Tumgik
#by telling myself that i plan to abandon my current project oh.. tomorrow or maybe the next day
Text
recently said to one of my kiddos (who has been Struggling Mightily this semester with some of her ongoing projects) that i think that getting 'good’ at writing is 10% about actually doing the work and 90% about finding increasingly inventive ways to trick yourself into thinking you’re not actually writing and/or that what you’re writing doesn’t really matter so you don’t have to stress about it being good
12 notes · View notes
reinerispretty · 4 years
Note
I love your writing 🥺 Can you do a Sokka imagine where the reader is a firebender so Sokka doesnt take well to her joining the gaang at first, and they always bicker/ throw sarcastic comments at each other and the gaang is so sick of it! But one day they are forced to be alone together (they go on a mission?) and sparks fly n they kiss or something 😳 they return to camp and the gaang is like... ok why r u guys tolerating eachother and u guys r inseparable and super couply from then on!
hi!! sorry i’m just now getting to this!! i like to put lots of effort into my requests so i wanted it to be the best it could be :D hope you enjoy!!
---
(Y/N) had always been very proud of her firebending. Not everyone in the town she had grown up in were benders, so being able to bend one of the elements was a great honor. Because of her powers, she was on track to join the Fire Nation military. These plans changed of course, as soon as she met the Avatar and his friends. She had helped them escape capture and joined them on their adventures. They were all pretty hesitant about her joining, but eventually Toph vouched for her by saying that she wasn’t lying when she told them all she had ever wanted was to help people. 
(Y/N) had been traveling with their group for a few weeks and was slowly starting to build friendships with the other members of her group. Aang absolutely refused to learn firebending from her, but watched and laughed as she made little dragon puppets out of fire after dinner. She and Toph became fast friends, as they both had a similar wit and nonchalance about life. Katara took a bit to fully warm up to her, but (Y/N) was relentless and eventually they could exchange pleasant conversation as they cooked dinner. Even Appa licked her when she brought him hay, and Momo had started sharing his berries with her. The only person who didn’t like her at all was Sokka. 
“I don’t want a firebender joining us,” He had said pointedly when she first joined the group. He had been outvoted, of course, and now whenever (Y/N) did anything, he had something to say in return. If she arranged the sleeping bags, he complained about their positioning. If she made dinner that night, he complained about the taste. It seemed like he went out of his way to make her feel bad. 
Initially (Y/N) had tried to understand. The Fire Nation had hurt his people, so it was only natural that he was apprehensive toward her. But then his words started to hurt. One day, he had mentioned that she had betrayed her own people, so it would only be a matter of time until she betrayed them, too, and (Y/N) had had enough. She threw her bowl of soup to the ground and stood up. “What’s your problem?” She demanded. 
“My problem is with you,” He spat. “You’re Fire Nation, you can’t be trusted.” 
“Don’t you think that if I had even thought about turning you all in to the Fire Lord, I would have done it already?” 
“I don’t know what goes on in your little spy brain!” 
“I know what goes on in your brain: absolutely nothing!” She let out a frustrated scream and turned on her heel, marching into her tent. The rest of the group stared at Sokka awkwardly. 
“She’s such a piece of work,” He grumbled, sipping on his soup. “Can you believe her?” 
Over the next few weeks, whenever Sokka said an insult toward (Y/N) she’d shoot one right back. If he wanted to be a pain in her side, fine. She’d be one in his, too. 
“You sure your twig arms can handle that firewood?” She asked him as he brought wood for their campfire. 
“Hey, at least I’m doing something. What, are you too busy plotting how to take over the world to help?” 
Their conversations were just insults and sarcastic quips, and eventually the rest of the group started to get sick of it. One night, as they sat at dinner, (Y/N) and Sokka were bickering because they had been forced to sit beside each other. Toph drove a piece of earth between them and flung them in opposite directions. “Would you guys quit it!” The girl shouted. “I only have four out of the five senses and you guys are driving them all crazy!” 
“Sorry, Toph,” (Y/N) apologized, brushing herself off. “You know how he is.” 
“Me?” Sokka exclaimed. “Toph, you know how she is!” 
“You arrogant, good for nothing--” 
“Ow!” Aang shouted, clutching his foot. The group stopped to look at him. “Ow, ow, ow, I think I stepped on something. My foot really hurts!” Katara rushed over to take a look and furrowed her brows. 
“I don’t--” 
“Oh, Sokka,” Aang sighed. “I don’t think I can go on that mission with you tomorrow, my foot just hurts too bad!” He gave Katara a big wink. 
“Oh, of course!” She said, finally getting what Aang was trying to do. “I have to stay here and help Aang heal. I’ll need Toph’s help, too, so (Y/N) is the only one who can go on the mission with you.” 
“I’d rather go alone,” Sokka said, crossing his arms. 
“Please, how are you going to defend yourself if you don’t have a bender with you?” (Y/N) asked with a roll of her eyes. Sokka balled his fists and stormed off to his tent, mumbling angry, incoherent sentences. (Y/N) yawned and retreated back to her tent for the night. 
“I’m not really injured,” Aang said. 
“Really?” Toph deadpanned. “Couldn’t tell.” 
“I just wanted a break from the two of them. They’re always fighting!” 
“Who knows,” Katara said with a smile. “Maybe the trip will bring them closer together.” 
The next morning, (Y/N) and Sokka begrudgingly walked side-by-side to their mission. They were doing a stake out of some Fire Navy ships to see what kind of weapons they were storing on them. They climbed up to a tall hillside, where they could comfortably watch the ships. As long as they were quiet, they wouldn’t bring any attention to themselves. 
Sokka’s plan was to stay there for a full twenty-four hours. Every time (Y/N) thought about being around him that long, she nearly gagged, but she had to swallow it down because she knew this mission would be for the greater good. Hopefully, there would be more watching than talking.
They set up their tents behind some rocks so they would not look suspicious. And then, they sat. And they sat for a long time. (Y/N) was growing increasingly bored, just watching soldiers go in and out of the ships. She sighed, laying back down on the grass. 
“What exactly are we looking for?” 
“Nothing.” She propped herself up on her elbows. 
“Excuse me?” 
“We aren’t looking for anything. Well, not anything specific. I just want to know what kind of weapons they’re using so I can write to the Mechanist to create better ones for us.” 
“So...we’re just going to watch?” 
“Do you not know what a stake out is?” 
“I do! I just didn’t know it was going to be a full day of doing absolutely nothing.” 
“Look, if you don’t want to be here, fine. You can go back to the camp. I can handle myself.” (Y/N) scoffed. 
“I’m not leaving you here alone, Sokka.” 
“Then I suggest you stop complaining.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes and reached into her bag. She pulled out two sandwiches and laid them beside her. “What are those?” 
“Food,” She said, sliding a sandwich over to him. He took it suspiciously. “It’s not poisoned, you dummy. I got up early this morning and went to the market so I could make stake out snacks.” 
“Oh, thanks. I guess.” 
“You’re welcome.” 
They sat in silence for what felt like a lifetime. (Y/N) watched the soldiers intently and had even made up backstories for some of them. The smaller soldier was named Lee, and he was a fiesty little fellow, but he was a new recruit. He had good ideas, but no one really wanted to listen to him because he lacked authority. (Y/N) sighed as she watched him talk to his commanders. Poor Lee. 
“I recognize that one,” she said suddenly, pointing at one of the soldiers. “He and I went to training camp together one summer.” 
“Oh, so that’s your friend. Great.” (Y/N) furrowed her brows. 
“I never said he was my friend.” 
“I just assumed, since you were both all ‘Go Fire Nation!’“ He sarcastically pumped a fist into his air. 
“You make a lot of assumptions about me for someone who doesn’t know me.” 
“I know exactly who you are. You’re a spoiled girl from the Fire Nation who wasn’t satisfied with her life and only wanted to join us to run away from your probably mean family. You don’t want to make change, you just wanted an out.” 
“That’s not true at all, Sokka. I grew up poor. Dirt poor. And when I say that I mean it, because the floors of my house were literally dirt. No one asked me if I wanted to join the Fire Nation military, they told me I was going to. I was brought up my whole life surrounded by people who told me how great my nation was. If everyone’s telling you something and you have no reason to believe otherwise, you start to believe it. I know I’m not perfect, but I’m really tired of you thinking that you know who I am.” She pulled her knees into her chest and tucked her chin on top of them. 
Sokka sighed. The sun was setting behind them. “It’s obvious I don’t like the Fire Nation. They’ve caused a lot of pain to me and Katara and to thousands of other people. So when you joined, I guess I just projected that anger onto you.” 
“I understand. But I’m not the entire Fire Nation.” 
“I know, it’s just hard to separate the two sometimes. I can literally see the Fire Nation inside of you. You’re decisive and strong and stubborn--” 
“I’m just going to focus on the first two. You really think those things about me?” 
“I mean, yeah. I’ve seen you talk your way out of fights but also kick some major butt. As much as I hate to say it, you’re pretty cool.” (Y/N) smiled and opened her mouth to respond, but her eyes widened as a giant fireball plummeted toward them. 
“Look out!” She shouted, tackling Sokka out of the way. They both grunted in pain as they hit the ground. 
“How did they even see us?” Sokka asked. He grabbed (Y/N) by the hand and led her up the hill. They abandoned all of their camping stuff (as it was currently on fire) and ran down the backside of the hill, away from the Fire Navy ships. (Y/N) spotted a cave and pulled Sokka inside. They both leaned against the cool rock, breathing heavily. 
“Well, so much for the stake out,” (Y/N) said. Sokka laughed. 
“We’ll have to wait here for the night. The ships are supposed to leave at dawn tomorrow, so we can travel back to camp then.” (Y/N) nodded. The sun had fully set behind them and the cool chill of night was setting in. She shivered. “I can get a fire going,” Sokka said, and began to collect the debris that was scattered around the cave. (Y/N) giggled. 
“Sokka, I got it.” She kicked some leaves and sticks into a pile and kicked a flame on top of them. They sat across from each other with their backs against the cave walls. 
“So, how’d you know you were a firebender?” He asked. (Y/N) shrugged. 
“I think I started coughing fire one day. My family expected it though. My father had been a firebender.” She pursed her lips and stared at the ground. “He was sent to fight in the war. He didn’t end up coming home.” 
“I’m so sorry,” Sokka said quietly. She shrugged. 
“I feel torn about it, you know? Because he fought for hatred and injustice, but I also never got to find out if he supported the war or not. The Fire Nation doesn’t really care if you want to fight. They make you do it anyway.” 
“I always wanted to fight, ever since I was little.” Sokka said. “But now while I’m living my dream, I see how nasty it actually is and understand why my dad didn’t want me to.” 
“Well, you’re a pretty good fighter, so I’m sure he’s proud of you.” Sokka smiled. 
“I’m sure your dad is proud of you, too.” (Y/N) grinned. “Listen, I’m sorry for being so mean to you. I guess I was projecting feelings on to you that I had towards the Fire Nation, and it wasn’t fair. But in my defense, everything you did just made me mad. Like the way you cooked soup, or how pretty your eyes were, or how nice your laugh sounded...” Sokka trailed off, a blush appearing on his cheeks. “I said that all out loud, didn’t I?” 
(Y/N) nodded, trying her best to contain her smile. “Alright,” Sokka said. “You can just kill me now, I guess.” (Y/N) burst into laughter. 
“It’s really okay, Sokka. I’m sorry for being mean to you as well. Everything you did made me mad, like how you constantly teased me, or how cute your ponytail looks, or how funny your jokes were...” 
“You...you really think my jokes are funny?” (Y/N) nodded before sliding to sit at his side. “Can I try something?” (Y/N) nodded again. Their faces were just inches apart and she could tell the fire was dying by the dim glow it left on Sokka’s cheeks. He touched her own cheek with his hand, before pulling her close and slowly connecting their lips. (Y/N) felt her face grow hot, but she still let her eyes close and reveled in the feeling of his kiss. They stayed like that for a while, long after the fire went out. 
When they returned to their friends the next morning, they walked hand in hand. Aang and Katara’s mouths dropped open and Toph stamped her feet on the ground. “There must be something wrong,” She said. “Are they...touching each other?” 
“Hey, guys!” Sokka said, a bright smile on his face. “Aang, how’s the foot doing?” 
“Uh, pretty good,” Aang said, pretending to lift his foot as if it were injured. 
“What’s um...going on here?” Katara asked. 
“Sokka and I had a pretty good stake out,” (Y/N) said. She let her hand slip from his. “I’m gonna get started on lunch.” 
“Alrighty,” Sokka said before planting a kiss on her cheek. He sighed happily as he watched her walk away. “Aang, I really have to thank you for pretending to hurt your foot.” 
---
Permatag List!
@musicalkeys , @aroyaldarknessblr
671 notes · View notes
sunshineandaisies · 3 years
Text
Tuesday
Words: ~3.3k
Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader
Warnings: language, mentions of blood/injury, a tad bit angsty?
Note: I haven’t written anything new in the marvel fandom for 4+ years now, so this is me dipping my toes back into it before I start working on new series that I have planned. And because I hate myself sometimes, I decided to write something for a character I’ve never written for, our smol bean peter. Hopefully I did okay???
Tumblr media
A typical Tuesday for you was, well, normal. 
You’d go to school, mildly pay attention in class, and do your best to stay out of whatever drama was currently overtaking the halls of Midtown High. When the final bell of the day rang, you walked home with your headphones in, playing loud music to drown out the sounds of the city. You’d get home from school, maybe have a less than healthy snack, and watch a random television program until your mom was trying to pull you away from the couch for dinner. After dinner was eaten - and the dishes were cleaned and drying, because you needed that weekly allowance money - you shut yourself in your room to work on homework and to subsequently procrastinate that homework by playing mobile games on your phone. Usually, you’d end up falling asleep with one of your textbooks open to the page you’d been in the middle of reading and with your phone slowly dying in your hand because Candy Crush was lighting up your screen and draining the battery.
Pretty uneventful, right?
This Tuesday, however, was anything but uneventful. 
You should’ve known from the moment that Peter Parker spilled chocolate milk on your white top at lunch that the day was going to be anything but your typical Tuesday. It only got worse when he shoved a handful of napkins onto your chest, dabbing at the stain while stammering and blushing and being so frustratingly cute that you couldn’t bring yourself to yell at him for practically pawing at your chest in the middle of the cafeteria.
It didn’t end there. 
Your locker jammed between fifth and sixth period, preventing you from grabbing the calculus assignment that you had spent hours trying to complete over the weekend and making you unable to turn it in on time. The worn strap of your backpack finally broke on your walk home from school, and you were forced to carry the heavy bag in your arms, making the limbs numb and tingly by the time you finally reached your apartment. Your mom had picked up a rare night shift at the hospital at the last minute, leaving you to fend for yourself for dinner – which, in normal circumstances, would have been fine, but the Moroccan place down the street that you ordered from had given you the wrong food and you were too hungry to call them and have the order corrected.
You figured that would be the end of it. You figured that there was absolutely no way that anything could go wrong as you spent the rest of your evening actually working on homework, sprawled lazily across your bed, and bopping your head in time to the music coming through your headphones.
Oh, how wrong you were.
It had to be nearing midnight when you were startled from your chemistry homework by the sound of banging on the fire escape outside your window. You paused your music, slightly startled and more than a little confused. Sure, there were occasionally stray cats that somehow found their way to the metal platform outside your window, and sure, sometimes those cats where assholes and pushed each other around every now and then – but this…that thump either came from a very, very large cat, or someone was outside your room.
You got your answer when a very sweaty, very tired looking Peter Parker stumbled through your window and landed face down on the floor, groaning softly. Your mouth soundlessly opened and closed, opened and closed, opened and closed as you tried to find your words, but the Spider-Man suit that he wore and the red mask clutched tightly in his hand had left you absolutely speechless.
You easily stared at him for five minutes, trying to process what had just happened. Did Peter Parker really just crawl through your window and then pass out on your floor? Was Peter Parker fucking Spider-Man? Was Spider-Man – the Spider-Man – in your bedroom? Did Spider-Man touch your boobs today?
“What the fuck?” you finally spoke, startling Peter as he looked up at you with wide chocolate eyes before panic sunk in and he jumped up to his feet abruptly, which in turn only served to startle you more and make you repeat, “What the fuck?”
“Y/N?” he asked, as if he wasn’t sure that it was truly you that sat in front of him. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered as he started to pace, pulling at his hair nervously. “Mr. Stark is gonna kill me.” He glanced back up you, eyes still wide. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“It looks like you’re Spider-Man,” you countered, eyes flitting over the tight suit before focusing on the mask in his hand. “You’re Spider-Man, Peter.”
“Okay, so- so maybe it is what it looks like, but I-” He cut himself off, and you could tell that he’s struggling to explain the entire thing away. Finally, he sighed. “Okay, yes. I’m Spider-Man, but you can’t tell anyone. Please, Y/N. No one else can know about this.”
You nodded slowly, abandoning your textbook and sitting at the edge of your bed as you stared at one another awkwardly. “Don’t tell anyone. Got it. But, like… Are you- Can I ask questions?”
“Um, yeah, I- I guess.” You watched him scratch the back of his neck nervously as his checks tinted pink. “Ask away.”
“First question – why are you in my room?” It seemed like the obvious question to ask. If Peter – Spider-Man – hadn’t crawled through your window in the first place, you wouldn’t even need to ask him any questions at all.
You had to bite back a laugh as you watched his eyes widen momentarily as he finally took in his surroundings, his gaze lingering on the few photos you had of you and your friends hanging on the walls and the stack of books that sat on your desk just waiting to be read. “Your room? I, uh- To be fair, when I crawled through the window, I thought it was my room.” You opened your mouth to interject, but he continued, “I live here. Well, not here, here, but in this building. With my aunt May. We live here. In this building. I must’ve swung to the wrong fire escape.”
“Swung?” you asked, his explanation providing more questions than answers. “Like with your webs?” He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “And you swing around the city and fight bad guys?” Another nod. “You’re Spider-Man.”
He paused, as if thinking his answer through. “Yeah.”
“This is wild,” you commented more to yourself, leaning in closer and poking at the material of his suit. He stayed completely still as you prodded the suit some more, feeling the thick fabric beneath the pads of your fingertips. You let out a short laugh and looked up at him, repeating, “You’re Spider-Man.” You laughed freely then, and the little smile he gave you was enough to make your heart pound wildly in your chest. “Don’t worry,” you assured him once the laughter died down, “your secret’s safe with me, Parker.”
You could almost feel the tension and nervous energy leave his body, and you watched as his shoulders slumped forward, finally relaxed since he first realized that you saw him as Spider-Man. “Thank you, Y/N. I know I’m asking a lot, but I- It’s really important.”
You smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Parker. My lips are sealed.” You mimed zipping your lips and locking them before throwing away the key, and it made a small burst of laughter escape his lips. “Besides, you have more things to worry about than me telling the world that you double as a superhero after school hours. Like our Spanish test in first period tomorrow.”
“Spanish test t- Shit!” You watched his eyes widen again at the reminder of the test that you both had to take in eight hours, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he quickly scrambled towards the window. Halfway through your window, he glanced back at you with a soft smile curling his lips. “I, uh- Thanks again, Y/N.”
“You’re welcome, Spider-Man.” You winked, and he was gone, crawling up the wall to the fire escape above yours. You crouched down at your window and listened for a moment longer as the sounds of Peter hauling his body over the rails of the fire escape and the opening of a different window – presumably his – echoed through the alley between your apartment building and the building next to it. Knowing that he’d be able to hear you, you called out, “Goodnight, Peter,” and shut your window.
After that night, your typical Tuesday was anything but normal.
Your mom started to regularly work night shifts on Tuesdays, and while there were no more mishaps with incorrect takeout orders, no more chocolate milk spilt on shirts, and no more jammed lockers, there was Spider-Man.
Peter was quick to realize that every Tuesday night, you would leave your window slightly open just for him regardless of how cold the autumn air outside was. Some nights, he crawled through your window as early as eight. Other nights, you didn’t see him until nearly midnight. Some nights, you would spend hours going over chemistry and calculus homework with him – because, seriously, Peter Parker may just be the smartest sixteen-year-old you’ve ever met – and discussing his latest superhero escapades. Other nights, you simply sat together on your bed, sharing candy as you talked about school, friends, family, and everything else that happened to come up in the course of your conversation.
The easy friendship you had formed with Peter had confused a few people, to say the least.
His best friend, Ned, had openly stared at you with wide eyes the first day you sat beside Peter in the cafeteria, and your friends looked at you with confused expressions before quickly following suit and taking a seat at the table. MJ – who you thankfully already had somewhat of a tentative friendship with thanks to a history project during freshman year – simply lifted her gaze to you, shrugged her shoulders in greeting, and returned to the book she was reading. Flash was quick to make a mean comment about Peter once he noticed you and your friends sitting at the table, but after you made a passing threat of sharing his Spider-Man fanfiction with the school, he scurried back to his own table with his tail between his legs.
Peter, though. Peter looked at you with such a tender expression that made your heart flutter uncontrollably in your chest and your cheeks flood with warmth as you settled into your seat beside him. You playfully knocked your shoulder against his and made a quip about Spanish class that made him laugh before falling into easy conversation with the others, though your mind never drifted far from the way that your thigh was pressed against Peter’s or the way that his pinky finger would occasionally brush over yours.
That first day you sat with Peter in the cafeteria had a domino effect. Over the course of a few weeks, you spent an increasing amount of time with Peter, both during school and outside of school hours. You walked home from school with Peter every day (or at least every day that he didn’t disappear for Spider-Man duties); you joined him, Ned, and MJ for movie nights on Fridays; and you even had dinner with Peter and May on the rare nights that you spent hours studying in Peter’s bedroom rather than alone in yours.
But the domino effect didn’t stop at just changing how you typically spent your days.
Without any warning, you found yourself falling painfully in love with the nerdy boy that lived in the apartment above yours and that masqueraded as a crime fighting superhero in the evening and on weekends (though you knew that if he were really needed during school hours, he would find an excuse to disappear from class for as long as Spider-Man was needed).
You thought about telling Peter, you really did. Every time he crawled through your window, a wide smile on his face and his cheeks tinted pink from the exertion of swinging through the city, you thought about telling him how he made your heart race in the best way. Every time his fingers brushed against your arm as you walked home or across your fingers as you sat in the cafeteria, your thought about telling him how he made your skin tingle pleasantly with just the slightest touch. Every time he appeared at your place with sandwiches from Delmar’s and spent hours on your couch watching old sitcoms, you thought about telling him how moments like that were what made you happiest.
You thought about telling Peter, but you never found the courage to speak up.
Your friendship with Peter was too valuable to risk losing it because of your feelings, and you didn’t miss the way that he would look at MJ when she wasn’t paying attention, the way that he would go out of his way to speak to her in the halls between classes, the way that he seemed so in tuned to everything that she was doing and saying. Your feelings would fade eventually, so you kept them to yourself and told yourself you were content with just friendship.
It was only fitting that it was a Tuesday night when everything changed nearly three months after Peter mistakenly crawled through your window.
Despite the December chill and the light dusting of snow on the fire escape outside your window, you left the window cracked open just enough for Peter to easily pull it open and crawl inside. It may have made your room almost unbearably cold, but it was nothing that fuzzy socks, a comfy sweatshirt, and a heated blanket couldn’t fix.
It was later than usual when Peter finally arrived, stumbling through your window when he finally managed to open and it, and it didn’t escape your notice that his fingers had left bloody streaks on the glass pane of the window.
“Peter!” You heart leapt to your throat as you scrambled from your bed to support him, and he slumped forward, struggling to stay on his feet. “Pete, c’mon. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Stabbed,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “He had a knife.”
You were not prepared for this. Absolutely not. No one had ever told you that being friends with a superhero would mean them stumbling into your apartment at two in the morning with a fucking stab wound. “Okay. Uh…” You led him to your bed, helping him lay down before scanning your eyes over his body. And just as he said, there was a large slash across his abdomen, his red suit staining an even darker red as he bled from the wound. “Shit, I- Pete what do I do? Tell me how to help you.” You tugged at his suit with shaking hands, trying – and failing – to pull the material away from his body. “How do I take this fucking thing off?”
You stepped back as his hand pressed against the spider symbol on his chest, and the suit instantly enlarged, allowing you to pull it away from his body and to bunch the material around his hips. (If it hadn’t been entirely inappropriate given the circumstances, you most certainly would have taken your time appreciating the sculpted muscles on Peter’s chest and abdomen).
You inspected the damage, your eyes burning with unshed tears and the fear you felt increasing exponentially the longer you looked at the gash that marred his skin. It wasn’t too deep, but it was deep enough to nearly send you into a panic. “We should call 911, Pete,” you told him once you found your voice, though it was still thick with fear. “I- I don’t think I can help you. I don’t know how to-”
“Hey,” he whispered, his warm hand curling around yours and squeezing reassuringly. “I know you can. I watched you stitch that pig up in biology at the end of the dissection a few weeks ago.”
“I just didn’t want to leave it cut open like that,” you defended, though you knew there was really no need to. “But a dead pig is much different than a living human, Peter. I don’t…” You took a deep breath, squeezing his hand even tighter. “I’m scared, Pete.”
“It’s okay, Y/N. I promise.” He let out a hiss of pain, his jaw clenched tightly. “Your mom has a first aid kit, right?” You nodded. “Get it.”
You did as you were told, grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet in your mom’s bathroom before returning to Peter. You worked slowly after you had cleaned his wound as well as you could and threaded the needle. Your hands shook as you started stitching the wound back together, careful to not make it any worse than it already was. Peter hissed in pain each time you poked the needle through his skin, but he whispered reassurances to encourage you. Soon, his abdomen had been stitched together, and while it certainly wasn’t pretty and would definitely scar, it looked stable.
“Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I would do wi-” he began, but you cut him off.
“Don’t,” you hissed. “Do you have any idea how fucking terrified I am right now?” The tears you’d been holding back while you stitched him up finally spilled from your eyes. “Do you have any idea how much it fucking hurt to see you like this?”
He sat up on the bed, bracing himself on his elbows. You didn’t miss the way he winced in pain from the movement. “Y/N, I-”
“I’m not done talking, Peter,” you snapped, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “I get that you’re Spider-Man, that you feel responsible to protect the city and do whatever it takes to stop the bad guys, but- Fuck, Pete! You could die!”
“But I won’t!”
“You don’t know that!” you shouted, your lip trembling as you sat next to him on the bed. You lowered your voice to a whisper and repeated, “You don’t know that, Pete. You just don’t. Tonight, you got lucky. But what if next time, instead of a knife, they have a gun, and you get shot.”
He glanced up at you sheepishly, his chocolate eyes pleading with you to stop crying. “I heal fast,” he tried to reason, but it wasn’t enough to appease you. You looked away, but a gentle hand on your cheek brought your attention back to him. “Besides, I’m pretty motivated to not die. I can’t take you on a date if I’m dead.”
You opened your mouth to argue with him before promptly snapping it shut. Did he really just say that? Was it the pain and the exhaustion talking, or did he really mean it? “Date? Did you just- What did you say?” It was definitely the pain and exhaustion talking, right? It had to be.
He leaned forward and rested his head on your shoulder, and you froze, concentrating on the way his warm breath ghosted over the skin of your neck. “A date, Y/N. Uh, if you- I mean, only if you’d want-” You giggled as he stumbled over his words, tilted your head slightly to rest atop his. The action must have soothed his nerves, because he took your hand in his and confidently said, “I wanna take you on a date, Y/N.”
Your lips curled up into a wide smile, unable to contain how absolutely giddy you felt in that moment. “I’d like that, Pete,” you told him. “But we really need to have a conversation about superhero safety.”
He laughed, but it was cut off by a groan of pain. “We can probably do that.”
And unsurprisingly, your first date was on a Tuesday.
44 notes · View notes
Text
Freddie interviewed
Freddie Mercury interviewed by Melody Maker in May 1981.
"I'm a very highly strung person," said Freddie Mercury. "I like having fun, and my job is a very good release for me, but it's still my job and I always take it very seriously. And when you are highly strung and you take your work seriously, you're bound to appear difficult to the outside world." 
As the pivot of Queen, that most visual and extravagant of bands who stemmed from the celebratory super-pomp of British rock's coming of age ten years ago, Mercury has assumed an enigmatic air. His stage act is a near combination of dandyish preening, strutting and aggressive, in the finest theatrical tradition. But away from the footlights or the recording studio, Mercury seems insecure, shy of people he doesn't know well, avoiding the limelight.
He's the classic example of the actor who springs to life only when projecting a certain dimension of himself from the stage. There's no doubt that this strength makes Queen's act one of the most impressive and electrifying in its field. Alongside Pink Floyd, the Queen success story in the past decade is as interesting to the Financial Times as it is to Melody Maker readers. Planned with a degree of business acumen, timing, strategy, attention to fine detail and total calculation, the Queen operation could be branded as a piece of cold merchandising - if the music were not so excellent and the stage show so spectacularly impressive.
But it's worth remembering that Mercury, with the exceptionally gifted guitarist Brian May, bassist John Deacon and drummer Roger Taylor, has solid roots. They met and gigged in the pubs around Shepperton, Middlesex, before being launched in a blaze of determination in 1974 with a swaggering single that was a taste of style that was to become a golden success. The record was "Seven Seas Of Rhye." Since then, Queen's statistical achievements defy the merchants of gloom who have been bemoaning the parlous state of the record industry. They have sold between 50 and 60 million records and are estimated to be the highest-paid company directors in Britain. They manage themselves and have the credentials to do so: before deciding on a music career, all four were on course to respectable professional careers. Mercury gained a diploma in graphic design and retains a close supervision of all aspects of the band's visual output; Deacon won a first class honours degree in electronics and carefully watches Queen's financial affairs; Brian May qualified as a physicist and worked briefly as a maths teacher before finding the pull of the guitar too strong - but still wonders if he made the right decision, so keen on physics does he remain. And Roger Taylor gained a biology degree before helping to launch Queen. Queen's busy schedule places them in the recording studio next month for sessions that will produce a new album. They might do British concerts towards the end of the year, but right now, they have a right to bask in the glory of their most recent achievements: playing to half a million people in the relatively uncharted rock territory of South America.
Once again, they seem to have demonstrated to the rest of the rock population how to get a show on the road, for they have tapped a colossal new market for record sales in Argentina and Brazil by scientifically executing a brilliantly-conceived tour, playing in gigantic stadia to hysterically enthusiastic rock-starved South Americans. It was there one hot afternoon, in a mood of some elation after a triumphant show the night before, that 34 year old Mercury opened up and talked about himself and Queen.
 MM: When Queen formed ten years ago, there seemed to be a grand strategy to become the biggest rock band, statistically, and to be the most extravagant in every way. Was there really a master plan which has resulted in your current status - did you approach it as businessmen rather than musicians?
 FM: No, it wasn't quite as clinical as that, but it was certainly determined. We said okay, we're going to take the plunge into rock and we're really going to do a job at it, no half measures. We all had potentially good careers and we weren't prepared to settle for second best if we were going to abandon all the qualifications we had got in other fields. We wanted the best; it wasn't a question of wanting world domination, although I know it probably came across as capitalism.
 MM: But lots of bands set out wanting to get to the top and don't make it - what gave you the edge?
 FM: You have to have a kind of arrogance and lots of confidence and absolute determination, as well as all the other obvious skills like music. Arrogance is a very good thing to have when you're starting, and that means saying to yourselves that you're going to be the number one group, not the number two. Hope for the best, go for the top. We just had it inside us and - well, we all had a very big ego, as well.
 MM: Are you the leader of the band?
 FM: No.
 MM: The lead singer usually is....
 FM: Ah, yes, we used to be, that's a bygone age. Modern-day people in my position called themselves the focal point, dear. Unless your name is Rod Stewart and you have a backing band - no way is this Freddie Mercury and his backing band. When you analyse it, the four of us make the whole thing work. It's 25 per cent, and I'm the one upfront, that's all.
 MM: Your friends say you're extremely shy, and you loathe talking about yourself in interviews like this, but on stage you preen like a peacock. Are you two people?
 FM: I don't know what it is, but it's true. I wish I could tell you. I just like having fun. It's a very good release, rock music, but you know you say that I am a different person on stage and that same thing could be said of anyone going out to do his job. It's my work, and I'm very serious about it, getting it right - when we began, we approached it the way we did because we were not prepared to be out-of-work musicians, ever. We said either take it on as a serious commodity or don't do it at all.
 MM: Did you ever have doubts that the strategy would work?
 FM: At one point, two or three years after we began, we nearly disbanded. We felt it wasn't working, there were too many sharks in the business and it was all getting too much for us. But something inside us kept us going and we learned from our experiences, good and bad. Sometimes, things like what happened to us in the business field give you an even greater incentive to stay alive and fight through. We didn't make any money until after the fourth album, "A Night At The Opera." Most of our income was consumed by litigation and things like that. We had to use a lot of money, so-called money that we made, to get out of contracts. But it was the best thing we could do. After that, it was like a new lease of life.
 MM: Is there a togetherness in the band? Do you mix socially?
 FM: No. After ten years, my dear, it can be really boring.
 MM: So is there friction?
 FM: No, not really. I think we know now instinctively what each other wants. We go our separate ways. We have four limousines waiting after each show and we just go wherever we want. It's like a job, as I say. Your come together, do a gig....
 MM: Yet you can't be in this "job" of Queen for life, can you?
 FM: Ah, you want me to put a deadline on it now! I don't know. Five years ago you could have asked me the same question and I couldn't tell you. It could all end tomorrow. I'm not afraid of it. It's a precarious life but I think I like it that way. I like it a little risky. Okay, so I'm quite well off but money in the bank doesn't mean anything to me. I spend it as quickly as it comes. I could be penniless tomorrow, but I wouldn't care that much. I have this survival instinct in me.
 MM: Would you go back to begin again, join or form a band, if Queen ended?
 FM: I don't know. I don't get up every morning and ask myself what I'll do if Queen decide to end. I'll take it when it comes. I don't think we've reached our peak. Within Queen there's still a lot left to be done. Look at this new territory we have just opened up in South America. I couldn't have predicted a year ago that this was going to happen. I like very much playing in new territories.
 MM: Do you practice your elaborate stage act, say by standing in front of a mirror?
 FM: No, I've never done that. Maybe I should and then I'd find out what everybody's on about! You can learn a lot by looking at old videos of yourself, but I've never been one to analyse myself too much. Sometimes it's best to leave well alone, dear.
 MM: Who criticises your stage act, then, if anyone?
 FM: Oh, lots of people. Lots of my friends.
 MM: Do you welcome that criticism?
 FM: Yes, Yes.
 MM: But you're very prickly about criticism...
 FM: Oh, I don't think so. In the end I'm my own boss, which in a way is a bad thing because it's different for someone in, say, the ballet world. A choreographer tells him exactly what to do and if you do something wrong the ballet dancer is told that this is exactly what is wanted. I don't have that, simply because there's nobody to do it - it would be a different, more rigid form of discipline. They can say I do this wrongly, but I'm the ultimate judge. Depending on the night, I just do what I want. I don't know how those ballet people do it, the same steps every night. I couldn't perform in that framework.
 MM: What do you want people to think of you?
 FM: That I'm somebody who sings his songs well and performs them properly. I like people to go away from a Queen show feeling fully entertained, having had a good time. I think Queen songs are pure escapism, like going to see a good film - after that, they can go away and say that was great, and go back to their problems. I don't want to change the world with our music. There are no hidden messages in our songs, except for some of Brian's. I like to write songs for fun, for modern consumption. People can discard them like a used tissue afterwards. You listen to it, like it, discard it, then on to the next. Disposable pop, yes.
 MM: So that when Queen are eventually judged, you don't want to be regarded as having contributed tangibly to the fabric of rock'n'roll, like, say, Presley or Hendrix?
 FM: Oh, I think I do and I think we will be. For being respectable musicians who wrote good songs, that's about all. I think we've got a certain amount of recognition and respectability now. We can write good songs, that's good enough for me.
 MM: As academically qualified men, do you think you are overqualified for the role of rock musicians and that you have all wasted your professional qualifications in other areas?
 FM: No no no! Our academic qualifications didn't help us with rock. As far as I was concerned, I was an art school reject who had a diploma in graphics, but how did that qualify me for rock? But what it did, having that background, was help us in the art of survival in the business side. We still learned the hard way, as every group does at some stage, but....
 MM: You were better equipped mentally to find a way out of the jungle?
 FM: Yes. Bands these days are geared that way. It's a growth process. I can't analyse every band, but take The Police - they're more geared up than we were ten years ago to taking this business, step by step, and finding a way through it. They're not just going into a studio, making a record and hoping. They study the business side of it too, if they're into it properly. Whereas before, it was hit and miss, a bit. Now, if you don't enter the business as well as play music, you get ruled out at stage one. It's vital to do the whole thing properly - talent is not just writing good songs and performing them, it's having a business brain. Because that's a major part of it - to get the music across properly and profit from it, isn't it? Use all the tricks of the trade, dear, and if you believe in yourself, go all the way. That's the only way we know and it has worked for Queen.
 MM: So you don't believe in suffering for art and hoping you'll get discovered?
 FM: (Laughs) No! Oh God, you can't go around saying: 'What a wonderful musician I am, what a terrific song I wrote last night.' You've got to make quite sure you get discovered. Part of the talent is making sure it reaches people! Don't just be a wonderful musician and an outstanding songwriter. There are lots of those about. Learn to push yourself, be there at the right time, and do learn how to deal with the business right from the start. That's the state of play in rock now. Nor do I say you can plan all this. You've got to somehow have it inbuilt. I'm saying it's part of talent these days to have a business brain. You have to instinctively have an awareness of all the things that will work to make you successful. Good music is just not enough.
 MM: Do you feel very powerful on stage and is that one of the reasons for your enjoyment of your success?
 FM: Yes I do, and yes it is.
 MM: Does all this frighten you? Is the power controlled?
 FM: No, I'm not frightened by it. In less sensible hands it could be dodgy. I could cause a riot if I wanted to but I still think that's a minor matter because it's all very tongue-in-cheek, you must realise that, for me, anyway. I like to ridicule myself. I don't take it too seriously. I wouldn't wear these clothes if I was serious. The one thing that keeps me going is that I like to laugh at myself. With English speaking audiences I really joke with them, slag them off and tell them they're a load of idiots, but I don't mean it. If we were a different kind of band, with messages and political themes, then it would be totally different. That's why I can wear sort of ridiculous shorts and things like that, ham it up with semi-Gestapo salutes. It's all kitsch.
 MM: What about the theory, held by some, that rock stars in your position should use their power to try to shape the world for the better?
 FM: Leave that to the politicians. Certain people can do that kind of thing, but very few. John Lennon was one. Because of his status he could do that kind of preaching and effect people's thoughts. But to do this you have to have a certain amount of intellect and magic together, and the John Lennons are few and far between. People with mere talent, like me, have not got the ability or power.
 MM: So have you any responsibility to an audience once they've bought the album or left the theatre?
 FM: In what way? My responsibility to the audience is to put on a good show. They make sure they get good, strong entertainment from Queen in whatever form, whether on record or in concert or on television, and that's that.
 MM: Do you believe musicians play better when they're hungry? Or now, because you are financially rich, is there a relaxation because you have no money worries? What are the difficulties?
 FM: You can play good when you're struggling and I think you can play good when you've made it, as well. It's a different kind of thing. I mean, when I go on stage, whether I'm rich or starving, I want to give my all. I want to go on there and die for the show! If I have a broken leg or a million pounds or am up to my eyes in debt, I just want to perform. Even having a cold has nothing to do with it - get out there and prove, from what's inside you, that the act and the audience is the thing.
 MM: You've appointed yourselves your own managers and totally control your destiny, as a kind of Queen corporation - do you enjoy this aspect as much as getting the music together?
 FM: Yes.
 MM: Should and could most other bands do the same? Should all bands bent on making a big impact work from the start towards managing themselves?
 FM: Yes, I think it's in the interests of most musicians to get a grip of their own business affairs. I'm not saying it should be right from the start, necessarily - it might be best to have a manager to begin with and then learn from his mistakes, for example. But the process is right.
 MM: Do you ever leave a stage feeling you've done a really bad gig?
 FM: Yes, sometimes. We all scream and shout at each other and destroy the dressing room and release our energy. We set ourselves a very high standard and 99 per cent of the audience wouldn't agree with our assessment of a bad gig. In San Francisco I lost my voice and it was awful, my register was limited to virtually a monotone. I still gave it my all but I knew it was a bad performance. They had to reschedule the tour and take three or four shows off the tour. I have nodules on my vocal cords and most tours are now scheduled around my voice.
 MM: But your voice sounds very powerful....
 FM: I'm losing the range, believe it or not. I've lost the power I began with. But I've become a stronger singer so maybe my framework is diminishing but within that I can sing better than ever. My voice can do amazing things now.
 MM: Let's talk about your songwriting. Can you write songs to order: "At two o'clock today I will start work on a song”....?
 FM: I have no set rules for writing, but yes, I can write like that, I really can. It's haphazard and it's become a bit of a joke to me, but if I knew we're going into the studio I just get my thinking process going. I can write songs to order, like a job. Some songs come faster that others: "Bohemian Rhapsody" I had to work at like crazy. I just wanted that kind of song. "Crazy Little Thing Called Love" took me five or ten minutes. I did that on the guitar, which I can't play for nuts, and in one way it was quite a good thing because I was restricted, knowing only a few chords. It's a good discipline because I simply had to write within a small framework. I couldn't work through too many chords and because of that restriction I wrote a good song, I think.
 MM: What's your best song so far?
 FM: I don't know, I write 'em, and leave 'em. If you asked me to play some of my older songs on the piano, I couldn't. I forget them, I learnt them for the time. I have to go in a day earlier and try to work out all the chords to my own songs. I forget them very quickly. For example, "Love Of My Life" is adapted on stage for guitar, but it was written on the piano. I've totally forgotten the original and if you asked me to play that now, I couldn't. Sometimes, I have to go back to the music sheet, and I can't read that well either!
 MM: Can you read music?
 FM: Very little. I don't need it. I leave that to the others. It's not like Mozart, is it? 
88 notes · View notes
hopeatermain · 7 years
Text
The Child of Izanami part 3
Rating: T for disturbing stuff, swearing, mental illness mentions and suicide thought mentions. (Fuck, this story is dark...)
Genre: I don’t know what the first part is, the second is Sci-Fi and maybe horror? Also, my horrible sense of humor is back. And angst. 
Summary: Chihiro is undercover on a pirate boat to take out a Tempura, but a bad surprise awaits him...
Other warning: OC centric. Separated into two parts. One continues the story of Chihiro. The other frames the story. The first part as sparse dialogue in japanese.
Word count: 1485 words.
Summary of the last part: To earn the right for their hidden blades, the Asashin of the Nihon brotherhood must go through a mortal obstacle course. Only two got out alive: Naoko, one of Leiko’s personal student, who abandoned following serious injuries, and a mysterious, masked and talented child. Upon congratulating them, Leiko discovered that the child was a fourteen years old Chihiro. Angry, she scolds her for going in a mortal danger when older students died from it, and revealed to her she intended to give her the hidden blade of her brother anyway, souring their relationship.
3 YEARS LATER
Chihiro took a deep breath. The mission was simple. Take out a Chinese Tempura going around in Japan by pretending to be a young one wanting to go on the seas. She had done everything to get to him. She disguised herself as a man, which for some reason was ridiculously easy for her. She convinced the captain to let her aboard. He accepted after she quickly dispatched annoying drunktards. Gain the sympathy of a possible ally. Done in the form of Khuan, the second on the boat. Her plan was simple: convince Khuan of letting her enter in the captain cabin during the night, were and when he was the lest expecting of being attacked, and slit his throat. 
And everything went according to plan.
She got off him and sit right next to him in the bed. She afterwards placed his hand on his torso, all while praying to the gods for forgiveness, both for her for killing a man, and for him due to being part of an horrible organization trying to silence the people.
“Soko. Anata wa ima yasumu koto ga dekimasu.”
“Watashi wa anata ni shitsumon ga arimasu.”
So the man knew how to speak Japanese. She nodded, letting him go on. She couldn’t refuse the last request of a dying man.
“Nande watashi? Watashi wa tanin ga yatte inai koto wa nani o shimashita ka?”
“ Naze? Sore wa kantandesu: Anata wa muryokuna hito o damara seru tame ni hokanohito to hatarakimasu. Anata wa jibun no mochimono o gōdatsu suru koto ni yotte kore o okonaimasu.”
“Hontōni? Sate, anata wa jibun no jinsei kara ikutsu ka no hitobito o ubattanode, anata wa watashi no yōna monodesu.”
“ Sukoshi no gisei. Korera no hitobito wa anata no yō ni, min'na no jiyū o ubaou to shite imashita. Asashin wa karera ni jiyū o ataeyou to shite iru. ”
He chuckled, and closed his eyes.
“Yasuraka ni nemuru.”
The deed was done. He was deaSHREEEEEEEEEEEE
**BRsynchrNIZATION*-0.0000013WHatisHAP**”EnningtoHIM*W,ESRNEEDHgtpBdgeT^%O(gRetHIM)Out%trrzzzzZZZZNOW
GAah
Kinnori rolled out of the Animus once the glass above his head retracted. He stayed on the floor for a moment, trying to decipher what was real and not real. Uh. So he still could get psychosis outbursts, even in the animus.
Fucking liars. They told him the animus had a chance of curing it.
He watched Vidic and Dellilah argue for a moment, not exactly hearing them. Vidic was bitching about something (probably the fact that he was out of the animus) and Dellilah was bitching louder at her boss. He averted his gaze from them, and stayed still a moment, waiting for the voices to go away. He didn’t even know if these voices were the one of his close ones or Chihiro’s. It didn’t really matter.
“And I’m telling you, Vidic. Sending him in the animus now would be an horrible idea: the discussion between his ancestor and her victim was barely finished when the synchronization hit an all time low. It was as if it suddenly hit a negative number!” “Or, maybe you just did such an horrible job, miss Rieaya, that he was unable to maintain an optimal synchronization.” “Oh fuck off, Doc.” The two looked at the still albino on the floor. Kinnori sighed, before pulling himself up, using the animus as a support. He flipped his white hair out of his face to look at the scientist in the eyes. “Dellilah is for nothing in this. I just had a psychosis outburst, that’s all.” 
Dellilah looked somewhat reassured. Vidic looked even more pissed. “So I did a good job?” “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Your boss is just fucking terrible at his job.” “What does that mean, Mister Ikarinoshi?” “Just that I told you when you first employed - oh, pardon me, kidnapped - me that I was psychotic. And yet, you still insisted on sending me in a weird-ass machine to relive the memories of my weird - if fucking badass and cute as a button - ancestor to find some weird, demonic mask. And your only reaction was to lie and tell me it had a chance of curing it. Now, I’ll probably hear even more voices. If you’re going to be evil, do it properly, you incompetent asshole.”
Dellilah looked between Kinnori and Vidic, not exactly sure where to place herself, but definitely amused by Kinnori’s little speech. Vidic was not. “Do you think this is a game, Mister Ikarinoshi?” “No. I just think you’re evil. And I’m fucking right.” “I do this for the greater good.” “I dO tHiS fOr ThE gReAtEr GoOd.” Kinnori repeated, his tone a mix of sarcasm and mocking. His eyes were shining from tears that were about to fall. These were anger tears. “You kidnapped me. I was drunk from a party and going home, when you men kidnapped me, for something that happened about 700 years ago.” 
“I have a family, you know? My mother was a teenager when she had me. She also feels she does an horrible job as a parent because of that, and she’s probably worrying herself sick about me right now. My little brother is still shaken from an accident that happened a year ago because guess what? He lost his voice in it. I’m the only thing holding them together since my father’s death, and I have difficulties with that because of my psychosis, putting a lot of pressure on me, giving me the constant fear of failing them and making me suicidal by moments. And you decide to take me away from them, you son of a bitch.”
“I would watch my mouth if I were you, Mister Ika-” “Shut up, I’m not finished. I fail to see how kidnapping a psychotic, anxious and drunk of his ass fifteen years old and putting him in a machine straight out of a bad sci-fi movie to relive the memories of his ninja ancestor by pretending that it will cure his psychosis is for the greater good. Or maybe I’m just a fucking egoist and unable to see your reasons. But in both case, in the end, you do more harm than good to the one you might want to treat with care. The only reason I didn’t kill myself to spite you yet is because I want to get out of there to reassure the ones I love that everything is okay. But because I am currently held hostage by a bunch of asshats, I can’t!”
“Vidic. Let him rest for today. He’s in no state for the Animus right now. His mental state won’t allow it.” “Fine. But we continue working once tomorrow morning hits.” Vidic quit the Animus room after that, grumbling under his breath. Kaori turned toward the Animus operator, one question nagging his mind. “How do you put up with that jerk?” “He’s my boss. He signs my paychecks. He knows where I live if I ever try to sabotage him or his bosses. And, above all else, he as contacts with my witch of a step-mother. Doesn’t stop me from hating him.” Dellilah answered, helping the albinos into his room. Kaori looked at Dellilah, a sly smile on his face. “If we hate the same persons, we’re already friends.”
The scientist chuckled. “Else, I had no idea of how shitty your life was.” “It’s okay. It’s not the best, but my mom’s job in a nursery allow her to support the three of us, I have a part-time job when I want to buy my own things and I have good friends who often organizes parties for various reasons. It’s not the best, but it works and I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’re just going through rough times right now.” “So, you were just trying to make Vidic feel guilty.” “Yes and no. I’m really worried about my family, but I’m not suicidal. I like living.” “Just so you know, we are being watched, and that technique won’t work again once Vidic learns you were bluffing.” “Whoops. Well, it was worth a try.”
“If you want, I could try to contact the higher ups. Not everyone is necessarily as heartless as Vidic. And they probably have other projects you could be useful in.” “Well, would be better than reliving the memories of my ancestors, I guess.”
I’M BACK. I finally re-started writing, and it feels great. Anyway, the discussion between Chihiro and the pirate was the same thing as always: why me, you did something wrong, we’re not so different, I know that but you oppress people and I don’t, Requiescat in Pace. As for the framing? Kinnori is Chihiro’s descendant and has been kidnapped by Abstergo to relive her memories. March 2009 is when it all happens. UNTIL THEN
1 note · View note
Text
I tell him in plain language I haven't eaten and have no money for food. He offers to loan me money and that I can come over. But it's -2 and all my cold weather wear is garbage from the 5 min I spent just going to the store. He says he has to charge his phone. I'm like OK but u can also do it on your laptop. "yeah but then I'd have to find my wallet". I gave a huge exaggerated laugh because who the fuck responds to someone asking to eat like 5hat? He thinks my reply is weird. I tell him I assume he's joking so I'm laughing otherwise I'm just depressed. He replies, "do you need money now?"
SO GCDFHJFFDXDJKCFYBVXSSJKCF
DO I NEED TO EAT TODAY? DO I? GYESS NOT BECAYSE I WOYLDNT WANT TO BORHER YOU TO FIND YOUR FUCKING WALLET.
the only mature non combative response I had was no response because I'm not even dignifying such a stupid fucking question with a response. Fuck you man. Just fuck you. I'd get more respect sucking dick for 40$. Quicker too.
And I'm trying soooooooo hard and it's just nothing. I'm doing nothing but expending the absolute most amount of effort I currently have before becoming sooo exhausted and frustrated that I'm becoming impulsively violent - much like traits I had very young that I worked to control. Like my day consists of waking up and being brought home. I smoke weed, find a podcast or video or movie to listen to but barely pay attention and try to bring myself to do anything. Like changing my clothes from yesterday. Going out to get food (which if I do is my entire morning and I'm done after). Lately I want soooo badly to get back into my shit. I used to be productive. Like I lost alllllllllllllllllllllllll drive for anything. I cannot fathom going to a job. My whole disposition says I want to die every moment I'm awake. I watched this doc about this crazy lady who starved to death in an abandoned house on an occupied street like ppl walked by the house she had neighbors but she like actively chose to just starve and die. And everyone's so confused like oh the neighbors were there she could've gotten food but no. I get this lady. I am this lady right now. I am in an abandoned house that is my body and my neighbors can see I'm here but they don't care if anyone is home. They wouldn't feed me.
In some ways I was like oh no. This lady is me. But she was delusional. Like she made ppl up. I haven't ever. But I am becoming like my mother more and more but I guess I empathize more. This lady was so depressed like she really wanted to die all the time and she was miserable and couldn't keep friends and I get it now. I got it before but now I really get it because there's no choice anymore. At some point you like... You're standing on the edge of the abyss and then u let go and from that point on its just free falling out of control. You can't stop it once it's hit full momentum. And I'm screaming cuz I did the drugs. And I can do them again so I can placebo effectvmyself for 2 weeks and crash again. I am existing solely for the purpose of a few other ppl right now. Like I can't die right here because my roommate has to find it and he's the last person I want to find dead me. Like if a stranger could spot a body that is me, that'd be good. Or like a dog finds me first. I want to go in a forest. I want my body to refuel the earth and I want animals to tear me apart like when the Indians let vultures eat their dead. I'm dead you know. People have too much control. I'm used to no control and I embrace the lack of control one has in death despite society trying sooo hard. And I'm still there you know cuz I want to control when I die. I wan5 to choose and death is not about choice. And it's hard to die. Killing yourself takes like extreme effort. I cannot selfishly take my cats with me tho I want to. I want to die with my cat in my arms, the only thing that ever really loved me besides my dad. I just want to go far far out where it's no coming back. Like even if I last minute didn't want to I want to be so far out in the woods I can5 make it back in such condition so I just die because wanting to live is the moment of weakness. This is not a moment. I am not in a decade long moment. I am suffering and I hurt and the "system" is a fools game. Like it took 100 yrs to accept certain medications and procedures as fucked up because it takes society 100 yrs to figure anything out and like I guess my hope is that because we're evolving technology so fast maybe in 5 years they will know how to fix depression. They will look in my brain and s3e the suffering and fix it. And I'll flick a switch and my memories will be neutral in feeling, not ptsd.
It's not even ptsd anymore. No, it's not JUST ptsd anymore. It's the starting long term effects of poverty. It's like.. My own mental issues maturing with me as I'm getting older and it's not easier at all?
Like I tried to do my shop and realized its so half assed and like I can't be this age and present this level of effort. I can do better I just chose not to but I spend effort doing it half assed still. I took apart 80% of my jewelry and have yet to go back to it because why. And that's sad. Like I have to be careful now to maintain what I do have or I may not care enough to do it again. I have alllllllllllllllllllllllll the time in the world to do something. Anything. Any. Thing. And I've listened to 350 episodes of last podcast, know deeply a 38 yr old man I never met who plays video games online, watched anything deemed good on Netflix, am totally up to date on s3veral news websites and podcasts and I smoke like 400$ worth of weed a month.
I don't even want to know me.
But like.. I don't pretend I just don't talk. I talk to others, share commentary occasionally but I just don't talk about anything. I especially don't talk about how depressed I am because it just bothers ppl and creates both positive and negative opinions none of which are helpful to the illness.
So im very very secluded. And I used to use isolated but that's negative. That's saying I'm forced into it. I'm forcing it. I'm not. I actively choose it now so I am secluded and extremely private.
I'm still trying though? Like I don't even know why. Today I signed up for usertesting sites because I already do contract tests for consumer reviews so maybe I'll make some money but at the same time I feel like its another dead end. Just go work at McDonald's.
Art wise, there is so much I could do to revamp my shop. All new, well made jewelry. I need all new photos including ones of my art with close ups and stuff. I want to "graduate" my art skills a bit. Like really make nice well cut paper with borders for matting and start to sign my work and like all of this means higher quality so a higher price. I can do fucking better. And honestly I'm not doing anything else right now. My mind is completely disabled and to consider working is laughable now. I know I'm not going to so I can stop being anxious about it. Fuck em. I've been doing a depression project for charity cuz that's what I did earlier this year too but this one is more personal. I have 3/5 of what I wanted for my goal but at the same time what I made is so.. Average. It's not great at all. It's just iok and does the job and I tried my best but maybe I didn't? The fact 3/5 have all turned out with fairly major issues makes me feel less inclined to continue and the whole thing pointless cuz why give something to the homeless that sucks. So u can feel good?
I don't want therapy or medication. I deeply hate society and most of humanity. I used to be OK with it and I wanted to be apart of it but I was so shit on by so many people that I can't do it anymore. It's not worth it. 30 years of shit for like 30 y3ars of average? Cool.
Still trying tho. Still asked for money for food and I'll go hungry today but I'll havevmoney tomorrow I guess. That's life. Me and the 45 ppl on main St homeless. Somedays you eat Somedays you don't. He will probably realize at some point he made a mistake - hopefully. Because if I have to chase him for it, I'm probably going to hang out by myself tomorrow too.
I'm now worried I have no good winter clothes and my boots have holes in them. I'm already in super debt. I have to get a new jacket and boots before it snows. I could've gotten an extra 10 if I braved the cold for 25 min tonight but I'm just so tired I don't care enough. I can't talk to anyone about this. Then I'm just poor and a burden cuz I have no job and spend money on weed. And I did. I put myself far into debt just for weed. I'm now working on this plan that since I've quit smoking I must be up some money so I'll slowly build funds back up by not smoking and not spending crazy. Which even now sounds bullshit. But I'm trying the testing thing as well. If I get my shop up before Xmas rush. These are reasons to try but I'm only trying because d3pression put me in debt. If I wasn't this sad I wouldn't spend this money. I wouldntvlive like this.
Honestly until I get this money I don't even have funds for the bus to get my birth control. At the same time tho I was willing to sit all of this out and wait but I have like 7 days to be paid and I can't go 7 days without eating at all.
I spent myblast 3$ on cat food and honestly just this run down alone describes how insane I am. Like there's no way it's OK for me to be on my own to this degree. No sound psychologist would say yes 100% clearly functioning on their own in need of no assistance. If someone described this to me in my moments of sound mind I would be like this bitch is dead in atleast 5 years. Prob less. Meds aren't enough. Therapy is not enough. And I don't deserve to be in a psych ward because my capacity for reasoning and logic is fully there and it's unfair to have success in q team monitored to be released into the same conditions you know.
What am I doing when my father's gone? This because no one recognized that in a Co dependent relationship there are two people who are d3oendent not just one and instead of really assessing the situation people chose to think I was lazy and living off my father (even tho I was not) ignoring severe depression and suicidal t3ndencies. Thanks.
I am the abandoned house.
Today I was trying to get ready to leave when he said he still wanted to smoke from my bong and ohh where do I have to go that's so important. And it's not just him. It's anyone who knows myclife. They d3cided my time has less value because someone who's not them d3cided to pay me money in exchange for menial tasks. Since I don't have that my time is meaningless and they can not show up to qppts or show up late or leave late or make me wait X amount of time cuz I have all the time in the world. They work u know. But I no longer care. For the people who know me I'm no longer accepting this and just going about my lif3 without them. For those who don't, I'm no longer going to share anything about my life with anyone. I'm just as valuable as you. My time is equally of worth. Fuck you for ever thinking different.
Just remember - anyone else alive, not your problem.
0 notes
kinetic-elaboration · 5 years
Text
October 11: Flickering Power; Writing Projects
The wind is crazy outside right now. And the rain. It all has a spooky autumnal storm quality about it. Which is all well and good except that the lights are flickering and I’m really not in the Mood to lose power. Like I’d just really rather that not happen. I didn’t go through the torture of this week, which is still not even over, just to have the power go out when I’m, I don’t know, trying to take a shower, or getting ready for bed.
Suffice it to say I’m not in the best place. I actually am in one of those moods where I feel like everything is very subtly falling apart, and my one saving thought is that tomorrow is Friday and the heat has finally broken and maybe this weekend I’ll get myself together.
Anyway. I can’t really think about writing but my feeling about it now is that it’s nice to get some projects either totally out of the way, or finished in draft form. One I finish sending finished documents to another folder, I’ll have 36 left. I think this sense of accomplishment, of clearing stuff out, is really an illusion, but I don’t care. It’s a nice feeling.
Currently Editing:
Briller roommate fic: I did one read-through of it yesterday and today. There were a lot of rough spots and I’ve gone a long way to smoothing them over. But I’m not sure it’s ready for posting yet. I think I need to let it sit a few days, then go back and read it again. If I tried to re-read it now, I’d just say ‘good enough’ to all the awkward bits because honestly, it is long (too long, really) and what with also having written it, I’m a bit burnt out and tired of it. So probably won’t get it up this weekend. Maybe next though.
And They Lived Chapter 2: Well, haven’t yet started editing. But want to. Probably will start tomorrow. Will get it up at my own sweet pace lol--no rush.
Currently Writing
The Party Fic: I have the rest of this planned out, scene by scene (well, the rest of what might be part 1?). Mostly I just want to finish it because it’s been sitting in my folder for so long and I think it deserves to be complete.
And They Lived Chapter 5: Had to put this on hold to work on Bring It On Home, but I didn’t write 37k to abandon this opus. Plus when I start writing, I tend to get on a roll, and that’s nice. It is a ridiculous story but at least not a painstaking process.
Should Be Writing
Ark AU 2: I... cannot deal with this. I think I need to scrap my half-assed planning for it and start again. It falls over every time I try to prop it up. It needs to be 150% simpler and shorter.
Oh well chapter 2: I keep on telling myself ‘once x other project is done’ and that’s a recipe for disaster.
HAICG Part 3: I need to plan this out properly and come up with a new idea for the start of the next chapter since what I have written blows.
Have To Start
My rare pair fic: I know the pairing and that’s it lol.
To Bring Back?
Bellarke Beat AU: I’d love to see this finished.... I think it’s the next old fic I want to resurrect.
0 notes