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mrcleanheichou · 2 years

Text

Wolves are (NOT) Scary Chapter 8

Pairing: Werewolf!BTS X Female human reader

Genre: Fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: None

Word count: 1,328

Summary: All Y/N wants to do is find her creativity and motivation but she finds 7 werewolves instead.

Author note: So here’s where the plot is finally gonna start picking up. My werewolves come in unnatural wolf coat colors because why not?

Taglist: @dustyinkpages @thickemadame @moonlitehunter @thedarkwinterrose @momoriki @iistrangers @openup-yourmind @sinceritythatcouldntbedelivered @lovelyseokjinnie @scuzmunkie @bjoriis @maddypool31 @tfkp0p @blubearxy @stealth-liberal

Chapter 7 // Chapter 8 // Chapter 9

Present Day

It has been complete radio silence for the past week. You’ve tried calling all of your mates multiple times a day and not a single one have answered their phones. Now every time you try you get sent straight to voicemail, which, makes you think they’ve blocked both yours and Jungkook’s numbers. It makes absolutely no sense to you that they’re ignoring you both like this. Yes this was a messy situation but you thought your bond was stronger than this. How could they abandon you like this?

You’ve tried to go the bakery but Yuna refuses to let you leave. Ryujin ended up going to see if they were there after you pleaded with her to do it. She found that it had a sign that said ‘Closed for Renovations’. Which you know is a bullshit lie.

As the days passed you were growing more and more agitated meanwhile Jungkook completely closed in on himself. He could still feel all of the emotions through the mate bond and it was eating away at him. He was falling into a dark head space and he rarely spoke or ate. Ryujin tried many tactics to try to get any sort of emotion out of him, but it all failed. No matter how much she insulted him to get him angry or tried to cheer him up he just stared down blankly. His normally big bright expressive doe eyes were now empty and lifeless.

Yuna ordered him clothes from Amazon Prime and was able to get him to at least wear some comfortable sweats. The witch and her familiar have shown you nothing but kindness during this whole situation. You are forever in debt to them. Without their support you don’t know where you’d be right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today had again been full of failed attempts of getting a hold of anyone. You even started using Ryujin’s phone but that was quickly blocked too after you let a voicemail on Jin’s phone begging him to talk to you.

It was around 10 am when there was a knock on the shop door. Which was weird because no one ever knocked during business hours, they just entered. Ryujin who was laying with her belly up on the window sill in all her cat form’s glory was the only one able to hear it. She trotted down the of the stairs before transforming and opening the door. She instantly had a bad vibe from the three people standing on the porch. Her large cat ears pressed flat to her head and her tail swished in uneasiness. The smell of wolf rolled off of them in waves to the point it was starting to give her a headache.

In front of her stood a beautiful woman that looked to be in her late twenties to early thirties who gave off an authoritative vibe. She was wearing a white pantsuit with a blood red shirt under her blazer and black boots. Behind her stood two buff men that wore black suits, sunglasses and those radio ear pieces you always see secret service men wear.

“Why hello there kitty,” the woman said with an obvious fake smile. “Is your master home?”

“Who’s asking?” Yuna says gently pushing Ryujin away from the door.

The woman didn’t answer she just handed her a small envelope that she pulled out from a pocket on the inside of her blazer. All the color drained from Yuna’s face as she turned the black envelope over. There was a gold wax seal stamped with an image of a snarling wolf.

“You couldn’t possibly have thought we wouldn’t figure out your little secret someday.” The woman said mockingly. Yuna just stared at the seal while shaking from head to toe. Ryujin just gave her worried looks, not putting two and two together yet. “Don’t worry. I’m not here for you, I’m taking the the human and the kid.”

The two men behind the woman walked through the door and headed up stairs. They found you and Jungkook sitting at the dining table.

“W-who are you?” You asked surprised by the appearance of two scary looking men in the middle of Yuna’s kitchen. They looked like they walked out of the ‘Men in Black’ movie.

Neither of the men answered you as the one standing on the right pulled out a piece of paper that was folded and started to read it almost like a script.

“L/N Y/N and Jeon Jungkook,” the man stopped and looked at you to make sure you both were paying attention. You looked at Jungkook and noticed that he was finally not looking down. His attention was a hundred percent on the man. You could feel the anxiety rolling off of him in waves as if he knows something you don’t know. “By decree of the Royal pack of the Lunar Goddess, this is a summons to appear for an unmating trial.”

“A WHAT?!” You shout in disbelief, Jungkook just burst out sobbing. He knew what the men were here for the minute they walked in the kitchen.

“By request of Alpha Kim Namjoon, you are to stand trial in front of the congress of Alphas to see whether or not the removal of your mating marks and subsequent banishment from your current pack is warranted. Failure to appear will result in mandatory prison time.” The man finished reading giving you a sympathetic look.

“NO! NO! You’re lying! Namjoon wouldn’t do this! He loves us!” You started hyperventilating not fully understanding how Namjoon could actually go forward with kicking not only Jungkook out but you as well. You didn’t do anything!

“Obviously not.” The second man snickered earning a glare from his companion. “You can either come with us willingly or we drag you out.”

3 years ago

You didn’t notice how long you had been sitting and talking with Yuna and Ryujin. You checked your phone and saw it was 12 pm. “Oh wow, it’s already noon. I better head home.”

“Oh honey you can stay for lunch if you’d like. Ryujinnie is quite the chef.”

The mentioned girl looked bashful and muttered “I’m not that good.”

“Thank you so much for the offer but I really need to get going.”

“Aww that’s too bad,” Yuna pouted. She got up taking the teapot and mugs on a tray back into the shop.

You stood up gathering your things when you hear Ryujin shout “If you don’t have my cupcakes get out of here!”

Bewildered you look at her and then in then behind you. There was a tan almost blonde colored dog sitting at the bottom of the steps looking up at you. It had a black snout and black ears that flopped over at the very tip making it look a little goofy. It looked to be almost the same size that Tae was, Maybe a little bit bigger.

“Oh hi puppy,” You smile and move to go down the stairs and pet him.

“Don’t touch that mutt, he’s a stray.” The woman growled out. The dog turned his attention and raised his lip at her. That made you jump a little. “See what I mean?”

Almost immediately it lowered his ears whining at you and giving you ‘puppy dog eyes.’ You were still a little nervous so you just walked around it and headed down the street back to where you had parked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Light flashed in front of the small shop and a very annoyed looking man stood where the dog had previously. “Why did you do that?”

“It’s not my fault you’re a rabid beast.” Taking her hat off and rubbing her poor ears that were sore from being pressed down. “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be baking right now.”

The man turned turned around and was engulfed in another flash of light. The dog was back and he trotted to where he was supposed to be all morning.

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alyssadeliv · 3 years

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The Forgotten One

First Previous

Chapter 5

Ladybug and Chat Noir made their debut on a sunny Monday of September. Just as her master had feared that intense energy they felt was only the beginning. Hawkmoth started his reign of terror, releasing his akumas on unsuspecting civilians, using their strong negative emotions, and creating his champions. It was a vile move, attacking someone when they were vulnerable. But Marianne had to admit that he was good. She was trained to do exactly the same thing, to manipulate and exploit someone’s weakness, but at least she had the decency to never use her abilities for personal gain unless extremely necessary. She was a soldier, everything she did was by the order of someone. Her whole training so far had been preparing her for this moment.

So when Stonehart appeared, she was ready.

She knew everything she needed to do, she had been trained since birth for this. Her Master was confident that she had what it took to take down these akumatized people, and allied with the one he had chosen to wield the Cat Miraculous they would be unstoppable. He didn’t tell her the identity of the person he has chosen, but she knew he wouldn’t. For safety reasons, only the Grand Guardian would know the identities of the wielders. But she didn’t need to know his identity in order to work with him.

Chat Noir surprised her a lot. She knew he couldn’t possibly have the same training she had, but he still knew how to fight. He’s trained in fencing from what she can tell by his style of fighting, and he’s very good. After some time they became the perfect duo, always in synchrony and ready for anything. It’s nice to have someone on her side, in the League she mostly acted alone, so having someone that had her back full time was new.

It took two years to defeat Hawkmoth. In those two years that she lived in Paris, a lot changed. First was her name. In order to live completely off the radar of the League, she needed a new name. They had lost contact with the League after the attack, so they never discovered what exactly happened, or who won in the end. She was glad the Mayor of Paris decided that it would be better to ban any rumors of a supervillain in the city from the outside world, fearing that that would cause the tourism to diminish. That allowed her some security, but one could never be too careful, the League was known to have spies everywhere. So she changed her name. In the documents that her godmother forged, she was called Marinette Dupain but preferred to be called Mari because that was closer to her real name. Daughter of a kind baker and his traveler wife, her backstory was that she spent most of her childhood traveling the world with her mother, but now her parents decided that it would be good for her to stay in the same place for more time. She would be homeschooled by Sabine, which was enough for social security to allow her to be kept from attending school. It was kind of funny that she lived so close to a school but didn’t study there.

Another thing that changed was that for the first time she had people she could rely on. Before it was only Damian. He was the only one that she ever told about her fears and insecurities, confiding in him was something she missed in those years apart. They were very close before the attack, and after two long years of thinking she was dead, she wasn’t sure what would happen when they finally reunited. But she hoped it would go well.

When she first transformed, she felt invincible. It was something she would never forget, feeling that kind of power was memorable. It was normal for the suit to incorporate traits of your personality, but it still was a surprise when she saw herself as Ladybug for the first time. She wore a black skin-tight suit that covered her entire body from the neck down, in her torso making the illusion a corset, a part of the suit was red with black spots. She also had boots and a jacket to complement her look, also in red with dots. Her hair tied back in a ponytail was rather practical and allowed her better motion. On her right leg strapped to her tight was a knife holster with a small dagger that served for surprise attacks, her specialty. Around her waist was where she tied her yoyo when she wasn’t using it. To conceal her identity, she wore a domino mask also in red.

In the beginning, she wanted to use another name for her superheroine self, one that paid tribute to her Arabic roots, but Master Fu thought it better to go with a more generic name, that way it would be harder to obtain any type of information about her. In the end, she relented and went with Ladybug.

When Ladybug and Chat Noir first appeared, most of Paris newspapers and tabloids started to question the origin of their superheroes. Some believe them to be aliens, which her Master thought hilarious. Others were certain they were metahumans, born with their powers, and their Miraculous just served as an amplifier, and Hawkmoth wanted all Miraculous to increase his power to the maximum level, in Mari’s case they were partially right about the part of the powers. The one that came closer to the truth was the writer of the Ladyblog, the amount of research she had was impressive for someone so young. She discovered that the Miraculous were older than they thought, dating back all the way to the ancient Egyptian Empire, other than that she was way off. She had this theory that the Miraculous holders were a group of immortal entities that always appeared in ties of need, but recently one of them must have gone bad, tired of centuries in hiding, and the others are trying to defeat them and restore peace. It was a good theory that had some truth behind it, but still very exaggerated. It didn’t help that Ladybug was obviously experienced and that only served to fund this theory even more.

It became a game for Ladybug and Chat Noir to find the funniest theories and share them during patrol. Chat was really good in that, normally he just asked one of his friends what they thought. Mari, not having friends to ask just bought stuff the media printed. These kinds of games helped them relax a little after a tiring battle.

After two years of fighting evil forces, it was impossible for the two superheroes not to be close. Their kind of relationship always reminded Mari of her brother, and she often felt guilty for not being able to reach him. But that only motivated her more in defeating Hawkmoth. Only then she would be able to leave Paris.

Living in Paris was nice, for the first time in her life she created a routine for herself. She had training with Master Fu in the mornings and she helped at the bakery during the afternoons. Every other day there would be an Akuma attack and she would step into her role as Ladybug. Other than that her life became pretty calm compared to what it was at the League. She even got the time to explore her creative side, drawing and sewing became her favorite hobbies.

But nothing ever stays the same for long, not for her.

It was about one year and a half after the attack on the League, just as her Master was getting close to discovering the exact location of origin of the source of evil energy. They knew the owner of the Butterfly Miraculous knew how to read energies, being that what alerted him of the Ladybug Miraculous being activated after Mari was brought back from the dead, but they weren’t expecting him to be able to track them. Her Master energy was easier to locate, even with him being the Grand Guardian, because of his old age.

To this day she wasn’t sure what exactly happened, only that one afternoon she felt as if the energy around shifted and became unbearable. Fearing the worst she went to her Master in search of guidance, but when she was nearing his house she saw him. Hawkmoth in the flesh. Around him were five Akumas previously defeated.

He was at a rooftop engaging Master Fu, who at the time had already transformed with the Turtle Miraculous, in a heated duel. At the side was Mayura, trying to reach the Miraculous Box that was secured inside a green dome. Not wasting one minute she transformed in a nearby alley and went into action attacking the Peacock wielder. She was ruthless in her blows, never leaving space for the other woman to attack. Chat Noir arrived a couple of minutes later and went for the akumatized people, but at that point it was already too late. Master Fu knew that would be his last day on earth, he didn't have the strength to fight and maintain the Box inside the safety dome, so he did the only thing he thought possible. He relinquished his position as the Grand Guardian of The Miraculous to Ladybug.

The box immediately disappeared from the dome and appeared in Mari’s arms. Without wasting a second she used her hidden weapon and stabbed her opponent in the thigh in order to subdue her. Her cries of pain were enough to attract Hawkmoth's attention from Chat Noir, with whom he had just engaged in battle. He immediately went to comfort his partner, using his champions as a barricade to protect them. He escaped. Or rather Mari let him escape. Because she couldn't stop looking at her Master’s body. He was dead. Died protecting the Miraculous. Inside her she felt some piece of her break. Death wasn’t new for her, but it felt surreal to believe the man that saw her grow and taught her almost everything she knew was dead. But there was no time to mourn, a soldier only mourned after the war, and this war was far from being over. But at that moment, looking at the lifeless body of her Master she made a vow to herself.

She would not rest until Hawkmoth perished.

And she would make sure that before he did, it hurt

Another fresh capther for all of you. To be honest I had planned this chapter to be compleatly different, but I was inspired and just lost myself, and when I realised I couldn’t finish this chapter anyother way. Hope you all liked it! Fell free to leave a comment with your theories of what’s going to happen next! (Also, the taglist still open)

WARNING: Major character death; description o violence.

Ladybug suit was inspired by this drawing from Eden Daphne

Taglist: @macncheesemonster @jumpingjoy82 @silversaphire12 @jinx-jade @swiftie-miraculer13 @greatcatblaze @megaafangirl @ramos123 @theamityislife @maskedpainter @toodaloo-kangaroo @nyx-in-line @ketchupqueenboiiii @blackroserelina @lozzybowe @user00000003 @kashlyn @msshadows97 @ira-sairain @stackofrandomstuff @myazael @frieddonutsweets @asrainterstellar @our-preciousss @laurcad123 @nyaabinch @rverfades @thefangirlwholiterallydies @astoriaandromeda @unnamed2357 @little-lady-bird @imdaqueenie @meismu @dorkus-minimus @a4-machete @arty-shadow-morningstar @catthhay @sizzling-fairy-oil @poodapup @charme-de-malchan @jayjayspixiepop @fusser90 @adrestar @iloontjeboontje @buginetye @macncheesemonster

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wordupcomics · 3 years

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I wonder how Tobey changed from being a villain to having a relationship with Becky?

Oo I am so glad you asked this anon because I've actually been dying to get into this.

Quick note, I'm not going to be getting too specific on certain events because I'm planning on showing many of them eventually, several in the upcoming story "Everything Changes."

First of all, it's important to note that the question shouldn't so much be "how Tobey went from being a villain to being in a relationship with Becky," it's more of a question of "how Tobey went from bad to good." Becky and Tobey are in a relationship because Becky saw Tobey grow into a better person. Like I realize this is probably what you meant, but I still think it's an important distinction. Tobey didn't go good to be with Becky or WordGirl, he didn't grow as a person so he could be in a relationship or win someone over.

His journey started with making the choice. He had two key moments of making that choice. The first one was after he started to realize the damage he was doing to people, and not just in the sense that he inconvenienced their day or destroyed their property. He started to see how his actions could have a lasting effect, especially on people he cared about (his mom). In this moment, he decided to try to be good. Basically, just test it out, and see if he could do it. In this time he was pretty good about not going on robot rampages, and trying to control himself. But if the wrong thing had happened in this time, he probably would have snapped and quit. The second moment of choice happened months to a year later. Again, I plan to show this in Everything Changes, so I won't get too specific, but basically, Tobey was put into the position where he had to officially make the choice, no more "testing the waters," he either needed to decide to be all in or not. And I gotta say I'm excited to show you guys that moment.

After making the choice it was a matter of, how could he keep making that choice—every day—for the rest of his life. Things like finding other outlets helped, he started building robots for other purposes and finding different ways to express his anger and manage it a little better. But the biggest help he had was from people around him. Partly because they would help him think of better outlets for his previous habits, but also just having people he could go to and be with. So let's dive into some of these important people, shall we?

Family

His mother—it probably doesn't come as too much of a shock that his mother played a big role in all this. She was one of the major reasons he gave up being a villain and was a key person he could go to when things got hard. She was obviously very supportive of the decision and did whatever she reasonably could to help Tobey quit villainy cold turkey. Even when there was nothing she could do to help him, she was still a good person for him to talk out his emotions with. Who in the world would understand Tobey better than his mother after all.

His stepfather—while his stepfather, and by extension stepsister, didn't come into the picture until a few years after he had quit, he still was pretty helpful when it came to staying good. Tobey's stepfather, Alexander, was a psychologist, and therefore could see what would often spark Tobey's desire for destruction, so when Tobey asked for advice, Alexander had some good potential solutions. The key was that he only gave advice when Tobey asked, Alexander was very good about not overstepping with Tobey, and another benefit of him being a psychologist is it was easier for him to know when to give Tobey some space, and when to say "I'm here if you need anything." He also was a good male role model for Tobey, which the by then teen certainly needed.

His step-sister—Tobey and his stepsister, Charlette (who's name I can't seem to decide on how to spell so please excuse all inconsistencies while I figure that out XD) have a huge age difference, with Charlette being younger by about a decade. Tobey was very nervous when he met her, and once they developed a bond, he became a bit protective of her, something we'll see a bit of in the story "Know Me Not." She was good motivation for him to stay good because he really cared about her, and because she was so much younger, she never really got the chance to see Tobey's crimes, and Tobey wanted to keep it that way. He didn't like the idea of her even knowing that side of him existed, let alone her actually seeing that side of him.

Friends

Because Tobey actually kinda helped Becky get over a major hump in regards to grieving about Bob's sudden disappearance ("I'll let you vent to me about your problem that I don't care about if you let me vent to you about my problem that you don't care about"), Scoops and especially Violet immediately adopted him into their friend group. He helped their friend, during the most painful moment of her life, he was now one of them, whether he liked it or not. Becky was a little hesitant about this with Tobey still being a villain but didn't really fight the decision because she saw where her friends were coming from and did think Tobey had the capability to change. The four ended up being a very close group of friends that still are close to this day, even being the godparents to each others' kids. Because they were so close, they each played a role in helping Tobey stay off villainy.

Becky—Becky was the friend that wouldn't let Tobey get away with anything. If Becky had any problem with Tobey's words or behavior, she called him out on it. Scoops and Violet wouldn't do this, they were more inclined to shrug things off and just say "Oh that's just Tobey being Tobey" and would really only, politely, call him out if he really went out of line. Becky on the other hand called him out for almost everything and was always very blunt about it. Something that Tobey needed, and quite honestly appreciated. There was a time when Becky would cut Tobey some slack for super trivial things, but at one point, Tobey learned that his friends were holding back on calling him out for things, and got very upset. He didn't see how he could become a better person if his friends let him get off scot-free for things he shouldn't be doing. After this, Scoops and Violet called him out more, still very politely, but they could never quite get the guts to say anything when it was trivial. But after this, Becky would even call him out and be blunt about the trivial stuff. He said he didn't want to be off the hook for anything, and boy did Becky listen. And she still follows this rule, and it's something that Tobey really appreciates.

Violet—Violet was actually a pretty good friend to go to when Tobey was mad, partly because he found it pretty much impossible to be mad around Violet. She was too innocent, he couldn't bring himself to show his worst colors when she was around. Tobey is also very pessimistic while Violet is very optimistic, so she was also good to go to in that regard. Violet almost always had a very different perspective to offer Tobey in any situation, no matter how hopeless or negative it seemed to Tobey.

Scoops—I love the friendship dynamic I have between Tobey and Scoops so much. Scoops was the friend that Tobey most often did his "alternate" activities with. Tobey has the urge to go on a destructive rampage? Scoops is finding cans and crap and setting them up for Tobey to take a mini robot to crush. Tobey wants to build a robot but has no inspiration for what to make them for besides crushing buildings? Scoops has a wild and creative brain with ideas. One of their most common activities was video games. Video games were great for Tobey, he could pick violent ones and let out all his anger in a virtual setting with no real-world repercussions. And video games were an activity that Tobey could really only do with Scoops. Violet didn't like most of the games Tobey went for, and Becky was too competitive, something that was not good when Tobey was using them as an outlet for his anger. Scoops however was not competitive, he was just happy to be spending time with his friend. These two became video game enthusiasts and were always very excited when a new game was coming out, and would always buy it as soon as they could and have a sleepover and be up crazy late playing it. They still as adults get together from time to time to play video games, though now it's often family-friendly games so their kids can join the fun too.

The AVA

I've mentioned the Anti-Villain Association before, it's a group founded by Tobey and Dr. Two Brains, meant to be a support group for former villains and criminals trying to be better people. After Tobey officially announced he was giving up villainy, other villains were inspired by Tobey's actions and slowly over the years followed in his footsteps. When Tobey was a teen, after he, Two Brains, Chuck, Butcher, and Granny May had all given up crime, Tobey and his friends would often hang out and eat at Chuck and Butcher's sandwich food truck, which would later become a full-blown restaurant. One day Tobey met his friends there to ask for their advice on something, something he found very hard to deal with because of his past as a villain. About the time they were having this conversation, Two Brains stopped by the food truck to order a grilled cheese, and he, Chuck, and Butcher watched the teens' conversation as it got more and more intense from Tobey's side, eventually ending with Tobey getting frustrated saying "You guys don't understand because you were never villains!" and having to leave to cool off. After Tobey stormed off, Chuck and Butcher noted that while they did each have support, Tobey had a point that sometimes it was hard getting advice from someone who had never been a villain and therefore could never understand where they were coming from. Two Brains didn't really have this problem, since he had his henchmen who had stopped being villains with him, but he could see where the others were coming from. Two Brains then took his sandwich and chased after Tobey, and presented him with the idea that would eventually become the AVA. Two Brains wanted Tobey involved because Tobey inspired all this, he should have the right to help create a group to help other reformed villains in their journey if he wanted to. Tobey agreed and the two created, and both still run the AVA. It was and still is very helpful for all the former villains to work out their issues and talk about things that are often triggering for them, and even get advice if other villains have been in similar situations or have some good ideas.

All these things have helped, and still, continue to help Tobey not go back to villainy. He worked hard to grow, he even took the time to formally apologize to the city for his actions, and do things to help the city to make up for his actions. He went through many moments where he had to stop himself from snapping and potentially just throwing everything he'd worked for away. He's good now, but he's still growing, he still has anger management issues that will get unleashed if something is particularly emotional for him, something you'll see in the next batch for Return to Fair City. But now he still has all those systems in place and people to help him and bonus: now he has even more people in his life to help him. His in-laws are more people he's close to and can go to. He has more motivation than he ever has to stay good for Theo and Julie. And not just his own children, but also for his goddaughter (Daisy, Scoops, and Violet's daughter), his niece (Emma, Tj and Johnson's daughter), and his nephew (his step sister's newborn son, who I think I named Wyatt...I should probably know that huh?...)

Thank you for the question! It was so fun to answer! I hope you enjoyed this summary of Tobey's journey from a villain to a good person!

#wordgirl #word up #tobey mccallister #becky botsford #becky botsford mccallister #Violet Heaslip #violet heaslip ming #scoops ming #todd scoops ming #claire mccallister

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uwua3 · 4 years

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hi! first off, congrats on the new blog!! i read that misumi piece and i really enjoyed it hehe,, if it's alright, may i request some domestic fluff with kazunari? mayb looking over old photo albums of each other from when they were kids and laughing and telling stories about what happened in the photos? thank you very much and i hope u have a nice day :D

hi!!! this made me so happy 🥺 thank you so much, i hope to keep this blog running for a long time! also, i saw your reblog of my jealousy hcs and i wanted to say thank you for your sweet comments!!! i go back to it whenever i need motivation, you inspire me to keep writing ♡ thank you! i hope to continue making you proud as a writer :D <3

summary: kazunari had to stop living in the past and make new memories outside of his yearbooks with you

author’s note: this is definitely a much happier piece than my others! this was refreshing to write and i treasure it dearly, it’s definitely much more on the humorous side! no angst today, folks!!! (ok just a little, but it’s barely noticeable!)

this is just a little look into a hoarder named kazunari and his sentimental, nostalgic personality ♡ i, myself, am a marie kondo supporter so i love decluttering! if you are a hoarder like kazunari, honestly go you! you keep those knick knacks that remind you of memories! do whatever makes you the happiest :D

word count: 2,151

music: make you mine – public, tongue tied – grouplove (this song is so Kazunari !!!)

nostalgia.

🌻🎨 miyoshi kazunari

it was that time of year again

kazunari hated spring cleaning with a passion. so what if his art supplies were all over the dorms? he knew where everything was! uh, mostly...

(if you ignore his daily panicked house searches which kept everyone up way too late if he couldn’t locate a very specific paint shade for a big project he definitely procrastinated)

so, it took, so much bribery to get kazunari to even consider cleaning out his entire dorm room

(muku was a very Good Boy and already had his side of the room perfectly dusted and organized)

yes, you had to promise to pose as a model for one of his paintings one day (hopefully, not the type of class you were thinking) (kazunari’s suggestive wink didn’t help)

the thing about kazunari was he was somewhat of a, putting it politely, hoarder

as an extremely sentimental person, it would take the whole mankai company to even force him to throw something away

(“no! it has a special meaning to me! i remember what happened when i got this~” kazunari would whine, holding the useless item between his hands with no intentions to ever look at it again)

so the boys employed you to be kazunari’s rational judgement when cleaning that day

(“please actually make him do something.” sakyo looked like he was on the border of begging; kazunari’s abundance of random knick knacks and shopaholic addiction problem was becoming an issue that affected everyone)

rule #1 of cleaning kazunari’s storage room: don’t open anything because kazunari will become very sentimental and nothing will get gone

so therefore, as a team, you two tackled the rather spotless room. the interior was minimal and modern, just like kazunari liked it with pops of color here and there

(he had one blank white wall and you realized it was the backdrop he used to film all his social media posts [dancing tik toks, fashion #ootds on instagram, daily vlogs on his growing youtube channel])

at first, you were confused where all his stuff went until you opened a closet against his terrible and unconvincing distractions

without time to react, you found yourself buried in tens of books you couldn’t even fathom how it all fit

(“i’ve played way too much tetris.” kazunari would admit later on when asked about his immaculate stacking)

“you’ve got to be kidding me!” you groaned, pushing your head above the surface of book covers that have either never been opened or were way too old to even be functionable

“i’m sorry~ please, forgive me!” kazunari pleaded, immediately pulling you out of his own mess and using all his cuteness to make you roll your eyes fondly at your best friend

you almost started ranting at him about the dangers of taking up too much closet space with useless items before you realized:

wait! stop! he’s trying to get you to forget about throwing these books out! you thought suddenly, crossing your arms as you stared at the pile, trying to figure out how to approach the situation

“you cannot distract me. we are going through this mound and you will be getting rid of something today.” you ordered, seeing his shoulders drop in defeat as he nodded solemnly, but accepting his fate without any arguments. thank god for that

you two bent down and organized all the books into categories. popular photography instruction guides, creative advice columns, and all his past art textbooks kazunari couldn’t sell were put into a seperate group because luckily, they were relevant to his art school

things like old newspapers with funny comics were recycled (you refused to let kazunari read them in fear of invoking some form of nostalgia) (also because he had the whackiest sense of humor ever and would die laughing)

it was going well, until you reached the thickest photo books of them all (you had almost forgotten what you and kazunari’s school mascot was)

but unsurprisingly, kazunari had every single yearbook from each year of his education all the way until his last year in high school piled high to his chest

even he looked somewhat shocked from his mass accumulation from his teen years

“ah! i’m so old now~ look at all this! what else can i do except die?!” kazunari dramatically flopped onto his bed, tired of lifting so much weight. hey! his arms weren’t meant for exercise, he was a painter!

lifting his head to see you were distracted from alphabetically sorting the first section lovingly dubbed, “art shit”, kazunari mischeviously grinned as he leaned down to snatch a random yearbook

flipping to a random page, kazunari smiled as he realized it was the first time he ever met you back in elementary

kazunari sang your name as he sat upwards, having a shit–eating look on his face as he started swinging his legs back and forth

oh no, he was up to something no good, you knew it but humored him anyways

“yes, kazu?” you turned your line of sight to the most horrible picture possible: you with the ugliest haircut in the entire world with kazunari’s black hair taking up the entire photo as you two sheepishly smiled for the camera. it was not a proud moment

okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad, you just couldn’t help but shriek at the sight of your hair

“oh my god! you can’t just jumpscare me like that!” you laughed despite yourself. you knew you had to be serious and focused on decluttering, but one look at your past made you remember all the good times before so–called “adulthood”

“look at your hair!” you cackled, reaching up to playfully yank at his mullet as he yelped and lightly smacked your hand away. rubbing the back of his neck, kazunari huffed childishly and pouted like he was back in his youth

“come on! this was the pinnacle moment i realized, i should not be a hair dresser.” kazunari commented, making you remember how you just let a random 8–year–old boy waddle up to you with safety scissors and advertise his salon business like a professional

(yes, you bought into it right away. your teacher had a heart attack when she saw you with a majority of your hair on the floor and kazunari keeping small talk like an actual hair stylist)

thinking back after the haircut incident, you weren’t allowed to chat with the funny class clown anymore as you were forced to wear a hat every day

(it was either that or go completely bald to fix the job kazunari did to your head)

it wasn’t until you received a very creative and colorful apology letter with tons of sad faces drawn with waxy crayons that you snuck out to play with him on the swings in recess

“i can’t believe we became friends because i wanted free hair cuts for the rest of my life.” you added, staring at the picture with a sense of nostalgia. you kinda got where kazunari was coming from, memories were fun to look at every once and a while

at least, eleven years worth of memories after being inseperable from that moment forward

(maybe, you should’ve held onto it, you thought, not knowing that would be the first of many art pieces you would be gifted by him)

kazunari knew he won. excited, he dropped down to lay on his stomach as you leaned against the bed, watching as he thumbed through the pages with ease, leaning his head on yours comfortably

it was rare to find kazunari quiet, he must’ve been like this all the time when going through his stuff, you thought, at peace for once

lazily smiling, kazunari put his finger against your yearbook pictures as he reminisced on the past. something about everyone ever in your grade, how kazunari knew everyone and had a special memory with each person, no matter how big or small

“—and here, the teacher somehow caught a pic of us swinging wayyy too high for kids our age!” kazunari laughed, breaking your train of thought as you snickered at the absolute joy radiating from both your faces as you two competed to see who could reach the clouds

(kazu won. you fell off right after and had to get picked up from your parents after badly scraping your knee. it took another sorry letter and art of you two holding hands with a heart for your parents to forgive kazunari)

“let’s go back.” you interrupted him, making him sit up confused as you swung your keys out from your back pocket. it didn’t take any convincing for kazunari to nod right away and took the elementary yearbook into his arm

you two only had to exchange a secret look before formulating a plan to sneak out, leaving music on from kazunari’s speakers to act like kazunari was still cleaning

you two giggled amongst yourselves before clambering into your car, speeding off and laughing loudly from your successful getaway. the manager was none the wiser!

during the short car ride, you and kazunari played your favorite mixtape of all time

(“you kept this?!” kazunari yelled, giddily bouncing up and down from excitement when he discovered the mixtape stash)

he slipped the disc in as you two yelled along to childhood favorites with the windows rolled down, letting the entire neighborhood know the best duo were back in town

(seriously, there were so many you stashed away in your glove department. all labeled in sharpie with compelling titles connected to the inside jokes only you two found funny)

arriving at the destination, you two exited the vehicle to see the play pen was abandoned as the teaching staff went home for the day

the sun was setting and it felt like the playground was in another rift of time as you approached it, hearing the weak movement of the swings going back and forth on their own. you sat down, holding onto the chains. you hadn’t been back ever since you graduated. it hadn’t changed at all

kazunari opened the elementary yearbook back to the original page, pulling out his tripod and phone he always had on hand in his backpack as he set it up right across the swing set

“what are you doing?” you inquired, tilting your head as he fumbled around pressing different buttons and filters too complex for you to remember

looking up, kazunari grinned as he set a timer for 10 seconds before sprinting back to the swing next to you

“swing contest right now! i bet i could swing higher than you ever could!” kazunari challenged childishly, quickly kicking his legs for the momentum. you narrowed your eyes, refusing to lose as you two laughed over the sound of his phone taking a burst of photos

you realized what he was doing. he was re–creating your memories together

but you turned to look at him and your heart skipped a beat. you never remembered him looking this, different, in the purple lighting. for a flashing moment, you swore you saw the silhoutte of his black–haired, child self sit next to you before you blinked and saw him. kazunari was the same, just older now

you slowed down your swing by dragging your sneakers against the wood chipped ground. you grabbed both the swings’ chains to hold them together

you didn’t want to live in the past anymore. you wanted to grow up with him, too

“what—” kazunari started, matching your pace before being cut off by your lips against his, the phone going off for one last time

you pulled yourself in close enough just to smile. he smelled the exact same as he did when he discovered cologne for the first time. he never changed

you pulled away first even if he tried leaning forward for more, like he was waiting all these years just for that one moment. like he saw you in the same light, too

“i wanted to do that for years.” you confessed, watching as he took your hand carefully, like he was afraid you were going to leave. for once, he didn’t know what to do, which face to show

“me too...” kazunari agreed, seemingly speechless before straightening his back, like he was about to run away. the hair on your neck stood up, what was he about to do?

“i promise i won’t cut your hair anymore, unless?” kazunari winked dramatically, mimicking the shape of scissors with his fingers as he tried snipping at your hair

he laughed as you shoved him with all your might, hopping off the swing to chase him throughout the school parking lot

now this was a memory kazunari would never throw away, no matter what

(no one thought the two of you escaped until kazunari posted the pics on his instagram, both of you getting a scolding from sakyo this time)

(busted!)

#miyoshi kazunari #kazunari miyoshi #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #kazunari x reader #a3! kazunari #a3 kazunari

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fmdminaharchive · 3 years

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❧ can’t i spit out my heart?

date(s): mid/late july 2021 mentions of: n/a word count: 1440 words (783 words without lyrics on songwriting, 572 words on composition) warnings: n/a details: full lyrics and partial compostion verification for ‘whoo’ off of minah’s upcoming album. minah sets out to write a song to comfort herself and tell her to keep her chin up and somehow... she horribly derails from that. it turns a lot more introspective than that, shining light on parts of herself she’s not exactly proud of and exploring why exactly she wants to write songs to comfort everyone in the world (including herself) so bad.

at the point she wrote ‘whoo’, the album had already significantly begun to take shape, most songs either already written and confirmed or their concepts mapped out.

‘where the wind blows’ would cover a much broader range of topics than she previously had been able to explore at once, a little bit of everything, love, heartache, friends, family, self-perception, sexuality, the pursuit of happiness, it had everything.

almost everything.

bc was very fond of using the image of comfort artist on her, healing ballads delivered by an idol to lean on, to put your trust and faith in.

after comforting everyone else with her songs, telling her fans they would be okay, her girlfriend that she loved her, her siblings that it was okay to catch their breaths, wasn’t it about time she wrote herself a song as well? didn’t she deserve to be comforted for a bit as well?

as it turned out, minah was very bad at telling herself that.

almost immediately into attempting to write a song for herself, minah is quick to run into a wall, realizing that maybe it’s not so easy to turn her kind words against herself.

i can’t comfort you console your overtaken heart

because if minah knew these things she wouldn’t have to write them down right? if she knew she didn’t have to remind herself. then she’d be happy and at peace, not plagued by worries and fears and insecurities. if she knew how to take care of herself and love herself and show herself the kindness and understanding she was so proud to claim she could give others, there would be no need for a song like this.

there are many things i can say among them is there anything useful to you?

it was a paradox really. if she knew how to write this song, she wouldn’t need it and if she needed it, she wouldn’t know how to write it. minah didn’t know which notion scared her more, the implication that being unable to take her own advice was misguided as she tried to instill it on others like some universal truth or that maybe, she wasn’t the strong, unwavering force for others to rely on that she always pretended to be. either option indicated a certain arrogance, who was she to pretend she knew better when in reality she didn’t do any better?

like the breath that i spit out can’t i spit out my heart? a heart that is heavy and cannot be taken out

sometimes, minah seemed to choke on her sense of selflessness, her insistence to look after everyone. and for what? for them? or was it for herself? it was ironic really, how inherently self-serving her altruism could be. did minah want to give until there was nothing left to gift or did she want to solely in an attempt to silence the guilt swallowing her whole. what was any of this but a desperate attempt to make up for her past wrongdoings? and if it was the latter did that diminish her efforts? did that take away any value they had?

perhaps that was exactly why minah’s heart felt so heavy, why no matter how much she tried, how much she gave and gave until she felt empty, she couldn’t quite soothe that guilt. because as long as she was desperately attempting, she was doing it for herself. and as long as she felt like she was doing it for herself, she wouldn’t grant herself the forgiveness she was looking for.

even if other people had long since granted her that.

let’s just cry it out it’s okay if you don’t pour it out tell me if it hurts let’s not force yourself to smile

minah was tired of fighting a losing battle, of shouldering everything because she felt like she had to, of trying to combat this guilt only to end up feeling more guilty about wanting this feeling to go. she had no solution, not yet, no way to break the cycle and grow past it. but she could pause the cycle at least, even if only for a bit, let it all crumble and allow herself to cry it all out before picking herself back up again. even if she didn’t know how to make it better just yet, she could get away from it for a bit.

i’ll be listening just like the day you did until the gentle wind blows on each wound

maybe it had been foolish to assume she could write a song to comfort herself. maybe it was foolish to assume she could comfort everyone, herself included. perhaps this wasn’t the kind of thing she could give herself and perhaps, trying to shoulder everything herself was exactly where it went wrong to begin with.

as it turned out, this wasn’t a song to remind her to comfort herself. it was a song to remind her to ask for comfort when she needed it, to find someone to share the load with rather than to carry the weight of the world on her own shoulder. minah didn’t need to comfort herself, she needed to let her guard down to let someone else comfort her for once.

➽───────────────❥

minah didn’t often compose her own music. with only the piano and the guitar mastered, she didn’t quite trust herself to piece together an entire instrumental and most of the time, the lyrics were what she felt the most deeply about after all, as long as she wrote those, she usually didn’t mind giving the rest of the creative process out of hand.

no, minah’s composing was something that was reserved for a select few songs that she felt so passionate about that she wanted to be as involved in it as she could, steer it in the direction she had envisioned and while she lacked the skill to create an entire song from the ground up, she could get a decent way into building a solid structure the bare bones of what would become the song she had in mind but couldn’t bring entirely to fruition with her own hands.

‘whoo’ was one of those songs, something much more personal and hitting close to home than she had initially expected as she had started working on the song, while it had ben meant as a message of comfort, minah had instead touched upon very deeply rooted insecurities, parts of herself that she knew to be uglier than they appeared to be from a distance. a song like that was far too important to entirely put outside of her own control.

she started with the piano melody, the opening of the song. initially, a soft, whimsical tune spilled from her fingertips, akin to gentle moonlight, much like a lullaby or goodnight story. the kind of comfort that one could suspect from the kind of healing ballad the song had initially meant to be.

but that alone didn’t cover the load, didn’t capture all there was to the song. so underneath the soft melody, minah added in deeper, gloomier tones, giving it an overall heavier vibe. the song wasn’t slow because it was meant to be comforting like a lullaby, it was because it was being dragged down by its own weight.

though, minah was quick to realize that the piano melody by itself would be too overpowering, taking away from the intent of being subtle. there was no room for a double meaning when she was so blatantly obvious about her true intentions and motives with the song.

so minah scaled down on piano parts, instead having them slowly blend out into the background before disappearing as a whole for the chorus, only returning with the start of every verse and kickstarting the same cycle all over again. instead, she replaced the space where the piano parts had previously rested with soft guitar chords, gentle strums that were much less conspicuous than her piano arrangement had been, almost as if creating a false sense of security for the listener, maybe for herself.

it wasn’t much, nowhere near a full song, small bells and whistles would undoubtedly still be added to make the song sound more appealing, more interesting than its current state. but for the time being, with the lyrics, the guitar and the piano parts written out and ready to be handed over to one of bc’s in-house producers, minah knew she had shaped the song she wanted to shape, had included all the elements she knew she wanted in there no matter what. no matter what they changed, they couldn't take away from that core that was so intrinsically hers.

#fmdverification #*:･ﾟ♔– «am i the only one who remembers» // solos.#«where the wind blows // era.»#//ngl this took a Turn at some point and im not even sure what im trying to say w this at this point #//bUT THAT WAS THE LAST ONE!!! IM FREE FROM VERIFICATION HELL!#//(for now)

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residentanchor · 5 years

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Morning Routines

My writing commission for @fangirltothefullest!! She only requested basically Logicality fluff with some blushy Logan so I hope I did it justice!! I’m not at home on my main computer so I don’t have my taglist! I’ll add it tomorrow, sorry! <3

Ship: Logicality

Word Count: 2k

Logan started every day with the same itinerary. He woke up with his alarm at 7am and stretched to prepare himself for the day. He’d wash up and get dressed before looking at himself in the mirror, making sure his appearance was up to his standards. Not a hair out of place or a wrinkle to be found and he was good to go. He always had some time in the morning to himself before the others were awake. Thomas was always slow to rise, staying up far too late due to their influence.

Adjusting his tie, Logan smirked to himself and nodded. “Looking pretty good.”

Satisfied, he decided to head downstairs. If he wanted to get the others to be productive that day, he needed to prepare. First off, breakfast. Roman would start waking soon, the dreams from the night before carrying ideas over to their current projects. Most wouldn’t even be used, but Roman would run them by Logan in the morning as he prepared a plate of food. Or, in Logan’s terms, he would ramble before talking himself out of most of the ideas as Logan ate his breakfast.

“Morning, Logan-ardo da Vinci.”

“Good morning, Roman. I prepared some oatmeal and fruit-”

“Yeah, thanks.” Roman waved him off and headed for the cupboard, pulling out the syrup and pancake mix. Logan sighed and served oatmeal to himself with fruit on the side, the proper way to start the day.

As Logan finished and Roman rambled on about all his ideas, the creative side would always begin to sing. As his volume increased, Logan started brewing a pot of coffee as he rinsed his dishes.

“Roman, every morning I have to tell you this. Keep the volume down so I can sleep!” Virgil grumbled and griped as he walked into the kitchen.

“It’s been late enough! We must be up to start the day! I have too many ideas to just sit back and let you laze about!”

Virgil glared at Roman before heading over to the coffee machine as it finished brewing. He reached out and took the entire pot, stopping only when Logan cleared his throat.

“Not the entire carafe all at once, Virgil. We’ve been over this.”

“Just call it a coffee pot, jeez…” Despite his tone, Virgil also pulled out a mug and poured himself a huge cup, leaving the rest for himself later.

Glancing at the clock, Logan frowned and looked around, noticing they were still one side short.

“It seems Patton is not up yet. Do either of you know when he went to bed last night?”

“Nope, sorry.”

“Not a clue.”

Logan hummed and looked to the stairs. “Sleeping in this late is bad for one's health. If he isn’t up soon, Thomas will feel lethargic all day.”

“Then just go up there and wake him, then.” Virgil mumbled into his coffee cup, blowing on it to let it cool. “It’s still early and you say this every morning but you never actually go wake him up. If you cared this much, do something about it.”

“Hmm... Perhaps you are right.” Roman started coughing and quickly reached for his juice. “Roman, please be more careful and chew your food.” The prince waved him off as he chugged half his drink. “As I was saying, Virgil, you are right. I always give Patton time in the mornings to come down, but perhaps it’s been long enough. He has been given enough chances and warnings and it’s about time I rectified this behavior.”

Logan stood and pushed his glasses back as they slid down before marching out of the kitchen and toward the stairs.

Roman leaned in his chair, watching Logan walk up the stairs and disappear from view before he turned toward Virgil. “How did you do that?!”

Virgil looked at Roman and raised a brow. “Do what, exactly?”

Roman flailed his arms toward the doorway the Logical side had just walked out of as if it explained everything. “I’ve been trying to get Logan to go talk to Patton for like… ever?! And you did it just like that?”

“I don’t know what to tell ya, princey. I just told him to go do it. Have you ever tried that?”

“Being direct and simply telling him?” Roman placed a hand on his chest and scoffed. “I’m offended you think I would do something so, so… boring!”

Logan heard them continue talking as soon as he was out of sight, but he was determined to make sure Patton was awake and well. If they were all fully awake, Thomas would be also. Thus they would be ready to work earlier and get more things done and be more productive and punctual! Of course, this was only the very first step.

Three brisk knocks on Patton’s door was Logan’s personal signal. He tucked his hands behind his back and waited, listening closely for movement on the other side. He was shocked to hear shuffling around pretty quickly before the door cracked open.

“Morning, Lo.” Patton stuck his head out of the door but blocked the rest of his room from view. “Is everything alright?”

“Actually, I’ve come to see if you were awake. It was getting rather late and it is not healthy to sleep in so often.” Logan glanced down and back up, noting Patton’s cat hoodie he had gifted him was already tied around his shoulders. “I’m surprised to find you actually awake and dressed.”

“Oh, I’ve been awake for a while, actually! Just preparing myself for the day, you know? I just don’t get up right away.”

“I see. Then, perhaps we can discuss your morning routine and make proper adjustments to see to it that you don’t spend half your day locked away in your room?”

Patton immediately tensed up and shook his head. “Oh, no thank you! It works fine and I don’t wanna waste your time or anything.”

“Nonsense, it is never a waste to help someone else out as you like to say. Also, I offered my services, therefore I do not mind.”

“Well, in that case, come in?” Patton gave a small smile and took a step back, holding the door open for Logan. There was something off about the smile, but Logan shook away the notion. How could a smile ‘feel’ off? “Pardon the mess. It just kind of gets away from me, ya know?”

“I do not,” Logan eyed the pile of childhood toys on the floor in the corner. The light haze of nostalgia always gave Patton’s room a warm glow. “Now, onto business. The first steps to waking up in the morning. What do you start with?”

“Oh! My first alarm goes off to warn me that I have to get up soon.” Logan turned and blinked curiously as Patton continued. “Then when my second alarm goes off, I scroll through my phone until the third alarm goes off to start getting out of bed!”

“That’s quite enough.” Logan sighed and pushed up his glasses, rubbing his eyes. “Patton, that is not healthy and takes quite a bit of time from your day. Is this why you get up at noon most days?”

“Maybe?” Patton watched Logan fix his glasses and try to calm himself down. “Well, tell me what you do! I’m sure your routine is so perfect, I’ll be hoping out of bed in no time!” Logan looked up as Patton’s eyes seemed to shine. “Inspire me with your knowledge!”

“Oh, come on!” Logan exclaimed. “I get it, Patton. You’re adorable. No need to try and flatter me!”

“W-what?”

Logan sighed and turned back to the room. “Well, first off, we should organize this place. A disorganized space is a disorganized mind. You’ll sleep better knowing everything has a place.”

“Logan,”

“Then, you’ll need to set a sleep schedule. Get your body used to sleeping and waking at certain times.”

“I just had one question,”

“After that, you’ll have to motivate yourself to get up and out of bed everyday. Staring at your phone too much can be-” Logan froze and turned, looking down at his hand. He saw Patton’s wrapped around his own and followed the other’s arm back up to him. “What is it?”

“Do you… do you think I only say those things to flatter you?” Logan tensed up as Patton stared up at him. Were his eyes always so big and bright? “Do you think I don’t mean the things that I say?”

“W-well, I suppose… there’s a reason you say those things and I had always assumed it was simply…” Logan froze as Patton’s eyes started to shine a bit as they watered. “Are you alright?”

“Logan, you’re so stupid for someone so smart!”

“That statement doesn’t make any logical sense.”

“YOU don’t make any sense!” Patton stomped his foot and stared at him. He tugged on Logan’s hand and held it between them. “You’re so smart and you always know what you’re doing and you can keep going even when things seem so bad and it’s so inspiring, Logan!” The logical side grew silent as his cheeks grew red. “You’re my hero, I mean that.”

Logan jumped and he felt Patton tighten his grip on his hand. “Well, Patton, I-I, um…”

“And you can solve anything! Whenever we need help, you’re always there! And you don’t think you have feelings but you’re so passionate about things! You genuinely love things and it’s so wonderful and magical and-”

“Yes thank you Patton!” Logan shouted and cut off. He could feel the tips of his ears burning and couldn’t imagine how red he had become. “That was… that was good, thank you.”

“Aww, sorry! I just get over excited sometimes! I just felt like it was something you really needed to hear. I tend to speak from the heart. I didn’t mean to ruin your plans.”

“You haven’t ruined anything, Patton.” Logan responded almost out of reflex. He glanced down and saw their hands still clasped firmly together. He could still feel his heart thudding in his chest but wasn’t quite sure why. Patton spoke from the heart, something Logan wasn’t sure how to do, but he did know how to speak his mind. “You… You always seem to catch me off guard. You are so much more knowledgeable then you let on in things I know nothing about. Yet you seem to ignore that about yourself and have trouble finding your worth, but Patton…” Logan felt his throat close up a bit as Patton stared at him as if he were the most important thing in the world. “You are a very valuable asset to Thomas and you’re so important to everyone.”

“Oh, Logan…” Patton’s smile was so warm, Logan had suddenly realized what was wrong with the one Patton had given when he opened the door. It was too stiff and forced. This one, Patton’s true smiles, seemed like he couldn’t help himself but smile. Like he couldn’t stop himself from beaming with joy.

Logan jumped and pulled his hand back, wondering if he was going to be light headed because of the blood rushes he kept experiencing. “What I mean is, t-that is to say-! W-we are all valuable in different ways, of course!”

“It’s okay, Logan. I understand you.”

“You do?”

“Mm hmm!” Patton leaned in and wrapped his arms around the other side. “And I feel the same way about you.”

Logan slowly raised his arms and wrapped them around Patton. He felt a bit more stiff than the other side and suddenly started worrying about making the other feel uncomfortable, but Patton did not move. “And how am I feeling, exactly? I don’t quite understand.”

Patton pulled away and chuckled before heading for his door. “Come on, I’m hungry! Breakfast is important, you know!”

Patton skipped out of his room, leaving Logan there to stand alone and gather his thoughts. The glow of nostalgia danced around him as he let out a sigh, far more confused than he had expected. He wasn’t sure what had happened or if he was able to help Patton’s sleep schedule in any way, but he did feel better. He felt lighter, like there was something dancing with excitement inside of him. Logan couldn’t help but smile and let out a sigh of content. He supposed that he would just have to keep a closer eye on Patton and visit him again tomorrow morning.

---

Writing commissions are still open! Message me! Payment accepted on my ko-fi!

#My writing #ts patton #ts logan #ts virgil #ts roman #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #logicality #tw food mention #fluff #just good ol fashioned cuteness

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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years

Text

Before This Dance Is Through XII

Chapter: 12/16

Rating: T

Summary: Ringo's being going through a dry spell for the last year or so and when he regretfully tells his best friend John, he insists on taking them to an all-male strip club for some "fun". Ringo isn't sure whether it's the alcohol, his desperation or a mixture of the two but he thinks he might be falling in love with a stripper.

Tags: AU - Strippers, Modern Setting, Smut, Slow Burn

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

The following morning, Ringo made the snap decision of deleting the app and cancelling his subscription. He was surprised at how easily he was able to do it, staring at the blank space of where the app used to be. Whether it looked strange or not he didn't truly care, at least that's what he told himself, because whatever George thought of him didn't matter. It never mattered, even right from the beginning. The conversation last night, if it could even be called that, just proved to him that George just wanted to mess around with him because he knew that he could; and he really could, even Ringo didn't know how much he'd be willing to put up with just for George's enjoyment. But he wasn't going to do that anymore, he wanted to believe that it was a matter of pride, that he didn't want someone to know that they had that much of a hold on him, but he knew that wasn't the case.

The true reason he had to distance himself now, before things got much further, was because it would just hurt too much. He couldn't sit around hoping that George liked him, reading between the lines of everything he did or said and trying to piece together what it all meant. He couldn't really afford it either.

Of course George didn't like him. How could he? After how pathetic Ringo had been: almost losing his mind just because George touched him, trying to hide behind a fake profile and failing miserably. This wasn't like him, he'd never acted like this about a guy before, and that had to be a bad sign.

As he got ready for the day he swore to himself he would never set foot in that club again, no matter how much John might beg. It was just too degrading, and far too painful. Behind all this shame and anger was the stinging realisation that he truly liked George, someone he would never be able to have. Even if George didn't have his rule, there was no way he could be truly interested. Ringo was nothing but a game, easy prey to be played with. Part of him wanted to just give in, to allow himself to suffer as long as it meant he could look at George, to merely be in his presence. But it would kill him, because soon enough George would get tired of him and he'd be left right back where he started: utterly alone.

Luckily Ringo had work to distract him, the activity days he'd been participating in had resulted in a few more students and even though Ringo knew most of them weren't going to last, it would at least get his mind off things. Ringo had been particularly taken with a young boy who had expressed big dreams of becoming a famous drummer; he reminded Ringo very much of his younger self in many ways. It was a little bittersweet, to see a child so happy, remembering how happy he'd been at that same age then to compare it to all the issues he was battling all these years later. Maybe it wasn't the best distraction after all, but it was a sure sight better than being stuck at home on his own.

He'd seen John a few times but he was being strangely reclusive, which usually happened when he was going through a 'creative period' so Ringo was careful not to pester him too much. Even if he was able to get John's undivided attention, he wasn't sure he'd completely want it. After all John had the ability to read Ringo better than anyone, and he'd no doubt realise something was up before Ringo even opened his mouth. He didn't want to tell John about everything that had happened, not yet, but there was no chance he'd be able to look John in the eye and tell him that everything was alright.

Ringo ended up having the entire week booked with lessons, which was pretty uncommon for him, but with the summer holidays beginning a lot of children or younger students felt like picking up a new hobby to fill their spare time. In an hour one of his new students would be arriving at his place for their first lesson; occasionally a student wouldn't have a drum kit of their own, so Ringo offered his own up for the first few lessons to allow his students to get a feel for whether they really wanted to commit to drumming or not. After all, Ringo was one of the more affordable drum teachers in the area, and kits could be ridiculously expensive so he was very sympathetic to people who might not be able to afford their own.

He'd tidied up the place in the morning, throwing away all takeaway containers and rushing about with the hoover. First impressions were important, and he couldn't imagine this student being very likely to return for a second lesson if the makeshift classroom was an absolute pigsty. It was a hot day but he still tried to dress professionally, wearing a burgundy shirt with the sleeves rolled up and loose black jeans.

The doorbell rang out through the flat and Ringo hurried over to the door, taking a deep breath and putting on the warmest smile he could manage before opening it. The smile died almost immediately, his heart sinking in his chest.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Ringo blurted out without thinking, louder than he'd intended.

"Is that how you talk to all of your students?" George grinned, he was leaning on the doorframe like a jock in a teen movie.

Of course it was George. Why wouldn't it be? As if traumatising him several nights ago wasn't enough, he just had to turn up at his house too. Ringo supposed he must've been someone truly rotten in a past life if God was going to treat him like this. What part of 'I don't want to see George again' didn't he understand? Maybe he should start wishing he'd never see a winning lottery ticket, or a brand new car.

Ringo didn't say anything, just stood there gripping the door. Could he slam it in his face? Because that's what he felt like doing. It wasn't anger at George, not really, after all he hadn't necessarily done anything wrong. It was just rage at the entire situation, that seeing George had smacked him in the face with the realisation that he couldn't just ignore these feelings in hopes that they'd vanish.

"I just figured I'd switch things around a bit. You're always visiting me at work, so why don't I come and see you?" George cocked his eyebrow.

"But this is my house." Ringo responded dumbfounded.

"Well if you had an office or a studio that's where I'd be, but since you don't..." George let the rest of the sentence hang in the air, he looked at Ringo expectantly as though he wanted to be invited in.

Ringo was almost certain he hadn't blinked since he'd opened the door, he'd just been staring at George as though he'd vanish if he looked long enough. He was wearing sunglasses which were resting on the end of his nose, allowing Ringo to see into his glittering eyes; they were small and rectangular, Ringo thought they would've looked ridiculous on anyone else. He was wearing the fur coat he'd worn on the night they'd gotten a drink, a night Ringo had fruitlessly attempted to forget.

This was the real decision: was he going to let him in? He had paid for a lesson, but Ringo had a sneaking suspicion that George had an alterior motive for being here. Allowing him into his house would really be admitting defeat, accepting that he couldn't fight these feelings. Was George really here just to mess him around? It seemed a little extreme, even by George's standards.

It had been very easy for Ringo to tell himself that he was going to get over George - why he needed to get over someone he'd never actually dated was a problem for a different time - but being confronted with the sight of him now made it abundant that it'd been a lie. Just seeing George made him happy, made his stomach flutter and his heart stutter, and that was never going away.

"Come in, I guess." Ringo tried to maintain his cool as he stepped aside and George sauntered past him.

George scoped around the living room, Ringo wasn't quite sure what he'd been looking for. Seeing him here was very strange, something he'd only seen in his late night fantasies.

"Nice place." George said simply, moving around the small space.

"Thanks." Ringo took a few steps into the room "How did you find me?"

"Believe it or not there's not many drum teachers called Ringo around here." George moved over to inspect the drum kit.

"Are you seriously here to drum? I don't want to seem rude but-" Ringo was getting a little exasperated.

"Is that so hard to believe?" George grinned once again and Ringo felt weak in the knees "Maybe I just wanted to see you. Could be either one."

"George, please... Don't." Ringo sighed, he couldn't look at him.

"Don't what?" George took a step towards him "I can leave if you like." He paused "Is that what you want?"

"I-I don't know." Ringo stammered, he felt his face hearing up "Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what? I just thought it'd be fun to come and see you." George paused again, for a moment he dropped his typical demeanour "I thought I'd scared you off."

"What do you mean?" Ringo found the strength to look at him, the grin was gone and he almost looked scared.

"Nevermind, this was a bad idea. I should just go." George shook his head and began making his way to the door.

Ringo moved instinctively, grabbing George's wrist as he tried to push past. It wasn't a tight grip, far from it, but it was enough to make George stop in his tracks. This was the first time Ringo had touched him like this, intentionally and without any encouragement, and it felt a little strange. He could feel the heat and softness of his skin, pulling that soft hiss from George that came with the sudden coldness of his rings.

"Don't... Don't leave." Ringo spoke in a quiet voice.

"Okay." George responded in kind, almost shakily.

Ringo gingerly let go off his wrist, George slowly turned around so that they were facing one another. The hallway was small, there was only a little distance between them, yet none of them moved. The silence was thick, clouding Ringo's mind as he looked up at George who returned the gaze intensely.

"How did you know it was me?" Ringo was desperate to break the silence, he couldn't bear George looking at him like that any longer, but he didn't dare say what he really wanted to.

George laughed, it was quiet and a little husky "You really wanna know?"

"Yes." Ringo let out a small chuckle.

"Well I had my suspicions as soon as you asked me how I was." George explained with a smile "Most people who message me don't bother with the formalities."

"Oh, I see." Ringo felt a little embarrassed "What else?"

George let out a sigh, breaking their eye contact and placing his hands on his hips, a little frustrated "Ringo, you know when we're at the strip club, it's not just you checking me out. You do realise that, don't you?" George began "I know you're probably too freaked out to notice, but I'm looking at you too."

"But... You never saw me naked." Ringo tried to look back on their conversation in his head, desperate to make sense of it all.

"In real life, sure." George turned his face to look at Ringo directly again, his eyes were serious but his lips were curled playfully "I noticed things about you, Ringo. Small things."

George took a large step forward, closing the space between them completely. Ringo let out a quiet gasp, pressing himself against the wall in an attempt to get away, but there was nowhere to go. George lifted his finger to push gently at Ringo's shirt collar, tracing over his neck and top of his chest lightly.

"When I'm this close, I can see the shape of your collar bones, how smooth your chest is." George pressed his other hand flat against Ringo's thigh "I'll notice the shape of your legs, your hips, your waist. Do you understand?"

Ringo nodded, he knew if he opened his mouth all he'd be able to let out would be a pathetic gasp or moan. George was proving his point a little too well, Ringo felt even more panicked than he did whenever George would be this close to him at the club. But wasn't this what he'd wanted all this time? The two of them finally alone, far away from that place.

"If that answers your question, I've got one of my own." George only needed to whisper for Ringo to hear him, his breath was hot against Ringo's cheek "All those things you said, did you mean them?"

Ringo gulped, this was all too much. George's finger tracing along the outline of his collarbone, his thumb rubbing the inside of his thigh. The hands were bad enough but even worse was George's stare, his dark eyes saying so much and yet still unreadable. Ringo had never been this close to his face for so long, it was usually his arse or crotch or something equally as explicit, and he felt like he was truly seeing him now. Why did he have to be so gorgeous? Ringo doubted he'd put up with this much stress for anyone else, in fact he knew he wouldn't.

"Yes." Ringo breathed out, he felt his body tencing in anticipation - he expected George to pull away, that wolfish grin on his face, only to leave without a further word.

"Really?" George's voice faltered a little and Ringo looked at him worriedly "You think I'm beautiful?"

It wasn't the direction Ringo had been expecting, he let out an exasperated laugh in shock "Seriously? You're seriously asking me that?"

"What?" George moved his head away sightly but his hands remained in place "It's not something you hear a lot in my line of work." His attitude was quickly returning, but Ringo couldn't forget that slipping of the mask.

"You're beautiful, George." Ringo admitted, he moved his own hand from where it'd been glued to his side and lifted it to brush against the softness of George's face, he flinched very briefly "I thought that the moment I saw you."

George laughed, his eyes darting away quickly, it was something Ringo had seen a million times with John whenever he tried to genuinely compliment him about something John was insecure about - which was most things.

"You're not making this easy for me, are you?" George asked with a little sadness in his voice.

"Me!?" Ringo exclaimed with a hearty chuckle, letting his hand fall from George's face "Do you know the amount of agony you've put me through?"

George began to laugh too "Couldn't help myself."

They stayed stood like that for a while, both laughing with almost no space between them. George still hadn't moved his hands and Ringo was very grateful for it, he'd gotten so used the the feeling.

"So I take it you don't actually want to learn to drum?" Ringo asked, he felt surprisingly calm.

"Well that's not strictly true." George began but broke his sentence off with a laugh when he saw Ringo raising his eyebrow "Fine, fine... I just wanted to see you. Happy now?"

"As long as you're still gonna pay me." Ringo responded with a smile.

"Oh, is that how it is?" George began rubbing his thumb over Ringo's clothed thigh again.

"I don't see you dancing for free." Ringo retorted.

"In your dreams." George let his sharp teeth poke through as his grin widened.

"And what about your dreams?" Ringo asked almost in a whisper.

"I think you know what I want." George moved his face even closer, breathing against the exposed skin of Ringo's neck.

"What about your rule?" Ringo felt himself warming up a little.

"You're not my customer. You're my teacher." George chuckled, his mouth mere inches away from Ringo and he had to stop himself from holding his breath.

"What if I don't sleep with my students?" Ringo asked, his voice was higher pitched than usual.

"Then I'll just have to convince you to change your mind." George punctuated his sentence by finally closing that small space, pressing his wet lips against Ringo's neck and kissing it roughly.

Ringo felt like he was in a dream, in fact this was one of his dreams, but it was really happening. George moved his hand up to Ringo's waist and scraped his teeth lightly against the sensitive skin on his neck. He pressed two more kisses as he gradually moved upwards, then removed his mouth entirely and brought his head to rest against Ringo's. He'd seen George's glare countless times before, but never quite like this, knowing it was purely for him and him alone.

"You said you'd do anything to have me. Well, here I am." George practically purred the words and Ringo didn't waste another second, locking their lips together so roughly that it knocked George backwards until he was pushed up against the opposite wall.

George didn't respond at first, no doubt in shock, but as soon as he registered what was happening he was reciprocating Ringo's vigour with ease. Ringo cupped his face desperately, soaking in the joy of finally being able to hold him like this. George's hand cupped Ringo's hip, the other lightly grabbing his arse. George tasted like tea and smoke, completely ordinary things, yet it was almost transformed into ambrosia for Ringo, he couldn't get enough.

This was really happening. Maybe God had been kinder than Ringo had first anticipated, he only prayed this wouldn't be snatched away from him just as he got used to it. If that was going to be the case, Ringo was going to make sure he used every single second to his advantage, he was going to fight for it. He wanted this, he needed it. He was even beginning to believe that he deserved it.

#the beatles #beatles #beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #george harrison/ringo starr #ringo starr/george harrison #ringo starrxgeorge harrison #george harrisonxringo starr #starrison

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comradekatara · 5 years

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What’s the gaang in college like

this is SUCH a good question. thank you!!! i’m going to answer this in terms of what i think they’d be like if they did go to college, even though i’m quite sure not all of them would or should. this is almost 3k words btw because i have a disease :) thanks :)

aang: aang loves school, but he forgets to go? it’s just that he’s always either a) volunteering at the children’s hospital; b) helping a friend with a flat tire; c) taking his dog appa on long runs; d) giving heartfelt advice to a total stranger who looked sad; e) getting stopped on the street by an environmental canvasser when he doesn’t have his wallet on him and then devoting the rest of his afternoon to helping that canvasser get more donations and signatures from people who DO have their wallets, which is, frankly, a little overwhelming for the canvasser; f) happily embarking on an impromptu coffee date with a total stranger because she has multiple peace sign stickers on her backpack; g) defrosting tofu; h) reading exactly two pages of a book sokka recommended to him before getting bored and simply texting sokka for the highlights; i) painting, for fun; j) subbing in for the school mascot at some suspiciously aggressive sporting event, which aang normally wouldn’t advocate for, except someone asked him to do it as a favor and how could he say no; k) trying to start a vegetable co-op on campus and protesting heartily when his proposal is rejected due to lack of space; l) writing polite but firm letters to textbook publishers asking them to extract their biases from the next edition; m) generously attending parties as a “designated pedestrian escort,” since he neither drinks nor drives; n) making jewelry; o) making friends at the farmers’ market; or p) re-shaving his head. so how is he possibly supposed to make time to go to class??? he tries to do some of his assigned readings, and he always has strong opinions on them. but he doesn’t always make it to class and he’s very sorry about that. he still passes every class though. who’s gonna flunk a kid who missed his final exam because he was helping deliver a baby in the parking lot?

katara: katara is bad at college. she hates her major (because, as sokka wails to everyone who will listen, she chose the wrong major!). she hates her classes and she hates her professors and she hates studying. she hates the library and thinks anyone who goes there for any reason is “pretending to work” despite very compelling evidence to the contrary. she hates that campus buildings are named after dead slave-owners and colonizers, and she consistently gets arrested for trying to vandalize their nameplates. she is always able to find things to occupy her on campus–for instance, underpaid dining hall workers to advocate for, or a new college republicans group to protest, or an updated round of enrollment stats reminding her that higher education remains racist, classist and colonialist and upholds existing biases in society. she is constantly threatening to drop out and start an organization encouraging young activists not to go to college. however, she also finds her ongoing tangles with the dean too invigorating to ever stop: because of her anger and intensity and many unscheduled appearances at his office and sometimes even his houes, the dean is scared of her. katara is having a very traditional college experience in her own way, discovering new causes and coming into her own as an activist. she is just not, unfortunately, passing english 101.

mai: for mai, the main difference between high school and college is that in college she finds things to care about, and oh does it feel good. a frustrating experience registering for classes winds up being a happy accident when she begrudgingly signs up for a class examining perspective in literature. the class is electrifying. she gets really into creative writing after that, and writes a batch of her own short stories; in all of them, she uses perspective to give interiority to unlikely narrators. when she’s not writing, she spends a lot of time at art museums and foreign film screenings. while strangers might still think she’s aloof, people she’s shared classes with know better. she is passionate, engaged and argumentative. she is the frustratingly cultured friend in the friend group who will matter-of-factly correct someone else’s references without looking up from her phone, when no one even realized she was listening. and the other thing that’s different as compared to high school is that she doesn’t just hang around azula anymore. she has all these pockets of friends who share her interests, art friends and writing friends and film friends and friends from her computer science classes (yeah, she’s a computer science major because she’s just practical; it’s a thing). the gaang isn’t even at the top of her list of the people she’s closest to; in fact, when she leaves for study abroad, she forgets to let them know beforehand. but she does send back half-melted chocolates.

azula: hot on the heels of being the fastest runner and toughest boxer at her high school gym, azula gets to college and finds herself… no longer the best. the first five months of her freshman year go like this: she is running at the gym one day when she notices another young woman who is noticeably faster than she is and barely breaking a sweat. azula becomes obsessed with her, and starts showing up at the gym at the same time every day just so she can see her again, always claiming the elliptical directly behind this modern marvel just so she can watch her in action. one day, azula catches a glimpse of the woman’s student ID when she swipes in at the front door, and then goes home and creates a facebook account for the very first time just to find her profile and learn more about her. the girl quickly becomes aware she’s being watched (it’s not hard–all she has to do is look at the mirrored wall in order to catch azula creepily staring at her and mouthing aggressive self-motivation. she asks azula what her problem is. azula’s like, “excuse me? how dare you?????” before she finds she has nothing else to say. she storms off back to her dorm and screams at the top of her lungs for a little while. the next day, she goes back to the gym and works out even harder. but she promptly passes out. she has to take a week off to recover. by the time she can go back to the gym, she is too embarrassed to follow this woman around anymore. however, this same pattern repeats itself periodically whenever azula comes into contact with anyone even a little bit better than her. eventually, the stress of competing with every talented person in sight (whether in the realm of athletics, academics, or the board game club that really, really wants to kick her out) starts to take its toll, and azula proceeds to live in the walls for a little while while she thinks things through. while she’s in the walls, she misses her psychology midterm and has to repeat the class.

sokka: sokka loves college. college is almost exactly what sokka wanted it to be, although if he were to name one complaint, it would be that there aren’t enough places to hook up outside. he makes do, though. sokka is one of those brilliantly charming kids who befriend almost everyone, except the douchebags. he gets invited to every house party and every sorority formal and every rich-kid ski trip he couldn’t possibly afford and every late-night philosophical debate in a dorm common room. (he can’t even count the number of times he’s been getting ready for bed at 2am and his phone has buzzed with a text from some acquaintance he took a class with a year ago, asking for him to swing by their apartment and weigh in on a dispute. believe it or not, he usually goes.) sokka takes classes in as many departments as he possibly can: there’s some comp sci and some comp lit, some performance studies and some gender studies, some radio/tv/film, some environmental engineering, a fair amount of electrical engineering, no shortage of poli sci, and intro language courses in as many languages as possible. his adviser is like, “are you even human????” and sokka’s like “wym? i’m on scholarship.” in the end, there isn’t a major that sums up sokka’s focus of study, so he creates one; the unifying thread between all his courses is that he’s studying the future. like, of the world. they let him put the name of his made-up major on his degree, and although it’s in poor taste to frame your undergraduate diploma, he does it anyway, because he likes explaining to people that yes, he made his major up, and yes it was exactly as bullshit as it sounds. he’s very proud.

suki: does suki like college? sure, she likes it fine. she drives for saferide and organizes with campus feminists. she organizes self-defense trainings and also advocates for revising the mandatory new-student training in consent that all students have to take so that it’s oriented towards deterring would-be assailants, rather than putting all the onus on would-be victims. on a lighter note, she also participates in the campus drag show every year, and a number of formerly-straight-identified attendees gush to a reporter for the student paper that they are now questioning their sexuality thanks to “kyoshi’s” performance. also, suki does roller derby, and you would not believe the dyke drama surrounding her and her various exes from the team. it is not to be believed. but as for classes, suki could pretty much take or leave them. she likes art and math. she tries to show up sometimes. often she does not, because she is busy getting high in her truck or having sex outside. sokka doesn’t understand how she doesn’t care about her mediocre grades. suki doesn’t bother trying to explain it.

zuko: naturally, zuko is a literature major. he takes every single shakespeare course the school offers. then he takes a class on milton, a class on dante, a class on female poets of the twenty-first century, and a handful of gender studies classes too; all of these classes change his life. after his first gender studies class, he cuts off his ponytail, determined to unravel the patriarchy in one snip. so it goes without saying that, emboldened by his distance from his father, zuko takes it upon himself to Seize The Day in a way he couldn’t in high school. sure, it’s cliche, but the siren song of that fountain in the quad is impossibly to ignore; he simply must go read poetry under its shadow. he forces himself to go to parties most weekends, always irrationally hoping that this time he might like parties and have a good time, but it takes him until his senior year to realize that he will never like parties. until then, he spends a lot of time mostly hugging the wall for safety and avoiding the eyes of the couples who are making out on the couches. when guys try to flirt with him, he spills his drink on purpose so he has an excuse to flee the scene, and the guys can always tell. he auditions for theater productions and is summarily rejected from almost every acting role; the one role he gets, he butchers, and he can even see on sokka’s face when sokka brings him flowers after the show that sokka knows the flowers were too much. when acting roles don’t pan out, he tries working on a show’s crew, but ultimately it’s not until mai gently suggests he try reviewing the theater productions on campus that he finds his niche. sure, few students read the student newspaper for its theater criticism, but zuko’s reviews are good. they get a prominent place of honor above the fold, and a number of drama professors are willing to admit amongst themselves that they wait for zuko’s reviews before shelling out for tickets. although he does write under a pen name so his father won’t find them. that’s just common sense.

toph: toph is smarter than most of her teachers and knows it, which means she derails class after class with smart questions, counterarguments, and passionate rebuttals. her older friends help her identify classes to take with professors who are welcoming of that sort of thing and willing to have a spirited back-and-forth. that’s how she ends up taking some higher-level philosophy classes as a freshman. (by the way, big mistake, but she gets what she came for.) her class schedule is an eclectic mix of electives cobbled together with little thought for how she’s eventually going to graduate; in the end, it takes her an extra year, and she’s totally fine with that. she has lots of friends and supporters and she also has a lot of enemies; the head of the psychology department memorably calls her a rude little troll girl. she studies abroad more than once, and though she has no reason to work an on-campus job, she has a volunteer gig mentoring high school students. sometimes her fourteen-year-old disciples will follow her around, wide-eyed, from social gathering to social gathering, and they’ll get to fully immerse themselves in toph’s particular college experience. it’s a lot of sniping and also a lot of smoking weed in other people’s apartments. also, she plays football in the park with suki every saturday rain or shine, and though there have been some close calls, neurologically speaking, she has thankfully avoided any concussions. (suki, unfortunately, cannot say the same, and toph is very sorry.)

ty lee: everyone has taken at least one class where ty lee came in late and sat in the back, but no one is clear on her major. what makes matters more confusing is that when people ask her what she’s studying, she’ll say just one of her three majors, which leads people to believe that she is lying. ty lee is studying physics, communications and theology, and while her class attendance is far from spotless, she can always get the notes from one of her admirers. apparently she studies hard, because she’s an honor student in all three departments. outside of class, ty lee is a sorority girl, natch. she freely invites her greek-life-avoidant friends to her fundraisers and formals because she doesn’t understand what they have against the super-fun greek system of which she is proud to be a part! also, she’s not shy about cheerfully reminding her friends that if she doesn’t have enough friends show up, she’ll be fined, with the unspoken reminder that she really can’t afford that shit. this generally motivates people to come through for her. it is anyone’s guess how ty lee manages her active sorority participation, her insane class schedule, athletics (volleyball) and her work-study job (calling alumni for donations–she’s disturbingly good at it, by the way). more than one amazed admirer has posed the theory that she might be a witch. when she hears that, ty lee just giggles and smiles.

#the gaang and #sokka #suki #ty lee #mai #azula #katara #aang #toph #zuko #sinxaschwarz #asks

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krystalkoya · 4 years

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Paint Me Over | 01

Summary: Amateur writer Hoseok is in a slump. When his friend Taehyung drags him out to another one of his art shows, he can't help but be intrigued by a peculiar local artist he meets there...

Here’s something with Hoseok in the writer/english teacher role. The first chapter is titled 'Chicago Boy' after Ari Lennox's song (go check it out!). It describes the OC’s first impression of Hoseok, however this chapter is in his perspective (it makes sense if you read the lyrics, if it doesn’t oh well... enjoy!)

read on ao3!

pairing: writer!hoseok x reader

genre: fluff, future angst, future smut

rating: +18

word count: 4k

chapter warnings: none!

01 | 02

...

Chicago Boy

Hoseok’s starting to think he wasn’t cut out for this.

Granted, things haven’t been going great in his life lately, (they weren’t terrible, definitely not great) but for the life of him he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t put thoughts to words and type out the remainder of this scene.

He'd been staring at the computer screen for over an hour now, repeatedly starting a sentence only to delete it moments later because nothing. sounded. right.

An hour in and the most he’d accomplished was one measly paragraph - could three sentences even be considered a paragraph? As an English teacher he felt like he should know this. His grammar? Astounding. Word choice? Phenomenal. But It's a shame he'd written the same thing just in different words merely five sentences ago.

Hoseok sighed, leaning into the uncomfortable lumps of his sofa cushions and away from the laptop perched on his coffee table.

He was getting nowhere.

Running a hand over his face, he stared up at the dim lighting fixture on his ceiling. He really needed to replace that one blown-out bulb up there, maybe then he’d actually be able to see when he sat in the living room to grade papers. No use burning electricity when he didn’t even get any use out of it.

An incessant buzzing in his ears alerted him that his phone was ringing. It was inches away from vibrating right off the coffee table when he snatched it up and pressed to his ear.

He sighed into the receiver when he heard who it was.

“Hoseok, my man. You sound frustrated, why are you frustrated?”

Hoseok leaned into his couch cushions again, placing an arm behind his head to get comfortable, because there was no way he was getting back to work now that Taehyung was on the line. Not that he was making any progress before, but placing the blame his friend's incessant need to talk his ear off rather than his own lack of motivation to get anything done sounded nicer.

“I’d tell you, but I have a feeling you already know why.”

“Is it the book again? I told you to stop stressing. All that pent-up tension isn’t good for your creative flow. Relax—did you slow your breathing? Try meditation?”

“Have you been watching those spiritual healing DVDs again? You know that’s all just neatly packaged bullshit right?”

“Excuse me, the nice old woman at the holistic medicine shop said otherwise. Sure, the place was a little sketchy, I think she could’ve been a witch to be honest…" he trails off in thought. "But she said I could get a discount if I bought all three volumes! That’s a steal, I’d be an idiot if didn’t take it.”

“Right, not cause you okay…”

“Anyways, I was just calling to see if you wanted to come out with me tonight.”

“I’m not going to another one of your yoga sessions with you if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not what I—although you could use it, no. I called to see if you wanted to come to an art show with me.”

Hoseok pursed his lips. Tae had offered to take him to a couple art shows before, some he participated in, others just to view. He’d gone to a few and honestly enjoyed the work all made by a few of the local artists in town. He had no idea such talent existed in this city before he went to one of Tae's shows. And he would never tell him this of course, but Taehyung was kind of endearing when he was geeking out over all the art he was surrounded by.

“Come on, when was the last time you’ve been out? I’m not even asking you to the strip club or anything! This is perfectly tame. Although, fair warning, a lot of artists aren’t adverse to nudity in their works so...”

Hoseok chuckles, “Yeah I know. I would've appreciated the warning the first time you took me to one of your shows but sure I'll go. I mean, why not?”

There was silence on the other end for a moment, and Hoseok knew from prior experience that this was just the time it took for Taehyung to process even slightly shocking information.

“Really, that easy? Okay great! The gala starts at 7. I’ll text you the address and you can meet me there.”

As Hoseok and Taehyung finished up their call, Hoseok elongated his limbs for a much needed stretch after being seated for so long.

He perched his elbows back on his knees, staring at the word document that was mostly filled with blank white space. Realizing that nothing was going to come to him tonight he shut his laptop down, not before hitting save of course—he learned that the hard way one night that resulted in him losing over twenty pages of text. He shuddered. Never again ,he thought as he made his way to the small kitchen of his studio apartment to make himself a quick bite to eat before the gala.

Apparently staring at his computer screen willing words to come out of his brain and onto paper wasn’t going to accomplish anything. That was fine, all writer's hit a wall sometimes, he’d just have to wait until this slump passed. Either that or who knows, maybe he’d get inspired tonight. Wasn't there a saying that looking at art makes you feel more artistic? Perhaps he could channel that inspiration into his own work. He could only hope, he thought as he took a bite of an unappetizing turkey sandwich.

Surprisingly, the gala did not disappoint. It was interesting, for sure. Not in a bad way, just interesting as in... well it was all over the place for one. Much like the few others he's been to with Taehyung, there was a collection of artwork displayed around the room made by local artists for the audience to view and ask questions about at their discretion. Taehyung carted him around the room, bouncing from piece to piece as he chatted with the artists about their inspiration for their works.

There was one he remembers vividly, a collection of paintings by one artist. The first was a painting of a sunset over a horizon of water, but in grays and cool blue undertones. After striking up a conversation with the artist, or rather, Taehyung did, Hoseok came to find out that the she intended to emote sadness in the viewer, almost as if all the life had been sucked out of the image. She had been open enough to share that it was painted during a very dark place in her life.

The next piece in the collection was the same sunset, but painted in vibrant pinks and oranges and blues. This one was made right after the birth of her first daughter. Hoseok even saw a flock of birds flying high in a portion of the sky that hadn't been present in the first painting.

The last was the same image, in muted pastels, not as vibrant as the second, but still evoked feelings of warmth and content in his chest. The artist said this piece represented her now. She was at peace with herself and the direction her life had taken. A mother of two who was well on her way in life, glad she had been given a second chance to form a place for herself in this world. She said the goal of her collection was to show that even the most beautiful of sceneries could be distorted by your emotions at the time of viewing. If that wasn't inspiring, he doesn't know what was.

Hoseok was truly astounded by how much the artists were willing to share about themselves but he wasn't put off by it. He found the experience enriching, learning about people through the art they created.

There were others too. Artists whose messages centered around current events. One that caught his eye were cartoons of the current leaders of America, Russia, and North Korea. Except instead of having adult bodies their heads were attached to infants bodies, diapers and all. Try imagining a crying Donald because Vladimir stole his rattle, meanwhile baby Jong-Un played off to the side with toy 'rockets'. Fucking hilarious. Political satire, if it was done well, always got a chuckle or two out of Hoseok.

And that seemed to be just one in a series of political cartoons that Hoseok would've loved to stay by and read, if only Taehyung hadn't pulled him off to the next booth.

They were about halfway through the gallery when Taehyung stopped chattering away with strangers for a moment to ask him a question.

"So, what do you think?"

Hoseok could not for the life of him take him seriously with that painter's beret on. Why did Taehyung insist on dressing like a 1970s French erotica film star? Or you know, a millennial art hoe.

Hoseok tilts his head up in thought. "It's nice. There's a lot more variety than the last time I came with you. Significantly less nudity than I expected though."

"Yeah, I know. There was no theme this time. They kinda went for a... do whatever you want kind of vibe today. Why are you disappointed?" He asked with a smirk.

Hoseok plays along. "Absolutely. You know I can’t resist seeing all those sculpted men in their nude glory. One of my favorite pastimes is comparing one micropenis to the next. Some have bigger balls, others are girthier. Some made out of marble, others, stone.”

He laughs at his own joke when all Taehyung can muster is a shake of his head in amusement. trying, and failing to mask his boxy smile.

“So I take it you didn't want to participate this time around?" Hoseok asks him when they sober up.

"Nah. I wanted to, but I didn’t feel good about any of the photos I took lately. Glad I came to check things out though. These pieces are amazing."

They came to a stop in front of the next artist’s booth. Hoseok's eyes were drawn to a painting of what looked like a garden.

It was beautiful, simplistic, yet so realistic in the way it was painted that he was starting to wonder whether it was an actual photo instead.

But it wasn't. He could see the impressions of the brush strokes against canvas as he leaned in closer. The yellows and reds and purples of the flowers stood out against the forest greens of the bushes and grass that littered the page. There, off to the left, looked to be some children playing in the sun, smiling happily as they ran along. There were several tufts of flowers littered about the page but toward the right he noticed one lone sunflower resting under the shade of a tree. It was wilted, not as tall as the others, he assumed because of the lack of sunlight. A lone bird perched atop a high branch of the tree, almost as if it was surveying the land in search of something. For what, he didn't know.

"Wow, this is beautiful. What was the inspiration for it?" Hoseok looks up to see Taehyung observing the painting as well, that concentrated expression he always takes on when analyzing a new work of art on his face yet again.

But then his eyes are drawn in front of him when he hears a voice, presumably belonging to the artist. Come to think of it, you looked just like an older version of one of the little girls in the picture. You stand there, hands clasped behind your back as you peruse the two newcomers.

"No inspo. Just life I guess."

"Then wouldn't you say life is the inspiration?" Hoseok counters.

You shrug your shoulders.

Hoseok straightens up to view you better. "So... what's the meaning behind it?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "Meaning...?"

Hoseok is just a little put off by your behavior. What is he speaking a different language? Had he slipped into Korean unknowingly? No, Taehyung would have given him a weird look if he had (it's happened before, don't ask). He may be reading to much into things but it's almost as if you are bored with his conversation. And Hoseok prides himself on being a good conversationalist. What kind of English teacher would he be if he couldn't hold an intellectual conversation from time to time?

Hoseok explains hesitantly, "Yeah, the meaning. I mean, it can't just be a garden."

You relax back onto your heels. "Oh, that's exactly what it is. Just a garden." A loud pop of the gum in your mouth follows.

"It can't just be a garden." he deadpans.

"It certainly can be." You counter.

He scoffs, then looks at Taehyung who still looks deep in thought.

"I get it." Taehyung nods along, finally tearing his eyes away from the painting. "Yeah, I get it."

"See?" You point toward Taehyung, as if saying that 'if your friend gets it, you should too!'

"What do you get Tae?"

"Hey man, maybe it's just a garden."Hoseok looks at his friend incredulously, though he's not surprised he isn't taking his side. He shakes his head vehemently.

"It can't just be a garden. Look at it. There's too much to unpack here."

"What do you do?" The question catches him off guard.

Hoseok turns back to you. Something about you makes him feel like he shouldn't tell you anything. The way you are looking at him expectantly, with narrowed eyes as if you already know and are just waiting for him to prove you right gives him pause. But another voice in his head urges him to say it. At least just to see where this was all headed.

"Me? I'm an English teacher."

The twinkle in your eyes at as soon as the words leave his mouth lets him know that your suspicions were correct. And you were proud of that fact. "Figures." you laugh dryly.

Okay, ouch. Was he supposed to be offended? Yes, of course he was, you blatantly laughed in his face when he told you his profession.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, just you English majors always need to give everything a meaning. Everything isn't intentional. Sometimes a tree is just a tree."

"Again, you can't say nothing and then follow it up with something," is Hoseok’s only argument. A weak one, but it stopped you from getting the last word in nonetheless.

But to his dismay, you and Taehyung share a terribly stifled laugh over how riled up Hoseok seems to be over a silly painting.

Taehyung, who can barely control his laughter, places a hand on Hoseok's shoulder.

"Come on 'seok, we still haven't viewed the rest of the works yet."He pulls him along and you smile and wave off the pair while Hoseok, for some unknown reason, can't look away from your little booth or the mysterious woman who painted randomly with 'no message' in mind.

At the end of the gala Hoseok and Taehyung ended back at the front. Not too long after they arrived Taehyung wandered off to talk to some of his 'art buddies' which left Hoseok alone to wander around aimlessly. He walked around for a bit but to be honest he already saw all of the works here, and he did not feel like circling all the way through again. Luckily, near the entrance there was a refreshments table where Hoseok found himself gravitating towards the longer Taehyung was gone.

He grabbed one of the small plastic cups of punch off the table along with a one of those sugar cookies from the supermarket he liked so much, but never bought. After buying a tray and eating the whole of it by himself the first three nights he’d been too guilty to pick up another since.

"Jeez, they could've given us some bigger cups for this punch. Two sips in and I'm already done."

Your voice almost startles Hoseok enough to spill juice down the front of his shirt. Luckily, it wasn't a lot and he's glad he made the last minute decision to wear a black t-shirt instead of white under his jacket tonight.

He grabs a napkin and hastily dabs at the liquid before it can dry.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you." You say sincerely, but the poorly hidden smile on your face makes him question your genuity.

"It's fine, it'll come out eventually. Where'd you even come from anyway?"

You eye him over the rim of your cup. "Over there...?” you point vaguely in the direction of your booth. “Relax, I just left for a bit to check out some of the other artist's work. I'll be back soon to tell anyone else who has a question that's it's literally just. a. garden."

Hoseok squints his eyes at you unamused. "Haha, very funny."

"Glad you think so," You laugh into your drink. "Come on, lighten up. It can mean whatever you want it to mean. Art is subjective."

"Sure, I guess," he rolls his eyes. "But hear me out. I'm no expert but artist's usually have a message in mind that they want to send to their audience, at least the ones that want to be taken seriously. I mean, that's the theme I picked up from literally everyone else here." He gestures to the room around him.

"Okay, well. I had a message- I wanted you to see my tree as, get this...a tree."

Hoseok shakes his head in annoyance that you aren't getting it, downing the rest of his drink in one go. Which wasn't hard. You weren't wrong about the cups.

You laugh again, airily and the sound is a nice one, he thinks.

You perch on the wall beside him. "What's your name?" you ask him, eyes alight with interest and Hoseok thinks not for the last time that he shouldn't tell you. But again, for some reason he wants to.

"Jung Hoseok, your local 6th grade English teacher with a stick up his ass, according you."

There's that laugh again, and Hoseok likes that he gets to hear it because of something he said and not because you were making fun of him again.

"Hey now, I didn't say all that! But if you want to go there..."

"My students like me the most, just you know. They say I'm their favorite teacher. What about that says uppity snob to you?" You smile as you bite into your unfinished cookie.

"There you go again, putting words in my mouth."

"You were thinking it, don't lie." But his tone is less accusing now, more playful. Would you look at that, he was warming up to you.

"I was thinking that those students of yours just wanted a passing grade and had no qualms about kissing up to you to get it. But hey, whatever helps you sleep at night! I'm ___ by the way." You hold out your unoccupied hand for a shake.

He takes it, saying, "___, beautiful artwork but I suggest taking on a project with more meaning to you next time. It can be quite fulfilling."

Your smug nod in agreement, like you actually value his opinion wouldn't fool anyone. "Noted," you say. "But if you don't mind me asking, what makes you such an expert? Are you an artist as well?"

He thinks about it for a moment before nodding slowly. "Of a sort."

You hum in response, and he can see the way your eyes peak with interest. So it doesn't come as a surprise when you ask him what he does.

"I may or may not dabble in writing," he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck hesitantly.

"Figures." You scoff.

Again with the scoffing. "There you go again. Clowning my profession, now my hobbies? How cold are you?"

You chuckle lightly but shake your head in denial. "Shut up, I'm not laughing at you. It's just... how typical, an English teacher who writes too? You should let me read some of your work sometime. Let me give you some pointers— so that way we'll be even."

"Maybe but you should know this, I don't let just anyone read my work."

You send a dazzlingly smirk his way as you say, "Is that so? Then I'll have to figure out a way to become 'not-just-anyone' now won't I?"

He's grinning down at you as you continue to stare him down with that same smug expression on your face.

If he wasn't mistaken, this was flirting right? He wasn't sure, he's been out of the game for so long now that he had to make sure before he said anything that would make himself look like a complete fool in front of you. But the way you quirk your head at him, as if anticipating his response in earnest has him thinking that yes... you were definitely flirting.

He's just finished formulating a response in his mind when he hears his name being called from across the room. He looks up to see Taehyung waving him over. He's surrounded by two other guys who are also looking his way, which can only mean that Tae is calling him over to meet some of his art friends.

You smile endearingly when you see Taehyung's exaggerated movements to get his attention. "It looks like your friend's summoning you," you giggle when Taehyung starts directing Hoseok like he's an airplane landing on a runway.

"I should get back to my booth anyway." you say. "Someone must be wondering why I decided to paint the grass green of all colors. See you around stick." You send him a smile and a wave goodbye. You're already walking away and he's left to wonder where the nickname 'stick' came from. He recalls his words from earlier and mentally face palms. He can only blame himself for that one.

When he gets home that night he still can't write. Not to say he wasn't inspired tonight. Seeing all those artists display a body of work they created themselves motivated him to finish his own.There was so much talent today that there was no way he didn't feel renewed enough to tackle the scene he couldn't seem to find the right words for earlier in the night.

So no, it wasn't that he didn't feel inspired. It was more-so the fact that his attention was completely elsewhere. For some unknown reason his mind was still stuck on a particular artist he met that night. Partly because he couldn't figure you out and your seemingly simplistic art that had no backstory, no motivation, no message behind the scene. He just knew there was something there. There always was.

Secondly, he really enjoyed his conversation with you at the end of the night. Which was shocking because after his first interaction with you, he wasn't so sure he could enjoy speaking to someone who literally lit his mind alight with a mix of confusion and frustration. But you were the first person to show interest in him since...since then. He didn't want to jump to conclusions now (because he did tend to do that) but your flirtatious smile cast in his direction had to have meant something, right? He'd never forgive Taehyung for dragging him away before he could see where your conversation was headed. Would he ever see you again? Probably not. It wasn't a big city, but it wasn't that small either.

He burrowed deeper into his blankets, trying and failing to get his mind off the puzzling woman from the gala. Well, he sighed, it was better this than falling asleep to all those sentences still left to write.

#hoseok x reader #jhope x reader #writer hoseok #english teacher hoseok #artist reader #kim taehyung #arthoe tae #future angst #future smut #hobi x reader #hobi x you

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koszmar-zycie · 4 years

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All of the fun, random questions! Do it!

Oh lawdy! To quote Ace Ventura: “Aaaaaalrighty, then!” - Apologies for the janky post, since I can’t space them without the site making the numbers all screwy.

Do you have any “yeah I’m good at it but I hate it” kind of skills? - hmmmm. To be honest, leading. If you buy into horoscopes, I’m a Dragon. And maybe it’s natural, maybe it’s theatre experience. But when I apply myself as a leader, I do AMAZING. The issue is that I generally like to be a support. Sometimes I like leading, but usually I’m not into the idea of being this focus or figurehead guiding the way as the leader. Whether projects or even fun, I tend to fall into a like... intermediate leadership role at best.

If you could make one type of food cease to exist, what would you banish? - To be honest, I can’t do that. Even foods I’m not fond of are foods, and I would be remised if I were to remove any.

You’re allowed to know everything about one highly specific thing/topic. What would you choose? - Deep sea thermal based biology. The deep sea is my 100% very favorite place on Earth. If I die and there’s an afterlife, I want endless ocean of all kinds. If I’m reincarnated, I want to be a Dragonfish or something. At any rate, I would do anything to have such a wealth of knowledge. Especially about something as fascinating to me as the ins and out of how the deep sea creatures that survive and thrive around the *extreme* heat and pressure of the vents.

What’s a fictional character who you want to be like? In what way do you want to be like them? - I would love to be like Nathan Ford from Leverage. I want to be able to live my life as freely and wildly as he (though maybe not as illegally lol), and also pursue what I feel is right for me. Live through and persevere through hardship as well as he, even if he struggled.

If you had to live in and not leave a city for the rest of your life, what city would you choose? - That would be a VERY hard call between Avalon on Catalina Island USA, or Sedona, Arizona. While Sedona overall has more of what I love, Avalon has the sea. And I’d probably die without my ocean.

Do you tend to say what you’re thinking? What would people think of you if you did the opposite? - Usually, yes. But in a careful way. It WILL happen periodically, because I’m also an emotional hunk of waste. But in general I do a decent enough job of being honest without being harsh about it. When I’m provoked or something really gets to me, then I can just vent without thinking.

Is there anything that you’ve done/experienced so much you hate it now? Easiest to come up with are like, food or music. - Hmmm. Not really. Halloween got SEVERELY killed for me, though. I still like it, but Haunt people are by and large the most obnoxious and hypocritical. Since I adore haunt, I HAVE to deal with them. Hatred for Christmas and other holidays while spouting about Halloween has drained my interest in Halloween. So yes an no, because that’s really OTHER people killing it for me. But I’m also sort of involved because of my love of the haunt business.

Were you afraid of anything “silly”/irrational as a child that you’ve since outgrown? - Deep water. As a kid I HATED the deep end of pools. Now I’m obsessed with deep water and the dark, unknown, crushing depths. Funny how things work out! I used to hate going near the slope in a pool if it was even a little dark (lighted pools were fine). Now, the only thing stopping me from just continuing to swim down if I go diving is my tank limits.

If you were to impart one moral lesson (think Aesop’s fables, Golden Rule, etc) on the world, what would it be? - Treat others as you wish to be treated. It’s SO easy to say, and yet nobody does it.

If you were a DND character or a game character (or something like that) what would your highest stat be? What would you want your highest stat to be? What about the lowest, to both of those? - HA. I think about this way too much. I’d be a sea elf druid. STR 10 INT 12 CHA 16 DEX 12 END 18 WIS 18 - If I were to apply myself logically as an analog of myself, I’d have good durability and understanding and social capability (again, in specific regards), but my outward strength and dex would be kinda average. I like to think that I’m decently intelligent, as I LOVE books, learning, and figuring things out. But I’m also far from genius. Hence my focus on Wisdom. I’m also surprisingly dexterous, but in certain circumstances more than others, so that’s also pretty average. I don’t think I’ve really have any “bad” stats, but I’d definitely mix average with a couple high ones.

Is there anything you judge others for when you probably shouldn’t? - Probably. I have a huge mistake of expecting others to be courteous and offer a common decency/open perspective on things.

Who are “your kind” of people? - Goths and hippies, my friend. If you want to know my style? Goth Druid. lol

If you had to come up with your last words right now… what would they be? - “Don’t regret not accomplishing what you set out to accomplish. Regret having not tried. I do not regret trying, even if I did not succeed.”

Do you have any “weirdly strong” opinions about things that don’t really matter? - This is VERY obscure (I have others, but it’s late and this came to mind first) But if you play Fate Grand Order.... SET YOUR GOD DAMNED SUPPORTS.

Your goal is to completely confuse the people around you in as short a time as possible– what do you say/do? - Honestly, just start quoting Lorne from Season 5 of Angel. Or act like a Malkavian. One of my VTM characters was a Malkavian who got in a fight with a parachute he had. Her name was Kitten.

What’s the most comfy place you’ve been in? - I don’t know, actually. Maybe the Luxe Hotel in LA during Anime Expo?

Did you have any “silly” beliefs as a kid? Where did they come from (parents, friends, out of nowhere, etc)? - Not that I know of. At least in terms of anything that’d have changed or something. I’m sure there’s Something, but I honestly can’t dig anything up in my memories.

If you were to add or remove one physical feature to yourself… what would it be? Can be from animals, can be from imagination… whatever. - Hahaha, I ALWAYS think about this one. Right now, I’d want maybe the electro-vision of sharks.

What could you happily give a two hour lecture on? - Ocean conservation, and what’s correct and what isn’t.

What would a mirror opposite version of yourself be like? It doesn’t necessarily have to be an evil version– any feature can be reflected! - Someone who’s mostly optimistic. More bright colors than dark, short hair. Focused on socializing and extroverted. More than happy in one place forever, without an interest in travel.

What’s an occasion you’ve done a double take? - Anime Expo a number of times. Seeing weird or unexpected, or legendary cosplays.

If you could only see one color (and its varying shades– dark/light) for the rest of your life… what would you choose? - Blue. Guess that was probably obvious. But it’s a cool color and associated with calming. Between dark midnight and navy blues to vibrant aquamarines pressing towards green (without actually going into it), I feel like there’s a happy spectrum of all kinds that would be enough to get through without going too crazy.

Do your friends all share certain qualities? Major or minor! - Despite my.... unique personality, and preference towards quiet etc (INFJ), I have a lot of radically different kinds of friends. I honestly don’t think I could put any one thing down. Other than that I choose my friends carefully on who I think I can trust and is a good persona at heart. To a sufficient degree anyway. That’s also a huge part of my downsides, too. By being sensitive (and having certain conditions), when a friend does something that hurts me, it REALLY hurts.

How do you motivate yourself to do things? - Oh man, that’s funny. It is entirely circumstantial. As an artist/writer/creative (I use artist in the broad sense, but I figured I’d add that to help specify) I can VERY easily just have motivation on a moments notice. So it’s often pretty random. But if not, I jut need to think of why. I Looooooove gardening. Weeds need pulling? I think about what’ll happen if the roses or tomatos or lemon tree don’t get their water because of weeds sucking it up. Need to write? I’ll never leave my creation for *any*one if I don’t at least crack down on notes, and make slow and steady progress if nothing else. It’s usually just a small thing I think of to act as a spark, but it’s usually very effective.

What’s one of your favorite jokes? Tell it to us! - Okay, so this isn’t a joke, but it’s seriously STILL making me laugh just thinking about it. I was going to reference an old comedian in a previous post (I didn’t end up doing it, but still). Anyway, I was really confused as to why I couldn’t find him in google. It turns out, instead of looking up “Groucho Marx”, I was googling “Marco Grouch”. LOL That’s probably not quite as funny to y’all, but for some reason it’s killing me. XD

Hooooooeeee! Well, that was long, but actually really fun! Thank you @scatteredstoryteller! That was like... an essay. lol But definitely fun. I love asks. XD

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ofphcenixes · 5 years

Text

THE PHOENIX || BLUE HAWTHORNE.

ok i won’t lie i stole this intro from veritas 2 kdJKDGF BUT ! if you want to get to know this guy definitely hit the readmore below *shaky eye emoji*. also hi i’m lilac i’m an admin and also a sims enthusiast anyways, back onto what’s important here, this lil bean called red blue !

personality

THANK YOU FOR SUBSCRIBING TO BLUE FACTS. PLEASE TEXT ‘STOPBLUE’ TO CANCEL YOUR SUBSCRIPTION.

but if you have seen blue’s blog sidebar and title, i feel like you will gather a LOT about his personality lmfao

he is playful, jocular, and honestly? immature

always looking for the childhood he never got to have, y’know?

he is secretly very insecure and always has a need to please. if someone doesn’t like him, he’ll tear himself apart to figure out why.

he’s always telling jokes and always laughing. he’s known for his Memes and is always a good time to be around… if you know what i mean ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

but also Anti-( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) because ya boi has commitment issues so high they’re past the inevitable spaghetti monster that’s probably floating out there in space

he can also be very maternal when the need arises. he is not good at talking about emotions but he’ll give you a meme or a plate of cookies to Heal You

honestly? the human embodiment of a puppy. cannot be alone for very long, has a short attention span, and craves validation lmfao. give him a squeaky toy and he will be Contented

as a footballer he can be Tough on field when he needs to be but he’s also v sensitive and talks to birds he passes on his morning runs like he’s a disney princess djkgfdk

he struggles academically as he has a short attention span most of the time and thinks too little of himself. however, he’s a lot brighter than most people give him credit for. he’s incredibly creative and a lateral thinker. maths makes him want to die, tho.

also what’s money? blue does not know

to many, blue’s known as the troubled kid who turned his life around. to others, he’s known as the local Meme Dealer. but to a lucky few, he’s known as a friend who would do anything for you.

most just know him as the moron named after a colour tho. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

history. (trigger warning: illness, death, drugs, depression)

WHO’S READY FOR SOME CHROMATIC CONTENT

blue hawthorne, who never goes by his birthname bc he hates it dfkjgdgdf ( what is his birthname ? he’ll never tell ┌( ಠ‿ಠ)┘ ) was born right here in ashmont.

despite not having a lot - he grew up with just him and his mum ( his father left before he was born, never knew a thing about him ), in a tiny trailer park on the outskirts of town. a far cry from the opulent manors peppered all throughout town, and the very lifestyle blue’s mother was accustomed to as a child. however, the pair were content as long as they were together.

despite not having much, blue loved every second of his childhood. he wore his mischief like a crown, smiling wherever he went. he’d always resonated with a love of music and dance, and like his mother before him, danced. ballet was his passion growing up, and started as young as 5.

as a child blue was often teased for this, and the fact that he was so close with his mother. he was also very outspoken and strong-willed, and never let his peers get the best of him. he danced, he laughed, he bruised his knees at any given opportunity. what he lacked in possessions he gained in the abundance of joy he felt in his heart growing up. his mother and a few of his close friends were his world.

when blue turned ten, everything changed.

the jubilant, mischievous, but altogether kind-hearted boy was given the heart-breaking news that his mother had been diagnosed with cancer. margarette hawthorne, much like her son, was a fighter - and didn’t let such a diagnosis keep her down. despite their dwindling lack of funds now going towards medical bills, and the fact blue began sacrificing his own childhood as he took to the role of a caretaker of sorts for his mother, he never took his time with her for granted.

things were okay for a while. there was a point where the doctors were convinced that she was going to make it. blue was a fool. blue believed them.

at the age of thirteen, blue lost everything. he lost his place to live, he lost his childhood and lust for life, and he lost the person he loved most in the world. he lost his best friend.

it wasn’t long before the overbearing sympathy from those around him soured blue. he was sick of being bullied, people not liking him, and altogether not being in control. so what did this boy do ? he quit ballet (the thing he’d loved since he was able to stand), he started drinking, he got involved in a very bad crowd and became a frequenter of the local ashmont police station. blue became a certified Bad Boy™

blue was sent to live with the grandparents that despised him and never acknowledged his existence before that moment. righteous and conservative in their views, they had cast aside their daughter when she had blue out of wedlock, and only reached out to her in her final months. for this reason, blue despised these people (he refused to call them family). he tried his best to be appreciative of a house and food ( which was much better than anything he had growing up ). but he was cold. always cold.

as a teenager, blue fell into a rapid succession of bad decisions. still small, still frail in stature, he found himself at a dissonance with his image and began growing insecure about his looks, the years of torment weighing on him. he found anesthetic in the party scene outside of school, taking to alcohol and drugs as a sedative from the life he felt forced to lead. his grandparents were pigeon-holing him into a preppy, studious boy who’d go on to be a banker or a lawyer, when all blue had wanted to do was be himself. he couldn’t decide if he hated himself or he hated the world more.

at the age of 16, his rap sheet seemed to grow with each rising of the sun. he’d fallen in with a bad crowd, hardly ever heading ‘home’ and couch surfed. at the age of 16 he’d gotten his own car and lived more out of that than the stuffy house on top of the hill where he was supposed to stay. his grades were sinking towards the bottom of the barrel, he was always looking for validation from the bad kids he hung around with and made some very poor decisions in the hopes he’d be liked. in the hopes he’d find a new family.

the partying, the stream of hook ups, his criminal record (mainly with traffic offences, a few write ups for public intoxication and fighting), sobriety, the instability of his living situation and his future all came to boil just before he turned 17. physically he’d started to fill out, and look more like the man people know today. he was no longer frail and no longer weak, and when asked, he used to his fists to forge that path he thought he wanted.

after a dark night, it became apparent to blue that his path of self destruction was hurting no one but himself. whether by choice or by accident, he knew he wasn’t ready to see his mother again. so… he’d hit rock bottom with a spectacular thud. but blue knew the only way to go from there was up.

through nothing short than a McMiracle (sponsored by Ronald McDonald, bc no one else is rich enough to pull it off lmfao) blue managed to scrape by and complete high school.

blue had no doubt his family name (that of his grandparents) helped him secure an athletic scholarship to st etienne. in his year of transformation from 17 to 18 his grandmother had softened to the boy she’d always hated and was riddled with guilt for the years of mistreatment, and promised to pay for his education (that wasn’t covered by his scholarship) as long as he promised to make something of himself. his first year of college, things really started looking up for blue. he was finally back on track.

then woops, grim came a-knocking again

bidding farewell to the grandmother he was only beginning to know, his grandfather had no reason to extend her kindnesses, and cut blue off. at the age of 18 he was homeless, with nothing but a car and a handful of pokemon cards he’d had as a kid. not worth anything or even particularly sentimental, he just likes pokemond kgfjfd.

living in his car for a while before eventually crashing with a close friend, blue managed to absorb his days in study and in work. he quickly found his passion in helping kids, and giving them the childhoods that he never got. going into teaching seemed like a no-brainer.

although blue’s wild days are behind him, there are some things locked in his past that still haunt him. there are doors he never hopes to open again. but he got his fresh start, and is determined to live the life a young blue would have wanted for him, and one his mother could be proud of.

then the grim reaper came back a third time, his scythe begging for daisey rutherford.

the investigation.

blue’s connection to daisey is that they danced in ballet classes together… as you can imagine, daisey had to put on her Evil Training Wheels somewhere and unfortunately, blue was one of her earliest victims. teased constantly for his appearance, his love of ballet, his lack of wealth, and on awful days, his single parent household.

for the most part blue had grown resilient in ignoring these comments. but he never forgot how daisey mistreated him, and sparked a wave of similar comments from people in their year when they were only children.

hey now im not gonna rEVEAL (bc what if he is ??? :o ) anything relating to the crime if he was the murderer, but know he is Lorge and Strong and could probably push daisey over with his finger lmfao

it’s also worth noting that one of daisey’s parents, a beloved surgeon, treated blue’s mother whilst she was in hospital with cancer. the late detection of its return is what caused her death, and blue has been vocal in his blame in the rutherford family for the loss of the person closest to him ever since.

now i’m not saying blue did anything… but if he did, his ‘eye for an eye’ motive ? maybe not as crazy as you may think. especially when you consider your boi already has a criminal record. ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

plots.

atm i am still working on blue’s blob and getting his stats/connections page up BUT !! here are a few fun lil plots beyond his skeleton connections that i’d absolutely love to explore. also here’s his current connections page for further ideas !

CHILDHOOD FRIENDS - blue grew up in ashmont, and didn’t have a lot of friends kfgjfd. if your muse would have been down for a Young Memey Mess that’s fond of a pirouette, blue is your Man. on the flip side, if your muse is one of the Cool Kids and is looking for potential animosity, i’d love someone who tried to squash blue like a bug in their youth (~:

FLIRTATIONSHIP - blue is currently in a (hidden) relationship, and for the first time in his life, gasp, might have feelings. but he’s a fucking walnut and refuses to admit that, so a plot of someone with an unrequited crush, a fun flirtationship, or even someone that just wants to be his wingman would not only be fun, but also incredibly painful - which is what we deserve. 8) (also note, blue is bisexual so any muse would work. <3)

COWORKERS - blue works as a trainer at the ashmont fitness centre ( …. dont @ maaria for the page not being done fgjdgkdf WE ARE IN THE PROCESS OF UPDATING THE PAGES NOW KDFJGDKFJ). but i’d always be down for plots in the workplace !!

UBER - sorry for the lame ass name lmao but dkjfgfkd blue is not about the party scene anymore ( lowkey bc he’s afraid to get addicted again and throw away everything he’s worked so hard for). but he does care a lot about people, and a pal of his is v much still hooked to that lifestyle and he very dkfgjdf determinedly drives them home every time to ensure they’re safe. could be former party friends, could be current friends in some capacity. maybe there was an incident in their past that blue feels guilt over ( a fight perhaps, trigger warning - maybe an overdose?) and so now he looks after them. or even just having a sibling-like bond, which (as blue is an only child) i’d also love something like that!

STUDY BUDDY - blue is a moron and needs someone to help him not fail kdfjgdf. he may not be naturally adept at getting good grades, but unlike many, he’s trying his absolute hardest. in return, he’s more than happy to be your Meme Dealer. bonus points if it’s unlikely friends, or if they didn’t exactly get along at first. :D

FELLOW FOOTBALLERS - 2 bros sitting in a hot tub five feet apart bc they’re not gay. dkjgdgdf but for REAL. exploring the team dynamic of the football team would be so fun, especially with blue’s reputation and the fact he only started taking up the sport when he was about 15-16, which may be a lot later than other guys in the team.

RIVALS - god they’re probably rivals about memes and i hate that but that’s just what it is :/

ok i have nothing else to say other than thank you for being a sweetheart and reading through this ??? i know it was a McMess but, if you’d like to plot with said mcmess definitely hit me up - or wait it out a lil bc i plan to do some starter stuff and plotting later today. (~: love you all, and viva la daisey !

#veritasintro #IDK WHAT THIS IS IM SORRY DJKFGDF

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vios-rockland-corner · 5 years

Photo

My Rockland OC Sasha Holmes.

I was in another small drawing mood and wanted a tiny break from writing another Zeitgeist thought post. Tried a new position again, but didn’t really feel like drawing full body or coloring it this time. I also drew her without her headband this time so I can get comfortable with the fact that it’s not something constantly glued to her. She wears it a lot though because she likes using it to keep her bangs out of her face. I just put her in a tank top/pyjamas to switch things up too.

I drew this because of my self-made rule, “I can’t talk about Sasha unless I draw something for her too.” I actually came up with a possible backstory for her, and that’s really what I wanted to spend my time writing about anyway so I don’t forget it.

It’s not really important for anyone else though, and it could very well get scrapped later. So I’ll just place it below to save space (it’s stupid long for personal reference only).

Why I have Sasha

I’m just reiterating here. I don’t really insert myself in these stories, and I don’t like disrupting the canon either. Sasha’s going to be more like an NPC in the Rockland universe that is capable of OBSERVING certain events and characters, but will probably never end up interacting with any of them directly. That’s probably for the best anyway because let’s be honest...there’s a good chance she’ll die if she ends up meeting the wrong character, haha.

If I do commit with her, I could actually utilize her as another type of post whenever I’m low on ideas or lack the motivation for a full thought post. Basically, journal entries made by a character in universe. Sasha would basically be doing...the same kind of thing I actually do with the thought posts. Now one might say, “Isn’t that kind of lazy? Like you’re just duplicating your own content?” And I say, “Kind of, yes.”

Fun fact about me though, I’m not really a creative writer. Most of the writing I’ve done has been for more scientific papers. With those, you’re just getting the facts in. Now my thought posts are a little more carefree and show a bit of personality in them I think. Basically, tumblr is intended to be my “lazy time.” Still, I’ve hardly ever tried to write in first person from a character’s perspective. Also, while I myself would have a wider grasp of the Rockland universe and its characters, I would be placed in a challenging position with Sasha where I can only have her commentate on events and characters revealed in canon that...basically COULD be fair game as “news” or “rumors” around town. For example, she’s not going to know about an MC’s personal experience with a character after they’ve been kidnapped (and they don’t escape). But if there’s some news or rumors around town that people are disappearing, that’s fair game for her to speculate about.

The Misfits actually I think have the most potential for regular civilians to have an idea that they exist. One story even had the police investigating them, so you know there’s probably some curious individuals that start gossip as a result. So I will probably end up having Sasha in the general vicinity of wherever most of the Misfits’ activities take place.

Oh yeah, the Rockland universe is going to have so many characters, groups and likely locations. Sasha’s only human, and it would be WAY too much of a headache for me to actually have her contemplating more than one aspect of the universe. Looking into the possibility of angels existing vs. supernatural beings existing (Hand of God) vs. a dangerous/unruly group of killers (Misfits) is just...that’s too much, haha.

I know Zeitgeist is coming out first, but I’m pretty sure the Misfits will be introduced more formally once that game is complete.

Now then, I still want to make the best of Sasha as a brain exercise. What’s the point of having a character if you can’t develop a personality, history and motivations for them? Character creation isn’t my forte, but if I can establish a solid background for her, I think it’ll help have the character stand on their own better. Even without interacting with any of the other characters.

Possible Backstory for Sasha

This is pretty rough, but here’s what I have so far. Sasha herself and her life in general was pretty average growing up. She was taught the usual ideals of: work hard in school, get a job, be nice to others, don’t do drugs, just anything that helps a person be, “a good civilian.” Don’t worry, it wasn’t a strict military household or anything, just one where the parents wanted their kids to live happy lives, make friends and hopefully be working a job they love when they grow up.

Now Sasha had one sibling: her older brother. They were very close and did everything together. Her brother always seemed “perfect,” to Sasha. He had a fun personality, he looked out for her, his grades were good, he wasn’t bad at sports, and he was good looking. Stereotypical golden child, I know. Just bear with me here for a second. During these years, Sasha and her brother never opposed anything their parents taught them.

Eventually her brother went off to college away from home. Sasha was sad, but otherwise fine with this. She knew they could keep in touch through the phone and internet easily. So they did, and everything was fine for awhile...but slowly the calls, emails and text conversations would become fewer and fewer.

Eventually a point hit where the communication stopped. Sasha began to get antsy, but figured when all her attempts at contact failed, she might be bothering him. Perhaps he was just focusing harder on his studies?

Time passed and suddenly...her brother was back home prior to when he would have been graduating. Sasha and her parents were very surprised to hear that he had been kicked out. Of course, they tried to comfort him and assured him that everything would be okay. He could stay home as long as he wanted until he got back on his feet. No one’s perfect.

Sasha was actually happy for a few days to have her brother back home, but...he was different. He wasn’t quite as social as he was before. In fact, he hardly seemed to want to do anything with his family. And gentle coaxing from her parents about how things were going during dinner was rebuffed by her brother.

He’d go out frequently, day...and VERY late at night. Sasha was making sure to keep her own life in order, but she couldn’t help but become curious as to what was going on with her brother. Sometimes, she’d follow him out secretly. The people that he was hanging out with now weren’t like his old friends. There was something unsettling about them. She became more alarmed when she noticed small red stains on his jacket once when coming home. The next time he was out, she snuck into his room. After sometime, she found a plastic bag with some old clothes of his she noticed he’d stopped wearing. They all had the same red stains on them. It was blood.

Sasha keeps the discovery a secret from her family, but she starts to watch her brother with eyes like a hawk. He starts to notice and eventually asks her what’s up one day when they’re alone in the house. Snapping, she admits to what she found and ask him why he’s acting so strange. He doesn’t take this well and they get into a massive argument. After what felt like an eternity, it ends with both feeling physically exhausted from the emotional outburst. After a few minutes of silence, the brother says he’s needs to head out tonight to finish something up. Sasha gives him a sad look and asks him quietly, “Come back safe, please.” He’s a little taken aback by this, but nods and promises he’ll be home in a little while. He leaves.

Sasha’s brother never returned home that night, or ever again. [Author’s note: I have not decided yet, if he’s been flat out murdered, or he’s still alive but just never came back- both change a lot about the story]

This messes up Sasha. Everyone she knows consoles her and says they’ll be there if she needs them. On the outside, Sasha keeps up a strong front and continues on with her life. She knows he’s gone and she doesn’t want other people to worry about her. Life has to go on anyway. She wants to keep being a “good civilian” and not fall like...

Sasha was slowly becoming obsessed. Not simply with what might have happened to her brother like most people thought. No, instead she became focused on why did her brother change so much? She started getting curious. She had a feeling that he was doing some very unlawful...very awful stuff. She would never have guessed though in her younger years that her brother would even be capable of such things. She wondered if something bad had happened at school. Did his confidence get shot? Did someone influence him? Was the stuff he started doing now more appealing than being what they had always been taught as children? That last one in particular settled in a part of her brain uncomfortably.

Obviously, she’d never get the answers now that she wanted from her brother. She’d have to find another way to get into his head. Perhaps...figure out people who may be similar to him?

How the heck am I linking this to the Misfits?

Sasha basically sees herself as an average “good civilian,” as I’ve stated before. The Misfits, she’d view as a group of people that are generally “bad.” Degenerates you wouldn’t want to associate with or become. However, after everything that happened with her brother, she’d now view the Misfits with an unhealthy curiosity. She’d view them with disdain, but is compelled to figure out what makes them tick. She absolutely refuses to believe her brother was some sort of sociopath or psychopath all along. She’d never want to place him as the same group of the Misfits, but she thinks that maybe there’s some allure that pulled him into that lifestyle. She also wonders, “Are these people who were always like this, or became this way overtime?” Characters of the latter she’d feel would be more useful for understanding her brother.

Now I have two options for why she knows the Misfits exist:

Option 1) She has always lived in the town where the Misfits currently exist, and they’re a recent development after her brother has gone. Pretty standard.

Option 2) She finds a note with the word crumpled up in one of her brother’s jacket pockets. It’s not his handwriting, more like a note someone else gave him. It said the name, “This Misfits” on it as well as “This is where you want to go” and lists a city and state. That’s it. This prompts Sasha to MOVE to where the Misfits are. She doesn’t know anything about them, but wanted to know why her brother was curious. No, I would NOT be making her brother a Misfit in this case. More like...it’s possible he was interested in being part of the group. Possibly.

Please note that this ENTIRE backstory and mindset of Sasha is completely capable of being scrapped. Why? I still don’t entirely know what the Misfits are all about. I need to have at least a decent grasp on the group’s general atmosphere, goals, personality, etc. Without knowing that, I can’t say this backstory would suffice for Sasha.

If this backstory DOES work, the benefit is that Sasha then clearly has her own issues and a personal goal of closure. Thus, her not interacting with canon characters at all wouldn’t necessary stunt her as a character. At least I think so?

Well at the very least, this was kind of fun to write. It’s a lot, so I had to write it down if I didn’t want to forget it.

If anyone actually decided to read this (this was more for own personal notes), uhhh hope it was fun? XD

Now to continue waiting for the next game.

#rockland #sasha holmes #my OC #drawing practice #the misfits #backstory

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thunderheadfred · 5 years

Text

Writer’s Interview

Tagged by @pikapeppa, whose interview is here.

tagging @space-marsupial, @autodiscothings, @soldiermom1973, @meggannn, @theherocomplex, @tarysande

Q: What is your coffee order? I’m trying to reduce my caffeine intake... BUT... I still have a hard time saying no to a cup of light roast with sugar and whole milk, because I am Weak.

Q: What is the coolest thing you’ve ever done? IDK??? Taiko is pretty cool?

Q: Who has been your biggest mentor? I don’t know that I have any mentors, per se, but I am so grateful to all my writing buddies and fandom friends, who have given me so much motivation to turn things around this year. Also... my DBT therapy team. Hoo boy.

Q: What has been your most memorable writing project? Hmm. My portfolio is so small that they all kind of blur together, but Red Streak is probably the stand out, since it was the first and biggest and most ambitious, and it led to everything after.

Q: What does your writing path look like, from the earliest days until now? GOOD LORD. Okay, well... For elementary school assignments, I used to submit shitty action movies masked as short stories (there were at least two, one set in an underwater post-apocalyptic bunker and another that was basically a Roland Emmerich ‘step-child and awkward parent vs. volcano’ scenario) and in middle school I straight-up started shamelessly handing in fanfics. For grades. For good grades. IDK what my teachers thought about my subject matter, but they couldn’t knock my skillzzz.

But other than that, nothing really serious. No formal writing classes, really, outside of one (1) creative writing summer class I took in a building that had a lot of wasps but no air conditioning, and it didn’t teach me zippo.

So, it’s just always been there? I’ve always had a nasty habit of poking at stories, usually when I read or see something that leaves a hole in my head, and I just... need... to... FIX. IT.

Q: What is your favourite part about writing? I find the entire process excruciatingly painful. Luckily, this seems to be my kink.

Q: What does a typical day look like for you? 5:40 AM - wake up, take meds, eat half my breakfast, show up exactly 3 minutes late to work. 6 - 10 AM - get paid to burn approximately 1,500-3,000 calories moving milk jugs from point A to point B while trapped in a refrigerator. 10 AM - 12 PM - (during the warm season) walk the dog, eat lunch, drink cold beverages. (during the cold season) take a scalding salt bath, eat lunch, drink hot beverages (year round) stare at a screen until I thaw out and realize I need to feed the pets. 12 PM - 6 PM - attempt to fight off ADHD and focus on any one thing long enough to make progress on it. Sometimes, but not often, this involves writing. 6 PM - 7 PM - eat, maybe????????? UGHHGHHGGH I hate this part. 7 PM - ?? AM - try to get ready for bed, have a thousand project ideas instead, “just jot down one note real quick,” end up writing 1500 words, trigger a sinus headache from eye strain, pass out while listening to ASMR.

Q: What does your writing process look like? A god. damned. mess. But digital. I LIVE IN THE CLOUD. It’s pretty much all Scrivener all the time for me now, because I like having everything in one place. I start with brainstorms, just mind-barf a bunch of random ideas, often written out like a strange, rambling conversation with myself, like this:

Though sometimes I start with a bunch of random dialogue that I have to write down the instant it pops into my head (and oh boy, getting that shit into a document before it vanishes forever is stressful) and then I later fill in the scene with action and setting and all that boring “necessary" stuff.

Basically: skeletal scene outline, followed by a few sprints to fill in details, then an endless, endless amount of editing, rearranging, deleting, hair-pulling, forgetting to eat, sitting up in bed at 1AM going, “OH MY GOD WHAT IF-” and so on...

Q: What’s the best advice you’ve gotten? Just write it.

I think Neil Gaiman said something to that effect, but I can’t find where or exactly WHAT he said, so just trust me... uhhh... it was him. Though I’ve heard many versions of this sentiment, and it’s universally fucking true. Sitting there and talking about how cool something might be doesn’t actually do anything to get that thing strangled out onto the page. You’ve just gotta sit your ass down... and write it.

Q: What’s the biggest lesson you’ve learned? It’s okay if it sucks.

It probably won’t suck, and even if it sucks so hard it leaves a mark, it doesn’t actually matter. Just try again. You have to give yourself permission to create something bad, and be willing to embrace the risk of failure, before you can make anything worthwhile at all. Failure is how we learn... as long as we fail honestly and use mistakes as motivators rather than fashion our failings into cudgels to beat ourselves senseless.

I think of it like this: it helps to set the bar so low that instead of trying to bend over backwards to reach it, I only need to idiotically roll across it like the magical dipshit conveyor belt of progress...

Q: What advice would you give someone who wants to start writing? Just write it. It’s okay if it sucks.

#about me #writing #writer problems #fred answers

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sher-soc-the-famder · 6 years

Text

The Show Must Go On- Chapter 4

Word Count: 5002

Pairings: Gen, Platonic LAMP, Platonic Roman&OC

Warnings: Crying, Guilt, Panic Attacks

Masterpost

Read on AO3 <– Previous Chapter Next Chapter –>

Panic was his constant state; if it weren’t for the fact it was panic, he almost thought he’d get used to it. He pressed into the shadows even more and held his breath as footsteps passed him by. His arms were shaking, or it could have been the small warmth in them; either way. he frantically prayed that it wouldn't rattled the plastic around them and give them away.

He was starving and exhausted, but he knew that he couldn’t stop moving.

Nowhere was safe, no one could be trusted, and that was the way it always had been and always would be. No matter how much part of him insisted otherwise—said that there was at least one person out there—he shoved it down. He could not afford that weakness.

The footsteps faded and he sucked in a sharp breath for dashing from his hiding spot and down the alley.

Nowhere was safe, and never would be—

The sun warmed Roman’s back as he leaned back in his chair and watched as Victoria bent over the papers and maps she had scattered across one of Darcy’s tables. Really, the theater rehearsal would be done for the day soon, and Roman wasn’t sure if he wanted to be there when his fellow actors walked by. But Vic had insisted that they both needed sunlight so here they were.

The thing was that, as much as he wanted to, Victoria insisted they couldn’t just take off and chase the horizon in order to find the others. Roman felt like he was vibrating out of his skin, from excitement, from worry, he didn’t know anymore. But something was pushing him forward, insting that they needed to get a move on, and needed to have done it yesterday.

“Alright,” Victoria muttered, most likely to herself, since whenever she started talking lately Roman would get frustrated and argue that they could take care of any problems on the road. “I think we’ve got enough funds to travel for about a month, but then we’d be stranded and—”

She ran a hand through her hair, air hissing from between her teeth.

“I just don't know if we can afford this. Not if we want to find all three.” She bent over the papers in her hand and glared at them as if they offended her, and Roman had to agree with the sentiment. He reached out and yanked them from her hands.

“Oh come on, Vic-tange Cassette,” he insisted. “We can do this! We just have to get started!” He didn’t say that there was something about his dreams; about the shadows that chased him in the form of the other sides that worried him. There was something wrong with all of them, he was certain. And being the prince and hero that left it up to him to rescue them. “We have everything we need!”

Vic turned her glare to him, and scowled.

“No,” she disagreed, “we don't. We just don’t have the funds for a country wide search Roman, let alone the possibility of an international one. All we have is a vague direction for each of them, all in different locations may I add, and just–” She let out a frustrated screech and threw her hands in the air– “I’m a broke college student, and you're a broke actor. Face it; travel isn’t something that’s easy for us.”

“But we can’t just give up!” Roman exploded, rising from his chair in the same motion to pace the room. His hands waved through the air frantically, practically flailing. “I refuse– nay I disavow the very idea! They need me, and I won't just– just leave them hanging because something as STUPID as funds!”

His chest heaved and Victoria laid a hand on his elbow.

“I’m not saying that Ro’, sit down,” she said, but he shrugged her arm off and tried to ignore the pang of hurt that passed through her face. “I’m just thinking that we simply can’t do it now. We have to be careful with this if they’re in as much danger as you say. We could make things worse—”

“They can’t get worse!” Roman whirled on her, “We’re not together, I have no idea where Thomas is and I don’t know why I even exist. I was– I am Hopes and Dreams and Creativity, Victoria! If I’m dreaming about them then we’re still connected, and that means they’re true and in danger. We’re not meant to function on our own! I’m not supposed to be alone!”

He gritted his teeth as the silence fell and very quietly, in a whisper that he almost missed Victoria responded, “But you’re not alone.”

His anger faltered because it wasn’t her fault. Whatever in godmother's name was going on; the one good thing that had come out of it was Victoria.

(He ignored the voice that whispered how he would choose the others over her any day.)

“I just—”

“You miss them,” she said softly. “I get it Ro’ I do, but we can’t just charge ahead on this.”

“Charge ahead on what?” Mr. Schneider asked from behind them, and they both jumped.

“Sir!”

“Professor!”

He raised an eyebrow at them and Roman flushed while Victoria busied herself with the papers in her hands. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring down at them and tapping his foot.

“Double. Trouble,” he said flatly. “Why is it I’m getting the feeling that you two are planning something that I’m not going to like?”

Roman tried his best not to flinch. He never really thought about it, but leaving meant leaving his position as lead, and that alone would upset Mr. Schneider, not to mention the part where he runs off alone with his best friend thing for unknown destinations.

“Because you don't like anything we plan,” Victoria snarked, nudging Roman with her elbow lightly. “I mean, the names say it all don't they?”

Mr. Schneider sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Roman chewed lightly on his bottom lip. This man had taken him under his wing, had helped him improve his acting—or at least he had memories of it happening—and it didn’t seem far to disappear on him in return. When the director turned a stern eye on them, he felt himself crack.

“We’re going looking for my brothers,” he blurted, and felt Victoria’s elbow dig into his side again, sharper this time.

“Ro,” she hissed, glancing at Mr. Schneider, and Roman glared back at her. He wasn’t an idiot; he wasn’t going to start talking about mis-matching memories or the fact that he thought he was only a facet of a full human’s personality. Not if it would keep him from tracking down the rest of them.

“You’re going to have a struggle finding a lead to replace me,” he continued, “seeing as I am fabulous. But there are citizens who need me more presently; specifically my family, and I can’t let them down.” His chin jutted up and he glared at the director. “And nothing you say can stop me.”

Victoria groaned quietly and buried her face in her hands, while Mr. Schneider’s eyebrow climbed his face again. But Roman wouldn’t take it back—he refused to—and he threw his shoulders back, squared to fight if he had to. He knew that he made bad decisions; that he got caught up in his fantasies and the way he thought life should be.

But this was bigger than that; it was his family.

Mr. Schneider sighed and reached over to dig through the bag over his shoulder. Roman blinked at him, and Victoria slowly raised her head to stare.

“Very well,” he said firmly, and held out a gold colored debit card. “If I cannot talk you out if it, then I may as well assist you in this...quest of yours.”

Roman felt his jaw drop as he reached out to take the card.

“Professor, we–” Victoria breathed, and shook her head– “we can’t take this! We have no idea how long with will take or how much it’ll cost or—”

Mr. Schneider held up a hand and Roman bit down on the urge to snap at Vic. As much as he hated it, she was right. Patton would hate it if he accepted it, and Virgil would worry about debts and ulterior motives.

Mr. Schneider, however, shook his head.

“That is from a special account of mine. I’ve been saving for years, and now I know why.” He laid a hand on Roman’s shoulder and curled the younger man’s fingers around the card pressing it to his chest.

“Family is important kid; much more than a retirement fund I don’t need,” the man said gently. “Don't you worry about cost, or me. You kids deserve this; it’s the least I could do for you talented young adults.”

Roman sucked in a sharp breath, and he heard Victoria wheeze from behind him.

“Thank you,” he breathed out. “I can’t– Sir, this is– thank you.”

Mr. Schneider squeezed his shoulder and said, “Find your brothers Roman, that would be repayment enough for me.”

Roman nodded, and couldn’t swallow the lump in his throat as Mr. Schneider nodded at both of them and turned to walk off, disappearing into the street and getting swallowed up by the pedestrians around him.

Roman whirled around and beamed at Victoria.

“Vic, Vic, Vic!” He threw himself into her arms and laughed, picking her up and spinning her around. He danced past the metal tables and waved at Darcy though the window, who leaned on her counter and waved back, throwing him a thumbs up.

They could do this, they would do this, and Roman felt like he could walk on air, like everything wanted would just drop out of the air for him.

Victoria laughed, hitting his arm lightly.

“Roman, Ro’ put me down!” She grinned down at him, and he hugged her tighter. “But yes Roman, we can do this, we really really can do this.” Her voice faded a bit at the end, but Roman had already moved on.

“But first,” she said, as he finally set her back down. “We need to wrap everything up here. Get Jasmine checked out to make sure she’s ready for the trip. Packing will be weird, seeing as we’re going to gone for who knows how long, but we have to fit everything in Jasmine. We could set a goal to leave...”

“A week!” Roman inisted, “at most!” The sooner they could get on the road, the better. A week would be long enough to give his notice to his supervisor and let the two of them pack everything they needed. They might need to rent out a storage space, but Mr. Schneider had said not to worry about cost.

Victoria hesitated and finally nodded.

“A week, and then we’ll be on the road.” She pressed a hand to her papers and looked down at the map on top. Her lips pressed into a thin line and her mouth opened, then closed. She hissed a breath through her teeth and finally asked, “Who are we going to look for first?”

Roman felt a jolt run through his body, every muscle locking in place as his hand rested on the keys to Jasmine. His face turned white, blood rushing out of it, and he felt his breath hitch.

“What– ?” he whispered, and a part of him knew that it was only logical, (Logan, it whispered) that they focus on one. They had no way of knowing if the other sides were in the same place but still-

Vic’s lips turned white, and she looked on the verge (Virgil) of chewing on her bottom lip in anxiety. Roman took a deep breath and closed his eyes, thinking back on everything he knew, both what he remembered of the others and what he suspected the trouble they were in was like.

“Virgil,” he finally settled on. “Virgil–– I think–– He needs our help most.”

He shoved down on the feelings of guilt churning in his gut at even having to choose, and tried to remind himself that they’d look for them all.

Victoria nodded, and laid a hand on his arm briefly before getting up.

And Roman understood, he did. They had to get things done and running and off the ground, and Victoria most likely thought that he would feel better once he had the others back. Roman certainly hoped that he would feel better once he had the others back.

Roman was probably a little manic, he admitted to himself as he looked around his near empty room. Everything he didn’t need were packed away in boxes, lined up by his door and ready to be stored away. His posters had made him pause briefly, remembering The Nightmare Before Christmas ones that Virgil had kept, which only spurred him to further pack for the trip already; and as a result, he found himself hovering in his own room, wondering what else he needed to do.

He tapped his foot several times before whirling on his heel and stalking out of his room. The moonlight shone through the open windows, but Roman didn’t pause to feel the night wind on his face like he normally would have. He wanted to be on the road right then, no matter how impossible it would have been.

A soft voice drifted from the main room, and Roman blinked. He thought that Victoria had already went to bed. She had been quiet after their talk, simply moving through the apartment and noting down what they needed and what they didn’t. She had offered to talk to the landlord about the lease tomorrow, but Roman had insisted to do it himself.

He didn’t have anything else to do after all.

The closer he got the easier it became to make out what Victoria was saying, most likely on her phone. He peered around the doorway, eyes locking on Victoria from the side as she sat down at the counter.

“—Yes, I’m certain that I need to talk to Dr. Picani,” she said, and Roman winced at the tone. It wasn’t sharp, but it was edged. An exhaustion that came from being too tired to truly fight back.

“Yes, it’s important, yes– it has to be now. Patricia, come on, you know me. Work or personal, when have I ever called for a frivolous reason.”

Roman tilted his head and let out a slow quiet breath, pushing down the urge to reach through Vic’s phone and strangle the lady on the other end. It took a lot to push Victoria to the edge, and he couldn’t help but shuffle guiltily, wondering if he had something to do with it. Victoria had always tried to put him first even to the detriment of herself, and Roman knew that he was too ashamed to admit there were times he took advantage of that.

“Thank you,” she finally gritted out through her teeth, leaning forward in her chair and pressing her arms on the counter. Roman stepped forward quietly, unsure if he was welcome in this conversation.

“Yes Doc, it’s Victoria, I need to talk to you.” He saw her lips twitch upwards for a brief moment and her head shook, even though the therapist couldn’t see it. “No Doc, it’s– it’s not personal today.”

Roman watched her sigh.

“It’s about my internship.”

Roman felt his teeth clamp down on his tongue hard enough to draw blood in an effort to keep himself quiet. Frickity frack, hang his coat on a rack; he had forgotten. Vic had worked so hard to earn her spot in Dr. Picani’s office, and he had a picture of her beaming face packed away in his boxes even now. But if they were traveling—and if they were travelling for godmother knows how long—then she couldn’t keep it.

The right thing to do would be to tell Victoria to stay; that he’d be fine on his own. But Roman was selfish. He wanted his best friends to meet the others. He wanted her to love them the way that he did, he wanted everyone he cared about in one spot and getting along, and he wasn't Patton. He wasn’t Morality in the end. (Though he wondered how much of that still applied before shoving the thought away.)

“Something’s–” Victoria tripped over her words– “Something’s come up.” A pause. “No, no it’s not anything bad, I’m just going to be away, and I know that you– I don’t know, we’re not sure how long this is going to take. It’s– Yeah, me and Ro’, but I doubt that’s a surprise to you.”

Her shoulders were climbing towards her ears and Roman wanted to reach out to smooth down the tension, but he drew back. He clenched his fists and felt himself tremble as Victoria’s voice did.

“Yes, yes it’s so important Doc. He– He needs this– to...to get out of here. He was never one to stay still you know?” Her laugh was watery and he could hear her grip on the phone tighten.

“Me?” Her voice was small. “Yes, yes I do want to be a therapist, I– I don’t want to stop learning from you but Doc, if I can’t help my best friend how can I help anyone else? He– he went through so much for me; things I can never repay but I can try my best. Maybe– Maybe there’s something I can learn out there too.”

Roman gritted his teeth, watching her shoulders shake and listening to her voice crack as it rose then dropped again suddenly, as if she worried about if he could hear it; after all, she always cared about him more than herself.

Roman felt that thought cut deep and make him bleed.

“He’s worth more than me!” She was close to crying, Roman could feel it. “He– he’s the one that’s going to dazzle the world Doc. Yes, I– no, no, I get it, I shouldn’t talk about myself like that.”

Her free hand came up, and Roman knew that she was pressing it to her face.

“No, no, I haven’t started up old habits. I just– Doc, please. Please. I need someone to tell me that I’m doing this for more than my own sense of guilt.” She was sobbing quietly now, shuddering with every breath and Roman couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He lunged forwards and wrapped his arms around her. Her sobbing grew worse, a tiny voice coming from the phone, but not clear enough that Roman could make out the exact words.

Roman waited a moment for the Doc to say his words before he tugged her away from the counter, and spun her chair. Letting her huddle into his chest, he pried the phone from her hand and brought it up to his ear.

“Doc?” he spoke into it and pressed a soft kiss to Vic’s head.

“Ah, Roman!” Dr. Picani greeted him cheerfully before his voice dropped into a more serious tone. “You remember how to calm her down?”

“Mmhm,” Roman agreed. “I’ll have her call you back in the morning.”

“You’re a regular Amethyst to her Pearl,” Picani teased and said his farewell.

Roman hung up the phone and pulled Vic even closer to himself. Her sobbing had quieted to silent tears and the occasional hiccups, so Roman swept her into his arms and carried her to the computer. He gathered the blanket he had never moved from the failed movie marathon, and nudged it off of his chair.

He set her down between his legs and reached around her to turn on the first movie that was on his queue. He leaned back and ran a hand through his friend's hair, talking softly throughout the entire opening of Enchanted, resolving to talk about her breakdown in the morning after Dr. Picani had his chance.

Just like she would do for him.

Everything was—

Empty.

Dark.

Silent.

Lonely.

And in the void, he waited.

Victoria slid the last of her books into the box and rocked back on her heels. It meant that everything around the apartment that was hers was put away. Which meant only her room was left. Something she had been trying to avoid.

An empty room meant they were really doing this. That she was doing this. Leaving everything they had ever worked for—all the progress they had made—being thrown to the wind to go on what was probably going to end up as a wild goose chase.

She leaned forward and laid her head on the shelf in front of her.

Or maybe she just wanted it to turn out that way.

Victoria took a deep breath, shoving away from the wall. She flexed her fingers, the pain from her nails digging into her palm dragging her away from the darker thoughts. This whole trip was for Roman, not her. She didn’t matter in this equation. Not when there were people out there that could make Roman so much happier.

“Don’t be selfish,” she muttered under her breath and bit down on her thumb.

Roman had done so much for her; it was only fair that she do something in return. It was what friends did.

Her stomach rolled at the thought. She shook her head, trying to clear those thoughts. It was more than just that, she wanted Roman to succeed, she wanted Roman to find his brother, other sides, magical companions, whatever they were.

Vic straightened her back and marched towards her room. The sooner she got this done, the sooner that they could get going. Roman couldn’t do this alone, and Victoria wasn’t the sort to abandon him. Which meant that she was going to uproot everything for him again, and she clenched her jaw at the thought.

It wasn’t quite as warm as it had been when they had left their hometown.

Her door swung open, the posters along the wall mocking her. The scattered textbooks, papers, and clothes long since put away so that she could move through the room easier; it felt less lived in—less like her room—already and more like a place she had once stayed.

Victoria chewed on the inside of her cheek, eyes scanning the room to decide what she needed to pack up first. Clothes would be the one of the things she took with her, as well as phone, charger, toiletries. The posters would be useless, but Victoria fingered her bedspread. Some comfort on the road may be nice, seeing as she had no idea how long this would take.

A creeping sort of fear suddenly took hold—that it would take longer than the amount Mr. Schneider had on his card would last—and for a moment she couldn't breath.

Maybe she should have tried to talk Roman out of this more. Maybe they'd be so far on the road for so long that they wouldn't be able to make money by the time it ran out. Or maybe it would be at the worst time and they'd be stuck. And it would be her fault, for not planning better, for not budgeting, for not keeping him safe.

Victoria tore her hand away from the blanket. It would be fine. She brought a hand up to her chest and felt it rise and fall with her breathing. In and out, over and over again. Always faithful, a human body; even when the mind betrayed it and wanted to stop working.

Victoria shook her head and started to tug at the blankets on her mattress. She'd take it with her. Picani did say that routine and a safe bubble would help her cope with her problems.

So Vic folded up the Disney pattern and set it neatly down next to her bags, before rolling up her sleeves and starting the process of boxing everything else up.

It was when she was staring at an empty room— shelves that had held her work empty; walls that held her passions bare; and the closet that, well it hadn't held her heart for real, but it held something that represented it was an empty void; it was only then did she lean back and close her eyes.

Victoria took a moment to mourn what was, and what could have been.

And then she took another deep breath, clenching her fists and tried to convince herself not to mourn the past as well.

Her heart was still with her, loud and proud and extra as always.

Roman hadn't left her.

Victoria slung her purse over her shoulder, shoved her stuff into the pile Roman had been taking out to the car, and headed out the door. She needed air. She needed to see her home one last time before it was replaced with endless road and the fear that they'd reach the end, only for Roman to tell her goodbye.

Or worse, that she'd make it halfway with him only to give up. To run out of energy and roll over onto her back and let the world do what it would with her.

Victoria gripped her purse tight, causing her knuckles to turn white as she walked a little faster. At least Roman wouldn't be as concerned if it happened. Not when he had others to think about, others to love. Something cracked in her bag and Victoria startled out of her thoughts.

It was fine, she was fine.

She was just jealous that was all. She brushed a stray hair out of her face, feeling the wind against her face as the familiar street that lead to Darcy's came into view. Just jealous because she was used to having Roman to herself. Anything other than that could be shoved down into a familiar dark box where everything she didn't want to think about ended up.

Her feet drifted towards the ice cream shop—yes, Roman, shop; no one had a shoppe these days—and Victoria pondered if Roman would like one last cone for the road.

Probably not. He had been vibrating with energy the last she had caught sight of him, hauling boxes and belting songs out at the top of his lungs. If they didn't leave soon, he'd start walking instead just to burn off the energy.

"Aha!" Vic startled at the voice. She whirled on her heel, meeting Darcy's near-black eyes. "If it ain't the girl that I was looking for today."

"Me?" Victoria shoved her thoughts away to grin at Darcy. "Why, I didn't know I was so special!"

" ‘Course you are," Darcy said with a thoughtful hum, and movement drew Vic's eyes to the packages in the woman's hands. Dark hands held the wrapped items out to her.

"These are for you and your platonic love birdie. Use them well."

Victoria took them, tilting her head as she tried to figure out what was in them.

Darcy laid a hand on her head.

"Stay strong Victoria. Shadows can provide a comfort of their own, when the light shines too bright to look at."

"Alright," Victoria said slowly, "If you say so Queen."

Darcy laughed, a soft sound for a kind woman. "You're going to be fine Vic."

The ice cream shop owner ruffled Victoria's hair, wavy curls tangling at the motion. Victoria squawked, tucking the packages under her arm to flatten out her hair. By the time she looked away, the other woman was gone.

Roman shoved the last of the boxes into Jasmine’s trunk and leaned against the door, taking a deep breath. His head tilted back and his eyes found the window of the apartment that had been his home for the past two years. It had been his first true home, but not really; not when his head was insisting that home was farther down the coast: in Florida.

“Yo, The Prince is Right!” Victoria called, and he turned to beam at her, blinked as he caught the package that she threw at him. The plastic crinkled in his hands and he glanced down at it. It was emblazoned with a familiar logo, Darcy’s, staring back up at him.

“Darcy does more than ice cream?” he asked incredulously.

“Apparently,” Victoria said with a shrug. “She tracked me down and said that we had to have these for some reason. The look on her face was really weird, so I didn’t exactly question it. You know how she is.”

Roman nodded slowly, thinking back to the black woman’s cryptic words about heroes and journeys, before tearing his package open. His jaw dropped, and he ran a hand over the white silk that greeted him.

It glittered in the sun and, as he unfurled it, the gold pattern on it was unfamiliar to him; but by godmother was it gorgeous.

“She can make capes!?” he shrieked and twirled it around his shoulders, where it settled as if it had always been meant to be there. The weight of it made up for the fact that he wasn’t wearing the costume Thomas had put together for him so long ago, and something in him settled. He carefully clasped it together, and whirled on his heels to feel it spin.

“Not just that,” Victoria breathed, and held out a pair of golden gloves. The white embroidered around the edges matched his, but the closer he looked, the more differences he could find.

“They have nails built into them too, see?” She slid them into her hands and he watched as the lumps in the front of them extended into long, stiletto fingernails.

The designs on them almost seemed to swirl in the light and Roman squealed at the sight of them. He grasped her hands, and pulled them closer to himself.

“Darcy does nails?” He tapped them lightly and grinned. “Armed and dangerous now?”

Victoria snickered and took her hands back, gesturing at Jasmine. “You ready?” she asked quietly.

Roman took a deep breath, and nodded.

#Sanders sides #TSMGO #Urban Fantasy AU #Roman Sanders #OC: Victoria #Panic Attacks #Crying #Guilt #TS-Storytime 2018 Submission

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another-tiny-ant · 6 years

Text

Life at the moment...

I’ve realised that what I’ve posted here recently hasn’t been positive. I’ve been down, and not coping well. So I’ve decided that I ought to take some time to reflect, as this often helps me to clear my mind and carry on with my day. So here we go...

University lately has been difficult. I am living in a flat that is dark and depressing, even on a good day. But more importantly, I am surrounded by people that seem to dislike, or even despise me. Perhaps that’s too strong. But then perhaps it’s not. Sat in my room, attempting to work, but unable to clear my mind, or overcome that fatiguing sense of hopelessness that seems to overwhelm me, liking a breaking wave, as I open the door to that flat, I can overhear my flat “mates” talking about me. You can guess that it is nothing positive that they say. And it’s hurtful. But worse, it’s isolating. These are the people I have to pass in order to get food, or go to the loo, and everyone tells me that these are my closest uni friends. It makes me want to hide in my room and not ever come out, and feel crushingly alone. But I suppose the worst part is how familiar it feels. I have had rumours spread about me many, many times before. I have had friends turn against me innumerably too, and never really understood why. And here we are again. The cycle repeats.

I suppose what gets to me is that feeling that this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. I dragged myself through school and college on the basis that university was going to be where I finally found the friends I’ve been missing, and it would all be sunshine and roses. Looking back now, that was always naive. But I wanted to believe it. I really wanted to believe it. Because that way, I’d just been unlucky. Nothing that had happened to me was my fault, I’d just never been mixed with the right people. We’re all just floating around in space and the stars hadn’t aligned for me yet. And I keep telling myself that this is still the case- things will get better. It’s just crushing when you’re reminded that this crap isn’t over yet.

The flat is certainly a major part of my experience at university. But it’s not the only part. On my course too, I’ve failed to make friends or find people that I fit in with. I’ve tried. And I've got to keep trying. But it does make me wonder why this has always been my experience. Is this my own ‘failure’? Am I just difficult to get on with? Do I expect too much of people? Have i just been unlucky? Or am I the problem? I’ve struggled in my attempts to join societies too. Perhaps this uni is just not where I belong?

Having pinned all my hopes on my university experience, I suppose academia became an important part of my identity. But without any support, or even interest, from the teaching staff, and increasing self-doubt, I feel that I’ve lost some of this identity. And what uni seems to have really ‘taught’ me, is that a lot of academia is utter bullsh*t. Academics often just brown-nose each other and themselves, studying things that are often irrelevant to real, lived lives, and all this founds an exclusive, privileged club, from a higher class to which I do not belong. So I sit down to work on an assignment, and instead just end up questioning what the point is to it all. After all, no one really cares what I write. And it’s hard too. Especially for me, as reading and everything takes me longer. The result is that I don’t seem to be sure of who I am anymore. And it was that self-assurance that always kept my head above the water in school. No matter what they threw at me, I always could look myself in the mirror and recognise what I saw. I think it’s easier to pick yourself up and dust yourself off when you have that knowledge. Now, I'm not so sure.

So... what now?

I've been really considering giving it all up. But i think I would only beat myself up for ‘failing’ later on down the line if i walked away tomorrow. So instead, I’ve decided to stick this year out. There it is. In writing. Decision made. Deep breath.

But how can I survive this year? Because to thrive, you have to first survive. Set realistic goals.

I’ve decided too to get the f*ck out of that flat. That dark, festering, pit of hell. Where to go instead, I’m really not sure. I’ll try and find a spare room and see where things go from there. Perhaps I’ll make some friends. Perhaps I won’t. But I’ve realised that it’s worth the risk; it really couldn't get worse than it is currently. To be alone would be better than to be lonely. I know there is a difference. To be alone is to feel sure of oneself, and be happy in oneself, even when there is no one else there. This has often been a choice for me, and it’s got me through. When I can’t deal with people, or their bullish*t anymore, I fly solo. That’s how I survived school. I turned up, got the marks, and left. Being lonely, however, is entirely different. Being lonely is being self-doubting. Comparing yourself to others and needing others to validate you. At least, that’s how i differentiate the two, based on my own experience. I would never judge, let alone berate, anyone who told me they felt lonely. I would be concerned, and want to be supportive. But for me, whenever I’ve felt lonely, has been when I've been the most down. Choosing to see myself as alone however, is liberating. It becomes a choice I’ve made. I’m not going to compare myself to others, or shrink away from people anymore. I’ve chosen to be alone, and there’s no shame in that. I feel like this change in attitude makes the situation liveable. So that’s the attitude change I’m trying to make. I've done it before, and I’ll do it again. And maybe then, things will get better. In order to make that change happen, I know i need to get out of that flat. The temporary fix is to live at home for now, and go back only when strictly necessary, and for as little time as possible. That’s what I’m doing at the moment.

So that’s step one. But there’s another attitude that needs changing. I need to stop being a bloody pessimist. It’s probably one of my worst traits. Being pessimistic is not only sapping for me, but also for those around me. And let’s be honest. It hasn’t been all bad. I’ve had some good times. Perhaps my company then isn’t my company now, but things change. Best of all though, is that I've met my lifelong companion. He is the diamond amongst billions of grains of sand, and somehow I’ve managed to stumble across him. I’ll be forever grateful that things worked out that way- despite only knowing him for less than a year, I already can’t comprehend how I lived for so long without him. If I gain nothing else from university than his company, it will all have been worthwhile.

Step three: get the work done. Force myself to sit down and work it through. And find the passion again. Because i have always had a thirst for knowledge. I must not let them take that away from me. And hopefully the course will get better.

Step four: do things that make me happy. Sounds obvious, but I rarely make the time. So I’m going to, from now on. I'm going to be creative, see my boyfriend, see my family, play with my dog, make memories, and do all the other things that will enrich my life. And look forward to things too, like spending Christmas with my wonderful boyfriend, and lovely family, and use this to motivate myself to get through the work. Strike a balance.

In the long term, who knows. After this year, I may take a year out, and go travelling with my boyfriend. And maybe I’ll come back to uni afterwards. Maybe I won’t. But I’ll always have that option; I won’t have failed, I will have chosen to walk away. If I feel like university was unfinished business, I can go back for a year and put it to bed. I’ll have that option. Maybe I’ll decide that by third year things will have got much better, and I’ll be happy to stay on and finish the degree in one go. Who knows. But what I have to keep reminding myself is that I have options- “adventure is out there!”.

So through all that rambling, what I'm trying to say is that I need to be, and stay, positive. I need to change my attitudes, and liberate myself in so doing. And then things may fall into place. Equally, they may not. But either way I’ll be more resilient to cope. And throughout all of this, I know i have the support of a wonderful family and a loving boyfriend, and that is honestly priceless.

As my mum always says, “see the flowers, not the mud”. That can be hard when things turn grey. Especially in winter. But there are flowers, if you look hard enough. Appreciate the little things, and the little victories. Be kind, and do no harm- not just in how you treat others, but in how you treat yourself. You too, deserve that kindness. And don't ever stop fighting.

🖤🐜🖤

#lifeonthelog #anothertinyant #selfcare #selflove

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