system, even if I didn’t like the change, and made it work. They’re the manager, and they have to make the ultimate decision that they believe is the best direction to go in. If I’m unhappy, I am free to leave. Look at it this way, we’ve all written essays or papers for school, and for some of them, you were asked to hand in multiple drafts of it. You get a draft of yours back with comments and suggestive edits from the teacher. Did you listen to every single one of those suggestions? My guess is probably not. Sure, some or a lot could be true and you work to incorporate it, but others you believe would actually hurt the quality of your writing rather than enhance it. Maybe the suggested edit works against your point, or weakens your argument, or messes with the overall flow. At the end of the day, it’s your paper, and you make the final decision.

4. As the boss and creative head, Aaron will always have the final say. This sort of plays off the previous point, but it deserves it’s own spot. Whether he was at Riot or Wonderstorm, he was the head of these teams, and thus, he makes the ultimate decision on which direction to go. Diandra admits that their mutual superior did give Aaron complete freedom: “He was told that he had cart blanche to change things.” So when he decided to make editing a group activity with people sharing notes, she may not have liked or agreed with the situation, but that’s all there is, someone who didn’t agree with it. Aaron’s responses to her are rather dismissive, but that’s all they are. It again shows he doesn’t communicate with his staff, is egotistical, and is a “My way or the highway” type person, but it’s not abuse.

5. Neither Danika or Lulu were writers. This is not meant to be derogatory to the two of them, nor is it meant to diminish the work they did while at Wonderstorm. But here’s the thing, their jobs were not to be involved with the creative process, to my understanding. Danika was responsible for social media, and Lulu was a writing assistant, not a writer herself. Sure, the aspiration was most likely to become a writer one day for the show, but that still doesn’t give her creative input on the show’s direction, nor did that fall in line with the responsibilities of the position.

6. Memories are malleable, they do change over time. Scientific studies have actually proven that, over time, memories become disjointed and change as a result of not only the passage of time, but the more we try to remember those events. “A memory is not simply an image produced by time traveling back to the original event – it can be an image that is somewhat distorted because of the prior times you remembered it…Your memory of an event can grow less precise even to the point of being totally false with each retrieval.” These were the words of one Donna Bridge, the lead author of a research paper on this subject matter. Now obviously, when you read this, your first response is going to be denial that this is possible, how can I forget an event that clearly had a huge impact on me. Well there’s a lot of factors that play into this and our changing perception, causing us to remember the situation differently each time. “Memories aren’t static…If you remember something in the context of a new environment and time, or if you are even in a different mood, your memories might integrate the new information.” These findings have been further explored and proven by other studies, such as one done by Liz Phelps, a professor of Psychology and New York University.

…Phelps explains that our memories can change because each time we revisit them they become vulnerable. When we first lay down a memory, it takes the brain a little while to solidly store the information—a process called consolidation. And every time we subsequently recall that memory, it has to go through a new storage process—another slight delay for another consolidation. During that window, new information can interfere with the old information and alter the memory. Phelps says it is like playing the school game of telephone, where one student tells a short story to a second student, then that person retells it to a third, who tells it to a fourth, and so on. By the end of the chain the story is usually quite different from how it began.

So again, this makes it hard to determine who is telling either the full truth or even just the partial truth, because both sides are probably remembering the situation wrongly or have led themselves to believe that their side of the story is the truth. Maybe it is Ehasz gaslighting, maybe this is also at play, both can be true at the same time, these are not mutually exclusive.

7. Aaron’s statement is bad, like, really bad. Frankly, he could have admitted to everything he was accused of and offer the most sincere apology ever, and people would still not accept it. However, what this statement ultimately is, is Aaron stroking his own dick and that of Wonderstorm’s. I’m not surprised he denied the accusations, and regardless of what side you’re on, this shouldn’t be a surprise to you either. If you’re on the side that he’s innocent, he shouldn’t apologize for something he didn’t do. If you’re on the side he’s guilty, then that just further proves many of the women’s points about him gaslighting and not understanding when he did things wrong. That doesn’t change the fact that this is just a diversion and a bare bones, vague statement meant to try and shield him, downplay the situation, and make it go away. I do think there’s enough corroborating evidence to say that he can be less than professional in the workplace (read Point #1), to which he could apologize for. However, while he says he is imperfect, he’s still acting like he did nothing wrong and everything is completely fine. For those defending Ehasz, this statement seems more than enough, but for those undecided or siding with the others, this only sows more discord and animosity, meaning his attempts to try and defuse the situation have failed. For a guy who’s so gifted at writing, he sure couldn’t write a better defense.

I’m sure there’s more I can say, but these are the biggest points and my biggest takeaways.

Here’s the truth of the matter, we can only judge based on the evidence at hand. We were not in those rooms, we were not on those phone calls, we were not in those emails, etc. As a result, our knowledge is limited. Maybe some of those claims are blown out of proportion, which I have seen some women say about it. Maybe things are worse than they actually are and there’s more stuff that Danika and Lulu haven’t come forward with yet as they alluded to. We just don’t know, and that’s why it’s important to always keep an open mind, question and scrutinize, and listen to each other, not be at each other’s throats. There will be those that vastly disagree with some or all of the content of this post. Okay, then we can have a discussion about where we agree and disagree. I’m not in the business of trying to “defend abusers” or “believe all women,” I’m just a fan who wants to be able to enjoy something without it falling into controversy, for once.

#tdp #dragon prince #the dragon prince #aaron ehasz #wonderstorm

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confused-bi-nerd · 4 years

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Ok so it's like 2 in the morning but you know what I'm f*cking desperate for?

Modern day Anne with an E

I mean obviously the original historical context is just f*cking awesome.

But picture Anne being an incredible badass feminist bi icon. (Does she have a youtube channel? Who knows???? That'd be cool...)

Her new family, two pretty "traditionally" raised siblings at first have a hard time with her and her identity and intensity about everything. (When dont they though right)

She doesn't even have to be a "mistake." Nowadays with cellphones and stuff a confusion like that would be impossible. But maybe she just ran away because the orphanage was abusive af and kept sending her to sh*tty homes.

And honestly if Matthew doesn't have asperger/autism/down but it went ignored cause "we just don't talk about it" but Anne came and was like "that's f*cked up were getting you diagnosed and treated Matthew dammit" then what even is the point.

Diana being raised in a really harsh and severe family so she's afraid her mom will find out about her best friend being, well, her. (No, they are not dating, they're BFFs as originally just that Diana's mom sucks even more in the actual timeline.)

Honestly I just LOVE Anne and Diana's friendship. Like they've literally known each other for one day and they already have this deep bond, they truly are kindred spirits. I think Diana wouldn't even have a hard time accepting Anne; she would just be relieved she could finally explore herself. (Ace-Di-ana-Ace-Di-ana)

Cole (yes, Cole, book and series mixture S u C k I t) being openly gay and spending a lot of his time just laying low at Anne's because his parents also s u c k. (Uhhh maybe then he just realises he doesn't HAVE TO go back to his sh*tty parents and moves with aunt Jo, the Eccentric City Lesbian tm) (And also honestly let's say f*ck it and go all out: Cole with eyeliner)

Man they'd probably sneak around a lot talking about all this "forbidden stuff". Cole would join them whenever they were at Anne's (most of the time anyways) because Diana's mom knows his mom and there's no way in hell he'd risk crossing her way.

Mr IDKwhat (that teacher dating a student) being an ACTUAL pedophile and it being f*cking reported and shut down. (Yes I realize this was era appropriate but SURPRISE, stuff changed)

OMG GUYS MISS STACY

I could make a whole post about miss Stacy alone but lets just go with badass lesbian teacher who actively fights the school and the parents, takes bs from no one and basically adopts all of her students in need.

Also let's be honest, the Barrys would probably be this really wealthy family with a bigass house in the suburbs and they'd all own IPhones or some sh*t and the Cuthberts would be this regular middle class family with an inherited little house in a not-so-awesome-but-still-pretty-nice neighbourhood; so Diana's mom already isn't a big fan of Anne because a) "she's a freaking street orphan for God's sake" and b) "her ClAsS isn't exactly the SaMe as ours Diana dEaR". So imagine if she found out her _perfect older daughter's_ two best friend are queer icons one of them being "a BoY wHo WeArS mAkEuP" *scandalized old British lady accent*

And I can totally picture Anne with this really weird pet, like a mouse or a small bird or one of those extrangely small cats that you can carry in your pocket and her talking to it and it really looks like a conversation to outsiders. (Because it is, they're discussing the latest episode of a show or planning a prank on Cole's stupid homophobic mom)

Let's be honest, Anne would be the BIGGEST fan of Rent. I'm talking memorizing both songs AND dialogue and having a thousand fan theories she'd be able to defend against rain and wind. (This one was originally drafted during my Rent phase, geez it is a great musical though)

OMG GUYS JERRY AND DIANA. I'm talking Jerry being an old friend of Anne's (Orphanage? Foster home? The streets? We'll see...) and him falling HARD for Diana. (Not the same plot as the series though, I know it wouldn't have been possible back then but they'd totally stay together in MY self indulgent AU of everything. Still would exist the class issues and the Anne-Diana fight about it, bonus point if Jerry ends up Latino cause I want more representation man)

Maybe this part being on them more advanced on their life (Maybe the whole thing could be more advanced? Like directly starting with them at 16 or stg??? Cause like they are all sounding way too independent for twelve year olds) so Cole already moved to an apartment in the city near aunt Jo but all in all being independent and pushing through despite his terrible TERRIBLE parenting. And like both Anne AND Diana going to him with their class issues fight (Is Cole Latino/African American? I'd like that.... Let's say so it's my 2:40 am fantasy after all) and him being all surprised because a) He was most definitely NOT expecting them b) This two never fight about anything and c) Diana and Jerry? Geez how long was he away?

And I would legitimate M u R d E r someone for their yelling match across Cole's apartment being interrupted by like a male voice asking "Cole where is X thing?" And Anne and Diana like "I thought you'd been living alone this two years (two years, let's say so my brain is shutting down) since leaving aunt Jo's" and Cole being like "you've also missed a lot" And essentially that's how they meet Cole's boyfriend who doesn't understand a thing but rolls with it because he finally gets to meet famous Avonlea friends (the neighbourhood should be called Avonlea or among those line at least)

Anne and Gilbert WILL end up together cause I honestly think they're meant to be they just compliment each other but like maybe while fighting her totally obvious inner crush she'd date a few people, some girls, some boys, just casually bi-ing by but like settling but still being bi cause that's just real bi people

Thanks for coming to my TED talk

#here have your feminism discussion and your #gay rights and your everything #this is fucking long im sorry #i also realised i ussd fucking a lot #apologies for that too #i cuss a whole fucking lot when im tired #lol #Honestly its almost three am now #but i had to write this down cause its been in my head for weeks and i was gonna explode #anne with an e is just so fucking awesome #both book and series #me sad #but like the book #it has that 18 century charm that absolutely nothing can match #and theres like seven eight of them so you literally see them have their happily sometimes not so happy aver after #seriously anne is like 50 in the last book #gosh i have a lot of feelings about anne with an e okey?#and i just identify with anne in like being the weirdo and the outsider and like people not talking to you because of it #and my few friends are awesome and fierce and my soulmates in every sense but romantic and i love them #and i have really strong family feels #(found family IS family fight me)#and....these tags are almost as long as the longass post itself #im sorry #but i hope you enojoyed the ride #god imma regret this in the mornig #okay byyyeeee #this is WAY more chaptic than i rememberd it being #but in my deffense #it IS a 2 am )improvement( of like 3 whole pages of 2 am notes #this is the kind of shit i post at 2 a

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tomo-tron · 5 years

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My experience growing up as an Artist (and trying to get a job)

Buckle up, it’s a long one.

I’ve never really thought about doing an actual written blog entry on here before as I’ve normally not really had much to say and prefer to talk about my work. But I thought it could be helpful to share my personal experiences of trying to get work post-university from the perspective of an illustrator/artist. This could be helpful to you if you’ve just graduated, are thinking of doing a course at uni or are currently freelance and are wondering how to get your first break in a full-time art job. Emphasis on could.

So for those of you who’ve never met me (which is pretty much 99%+ of my followers), I’ve always drawn characters from games and comics etc. If I saw a character that blew my mind as a kid, I drew them. I had a big, lined, A4 notebook and drew in with biro pen. I drew in class when I wasn’t supposed to. I drew in my weekly planner for lessons (where you were supposed to write homework and deadlines etc) and then got into detentions because of them where I was even made to go through and cover them all up using paper and glue...Art at secondary school DID NOT help me. At all. A lot of schools don’t understand/recognise the games/comic/entertainment industry (or at least seemingly prestigious ones from the north where people make money by farming and/or settling into a mundane plane of conformative existence revolving around having kids way too early and peaking before you’re 25 before forever there after living in a bubble safely tucked away from the rest of the world and society). To be fair, schools have to cover a potentially very broad spectrum and kids don’t always know what’s best for them and where they want to end up. But sometimes kids DO know where they want to end up. To also be fair, my art teachers could see that fine art wasn’t my thing and that I was technically a good artist when it came to drawing, so they sort of gave me a lot of leeway when it came to work guidelines (one of my main teachers also looked and acted like Dean McCoppin from Iron Giant which was pretty much the best thing that could have happened there).

Anyway, moving onto University. In the UK, 2011 was the year the university fees basically tripled...The work I did at that school didn’t really help me much when applying for places. No one I knew wanted to do anything similar. And there were no adults who had any idea what I needed to do to get to the places I wanted either. So I was on my own. Suffice to say I failed at getting onto a 3 year course (which I’ve always imagined was potentially due to increased demand just before the fees went up). The lecturer doing a portfolio review with me said I had “too many werewolves” and the less said about all of that the better. I think maybe there was two werewolves, done in the same style the point of which being that one was male and one was female and I’d tried to make that visually evident. However, I was offered a place on a 1 year Art and Design course (yay...). Ironically, the foundation course turned out to pretty much help me un-learn EVERYTHING that I had spent the last 7 years being told to do. Crazy right? It annoyed me that I had to spend an extra year there (though not from the social point of view and uni life) and straight after the course, I finally began a 3 year Illustration and Animation course.

At 20 y/o (a year later than most) I started my 3 year course. I won’t say too much about the course itself as there’s a slight conflict of interest in regards to me potentially going back to lecture there soon. But in those 3 years, I gradually felt more and more comfortable to focus on producing work that I always felt I was supposed to be doing. Nothing great came out of my first year, the second year was arguably better/more professional and then finally in my third year I created a 26 page comic about monsters (which I drafted a good friend in to write the script for, bearing in mind he was on a course at the time too) which I called “Stubble” and it was the pinnacle of my artist achievements. It was a comic, but I had really developed these two characters from fairly in-cohesive and random creatures with rubber tire armour and boring shapes/silhouettes to these very much simplified, strange, stubble-y polar opposites of one another. So I figured that the ability to create characters and demonstrate that, would help get me into the games industry regardless, if I wanted to go that route.

Then we had the end of year exhibition where we could showcase our final major projects. This got me noticed by a nearby toy design company in the area. It was exactly what I’d always hoped would happen, a job offer fresh out of university. They loved my work and I did a small-ish art test for them before being invited to a job interview that went really well. Their only major concern was my art style and whether I could adapt it appropriately for the sort of work they did. I was 23 y/o at the time, I was still no expert and hadn’t spent a whole lot of time doing product design on my non-product design based course (surprise surprise). I didn’t hear back from them for a while and because I’d never applied to salaried jobs before, I just thought it was the norm. I moved to London with my then gf and pretty much lost all motivation artistically when faced with the real world and trying to make ends meet in the most expensive part of the UK as a poor ass ex-student. Six months later, they got back to me. It was a no. They wanted to stress I was very much in the running along with 2 other applicants and choosing between the 3 of us had been the subject of much debate. So that sucked. And then not long after my long-term relationship fell apart which was a nice addition so I was back to square one at home with mummy and daddy and a seemingly useless degree.

Thankfully, I had made some good friends who were still studying at my university and staying to live in the area afterwards to get work (they were all car designers). So at 24 y/o I pretty much begged them to let me move in with them so I could regain some independence and start again. I should probably mention that freelance work had been coming in post-uni in dribs and drabs. I was doing the work when I found it, but it was few and far between and not really helping me to create a uniform portfolio. I was applying to concept art and character art jobs where ever I could find them the whole time, despite really not having the portfolio to back them up because it was filled with irrelevant work such as cartoon cats I was doing for a legitimately crazy cat lady who was supposedly running a charity (but years later came to the conclusion she was more of an opportunist perpetually trying to reclaim her lost wealth and the life it had afforded her). I managed to end up working for Marvel and Lego which was weird. Though technically it wasn’t directly with either as the Marvel work was for a company who owned the rights to create licensed trading cards on Marvel’s behalf and the Lego job was outsourced to me through an agency that did media production and stuff for other companies. People always say to me “but the fact is you worked for Marvel and Lego”, and maybe it’s impostor syndrome speaking, but I don’t think they fully understand the way that kind of work...works (which is fine, but also perhaps trust the guy who’s been doing this for a living). I’d say I worked for Lego more legitimately than I did for Marvel.

24/25 y/o and my confidence was taking a beating. I kept thinking how it was never meant to be this hard (getting a job). I’d been told by pretty much everyone I’d ever met, professional and otherwise, that I was talented and yet I wasn’t getting anywhere. Add to that the fact I was having to watch all my friends find work in their chosen fields easily and I’m honestly surprised I didn’t have/haven’t had a mental break down of some sort (especially after seeing how some people my age reacted to small periods of uncertainty). I DIGRESS, I started getting bolder with my applications and began sending them to places I thought were too good for me anyway and that would need me to be some sort of artistic veteran to even stand a chance at being considered. I’d mostly stuck to companies within the UK at this point, but I was having to move further afield because I’d exhausted what seemed to be every single games company the UK had to offer and felt like my work was more appropriate for what I deemed to be as bolder and more imaginative US companies. At the time, I was obsessed with League of Legends and had begun to learn about the company behind them, Riot Games. So I thought “fuck it” and I sent an application to their studio in Hong Kong despite being terrified by the prospect of moving there. And guess what?

They got back to me.

Again, I don’t want to go into too much detail. But let’s just say I did another art test for this one. And then another. And then another. And then also another. I didn’t have a job, I was relying on my incredibly unreliable freelance work but pretty much prioritising the application process over everything else going on in my life. I was doing good work in my mind, quantity AND quality, the best of both worlds. I was pushing myself to get into a design frame of mind and applying my extensive knowledge of League of Legends to solve problems that I knew needed addressing in the best way I could.

You can see where this is going.

I didn’t get the job. I found out midday as I recall, which meant I had the whole day to wallow in self pity. But hey, I had a heap of new work for my portfolio. I was proud of it all for a few months at least and now I just feel like I have to include it in my portfolio because of how extensive it was and how much I threw myself at it. I realise now that quantity isn’t always the best thing. And I will never ever ever again draw that many iterations of a character in pencil with nice line work. It was a dumb way to work and it was slow as hell. You don’t focus on line work when you’re trying to develop ideas at an early stage, even if you’re trying to impress a big company. Part of the job is narrowing down ideas. But at the time I didn’t feel that it was my place to say what was and wasn’t good as I was trying to get in to a entry-level role and was expecting someone to make those decisions for me. I was the grunt, they were the overlord. Several months is a lot of time to exchange for a fairly simple lesson. Especially when you feel like you’re trying to play catch up in life and are now 2 years behind everyone else your age. But I’ve got to stress that I wasn’t an expert, I was still young and unlike most other people I knew, I literally had no one to advise me/ look to for tips. Which I think is something pretty much most artists go through at some point in their life seeing as we all end up pretty secluded.

The thing is, I felt obligated to share the work I did from that application because it’s unfair to ask someone to invest so much (UNPAID) time and effort into something without letting them then use that to further their job hunt if you’re to turn them down. Art tests in general are unfair. Apply the idea of an unpaid test to most other areas of employment - marketing, banking (even bar tender jobs will pay you half the standard rate if they’re trailing you for the day) and people generally respond with something like “yeah I wouldn’t do something like that unless I was paid”. Because it comes across like you don’t respect yourself. And yet that is unfortunately the world we live in as artists.

Moving on. Still 25 y/o going on 26, after posting pretty much all of that work on this very blog and whilst on holiday, I got an email from a guy called Ben saying he was from Riot Games and wondered if I wanted to collaborate on a comic together. I’d become accustomed to the word “collaborate” being synonymous with “free” so I was initially sceptical and didn’t think much of it. Instead turning my attention to the shrimps I was bbqing and jokingly telling my friends that some schmuck wanted to get free work out of me again. However, it began to become more real and eventually I understood that it was going to be a real job. Still freelance, but real. And for one of my favourite companies as well. I became one of 4 artists making web comics for Riot at the time and became pretty good friends with Ben. We made “Olaf Vs Everything” whilst the other horsemen of Ben’s apocalypse made “Crystal Quest”, “Academy Adventures” and “Punches and Plants” with him. It wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but we had fun and did what we could with the limitations of the gig. Season 1 of the comic turned into season 2 and things seemed to be picking up. I was networking and making friends with like-minded artists across the world and suddenly didn’t feel so alone anymore.

I was super lucky to get invited to Riot’s HQ in L.A. along with a bunch of these other artists as part of Riot’s first Art Lab. It was a really crazy time in my life and didn’t quite feel real (sort of still doesn’t). I suddenly felt like I had something to back up my abilities to the friends and family around me and for once wasn’t a huge failure in my chosen field. It was a nice feeling and impostor syndrome definitely went away that week.

That was over a year ago now, which is nuts. But I still know all these guys (and more). They’re a very talented bunch and for the most part, it seems like we’re all watching each other grow and actively try to get our dream jobs. Unlike the majority of artists I met at university, who seemed to only be in it for the qualification and have long since given up pursuing a career as artists. But don’t get me wrong, there were definitely some talented folks who made it work and some who really deserved to but I don’t think have done. Skip forward a bit and I actually started work as a part-time lecturer at my university in 2018, teaching the students taking the same course I did all those years ago. Working with the lecturer who 6/7 years prior had said my portfolio had too many werewolves in it (it’s some sort of running joke). It’s nice to see that they seem to be slightly more thirsty for knowledge than my year group was. The quality of their work is also a better I’d say. More diverse. And every single one of them has a drawing tablet in their first year (most of my year group didn’t get them until 2nd year, some never did).

And now...

I spent the last few months actively sending out applications for concept art jobs again with my portfolio now containing my Artstation King Arthur competition entry in it (which has been helping me out more than I thought it would and you can see here: www.artstation.com/artwork/nQLePX). Side note - do an Artstation challenge if you can, they can be fun, push you and look great in your portfolio/cover letter. I found a job I really really really wanted that was nearby. It ticked all the boxes and almost seemed too good to be true. I did the procedural art test (unpaid of course) and had an interview. Everything felt good. Didn’t get the job. This time seemingly because of not being able to start immediately, despite the fact that all commitments I had had lined up for the next 2 months were completely cancellable. You can’t make this stuff up. So from now on, I will habitually write in capital letters on my cover letters “I CAN START IMMEDIATELY, I DON’T EVEN CARE IF I HAVE TO SLEEP ON THE STREETS IN BETWEEN WORK DAYS UNTIL I CAN FIND ACCOMMODATION, I’LL MAKE SURE I CLEAN MY TEETH BEFORE I COME IN AT THE VERY LEAST” as well as potentially screaming the word “IMMEEEEEDIATELYYYY” at any future interviewers upon hearing a “when can you start” related question. I would advise you to do the same. Well maybe not exactly the same, but y’know, just make sure they know you can start immediately. Bums in seats. Being able to start sooner = more important than being a good fit (sometimes anyway, so take that into consideration).

I’ve mostly spent this past year realising that if I ever want to have a moderately “normal” life (aka having disposable income) then I had to give up doing comics in favour of concept art. I’d already felt that way for a long time, but this year I’ve actively avoided committing to big comic projects because they simply aren’t worth the time and effort in most cases. And to note, I did have a completely separate portfolio of comic page samples I sent out to publishers in an effort to up my game and I got absolutely no where. I’m not trying to dissuade any one else from succeeding where I’ve failed by any means. But you have to be prepared to fail a lot and if you can deal with that then by all means you should try. But for me, I really don’t like the prospect of taking a huge backwards step at this point in life, and by that I mean moving back home where it’s rent-free. Perseverance is an admirable trait. Persevering despite overwhelming odds. And though there is a very big difference between quitting and knowing when to quit, I think artists more so than any other profession don’t really know how to quit. Which is a pretty brave thing in most cases. Meanwhile, with each year that passes I feel like I can relate more and more to episodes of the Simpsons where Bart and Lisa were all grown up and the major difference between the two career-wise. I love (ew grosss) my younger sister, don’t get me wrong (and don’t tell her) but she’s starting to make me look bad ahah.

Next month I’m going to be doing a crash course at Escape Studios in London learning how to model/sculpt and animate a character of my own design in roughly 4 weeks. I’m hoping that broadening my skill set to 3D will increase my employability. It will at the very least mean I can eventually apply to character art jobs and stand a chance. However, after that course I am potentially going to look for part-time/full-time work in an unrelated field of work because I don’t really have a choice.

I will keep looking for the concept art/ character art job out there that I know I’ll be good at. Because I’m in this for the long haul. And if you are as well, then I wish you the very best of luck and hope that something I’ve written here may help you out.

Your hairy neighbourhood friend,

- Tom

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lifeinahole27 · 5 years

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Fic Bits 2018: Part 3

SO. One happy morning, I went to post this from my drafts and my dumb fat finger hit “delete” instead of “queue” and then I got sucked into work forever and ever and ever and never got around to posting part 3 of these. Incredibly delayed but here are the ones that fit into canon or headcanon or canon-adjacent.

Included in this pack:

“Winter Bliss Firsts” - a little look at how Emma and Killian celebrate their first holiday season after the dust from the Black Fairy all settles. Fluff - G.

“In His Own Eyes” - I got a request for whump, which is not something I write. Ever. So this is a bit of reflection. Killian-centric, slight angst? - PG-13.

“A Definite Improvement” - Some Captain Cobra and the evolution of their relationship after life has settled down. Fluff - PG? Sure.

“Winter Bliss Firsts”

With the Black Fairy vanquished and their lives back on track, Emma and Killian soon find a rhythm as they settle into their new partnerships – both as husband and wife, and sheriff and deputy.

Emma’s favorite is when winter finally hits in full force, the Maine weather forecasts getting bleaker by the day, to most.

To Emma, it means that less people will be out trying to cause trouble in their magical little town, which means they aren’t really needed for patrol a majority of the time.

If the Bug won’t even move from the curb, then who else is going to really try to start something out there in the blizzard?

Day after day, they sink into their little haven; they light the fireplace and curl up on the couch, enjoying the peace and solitude when it’s just them, and welcoming Henry into their space when he’s not spending time with Regina.

The greatest thing about all of this is that they never had to figure out custody or a schedule – Henry just drifts between the households, spending time with his mothers and his step-father as if it was the most natural set-up of all.

They’re never grasping for their alone time, and they’re never feeling neglected at their happy Victorian household.

When it’s Christmas time, Emma makes Killian go out to find a live tree for the first time in his life. He and David end up with the job of cutting down and hauling the trees.

Emma and Snow “help” from the sidelines. Henry documents everything with both camera and pen, adding the tale to their storybooks.

Despite the fact that he knows almost nothing of the holiday, Killian easily goes along with the decorating, the baking, the traditions.

He is especially fond of the small cluster of mistletoe she posts above the door, kissing her every chance they get.

Emma enjoys watching him acclimate even further into modern living, still fascinated by the glimpses of Enchanted Forest and pirate that she sees peek out at random times.

But as the winter goes, so does his confusion to a lot of pop culture references.

The Christmas tunes easily get hummed and sung when she’s least expecting him to join in.

But he still throws down doubloons at Granny’s as a form of payment.

(Actually, she’s pretty sure that’s strictly for the reaction he gets from Granny, but he never says one way or the other.)

What she does know is that no matter how cold it gets outside, she always has Killian by her side to keep her warm.

Every once in a while, Emma thinks of the way he told her there’d be no getting rid of him after their wedding day.

And really? She couldn’t be more thankful that he was telling the truth about that.

“In His Own Eyes”

Despite his nature of being a bit of a scoundrel, Captain Hook is getting tired of all the times he’s been tied or chained to items since meeting Emma Swan.

There’s the knife to his throat, shortly followed by being tied to a tree and offered as food to an ogre. It reminds him of being trapped against the mast of his ship when Rumplestiltskin took his hand and his love, and he doesn’t like it one single bit.

She chains him up at the giant’s lair, refusing to believe he could be helping her – to be fair, he’s been waffling at best on whose side he’s on – but still, the nerve.

Then there’s Cora trapping him against the wall of that cave, his own Hook pulling at the fabric on his chest. His insides heave at the thought of this woman, but if she’s his only way to skin a crocodile, then he has to stay on course.

The darkness of his heart and soul consumes him so often that he genuinely doesn’t care if it’s bodily harm or a verbal lashing from any of these supposed heroes. All he knows is that he will have his revenge, even if he has to get hit by a bloody motor vehicle directly after.

Which is a good thing, since that’s exactly what seems to have happened.

When Killian awakes in the hospital, it’s to a chain around his wrist – again – and Emma Swan telling him that his foe is still alive. With magic. And angry.

“If I were to pick dead guy of the year, I’d pick you.”

He supposes, of course, that it wouldn’t be all that terrible to finally be free of this world and to join up with his Milah in the great beyond.

A trip to New York City to kill the Crocodile, and another journey being tied up, followed by another failure.

Time, and time, and time again, he fails and fails and fails. If he could just get his damn revenge and be on with life, it wouldn’t be so bad.

But somewhere in there he begins to believe in living again.

It might have something to do with the unstoppable force that is Emma Swan and her band of happy heroes.

It could be that kiss in Neverland.

It could be that, for the first time since he was under his brother’s command, he wants to do the good thing – the right thing.

And then it all gets taken away from him again, thanks to Pan’s bloody curse, and he’s never going to see her again.

“There’s not a day that will go by that I won’t think of you,” he tells her, just before they depart.

“Good.”

He thought having Milah die in front of him was bad enough, but having his second chance at love ripped away – to know that he has to live his life without her while she lives her life without him – hurts as much as if he’d watched her die, too.

Regardless of what happened in their missing year, all Killian knows is that he did not expect his reunion with Emma to result in injury to his person.

But he supposes even that hurts less than finding out she’s found someone new.

He seems to be destined for heartache and heartbreak, no matter how he tries.

“A Definite Improvement”

There’s a large pit of disappointment in Killian’s stomach when he walks outside with the video game controller and finds that it was all a ruse.

He’s been struggling lately to connect with Henry, and figured it was about time they started bonding. Of course, it all goes much deeper than that.

It’s not until much later that it all gets a little easier with the lad – after the world has quieted down and they aren’t in constant fear for Emma’s life.

Operation Best Man was a success, and after everything that went awry has settled, the ease with which they find harmony is astonishing.

It’s a rainy day several months after he and Emma have been married that Henry comes into the living room and turns on his video game system, and Killian tilts his head a little.

“I did tell you I’d teach you,” Henry says, handing over one of the controllers.

Killian does his best not to look too excited. Emma is out of the house visiting her parents so this is something purely for the benefit of bonding, no secondary alternatives.

After a few attempts at one of the games, however, it’s obvious it’s not going to work.

Killian was correct all that time ago when he said that the games weren’t meant for people like him. He understands what to do, and the storyline, and how he’s supposed to play, but with one less hand, he just can’t push all the buttons he’s supposed to, even if he braces it on his leg and uses his thumb on one side and the rest of his fingers on the other. It’s just no use.

“Why don’t you keep playing, and I’ll just watch?”

The next day, the system disappears from the living room, and Killian looks at the vacant spot sadly, knowing that while he and Henry have plenty to bond over, this is something that just wasn’t meant to be.

Two weeks later, Henry comes barreling down the stairs, flying out the door and down the walkway to meet one of the delivery people. He has no idea how mail gets transferred into a town that isn’t on the map but he knows better than to question such things at this point.

When Henry comes back in, he immediately goes to the kitchen and to the drawer where they hide all their miscellaneous items. He can hear the box cutter being used, and the shuffling of something being removed from a box, but he focuses on the book he’s reading, thinking that Henry has just ordered an item for himself.

He’s not entirely wrong; Henry has purchased what he calls a Wii.

“I used all my allowance and got mom to advance me some for the next month so I could order this,” he explains as he plugs in various items and finds batteries and puts a strange bar beneath their television.

Killian can feel how hard his eyebrows are drawn down in confusion, but Henry looks so excited.

“I’ll explain as we go,” he says, holding out a strange item for Killian to take hold of. “You slide that loop around your wrist and hold the controller like this.”

Killian follows the instructions, waiting as Henry fiddles with something else.

“Okay, we’re gonna make your Mii.”

“My what now?”

“Just look at the screen and press the buttons I tell you to.”

“Henry, this small thing looks nothing like me.”

“It’s not supposed to be a ringer, Killian.”

“There’s no option for facial hair.”

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to live without the constant three day stubble.”

“Says the young man who has three day stubble at present and it’s just a clean face.”

“I can walk away, you know.”

“Fine, fine. Get on with it… Those aren’t my eyes.”

“No, but those are your eyebrows.”

Killian’s eyebrow jumps up at the comment.

“See! There it is!”

“Why do my eyes look like that now?”

“Those are what your eyes look like when you look at my mom.”

“I would bloody hope so, she’s my wife.”

“You just like saying that.”

“Damn right I do. What do I do with this mini-me?”

“It’s just a Mii. And we’re going to play games with him now.”

“We tried this, lad.”

“We tried old school. Now we’re going with motion technology. There’s another part we could use, but we’ll skip the games that use that so you don’t have to be left out.”

He almost cries.

That’s a lie; he does cry. But he wipes it away quickly as Henry is explaining how they’re going to play something called “tennis” and he is awful at it at first but soon he’s catching on.

“Wait wait, pause the game,” he tells Henry after no more than twenty minutes of game play.

He shuffles the strap off his wrist and sprints upstairs, flinging off vest and button-up shirt as he goes, finding one of the t-shirts he normally reserves for sleeping in during cold nights.

When Emma arrives home from work, he and Henry have both soaked through their shirts and have exhausted their games list.

“Should… should I even ask?”

Both of them shake their heads, too tired to even try speaking as they lie on the pieces of furniture closes to them.

She comes back after she sets down her keys and hangs up her jacket, handing them each a tall glass of water and grabbing one of the remotes off the coffee table.

“I’ll take on whoever recovers first. Loser makes dinner tonight,” she states matter-of-factly. Her shoes are off, she’s back in leggings and a t-shirt, and her hair is tied up. Killian idly wonders when she managed to change when he swears she was only home for seconds before she brought them water.

Then he looks across at Henry, and Henry looks back at him, and they’re both scrambling from their prone positions trying to grab for the remote because that’s a challenge they’re willing to take on.

(They both end up making dinner, because they both lose to Emma despite their very best efforts and hours of practice.)

(“Beginner’s luck,” Emma says, her smile saying otherwise as she sits on the counter and watches them work side-by-side.)

(Killian wouldn’t have it any other way.)

#captain swan ff #cs ff #captain swan #captain cobra #sarah writes ff #killian jones #emma swan #henry mills #fic bits 2018

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