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#but it does lead them somewhere once they put their pieces together
tteokdoroki · 1 year
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hello bakugou as a lead singer in an indie band like 5sos, a lot of the songs he writes for the band are reflective of the emotions he can’t say for himself— he speaks better through his music.
when the band first started and they were still just a bunch of dudes in his parents’ garage singing their hearts out— a lot of the songs were about love, gentle touches and late night drives with the person he loved the most. you were katsuki’s muse, the reason he put pen to paper and birthed song after song about the way your eyes shine when the sunlight hits them just right, how soft your skin is, the taste of your lips when you’re distracted.
you’re the centre of katsuki’s universe, the reason he makes music for the longest time.
but then the band blows up— bakugou, kirishima, sero and kaminari become a viral sensation almost overnight. the world screams katsuki’s name like they’ve known it his entire life, cheers for his band fill the space between his intake of breath and the lyrics he lets out to the world. the songs he wrote for you are no longer something you can cherish— they’re not about you anymore.
they’re for the people that pretend they know him, the fans that ask for the chicken scratch scrawl of his name against their chests or up their arms. bakugou’s dizzy with fame before he even realises, tapping into the Hollywood buzz and leaving you in the dust of their tour buss tires against the roads of new cities you’ve never been to. ones that you planned to visit together once the blonde got big and famous just like this — before he forget the one who’d been standing behind him this entire time.
you tell katsuki that you can’t be his muse anymore, right before the last show of his tour — you tell him you won’t be left alone, to break into pieces while he lives out his dreams and forgets the ones you had together. he clutches the phone so tight it might break, he hears the tears and the shakiness to your voice and bakugou realises a little too late that he’s loosing you. his inspiration, his reason for having everything that he does now.
the blonde doesn’t see you in the crowd that night, up in front row cheering his name while he sings his heart out for you under stage lights. bakugou feels numb, the lovesick songs on his tongue making him feel nauseous as his heart sinks in his chest— you’re gone.
bakugou doesn’t write songs about love anymore, not without his muse. instead he etches his pain and his heartache into the music his fans adore and hopes that somewhere out there— you catch the hidden message.
that one that tells you he misses you.
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nihilnovisubsole · 5 months
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i think i followed you Back In The Day, seven years and seven blogs ago, for something related to mass effect (zaeed? maybe? who could say) and it's wild to come back to this site years later and find you thriving, surviving, growing-- playing ffxiv! love that game. curious how you'll feel about some side characters in shadowbringers, but i won't spoil which ones.
i do have real questions, though; writing tools. not pens or software, but personal structure tools and/or guidance. what does a beat sheet look like, for you? do you have a favored way of outlining or note-taking on your own thoughts when putting a story together?
and... i'm really curious how you hold a big story together in your head while you work on it in pieces, especially for something like dangerous crowns. there's this larger story i've been chasing around for a while, and I can't quite wrap my head around how to write the political/espionage plot for it without feeling like i've actually written a children's pantomime. the best i've got so far is "research real life events and use those as my outline" but after a point it becomes hard to keep track of all the variables of who knows what about whom, who is planning x when y, etc, etc. the characters don't need to know all that-- and may never know some things-- but i feel like /I/ need to understand what's happening on the macro level so i can move the world around them appropriately.
short version: how do YOU wrap your head around writing complex plots?
hey, anon! i started endwalker this week after a long... uh... glamour detour, so don't worry about spoiling things. i spoil myself for a lot of stories on purpose anyway. let's just say i've been attached to one too many characters who got killed.
anyway. writing. i've always handled plots the same way: clear documentation. if i don't note it down, i'm not going to remember it. i've used the same table outline since around 2014. it varies in detail for different projects, but the core format stays. i know it's kicking around in my blog archive somewhere, but it's worth reposting once in a while because people like to ask about it. here's what it looks like, featuring plot points cribbed from an endeavour episode:
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i used this format for an outline at work a while back, and the team found it easy to follow, which was a big day for my ego. keeping track of plot structure is even more chaotic at work because we have multiple writers who all need to stay on the same page. we have very meticulous notes on what the player should know at which point, when we're introducing new information, and what we know, but shouldn't tell. we're also not above leaving notes like "this character has to convey X," "this character has to learn Y here," or "this is a clue that they're planning Z." it can be super on-the-nose. all that matters is that it makes sense to you. because you're right - if you get too lost, you can write yourself into logic holes of tremendous proportions. ask me how i know!
[as a sidenote, researching real-life events as a starting point has really grown on me in the past few years. my lead on coh3 had me do it. he said we were dealing with real people's history, so we couldn't be cheap or play fastball - we had to be accurate to pay it respect. even if you're not writing historical fiction, it just gives you insight into how people behave.]
i would argue that the plot of dangerous crowns is actually not that complicated, maybe to its detriment. there's kind of a genre struggle going on. at voltage, we were taught romance fans came for the relationship beats and valued them above all else. in fact, leadership told us players got irritated - which meant less sales - when the plot was too complex and took time away from the making out. political thriller fans, by contrast, expect relentless twists, high stakes, and harsh consequences, and sometimes see the relationships as superfluous.
but whatever. the point is, when you look at dangerous crowns' structure, it's a pearl necklace: a chain of anchoring events. the "pearl" scenes are where Big Plot happens. they're the reason you want to write the story, and probably the ones you have the most vivid daydreams about. the scenes in between are the string. not flashy, but important because they connect the pearls. they build tension and add logic, cohesion, and context. take the opera and hector's failed assassination. those are pearl scenes. that's a burst of drama i really wanted the story to build up to. i also had other flashbulb visions. livia by the fountain questioning herself, marcus' macbeth moment, the temple riot, things like that. so the question was, how could i believably travel between these pearl scenes? how could i make these big showcase moments connect smoothly?
if you're having trouble holding the story together in your head, i would ask, "what are your pearls?" what are the anchor points? outline those. it might not look like a necklace yet, but you'll sort of see it taking shape. and then, once you can see where your heart's-desire milestones are, you'll have a clearer idea of what can't fire until you set it up first. two other neat things can happen here. you could find the rhythm of your pacing, or realize you have a lot more plot meat than you thought you did. even if you don't, you have some road. and if you can't think of the string, sometimes you just have to start writing the pearls and see what comes to you.
good luck!!
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starsurface · 1 month
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eh...sorry if I'm annoying but a little bit of Regressor Raiden please (I don't care if the one from the old timeline or the new one)
I did MK1 because someone else requested MK11 Regressor Lord Raiden :3
Also, none of you could ever annoy me. I love taking request, so please don't worry about how many you might send or if it's an 'inconvenience' for me <3
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<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
Regressor Raiden Hcs
🌩 Baby regressor and no one can tell me otherwise
🌩 But also regresses from about 2-4 (more 0-4, can regress to just a few months if he's having an extremely tough day)
🌩 Main CGs are Kung Lao, Liu Kang, and all his friends :]
🌩 Favorite little nicknames are Baby Boy, Little One, Sweetie, Sweetheart, Rai, Mr. Thunder (he finds it funny), and Little Lamb
🌩 Doesn't really like nicknames based off him being Earthrealm's champion because it just reminds him of how much stress he has :(
🌩 Kung Lao is his favorite CG because they both watch each other
🌩 But his favorite regression friend is Syzoth
🌩 Mostly because Syzoth just likes cuddling and doing baby activities with him
🌩 Which means Raiden can try to figure out what block goes into what hole, and Syzoth will cuddle up to him (and try to help out)
🌩 Very, very good boy, hates breaking rules
🌩 In fact, the only times he's ‘broken’ rules is when he's had an hard day and lashes out with a sobbing hissy fit
🌩 Crying, yelling, stomping his foot, throwing things, and just feeling icky over all
🌩 A quick line of ‘Oh my poor baby, come here, sweetheart,’ and he'll stop his hissy fit and come break down in your arms
🌩 Will probably request a quick bath because of how icky and bad he feels
🌩 Bathtime with little Raiden is very soft and sweet
🌩 Small splashes, and adores bubbles
🌩 Will continuously point at the soap that makes bubbles if he thinks he doesn't have enough (mostly all times, your going to either have to softly put your foot down or suffer having to get all the bubbles rinsed out of the tub)
🌩 Will put a bubble beard on himself and giggle as he tries to do it to you
🌩 (^ If you don't like it or don't want one, just gently grab his wrist and tell him not to, and he'll place the bubbles on his head instead)
🌩 Only used his powers once while small and it was turning a hissy fit that a bolt of lightning stroke down and it absolutely terrified him
🌩 His gauntlets are placed somewhere he can't reach while small, and he'll take them off while being upset because he doesn't want to hurt you or get scared again
🌩 Again, usually a very good boy, but sometimes he can be ‘naughty’ (although it's usually always an accident)
🌩 The younger he is, he won't really understand why your so upset and get a little confused (although does piece together that this specific action makes you have a mean tone so he'll most likely not do it again)
🌩 If he's bigger, a gentle scolding is all that's needed for his to get teary eyed and offer to fix his mistake
🌩 Although if Kung Lao is also small, Raiden will usually follow his lead, whether he's doing something naughty or not
🌩 Why? Because Kung Lao's older, and if Lao says it's okay, then it must be okay!! :D
🌩 Will get really upset if Kung Lao gets him in trouble though and will silently start crying
🌩 Don't worry, they always make up and Lao apologizes for getting him scolded
🌩 Raiden really likes smaller activities
🌩 Tummy time, trying to figure out what object goes into what shaped hole, being read to, sitting on your lap, all those things
🌩 Use to suck on his thumb, but now has a paci he uses
🌩 Although he's a bit cautious about using it because he doesn't wanna ruin his teeth
🌩 Lao calls him a hypocrite because he use to suck on his thumb with no but whatever 😒 (he's also a bit cautious of that too, although doesn't like how unsanitary it can be)
🌩 He uses his paci the most when he's getting sleepy, or needs the extra comfort, and sometimes just because he wants to
🌩 Best way to fix this? Munchies
🌩 Lao loves snacks, but Raiden really enjoyed little snacks
🌩 Baby yogurt bites, baby puffs, cereal, little muffins, all that jazz
🌩 Takes forever to eat them though (and will shyly ask you to get him more by sliding you over the bowl and giving you puppy eyes 🥺)
🌩 He adores both bottles and sippy cups and you really can't make him choose which is his favorite because they're both his favorites :(
🌩 Although does have preferences baseing of his age and how his day went
🌩 Likes just plain water or warm milk with some honey and cinnamon
🌩 Has a tiny habit of stealing things but it really silent about it
🌩 Johnny's sunglasses that have been missing for twenty minutes? On Raiden's head, he'll give you the biggest smile and excitedly point to them
🌩 Liu Kang's headband that he swore he placed down for 2 seconds and it disappeared? Raiden is not currently wearing it and singing along to his favorite show
🌩 Also a babbler if he's tinier, but will babble like he's having a normal conversation
🌩 Isn't exactly shy about babbling, but also only does it around closer friends
🌩 Likes goijg outside and sitting in the Whushu Garden and looking at the butterflies while having a picnic
🌩 But also really likes just sitting down and watching his favorite TV show
🌩 (^ I could see him really liking Ruby and Max, don't ask my why)
🌩 (^ Also the intro is really easy to sing to because it like . . . two words repeated- But he'll sing along at full volume with the biggest smile!! :D)
🌩 If your really busy while he's regressed and can't give him your undivided attention, he's usually understanding of it
🌩 Will request you do you work in the living room though so he can watch his TV show with you and you can do your work at the coffee table
🌩 If you need to be in your room or office though, he'll ‘sneakingly’ check up on you every so often
🌩 Sneakingly as in you can clearly hear his pitty patters and his little giggles when he peaks through the crack of your door 🥺
<3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3 <3
Stop, he's my Pookie Bear and I love him <3 (not babying but also . . . babying??)
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winterwhisperz-blog · 9 months
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ALR
I’ve already exhausted the ears of anyone who listens to me with rambles of Touchstarved—and I fear if I bring it up again to them I’ll be taken to the gallows
So I’m taking my ranting to the actual fandom and in hopes I’ll be quiet after I actually type out my thoughts <33
SO
Buckle up I’ve got a lot to say
First tho: these rambles do have some spoilers for The Arcana and Last Legacy and of course— the demo for Touchstarved so bE WARNED
Ahem ahem
Ramble number 1 🤺
First off- IM JUST SO GENERALLY HYPED FOR THE FULL STORY
Like I love romance and all— BUT THE ACTUAL PLOT??
It’s just so intriguing to me
I’m so excited to see what the full on plot is going to be—
Like take The Arcana and Last Legacy for example
Us, as MC, are a magician’s apprentice with years of lost memories, tasked with the responsibility of solving the dead count’s death. Doing so in the timeframe of a masquerade that the Devil arcana crashes, presenting his idea of merging realms—with him as ruler.
Then in Last Legacy
We’re a human from earth that gets transported to a recovering magical world that was only a game back home. Come to find out an old evil is slowly resurfacing—
LIKE BOTH ARE SO COOL
So what is the full story of Touchstarved gonna be? ?
I’m assuming it’s a longer game than the previously mentioned, so I just- GAHHHHH
I can’t wait
I also wonder how much of a center piece Touchstarved MC is gonna be
Like what is gonna be our role? Why are we important to the overall plot of the entire game?
We already know why we’re important to our own story—duh. UHH lemme articulate this-
Like MC’s story is clear in the demo, we’re cursed with hands that corrupts whoever we touch—and we’ve come to the dangerous city of Eridia to find a cure. But I can’t WAIT to find out how that ties in with everything else.
Like how does our curse connect us to the LIs? To Eridia? To everything?
How much of a role does MC really play?
Like in Arcana, we aren’t just the one given the job of solving a murder, but we’re also the one with powers that can rival the Devil’s. We’re the Fool Tarot card—the start of the journey.
And in Last Legacy we’re not just the human from earth brought into an unfamiliar world, but also the human that wields a relic that once belonged to the LI’s ‘dead’ friend/captain. (A relic that is later vital in saving the world)
So I’m just— I’m so excited to see why Touchstarved MC is connected to everything. What decisions we’ll be able to make, and why those decisions will lead to either a happy or horrific ending.
I already love these writers—and I love the characters, and I already love the glimpses we have of the start of the plot.
Like the vibe and plot of the story is what really got me INTO touchstarved. (That and the characters are uhhh rlly pretty 👉👈 AND THE ANIMATED INTRO WAS IMMACULATE)
I’m just so hyped to see what the story is—and how the routes are going to end. Will it truly be happy? Will we actually end it by saving whatever evil is corrupting the world? Or will it be a bittersweet end, where it’s only happy because MC and whatever LI they picked—survived and get to be together?
Like we’ll probably solve things- but I just wonder how bittersweet and still tragic the writers will make it—like what if to gain one character’s salvation, we have to doom another? I think I read somewhere where the Devs said our choice of LI will result in consequences for another— AND I THINK THATS JUST SO
Muah muah
My heart will utterly break
Anyway—I’m just really excited for Touchstarved plot—can’t wait, mentally pained that it’s going to be like waiting for my sailor husband to return from sea. but I have faith it’ll be worth it- especially with how much love has already been put into it.
ALR
NOW UNTO RAMBLE 2
Ramble 2 😙
SO SO SO, now unto the romance hype
I’m vry excited for what the romance is gonna be like. Like, I’ve played a few of these games before. Mainly Arcana, Last Legacy, Mystic Messenger, etc.
And usually the romance starts pretty quick, (mainly due to these games being a bit shorter.)
But I wonder how fast or slow the romances are going to be in Touchstarved. Like, Mc is already pretty quickly attracted to the main cast(valid) but I wonder if some routes are going to be quicker than others?
And what are the CONFESSIONS going to be like?
I wonder if some routes will be slower or quicker than others?
Like my personal guesses for the quickest to slowest romance kinda goes like this: Leander, Ais, Kuras, Mhin, Vere
Okie Okie lemme explain my reasonings (I just like to ramble)
Leander feels like the type of character (if he’s not actually just using Mc) that clings, then obsesses over people he likes. And I can picture his romance starting pretty quick— I think the slower bit will be tied to actually getting him to be vulnerable—
Ais is already canon to get attached. So I can see his romance being a bit quicker.
It’s not like I think Kuras’ romance will be quick, but I do think it’ll be possibly quicker than Mhin’s. (Mainly for the scene where he keeps a hold on you when you trip. Especially if you pick ‘Can you step out?’ At the start.)
I am very curious how he’s gonna be in love though- it’s oddly hard for me to picture
Now Mhin—i can picture theirs being slower because they don’t just not want YOU to get hurt, but THEY don’t want to get hurt either.
And now Vere—I can see the physical parts of the romance being able to happen pretty quickly—but for Vere to actually like—develop sincere feelings? That’ll definitely take longer.
I can’t wait for it to happen tho
I also can’t wait for ✨feelings✨ to make drama. Like, what will the Senobium do when/if they find out Vere has like—genuinely fallen for someone 🧍🏻‍♀️ will they use us as leverage?
Will Kuras’ feelings for us make salvation harder to get?
IDKDBDBDNDND I JUST LIKE DRAMA
Alr Alr Alr- I’ll stop there.
HOPEFULLY, this will help me be quiet— because bro i’ve been thinking of Touchstarved nonstop for ages now 😭 my friends can’t take it anymore
Anyway, if you read all that, thank u <3 I hope you enjoyed my nonsensical ramblings.
I hope you have a vry good day, wear ur favorite shirt, smell a rose, and see a butterfly !!
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threadsun · 1 year
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@hu3sitos Asks: "Hey Sun! me again, coming out of anonymity to lose what little shame I have. I don't know if it's possible, but I need more of the boys' inverted gender. the one you did left me like this for a long time
Saludos!
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Ahhh hey huesitos!! I'm so glad you're back again!! I'm so glad you liked the genderbent headcanons >:3c they were fun to write!! I love big strong women!! Here ya go~
I wasn't sure whether to go sweet or spicy, so I went with fun ones this time. But I'm more than happy to go with sexier ones next time >;3c
Content: biting, bullying, mention of throwing up
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Bo:
She's definitely the most similar to her male counterpart, even down to the name
She's still Bo. They're all Bo, every version of them that was made
If you put her and male Bo together, they won't see a difference between themselves other than the colour and their bodies. They don't know what gender is and they don't care
They're just Blue Bo and Pink Bo if you ask them, and she's very happy being Pink Bo
She's playful and she loves to tease~
She'll hide stuff from you all the time just for the fun of seeing you look around for it. If your phone goes missing, there's a good chance she's hidden it
You can tell that she's in a mischievous mood because she tends to wiggle her whole body before she does something silly
If you ever playfight or playwrestle with her, she will bite. You have to be ready for her to sink her teeth into you if you try
She's generally very active, she loves running and climbing trees and going for hikes, anything that helps get all her energy out
She will pin you down if she wants attention. You can't ignore her if she's on top of you!
Jack:
Her name is Jill and she's the best friend you'll ever have! She'll always cheer you on!
She has endless energy and is so so so peppy, you'd think she was some sort of cheerleader!
But no, she's just your average Sunny Town citizen, clown aesthetic and all
She and Jack generally get along very well, but they will have playful arguments about whether apples or berries are nature's candy (she's objectively right, it's berries)
She makes the best blueberry waffles you'll ever taste, topped with fresh maple syrup and fresh berries
She loves following you around at work, she's fascinated by how the frozen yogurt machines work
Generally, she's got a tendency to tinker with objects. She likes figuring out how various pieces of technology work
She can't stand the smell of cigarette smoke, even in passing on the street I'm not Jo anymore, I'm not her
She loves those old 80s workout videos, and if you ever want her help with exercising then she'll lead you through one of them
When she works out, she's got the full bodysuit and leg warmers and everything!
Ian:
Her name is Irene and she sort of hates it. She got bullied a lot as a kid for having an "old lady name"
The only thing worse than being called Irene is being called Reenie. That's what her father calls her and she hates it
She's got a huge following for her fanfiction, and she spends most nights writing long chapters for the many multi-chapter fics she has on the go
She mostly did tech crew during high school theatre, but one time they did a production of Annie and everyone thought she was the perfect fit for it. That's when she discovered her love of acting
She's a massive lightweight when it comes to drinking. She can't have more than half of a very light drink without getting tipsy
Her anxiety gets so bad that she tends to throw up before auditions. Once she's on stage, she's fine. But before that she's a mess
She blushes and stutters a lot, especially if someone's flirting with her. She's easily flustered and doesn't know what to do or say
She's tiny. Like super short. And the baggy clothes she wears only make her look smaller
She'll hide behind you and whisper her order to you whenever you go somewhere to eat or get coffee or something
She flaps her hands a lot when she's excited, especially when it has something to do with one of her special interests
Shaun:
Her name is Shauna and she gets along really well with Shaun. Well... for the most part
She's got a huge old grumpy cat who doesn't like how energetic Moonpie is, and the two of them argue a lot over whose cat starts the fights
She's very protective of her old man cat. His name is Hamburger and he's a giant ginger beast
She has a shitty dakimakura of Jason Voorhees that she keeps on her bed. She thinks it's very funny
She loves having colourful hair, and she'll swap out the colours every month or so
She wakes up early most days to go to the gym, and then falls back asleep as soon as she gets home
Rather than sleeping through the night, she has a tendency to take little catnaps throughout the day to keep her energy up
She's got a huge collection of cameras, including a bunch of polaroids and a tintype camera. She's fascinated by the history of photography
She loves to do photoshoots with her friends and loved ones. She'll set aside whole days to do elaborate shoots with props and all, just for fun
She has permanent veneer fangs. She got them done pretty recently and still talks with a very slight lisp because of them.
Nick:
Her name is Nikki and she often goes by Nick. She likes to play around with the gender ambiguity of it
She has a special interest in shibari and suspension, and she has a whole rigger set up in her house. She loves the artistry of knots and the intimacy of tying someone up
She first started being an influencer by doing video game streams, but she quickly realised that most people were just interested in her rather than the games
She and Nick get along really well. They sometimes collaborate on stuff, and they respect each other a lot
She's got a huge cane corso dog named Pepper. She's a big softie, but she's scary enough to keep creeps away from Nikki
She's much better at flirting with women than with men. She can really turn on the charm when she's at the gay bar especially
She doesn't drink at all. She's on a few different medications that mean it's not a good idea, so she goes clubbing sober
She was super into raves as a teenager, and as an adult she loves EDM clubs
She's still super into video games and will often stream herself playing them because she likes the company
She has a whole drawn up body map of all the piercings and tattoos she wants to get
Joseph:
Her legal name is Josephine, but do not call her anything other than Jo or Joey
She worked part-time as a mechanic in high school before she ran away, and she still knows her way around a car like nobody's business
She always wanted to go to trade school to become a mechanic or electrician, but she ran away before she could make it happen
She never wanted to be an actress and she doesn't like the attention at all, but she does it for the sake of the kids. She wants them to have a good role model
She really expected to be best friends with Jeanne when they started working together, so she was surprised by how resentful Jeanne seems of her
She's almost more prone to making bad decisions than Joseph. She's done a lot of things she regrets
She and Joseph get along like a house on fire. They encourage each other's stupidest ideas
She's great at coming up with outlandish excuses that no one ever believes. Except... half the time, they're actually true
Seriously, people learn really quickly that no matter how crazy something she says sounds, there's a 50/50 chance it's true
She's lived a wild life, and she'll drop the craziest anecdote into the most normal of conversations like it's nothing
Jean:
Her name is Jeanne and she was always forced to be the perfect little daughter her parents wanted
She grew up doing ballet, playing piano and the harp, singing opera, acting, singing in a choir, everything impressive and ladylike her parents could find to make her do
She rebelled a little in high school by joining the girl's football team. She was a striker and her parents were mildly disapproving, but accepted it as long as she did well
Once she moved out of her parents' house, that's when she became a true rebel. She got herself a reputation for smoking, drinking, and sleeping around
Honestly, she doesn't actually do that much of any of those things, but it's such a difference from the good two-shoes kid the media knew that everyone runs with it
Her actual preferred nightly activity is curling up in bed with a cup of tea and a good book
She hates how effortlessly Jo manages to be the rebel that she's always wanted to be. Jeanne has to work to keep up that image, Jo seems to just... do it
She stress-bakes. Whenever she's nervous about something, the kitchen will become filled with pastries and biscuits and cakes
Whenever she stress-bakes, she brings all the leftovers onto set early in the morning before anyone else gets there and leaves them on a table. No one knows it's her who does it, and she likes it that way
She spends most of her time in her dressing room when they're not shooting. She doesn't really like socialising with the cast and crew
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bluepeachstudios · 7 months
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When the skittles get older, will they get their own rooms, or will they share one? What their rooms look like, like would it be neat, messy, what kind of stuff would they have, ect?
They get their own rooms in the penthouse once they get too big for the crib, but they regularly spend nights in each other's rooms. Only Bardi is really territorial about his room, so they won't sleep in there as much. If he feels okay with it they'll go and sit on his bed or somewhere while he works. Sanzio especially likes to sit on his bed and read while Bardi works.
Davinci's room is the cleanest, he likes things to be neat! Simoni's is clean because his brothers all help him keep it that way. He tends to get distressed easily and have trouble finding things when his room gets too messy. Sanzio keeps his moderately tidy; there's no trash or anything but he's got a lot of stuff he hasn't put away yet. He gets tired the quickest when doing physical things. Bardi's room is a godawful mess and he will not let ANYONE help. They organize it wrong, he can't find things, he gets upset. He knows where everything is. Just don't touch the scrap piles. He WILL know if you move a single screw.
Like all bedrooms, they change as their tastes do. Around their teenage years they start to really solidify what their rooms will stay as for years to come. Bardi has a lot of tech in his room, with video game posters and notes and blueprints sprawled everywhere. He likes to sleep up high so his bed is a loft bed, with a place to curl up and read or do smaller projects beneath it. He has an absolute powerhouse of a computer that puts governments to shame. He's hand-made some parts for it and also makes custom controllers, so some of his favorites are up on the walls as well. A lot of his interests revolve around accessibility in video games, as well as prosthetics, mobility aids and braces. He's got a lot of parts and pieces scattered around. He likes black and purple so his room kinda looks like. Goth with cyberpunk aspects but sleek. He has a wheelchair for when he doesn't feel like wearing his braces that is black and purple and glows way too much.
Davinci's very sporty. He does martial arts the most and does several different kinds, much to his caretakers' dismay. He still has to be very careful with his heart condition but he gets to participate in a tournament once a year! He loves plants as well. His room is FULL of plants, it's like walking into a jungle. Even his bathroom is full of them. He also keeps a betta fish, whose tank keeps getting more and more complex because he likes adding pieces to it, including tubes that lead to MORE tanks. (He takes care of the koi on the rooftop garden that Splinter started; there's a pond there now too!) He likes collecting old stuff like Cody. He's got his dad's mask in a display along with his katanas and a journal Leo made for him about his own struggles as a teenager coping with growing up.
Sanzio's room looks like one of those pinterest libraries where everything is super cozy, with lots of dark wood and natural light combined with coffee shop aesthetic but like, with more COLOR. He loves books, he loves writing, he loves cute animals, he has a million stuffies, his bed is nice and low so he has an easy time climbing in and out of it. He also has a wheelchair that was designed by Bardi for days when he doesn't feel like wearing his braces. It's decorated to be nice and pink and subtle. He likes to keep succulents, but he keeps worrying about when to water them so Davinci regularly checks in on them and just lets him know when to water them instead. He likes collecting old physical books and comics! He even does some bookbinding of some of his favorite digital-only books. He already has 5 volumes of 'Sanzio's Anthology', which are just some of his favorite short stories all put together and bound physically.
Simoni's got stars on his ceiling, and in the corner there's like a fluffy storm cloud on the ceiling that lights up like lightning is going through it. The stars twinkle and shift like the real stars, which are pretty hard to see from New York because light pollution and all that. He sleeps in a hammock most of the time, since that's cozy, but he has a gathering of pillows and blankets beneath it in case his hips are hurting bad. He also uses gutter crutches so those are in there, his are a red to orange gradient with white stars decorating them. Simoni loves to collect pictures and videos of people. He'll talk to anyone and ask them what they're up to. Just like. Imagine the Humans of New York tumblr blog but it's Simoni just getting audio recordings and video recordings of people talking about their lives or things they love. He has a lot of photos on the walls, printed out the old-fashioned way. He loves video editing as well and single-handedly brings AMVs back in the 2120s. He also enjoys carving pretty patterns into clay, or painting them with a lot of colors. Nobody knows this, but he tells secret stories with them.
They all have bits and pieces of their dads' things in their rooms as well. Sanzio has a turtle stuffy that has Raph's voice come out of it when he hugs it. Simoni has all of their old photos in photo albums, and all of his dad's action figures carefully decorating his shelves. Bardi still uses a lot of Donnie's old tools, and listens to his teaching lectures that Donnie made him like podcasts.
Their room at their dads' place looks completely different, though ;)
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hinatastinygiant · 23 days
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9 | A Second Thought with the Explosion Hero
Pairing: Various MHA x Fem!Reader
Dear Departure
"I'll find him, it's not a big deal," Bakugou waves off Ojiro and Koda as they try to reassure him.
"Bakugou, please, let us help," Ojiro pleads, but Bakugou ignores him. This isn't even that big of a room, how is it possible that he keeps missing the only bright-red-haired student in here?
Just then, Bakugou's eyes catch onto a moving target. Mina, who is running as if she is escaping from prison, rushes right past him. Bakugou quickly follows, not quite sure why but something tells him that he needs to.
He doesn't quite catch up with her until he sees her standing before Kirishima. Bakugou gulps, not wanting to witness his confession. But, despite himself, he stays hidden in the crowd.
"Kirishima, can we talk?"
"Sure, Mina," he smiles, though he looks more concerned than happy.
As the two of them walk a bit further away from Bakugou, he loses the ability to hear what they're saying. He does try to move closer, but the annoying sea of people prevents him from doing so. Instead, he decides it might be better not to hear them.
Time seems to pass slowly as he watches the two of them talk. Part of his brain comes up with a conversation that he thinks he can hear based on reading Kirishima's lips, but it's not easy. Kaminari pissed him off so much before that he feels like his brain is fuzzy. That idiot must've shocked him or something.
Finally, Mina wraps her arms around Kirishima. Bakugou's heart sinks as Kirishima allows her to kiss him squarely on the lips. The two of them laugh, and Kirishima takes her hand, leading her out of the room.
"Fucking great," Bakugou grumbles as he finally decides to leave this stupid party.
As soon as he steps outside, the cool night air hits his face and he breathes a sigh of relief. He had forgotten how hot it was in there. But, the peace and quiet of the outside makes him feel a lot more comfortable.
He decides to walk around a bit. His eyes drift up towards the sky, which is a dark navy blue. He can see the stars sparkling faintly. As he admires them, a thought enters his mind.
"Isn't it incredible, Katsuki?" Y/N's soft voice resonates in his mind. It wasn't real, but he feels drawn back to a time when they were in love. "Look at all those stars, each one a shimmering piece of the universe. And yet, here we are, under the same night sky, together."
Bakugou always hated how her words sounded like poetry. She could soothe him out of anything so easily, and he hated it. Or rather, he hated that he loved it.
He continues walking, his shoes crunching the gravel beneath his feet. He can still hear her voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He can still remember her touch, her kiss, her warmth. She had such a strange way of making him feel safe, and he had been too stubborn to let it continue.
"I hate you," he had told her once.
"That's okay," she had replied with a smile, putting her hand on his cheek. "I love you."
"Ugh," Bakugou growls as he kicks a rock and it goes flying. Why can't he just get her out of his head? It's over, isn't it?
Sick of thinking of her, he decides to sit on a nearby bench and wallow in self-pity instead. He shouldn't've ended things with her. Especially not the way he did. He was so mean for no reason. He had no reason to say all of those things. He knew how much they hurt her. But he had to, didn't he?
But then there was Kirishima, the person he'd trusted most from his first day at U.A. whether he'd like to admit it or not. If he hadn't been so dense, if he'd only realized what was going on, he wouldn't have broken up with her. But then again, maybe he would've.
It wasn't worth thinking about anymore. Kirishima's off somewhere with Mina right now while Bakugou's stuck outside alone. He had pushed everyone away, just like his friends told him he would do if he didn't let them help.
It wasn't worth thinking about anymore. Kirishima's off somewhere with Mina right now while Bakugou's stuck outside alone. He had pushed everyone away, just like his friends told him he would do if he didn't let them help.
"Katsuki," she had hummed one morning after the two of them had spent the night together in Bakugou's dorm, "You know how much you mean to me, right?"
"What are you-"
"And you know that I'll always love you, no matter what happens," she had continued, pressing a kiss to his lips.
"Stop, it's too early for this," he had complained, burying his head in the crook of her neck and holding her tighter.
"But I'm being serious," she giggles at the sensation of his skin rubbing against hers.
"So am I," he mutters.
"Katsuki, if something happened to you, I would-"
"I know," he says, rolling his eyes and sitting up to look down at her. "I'd do the same. But nothing's going to happen, so just shut up and kiss me."
She laughs and pulls him back down on top of her. He kisses her and the rest of the world seems to fade away. She was his. He was hers. Nothing could ever change that.
But then, a few months later, they were nothing. Just a memory, and Bakugou didn't know how to handle that.
"I wouldn't be able to live if something happened to you," he suddenly whispers to himself, looking down at his hands in his lap. Well, at least this is the last night he'll ever have to see any one of these people ever again.
"You're so fucking stupid," he sighs as he stands up and stretches his arms. It's been a long night and he's ready to go to bed. 
Dear Departure
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normiematsu · 5 months
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SO CUTES.... MY THOUGHTS........
ive said before theyre like rivals 2 lovers in a way because before they get to know each other all of their interactions involve bumping into each other trying to get the same last piece of anime merch somewhere. eventually yuu is curious about choro bc isnt it kind of sus that hes always popping up wherever she does...! but he doesnt seem like a bad guy so she takes a chance and asks him to hang out. really this is rivals to friends to lovers....
they get along surprisingly well!! so one thing leads to another and they end up spending a looooot of time together, the whole time insisting they're totally just friends (osomatsu is especially insufferable about teasing them it makes him sick to see them all over each other but neither wants to make the first move)
after theyve hung out for a while and gotten closer maybe theres a period where shes super busy with work and cant hang out at ALL... just going in to the manga cafe and going home after cos theyre short staffed, dealing w customers all day and cleaning up after them... its making her insane doing clopening shifts over and over. her mind keeps wandering thinking stuff like "wow i am about to EXPLODE i wish i was hanging out at chibitas or at the arcade with c... c... ch...."
she hits a hard stop then and there. once that thought starts trying to finish itself she already knows shes cooked. the realization that shed rather be spending all her free time with choro is a lil terrifying to her bc she hadnt even realized she liked him that much...! this is so world shattering she would look stupid as hell behind the counter head in her hands with new customers walking in asking if shes ok LOL. she thinks for hours about this afterwards and cant sleep once she gets home.
the next day and from then out until she accidentally drunkenly confesses to him she tries so so so hard to keep up appearances but even choro can catch on to something being... off... about the way shes acting. he doesnt wanna get his hopes up bc hed honestly just be happy as her friend. but the way she steals glances at him when she thinks hes not looking..... the way she scoots the closest to him when everyone is eating at chibitas.... the way she puts up with his antics but never really truly looks down on him for being an otaku neet.... he cant help but hope she likes him back
BONUS: choro is the only one who knows Where she works and what exactly it entails (she tells everyone else she just works at a regular bookstore not a manga cafe, she doesnt want most ppl knowing shes an otaku) so it would be very cute and thoughtful if he showed up to her next shift to cheer her up. he goes up to the counter and coughs nervously to get yuu's attention. she looks up to see this guy she KNOWS is unemployed asking nervously to rent a half hour booth for what's probably his last 350 yen. he slides her favorite candy across the counter with his change. they are both exploding inside
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luke-o-lophus · 4 months
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A Ship of Theseus
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Summary: Half a year after Ammit, the Moon Boys have moved in with Layla again. One day, there's a special delivery. A blast from the past, in the most mundane way imaginable.
A/N: A character study of an adult survivor of childhood abuse. What is means for memories, belongings, and justice
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It's another of those days.
On most days recently, stuff around the house is just...stuff. Then every once in a while, they seem to stare back at him. Try to provoke him into a conversation, introspection, memories.
Until recently, there wasn't a lot of belongings Marc had held on to. When he'd left the house, he could take only as much as he could fit in two bags. And he definitely wasn't aiming to include keepsakes. In a way, that had been easier: living in a space that looked absolutely different. It was easier to pretend the child in his memories wasn't really him, or at best was just a version of him. It's been fifteen years since.
When Marc moved back in with Layla, half a year past the Ammit situation, things had become completely different. Steven was in the picture now, and he came with his massive stack of books and an aquarium Marc found unnecessarily huge for two fish. "It's bigger than my army room", Marc had grumbled to Layla one evening as he helped her carry her stuff into their new apartment.
Between her and Steven, it's easy to lose yourself in the warmth of home. At least that's what Marc had hoped to do. Until Elias called again. As he does. When Marc refused to speak to him, Steven suddenly found himself on call with a father he had no memory of having. But Elias called to talk business. He was selling some old furniture from the house; too much stuff for one person he said. Layla listened to it all with rapt attention as her husband curled up on her lap. It was the memories that were hanging too heavy on Elias, that much was obvious. But she wouldn't tell Marc that, she wouldn't set him on another path of feeling guilt for his choice of cutting contacts. Marc had already done enough, and Elias not nearly so.
Two months later, Packers and Movers delivered a mountain of packages from his once 'home'. Marc eyed the pile with obvious distress, second guessing his choice of accepting the unused furniture just sitting around the house. It'd saved them good bucks they could now use towards a proper honeymoon in the Maldives.
The biggest piece of furniture was a heavy desk, now dismantled into pieces and neatly packed. It had been a gift from his grandfather when he turned five. The man liked to spoil his grandkids. In the years since, the table became his sanctuary. He sketched and played on it, and hid under it when needed. The table had been his constant, his only witness. The only piece of wood in that house he found claim to.
But seeing it now, in this form, sent a chill down his spine. The power tools were ready, it'd take just hours to put it all together. Piece by piece, construct back the silent observer of all those childhood experiences: the ones he remembered, and the ones forever lost to memory. He'd have to bring them back, by his own hands.
Layla was only a little surprised when she came home that evening. Normally Marc hated having things lying around, leading to endless complaints of Steven's untidiness. But she'd guessed the table would be, quite literally, a lot to unpack.
"You don't have to", she told him over a cup of tea. "We can sell it, or put it in storage somewhere. Anything." Marc sighed deeply, shaking his head. "It's mine. But I...", he didn't really want it around. It wasn't comforting. His home with his wife and his alter was his safe haven.
But it's also sacred. Some planks of wood simply nailed together; the weight of which only his tiny young shoulders knew. In one teasing example of the ship of Theseus, Steven told him. If you take it apart piece by piece, and build it back together, is it the same anymore?
Marc doesn't know. He leaves the philosophical shit to him and Layla. But he does know what it makes him feel, unlike either of them. It's only him, and the voice inside of him, flaring up from all those scared memories of a bruised kid hidden beneath the wide tabletop. Teary eyes demanding justice...from himself if not from anyone else.
It's been almost thirty years, and Marc still doesn't know what justice looks like for them. How is he supposed to make the correct decision? From the opposite wall, the propped up packages seem to follow every movement...observing, judging, waiting.
"I was thinking...", Layla chimes in breaking his train of thought. "We should head to Maldives in October. Weather should clear up by then...and it won't be too hot." Marc purses his lips in thought, considering the idea, glancing between the cardboard and Layla's jade black eyes.
"That's two months, huh? Yeah...should be enough time to plan", he shrugs. "Tell Steven, he'll be thrilled." "We can finish setting up the flat when we're back", she starts washing the cups. Marc stares at her back, as she's seemingly lost in her world. Another deep sigh, his eyes closed, memories of the desk, memories of this kitchen countertop, Layla sitting on it...the day they made S'mores together. "Yeah...", he smiles, walking up to her and putting the cups away. "I'll....put these in the storeroom till then?"
"Yeah sure, we can deal with them once we're back." she flashes him a blinding grin. "So, honeymoon, huh?"
Marc chuckles, and wraps her in his warmest hug.
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littlesoka7567 · 11 months
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Five + One Times Hunter Had a Migraine
Chapter Three: 3 - Crosshair
Summary: After a mission, Hunter gets one of his worst migraines yet. Crosshair wants to help.
Notes: Halfway through! I hope you guys like this one, I changed how it went about ten times lol.
WC: 2344
Tech rolls his eyes at his brothers’ complaining, face practically buried in his datapad as he walks off their ship. His helmet is still firmly in place, even though he usually takes it off on the flight home. “For your information, that move was perfectly safe. I passed my flying exams with perfect scores.”
Crosshair takes his bucket off as he exits the ship, and rolls his eyes right back, toothpick sliding between his teeth. “Doesn’t mean it was enjoyable.”
Hunter can’t help but agree. The erratic flying from Tech normally doesn’t bother him, but the unnecessary turn to fly upside down for a few seconds had rattled his brain around his skull uncomfortably. He crosses his arms over his chest, having turned to watch his crew exit the ship.
Wrecker laughs loudly, and Hunter’s eye twitches in the effort to not flinch. “I thought it was fun!” He doesn’t take his helmet all the way off, merely shoving it up so it rests on top of his head. He stomps happily down the ramp, shoving Crosshair’s shoulder playfully before throwing an arm over Tech’s shoulders. 
Hunter takes his bucket off, taking a deep breath. The high of yet another successful mission never lasts long, and the migraine is always quick to follow. But it’s already starting to appear due to the flying. 
Tech smiles at Wrecker, after taking his own bucket off. “Well I’m starving,” he announces. “I’m going straight to the mess hall.” 
Wrecker gasps, shoving his gear into Crosshair’s chest. “You don’t mind, do you?” His lips twist up into a mean smile, eyes glinting with mischief. 
Crosshair opens his mouth, likely to say that he does mind in a lot more words, but Hunter cuts him off. “Nah, you two go ahead. Me and Cross will catch up.”
Tech smirks at Crosshair, before handing his gear to Hunter. “Thank you. We will save you a seat,” he jokes. As if anyone would take their seats. 
Tech and Wrecker make their way to the mess hall, and Hunter and Crosshair turn down the other way. “I was hungry too, you know,” Crosshair complains halfheartedly. 
Hunter hums, leading them to their private barracks. Their private barracks…he’ll never get tired of thinking that. His squad worked very hard for their position as a special ops team, for their reputation. They earned it; they’re superior to the batches around the same age. Most of them are still shinies, waiting for their chance to even see a frontline. Not his team. 
“I know,” Hunter says, shaking his head a bit. His migraine is growing quickly. “Just help me carry it back and you can go down.”
“You won’t be joining me?” Crosshair asks, toothpick rolling from one side of his mouth to the other. 
“No,” Hunter says, and he clenches his jaw. He suddenly feels nauseous; the sign of a really bad migraine. It doesn’t happen often, only his worst headaches affect him this badly. 
“Are you…alright?” Crosshair asks, opening their door. Hunter lays Tech’s gear down, and starts stripping himself of his own armor. Usually he leaves it on for a bit; right now, the sound it makes as it rubs against the other pieces is making his teeth hurt. 
“Sure,” Hunter lies, turning to Crosshair and forcing a smile. Crosshair has never, not even once, believed Hunter when the older clone attempts to downplay his pain. 
Crosshair bites the toothpick, narrowing his eyes. He puts Wrecker’s stuff down, and starts taking his own armor off. “How bad is it?” Crosshair asks softly. 
Hunter sighs, sitting on his bunk in just his blacks and digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Bad,” he says. Then another wave of nausea hits him, and he clenches his teeth tightly together. 
“Are you going to be sick?” Crosshair asks, and the toothpick lands somewhere to Hunter’s right. The other clone shifts his weight, staring at Hunter. 
“I hope not,” Hunter gasps out after a beat, looking up again. He winces at the bright fluorescent light, covering his entire face with his hands almost immediately. 
There’s a few heartbeats where Crosshair just stares, slowly taking off his own armor in order to be quiet. Then the door opens and closes, and Hunter groans loudly. 
Normally he tries to hide his pain as best he can, but when he’s alone, he allows himself to vent. “Oh no,” he groans, mashing his teeth together. He briefly considers making a run for the fresher, but the thought of going back into the hall with all those blindingly white walls makes him hesitate. 
Hunter doesn’t even notice when Crosshair comes back in, a testament to how much pain he’s in. He doesn’t notice until Crosshair’s finger digs into Hunter’s jaw joint, making Hunter gasp and look up, betrayed. 
Crosshair rolls his eyes, waving the towel he retrieved around. “Don’t clench your jaw. Tech says it makes it worse.”
“I’m going to throw up if I don’t,” Hunter argues, reaching for the towel. He’s right, though; Tech has made it very clear that tension in his jaw makes the headaches worse. It’s why he hates eating when he gets a migraine, even if he isn’t nauseous. Not only does the sound of himself chewing grate him, but the way his teeth press together to chew hurts. 
Crosshair holds it just out of reach, a smirk on his lips. Hunter would roll his own eyes if it didn’t feel like they would pop out. “Let me help you,” Crosshair asks. Even though he’s pretending he wants to be annoying, the eyes always give Crosshair away. He can morph the rest of his face into a cocky, careless expression; but his eyes always betray his worry. 
Crosshair has always been the first one to volunteer to help Hunter, and he does it whenever he notices Hunter in pain. When they were younger, he would cuddle with Hunter in his pod. When they got too big to share a pod, he would keep watch and hush any rowdy boy who walked by. Once Tech found out how to best help Hunter, though, it’s always been more hands-on; Crosshair is always ready to get the towel or caf or whatever Hunter needs; always ready to massage Hunter’s temples or do whatever else Hunter could possibly want. 
Hunter doesn’t like accepting help, though. He’s the Sargent, he’s their leader, he’s the big brother. Hunter is supposed to protect and help his brothers, not the other way around. That’s been drilled into him basically since he was decanted. But sometimes, when Hunter’s headaches are really bad…he can’t find it in himself to put up a fight. 
Hunter hesitates, but he nods slowly. “Alright. You can help.”
Crosshair steps closer, his knees almost touching Hunter’s, and hands Hunter the towel. He reaches out and carefully unties Hunter’s bandana. He lays it next to Hunter’s helmet, before he sits at the top of Hunter’s bed, moving the pillow behind his back. 
Hunter lays himself down on the bed, letting his neck rest on Crosshair’s thigh and his head take up the space left by his brother’s crossed legs. Even though he doesn’t allow his brother to do this often, the position is very familiar and comforting already. 
He hands the towel back to Crosshair, looking up at him once more before closing his eyes. 
Crosshair hums softly in encouragement, and carefully lays the towel over Hunter’s eyes. The relief is subtle but immediate, and Hunter releases a soft sigh. “Better?” Crosshair drawls, a teasing lilt to his voice. He knows Hunter feels better when he allows himself to be taken care of. He never takes as good care of himself as one of his brothers does. Hunter usually tries to ignore it if he can, forcing on a brave face around his squad. If he can’t, he’s more likely to lay down by himself and tell his brothers he’ll be fine than he is to accept help. His pride is a beast of its own; something his squad are well aware of by now. 
Hunter gives a thumbs up, scared that he might be sick if he opens his mouth. 
Crosshair starts by gently rolling his thumbs over Hunter’s temples, creating small circles. The angle makes it a bit awkward, but Crosshair always manages. 
They sit in silence for several minutes, and Hunter feels slightly better with each deep breath. His hands rest crossed over his stomach, and he tries to focus on his deep breathing like Tech taught him. The nausea slowly fades, but the headache is still killing him. 
Crosshair’s thumbs still, and he just stares down at Hunter for a moment. 
Hunter huffs, the pain already returning. “Cross?” He whispers, tensing up. 
Crosshair doesn’t answer at first. Hunter starts to reach up for the towel, but Crosshair pushes his hand away gently. “Let me try something,” he demands softly. 
Hunter is confused, but he shrugs against Crosshair’s thigh. He hurts too much to be suspicious. “Alright,” Hunter agrees. 
The fingers of Crosshair’s left hand gently card through Hunter’s hair, and the sensation is surprisingly nice. Hunter melts into it immediately, a surprised gasp escaping his lips. 
Crosshair chuckles deeply, and Hunter will never get over how unique the laugh is. Even though Crosshair is a clone, his voice is so distinct and different from any other Hunter has ever heard. 
His fingers go all the way to the ends of Hunter’s strands, before the slight tug ends and the hair falls loose again. Then he starts again, at Hunter’s hairline, and cards his fingers all the way to the ends again, before letting them fall. 
The experience is unlike anything Hunter has ever felt before. The sound of Crosshair’s fingers gliding through the thick locks. The feel of Crosshair’s short nails scratching at his scalp for just a second at every pass. The surge of relief as the barely-there tug releases. He never even notices the pressure is there until it’s gone. 
“Oh,” Hunter whispers, his entire body melting into the mattress below him. Crosshair hums, a pleased sound, his right hand gently tapping a rhythm into the thigh Hunter’s neck isn’t cushioned against.
He never wants for Crosshair to stop. The pain isn’t gone, but it fades into the background, almost unnoticeable. His nausea is completely gone, and it’s almost bliss. 
Crosshair keeps it up for several minutes, his fingers starting at different areas on his scalp and working slowly through the locks. His right hand eventually joins as well, and the doubled sensation nearly puts Hunter to sleep. 
Hunter sighs deeply, fingers flexing where they’re crossed over his stomach. Crosshair gives a contented sigh in response, obviously pleased at being allowed to help his older brother. 
Hunter’s so relaxed and out of it, that he doesn't hear anyone approaching until the door slides open and Wrecker’s booming voice fills the room. “You guys have been in here for ages, what’s taking-oh.” 
Crosshair’s fingers still in Hunter’s hair, and Hunter fights back a whine. “Shut it, Wrecker,” Crosshair hisses, his left hand resuming the slow movements and the right gesturing. 
“Sorry,” Wrecker whisper-yells, tiptoeing over to his bunk. It always makes Hunter want to laugh, at how Wrecker can try so hard to be quiet and fail so miserably. It’s endearing, really. There’s a bit of shuffling for a moment, and then the soft footfalls are making their way back to Hunter’s bunk. 
Hunter opens his hands, and Lula is carefully placed inside of them. Hunter can’t help but smile, crossing his fingers over her stomach instead. 
Wrecker moves back to the couch by the window, and it sinks under his weight as he sits.  
“Anything I might do to help?” Tech asks in a low voice. He’s still by the door, and he must be looking at them because the sounds of his fingers typing on the datapad are absent. 
“I got it,” Crosshair says, his right hand moving back down. His thumb starts to rub circles into Hunter’s temple again, and that combined with the fingers carding through his hair makes a contented sigh escape Hunter’s lips. 
“Are you sure?” Tech whispers, stepping closer. “You have not eaten yet,” he reminds the silver-haired clone. 
Crosshair makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t stop his movements again. “I’ll have a ration bar when he falls asleep.”
The fact that Hunter knows Crosshair is hungry, but he’ll settle for a ration bar from their supplies instead of going down to the mess hall before it closes makes Hunter squirm. He already hates accepting help; allowing them to put himself before their own needs messes with Hunter’s sense of duty. “No, Cross, it’s-”
“Shh,” Crosshair shushes him, gently moving the cloth over Hunter’s eyes to line up more with his eyebrows. “You already said you would let me take care of you. Can’t take it back now.”
“I can take over,” Tech suggests matter-of-factly. 
“You know how you can help?” Crosshair says, not hiding the annoyance from his voice. “Hunter’s report will be due in less than 24 hours. Why don’t you do it for him, so he doesn’t have to worry about it?”
Hunter frowns deeply, reaching up for the towel. His hand is slapped away again, and he huffs. “No, no. I’m feeling so much better, Cross. I can do my own reports.”
Tech tsks softly. “I will do it better than you, anyway,” he says. He moves to grab Hunter’s datapad, and sits at his workbench. 
Hunter scoffs. “Okay, unnecessary jab,” he accuses. 
Crosshair chuckles softly, his fingers scratching at Hunter’s scalp. “Relax. You were almost asleep before.”
Hunter sighs in defeat, forcing himself to relax back into the bed again. “Fine. Just this once.”
Crosshair snickers almost silently, and pulls a toothpick out of his pack before getting back into the rhythm of combing his fingers through Hunter’s hair with one hand and rubbing his temple with the other. “Just this once,” he echoes the lie.
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dorksideoftheforce · 3 months
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Dec. 13, 2023 was one for the books. Saw a shooting star on the highway going home so I got out and took this picture and it kinda looks like a bird. The stars are breathtaking. Remember who you are.
The wind started blowing like crazy when I found her and there was a lil tornado of dust that moved through the lil parking lot. When I told her all the things, all the big things that I’ve been wanting to say for so, so long. The sun came out and it felt like all these warm vibrations of light were radiating my way; the way the sun shined in between the trees, directly on me and the rose bush there, I couldn’t help but to cry and then the wind would blow again and it was truly everything to me. Our whole thing was everything to me and I feel at peace with myself, as much as I can, because I know I did my best. Like in Forest Gump…these two were like the feather that found me. I wrote something and I’ll share it here; might as well. “Like a feather blowing in the wind; it stopped for a second to lend me a hand. This is what it means to be Grateful. This is what it means to Love. This is what it means to Hope. This is what it means to let go. May your love be ever flowing, like a river that leads to the sea. Through all the seasons and mountains, valleys and the sky, full of stars that will always be there but you might not be able to see them because of the weather. I’m happy to know that you are somewhere out there. I’m better because of it. May your time, Love and memory be valued; treasured, forever.”
When I put the rock there, in front of the rose bush that I’m so damn happy is there because I too have planted one because it will grow back a couple times a year, every year…I felt like how I did when I first went there. Like all of me was finally…finally back together again after all these years. As much as it all possibly can be. I didn’t want to bring flowers that would eventually wither away; that always pained me to think about because I brought 2 roses, one for both of them, on an adventure once and this lady at the greyhound bus station taught me a trick on how to keep them from wilting so fast - aspirin and warm water…so that’s why I brought a rock but not just any rock…it was part of a big rock that I got all the way from the top of Pike’s Peak; 14,115 ft. high in the sky from an adventure I went on with people like me and their lovers. It was a dream. It felt so good to get the things that had been on my heart so long out there. It was a different kind of satisfaction, one I can live with and be at peace with because it was time to finally let it all out and let it go and to sit there and truly be at this place with my own self because the person I was back then vs the person I am now…I went through Hell, doing my best to overcome who I used be… I had to tell her everything and do it in person, for me. It wasn’t enough for me to pray and talk to her from this far away, you know…I had to show up in my own way and I did.
More than anything from me placing the rock there, I hope that her mom and family see it and it brings them some peace and joy this Christmas knowing that someone was there who remembers her and loves her so much cause I do. I always have because her and Amanda were a package deal which I respected so much and that’s why I held on so damn tight because they were both a light to me and I didn’t want to let either of them down. They both were my reason. Her family won’t ever know the story behind the rock and I don’t know if they will even see it or if it will get blown away but I’m happy I was able to get a piece of the mountain to both of them before Life does what it does best and changes and we all move on. It’s hard letting go but before I do, I had to do this. For me and also her family cause she was a rock to me and changed my life, completely. Showed me what it meant to be a true friend and to be that to myself too. I told her that even if the rock breaks apart, don’t worry cause just like the little pieces, her love has spread out to everyone she knew and all who love her; she’s always with us and everything we do. I didn’t take any pictures of it because I just want to leave it all there but when I broke a piece off of the big rock to get her a piece, I kid you not, it seriously looks like a heart from damn near every side and I was just like wow! How about that! I know it’s been a long time and that her family has seen lots of things show up there but that was my thing I needed to do and it was so fucking worth it. Ain’t no mountain high enough. To show up there in person as the person I am now on the other side of everything. I’m happy that it’s part of my story, even though she’s not here anymore, when I attempted and had all that stuff happen to me, I knew I wasn’t going to go back to how I used to be and it took me some time to get through all of my stuff and heal as much as I have but it was always worth it to get to where I’m at now and to be real…even if things didn’t go the way I hoped so badly they would, it wasn’t for nothing because now we can all be free and there’s nothing that will ever come close to that because that’s all you could ever hope and pray for for the ones you love. Wherever they go and that they are surrounded by people who genuinely love, care and value them for who they truly are and not what they can do for other people.
When I got up to leave, I was walking over to my car and there was this lady in a white puffy coat who was walking behind me. I wasn’t going to say anything at first but I felt like I needed to say something and so I said hi and she said hi to me too and asked me who I went to see and I told her my story and she said that if you feel like your heart is calling you to follow it and do something then you listen to it and absolutely follow your heart because you won’t regret it. I know that regrets follow you to the grave and asking Amanda for forgiveness was astronomical but I had to tell her the truth about me while I was still alive because well, God knows how much this all meant to me and is there for me to see me through this. While this stuff is still fresh, I just wanted to put it here because Tumblr is where it all started and it only seems right that I put this story here. I will always love and care for both of them, their families and this part of my life. Just because people leave doesn’t mean that the Love they left behind is gone too, it will always be there; just in a different way and I’m so eternally grateful. It won’t go to waste and I’m gonna keep doing my best to hold on and create something beautiful out of it like on the trip, I painted some rocks with messages and left them at rest stops and random places for people and I did a project in 3rd grade where my mom and I built a longhouse made by the Iroquois’; I thought they were only in Upstate NY but they weren’t, they had them there and I finally got to see them and FaceTimed with my mom! One of the longhouses had a wolf on the front. It was so amazing. I got my mom some pinecones from there too. I don’t know where life is going to take me but I have so much going on now where I’m showing up and talking to leaders in the community, it’s so mind blowing and I am happy to have told her all about it and to be the person I am now because of her. Of both of them. I know a lot about what Love is because of them and what it means to let go. All I have left to say now is Thank you and I love you.
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stories-me · 7 months
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Potential Character for Mrs. Kelsey and Tumblr 8/24/2023:
Groot, Guardian of the Galaxy – He Is Groot:
Spoiler alert! Watch out and take care!
Background:
It’s unknown how Groot came to join Rocket Raccoon, but likely it began somewhere after Rocket escaped from the High Evolutionary. At the time, Rocket was grappling with survivor’s guilt, and was afraid that if he befriended Groot, Groot would be killed and it would be Rocket’s fault. Unfortunately, Groot refused to go away, no matter how many times Rocket ordered him to. Ultimately, Groot convinced Rocket to let him stay on for “one job”. After that, that “one job” turned into “one more job”, and “one more job” after that, until Rocket ultimately made Groot his partner or sidekick (besides, Rocket was kind of small, and Groot was big, so he could use the muscle). Also, Rocket (being a brainy sort) quickly figured out how to interpret the only phrase Groot ever said: “I am Groot”.
Rocket and Groot ultimately went on to (alongside Peter “Star Lord” Quill, Drax the Destroyer, and Gamora) found the Guardians of the Galaxy. During their first adventure together, Groot willingly sacrificed himself to protect his friends. Fortunately, Groot was reborn from a small clipping of himself.
A lot happened after that.
Personality:
Groot is usually very gentle and warm, displaying kindness towards innocent life. However, he can also be merciless and brutal towards his enemies, especially if they threaten his friends. He once extended his arm and put it into a row into numerous Kree before they got to him, Drax, and Quill.
As a baby, Groot can misinterpret the simplest requests, which was exhibited when he was having trouble bringing Yondu's prototype fin and pressing the “death button” on the bomb used to kill Ego.
He is loyal to Rocket and the other Guardians, and was even willing to die to protect them, as shown in the Battle of Xandar, when he willingly sacrificed himself to save his friends. Before his sacrifice, he told Rocket that they had to save their friends when Star-Lord and Gamora were being held by Yondu and the Ravagers.
As an adolescent, Groot displayed the typical behavior of a human teenager, such as being rude, making a mess of his own space and getting obsessed with playing video games. Unlike his father, he hardly smiled and seemed to be unaware of his surroundings most of the time. He frequently snapped at his Guardian companions when he got told off (as most teenagers do), resulting in them, notably Rocket and Peter murmuring about how they miss the old Groot and how annoying the new Groot is. Nevertheless, Groot’s loyalty to his companions remains as strong as ever and he staunchly stands by them during fights, fully retaining his old courage and headstrong nature. He even went as far as to resist the pain of the newly heated pieces of Stormbreaker (Thor's axe) and sacrificed his arm to create the axe without hesitation. He also seemed to look up to Rocket, referring to him as “Dad” in his native tongue as he faded away due to the Blip.
How he is like me:
We both want to protect our friends and are quite strong.
How he is NOT like me:
He’s more even-tempered. I can TRY to be more even-tempered with calming strategies and the like. Also, I can try to practice being even-tempered.
Kelsey Notes:
Groot is always quiet, especially in battle but this does not stop him from knowing when he needs to take action. 
            This is important for you because in a moment of frustration, you have the instinct to speak out and if a problem isn’t solved quick enough, it might lead you to make verbal threats. 
Not only do people need time to help you solve a problem, they need to be able to talk you through the process that helped them to solve the problem.  This way, it is more likely you will know how to handle this problem in the future.  
It’s important to remember Groot’s patience.  When we are working to control our own behavior, being patient is a critical aspect to prevent us from lashing out at others.   
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vampireshmampire · 2 years
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The Mirror Crack'd From Side to Side Ch 5/8
Guillermo can't remember the last thirteen years of his life. It has something to do with being found beaten half to death on the side of the road three months ago. Although he’s safe now, living with relatives far from New York, the trauma lingers—physically and mentally—and he’s having trouble putting his pieces back together.
Everyone says he just needs to give it time, but he may not have much of that left. The past is catching up, and it’s not going to wait for him to remember it.
AO3
The safe house is on the far side of the city, but this late there’s very little traffic to clog up the road. The car is silent, everyone deep in thoughts of their own. You don’t mind—you’re still buzzing with adrenaline and twitchy from the lurking memories. You keep taking surreptitious glances at the bat, which once again has its head resting on your chest with its eyes closed.
You wonder what he’s thinking.
Alice pulls up to an old factory, a sad brick building with a sagging roof and shattered, gaping windows. She puts the car in park but leaves the engine running. Everyone climbs out, and Uncle Marco gets back in at the driver’s seat.
“I’m going to get some supplies and make a few calls,” he says. “Keep the shutters tight, don’t answer the door—”
“Daaad,” Alice groans. “I know safe house protocol; I’m not twelve.”
“Your cousin doesn’t!” Uncle Marco says. “Look after him, and keep an eye on that vampire.” He glances at you, and says, in Spanish, “You can’t trust him, no matter what he says he was to you.”
You nod, mutely. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him.
You were wondering how safe the factory could be, looking like it’s about to collapse at any moment, but Alice leads you around the back. There is a small building huddled up against the back wall of the factory, looking only slightly less dilapidated.
On the outside.
On the inside, it’s spotless, the polished wooden floor gleaming in the overhead lights, the walls freshly painted a cheerful light yellow. The windows are tall, but have heavy, iron-bound shutters over them. They would let no light in or out while closed, but if open…you strongly suspect this room faces due east.  The furniture is sparse, but comfortable. The whole place smells strongly of sawdust, silver polish, and something floral.
The bat inside your jacket sneezes.
It’s adorable.
You unzip your coat and the bat lets go of you, fluttering off somewhere behind you. The sudden loss of contact makes you feel a brief and painful moment of longing. There is a soft wooshing noise and you can sense the vampire’s presence behind you.
He sneezes again.
Alice gestures for you to follow, and you do, the vampire trailing uncertainly behind you. He’s very close. You wonder if you are imagining that something occasionally brushes against your shoulder.
Alice takes you to the next room over. Whatever it’s original purpose, it’s now a library. You glance at the covers, half-expecting to see something like Abraham Van Helsing’s Guide to Vampire Killing, but it’s just regular books, a mix of fiction and nonfiction.
Alice examines the shelves, frowning.
“Oh, hey, can you grab that book for me? The red leather one. Up a little, yeah there.”
You, unsuspecting, pull the book down.
It comes out about an inch and sticks. A mechanism goes ka-clunk, and you hurriedly let go as the top half of the bookshelf lurches forward and slides down. The bookshelf next to it does the same thing. The one at the far end slides aside entirely, disappearing into a gap in the wall beside it.
It is exactly what you would expect from a vampire hunter’s safehouse. Bundles of stakes, some silver tipped with polished grips, some plain wooden sticks the length of your hand. There’s a whole row of crucifixes of varying sizes. There are crossbows and silver-tipped bolts like the kind that came through your window. There are glass vials of different colored liquids; large opaque jugs labelled holy water.
Once more, you get that breaking-eggshell sensation, the mental equivalent of staring into dark water and seeing the shadow-on-shadow of something very large beginning to stir at the bottom. 
You manage to tear your gaze away to look at Alice, who waggles her eyebrows at you, grinning mischievously. You hear your uncle’s voice—we’re the family quartermasters.
The biggest bookshelf was hiding clothing. Alice pulls out what looks like two bullet proof vests and tosses one to you. You miss, pathetically, and it spins through your fingers and onto the floor. You feel your face flush. You’re not sure if it’s worse to have done that in front of your cousin or your vampire.
The vampire.
A vampire.
When you pick up the vest, you find it’s actually quite light. Alice pulls hers on and covers it with a black overshirt that hides the extra padding. You follow her lead, fumbling to take your sweater off, fumbling to get the vest on, fumbling to get your sweater back on again, praying you don’t do something stupid like get caught in the sleeve. It’s a little uncomfortable, like you’re wearing two sweaters.
By the time you have it on, Alice is buckling—holy shit. She’s buckling a sword and scabbard to her belt.
She catches your look and grins.
“Gonna have to teach you how to use one of these,” she says. Abruptly she scowls, but she’s not looking at you. “Like fuck I will. No, I don’t care if you know how to use it or not, I am not arming a vampire. Do I look like an idiot to you?”
“He’s on our side,” you protest. The look Alice gives you is infuriatingly close to pity.
“And how do you know? Does he have any proof? Memo,” she says, and you hate the tone in her voice. Like you’re a child. “Vampires can’t be trusted. All they care about is themselves. Even if this one does like you, you’re not one of them. He’ll leave you out to dry to save himself in a second—”
The hands clamp around your ears so suddenly you jump. You can’t hear what the vampire says exactly, but it’s said in a short, sharp, angry tone that is perfectly clear even through his hands. Alice sneers at him.
The vampire lowers his hands and Alice pulls something else out of the closet—a thick piece of leather with silver clasps at the back. She puts it around her neck and closes the clasps, adjusting it to sit more comfortably. It starts at the base of her neck but stops a few centimeters away from her jaw, leaving her free to move her head easily.
“Come here,” she says. “We need to find one that fits you.”
You cross, eyeing it warily.
“What is it?”
“It’s called a gorget.” She pulls one around your neck and holds it closed with one hand, testing the fit. You hate it instantly. Your throat squeezes against it every time you try and swallow. In a distracted voice, Alice says “Vampires always go for the neck. The leather is too thick for their fangs to get through.”
“But we’re not fighting vampires.” 
Her eyes flick to your face and then over your shoulder and you have had enough. You yank the gorget off and glare at her.
 “Stop. It.”
“Memo—”
“Don’t. We need to be ready for the real threat, which is the guy who tried to shoot me through my window, and not the guy who came here to help.”
“Guillermo, you have no idea what you’re dealing with—”
“And neither do you! I’m not asking you to roll out the red carpet; I just want you to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
She rubs her forehead and sighs.
Very quietly, you say “He’s not the one who did this to me.”
Alice grimaces, but you have her.
“Fine. But I still don’t trust him.”  She looks over her shoulder and frowns. “Hey! Don’t go messing around with that stuff! If he offs himself fucking around, I’m not taking the blame for it.”
You turn, which is a risk, but fortunately the vampire’s face is mostly obscured by his hair. He has, somehow, gotten his hands on a bandolier, and is carefully selecting stakes, sliding them one by one into the holsters. He’s holding them by the tips of his fingers, mostly selecting the ones with metal tips, and occasionally stops to shake his hand out, his fingers slightly red.  
“What the hell are you doing?” Alice demands. The vampire turns, and you look away hurriedly. The vampire does not attempt to answer Alice—you wonder if it’s because of you, or if he’s deliberately ignoring her—and crosses the room. You are so very aware of his presence behind you. How is that possible, when there’s no body heat for him to give off?
He lifts the bandolier up over your head and slides it down over your shoulders. Your hands come up of their own accord and adjust it. It feels…right.
The look on Alice’s face says that she thinks it looks kind of pathetic, which, fuck you Alice, but the vampire pats your shoulder in a way you think is meant to be reassuring.
You all end up in the kitchen. Alice stands at the counter, several books spread out before her, keeping a wary eye on you and the vampire, who sit on opposite sides of the little table. The vampire sits with his back to you, the notebook in his hand.
You have so many questions, but how many of them can he answer? How many of those answers will you be able to hear? You want to ask things like who do we live with and how did I become your bodyguard and what is a familiar.
You want so desperately to know his name.
“Uncle Marco said you found…” A warehouse full of blood. “…the place it happened. And then you asked the witches to find me. Why did you wait this long to come get me?”
It took us this long to find you. We tried other things before we went to the witches, but they were all to find bodies. We were very sure you were dead.
And under that, in slightly smaller letters squished together—maybe the written equivalent of a mutter:
I am glad you are not dead.
“When exactly did you find me?”
Last week.
“…you spent three months looking for just my body?”
The vampire nods.
“Why?”
The vampire starts to turn around and stops. He makes a small, frustrated noise in the back of his throat and scribbles furiously on the notebook. And keeps scribbling. He practically tosses the notebook over his shoulder when he’s done and sits rigid in his seat.
His handwriting is less loopy this time.
Was I supposed to just leave your body desecrated by your enemies, in some shallow grave, or at the bottom of a river? Or left out for the dogs, like you are some nameless criminal? I could not save you but I could give you the burial you deserved, the burial of a great warrior, who died defending
It stops midsentence. The pencil had dug so deeply into the paper the letters are practically engraved.
You swallow hard, blink hard.
“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice soft enough that Alice might not pay attention to the words. “I thought—I thought nobody came forward because nobody cared. But you do care. You really—”
The vampire made grumbling noise and waved his hand dismissively. You don’t really notice.
“I matter to you.”
The vampire hunches his shoulders, and you realize he’s squirming in his seat like he might cut and run. You clear your throat and slide the notebook back over. 
“If you found me last week, why did you only show up today?”
We were afraid it might be a mistake but I recognized your handwriting on the note.
You go very still. You stare at the back of the vampire’s head.
Alice is busy reading her book, but you lean forward and whisper “You sent that?”
The vampire makes a slightly confused noise and nods. He starts to write, and—unable to help yourself—you stand up and peer over the vampire’s shoulder as he writes.
Who else would it be?
You bite back the “uh, the people who kidnapped and tortured and stalked me to my apartment, maybe?” A sneaking suspicion creeps up—no, it couldn’t—that would be—if someone wanted to tell someone else that they were their friend and had located them and wanted to come see them—that’s not how anyone sane would phrase it—
You glance at Alice—still preoccupied--and lean in very close and whisper in his ear “Did you make the phone call?”
You are too distracted to overthink the little shiver that rushes through the vampire. The pencil nearly slides out of his fingers. Hurriedly, he writes: we made the new familiar talk, because his voice would not hurt you, but we told him what to say.
You jerk back and stare at the back of his head again. When you don’t respond, the vampire turns to a new page and writes his own question.
Why did you hang up?
“Because I thought I was being threatened!”
“What?” says Alice sharply, but you wave her away. The vampire has gone indignant again.
It was not a threat! We said we knew where you were and we were coming to get you!
“And I did not know who ‘you’ were!”
What does that have to
The vampire stops writing midsentence and makes a noise that sounds like a swallowed “oops”. You had been so afraid, and all because these idiots didn’t know how to make a vague phone call sound reassuring instead of like they were going to peel you and wear your skin.
You laugh.
It squeezes out of your throat like it’s pushing through a gate half rusted shut, but then it flows freely. It feels good. It sounds good. It loosens your shoulders and your spine and you wonder how long it’s been since you heard it.
“What is it?” Alice demands. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” you say, sitting down again. You cup your chin in your hand and smile. You are starting to suspect that the feeling you have is that this is not out of character for the vampire, and you find it more amusing than enraging.
They want you to know that they found you. They know where you are, and they’re coming for you. And this time, there is no one who can take you away from them.
You wonder how much of your job was keeping him safe from other vampires, and how much was keeping him safe from himself.
So it hadn’t been your kidnappers, this “Order of Rhodes” or whatever. Just a bunch of idiot vampires—you assume the others are also vampires—doing their best and making an absolute mess of it.
“What was your plan?” you ask, in an amused voice. “You were going to show up in my apartment, knowing I couldn’t remember you or even look at your face, no way to tell me who you were, and do what? If Uncle Marco hadn’t been there—”
You sit up abruptly.
“Hey—wait, hang on, why was Uncle Marco in my apartment in the first place?”
“We’ve been watching your apartment since you got here,” Alice says, distracted, turning a page in the book. “Dad saw the vampire getting one of your neighbors to let him into your apartment building. I came to provide backup, and that’s when I saw the other guys watching your apartment.”
Which meant they had shown up after the vampire.
Something nags at the back of your brain, something you can’t quite place.
“How did you know it was the Rhodes guys?”
“I’ve seen them around. A group of them showed up in Denver, poking their noses around for vampires. We told them to butt out of our territory, but—” Her head jerks up and she freezes in place, like a deer hearing a twig snap in the forest.
You don’t do anything as stupid as ask “what is it?” You know what she thinks it could be.
The vampire stands very slowly. He gestures to his chest and then lifts his hand, thumb and little finger tucked in.  
Three heartbeats.
Alice reaches down and lifts up the crossbow that was leaning next to her. She steps quickly but quietly around the counter and presses the car keys into your hand.
“Go to the office,” she whispers, her eyes fixed in the direction of the front door. “Past the library, on the left. Under the coat of arms, there’s a metal door. It opens one way, into the factory. I fight silent—if I shout anything, you run. Get to the car, get back to the office, tell Dad what happened.”
You do not say “what about you” or “under the what”.
You grab her hand and you squeeze it tightly. She glances at you and catches the look on your face.
“Fuck off, Memo. You’re family. This is what family does.” She rolls her shoulders. “I’ll be okay. They’re good, but I’m better. Now go.”
You go.
The office is like the rest of the house, warmly lit and inviting. It is dominated by a coat of arms silk screened onto a tapestry, a bolt of rich blue fabric that takes up a third of the far wall. You hesitate before pulling it aside. You’ve never seen this before, anywhere, in any of your relatives’ homes.
The shield is guarded on either side by a bear raised on its hind legs. The shield itself is divided into two; one side has a cluster of stakes, the other a puffy purple flower too round to be a thistle. At the bottom, two crossed swords.
You wonder at it, this symbol of a side of your family you never knew about. For the last three months you’d been gnawed at the guilt about how many secrets you must have been hiding from your family over those thirteen years. Now it seems you all had secrets.
From the front room, a splintering crash, the snap of a crossbow firing (and how do you know what that sounds like?), a choked grunt. A shout that is not Alice, the crash of metal against metal. Your whole body is tense, ready, waiting. The bandolier on your chest feels heavy and you press your hands to it, testing how to slide the stakes free. Your fingers are clumsy, but not as clumsy as you would have expected.
“You motherfuckers, I’ll kill you!”
You shove the door open and you run.
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apolloamy · 2 years
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some extracts from stuff I was reading but didn't put in my gardens post...having thoughts about them...
its residue of family history and nostalgia -> "I used to hate apples, so my mum put faces on them."
private comfort sharpened by contrast the terror of invasion by alien spirits -> "Something came a while ago to hide. It's still hiding," + "it's been eating away at your life for a long time now."
an uncertain, disintergrating order that transcends the limits of rational separations -> "two parts of space and time that should never have touched, pressed together"
gardens actually needed to involve "a fall from somewhere or something" -> "Box falls out of the sky, man falls out of a box" + the Doctor accidentally leaving Amy behind being presented as a fall from grace + "He'll rise higher than ever before and then fall so much further," + Demon's Run is an honorary garden because the Doctor leaves Amy behind again (it's also a place of life+death, false safety, the Doctor's failure):
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linking your garden post because it's incredibly relevant
Been doing some digging of my own and etymology overlaps between the words "garden" and "paradise" are quite astonishing. A semantic connection was to be expected (well duh), but I found out that both words circle back to "enclosure". [Old Iranian: pairi (enclose, surround) + daeza (wall) & Indo-Germanic ghordo (fence, enclosure)] I don't know... curious how the equivalent of bliss is to be described as a sharply defined environment above all. What's the main goal? To keep in or to keep out?
The garden paradox... exceeding the limits of known reality and yet remaining within a specific realm because once the line is crossed the garden is risking forest status, something about it will inevitably be altered. (forbidden fruit anyone?) Amy's childhood garden functions as a metaphor for The Runaway Bride Amy AND as a conscious barrier designed to keep her behind the walls of the same story, in which case Amy encapsulates the garden symbolism once again. (and that fits the theme of 5x01 screenshot you shared)
Then there's this:
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I think the shots above are the touchstone of these ideas, it's a story swallowing itself whole. (goes for both scenes individually and their relation to one another) Amy in her wedding dress (traditional motif) covered in (artificial!) flowers that gradually disappear as you get further away from her heart (she is everything the garden represents) and then slowly reappear again as you reach the hem of her skirt. (her arc is repetitive, it always leads back to that garden hence her last appearance) Her door resembling the Tardis, white nightgown, white wedding dress... Everything she does has to have its twin moment, everything she does is enclosed by something she understands, but can't prevent from happening (overgrown garden framing both of those shots) even and especially if it's harmful. (Cassandra!) The garden is sacred, the garden is a prison... Amy is a piece of galactic fabric taken right from the crux of everything (Amy Pond as the heart of the TARDIS... nobody look at me) and yet, she's constantly pushed into scenarios that demand for her to make a definite decision. She's completely unfamiliar with common mechanisms of beginnings and endings (...she's always waiting... she doesn't make sense...) and her story is nothing but peppered with beginnings and endings. This is why she thrives in the frozen timeline! (re: The Wedding of River Song) Time works in her favour only when there's something wrong with it, when everything that ever happened ceases to exist chronologically. (this unites our non-narrative gals once again, because for the TARDIS, non-linear timestreams ARE the one true reality, I love taking the alien metaphors of DW to an imaginary level I myself invented) oh and if anybody is interested, this is (one of the online places) where Ivy and I talk about Amy being the embodiment of the TARDIS (X)
"A residue of family history and nostalgia" is something that can also be said about graveyards and well... you know.
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Also the first and the last time Amy sees the TARDIS it's right after it's suffered a malfunctioning of sorts -> fall from grace.
I love the idea of definite shapes and objects being crowned irrational and fictitious in this setting because it's Amy! Everything is bookended... nothing ever ends... Dr saying "Amelia Pond, get your coat!" in AGMGTW...
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avictimofthejazz · 1 year
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↕ - a memory that may or may not have happened for Micheal Knight
✂ - a vivid memory for Maggie Sullivan
a memory that may or may not have happened for Michael Knight
Michael frowns, the perturbed expression pulling his lips downward. The biggest problem with getting shot in the head twice, and having a metal plate holding the various pieces together, is that things get… fuzzy. Particularly anything that happened before he became Michael Knight…
The fragments are persistent though, leading him to hope this memory can be trusted at least.
The catfish is huge, almost as tall as the seven-year-old trying to reel it in, and probably weighs twice as much. If not for the taller man behind him holding the rod steady, all the fish had to do was give a good tug and pitch the boy into the lake. Mister… what is his name again? Mister Weblin… their neighbor… the old man is giving him instructions on how to reel the fish in and not lose his catch. He is trying to listen but he is laughing too hard to really pay attention…too excited by the fact that he finally caught one…
The memory cuts off there, leaving Michael grappling with the fragments. He does not even know if he ended up bringing the fish in after all… Shaking his head, he rubs at the spot in his forehead where he imagines he can feel the firmness of the plate. Then he takes a sip of coffee. If he goes chasing ghosts much longer, he is just going to give himself a headache.
a vivid memory for Maggie Sullivan
Shaking her head, Maggie pulls the blood-stained sheets off her examination table. She thought she had put these kinds of injuries behind her when she finally left Vietnam, but every time Hannibal and his crew roll into town, someone is generally sporting some catastrophic injury. It is only when they are all together though, as if the chaos is compounded the more members of the A-Team end up in the same area.
When John comes up on his own, they generally get to enjoy a decent evening when dinner and some beers. Face comes up about once a month to settle the account with her, and update the medical files she keeps. Those afternoons are always peaceful, and he normally brings a nice bottle of wine as a thank you gift. Murdock shows up sometimes… once he brought a young lady named Kelly to collect a litter of kittens abandoned under Maggie’s porch. Kelly also took the skunk kit that had been joined the cohort. BA came up to help her with her car, or to do repairs on her house. Amy sometimes made the trip when she wanted to spend the weekend somewhere peaceful….
But when any or all of them started existing in the same space, disaster usually followed. The newest casualty is Face, now comfortably drugged into sleeping in an upstairs room. She had spent forty-five minutes cleaning shrapnel out of his side, and stitching closed a knife wound.
The passing thought of the injury abruptly brings her up sharp, her hands fisting in the fabric.
The wounded have been pouring in—as soon as they get one guy off the table, there is another one to take his place. She has barely had time to change her gloves between patients. The newest boy is young, barely nineteen if he is a day. His freckled features are ashen, the marks on his skin standing out even more. Even as her anesthesiologist starts putting him under, she cannot shake the thought that this kid looks just like Charlie—her teenager boy currently with his grandmother. He looks too much like Charlie. She has been thinking that more and more lately… too many of these boys should be getting ready to go off to college and trying to figure out if they want to keep going steady with their best girl. They should not be here. There is no time for these thoughts though. Leaning over to examine the wound in the boy’s abdomen, a deep cut from shrapnel, she swears quietly under her breath. Even if she were not a top-class surgeon, she would know that the fleshy blobs protruding from the injury are not normal or a good sign. They are parts of his intestines… the slice went deeper then she had initially thought. Sending up a quick prayer, hoping it does not get lost in the queue of prayers emanating from this hospital, she turns to start giving orders to her nurse.
The sound of the A-Team’s van door slamming with more force then necessary, a testament to BA’s annoyance with the situation, startles her out of her thoughts. Maggie quickly tucks the memory away. This is no time to dwell on the past. Besides, she did pull that young man through, and Private Micmack named his oldest daughter after her when he got back to the States and married his girlfriend.
Grumbling under her breath, Maggie tosses the sheet in the hamper. She needs to find a different detergent—one better at getting the blood out of everything.
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wopersonal · 5 months
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Let me tell you about that thing that happened a few weeks ago and that I promised some nice people on the internet I would write down in more detail than Twitter permits.
Since none of us was there for all of this, I’ve put the following together from the memories of three people.
Once again, my partner (F) and I were traveling with a very good friend (referred to as a Long Streak of Nothing – LSN) in the somewhat amusing constellation of being friends but also having them as our boss and client, and us being paid for stepping in if they’re about to do something ill-advised and making sure they’re getting through the weekend in one piece and, ideally, not coming out any worse for wear at the other end.
This particular situation vaguely started as we were doing our first day in the event, which was going reasonably smoothly for us while LSN had some fun trolling a buddy of theirs (not really my problem, if they’re saying he’ll be fine with it then I’m going to believe that until and unless proven differently). Among the event-typical issues that are barely avoidable, one thing stood out repeatedly: One of the other guests (G) didn’t seem to get along great with his assistant.
That’s where things are starting to get difficult for me as I have to keep reminding myself – not my circus…
Now, usually, we’re booked to provide the Pas (personal assistants) for the entire event and I’m located somewhere between team management and team lead – and in any case in a place where my job would include going over and asking if things are quite alright or if we need to swap PAs around in this that sort of situation. I’ve certainly done that in the past with other people.
In this case, we’re not part of the event operation as such, but ONLY LSN’s privately hired PAs, brought along because they have reasons to have little trust in the staff provided by the promoter. So a.) this is none of my business and b.) interfering with a running event as an outsider generally is NOT a great idea.
So the only thing to do is pull myself together – though in particular in light of the fact that G. is dealing with a body rendered widely uncooperative by a stroke suffered in the past and, for particular reasons had some more than usual difficulties controlling his own wheelchair that weekend, meaning that he had to doubly rely on his “PA”’s cooperation, there were a few moments where I was rather close to getting up and asking some questions after all. That’s the sort of situation where you just NEED a good fit – and when it’s my job to make sure that everyone has a PA by their side that they are comfortable with, that’d be the sort of situation I would have an extra-close eye on. As it is, I make myself stay put and remind myself G. is all grown up and likely perfectly well able to handle the situation. And anyway, most likely he’s bringing his own staff just as LSN does, and quite honestly, the way we interact with them isn’t always the most professional when viewed from the outside. We’ve been chastised by promoter’s staff for our way of talking to them before, too (needlessly so, but of course the promoter did not have any way of knowing that we’re not just hired staff but rather bordering on found-family-adopted siblings… which, yes, causes our interaction to be a good deal less professional than it would be with someone who’s “just” a client.)
From the beginning, our plan had been spending the night out in a pub with LSN’s previously-trolled buddy (B) and at least one of his local friends (Basti), with the latter choosing the pub. B’s extended the idea that – “the more the merrier” - we should use the big dinner to ask around and see who else might like to join us. Alright then.
The event closes for the day and we have the option of either going to hunt our own food or to joint the big pre-organized dinner for all staff. That’s where we go with B, sitting at a table with some of B’s colleagues who immediately agree to come along to the pub later. At one point, G. and his “PA” come in. They sit at a small table off to the side where they’re on their own. The three of us exchange some looks. It seems weird, but … circus and all of that. Surely he’ll speak up if he doesn’t want to do it that way, right?
At one point, B. loudly asks if anyone else would like to join us. Apart from his colleagues, there’s one other couple raising their hands – and so is G. His “PA” immediately starts gesturing “no” at him. Still not our circus. We nod his way, briefly go through the relevant items mentally: are we going to need an additional car due to greater space requirement, where to park for getting in, B., can you text Basti and ask if the pub is properly accessible, and if it isn’t to find another one? Thanks.
As the dinner is drawing to a close and everyone’s just sitting there chatting anymore, we decide it’s about time for us to get going. In 20 minutes, maybe? At this point, G. is sitting at his table all on his own. F. goes over to tell him we’re about to get ready to leave. He comes back to tell us that G. says he’s not coming but “it felt off”. Could one of us go over and ask (F.’s English is fine but he’s not a native speaker and he’s not always very confident in his language skills).
LSN gets up and goes over, half-expecting G. to simply be completely done in after a day of working the event – but he isn’t. If anything, he’s amused by the degree of exhaustion that bit of event is causing in several of the “Young People”. LSN asks if G. isn’t feeling like hanging out with us “Young People” then. G. says no of course that wouldn’t be a problem. LSN promises to shut up and leave if told to, but expresses some confusion about the change of decision, if G. isn’t tired and doesn’t mind the company. G. gives him a look and points out that “well, USUALLY the idea is that people ask [him] but it’s tacitly understood that [he] will decline so as to avoid giving anyone the feeling they’re excluding [him] on purpose and still not being in the way.” And that, yeah, he shouldn’t have said “yes” before.
LSN beckons us over, shares that. We make clear that if we’re inviting “free for all” then we MEAN “free for all” and G. is more than welcome to join. I say, maybe a bit impatiently, that really all I need to know is whether to park the car out front (little time to get in) or around the back (plenty of time to get in). G. looks back and forth between us with a sort of “Let’s see how you’ll wriggle out of this one” look and says: “Around the back.”
It’s sometime between 7:30 and 8 PM at this point, by the way.
People pack up. B. and I go to get the cars.
In the meantime, G’s “PA” returns, finds out that there has been a “change of plan” and goes OFF: No, there is NO WAY G. can come along with us, what an outrageous idea on his side (and ours) and ANYWAY if he’s done eating she’s going to take him to his room and put him to bed now. (All of that loudly in front of everyone still present.)
Erm.
LSN sends F. to go and tell B. and me that it’ll take a while. F., knowing me, tells me that I might want to come back in. B. joins us. We return to LSN and one Tom demonstratively blocking the path to the other door, while G. is trying to argue with his “PA”, who keeps cutting him off (talking is fine; talking *fast* is difficult).
She looks around, looks at ME – maybe because she thinks I look like I might be on her side or maybe because I’m the only other person in the group she thinks she can identify as female, who knows – and says: “Say something!”
There is exactly one thing I have to say in that situation, and I’ll gladly say that loud and clearly: You don’t send an adult person to bed at eight against their will and wish just because it’s convenient for you. Period.
LSN gives me a broad grin and notes that he’s happy to have seen me angry for once.
I inform him that the “escalator” has barely moved yet.
The “PA” points out that *she* wants her well-deserved evening off.
B. tells her in the most annoyed tone that she’s free to do that since she’s neither invited nor needed.
G. points out that she’s actually needed because he’s going to need help with a fuckton of things and won’t be able to get into bed without help later.
Brief coordination leads to the general consensus that we have plenty of people who can help out if he’s comfortable enough with having a total stranger help him. If not, that is, of course, understandable.
G. notes that most of the people present are far less of strangers to him than the lady is since HIS usual assistant had been unable to join him this weekend and this “PA” had been provided by the promoter, apparently hired from some local care agency. (And that explains more than it doesn’t about why things had seemed off – she didn’t have the first idea of *our* sort of job and very little interest in doing *hers* properly). G’s conclusion: Can’t be worse any worse than the last two days, let’s try this.
The ”PA” goes off again, claiming he’s her responsibility, and she couldn’t possibly NOT come along etc. etc.
This gets her exactly the same lecture I would give our own staff in this sort of moment – except that in that case I would have asked them to step outside before laying into them.
While she has a rare speechless moment, B. adds: Stay or come as you like, but *we* are going now.
=> Fast Forward, Pub.
Basti is waiting for us, we quickly explain why we’d taken that long. The “PA” has actually come along and does her best to be in the way.
The first attempt of placing orders is cut short because the waiter at our table clearly has issues with serving a visibly disabled guest. The entirely impossible “What’s he going to have” ends with switch of waiters to someone who is actually willing to do their job properly. (I have very little patience for this sort of thing, and the preceding part of that evening had not helped). Like most of the others, G. is ordering a glass of whiskey. The “PA” immediately cuts him off again, insisting that that’s entirely impossible and of course he can’t have any alcohol! LSN and F. had things to say about my facial expression there afterwards. I look at G., who waves his hand at me and says “Go on!” (at this point it’s clear that I am far harder to cut off or talk over than he is even if the other party is not cooperating).
I ask the “PA” if she’d like to step outside with me quickly.
She all but screams at me that she would certainly not do that, and suspects that I might not want everyone else to hear what I’m going to say to her.
Apart from the fact that they all know exactly what I’m going to say (or at least have a very good idea of it), that was meant to be one last bit of consideration for her rather than tearing her a new one in front of everyone. But I am happy to oblige. [Insert lecture on assistant’s job, decision-making rights of mature adults, limits of assistant’s competencies and a helping of ‘you may get some leeway in terms of enforcing promoter’s rules against your charge’s wishes WITHIN the event but this is not within the event, which means that the only person deciding what G. is doing or not is G. himself – and G’s assistant will either assist or get out of the way. The poor waiter, who was still standing there, may have caught a strongly worded reminder that the things to be served were to be the things ordered by the people who are going to drink them. That one may not have been necessary. Sorry for that. And yes, that is entirely irrespective of my own thoughts about the necessity of alcoholic beverages.] (Also, this was G.’s last day of the event, so the risk of him having to suffer for it the day after was non-existent. Had that been differently, a more diplomatic approach surely would have been in order.)
“PA” leaves, slamming the door behind her. Half an hour later she’s back with one of the promoter’s people who tried to tear into ME … and in return got a detailed breakdown of things going on and being asked if he actually meant to tell us it was fine to impose an 8-PM-curfew on someone or telling them what to order/drink, etc. (G. once again pointed out that he’d already told her that she could have her night off, he’d manage, and that she wasn’t in any manner required to hang out with us here). At that point, the promoter’s rep pulled her outside for a talk and then apparently left, while she came back and sat at a different table, casting dark glances at us for the rest of the night.
The thing I find the most shocking about the entire evening is G. saying at one point that that was the first time in a decade or so that he was just spending a night out in the pub with people for other than work reasons.
(There were some more bits following that, but that’s another story, to be told another day).
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