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honeyandbloodpoetry · 3 years

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Gender Thoughts Pt 1 and 2

The first time I put a binder on, a little under a week ago, I felt euphoric. Ever since I hit puberty very early on, I felt uncomfortable with my breasts. They never felt right on me, and even though I’ve come to love them sometimes, they still don’t always feel like they match up. I hated how people always looked at them, pointed out how much they showed in low cut shirts when I never even noticed they were--or even wanted them to. They were just there. I liked the way low cut shirts feel and look on me, I just can’t help these giant sacks of flesh that sit on my chest.

Except...now I can! I ran my hands over my smooth chest, feeling bright. I looked into the mirror, and felt something warm wash over me. I put on my new masculine clothes, letting my partner clip on my new suspenders. I realized that I was shaking as I looked at myself again… I looked like a boy. I felt like a boy. Like a man. And I liked it. I wanted it. Admitting that to myself was like coming home.

I remember being in sixth grade, walking around the track for my civil air patrol class. I had been slotted in with the rest of the girls, the boys walking ahead of us. I remember feeling uncomfortable being shoved in with only girls, and looking at the gaggle of boys ahead. The exact thought that whispered in my brain was “I wish I was a boy. I want to be like them, with them.” I never forgot that moment, and how strange it made me feel. How it was easier to shake that thought away, and dismiss those feelings. Except they never really left, did they?

I remember sitting on my bed, crying with my best friend kneeling in front of me. I remember telling her how I didn’t like feeling like a woman all the time. That I wished I could be a black shadow, monstrous, androdynous. Specifically like Venom. She took my hand, did my makeup all in black and helped me pick out the perfect black outfit to achieve that dark, gothic look. I was so incredibly happy and validated. But I still felt like something was missing.

I remember going into an Adam and Eve for laugh, not expecting much since I am an asexual with a low libido. I remember seeing packers and feeling my chest tighten. I never liked my genitalia--I had wished for a cloaca or something akin to that, but since that was biologically impossible for a human… I sometimes wished I had the opposite of a vagina. I frequently imagined what it would be like to have a penis. I frequently lamented the fact that I didn’t have one. I took the box up to the counter to ask some questions, my dress swishing as I went. The cashier told me it was for trans people only, and a girl like me couldn’t have it. She didn’t know what asexuality was, and had tried polyamory once but decided it was bad when her girlfriend kissed her boyfriend. I was upset, disheartened, and left the store empty handed feeling frustrated and lost.

I remember finally cutting the long, curly locks that had frustrated and imprisoned me for so long. Seeing all of my hair fall to the floor, staring into the mirror as the barber buzzed the back of my head… It made me want to cry tears of joy. It was the first time in my entire life that I had looked at my hair and was happy. The first time I could look in the mirror and feel like myself. Then I remember wanting to go shorter, and my barber encouraging me to keep it a little longer so I didn’t look manly, so I could still be soft and feminine. The way my stomach dropped and the sick feeling in my chest only increased when he began to make fun of the gay men who came down the street near his favorite restaurant. I never saw that barber again. I instead found a nice local place down the road from my apartment, where the kind lady cut it all off without question, other than “Why?” and accepted my warm “It makes me happy. It makes me feel beautiful.”

But wearing that binder for the first time? It was as if a beam of light had funneled its way directly into my heart. I felt like a handsome man, with just a little bit of striking man boob, and it felt so right. My partner called me a dashing boy and my heart began to race. I still feel his hand tracing my jawline as he called me handsome, and the butterflies it sent up through my belly, even after more than eleven years.

I love my partner--he identifies as agender and primarily masculine, and has been on the lookout for a good pair of size thirteen shoes to wear with a dress. They also wear joggers and flip flops and graphic tees and can’t seem to stop talking about the ocean and outer space. They’re probably one of my biggest inspirations for finding myself, and being authentically me.

I’m not super sure who or what I am right now. I’m still figuring that out, but I’m pretty sure I’m somewhere between agender and genderfluid. I feel like me more than anything else, but all pronouns make me feel good. I feel like all of them and none of them at once, but I swing between wanting to be feminine and masculine pretty strongly, though I enjoy being masculine most of all--even when I’m wearing dresses and pink. I feel like a beautiful person in a dress or a button down, no matter what gender I feel like today or tomorrow.

I am me. And I am one dashing boy, and one beautiful girl.

4 July 2021

XXX

Since first writing this little essay, I’ve been doing a lot more examination of my gender. I have come to the conclusion that I am transmasc and nonbinary, and am shaky on the title of genderfluid. I am feeling less and less like a woman--if anything, occasionally adjacent to a woman rather than actually being one. I love feeling like and presenting as a man. I have my first appointment with a gender services doctor at my local community clinic for consultation on starting hrt testosterone. I am planning to start with low dose first, and see how I feel.

I am still unsure of my exact identity, but I have found great euphoria with being and presenting as a man. I love being a man and everything that entails. I have loved myself like never before. Being with my partner is amazing, and he has been endlessly supportive--even recounting little things they had noticed throughout the years. One of the funniest being that I only ever referred to my body parts--my belly, hands, hair, genitalia--with masculine pronouns. I always seemed to see my body as male even if I had a certain sort of dissonance from it.

Coming out has been difficult. I have had both positive and negative experiences from it. I have been told going on testosterone would be self harm, and that I can’t be something I’m not. I’ve had coworkers I trusted out me without my permission. But I have also had positive affirmation, polite questions, and discussions. I am terrified to tell my mother and her boyfriend--I have no idea how they will react and am terrified that I will be disrespected and disowned.

But I am prepared to do whatever it takes to be my happiest and most authentic self.

I have been binding a lot more often, wearing sports bras for long shifts at work, and occasionally going without either when I feel like letting my man boobs hang free. I’ve had the delightful experience of going to a men’s big and tall store and finally wearing pants. I grew up as a fat girl and felt as if I had to perform high femininity to be taken seriously and be treated well--and had been told by someone I trusted that I was too fat to wear pants, which I heavily internalized. So I had completely cast them away in favor of dresses and skirts, bows and gaudy jewelry. Realizing that I could wear pants was...totally wild. That I could be comfortable and look good in pants and shorts, and that it didn’t matter what people did or thought of me was life changing. Maybe I’ll feel like being feminine again someday, but right now this masculinity and masculine clothing, with perhaps the added spice of funky earrings, feels like home.

I also grew up autistic and with PCOS, both which I think have affected my gender identity. Being autistic, I truly struggled to connect to others socially, and especially to understand societal norms. Being a proper woman felt like I was making up for everything else I was lacking--I may have been awkward, semi-verbal and weird with no friends, but at least I was cute and girlish. I never connected to womanhood though, and always felt out of place no matter how hard I tried. With PCOS, I had heightened testosterone, which meant wider breasts and shoulders, a lack of periods, and excessive body hair. I recall the endocrinologist asking high school age me if I had excessive body hair around my stomach, breasts, etc. and my mother jumping to say no I didn’t...even though I did. I remember suddenly feeling very self aware and ashamed of something completely natural, and even something I started to enjoy. I started shaving my entire body then.

I even remember being in middle school, and thinking nothing of my hairy legs. In fact, I loved my body hair and how it felt. A rude girl began making fun of me though, tutting her tongue as she cooed, “Aw, does your mommy not let you shave?” Among other things, all throughout many years of severe bullying and abuse. I remember feeling ashamed, but not knowing why, and immediately shaving my legs, covering them in nicks from my shaky and unsteady hands, that same night.

So many things set me back in my gender expression. So many things contributed to me willful ignorance and denial. I remember wanting to be butch, and everyone in my life laughing at me and saying I was too soft for that. That sweet, sharp ache in my chest. I remember going to a salad bar with my mother, wearing a button up and telling her I wanted to wear some more boyish clothes around that same time--I had already told her that I was bi sometime earlier. I remember her lip curling, looking uncomfortable, and telling me that I better not become one of those boy girls. My late father was very vocal in denouncing homosexuality and specifically men loving men--something which always sat horribly wrong with me on a deeper level.

I think I might ending up being a trans man. I am still unsure and figuring myself out, but I struggle greatly with the autistic need for sameness vs. the trans need for change. My sapphic love of women has always been very important to me, and fully becoming a man rather than genderfluid is scary for that very reason. I am still navigating my identity and what it means to me and my reality--but no matter what, being a man, being masculine is integral to who I am.

I was called a “sir” at a job interview for the first time the other day, and nearly began to bawl from sheer joy. The gender euphoria from that and so many moments is worth so much more to me than the years of suffering and ignorance and my ongoing struggles with dysphoria. I finally got a packer and have had help from my partner in learning to position it properly--I am thinking of cutting my hair even shorter. I have almost perfected a pretty basic tie tying skill. Okay, not really, but I’m getting there. I feel deep inside that even though my father loved me, he would not like who and what I am. Still, I wear the last watch he ever wore, and hope to be a good man like him--and to learn from the toxic parts of him to be an even better man.

I am very excited to start hrt. I am terrified of hair loss and vaginal atrophy, but I look forward to so much more. I cannot wait for bottom growth and body hair, for the voice drop that will hopefully get me misgendered less. I have always felt disconnected from my voice and look forward to getting to know it better as it changes with me. I look forward to meeting with new facial hair. Working out and growing muscle. I just look forward to my second puberty and becoming more like myself. I look forward to navigating and exploring my gender even further, both with loved ones, support groups, and myself.

More than anything, I am just happy to be me.

25 August 2021

#transmasc #ftm #ftx #gender #genderqueer #transgender #trans #lgbt #lgbtq #trans man #nonbinary #genderfluid #poets of tumblr #spilled thoughts #gender expression #low dose t #hrt

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mimiplaysgames · 3 years

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Terra Week Day 3 (Dreams/AU)

Summary: Terra hears stories about Xehanort during his apprenticeship. Everyone has something to say about his face. | Word Count: 3,954

Read on AO3

A/N: For Terra Week 2021! You can find that account on Twitter!

~*~*~*~*~

The Tenets of a Master, Ch. 3

To Dream is to risk. To risk is to show bravery. To show bravery is to embody strength. To embody strength is to Dream.

In the middle of construction, Radiant Garden looks as though it’s been dealt an iron fist. Some neighborhoods need their roofs replaced and there’s now what they call an automatic trigger alarm system that is run by motion sensors. They are still clearing rubble from the streets on the west side. The east looks good as new, slowly filling back up with tufts of flowers.

Terra has never been inside Ansem the Wise’s castle (well… him, not him anyway) but it used to be beautiful. It used to stand on brick and alabaster stone, graciously presenting a giant clock mechanism that made it look Grandfatherly, a home away from home, carefully placed gears running three pendulums. Now the remains are held up by pipes. Cranes pull up missing spires that have fallen off. The only part truly original to the castle is still that clock piece. Grandfather had a rough night but at least he’s cleaning up nicely.

Ven jogs to keep up with Terra’s strides. “I saw you talking to Naminé last night,” he says.

“You saw right.”

“I’m worried.”

Terra is worried, too. Aqua, not suspecting anything, is leading the way up the stairs to the front entrance.

“You’re going to have to distract her for me,” Terra says, keeping his tone hushed.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Stall her when you get the chance.” At which Ven rolls his eyes. “Just for a short while.” Checking to see if Aqua has turned her head, Terra pretends it’s a casual conversation. With a (painted) smile, he says out loud, “Race you to the top.”

Ven groans and lags behind.

At the top, Aqua greets one of the guards, a tall and meaty man with waist-length dark braids and slick sideburns that might as well be shaped by the edge of a knife. Terra has to push aside the question if this is one of the men who had kidnapped people for the sake of Xehanort’s experiments— the people he will meet today are not the same as they were. He has to remember that.

“Terra,” she says. “This is Dilan.”

Dilan. Terra doesn’t recognize that name.

Speaking of, Dilan takes one glance at Terra before bursting into laughter, haughty and rich.

“Aeleus,” he calls, his tone piercing like lances. “Come and see whose Somebody has finally decided to grace us with his presence.”

Aeleus. Nope, not this name either.

Ven cowers behind Aqua when a head of orange curls appear around the corner.

If Dilan is tall, Aeleus is a beast, a walking fortress with muscles bigger than Terra’s head. It’s impressive enough to make Terra keep Earthshaker close at his fingertips. Aeleus has what looks like a permanent scowl—so woven into his skin that when he smirks, no other muscle moves with it. It must be the eyebrows, but it leaves Terra wondering if he’s going to get his nose caved in at any moment. These men do have reasons to hold resentment, after all.

“I’ve given up on expecting a visit,” Dilan says when joined by his comrade. Two gatekeepers. “And I hardly ever expected to… feel this much when I would come upon your face again.” He grins and its equal parts amused and hurt.

Aeleus grunts in agreement. He crosses his arms and Terra swears it makes him grow another inch.

“If I may,” Dilan continues, “there have been quite the corrupted experiences in our history.”

Terra steps back. Corrupted. Before he can feel too sick, he feels a gentle hand on his wrist, Aqua stepping near him as she waits for his cue.

“I’ve carried such regret since,” Dilan says, hands wrapped behind his back. “I watch every face that passes by this castle, and at the end of each night, I’m left with this vacant pit in my chest, asking myself if we ever shared a shred of self-awareness, would we have pursued our dreams differently?

“Now that you are here,” he presses, angling down. “I realize it matters not what you remember of that time. I know when I see that shackled look in your eyes. I am not alone in this. For that, you’ll have no choice but to share the weight of that debt forever.” He smirks. “What say you, Aeleus?”

Aeleus measures Terra with his eyes. His voice is deep and as dense as rock. “You’re puny.”

Dilan spits into another bout of laughter.

Their roast of him eases Terra. He doesn’t know these men, and they know less of him, but they have a mutual friend called Burden, sharing the cheer. Aqua gets the message that all is fine, and lets go.

“Well...” Terra starts, too self-conscious of the way he speaks. The sound of his voice must be entertaining for Dilan, who’s containing himself. “I’m here to make some things right. Can we come in?”

Dilan sustains a grin and raises a hairy eyebrow, nodding off to Aeleus in some silent conversation. “Did you really think you can have access without telling us the secret password?”

“A password?” Now he feels like a dork. “Can I have a hint?”

“You can give us your heart,” Aeleus says, and Dilan can’t control himself any longer.

With a clap of their hands, the castle doors open, and they spread apart to let Terra and his friends through. Terra has to wonder if normal will ever bless him with its visit ever again. If he could be normal when he hears of others’ stories, when some jokes hit too close to home.

“Come back to train,” Aeleus says, giving Terra a hard knock on the shoulder that pushes him forward. “You need more muscle.”

The castle doors shut behind them with controlled weight, cutting off Dilan’s lingering amusement with a bang. Terra is left with hot ears, massaging his biceps to see if he’s gotten smaller.

“I think they like you,” Ven says.

Pipes line the crooks between the walls and the ceilings. Like a respiratory system, it steams and churns, pumping humid life into the castle. Some of the halls are dark. Parts of the floor are chipped and if not, grimey. They have a long way to go before it looks pristine.

And Terra apparently has spent years here. But nothing gives him that spark. Nothing makes his stomach turn or drops a loaded bout of nostalgia. The very thought of having lived here sounds like an alternate reality that was never recorded, so at best it’s just a story, at worst a lie.

“Soooo…” Ven says to Terra, hands casually behind his head. “Does this place bring back any memories?”

Aqua scoffs. “That’s an awful question to ask, Ven.”

“You mean you’re not curious?”

Terra groans. It’s not the invasive nature of the question, but the fact that he asked Ven to lay low about this mission not several minutes ago and here he is nearly sabotaging it. He flicks Ven at the ear.

“What? I just want to know!”

“I don’t,” Aqua mutters.

Stars. Terra’s pocket buzzes with notifications from his Gummiphone, but he ignores them. Now’s not the right time.

A man steps from around the corner, knee deep in a long, white lab coat with coiffed wrist cuffs and a folded handkerchief on his collar. He walks so quietly that they don’t hear him approach. Clean cut except for the hair—too clean, actually, and brushed over the front, like linen pulled too far to one side of the table.

“Master Aqua,” this man greets with a bright and timid smile behind the curtain. “How pleasant to finally meet you to face to face.”

“Likewise, Ienzo.”

Ienzo. Terra only recognizes it because Aqua keeps in contact with him.

Likewise, when Ienzo looks over her shoulder, he lights up.

“I’m Terra.”

“I can tell.” Ienzo clears his throat. “Pardon, I shouldn’t be so forward, but… You look so much like him.” He clicks his tongue. “I shouldn’t have said that, either.”

“It’s fine,” Terra says, though it’s not.

“I-I can show you around the castle.” He adjusts his collar. “It may seem unhomely now, but I assure you, it warms up in time.”

It’s already too warm.

“This has been home for you for a while, right?” Aqua asks, a plastic quality to her voice as if she’s trying to patch things up. Nothing needs patching though. It’s just awkward.

“Since I was a child.” Ienzo glances back at Terra. “May I say something?”

Everyone has something to say. Terra considers researching a magic spell to alter his face. “Sure.”

Ienzo tightens his collar again, the knot knuckling into his throat. “I really admired him. Xehanort.”

It doesn’t feel like a punch to the stomach but more like his breath was sucked out by a hand after it slapped him in the face. “Um…”

“I don’t mean to be rude. Or forward.” This guy apologizes too much. And will choke himself if he doesn’t stop. “But for some time, ever since I’ve heard word of who you really were, I wondered what it would be like for the two of us to meet. I held no expectations. And yet… Everything about you is so foreign to me.”

There goes Aqua again, standing near and giving Terra gentle notice that she’s there. There goes Ven, gawking up at him and being completely unsubtle about how the conversation has turned.

“Everything about this place is foreign to me,” Terra says, trying to be polite and failing at somewhere closer to aghast.

“I apologize.” Ienzo turns his nervous ticks to his wrist cuffs, effortlessly attempting at cutting off his circulation. “I suppose you could say Xehanort was a profound presence in my life.”

When Ienzo finally catches on to what he’s doing to his clothes, he exhales and puts his hand to his face, thinking deeply, maybe about a time in an alternate universe where lies and stories were real. It makes him look like a child.

“You would have been,” Terra says, keeping himself sweet, “very young when you met him.”

Ienzo nods slowly. “I was a child and taken in to study. Science was a language he spoke with ease and I wanted in every way to emulate that when I grew up.”

Terra can relate. “Was that hard on you?”

“Not in the beginning.” Ienzo slowly finds some courage with every word. “He wasn’t kind… Not like you are. He was polite, however, and he was focused. If anything, Xehanort had a sort of quality that made you believe all the possibilities were in your grasp. No matter what they were, or your age, or level of intelligence. He was magnetic. I grew up thinking I was capable of anything because of his support.” Ienzo stares down at a small puddle building up from the steam. “I wanted to impress. I believed in what he believed, and never once did I think—I justified everything I did. I did not know about you. And I am so very sorry.”

“I get it,” Terra says softly. “He made you feel like you were worth the time and effort.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

And it came with a cost. Terra doesn’t need to say it, and neither does Ienzo, a quiet acknowledgement passing in the moments they nod and paint a smile between them.

“I appreciate you giving me the time to release these thoughts,” Ienzo says. “I’ve struggled with them for some time, especially after waking up again.”

“Happy to help.” Actually it hurts, but Terra can deal.

“Now I must reciprocate my efforts.” Ienzo turns to Aqua. “You are looking for your Keyblade.”

Aqua, for the second time that day, lets Terra go. “Did you find out anything new?”

After a moment, he says, “It is blue. Before you raise your hopes”—he lifts his hands in defense—“neither of us can recall what Xehanort has done with it. I don’t believe I have ever seen evidence of it during my time as a Nobody. We are regressing quite a few years in the past.”

“Oh.”

Ienzo blinks. “I was uncertain if I had dreamed of it, but when I was a child, I would take walks around the castle at night. A ritual I felt I needed in order to sleep. One of those serendipitous nights, I had walked past Xehanort’s personal office.” He glances at Terra, opens his mouth to say more, then thinks the better of it and addresses Aqua instead. (You, but not you.) “He had left the door open. He was studying a large object, electrifying it and concocting different spells to get it to react. I want to say it was blue, but I was not certain what I was looking at.”

They all stare at him in silence.

“He was… toying with it?” Aqua asks.

“I am not sure.”

“Maybe he was trying to activate it?” Ven says.

“Perhaps.”

“How was he that night?” Terra asks, a distinct acidity to his throat and so help him stars, he might just spit it out in the next minute. It’s natural to hold your friends’ Keyblades. This is different.

“Frustrated,” Ienzo says. “I almost want to say that he was on the verge of giving up, as though it had given up on him.”

“That makes it sound like he was attached to it,” Aqua spits.

“That is a possibility. But whatever it was, it didn’t want to work with him.”

Aqua smirks and lifts one elegant shoulder. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Let me escort you to our records room.” Ienzo gestures with an arm to the hallway behind him. “I’ll show you some of his earlier journals. Perhaps there is a mention of it?”

They start ahead except for Terra, who waits until they move several paces before they noticed he opted to stay behind.

“Actually,” Terra says slowly, finding opportunity here and swallowing the acid down. It’s going to take at least two meals to remove the taste. “Being here and listening to all of this makes me a little dizzy.”

Anything involving discomfort with her friends set off panic with Aqua. “Are you okay?”

Ven gives Terra a warning glare.

Robin Hood would have tweaked the truth for the better good. What a horrible thought, stars, Yen Sid has got to be humoring Aqua in getting Terra prepared for his Mark of Mastery.

“I’m just overwhelmed,” Terra says. She believes him.

“Maybe you should step outside.”

Ven puffs out.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Terra says, pressing Ven with a glare back. Have my back. “I won’t be gone for long. I want to be around to help you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aqua says, checking his eyes for signs of exhaustion. “Get your rest.”

It’s that easy and yet Ven walks away defeated. It shouldn’t take long. All Terra has to do is pull out his Gummiphone and find—

“Naminé.”

She’s back near the entrance. Thank the stars she prefers to use full sentences and could direct him where to go to meet her. When she sees him, she signals to be quiet and gestures for him to follow her. They go down a different hallway, one that is much more well kept than the one Aqua and Ven are taking. They pass by labs this way, some filled with computers, others with flasks, half of a library, and infirmary beds. Nothing so far that looks menacing or painful, but maybe Terra is overthinking the whole Xehanort-tortures-people legend. Or maybe the castle is designed to hide such things.

She takes him to a room with a recliner and several computer screens that are running some diagnostics about the security systems outside, and closes the door behind them.

Someone is already waiting here.

“Riku?”

“Terra.”

“What are you doing here?”

Riku holds his waist and draws out a long exhale, like a tired schoolteacher. “Ven was worried.”

“And spilled the beans.” Terra scoffs.

“And spilled the beans.” Riku smirks and it lightens up his whole face in a way that only fits with him. Terra never has to take anything too seriously for too long when he’s around Riku. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

A mixed feeling of anxiety and relief wash over Terra like a lumpy massage on his shoulders. “I don’t mean to do this in secret.”

Riku shrugs. “I would have.”

“I need to say something,” Naminé says, her arms wrapped around a lineless notebook. Even when announcing to a room, she keeps herself soft and small. “I’m not entirely confident about this.”

Riku snorts.

“How is that funny?”

“It’s not, I’m sorry.” After noticing how she’s staring at him with utter confusion, he waves at her. “You’re a lot more capable than you give yourself credit for.”

Unconvinced, she sighs and motions to the recliner. “Please get comfortable, Terra.”

“What is this going to look like anyway?” Riku leans on the dashboard behind him, a ghostly light silhouetting him like a grim reaper on guard.

Naminé pouts. That same light gives her an eldritch glow, illuminating her white dress. “I’m going to attempt to connect Terra to Xehanort’s memories.”

“Nam,” Riku says, crossing his arms, suddenly serious. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Attempt.”

“Xehanort is dead.”

“But memories stay with you,” Terra objects. They do. He can play them in his head, over and over. He already has for years.

Eraqus lives as long as Terra can replay his voice.

“From what I understood,” Riku says, leaning on his thighs, “you don’t remember being Xehanort. So how can you connect to his memories?”

But death is a one way door.

“He was in my body,” Terra says. However, that Riku is skeptical of this suddenly makes Terra uneasy.

“Would you say you were bonded with Xehanort?” Naminé asks, so quiet it’s a shy whisper, afraid to ignite a bomb with the soundwaves of her voice.

“Does irreparable damage count?”

“That may hurt you in the long run,” she says, pulling a stool aside Terra and opening her notebook on her lap. “What I mean is, the memories we share with other people form the bonds. They link together, like chains.”

Chains. Terra winces.

“You choose who you bond with, in all the decisions you’ve made in the past,” she continues.

In some way, Terra has chosen to bond with Xehanort, hasn’t he? He chose to confide in him, and he carries the shackles all these years later.

“But you are trying to access memories you’ve played no role in,” Naminé says. “There is nothing to link between the two, except for the body.”

“That isn’t enough?” Terra sits on the recliner. It’s stiff and unyielding, but he leans on his back and looks up at the monitor, illegible script running numbers upside down.

Riku groans.

“If you were still carrying Xehanort with you,” she says, “I think I could have made an artificial connection there.” Slowly flipping pages, she grimaces until she finds a blank slate. “Kind of like I used to do. I can create false memories. I can break chains and rechain them. But I cannot propel you to a time you did not exist.”

“I did exist,” Terra says softly.

“What she’s trying to say,” Riku says, getting up on his feet and pacing,“is that you’re doing what Sora did before he disappeared.” Sora, a warning to keep you from getting lost in the woods. “I’m not comfortable with this.”

Naminé splays out crayons on the nearby table: one orange, one blue, a green and a red. She looks sickly. “But Sora went too far.”

“So,” Terra starts, obviously a fool even to himself, “you mean if I don’t go as far, I can be okay.”

Naminé fiddles with her fingers. “I can’t guarantee that. I don’t know what you will end up seeing.”

Terra pauses. He’d be testing the limits of chance in putting Aqua and Ven through this grief again. It’s hard to imagine—Aqua getting the news of something happening, choosing not to cry in front of people she doesn’t know. Robin Hood would have made better choices.

But Aqua would grieve anyway if she goes through those books, picturing no one else but Terra doing all those horrible things. He’s heard some of the stories: the screaming at night, the monsters, the disappearances that start with the children and later swallow the entire family, where neighbors never see them come home again. Xehanort happened to all of them.

“I don’t mean you will disappear.” She lets loose a nervous chuckle.

“But I could go nuts,” Terra says with a painted smile.

“That’s why Ven asked me to be here,” Riku says, that edge of his sanded out some. “I’ve lost count how many times I’ve beaten Xehanort. Or Ansem. They’re the same really. I don’t think you’d be too much of a hassle.”

“Well, thanks,” Terra says, and Riku replies with a fisted nudge on his shoulder.

What’s the fun in playing the game if you already know the outcome? Terra doesn’t know why he’s thinking that way, but he’s absolutely stupid for taking the gamble. There’s no way Yen Sid seriously considers him for Mastery.

And Aqua would grieve anyway.

“I don’t want to let it come to that,” Naminé says, eyes on the floor.

“Are you going to make me watch Xehanort?” Terra asks.

“That’s up to you.” She starts with red. “I can’t make you do anything without writing memories for you.”

“Should let his heart guide him?” Riku asks.

May your fickle, sickly heart be your guiding key to oblivion and all the ridiculous delusions you hold dear.

“It’s a safer way to approach it,” Naminé says, not nodding but not shrugging either.

“Why am I not surprised.”

Terra doesn’t know why she sounds so insecure about her skills when he’s heard nothing but amazing things. “I suggest letting your mind move with your feelings,” she tells him. “Don’t force a thought, and don’t get lost in the emotions. Just sit. Does that make sense?” She taps the crayon to her chin.

“It does.” Terra counts his breaths. In three, out five. In five, out seven. Xehanort. He doesn’t know what to think about Xehanort. Hatred is useless. Revenge is futile. Anger will sabotage his way to Mastery. While Terra has tried his best in his meditation exercises, he’s only done them for the sake of earning good marks in his classes. Settling down, not thinking, relaxing—those are things Terra’s never claimed to be good at, especially lately.

Xehanort walked through these halls with Terra’s body. Should he try and picture himself instead? In the same lab coat Ienzo wears? With white hair, most likely. And definitely too much hair gel.

“What’s it going to be like?”

“A dream,” Naminé says, her crayon drawing loops on the page, though Terra cannot see what it is.

“It already feels like I’m dreaming,” Terra says, watching the ceiling ebb and flow with running lights from the computer monitors behind him. Ever since he stepped in here, it’s felt like he lived a lifetime away from home. No start, no ending, moving pictures that he loses as soon as he blinks. Nothing stays, like waking up and forgetting a whole night.

“I have to warn you,” Naminé says, her voice quieter, “I may have to unchain the memories you want linked together if it gets too hard for you.”

And there, in the midst of wondering if he’s ever going to get this right, he thinks of a white door he’s never seen before.

#kh terra #terra #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfic #dilan #aeleus #ienzo #namine #kh riku #i'm so exhausted it feels like I'm sprinting #my fic

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chongoblog · 4 years

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Can we have little a reference?

Alright, so here are some fresh references for the red kraken, complete with some pieces of fanart I’ve seen of them that look the part, however the descriptions may have some lack of matching since their designs have been through some changes over time.

Mac

(art by necconya on instagram) Mac’s got messy black hair that’s around mid-length (but goes a lot more out than down) and round glasses. He’s above average height and very lanky, usually carrying a small book around with him. Upon joining the crew, he wears a red plaid button down with some baggy brown pants and eventually a bandana over his hair, trying his best to nail the pirate look (whether it was successful is up for debate). He also probably looks tired half the time.

Disco

(art by @tmvagabond) Disco is a blue-furred yellow-eyed catgirl with black stripes that run perpendicular to her limbs and sideways on her face who dons a red blouse and somewhat torn up brown pants. She’s usually carrying either her weapon of choice, a crossbow, or whatever she’s recently stolen.

Twist

(art by @val-ocity )Twist wears a thick red sweater with a darker red scarf featuring a dolphin embroidered into the end of it. She has freckles on her black skin and curly black hair with a sidecut on each side. Her eyes used to be brown, but ever since the start of where the story begins, they’ve turned purple for some reason, sometimes glowing an incredibly bright purple when her powers are out of control. I’m sure it’s nothing.

Tap

(art by @tmvagabond) Tap is also a furry (technically known as “Beastials” in this world) and is part rabbit with burnt orange fur. She has somewhat long black wavy hair and hazel eyes. Her attire is usually a more skin-tight dark bodysuit to allow her to be more difficult to spot along with a red bandana that is spotted like the skin of a cuttlefish and black fingerless gloves, however will wear unbuttoned flannel shirts in more casual settings.

Samba

(art by @thooidd or beaudryfilms on Twitter (also someone who is cute)) Samba, the proud captain of the Red Kraken, is a somewhat burly guy who usually doesn’t wear a shirt, which reveals his hairy, scar-ridden chest, however will usually wear a crimson coat with golden highlights to at least cover up somewhat. He has short red hair with a full red beard with blue eyes and after a recent accident has a classic peg leg along with a harpoon gun to replace his left arm. He wears bright tan pants underneath his golden kraken-shaped belt buckle.

Dougie

(This art was submitted to me, and when I looked back it didn’t tell me who submitted it, so if you’re the submitter hmu and I’ll put your name up!!!!) Dougie is…..an odd creature. He looks more like a ghoul or a goblin than a person with pinkish skin and wiry white hair. He’s much shorter than all the other members with clothing that looks more like a patchwork of red torn rags than actual clothing. He’s usually seen either wearing huge circular glasses or equally huge green goggles when he’s working on….whatever he’s working on. He also always wears his shrimp-shaped earrings.

Tango

(art by @val-ocity) Tango has short black hair that’s usually sticking up somewhat, brown eyes, olive skin and is ripped. Just absolutely stacked my dude. Like. Wow. His weapon of choice is a bl. His attire of choice is a red suit with the sleeves ripped off along with long red pants. His right arm has a tattoo of a shark with exposed teeth along his bicep.

Waltz

(Art by @redbuddi) HER! Waltz is a short girl with messy blonde hair that’s usually tied up in a ponytail. She has green eyes, and her face is always partially obscured by her squid-shaped gas mask. She wears a brown coat (that lightly glows in the dark from exposure to previous experiments) with a red shirt underneath, a pair of dark blue pants, and brown boots. Around her belt are usually a variety of corked flasks containing gaseous potions of various colors (the most common being pink, orange and green, however there are always different varieties).

Jig

[No art available]

A very tall, incredibly slim and somewhat elderly man (moreso middle-aged) with a clean-cut head of hair and sideburns that are brown with plenty of gray hairs growing in. Like Tango, he wears a suit, however this one still has its sleeves. He also wears very small spectacles along with a bowler hat with a sea turtle sewn into the front.

Salsa

[No art available]

Salsa’s infectious happiness is visible everywhere she goes, and is always always ALWAYS smiling. She has short pink hair, freckles and grey eyes, and is found either wearing a white shirt with a red vest or her red checkered apron. Also, she is very big, very muscular, and might accidentally break something during a hug. Also I am formally apologizing to this character because of how often I’ve changed her design

If you decide “hey I’m gonna draw one of these characters!” and you post it, DM me, because I would LOVE to see it, and I get a lot of notifications so I wouldn’t bank on me seeing a tag. And if you have any further questions about these references, feel free to ask, because I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not the BEST at references.

Thank you all so much for all your support and love for these characters thus far.

#Anonymous #red kraken #reference #i have loved every piece of fanart I have received for these guys thank you all so much for the support #I'm just so ready to bring this story to life #but yeah I will lose my mind over any and all fanart #long post

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eyrco · 3 years

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My roommate, @kkthekat, has been hearing something skittering around her room and being chased by the cat and also occasionally flying around her head and bonking into her window at all hours of the night, but every time I went upstairs it just disappeared. We’d been playing this game for days now, several times a night, and every time it just vanished, right before I got into the room.

I didn’t disbelieve her, I trusted that there was something there, but there was very little I could do when I couldn’t find the thing. I tried, I scoured the floor and under the bed and even in the closets, but there was just nothing there! Not a thing!

From her description, which was of a frog mouse bug that was grey and fist sized and had wings but also scuttled on the ground, I figured it must be a very confused moth. She was unconvinced, but I still hadn’t seen it, so we settled on that as the only logical option.

Tonight, night three, we were on round five of AAAA-come-quickly-it’s-back-it’s-back-and-I-can-hear-it-running, and I was in the middle of round five of I’m-sure-you’re-right-I-really-am-but-there-is-nothing-I-can-do-about-something-that-vanishes-every-time-I-show-up, when something did make a skittering sound, and then moved right in the corner of my eye, and I turned, and what did I see but a tiny adorable bat face staring at me from the mouth of one of Kayleigh’s boots. I moved towards it, it panicked, and ducked back down.

I was immediately charmed. Kayleigh was utterly fear stricken and ran out of the room. We conducted the rest of our conversation from different floors while I kept an eye on the bat and she had a breakdown in the bathroom.

The first thing I thought was that this is hilarious, and also it makes perfect sense, that the massive flying hairy black thing that couldn’t be a mouse because it had wings but couldn’t be a bug because it was too big and too oddly shaped was a bat. It even disappeared every time I turned on the light! It was perfect!

I was also kicking myself for not remembering that bats exist. I think it’s just because I’ve never seen one up close in real life, so it just didn’t occur to me to be an option for the thing going bump on my roommate’s window.

My last realization was that I was not tall enough to reach the shoe with the bat in it. It was on a high shelf and there were too many things in front of it to get a chair. I was foiled by my own lack of height, which is a secret I would take to the grave, except that too many people already know.

Kayleigh was catatonic, I was short, the cat was chasing her own tail in the hallway, there was really no other solution.

I called my brother. --

The bat has now been removed by my baby brother, who is a foot taller than me and could easily reach over my head to drape a towel on the shoe and take it to the back yard. He did not want to leave his bed at eleven thirty at night because his grown adult sister couldn’t get a bat out of her own house because she was too short, but he drove over in five minutes because I asked, and I paid him twenty dollars for not abandoning me in my time of need. I fully anticipate this being the embarrassing story he picks to tell at either my wedding, the birth of my first child, or my doctoral graduation, whichever comes first.

#stories from knox street #absolutely bonkers time in this house tonight #this on top of the gas leak scare earlier today #our landlords will be getting a strongly worded text tomorrow #I think this can also be considered a case of #the ghost strikes again #kkthekat #who did not even come close to being bitten by the decidedly not rabid bat #and who therefore does not need a rabies shot #featuring Rosebud the cat #who also does not need a rabies shot

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lemontrash · 4 years

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Epithets; the Pros and Pitfalls

Ok gang, so recently the topic of epithets in fanfic has come up and this is a topic I have been thinking about a LOT for A LONG TIME so I figured maybe now is the time to share my thoughts on phrases like ‘the braided baka’ and ‘the ebony-eyed Chinese pilot’ and what some of the pitfalls are in using epithets to enrich your writing.

NOTE: I am not slamming the use of epithets! I am not coming into your fic from 25 years ago saying ‘shame!’. I am only maintaining that these are tricky to get right, and to raise awareness of how epithets can be a really useful, powerful tool of description but also a double-edged blade.

What is an Epithet Anyway?

An epithet is a word or phrase applied to a person or thing to describe an actual or attributed quality, in addition to or instead of their name, and which are used to identify.

On one side of tradition, they are poetic. Homer, writer of the Odyssey, was a big fan of these. ‘The wine dark sea’, ‘rosy fingered Dawn’, and ‘Nausicaa of the long white arms’ are some of his most famous, never mind ‘Apollo, destroyer of mice!’. In his works they were generally descriptive, or talked directly to the schemata (the perceptions and understanding) of his audience.

Everyone knows Achaeans are super hairy, right? You know that.

On another side of tradition, they are identifiers. If you have a populace named virtually nothing but John, Richard and Henry and you’re not used to using family names, then calling this John ‘Long John’ and that John ‘Little John’ helps direct attention to the right person. Or to acknowledge their good or bad deeds/attributes (Peter the Brave vs Stinky Pete, for example) or their lineage (Aragorn son of Arathorn/ John of Gaunt). They can be used for comedic purposes as a device to make purposefully similar characters more amusing (Wee Jock, Big Jock and Smaller-than-Big-Jock-but-Bigger-than-Wee-Jock Jock all agreed to steal the sheep. The Pirate with the Peg Leg and the Pirate with the Clothes Peg boarded the ship.)

But notice that many of these epithets still use people’s names or are direct substitutions for when a name isn’t known. And they are largely subjective - epithets carry not only description but opinion - the opinion of society at large or the opinion of the individual speaker - and pinpoint value - what it IS about this person we should pay attention to.

And that means epithets can be used to praise, (Richard the Lionheart), to criticise (Bad King John), and to stereotype (those hairy Achaeans).

Oh and these are just epithets used for people. Epithets come in other forms, for example:

“The earth is crying-sweet, And scattering-bright the air, Eddying, dizzying, closing round, With soft and drunken laughter…”

The highlighted parts of Beauty and Beauty by Rupert Brooke are also epithets. But i’m going to focus on those used to describe people in this discussion.

In short, epithets always carry meaning in two ways - they focus on what the user feels is perceptively important about the subject of the epithet, and as a result, when we look through the lens of an epithet, our view of a character narrows.

Why are they Great?

Because they’re poetic by nature; they add interest and often eloquence. And because they tell us so much about the point of view of the user. They can add new facets to characters and give writers a secondary means of identifying characters to reduce name fatigue, or differentiate between otherwise similar characters. They can be comedic or evocative. They can show the changeability of characters as they develop or when circumstances change. Clever Odysseus, Lord of Men can become Pitiable Odysseus, hated by the sea.

But because they are poetic, because they carry opinion and because they are inherently narrow in their focus, there’s a whole bunch of pitfalls to be aware of when using epithets. Getting this wrong, well, maybe you just make your story harder to follow. Get it very wrong, and at worst you could genuinely offend someone.

What’s the Problem with Poetry?

The first basic issue you may encounter is that your epithets are too vague or are being overused.

‘My better half’ is an epithet. But if he (she? they?) has not been introduced in any capacity and you also alternate referring to him (her? them?) as ‘the hardened police officer’ and ‘the sloe-eyed beauty’ I might be forgiven for losing track of how many people are in the scene, how they’re related and how I should be thinking of them. Especially early in a story where i’m still getting up to speed with the setting. Here your epithets are muddying the story and it’s a situation where you should be using names. Even for fanfic where we’re assuming that the characters are familiar to everyone, you should be clearly introducing your version of the characters, because generally readers like to know they’re on the same page from the start rather than get thrown for a loop later on. And also you can’t be sure what your reader is thinking, so tell them.

Don’t forget that a NAME captures the whole of a person. Epithets only capture a slice.

You may also make your epithets too purple. ‘The azure-orbed golden-haired CEO’ is a mouthful, and may be adding detail that is irrelevant to the scene; imaging encountering that in a scene where Quatre is busy slashing through Leos in a desert battle. Who is stopping to think about that? Why does it deserve a spotlight right here, right now?

The other type of overuse is to pick one epithet that is your favourite and use it for every other mention of that character. Because epithets carry more meaning than names this is a little like shouting that character’s name through a bullhorn. It’s great the first couple of times - Wow! Exciting! Memorable! - but it fatigues faster than using their name would have. The epithet can then become annoying (’I know he’s got long hair, stop saying it!’) or at very very worst it can become othering. You will alienate your reader from the character, and at the absolute worst, this may mean your reader either comes out with expressions of an attitude to that character that you had no intention of courting or encouraging, or they think YOU have those attitudes and go away from your story thinking ‘wow, that was a well-written story but OOF. that guy’s got some uncomfortable feelings about stuff’.

Whose Line is it Anyway?

Epithets can be factual. They can be based on things you know, I know, and (most importantly) everyone in the story knows. For example, ‘The Wing Gundam Pilot’ is a factual epithet for Heero and is based on knowledge accessible and agreed by 99% of people.

It would still not work if the narrative POV is a character who doesn’t know Heero or doesn’t recognise him as a Gundam Pilot at all. E.G. He’s in disguise and questioning Abdul, who has never met him before.

And this is because epithets are still directional. They convey an understanding or a focus from the user to the reader, regardless of if the user is a character within the story, or the voice of the author themselves. And that’s where it can get weird.

Let’s say I’m writing a story from Rashid’s POV. As a person, he is unlikely to be fussed about the colour of Heero’s eyes, or the fact that Trowa is tall because Rashid is too pragmatic to give a hoot if your eyes are blue or not, and literally everyone is a shrimp compared to Rashid. So in that story, epithets like ‘The azure-eyed pilot’ or ‘the tall pilot’ would be strange if not meaningless coming from that character, and in fact would break the 4th wall by forcing the author’s voice into the foreground.

Effective epithets are either universal and readily accepted (and therefore often neutral/factual, even if they are poetic - rosey-fingered Dawn) or they are naturally biased towards the perspective of the user. Which means characterisation of an epithet used by a person in a story to describe another person in the story goes both ways: When a story in Heero’s POV describes Duo as a ‘violet-eyed beauty’ I may think ‘Duo, purple eyes, pretty boy, yes. check!’ but I will probably also think, ‘wow, Heero’s a massive closet romantic and he has some serious pants-feels for Duo’.

Or if that doesn’t match my view of Heero as a character, I may well think that this author has missed the point of Heero Yuy: Perfect Soldier and it’s THEM who has the serious pants-feels for Duo. If it’s the middle of a gritty battle scene, I may also think ‘Wow, is this really the time, author? Put it back in your pants’.

Or maybe in the above example, it’s a 1x2 but this is jumping the gun. Heero isn’t aware of his own feelings yet so this kind of epithet is premature in Chapter 1. Bring it in down the line when Heero’s acknowledging to himself that Duo makes him go all weird and sweaty.

So use epithets knowing that they will describe the target but also the user, and if those things don’t accord, can jar your reader quickly out of the headspace you were trying to achieve or shout your own voice over that of your characters.

Distilling or Reducing?

If I take a mint plant and distill it, I will end up with a bottle of menthol oil which I could shove under your nose and declare ‘this is perfume!’ and you, eyes streaming, would have to stand there and generally agree.

But if i take a mint plant, rip off a leaf and push it in your face and declare ‘this is perfume!’ you’re less likely to agree with me. Because in this case, I am not distilling, i am reducing.

Epithets can work the same way. At their best, they take everything you want to convey about a character and their situation/personality and condense it into one potent phrase that socks your reader in the face.

But all too often, they are used reductively and then you actually lose a great deal of what’s important about a character for the sake of showmanship and/or lazy writer’s short-hand.

Let’s go back to the Odyssey. Odysseus has just washed up after being shipwrecked; he’s naked, salt encrusted, beardy and beasty and savage. Whilst stumbling around on the shore he is met by a princess, Nausicaa. Nausicaa of the long, white arms. That’s her epithet. From a modern feminist perspective, it seems a little reductive, but in the context of the story, it’s a distillation. She plays an opposite to Odysseus in this scene as he struggles to come back to civilisation after his hardships. She is washing rich clothes; he’s dressed in rags. She’s feminine and cultured and graceful; he’s acting like a wild lion. She represents civilisation and ideals with her fragility and her skin that’s been protected from the sun. He’s burnt and has forgotten how to act like a man.

So whilst the epithet is focussed it tells me a lot of what i need to know and expect of Nausicaa in terms of her role in the story, and the fact that she will compel Odysseus to come back to himself as King of Ithaca.

However, epithets are commonly based on appearance, status or origin, and can very easily fall into stereotype and tropes. Remember Homer’s hairy Achaeans? Was that a flattering description? Would Achaeans bang their chest and cheer proudly to be described as hairy, or would they be put out? If Achaeans are hairy, then what are Trojans?

Let’s bring this to a modern context. If I use ‘the American pilot’ as short hand to convey that Duo is brash and loud and reckless...can I guarantee that my reader will agree with that assumption? Personally I know a lot of Americans, many of whom are not brash or loud or reckless. And if Americans in my fic are de facto brash and loud and reckless... what are Chinese people like? Humourless and ill-tempered? Or is that just Wufei? As a British person, I can find it more than tiresome to see myself represented as old-fashioned and endlessly polite; particularly when it gets obvious that the writer hasn’t the first clue about the UK or British culture. I can only imagine what it’s like for minority groups.

If you start short-handing in this way, it’s the top of a potentially slippery slope into unintentional racial or cultural profiling. This is where epithets can start to raise eyebrows or make readers reach for the back-button. You need to ask yourself - is this lazy description or is this meaningful? Is this from a ‘generic’ POV (IE, mine as the author) or is it quantified by the POV of a character in the story who may carry those biases? Should those biases be acknowledged or explored by the story? Should those biases be carried in character speech only, then, or is it ok to put them into the prose?

Is there a way I can characterise that without short-handing with a basic epithet? If I’m already saying that Duo flipped the table and threw his hands up in impatience, does tagging on this epithet strengthen the meaning of those actions, or are his actions defining the epithet?

Did you know that the alternative meaning of ‘epithet’ is ‘a disparaging or abusive word or phrase’? This is loaded description.

And finally, sometimes the epithet is just plain boring. If the epithet is a universal fact, then it is also a static snapshot of the character we’ve seen before; and it’s often not even individual. Heero has blue eyes... but so does Quatre, and so do Relena, Zechs, Mariemaia, Treize, Sally Po, Sylvia Noventa and that guy over there. It tells me nothing about Heero as a person and even if we argue ‘but it’s a specific shade of blue!’ Well...sure. It’s still not that unique and you shouldn’t have to dig that deep into the epithet to make the trait stand out. It’s the literary version of a newspaper headline yelling ‘WOMAN WEARS CLOTHES’.

For example, compare:

‘The blue-eyed Vice Foreign Minister entered the meeting room’

Cool beans. So what? Relena’s arrived but my attention is already distracted away from her looking for something more plot-related. Especially if this is chapter 3 and her appearance has already been described to me 6 or 7 times.

‘The false queen, Relena Peacecraft entered the meeting room’.

J u i c y! Sounds like tea is going to be spilled. Who’s still holding this grudge against her? Is she the villain here? I’m gonna keep reading.

TL;DR

In summary, epithets carry a lot of personal perspective and can be powerful devices in writing. Used well, they will lift up your writing and make it memorable, vivid and engaging. Used thoughtlessly, you can stumble into a number of pitfalls, some which will make your writing harder to read or unintentionally comedic, and others that could make you look like an asshole.

#fanfic writing #writing advice #epithets #YMMV

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hearteyes-for-killmonger · 5 years

Text

Makeover fic. This is for my love. It's long but I'm a try to fit this into 2 parts because I'm stubborn. @amethyst1993

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Part 1

Ken slurped the overflow of her grape crush soda from the top of the aluminum can and wiped the spill from the counter with her hoodie sleeve before pouring it into a red solo cup to fizz down. Erik, Shawn, and Travis were already in the living room with the TV on CBS and she could hear the superbowl commercials. “Ken, bring the nachos and hurry up,” Travis yelled and she snatched up the tray of cheesy chicken and jalepeno goodness balancing it on top of the pizza box.

“Why is Erik the only one in here who knows how to cook anything beyond ramen,” Ken wondered aloud dropping the goods onto the living room table before pushing her glasses back up onto her nose and taking her seat on the couch next to Shawn.

“Because y'all filthy niggas useless outside of good company,” Erik smirked grabbing a hot slice of pepperoni pizza while everyone else went for his homemade chicken nachos. Gnawing on a well-seasoned piece of chicken, Ken belched but continued her chew, watching the screen.

“Aye, but why can't you cook, Ken, wasn't your mom real traditional? I remember she made you wear them loafers and them catholic dresses with the tights when we were in middle school,” Travis chuckled reminiscing.

“Oh yeaah, them Throwback Thursday pics she posted. I seen em, she had the James Brown perm and then the two stick out braids like Snoop Dogg,” Shawn cackled and the room broke out into jokes.

“Akiki,” Ken mocked not finding any of it funny. “My hair was stiff because it was damaged that's why I cut it to my scalp. It grew back..” It was pulled straight back into a low bun at the back of her head as they spoke. She always wore a headwrap, however, so to their credit, they probably forgot she had hair.

“Oooo, aye Erik, remember when that girl you was with last year around February thought she was a nigga and tried to get at her? Big Ken almost took your girl,” Travis grinned as the football game finally returned. Ken sighed at the memory. It hadn't been so funny to her when it happened. It was confusing because as far as she was concerned she presented herself as a woman and it was obvious what she was. Irritated, she stuffed her mouth with a pizza slice and licked her fingers, wiping the residue on her baggy wide-legged jeans.

“I tried to forget. That one hurt my pride,” Erik scoffed.

“It's cool man, you still that nigga. You'll get her next time. She still on campus,” Shawn laughed good naturedly, elbowing Ken in the side, which was practically titty meat too. He didn't seem to notice then an odor hit Ken's nostrils and her face twisted in disgust. “My bad,” Shawn laughed, “It's the cheese.” Ken tried to fan the foul odor back in his direction.

“That's okay, I'll do you one better,” she said lifting an asscheek off the couch and ripping a ripe one.

“Dammit, nigga,” he coughed and Travis and Erik laughed. That was Sunday night.

A few weeks later, she was at the mall leaving Old Navy and saw a fine dude from her school's campus shopping in the Footlocker looking at a pair of New Balance sneakers. He caught her eye because he was tall and brown with a track runner's build, and had nice thick curly hair. She hesitated on whether she should approach him, afraid to be turned down and embarrassed. She knew for a fact that some men could be cruel when it came to women they weren't attracted to. Finally, she worked up the courage and she walked over to him. “Hey, um, you go to MIT.. So do I. I saw you from outside of the store and I thought you were attractive so I came over to see if I could get to know you and get your number.. something?” she spoke hopefully with a friendly smile on her face. His eyebrows rose as his mouth opened and closed, a bad sign.

“I… I mean.. I actually can't?” He squinted in apology, but Ken couldn't show her disappointment. “I'm kinda… already seeing someone,” he added, “...but thanks tho!” Nodding with a polite smile, Ken walked away but when she saw the same guy again, she was close enough to hear him shooting his shot at a girl who was with a group of her friends, all of them pretty like divas. She peeked out of the corner of her eye at her reflection in a random store’s glass window. Something inside of her was deeply hurt, but she didn't want to explore it and have the feelings break her down in public where she stood. She definitely didn't look like them. There was a reason why she never got male attention.. why no one ever asked her out or looked her way.. and she wanted them to.. badly! She hadn't gone to prom. She didn't go on dates. She still had her v-card and none of it was because it's what she truly wanted. She wanted love and magic. She wanted to feel wanted, admired, and pretty even if it was just one time. It was lonely being the only girl in a group of guys, especially when the group would get around other girls who they viewed as actual women. She was treated differently then by the men and the women as though she didn't belong in either category. It was an awkward feeling, being considered as sexless and unattractive. She didn't like it one bit, but what could she do? The only thing that came to mind was to call her best friend. Who else would she call?

---

"Wassup, Big Ken, what's this about," he asked walking into the kitchen as she followed. The smell of roasted potatoes wafted through the air.

"My bad, E, I didn't mean to interrupt you in the middle of dinner," she paused hunching over the counter. He looked over.

"Nah, you good bro. What was the 911?" He fixed his food, passing her to sit down and she took a deep breath.

"So, yeah, um.. You date a lotta women right?" He looked at her like she had three eyes.

"You tryna get hooked up? You ain't had to come over here for that. You could've called and I'd have s--"

"No, I don't need a hookup, Erik! I'm trying to ask you something, but you can't laugh. Just say yes or no." He waved his hand as if saying get on with it and she decided it was best to just blurt it out. "Erik, do you think I'm pretty?" Silence. He blinked in confusion and she sighed almost regretting her question since he couldn't even give her a straight answer.

"Excuse me?" That meant no. "Do I think you.. pretty? Define pretty.. I'm just saying.. pretty how because you not a ugly nigga you just need..," he shrugged hesitantly, "You the homie-" That was the last thing Ken wanted to hear.

"Nevermind, just stop.. please," she groaned walking away.

"What's wrong with you, you acting weird. You good?" He was genuinely concerned, she could hear it in his tone so she turned to face him again.

"I need you to help me. I don't know what to do. I'm not a nigga, I'm a woman and I'm tired of having that ignored. I wanna be pretty too where no one has to think about it."

He kisses his teeth, "Nig--Ken," he corrects, "You got personality and a good heart, don't you think that's better than looking pretty?" She thought about it for humor's sake.

"As smart as cool as I am... Would you date me?" She waited. He opened his mouth, with no words so she filled in the blank for him. "No, you wouldn't because I'm a nerd and I'm not pretty like the girls you date that get love and attention AND prettyboys like you to give it to them! I wanna be hot, Erik. I want to find love. You've never been in my shoes so you don't understand, but--" He waved again to cut her off.

"Nah, I get it. I mean, just looking at you now I could come up with a few suggestions. My only condition is that you gotta be on-board with all the changes I suggest." As long as the end justified the means, she would handle it.

"Done," she agreed quickly. Shortly after, she left.. content with his promise to clear his schedule for the following day. No classes for either of them.

---

"Your makeover starts today," Erik stressed standing over her. They were in a nail salon and Ken was laying back on a thin leather bed that she felt she was too heavy for, it was tipping and didn't want to hold her straight and level. A tiny Asian woman approached with a paper mask over her mouth.

"You want top lip, honey," the short woman asked. "N-" Ken started before Erik took over. "Yes. First, you need to wax them caterpillars she calls eyebrows, then that lil peach fuzz mustache, her hairy ass mannish armpits, and.." he turned to Ken moving her face from side to side, "Are you secretly Ashanti and ain't tell no one?" Her confusion cleared when he told the lady to wax her "longass sideburns".

She hissed, almost crying when the waxing strip ripped off of her top lip. A tear escaped and ran toward her ear. "C'mon Ken, you tougher than that. It can't hurt that bad. You see all these scars I got? You gotta suffer for what you want."

"Nigga I'm not like you, I don't get off on pain," she groaned angrily. He kissed his teeth.

"I told you that in secret.. damn. Just for that give her a bikini wax too, I know she got a wolf pussy." Ken flinched already afraid, but a Erik left the room giving her the necessary privacy. He could hear her pain from outside of the room and he cringed imagining his balls being snatched.

"Wax his armpits," Ken commanded when he'd finally re-entered. His body was already pretty much hairless.

"Hell no.. No.. Pfft," he shook his head but somehow he ended up with a strip on his underarm. He grunted, steeling himself when it was snatched off. "Ffffuck," he whispered.

"See," she laughed, still tender all over. When it was over and she'd been rubbed with alcohol she looked in the mirror and saw an extreme difference in her face. "Don't touch it, your fingers dirty," Erik scolded when her hand went up. "You got Flinstone fingers," he frowned. Her nails were bitten down, but it was a habit that was hard to break. He dragged her to a chair and chose a nail color.. hot pink. "Super girly," he prefaced sitting it on the table. It was her first time getting acrylics. They felt weird on her fingers, but she found herself moving her hands more when she spoke and maneuvering them gently so not to break her new nails. "Now them dogs," he said pointing to her sneakers.

She scoffed, "You might want me to keep these shoes on unless they got a chainsaw and a sander back somewhere." He rolled his eyes.

"Nigga, that's why you need it, so your feet don't look like you been kicking glass and bricks. Also, no more dairy. Pretty girls don't fart so you gotta stop that nasty shit.. I've yet to have a girl pass gas in my presence. Plus dairy is bad for your skin. No belching either or at least excuse yourself."

"I feel like I'm Anne Hathaway at princess lessons," she chuckled. Next was hair. Erik knew a girl who worked at a beauty salon/barbershop and he also knew the girl would do anything he asked so he called her and she picked up giving him a time to come by.

"I actually canceled a lady's appointment just to give you this spot. I know this lady is pissed as fuck at me..," she rubbed Erik's chest with her nails, "So you owe me..." she whispered seductively. Ken decided to mind her business and she sat in the chair, watching Erik's back as he left. While Erik was gone, Ken started talking to the stylist. Her name was Melissa and she was head over heels for Erik. She was also really good at hair. Ken's hair had been brought to life. She was rocking bantu knots and her edges were swooped for the first time. She absolutely loved her edges and she'd purchased the gel that Erik's girl used to slick it. Erik was also impressed and he slipped Melissa a cheek kiss, turning to look at you. "What you waiting on Ken? Pay the woman."

---

Clothes were next. He went over to Ken's place and went through her closet thoroughly throwing out her old beaten shoes and worn out hoodies. If it was dingy, baggy, or with holes, he trashed it with some resistance from her. She didn't want to let go. He had to remind her of their deal in order for her to back off. She was left with a few pairs of jeans and half the number of shirts. His next move was to take her shopping.. for bras and lingerie. He made her get fitted and buy her size.

"Just in case you get lucky. You wanna be ready," he encouraged, pulling various sets for her to buy. She seemed awkward about it but he was used to lingerie shopping and knew his way around. "If it comes down to it, you wear this shit right here and let that nigga rip it off you. You gotta be cute with it though. You know how girls be acting coy like they shy but you know they ain't?" He chuckled looking for dap, but when she only stared, he remembered that she didn't wanna be looked at as one of the boys anymore. "My bad, Ken.."

"While we're on that, I'd prefer it now on if you all called me Kendra," she said rolling her eyes. Erik threw his hands up, relenting. He followed her as she payed for the undergarments and then she allowed him to drag her into other stores.

"These pants are too small, I need a few sizes up or a longer shirt to pair with it," Ken grunted in the changing room as she struggled.

"Let me be the judge. It looks sloppy when you wear all that baggy shit. I always figured you just ain't care." It took her a while, but the changing room door opened and she walked out awkwardly, jumping and yanking at the jeans he'd given her to try on. His jaw dropped but she didn't notice. He was thankful for that.

"DAMN," he gasped, "Where all them thighs come from? ....Turn around?" He hissed like he was in pain when she turned and her ass was sitting like two globes fighting each other. She jumped and her ass shook as she tried to wiggle. Her waist was more tapered than he thought and that ass... He was speechless, mugging her ass like it was evil. He looked down and he could see his dick getting hard. Oh shit. He grabbed a nearby pair of pants off the return rack to hold in his lap and cover it.

"I need a size up," she sighed and hearing her irritation, he used it as an opportunity to escape without her noticing his erection, going to get the next size up. He couldn't get the sight of her perfect ass out of his head. He'd masturbated to way worse. Nigga, It's Ken, he reminded himself repeatedly. BIG KEN. The image of her belching and farting in competition with Shawn came to mind and it seemed to help him remember who she was, but now he had to deal with what had just happened to him.

---

@muse-of-mbaku @imaginewhoever @whoramilaje @panthergoddessbast @thadelightfulone @misspooh @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @marvelpotterlove @youreadthatright @forbeautyandlife @theunsweetenedtruth @bidibidibombaclaat @myboyfriendgiriboy @dameshaemonique @blackpantherimagines @eriknutinthispoosy @vikkidc @hidden-treasures21 @mysidefanting @allhailnjadaka @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @syndrlla97 @winteroflife @thotyana-in-this-hoe @texasbama @gingerylimonte @princessstevens @magic-madness-heavensin @taint3dvirgin @wawakanda-btch @scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade @wakanda-inspired @blackgirloneshots @thegucciwaffle @thiccdaddy-mbaku @ange-sensuel @drsunshine97 @purplehairgawdess @trevantesbrat @indigoxsummers @cccccx1 @dynastylnoire @iamrheaspeaks @blowmymbackout @fonville-designs @they-call-me-le @theblulife @yoyolovesbucky

#erik killmonger #original #erik stevens #killmonger #erik killmonger fanfiction #erik stevens au #killmonger fanfiction

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firebirdsdaughter · 5 years

Text

When you wish you were asleep…

… Watch raws! XD

Actually, I still kind of wish I was asleep. Maybe I’ll grab a nap after this. (-_-)

But on to my children!

In no order and w/ many typos:

Okay, look. Wyzul’s not ‘weak,’ he’s just meant to have essentially the opposite style of Tankjoh. He’s a ‘planner.’ The manipulative, cunning ‘evil genius type.’ Doesn’t mean anyone has to like him, or think he’s a good villain—hell, I promise you I already miss Tankjoh, too—but he’s not ‘weak.’ He just has a different style. His plan this week was actually rather clever.

Sorry. Wanted to get that off my chest. I miss Tankjoh, too, but I actually like that they followed him w/ a general w/ an opposite style, that the one time Tankjoh kind of tried it, it got him killed (the plan w/ the Cerberus Minusaur).

XD TOUWA. Oh, honey. Who put you in the back? ^^

Knowing the twist makes this whole thing all the more hilarious, somehow.

Though this plan was actually rather clever! If Cardena hadn’t had a few slips in her words… Though admittedly, she was so clearly anxious about it that Banba and/or Melto might have caught onto something anyway, but… It was close.

Banba’s become naturally suspicious, so he may have doubted them anyway, but… It could’ve worked.

Poor Touwa’s so short. And even Banba is kinda hiding in the back there! XD

Other facts about Banba: Google Earth, always taking pics.

Ah, yes, we’re sneaking in. Let us yell, loudly! XD Ah, Toku…

Odd place to keep things, honestly…

There’s something incredibly goofy about the fact that this confrontation is taking place in a cramped stairwell…

They forgot the little men for Banba and Touwa’s transformations. XD

Everyone else is in the middle of fighting a Drunn. Banba has alreday freaking killed his. ><

I think Touwa just asked Wyzul to repeat himself bc they didn’t catch it the first time. And Asuna just figured it out? Uncertain.

Wait. Waitwaitwaitwaitwait. I guess it’s Pink??? But she looks purple???

Curse my inability to put an image in the middle of a bulleted list! Curse my attachment to bullet points! DX

I’ll put it at the bottom?

Touwa here, stealing the monster’s lines. XD

Rip unnamed Drunn.

I’m confused as to whether Cardena was trying to tip them off, or just conflicted and getting anxious. Most likely the latter, as she didn’t seem to understand they’d figured it out later.

My watching experience is foiled once more by how INCURABLY BEAUTIFUL TATSUYA IS! DX

Now she’s getting the hairy eyeball from both big brother/dad and mom. XD Deception check failed.

Is that a thing?

They are dunking on this man so hard. I mean, he doesn’t seem to mind, but…

I really hope that smirk really was just Tatsuya and wasn’t planned. I like how they had trouble getting the ‘towel scene’ (a line ad libbed by Simon Pegg) bc Zachary Quinto kept laughing, so they just went w/ a scene where he jus barely smirks and they cut away real fast. This is smaller, scale, of course, it’s very low key and I only noticed it bc I am almost always watching Banba in any given scene, but it’s funny to think it was unscripted.

Aw, I thought Dad was an alright singer. Also, love Ui’s face here. ^^ And she tries to comfort him, such a sweetheart.

Aw, Touwa also looks like he’s finding it cute, too. ^^ I’m still thinking of Touwa and Ui as the ‘babies’ of the fam. Resident youngest sibs. :)

Nah, Banba doesn’t trust this situation enough to start stabbing people, don’t worry, Kou.

Pretty sure he’s just looking for an excuse to leave, actually.

Melto takes the opportunity to go full mom friend.

Banba’s like ‘so one of you was paying attention.’

There’s never any indication here if Touwa figured it out, too. I’m inclined to think he didn’t? But I don’t know.

Why must Tatsuya persist in being so attractive??? DX

Okay, guess it’s confirmed they can call Ui from the braces. … How. Did they program her number into them? Is there some frequency that they tapped her phone into?

Also, largely unrelated, but Ui is really pretty. She really is. She makes goofy faces sometimes, but this actress is really beautiful. I’m love her. ^^

She’s jack awful at lying, though.

Though it is justified that no one caught on, here. How would Wyzul know how modern human technology works? And Cardena’s an alien. And neither of them know Ui very well. She could be like this all the time for all they know.

But also… Did Melto text her? How did she know to leave her phone?

I say Cardena didn’t catch on bc she doesn’t seem to have realised that they knew later.

Tall Cheese seems to be having a good time hamming it up, and that is valid of her.

Really, though. There’s no way they would have actually released Tall Cheese, if this had worked. That’s not Short Cheese’s fault, she didn’t have many options, but I highly doubt Wyzul intended to honour any sort of deal.

I realise I shamefully remembered Short Cheese’s name in the rest of this post. Whoops. I’d go back and fix it, but now it’s funny… ^^;

Oh, yeah. And this explains why Tall Cheese was looking so evil in those photos.

So… Was Wyzul actually just sitting chained up in the park the whole time?

But also… Wyzul is a shapeshifter. Toei, would you mind…? >:)

Synchronised staring at Kou. XD

Oh, yeah. Moment of appreciation for Tatsuya sitting on the bloody playground equipment like a freaking model.

Banba going for a low blow, there. But he has a point.

And… Kou hits a button. We’ve only really seen Banba be this angry when yelling at Crayon the Mushroom Man about curing Touwa, I think… Makes me wonder if the betrayal he suffered happened in a situation like this? He took a risk for someone in a similar fashion, but it turned out they were lying and stabbed him in the back? Like, loosely similar, maybe. Like… Kou’s reaction clearly hits a nerve.

GAH! Toei, give me more to go on! DX

He backs down, though. Either bc he’s still soft for sibling relationships and can’t help it, or he’s getting soft about Kou—or both. This makes me think even more that he’s never killed anyone before. For all his apparent willingness to do so, in the end he can’t got through w/ sacrificing someone like that.

Esp not when considering it while staring into Kou’s sad puppy eyes.

As Touwa mysteriously vanishes from the shot, despite being exceedingly close by a moment ago.

Though… Banba seeing the fact that Kou et al. being willing to sacrifice what’s important to them for what’s important to others… And seeming kinda effected by that… Is kinda fuel for my ‘he ends up trying to protect their innocence/kindness’ idea? In, like… A ‘I’m the expendable one’ kinda way? Not exactly, but… Augh, explaining is hard. I’m sure I’ll think of one later. DX

Like… Could lead to a moment later where he tries to sacrifice himself/something so that they don’t have to? Or forcibly decides to be the sacrifice for something.

Oh, boy, that sounded weird.

Tyramigo is adorable, and will be the death of me.

Tyramigo be like ‘Is this the bomb I’m meant to eat?’ Then checks w/ Kou just to be sure. ‘Eat the bomb? Okay, eat the bomb!’

Him going ‘aaaaaaaah’ like a little baby, he’s so cute. DX

And how it awkwardly cuts out when she says ‘don’t.’ XD

HOW DID SHE NOT CATCH ON? Either her lysing skill improved significantly, or she completely misunderstood Kou’s nod here.

HOW DID HE SWALLOW HE HAS NO THROAT. O_o

They are dunking this poor man so hard… But, like, he’s listed as a special guest star, so I guess he doesn’t mind, and he seems happy, but… XD

Banba in the back: Google Earth, always taking pics.

Actually, that’s him at any given moment, really.

So… Were those copies of them, too?

Kou, you do not get to call people ‘baka.’ You are the baka!

I don’t actually know what he said. Could have been a different word.

Where were they hiding? Did they hang off the edge of the roof? Stairwell?

Banba not only refuses to smile, he sighs like he’s only there under duress.

He maintains his carefully practiced grumpy face for the whole scene, too. XD

Aw, I think Touwa just said ‘we barely did anything.’ Honey, I watched the flashback, you were the other person making copies.

Synchronised brother head tilt. Seriously, they’re at exactly the same angle. Ah, family. XD

Touwa loves it, Banba is required by contract to keep glaring.

His little awkward looking at the ground after, like ‘shit they’re cute’ what do I do??’… ^^ XD <3

They did do great, though. Plus he knew they’d never leave him alone if he didn’t do something there. XD But he is getting fond of them. Will probably be in denial until something happens and then have a freak out. Maybe it won’t even be that big, maybe it will just be Gold shows up and he finds himself getting protective. But I like big. ^^

Oh, please let Gaisoulg be who I hope it it… >.<

Aaaah! They’re so pretty! DX

So… Is it still a Minusaur if it didn’t come from a human?

What’s this? Minusaur is evolving!

Wait… So so they all turn into dragons when they complete????

I guess they didn’t tell her how Minusaurs actually work.

MAH BABIES!

How did we get down on the ground? Who knows. Toku.

The others go w/ proper combat Souls. Touwa and Kou use the balloon Soul and the shiny Soul. At least one of those kinda makes sense.

Aw, she’s self conscious. ^^

What I think I love most is that she’s clearly putting conscious effort into being out of tune. Which she can do bc the actress actually knows how to sing. XD

Asuna playing the drums is SO CUTE. I’M GONNA DIE.

I love how Melto explaining implied the brothers asked.

And the fact that you can just hear her in the background through the whole scene.

I realise it was Wyzul impersonating her, but it seems like something he might pick up from the real her to make it more believable. Plus Short Cheese had a a name for it, making it more likely.

Gods love her, she’s putting so much effort into it.

Banba briefly checking on Touwa when he rejoins them. ^^ I love this family.

Short Cheese thanks everyone, and the kids smile, but Banba gets embarrassed. XD

Oh dear. Wyzul knows we’re in a TV show…

Ui playing the demanding voice instructor is ADORABLE. XD

Kou and Melto in the corner imitating Banba. XD

Next week, looks like Melto is piloting Kishiryu Oh alone, Biker Dad returns (as an illusion), and the kids get stuck in Wonderland when Banba turns his back on them for five minutes.

I’m kidding, I don’t actually know if his subplot is at all related to Wonderland. All it says is that he’s dealing w/ an ‘antiques dealer.’ I have this wild theory that what the summary means is that ‘Wonderland’ is inside a box (the chest that’s referenced in the title and is the goal of the ‘attraction’), and then Banba also ends up chasing it around. Alternatively, he could just end up in a situation where he’s wandering around like ‘have you seen five brightly dressed dork children? I left them right here, but I looked away for one minute and they all disappeared.’ Or he doesn’t know at all. The magazine did say something about him doing things alone… Maybe he’ll get himself into trouble and they’ll have to come save him in episode 10. I mean, we know he’s gonna get a plot about not doing everything himself eventually.

I’ll leave everyone w/ this thought: the shapeshifting Druidon general now knows where the Tatsuis live.

That’s all, folks! Virtual rock candy for anyone who read all that. Excited for next week. I hope we get episode summaries for the next few eps, soon, as that might give me more of an idea as to whether I was actually right. I like the idea of Banba chasing a box that may or may not have his younger siblings in it around the city and drama that could ensue. But they could go other ways w/ this subplot. Like… Maybe the antiques dealer is the hooded person? Or Banba is trying to investigate the hooded person? Or it’s Gaisoulg (please be who I want you to be, Gaisoulg!)? Or an early cameo of Gold? Or a Druidon? Or a completely inconsequential side character. Who knows.

Oh, yeah! Purple chibi!

Though… I guess it’s Pink? It… It looks purple, though… Wait. Could it be… Magenta?

#Kishiryu Sentai Ryusoulger #Ryusoulger Spoilers #my precious Dino Children #I do like most of the options for the next ep #I really do want them to at least give Banba a 'where are my kids? I only turned my back for a minute?' moment #XD #Presumably he's going to get a 'don't try to do everything on your own' plot at some point #I kinda hope it's when he's trying to do something alone to protect the others rather than not trusting them #and then nearly gets himself killed and they rescue him #also I want protective little siblings so bad #but I have gone overtime and must egress #I love five (5) beautiful colourful Dino Knights #Birthday Sentai #Dino Dragon Knights And Their Cat

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kitty-chan17985 · 5 years

Text

Tagged by: @r3li3finabottl3

(for the sake of simplicity, let’s go with the William x Angel FNAF AU)

1. What is your name?

“A-Angel Jeanette Ferguson.”

2. Do you know why you’re named that?

“N-not really...my parents p-passed away before I-I was born, so I-I never knew.”

3. Are you single or taken?

“T-Taken, of course.”

4. Have any abilities or powers?

“Uhm...n-not really? I-I’ve heard I smell l-like strawberries, th-though I don’t use any s-strawberry scented things...”

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

Only a soft whimper is let out.

6. What’s your eye color?

“H-hazel, but...t-to be accurate, h-hazel starburst.”

7. How about your hair color?

“A-a sort of medium b-brown I suppose, l-like a milk chocolate b-brown.”

8. Have any family members?

“W-well...m-my son Skylar, m-my soon-to-be daughter, P-Penelope...a-and my foster mother.”

9. Oh? How about pets?

“N-none...th-though I do wish w-we could get a cat. I-I’ve always loved c-cats...”

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like?

“I-I don’t like m-my stutter...I-I just...suppose I d-don’t like myself i-in general.”

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

“I-I love to paint, s-sketch, write, a-and sew. I-I also love to cook.”

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

“...”

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

“...”

14. What kind of animal are you?

“I-I suppose a five? M-maybe a rabbit, or m-mouse...s-something quiet, small, a-and...well...usually something o-others prey on.”

15. Name your worst habits?

“...s-self-harming, though...I-I’m trying to do i-it less...”

16. Do you look up to anyone?

“W-William, of course...a-as well as Molly, a-and...even Skylar. Th-they’re a lot s-sturdier than they seem...th-they’re so confident in wh-who they are, e-even if something goes wr-wrong...”

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

“D-demisexual, though...I-I’m partial to m-masc-presenters.”

18. Do you go to school?

“N-not anymore...a coma i-in junior year t-took care of that...”

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

“W-well...that’s what I’m d-doing now, right?”

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

“...uhm...I-I do, and uhm...I-I’m not sure why...”

21. What are you most afraid of?

“B-being alone, abandoned...a-and...being used again.”

22. What do you usually wear?

“M-my yellow turtleneck, m-magenta jeans, white boots, c-cross, m-my...various ear piercings, a-and my butterfly hairpin, th-though that’s been a b-bit less of a staple l-lately.”

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

“S-sushi...n-not fish sushi, but v-vegan sushi.”

24. Am I annoying to you?

“O-of course not, luv! I-I’m quite enjoying the qu-questions!”

25. Well, it’s still not over!

“Th-that’s alright!”

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

“M-middle, I suppose? S-somewhere between middle and h-high.”

27. How many friends do you have?

“A-a couple...M-Molly is a good friend, th-the same of her g-girlfriend, Fiona.”

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

“I-I love pie!”

29. Favorite drink?

“Uhm...s-spiced chai tea. I-it’s a guilty pleasure...”

30. What’s your favorite place?

“A-anywhere with W-William or Skylar.”

31. Are you interested in anyone?

“Uhm...”

32. That was a stupid question…

“N-no, dear, y-you’re alright.”

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

“Ah, uhm...w-well, I’m pregnant now, s-so I can’t, but i-if I could, p-probably a lake.”

34. What’s your type?

“I-I do prefer t-taller partners, but I-I-I have no specific t-type. I-I’d love William wh-whether he were tall, sh-short, skinny, heavy, shaven o-or hairy...h-he’s perfect in personality f-for me, h-he cares for me, a-and that’s all that matters.”

35. Any fetishes?

“...d-do I have to a-a-answer this one...?”

36. Camping or outdoors?

“E-either one, really. I-I like being outside, c-camping, what have you...i-it’s relaxing.”

Tagging: @immortal-tailor / @truced-betrayal , @bitters-enthusiast , @sunflowercecil , and whoever else wants to do it!

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dirtclump · 3 years

Text

These Eyes of Mine

I wrote this for class maybe I like it, maybe I don’t.

I’ve been watching all things happen before me. Miss. Water has drowned the tallgrass shore and the maple tree roots. She too wanted to coat my lungs in her lukewarm body. I couldn’t feel the oxygen left inside me, but I knew it was there since I was floating. These eyes of mine, the only thing left of my former life, looked up to the baby blue, summer sky.

In the days before my time in the river, I lived with my Momma. Our home, a beaten-down, tall, white building felt vacant. Maybe cuz Momma kept it so cold, she liked cold. Even in the winter, I’d catch her relaxing in her bedroom with her cracked window, January breath whisking in. Momma and I lived in Austin, Minnesota. She got the house from her daddy, he left it to her in his note. I knew he wasn’t set to die the day he did, but what I did know, Momma had anticipated it since she was a girl. When the sheriff handed her the note, written on lilac colored paper she looked down at me. I was young, a first grader, but Momma did not think of me as a youngster.

“You read it to me, baby”, she muttered to me.

“OK”, I responded. Then I recited, “Sappy crap isn’t my forte, I’ll make this short. My daughter, Lauren, gets my house. She gets my money and my debt too. My granddaughter, Libby, gets my books, pens and paper. The rest is all nothing. Bury it, trash it, I don’t give a... S-word. See ya, Don. PS: burn me”

Momma didn’t utter a word after I read the note. She pulled it from my grasp, and watched her daddy get wheeled out with a sheet draped over his corpse. That night we moved in.

Fog always coated Austin, it really laid on thick in the far south end of the town. The Cedar River sluggishly waded underneath this fog. No one liked to fish on that part of the river, they couldn't see anything. We lived farther from the river than others, fine by me seeing how Momma and I didn’t know how to swim or fish. The maple-basswood forests were dense throughout the river's edge. Those trees hovered over the water like Momma would hover over my crib when I was a baby. When we drove past em, I imagined them crashing into the river, creating bridges for me to cross.

My first day of 7th grade Momma made me walk to school without her, my hand held a pine stick instead of her.

“Those kids will taunt ya,” She explained after I had whined for her to join me. She hugged me tight before she pushed me out the front door. The September clouds wasn't too bad compared to spring fog, but still, I walked with caution for critters and cars. I stared ahead, into the fog for a long while. My body started to feel weightless. I’d put my hands before me, they’d turned translucent grey, merging into the clouds. Maybe Momma would’ve been scared seeing me turn into a cold cloud, yet peace came with the transition. Up ahead, the school mounted on fresh concrete. Going inside meant fog and I would part ways.

“You weren’t always fog, Beth,” I mumbled repeatedly as I got closer to the towering glass doors. I must have been late, I was the only somebody around. The tan gravel roads that poked at my soles abruptly stopped as I tripped up onto the school's land. Grasping the cold metal front door handle, my body hallowed out all the fog, back into a state of usual weight.

The school was almost sterile looking, nothing like my colorful, playful middle school. So much was white: the floor tiles, ceiling tiles, the walls too, only had two thick blue and golden stripes wrapped around the building. Overhead light bulbs shined brighter than the sun ever had in Austin, a headache was sure to come from em. Must need all such bright lights to make up for no windows… I thought as my eyes dragged across the school's layout, not a single window existed where I stood, maybe not a single window in the entire building?

“Hey! Where are you supposed to be?” A voice belted from the right of me. I don’t take well to loud, pokes of tensity developed in my throat and stomach. “Girl! You ain’t hear me?”, I was called at again. The aggression made me turn towards the voice, in order to keep them from angering themselves further. A tall bald man headed towards me, he wore a green polo tucked into his dark blue jeans. His beer belly pressured the synthetic fabrics strength, and his leather belt too. He had a furrowed brow, and plump cheeks that were red like Santa Claus. He wasn’t jolly like Santa, though.

“I don’t know where I’m meant to be. I think I’m late,” I replied to Santa.

“You don't have a schedule? Every student gets one in the mail, you have mail don’t you?” He sneered. I could tell he was trying to be smart, since Momma always points out when someones being smart.

“I suppose not. Must’ve been lost,” I fibbed, sometimes the mailman didn’t bring our mail, cuz Momma had told him to buzz off after he tried to woo her. Couldn’t say why he felt so riled by my response, but he grabbed my arm with sweaty grubby fingers and pulled me into the office. It smelt like plastic in there.

“This student claims to have no schedule. Found her wandering the halls,” Santa told a tiny blonde haired woman typing on a large keyboard.

‘Alright, what’s your name dear?” She asked, looking up through pink rimmed glasses.

“It’s Beth. Beth Opheilia,” I replied. “O-P-H-E-I-L-I-A,” Momma tells me I always have to spell out my name, or people will butcher it.

The school bell made a “RINNNNNNGG” sound, everyone seemingly sprinted out of their classes. White lit up hallways were coated with students and their puffed up backpacks. Bodies raced passed me, some pushing my shoulder and arm into other bodies. At a point it began to seem that others were walking for me. I didn’t need to look ahead or watch my step, the crowd of tall teenagers guided me to the exit.

Abruptly, no one was in the school anymore. I was staring in front of those metal doors I was once on the other side of, the handle was just as cold as it had been in the morning. Pulling the swinging door into the school, what was left of the mornings fog spat onto my bare face and arms. I left the school, quickly walking home to Momma for the afterschool snack she always made me.

Our house smells like cinnamon and coconut today. Momma comes out of her frigid bedroom when she hears me let go of my backpack and shoes. She hugs me with cold skin and a lingering cigarette smell. Momma doesn’t smoke cigarettes.

“Is someone here?” I ask her. She has mascara, lipstick and blush on her sharp face, but she’s in her pajamas. “Did you work today, Momma?” I ask her. She looks to her bedroom door, then turns back to me with a grin.

“I made you a cinnamon peanut butter jelly sammy, it's sitting in the toaster oven,” She says with a smooth, relaxed voice. Swiftly, she walks back into her bedroom and shuts the heavy wooden door.

Sitting alone, eating. She usually sits with me and asks me about my day.

I feel lonely.

Momma arrived home today in a blue ford truck. She is supposed to be home before me, I stared out the window for at least an hour waiting for her. The truck's front door swings open, a burly guy comes out, I hadn’t seen him ever in Austin. He wore torn up blue jeans, a dark flannel, and a fishing hat. He had a cigarette clenched between his teeth. The man opens the passenger door, and my Momma steps out well holding onto his hairy hand.

With a tiny pit in my stomach, I slouch into the couch I had been waiting on for her. Clammy hands of mine try to grab crumbled papers out of my backpack, I could be busy when they come in. The front door lock jiggles, my mother pushes it open.

“Beth! Where are you?” Momma yells. She jumps when she notices me sitting on the couch. “Oh! Beth, you scared me!”

“Sorry, Momma,” I responded.

“Beth, I want you to meet a good friend of mine. This is William,” She gestures towards him with a toothy smile, he wraps his arms around her waist. I stare blankly. He stares back. He has moles sprouting on his neck and face, dark set eyes, and a trimmed beard.

“Don't be rude, Bethy! Say hello” She scolds me.

“Hello,” I mutter.

“Hello Beth, your Mother has told me a lot about you” He says with a grin. His teeth are stained yellow.

“Where were you? You’re always home waiting for me. I was alone,” I stammered to Momma. William watches me and I feel like a rodent.

“I was- Well, we were shopping for some new clothes for you,”

“You didn’t leave a note. You don’t have any bags either,” I say as I furrow my forehead.

“Well, we couldn’t find you anything…” She asserts, William watches in silence.

Friday, July 30th

In 3 days I am turning 13. Momma says teenagers are snotty, they don’t listen. I promised Momma yesterday I would not be snotty. She and William are spending almost everyday together. Momma lets him stay nights, she sleeps, but I hear him dragging his heavy feet along our creaky wooden floors throughout the night. Momma doesn’t tell me much, even when I ask. William has only been in Austin for 2 years… I heard a shopkeeper whispering about my Momma and him when we were at Macys yesterday. Oh, I got my birthday dress! It is blue and sparkly, and Momma had a coupon. I am so excited to be 13, maybe Momma will let me get a job, or get a fish! I’ve been visiting this fish at the pet store for weeks, no one wants him! I could take care of him. Anyways, Momma is taking me to get ice cream soon, so I oughta stop writing.

I put down my pencil and wrap the purple ribbon around my diary. Skipping out of my bedroom, I stop once I notice William in the hallway, blocking me from my Momma in the kitchen.

“Beth. Hows about I take you to get ice cream, your Mom is feeling a bit under the weather today,” He proposes, in a demanding tone.

“I don’t know, she said she’d take me…” I say as I lean my eyes to find my Momma. She sits at the kitchen counter, sipping tea. Her hair is matted and she's in her bathrobe.

“Don’t force your Mom out of the house when she’s feeling sick. Come on, we’ll have fun,” He assures me. I do not like William, but I have been waiting to get ice cream for days. Plus, the sun is starting to set so I can’t walk to get it on my own.

“Okay,” I responded. Hugging my Momma goodbye felt different, her body felt boney and clammy.

She whispered in my ear, “Be careful,” before I pulled away.

Williams' truck smelt like chewed tobacco and cigarettes, sortof how he smelt, always. The car ride was bumpy, like he hit every pothole in Austin. I just watched the skyline out of my window. I liked how the wheat fields blew in the wind. I liked the teenagers riding their bikes, soaring like birds. I liked the rabbits that hopped across the gravel roads.

“BLUNK” the wheel screamed as the trunk fell and then rose. With this I realized we were not near the center of town, where the ice cream shop serves.

“Where are we going?” I question William. He turns his head to me, with chew tucked in his lower jaw, he looks at me up and down.

“We,” he smiles, “we are going to the river,”.

“Momma doesn’t like me to go to the river,” I tell him.

“It was your Momma’s idea, she thinks you oughta learn to swim, if you're going to be a teenager soon,” He declares. I look out the window, twilight teases the sky. Through my window I see Turtle Creek, we must be close, I know Cedar River meets the creek.

“But, it'll be dark soon,” I complain, a feeling of tacks jumping around my stomach arises. He does not say anything, instead he presses the gas pedal a little harder.

Abruptly, his car gerts forward. He reaches over my lap, and opens my door. I unbuckle, and hop onto the ground. For a moment, he stays in the car, silently. The sound of toads and crickets echo around me. Staring at the merge of Turtle Creek and Cedar River, I remember when I became fog, months ago. William slams his truck door closed, he tucks something into the back of his pants.

“Let’s sit. You can dip your feet in for a while, and then hop in,” He demands. He leads me closer with his hot hand on my mid-back. As I sit, so does he, it brings me comfort he isn’t going to be hovering like a willow tree.

As he smiles, he whispers, “You know, I love your Momma. You love her too? She sure does love me, more than any woman has before. Take off your shoes,”. I don’t look at him, I focus on untying my worn Converses, slowly. “Everything I do these days, I do for your Momma,”.

Slipping off my shoes, I look up at him. His smile widens, and his arms push into my body. I quickly slip into the muggy creek. It is too shallow for me to sink, instead I stand back up. My butt hurts from hitting a sharp rock. Before I can turn to him, a new pain shocks my body. A jute rope rings my neck, and it feels like cold gasoline is running through my blood.

The things that followed don’t concern me, not that I even remember most of it. The first thing I lost was my idea of time. It could be my 2nd day floating in the Cedar river, it could be my 30th. The second thing I lost was my body, I did not feel it decay and be eaten by little bugs and animals. The third thing I lost was my Momma, her face is a blurred blob. Sometimes I see her as this cartoon, from Peter Pan, Wendy's mom. I wonder all the kind things she did for me, I wonder if I loved her or if I hated her. My brain is fleeting, soon I won’t understand anything.

There is something that hasn’t started to evaporate from my being. My eyes. I still see the sun rise and set. I still see the bass fish scamper pass me. I still see the trees waver above me. I don’t know if I will keep my eyes, I can’t be worried either. There is no anxiety, no anger, no content, or happiness towards anything. I simply watch all things happen around me.

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secret-rendezvous1d · 7 years

Text

A Christmas Blessing

DECEMBER 2ND, 2017.

Omg please do more Persephone and jack for blogmas!! I am in love with them. Maybe something where jack and P are out shopping and they split up in a department store and Jack starts walking around and looking at engagement rings and H and the missus go over and have a little chit chat with him?

The second addition to Blogmas 2017 is here! I haven’t written a lot of stuff to do with Persephone as an adult, nor have I done much including her significant other, Jack, so it was nice to give you an little insight into their life and the sweet relationship bond that they have. So this one was really lovely to have a play with and write about. Thank you for sending it in!

Feedback is welcomed, as always.

Enjoy. xx

Jack was up before his phone blared out his alarming wake-up call. An alarm that Persephone hated to hear, filling their small Southampton flat, at six o’clock in the morning on a week-day. Because, to her, no one should ever be up before seven. Never falling short in pushing herself away from his comfortably warm side and tugging the duvet with her as she rolled onto her side, burying her face, deep, into her pillow and grumbling heavy goodbyes to him as he left for his morning classes. Reaching across to the bedside table on his side of the bed and switching his alarm off to save them from being rudely interrupted by an obnoxious horn. The bright, and rather unusual, December sunlight peeking in through the slits of the cream-coloured blinds hanging down her childhood bedroom window, an upgrade from the striped pink curtains that used to hang down to the floor, casting a yellow haze around the room. His eyes blink open, slow and lazy, removing the cloudy vision creating a sheen over his brown orbs.

Throughout the night, after sleep had been induced by drinking too much of your popular mulled wine and feasting a meal that could have fed everyone in Hampstead, Persephone had managed to cosy herself closer to him. A leg swung over his hips as she cuddled further into him, trapping him in her hold. Her cheek pressed against his shoulder, tucked against his warm chest as it rose and fell. She’s snoring, rather comfortably, because she’s always had the fear of him finding it the least bit attractive, with her buttoned nose pushed against the stubble that sprouted his flesh.

Reaching a hand up from where it was perched on her hip, his t-shirt no longer covering up her torso and having risen up through the night from her tossing and turning, the duvet sliding down his arm and exposing it to the cold air, his fingers delicately moving strands of her hair back from her lips, tucking them behind her ear in order to not have a hairy kiss. He licks across her top lip, feeling a blush crawling up his neck as his body instinctively reacts to her touch, squeaks and little hums filtering to his ears from her slightly pursed lips, pasting several wet pecks on her mouth before drifting down across her chin and up and over the supple mounds of her cheeks, brushing his damp lips across the tip of her nose. Up the bridge and on a path across her creasing forehead.

“Mm, good morning,” she murmured sleepily, cracking an eye open and sending him a warm smile, “mum and dad are in the next room, you know? As much as I love some morning love before our days begin, I don’t want to risk them walking in and seeing you hitting home base. That happened once and, well, we both know how that turned out. We had a day-long lecture on safe sex which was awkward for every single one of us,” she pushed his face away from her and grumbled, “your morning breath doesn’t smell so good either. Is it possible to have a hangover from mulled wine?”

“By the way you were knocking those glasses back, I’m pretty sure it’s a possibility,” he chortled, nudging his nose into the base of her throat and peppering kisses to the space between both of her collarbones, “think your dad was a bit worried. Kept glancing at me through the night. He’s quite, uh, he’s quite scary when he does that, isn’t he? I think he was telepathically scolding me for not looking after you.”

“You get used to it after a while,” Persephone grinned, lopsided and toothy and much too similar to her father’s, “he’s a big softie really, my dad. He’s very protective, thought, and you’ll probably hear him scold us more than ever because we’re all old enough to have a glass of wine with our Christmas dinner this year,” she cackled, head rolling back against her pillow. And he ceased it as an opportunity to attack her neck with rougher pecks. Sucking on the skin below her ear and eliciting a string of soft moans from her throat. Fingers raking through his pillow-messed hair, “it’s your first Christmas here. Dad gets really festive. Especially during the week building up to the twenty-fifth. I can guarantee you that he’ll have Christmas music playing when we go down for breakfast, wearing a hideous jumper that he wears every year, making gingerbread pancakes and cutting them into tree shapes, even though we’re not kids anymore.”

Christmas tree-shaped pancakes, flavoured with gingerbread and cinnamon, became a Christmas tradition, every Sunday throughout the month of December, when Darcy and Rose were old enough to consume solids. Filling the house with a delicious aroma of pancake batter and gingerbread that always made the house feel warm and toasty. A rather tall pile of awfully cut out tree-shaped pancakes, that Harry had slaved away making throughout the hour of waking up, sat in the middle of the empty dining table, surrounded by bowls of strawberries and blueberries and bananas as well as bottles of syrup and a can of whipped cream that has become Alfie’s favourite.

“Think we’ll have traditions like that when we’re married and have kids of our own? I’ll make the pancakes, I think, because you can barely make scrambled eggs,” he teased, his cheeks flushing pink as she grinned, “we’re got some right gruelling stares from the neighbours when the smokes alarm went off. I still don’t think we’re their favourites.”

“Of course not. I’ll buy us the best house. One close to London so we’re near your parents but also close to Southampton so we’re near my parents and they can commute easily to see us. One that has a lot of bedrooms and has the best scenery and a back garden for our kids to play in. And I’ll let you take over the interior because you’ve a decorative eye,” he said softly, sitting up and twisting himself around to face her, crossing his legs into a pretzel shape, leaning back on his palms, “heck, I’ll even build us a house, if you want me to. Your dream house. That you have full control in decorating. As big as you want it. Wherever you want it. Whatever you want, I’ll be satisfied with. A happy wife means a happy life.”

“You’re the best boyfriend ever, do you know that? An absolute treasure,” Persephone tittered, reaching over and squeezing his knee before hauling herself up to her feet, stepping off the mattress and stretching her back, arms pushed into the air as the t-shirt on her body rose up and showed a little stomach. A delighted groan mewling from her lips. “We should probably start getting ready if we’re going to hit the shops before it gets busy.”

By the time they’d made their way out of the busy tube stations, said hello to the few people who had recognised them in the street, dodged a few paparazzi and hid themselves from those who were eager for pictures - just to claim they’d met and seen Harry Styles’ daughter and her boyfriend and were able to make headline news in the following morning’s papers - and eaten a delicious breakfast in a café just outside the front of the rather large shopping centre, she was already insisting they split up for the 3 hours before lunch. Bouncing on her heels and rocking on her feet as she took in the surrounding shops; from a large, and brightly lit, Gucci store to a retail Debenhams store to a cookery school under the name of Jamie Oliver to a store that Jack knew had Persephone written all over it - Lush. An excited grin on her face, making two dimples pop on her cheeks, just above the corners of her lips, because she felt at home. This was where she spent her youth. Her teenager years. This was where she spent her pocket money and her birthday money from her grandparents and this is where she came with her dad when it was close to your birthday. This was where Harry took her as a young girl to spoil her rotten, just like he would do with her siblings. It was full of her favourite stores and she was sure, if it was even possible, she’d move in and claim the centre as her property.

She disappeared, into the crowd of bustling shoppers, in the blink of an eye.

The touch of her lips still lingered on his from the delicate kiss she’d pressed to his flesh. The sound of her sweet voice that, only just, bid him a “see you soon” still fresh to his ears. The weight of her bag, that hung on his shoulder throughout the journey on the tube, was no longer weighing him down once she’d whipped it from him to check she had her purse within her possession. He tried to search for her, to look for the top of her head, to see her brightly coloured, and frilly, knitted jumper amongst the crowd of coats and bobble hats and jackets, but to no avail. Clueless to where she’d gone, he stumbled around and tried his hardest to buy some more gifts for her, despite the already large gift-bag full of wrapped goodies he’d found and ordered offline. He popped into shops that had a few trinkets that he knew she would love to see on Christmas day morning. Brought more than enough bath bombs and a basket full of her favourite bath-fizzers and face creams and masks from Lush, that he knew he’d be ruled into using with her; which, he couldn’t ever deny, felt amazing after an early start, a stressful lecture and a cheeky study period that he took to finish off his essays, back in Southampton, come the new year.

He’s not entirely sure how he ended up in a jewellers.

More specifically, he’s not entirely sure how he ended up in the engagement ring section of a rather quiet jewellers in the middle of Westfield.

He was only just window-shopping and looking at a pair of white trainers, under the specific brand that his girlfriend wore, as he scuffed passed... but a glisten of a diamond, encrusted onto a ring, caught his eye as he shuffled passed the shop and, well, what harm could one look cause?

Proposing to Persephone had been on his mind for a while now. Passing thoughts at night, when he was tucked up in their too-big bed with her, his warm feet keeping her cold feet warm, legs tangled up beneath the duvet, in a cuddling position that made him think that a single bed would have still had plenty of room either side of them. Early morning thoughts that usually peeked when he took one glance at her whilst he was getting himself dressed and ready for the day, when she was sprawled out on her front, with one foot hanging over the edge of the bed and the other bent up, and dressed in one of his thick hoodies because their tiny home got cold through the nights, and, she just liked to smell him as she laid cosy. He usually found his mind wandering when he was midway through his classes, head lulled to the side and resting upon his palm, thinking about how he would pop the question and where he would pop the question and what he would say for the build-up. Where they would get married, when they would get married, who they would get married surrounded by.

He loved her. He really did.

“We have many a boyfriend come in and take a look at our engagements rings around Christmas time. Is there anything I can help you with, sir?”

Jack spun on his heels and smiled softly at the elderly lady, dressed in a maroon coloured shirt with the store’s name printed on the breast, with glasses on her face and a motherly feel to her. Shaking his head softly.

“I’m just looking, thank you,”

... for now.

Jack had always thought that taking his end-of-year exams, entering essays and and partaking in large presentations in a full lecture hall would be the most nerve-wracking events that he’d accomplish in his life. He wasn’t the most outgoing guy and he was never the most memorable face in a crowd full of people. He was never surprised when his peers, sitting around him in his university lectures, forgot his name and he was never surprised when they looked at him with pure shock because he'd said more than two words to them. He was shy and reserved and kept himself to himself, most of the time, and never spoke up unless he really needed to. Only ever letting loose in front of those he felt comfortable with and that never ranged further than his group of friends and his girlfriend, who had lovingly stayed by his side, regardless.

He never thought, any time soon, that he’d be asking for her hand in marriage. Agreeing, internally, that asking for a marriage blessing was up there, on his list of things that made him feel anxious, with presenting a presentation, by himself, in front of a lecture hall and turning over the first page of his exams.

He took the opportunity whilst Persephone was out with Alfie; he’d been insistent on needing help to buy a present for his girlfriend and he felt his sister was the most trusting, with a keen eye on what teenage girls would love to get as a present for Christmas. Worrying his bottom lip, between his teeth, nibbling and chewing on the already bright pink flesh, before he’d even left the comforting confinements of the bedrooms four walls. Appearing in the kitchen entryway with shaky legs and knocking knees, a nervous smile sitting upon his lips.

“Is there anything I can help you with, YN?” He pondered in the kitchen entryway, as you looked over your shoulder, “I’m a little unoccupied without Persephone here. Thought I’d come and offer some helping hands.”

“Oh, thank you. I think we’ve got things under control, for now, sweetheart. There’s not much needing to be done. I’ve just put some cakes in the oven, Harry’s out in the garden getting a little more firewood for the fire, the twins are both out with friends. There’s a new film out in the cinema that they wanted to go and see. And Alfie and Persephone are going to stop off and get a chippy tea for dinner tonight, if that’s okay with you?” You informed him, his head nodding up and down, “how was your day?”

“Busy. I never thought London got as busy as it was today,” he chuckled, taking a seat at the dining table and crossing his ankles over, “but, it ended up being rather successful, too. We got some last minute gifts for everyone. I think I’ve done alright getting presents for Persephone. She’s really hard to buy for.”

The back door creaked open behind him, being nudged open by a booted foot, before he heard a deep puff of breath, as Harry made his way into the warm house. Fingers pale and cheeks chill-bitten and bright pink, eyes watering from the sudden pick-up of wind that howled around the trees blew leaves across the patio. A hefty pile of firewood in his arms that Jack took to helping him with. Standing to his feet, rapidly, and reaching for a couple of logs that were soon to fall from Harry’s cradle, carrying them in his own arms. A wordless thank-you being given in the form of a curt nod and a tight smile.

“Oh, goodness, tell me about it. When she was a teenager, she would always shrug when we asked her what she wanted,” you laughed, spinning on your socked heels to point him in the direction of where to place the logs for later that evening, a finger direction him through the conservatory door, “she has Harry, here, going crazy in the middle of the shops because he has no idea what she would like.”

“She’s loved every present I’ve brought for her, though. She still uses that old film camera I gave her, too. It was a present from a dear friend of mine who died a while back. Matt, his name was,” Harry explained, clearing his throat with a grunt as he bent down to drop the logs into a metal basket beside the log burner, “took it everywhere with him. When I toured with the band I was in, when we went out sightseeing together, when we had photoshoots done and such. She’s used it every opportunity she can and I think he would have been glad, maybe proud, to know his equipment was going to people who loved taking photos as much as he did.”

“She’s got a true talent for photography. We’ve got loads of photo albums, back in Southampton, of photos she’s taken from when we go out. Whether it’s nights out or when we go for a walk or when we spend time at the beach and stuff. I never know why she didn’t pursue it into something more,” Jack said, siding up to you once he reentered the kitchen and reached for the coffee mug he’d been using throughout his stay, “would you like a hot drink? Let me make them.”

The kitchen fell quiet.

All except the ticking of the timer on the cooker, as it counted down from twenty minutes, and the whistle of the kettle that he’d flicked on, seconds ago. Clinking the mugs together as he brought them down from the cupboard, dropping two teabags into two and adding a spoonful to the third. Trying everything, and anything, he could to keep his mind away from the nerves that ate away at his insides. But, no matter what he did, the both of you could easily see something that was bothering him. Sharing glances to one another before looking back at him as he stood with his back towards you, every so often adjusting his own tracksuit bottoms or rolling up the sleeves of the jumper that hung down his torso, his attention focused on the back garden.

“What’s on your mind, lad?”

Jack swung around, eyes wide, like a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

“Uhm, I,” he stuttered, “is it that obvious?”

“Sweetheart, if there’s anything we can help you with, you can tell us. Yeah? We’re all family. Okay, we’re not properly related but, you’re our daughter’s boyfriend and we like to think of you as another one of our little clan,” you smile warmly in his direction before taking a couple of steps to stand beside him, squeezing his hand softly, “whatever it is, we’re all ears for when you want to tell us.”

He gave you a soft smile and nodded. The kettle coming to a boil as he lifted it from it’s dock.

“Uh, there is something I want to, hum, that I want to talk to you about, actually. Now that Persephone isn’t here,” Jack stated, focusing his mind on his shaky hand as he poured hot water into the three mugs on the counter. Harry’s eyes furrowing as you stood to the side and wracked your mind. “It’s nothing bad, I promise you. Nothing. Everything has been going so well between us. It’s just, there’s been something on my mind for the last few days, made clearer today, and I just need to talk to you about it as soon as possible.”

The spoon tinkles in each mug as he stirred the water. A rather strong aroma of coffee wafting up, in a thick puff of steam, as he stirred Harry’s drink up. You took strides across the kitchen, stepping in front of the fridge to pull out the milk from its slot in the door, sliding it across the counter and watching him, curiously, as he unscrewed the red cap and poured a little in your mug and a little into his.

“Sweetheart, sit yourself down. You’re shaking. What are you so nervous about?” You reach for the spoon to take over, bumping him to the side and insisting, with your eyebrows, that he took a seat beside Harry, who had kicked off his boots and slipped his socked feet into his old and worn-out grey slippers that he’d been wearing since the morning. You finished off the teas, adding a couple of spoonfuls of sugar to the caramel-coloured warm drink, giving them a final stir before rummaging through the cupboards for a tray to carry them on. “What’s the matter? Come on now.”

“What’s going on between the two of you?”

“I love her,” Jack whispered, looking at his hands, that sat upon the grey material of his tracksuit bottoms, as he picked at the hang-nails and cuticles of his thumbs, “God, I love her so much and I don’t have a ring yet, because I wanted to do that after I received your blessing, your permission, but I have one in mind because I’ve been looking in shops and such but, yeah, I don’t have it physically. Your permission and your blessing means a lot to me. I found an engagement ring today, when we split off to buy presents for each other, and I knew it was what I wanted to propose to her with. It’s gorgeous. Just like her. And, God, I love her. I love her so, so much. I didn’t think it was ever possible to love someone as much as I love her. She makes everything worth it. She makes me feel like I can do absolutely anything. That I can conquer the obstacles because she’s by my side and helping me out. And I promise you,” his voice shook with the nerves that ran havoc through his veins, lifting his head up from staring at his hands and forming eye contact with Harry before sending a shy smile to you, “I promise you that I’ll take care of her. I’ll try my hardest to make sure she never feels alone. That she never cries because of me. That she never has a reason to feel heartbroken or like she isn’t loved That we always make each other happy. She’s my best friend and I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I want to grow old with her and I want to have kids with her and I want to be able to give the both of you grandchildren. I want to find us the biggest house, the house of her dreams, that she can decorate and make it her own, to live in and I want the rest of our lives to start as soon as possible because I’m so excited at the thought of her being the one that I get to wake up to everyday. That I get to- that we get to be there for each other, properly. Persephone is it for me. She’s the one for me. And I just wanted to ask, for your permission, or your blessing, if I could, you know, if I could have her hand in ma-”

“Do you even have to ask us, mate?” Harry laughed, the booming cackle interrupting and cutting Jack off from finishing his speech. Because Harry already knew how it was going to end. He’d been through the exact same process. Thinking through everything that he was going to say to prove he was worthy of your hand in marriage. Feeling nervous as he sat before the parents of the woman he wanted to, so desperately, marry. Gushing his heart and soul to them to show, just how much, he really wanted it. Reaching a flexed hand, decorated with his signature rings, across the dining table and smiling brightly when Jack took it. A flush of relief washing over the 22-year old as he puffed out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “She’s had a fair share of bad relationships in the past. And it hurt to see her come home, upset and broken, because she’d had her heart torn to pieces by a boy that she really liked. You came along and we haven’t had to worry about that. She’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her,” he tore his hand away and brought it back to wrap around his coffee mug, bringing it to his lips and taking a sip before placing it back down on the coaster, “and that’s what any parent wants, well, what every parent wants for their kids is for them to be happy. For them to be comfortable with themselves. For them to know what they’re doing and for them to take risks. For them to enjoy life without worrying about all the little things.”

Harry’s heart thumped and thumped and thumped behind his ribs. A smile on his face that came as a result of the happiness and the touch sadness that succumbed him. His daughter had found her man. She found her future in a man who she’d met, not so long ago. She found the person who made her smile, who made her heart triple in size whenever she looked at him, who made her radiate love and glow with ethereal beauty that Harry, and yourself, hadn’t seen from her before. He looked across to you, his smile spreading wider as he bumped his knee to yours, his free hand wrapping around yours and squeezing it tightly.

“You’ve truly made her the happiest we’ve ever seen her, sweetheart. It feels lovely to not have her come home heartbroken, carrying the pieces of her shattered heart in the palms of her hands, and in need of a cuddle with one of us, because a boy took advantage of her,” you admitted, reaching across the table, in a similar fashion to Harry, and squeezing his hand softly. Fingers wrapping around his as he smiled warmly in your direction. “We couldn’t think of a better person to have her, Jack. We can’t think of a better person to say yes to. To give our blessing to. You’re such a determined and motivated young man and you’ve been nothing but incredible with Persephone over the last few months. With her graduation happening, officially moving into your first home, struggling with her troubles in leaving home.”

“Not to mention, you’ve been an absolute treasure to her over the last few months, as well. Helping her with her own problems and getting her started with her first website and getting her started with her career, regardless of going back to finish your final year at university. I know it’s hard because we’re so far away from you both and can’t help her as much as she may need, but,” Harry nodded to himself, “you’ve been so great with her. You’ve had our blessing from the moment we first met you, Jack.”

A face splitting and cheek aching grin spread across his face, “really?”

“Really, really,” Harry smiled.

“When do you plan on doing it?”

“I was thinking in the new year. Maybe on New Years Eve or something like that. It’s cliché, I know, but we’ve always been into that. She's never said anything but I think it’s the perfect time to pop it. Start the new year, engaged. I still need to buy the ring or put a deposit down for it, so, that’ll take it’s time,” Jack admitted, “it’s beautiful though. It really is. I wish I took a photo to show you.”

“Let me buy it for you,” Harry offered, abrupt and sudden, “the shops shut in an hour. I’m sure Persephone and Alfie are on the tube home and getting dinner. We can-”

“No, no. Harry, I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Jack shook his head, “thank you for the offer, but, I couldn’t ask for you to do that. It’s too much. You’ve welcomed me into your family, your home, you’ve allowed me the privilege of being with your daughter and you’ve given me a blessing that I feel honoured to have. I couldn’t ask of this.”

“Then at least let me help you get started? Just a small deposit to help get you on your way,” Harry hummed, “I have money going to waste, Jack. I don't know what to do with it anymore. Let me help you.”

“God, Harry, thank you. Thank you so much.”

“We should be thanking you, lad,” Harry stood to his feet and reached over, clapping Jack on the shoulder with a gentle hand, “thank you for making her the happiest she’s ever been. Thank you for making her feel as supported as she could ever feel. Thank you for loving her as much as we do.”

#one direction preferences #one direction imagines #harry styles imagines #harry imagines #harry blurbs #harry styles blurbs #1d harry #1d harry styles #blogmas 2017

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justsomewritingsandshit · 7 years

Text

Nothing Can Beat Home

Bilbo Baggins x Siren!Reader

Length: 1680 words

Warnings: not really, just cute!bilbo and domestic!reader, fem reader?

Requested

Hobbits were a simple race, who led very simple lives.

Their needs were little; they like to live close to the earth and nature, taking pride in their grass-covered homes and their gardens. Generally, staying away from the troubles of the ‘big people’ of Middle Earth, as well as large bodies of water (due to hobbits often not being able to swim), was how they kept such happy, simple lives. Hobbits found happiness in the simple pleasures of life. Enjoying good food, drinking good ale, smoking good pipe weed, and joining joyous gatherings were all the luxuries they needed in life.

Fitting into the Shire had been a long and arduous process for you – mostly due to you having to understand the significant physical and cultural differences between the siren people, your people, and the hobbits.

Physically, you were far taller than the hobbits (your people were classed as ‘big people’ by the hobbits), and you did not have the same hairy feet they did. Your soles weren’t as durable, either, so you confused the residents of Hobbiton by wearing soft, leather-made slippers when out and about. They didn’t understand how you could be confined like that, but then you didn’t truly understand why they took such efforts to groom their feet – but ultimately decided it must be more to do with the culture they have created for themselves.

Culturally, hobbits were quite solitary. They claimed that they were happier staying out of the goings on in Middle Earth. As such, they typically avoided leaving the Shire – so they definitely found your need to roam the land quite odd. Often, rumours and hearsay about you could be heard in the markets and taverns of the Shire, there was plenty to say of Bilbo Baggins’ wife and her un-hobbitlike behaviour. But a siren, like a hobbit, is connected to the earth and to nature, but more so rivers, lakes, and the sea, all of which reside no-where near Hobbiton – so, you did a lot of travelling.

Despite your genetic disposition to often roam to the nearest body of water, nothing could top the feeling you get when you re-entered the Shire, which was now your home. Not to mention the complete joy you felt as you stood at the familiar (but freshly re-painted) green hobbit-hole door. The Baggins’ home, aptly named Bag End, was famous in Hobbiton, as it was carved by Bilbo’s father, Bungo, decades ago, as gift for his bride, Belladonna Took – quite the declaration for a mere hobbit.

Normally, there was only silence, or the sound of Bilbo muttering to himself as he cleaned, to be heard in the hobbit-hole. However, this evening there was plenty of noise (specifically voices) emanating from within the home, which was very odd considering your husband Bilbo was not the type to entertain guests so late into the night. He strictly believed in ‘quiet time’, by this time of night.

“Hello?” You called out as you stepped into your home, quickly closing the door behind you, all the whilst wondering what on Middle Earth was going on. “Bilbo?” Where there had been nothing but noise, there was now only silence. “Bill?” You called out your personal nickname for your husband, suddenly quite worried.

“Who are you?” The gruff voice that accosted you, emerged from within the body of a balding dwarf who suddenly appeared to the left. He looked at you, judging your tall frame, and your elf-made clothing, before he suddenly had a short dagger pointed at you. “What is an elf doing at a secret dwarrow meeting?” Why would there be a secret dwarrow meeting, in the Shire? What was wrong with the mountains that dwarves resided in?

Two voiced rang out, calling the name “Dwalin!”, one reprimanding and unfamiliar, the other panicked and known to you. Bilbo scampered towards you, quickly followed by a white-haired dwarf, with shock and fright slapped onto his face, “Y/N!” He came towards you, bravely placing his tiny body between your own and the dwarf’s dagger. That was your husband, sweet and brave (no matter how little he believed so).

All of the commotion between the four of you, had caused twelve other dwarves to exit from the dining room. They all swarmed into the entrance hall, trailed by a tall, elderly man draped in grey robes – who could possibly be the famous grey wizard, Mithrandir. Despite being completely surrounded now, what you focused on wasn’t the number of dwarves around you, or the weapons they held, or even the hostile looks that they threw towards you – really, what your mind had zeroed in on, was the fact they were all wearing muddy travelling boots! They’d tracked mud all through your home!

Bilbo tried to take a hold of the situation as best he could, which was by demanding the dwarf to lower his weapon, “It’s quite unnecessary, Master Dwalin!” He spluttered out, “I-I demand you lower your weapon!” Your sweet hobbit flapped his hands, frantically trying to get the dwarf to listen to him. The dwarf did not listen, or obey Bilbo’s demands.

Silence was beginning to crowd the atmosphere of the entrance hall.

Unexpectedly, one of the dwarves from the group lumbered forward. There was a sense of majesty oozing from his being, that wasn’t present in the other dwarves. It felt like his every movement was majestic. Said dwarf had dark hair, and didn’t seem as old as some of the other dwarves, but also not as young as some of them, either. Also, he wore a lovely shade of blue. Vaguely, you thought about asking him where he purchased the garment, because it looked lovely and well-crafted.

Any sense of regal-ness he emitted was very much marred by his angry looking scowl, which he seemed to be sending to both your husband and the elderly man (who, was possibly the Mithrandir some of your elvish friends have mentioned). Honestly, you wondered why this dwarf seemed simultaneously royal, and undiplomatic. “Gandalf, why does your hobbit thief protect an elf?” He levelled a disgusted look at you, which wasn’t as frightening to you, as he would think it was. Rather, his looks and question only sent you further into a rage.

“I am not an elf, thank you very much!” and “How dare you speak of my wife in such a manner!” were spluttered out at the same time. Bilbo was wagging his finger at the dwarf who had insulted you, his face very much becoming the colour of one of his prized tomatoes.

Dwalin, the dwarf who quickly put away his weapon at the mention that you happened to be the lady of this house, grunted towards you, “You look like an elf, and you dress as one too!” Was he trying to defend his preposterous actions towards you?

“Tell me Master Dwarf, if I dressed as a rabbit, and hopped around for a bit, would you assume me an animal? Would you hunt and gut me for your dinner?” Bilbo shot you a look, his wide-eyes telling you to stop being so sarcastic to those who had just held you at the end of their dagger. Ignoring his look of fear, you gazed down at your husband, “Bilbo, what is going on here?” You waved your hand at the large group, “Who are all these dwarves? And, why haven’t they been courteous and removed their muddy shoes at our door, like all other guests are required to do?” Some of the dwarves looked rightfully told-off. As they should, your floors were filthy!

“I am terribly sorry for such a mess, young miss. Please excuse our actions, I was entirely unaware that Bilbo had married” The elderly man looked just as chastised as some of the younger-looking dwarves did (probably because he, too, still wore his muddy shoes). “I am Gandalf the Grey.” Oh, he was the infamous wizard! “Pray tell is your name, my lady?”

Despite not being used such formal words, you managed to collect yourself, and swiftly informed them all of your name. “I am Y/N Baggins, wife of Bilbo Baggins, lady of Bag End, and former member of the Seiren.” It felt unfamiliar to refer to yourself in such a manner, as you hadn’t had to formally introduce yourself in years – not since your first entry into the Shire.

“A siren?” Gandalf’s eyes twinkled, as if truly amused by such news. “How does a siren come to live in the Shire, so far from water?” The dwarves, that still huddled too close to you, looked puzzled by Gandalf’s words. You assumed they did not know what a ‘siren’ was, which was understandable, many people knew nothing of your people. They were rumoured to be as secretive as dwarves, ironically enough.

Your answer to the wizard’s question was short, “Love, Mister Gandalf.” Normally, you would have accepted to talk in circles with him, but you found yourself slightly too drained. “Now, I have travelled long and far, and would very much enjoy refreshing myself, before any discussions shall take place.” You crouched down, bringing yourself to the same height as your husband, now ignoring all others in the hall, “I shall go do that, but I expect a full explanation of the goings-on when I return.” Bilbo looked worried, as if he feared your reaction to what he would tell you. Deciding that you did not like such a look on him, you quickly distracted him. You leaned towards him, sultrily whispering into his ear, “I missed you, husband.” And, before he could protest at the company that would witness, you pressed a soft kiss to his smaller lips, promises of later left unsaid, but very much visible to him.

As you walked away, sauntering off to your and Bilbo’s shared bedroom, a young-sounding voice muttered out, “How did you find such a woman?” Awe lined every word spoken.

Several chuckles and Bilbo’s squeak of embarrassment followed the question, easily sending your small smile into a full-blown grin. Yes, nothing could beat the feeling of being home again.

TAGGED:

@iamwarrenspeace, @stilesloverdaily, @itsnotnormalteen

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azzyfree · 7 years

Text

The best thing I’ve ever done is stop caring about my appearance.

When I was 2 years old a cyst was found growing on my intestines. This may have been the start of my appearance problems. Because even if you are overweight or hairy, at least you could show off your belly button at the pool and no one would care, because it's a fucking normal inny or outty belly button. But of course that wasn’t an option for me. I have a 4 inch long scar that goes from my belly button down from the surgery. When I was little other kids had a tendency of poking it and the thing is- it's not even like normal skin where you can touch it and you feel it as being outside of yourself. When you touch the scar it feels like you are touching my guts. It’s GROSS , incredibly disgusting and painful, and it kind of makes my belly look like a butt and I HATED it. Here I am, going to a babysitters at maybe 4 years old and already I am DIFFERENT from the other kids VISIBLY. besides also speaking spanish instead of english in an english speaking nation. Thing’s got worse in elementary school. Back then I had a square face, chubby cheeks, besides being very much overweight. I was often made fun of by being called a boy or generally ignored in the playground but the worst of it was these pair of girl’s I was friends with throughout much of elementary school. The first one (I’ll call Girl A) I knew since kindergarten and she was fine,but the other (I’ll call Girl B) moved to my school. Since she was new she tried to force herself into every friend ship possible, and since we lived on the same street we were just friends by default. Now I should have you know that Girl A, didn’t come from a wealthy family, but she wasn’t poor either. Her family was on the higher end of the middle class spectrum and always dressed rather well, and got to go to all the cool sports things, and always got the brand newest of things all the time. I remember she got a gamecube first and we would all go over to her place to play it. Girl B was middle, middle class but her mother dressed her like she was born to some rich-ass family and she acted the part. Now me, back then my parent’s were just scraping by. My mother was an immigrant taking classes at the university and didn’t work, while my dad had a full time job in the government that JUST BARELY paid for the house and food. What clothing I got were usually made by my mother or my grandmother, or bought from thrift stores and the like, so very rarely I got a BRAND NEW thing. Now I don’t know if this was a fad everywhere but in my school when I was around 8 years old and it was the early 2000s, EVERY girl in my school wore a fuzzy white jacket. I don’t know how this fad started or why but for some reason it was a thing, and they were fucking ugly but it didn’t matter because that was the fad, that all the cool kids were wearing.GIRL A got her fuzzy white jacket first and I remember her coming to school and showing it off and us saying that we should all get fuzzy white jackets too. I think we thought we looked like bunnies in it or something and it was adorable. I remember going home and asking my parent’s for one but of course it was the start of the school year and we had JUST gotten me a purple sweater that I had wanted. So of course I didn’t get one. It took only a day, I swear to you, 24 hours for Girl B to get one too. I remember being so jealous. Like my family could barely afford to put food on the table but here I was wanting a fuzzy white jacket. It wasn’t till christmas till I was able to get a fuzzy white jacket. I think it was from a thrift store and just a bit too small from me. But I didn’t care cause finally I could join the cool people.I remember being so excited to show them it. I got dressed up and everything. They were going to come to my place to play with the barbie doll house my dad got me for christmas that was handcrafted from this little shop in my city. It was actually the only doll house my dad could afford as a toy for me. Apparently it was cheaper than the plastic ‘Barbie houses’ mattel sold. But I had loved that doll house. everything in it was hand painted and carved. There were picture frames on the walls that were made from beer bottles caps, and dish detergent caps. the house was three stories tall and crafted from what must have been used or old lumber laying about. I loved this doll house and Girl A and B loved to come over to play with it too.So you can imagine the excitement I must have had to show them, I too finally had a fuzzy white jacket. They came over and hurried into my room so we could start playing with the doll house. We were like a half hour playing. I remembered I had THE jacket. So I ran off to put it on and came back to show them, thinking we could finally be a squad, all wearing matching jackets.Sure I couldn’t close mine but that didn’t matter, I had gotten one! But nope. to this day I can remember their laugh and Girl B saying that I was too fat to wear the jacket. I don’t remember the rest of the night. I just remember hiding the jacket at the back of my closet and never speaking about it again. I started getting clothing that was bigger than what I would normally wear just to hide my fat. Things didn’t get much better when middle school rolled around. I had long stopped talking to both Girl A, and Girl B. But I still worried about my appearance particularly since I was the first of my friends to go through puberty cause, my body fucking hated me. It was not an easy puberty either. I would and still do get cramps that are so painful I will/have passed out from simply standing. But for appearance it did worse. I got zits EVERYWHERE. there was no down time, it was like an oprah show, any patch of skin I had would inevitably get covered in zits. At this time I tried everything to get rid of them, the doctor prescribed medication that did nothing. I remember my mom buying every brand of zit remover from oxy clear to that one that you would get mailed in the my cousin’s sore by. AND THEY ALL DID FUCK ALL. My Body would simply never rest when it came to how fucking disgusting could it make me. Not to mention I got hairy too. My legs grew thick black hair almost overnight and at that point I stopped wearing shorts all together. Cause FUCK showing off my yeti legs. I’ll die of heat stroke before people start talking about the pimple face’s yeti legs. But my legs weren’t the only thing that got hairy, so did my arms and my face, and now at this point the ‘you look like a boy’ was fucking accurate because I could so very easily give up on being a girl at this point being a boy would have been so goddamn easy. I could probably have grown a beard and a mustache. I could have done it and no one would have talked about it in a negative light. Cause when you are a boy its okay if you are hairy or pimple faced, its pretty much the ‘norm’ I was trying my best to ‘fit in’ to be ‘relatively normal’. To just pass by. That's all I fucking wanted I didn’t even care about being pretty I just wanted their words to stop. I remember hearing a conversation between some guys in one of my classes and a few girls I had known since elementary school. I was just passing by the door, where I overheard them talking about me and I quote , “Date Azzy? she’s she looks like an ape.” and can still remember their fucking laughter. One of them tried to ask me out later. I wasn’t stupid or desperate. I told them I’d never date asshole. I remember some time in grade 8 one of the girls I had known since elementary but I wasn’t friends with(I’ll call Girl D for rightful reasons) , told me I should come over for a makeover. But I’d heard her talking with the boys that other day. Again I wasn’t stupid or desperate. I could see how this would go. She would be like Girl A and Girl B, she would be like that fucking asshole in the other class. I remember I tried out for the arts highschool in my city cause I just wanted to get away from the people I had known since elementary school. Look, I was NOT good at art at this time. There were far better people in the school that could accurately depict shapes and lighting and people. Yet to my surprise I got accepted. The day I got my acceptance letter I was SO happy. Finally I could get away from these assholes and get a clean start! I remember that, that same day I was taking the bus and one of the girls from school that I was sort of friends with (I’ll call girl C) was sitting at the back of the bus in front of Girl B and Girl D. The bus starts and things were quiet except every so often Girl C would turn around and yell at them to stop. After this going on for a few more times I pull out my headphones and looked over and saw that GIRL B and D were writing ‘ fat-so’, ‘fag’, ‘slut’ and a number of other things onto tape and sticking it to her back. At this point I had nothing left at this school. It was the last two weeks of school. I was already approved to go to another school, even if I got expelled it didn’t matter. I was SO sick of their words. I put my headphones away, Got up, turned around to them and fucking yelled at them like a beast. I picked up the tape that they had stuck onto girl C’s back, and just shoved it into their faces. SHOVED. I smacked them on their foreheads with it. I told them that If I ever heard them do this to Girl C or anyone else again, I’d hurt them, and if they had any intelligence they would keep their mouths shut and arms to themselves for the rest of the ride or I’d straight up murder them. If being pretty meant being an asshole, I didn’t need it. High School is where things got weird. Since gym wasn’t mandatory I only took it the first year and then never again. I hated exercising. Elementary and middle school did that to me. I hated being hot and sweaty because I never wore shorts. I hated being in the heat. Being outside or anything that would require I take off any of my clothes. And it was some time between when I was dying of a heat stroke and paying for a SECOND try at laser hair removal that DID NOT WORK. That I realized- This is a fucking lot of money and time to look like a human being and not a ape. Such a lot of wasted time and energy that I could have been using going swimming, hanging out with actual good friends or getting better at drawing or playing tales of symphonia again. College came and that's when it started to REALLY began to sink in. Sure I may have never dated anyone through high school. But when college came I was done with ever trying to look pretty. It was a waste of time. Then I actually started to look better, My zit’s started to go away, my hair didn’t grow as thick. Everything that had stressed me out throughout the rest of my school life like just stopped. Because mentally it finally kicked in that it really didn’t fucking matter. Good looks didn’t equal you getting treated well. Good looks didn’t get you a promotion. Good looks didn’t make you feel happy. Good looks didn’t give you better grades. People will still treat you like shit when you're pretty. People will still say things about you and make fun of the things you wear. Not to mention the many passing fads. Being pretty is always changing. So then it doesn’t matter if you are skinny or fat, Have black or blonde hair, are tall or short, hairy or bald. Being beautiful is a choice and all you have to do is say you are. And you know what? I actually am happy now.

#rambles

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gguksgalaxy · 7 years

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Ship Tag ^_^ tagged by the @oh-beyond thanks!

Rules:

1: Ship the person who tagged you. 2: Answer questions.   3: Write down the groups you would like to get shipped with.   4: Tag me back so I can ship you too.

I ship you with: Yixing because i feel like he's really caring and easy-going and i feel like that would fit you. Someone who'd take his time and let you take his time, but also give you free space.

ABOUT ME:

What is your chinese zodiac/animal? Ox (i think)

What is your sun sign? Scorpio

What is your height? 1,58 centimetres

Describe yourself briefly White af, freckles, short, long hair that differs in colour from time to time, red atm, weirdly coloured eyes. Like golden brown/greenish with a dark line. Perfectly shaped lips (yep sorry I'm proud) and long eyelashes <3

Describe your fashion type: Skinny jeans way to goooooooo, lop top sneakers or high heels, thigh boots tho damn, loose tops and sweaters, leather jacket, or large large jean jacket. Long winter coats with big scarfs, turtlenecks. minimalistic jewellery.

What are your hobbies? Writing, gaming yep, only handheld consoles though, tumblr is like an extension of my soul. drawing, mainly calligraphy in my bullet journal.

Describe your personality: I am...loud as fuck like istg i talk so fast you need to learn how to understand the bs i say. But then again if I'm content with you and shit and i love you i can also just sit with you and be quiet all day and enjoy your company. Ngl i have anxiety and some like idk depressive symptoms but i try to pull through. i can be a whiny person but i like to do it in a joking way, yells a lot, likes to talk things out.

What do you like and dislike? Likes: people being honest with me, soft things, rough deep-ish voices, blankets, hot chocolate, a good book, bright smiles, honesty, openness, Dislikes: lies, ignorance, being fucking two faced bitch, being too needy, ppl touching my knees, people i don't like touching me in general, people who try to change me bye.

What kind of height do you prefer? I'm short and i used to date a tall guy, so i don't mind tall guys but my ideal height is definitely above mine and preferable under 180

Do you prefer innocent or sexy? in the middle, i don't like it when guys are too shy, but when they're too in your face it isn't nice though. I need someone who's willing to push me a little, but i don't want to feel...obligated. But i also don't want to feel like i need to pull him into things all the time.

What do you like in a person? Accepting me for who i am and being there for me when i need you and even when i don't.

What are some turn offs? being too pushy, being too obsessively clean, and rlly weird kinky shit like bdsm or whatever, like nope, oh and people who smell. And like guys who don't shave/trim their body hair. Like i don't mind hair, i'm hairy as well, but pls don't look like a bear. i can't i find it ... kind of unhygienic in a way.

What kind of fear would it be okay for them to have? If he's afraid of bugs WE HAVE A PROBLEMMMMM, and he can't be afraid of mess either >.<

What would be an ideal date for you? nothin involving dinner, idk like going to a park or a coffee shop or just chilling at someones house.

Ship me with only 1 from any of the following, giving a brief explanation why: EXO (ot9), BTS, Monsta X

I tag: @xingtrash @nunchiwrites @bootyfulohsehun @melyyexo @xiubaek13 @yourseth @exosmutxoxo @white-in-angel @baekhyunsbabe @sweet-soo @for-the-love-of-lay

#tag

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heatherrosebabcock · 7 years

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Short fiction: Wind Pudding and Wagon Tracks

(This story was originally published in my chapbook “Of Being Underground and Moving Backwards”, 2015, DevilHousePress)

***

“Wakey, Wakey! Or maybe it’s time to go to sleep!”

I open my eyes but am blinded by a penetrating, white sunlight.

“Either way, it’s time to move on!”

The high pitched voice is far away – a raft in the middle of an ocean in which I am drowning, but I can neither see nor reach it.

“GET UP!”

I close my eyes and open them again. I can feel the dry floor beneath my feet although my body, which I now realize was only a shell, is still lying on top of my bed.

“You’re not going to the dinner party like that are you?” the voice chides and I discover that it is coming from a large, hairy centipede on the ceiling over my bed.

I look down at my red and black nightie; it is the same nightie that my shell is wearing.

“The red dress! The one that sparkles!”

I shriek instinctively as the centipede drops from the ceiling and charges towards me. It giggles at my fear and begins racing in a circle around my feet.

“Shoes! Shoes! High heels but not too high, although he does like hookers!” The centipede giggles again. “Put on a bra and for heaven’s sake, don’t forget some underwear, but put on a nice pair – the kind that you save for your boyfriend, not the ones that you wear during your period!” The centipede is now laughing hysterically.

I crouch down and stare into its tiny eyes.

“I think I am dead. I think you are dead, too”, I say in what I hope sounds like a brave voice, “And I think that I killed you. Don’t you hate me?”

“Yes, yes, yes I hate you!” the centipede exclaims. “But I’ve been sent to direct you anyways and I’ve got a job to do. Now put on some blush! Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you have to look like a corpse!”

I follow the centipede’s directions – pulling on my red dress over my best bra and panties, brushing out my hair (“wear it up!”) and applying makeup.

When I slip on a tasteful pair of black high heels, the centipede is gone and I am standing in a foot of snow. Snowflakes fall from above; melting into my hair and dripping down my bare arms yet I am not cold.

A large green door with a yellow door knob floats in the air just a few feet ahead of me. I walk towards it and hesitate. I contemplate knocking when the door suddenly opens. A tall, dark skinned man of about thirty stands in the doorway. He smiles at me and takes both of my hands into his own. His skin is very warm and I realize that I have actually been cold all along. The man’s hands are large, strong and slightly dirty as though he has been fixing cars all day. He is wearing an ankle length robe that is more grey than white. I glance down at his feet and silently curse the centipede for nagging me about my shoes – this man’s feet are bare and yet they are immaculately clean.

“Come in, please,” he says gently. “We’re almost ready.”

He leads me into a large room. The room is clean and bright; awash with the white sunlight that I woke up to earlier. There is no furniture but there are hundreds of people; mostly all of them dressed to the nines. I scan the room for a familiar face and spot a very famous pop singer attempting to hide in a corner. I move towards her before remembering that she is not really familiar to me at all. I do not hold the interest in her that I may have had when I was alive. Of all the people in the room, this woman looks the most confused. How will she cope, I wonder, with just being one of us?

A large table falls from the ceiling and our host calls us to dinner. I sit down at my place setting. Dinner is salad and breaded fish. My host pours me a glass of wine and hands me a slice of bread.

“How did you enjoy living?” he asks me.

He asks the question neither casually nor intensely and thus I open up to him; the memories and stories filling my being again with joy, heartache, accomplishment, disappointment, love and hate. I am tired when I am done and he says “Eat, eat”, before moving on to the next guest.

When we have finished eating our dinner, the host stands above us at the head of the table and I wonder what he will serve us for dessert. He waves his left hand over the table and our dishes disappear as the tabletop transforms into a seemingly bottomless lake of blue water.

“Look into the water,” he instructs us in a gentle yet authoritative voice.

I lean over the table and am met with the familiarity of my face. I look further and I am playing tag with my sister in our backyard: my stomach full of popsicles, my chest full of laughter. My father is tucking me into bed and telling me that everything is going to be okay. I am 14 and I am told, for the first time, that I am beautiful by a handsome stranger on a bike. My sister and I are so stoned that we’ve forgotten how to use the telephone to dial for pizza. We collapse on the floor in laughter. The sun warms my face as I walk home from a long day at work.My nephew hands me a dandelion and says “I love you”. My cat plays with one of my pigtails. I am watching a snowstorm from inside a warm house.

Our host holds out his hands to us.

“I am giving you a choice,” he holds up his right hand. “You may come with me, into this lake, and live forever. You will be surrounded by beauty and never ending unconditional love.”

We rise from our seats, eager to follow him.

“Not so fast,” he warns. “You may come with me but in doing so you will give up all of your memories of life. Every person you met, every experience you had, everything that you felt will forever disappear. It will be as though your life never happened.”

At this, most of us hesitate.

Our host’s face softens. “Why the hesitation?” he asks, “Do you remember the time before you were born?”

A middle aged man in a brown tweed suit jumps into the water. The pop singer jumps in after him.

A child in a pink dress coughs. “What is the other choice?” she asks.

“The other choice,” our host says, extending his left hand, “Is that you stay here with all of your memories. You stay here and you die here.”

More people, including the little girl, jump into the water.

I continue to gaze at my reflection.

Who am I, if not this flesh and bone?

I hold onto the rim of the table; my fingertips touching the water, my feet touching the ground.

#thankful #short fiction #short story #the afterlife #toronto writers #fiction writer

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

Text

More Tomfoolery

Author: The_Leechwife

Year: 2006

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Naboo/Saboo

A swollen moon hung low over Wickham Caves, casting its wan light over the packed field of revellers, heaving like a huge single-minded disco-entity in time to pounding music. Somewhere near the middle of the throng, a very small man in a lopsided blue turban and a tall individual with ginger hair and a raincoat accidentally knocked into each other. “’Right Barry!” Naboo yelled over the thumping trance. Barry squinted through the strobe lights and his face lit up with recognition. “Alright Naboo, haven’t see you in ages!" The gangly Welshman slapped Naboo on the back so heartily that he was almost knocked of his feet. “Not since Morocco last year!” Naboo grinned fondly at the recollection. “Yeah, you ate that whole sheet of acid because you didn't think you could get it through Carpet Customs.” “I know, I lost two days!” Barry wiped a tear of merriment from the corner of his eye. “What’s new with you, Naboo?” “I’ve found myself a new familiar, met him at the zoo, he’s alright. Hey Bollo!” “Huh?” The gorilla was accosted mid-boogie and turned round, lowering his two handfuls of glow-sticks. “Barry, this is Bollo. Bollo, Barry.” “Alright Bollo!” Barry shook hands with the ape as best he could. “Alright.” Bollo peered over his holographic visor to regard this strange cagooled figure with the massively dilated pupils. Naboo had only hired Bollo three weeks previously, and this was his first festival as an official familiar. He'd never seen so many people off their tits in one place! “’Ere, Naboo, I can’t hear bugger all, let’s pop in there for a bit.” Barry nodded at a huge white marquee at the edge of the field. “Yeah alright, c’mon Bollo” The trio entered the chillout tent and picked their way though the groups of wizards, shamans and assorted occult personages in various states of intoxication. Barry and Naboo found a place on a heap of cushions set up round one of numerous hookahs, there were several other figures in white robes sprawled nearby, but they were mainly transfixed by the patterns of the blue lights, staring up and giggling intermittently. Both shamans picked up the nearest hose and inhaled. “That’s better,” Barry looked around in satisfaction, “I was goin’ a bit mad out there. I’m pilling my face off!” “Get us some drinks, would you Bollo? Get one for Barry too while you’re there.” Naboo patted the gorilla on the arm and he lumbered off with minimal complaining. Barry squinted at his hairy back though thick glasses. “He’s a bit bigger than you usually go for isn’t he?” “Yeah, those frogs were doing my head in, cheeky sods. And there’s no chance of me accidentally smoking Bollo either.” “Ha ha, yeah. You and those frogs. Mental.” Barry turned to pass the hookah hose to the person next to him, and did a double take when he managed to resolve her features into a coherent picture. “Alright sexy, I’m Barry. Remember that name, you’ll be screaming it later.” The ample woman adjusted her robe around her frankly enormous bosom. “I’m Blossom, I’m here with my sisters.” She giggled coyly. “Sisters?” Barry’s smile widened. Blossom gestured to the two prone figures beside her, both in the same shapeless white dresses, “Not actual sisters, we're druids. This is Peaches, and that’s Acorn.” Peaches, a slimmer version of her sister, managed to raise a languid hand in greeting but Acorn, a tiny woman with scruffy pigtails, had long since passed out. “Ladies.” Barry beamed courteously if redundantly. Naboo chuckled at Barry’s indefinable appeal with the opposite sex. He was a divvy in a raincoat, but no one ever seemed to notice. The tiny shaman noticed Bollo, laden with drinks, looking lost. He waved and caught Bollo’s eye, but as the ape changed trajectory he smacked straight into a tall man in black heading in the opposite direction. He was knocked right over, and insult was added to injury when the three glasses Bollo had been holding were emptied onto him. Bollo looked blank for a second. “Shit.” He managed. Naboo and Barry hurried over as Bollo helped the unfortunate newcomer to his feet and received a barrage of curses. “Damn you, you complete and utter knob!” raged the soggy individual as the wet feather on his hat drooped down into his eyes, “I’m with the Board of Shaman you know! You’ll get what’s coming to you, mark my words!” “Hey, it’s that Saboo chapie.” Barry grinned, too blissed-out to acknowledge bad tempers, “Naboo, you remember Saboo?" "Yeah, I went to his workshop on 'Dimensional Portals You Already Own' last year. Good stuff." "Alright Saboo?” “Alright? No I’m not all right! This idiot monkey has just soaked me!” Bollo’s face darkened. He thought this fellow was over reacting slightly, even if he was slightly drunk. Though a pacifist by nature, the put-upon primate was beginning to think that this Saboo character would benefit from a ‘Chico’ haircut. “Chill out, this is supposed to be a party.” Naboo raised his hands, placating, “Let us get you another drink.” “Yes, Mick Jaggers all round!” Barry cried jubilantly, “Come and sit with us, we’ve just met these three gorgeous girls. Three of them, three of us…” Saboo looked as though he was trying to stay in a bad mood, but eventually conceded. Bollo went off to make a second attempt at getting drinks while Barry and Naboo led Saboo to their little nest. "He might just have a chance with the unconscious one." Barry added as an aside to Naboo, who sniggered and elbowed his friend into silence. Saboo's dark eyes flicked about pensively as he sipped his third drink and regarded everyone with a critical and slightly squiffy gaze. His feathers had begun to dry out and fluff up again, and this drink, whatever it was, apparently just sugar and alcohol, was excellent. He hadn't meant to lash out a Bollo like that, but he'd only been with the Board a few weeks and found he was always edgy and paranoid as to what was expected of him. He was embarrassed about this weakness, and to cover himself he glared daggers at the ape who he'd somehow ended up sitting next to. Saboo also did not reckon much to the talent round here; Barry was whispering sweet nothings of ever increasing lewdness to Blossom, who was practically offering herself up to him, the second girl, Peaches, had only just come round and looked set to keel over again any second, and the scrawny one had begun to snore. There wasn't enough booze in the world, Saboo thought to himself. The short-arse with the ridiculous 'jack of clubs' hair do was prettier than these three. He opted to draw a line under that train of thought immediately. "Alright?" Saboo started, he hadn't realised he'd been staring at Naboo. "Yes, fine." He snapped, looking over at Peaches who was spinning her wand on the ground, apparently fascinated. He looked up again despite himself to watch Naboo conversing in low tones with his familiar. Naboo peered up into Bollo's face; he could tell Bollo was really drunk, because he had gone all blurry. "Run that by me again?" "I met dis Valkyrie before, said she could get me a shot as DJ at club in town." Naboo looked doubtful. "Aw please. Anyway, dis guy keeps lookin' at me like he wants a fight." He cocked his head at Saboo, making no effort to be discreet. "Oh alright then, off you go." Naboo conceded, "I'll see you later, yeah?" Bollo clambered to his feet. "Meet you by the hemp turban stall?" "Cool." As Bollo plodded off back to the dance floor, Naboo smiled amiably at Saboo and patted the cushion where the ape had been sitting. Saboo shifted over apprehensively. "Bollo's alright really, he's just new. He didn't mean any harm." Naboo was determined, in his hazy way, to smooth things over. "Yes, well." Saboo tried to remain disapproving. Naboo just smiled with the innocence of one who is too far out of his head to begrudge anyone happiness, and held out his hand. Saboo relented and shook it. "What's your name again?" "I'm Naboo, that's who." Saboo was silent for a while, then: "Did you really like my workshop?" "Yeah, it's come in really handy a few times actually." "Oh?" "Yeah. I've got these friends, they're basically idiots but they're alright, and they're always-" "Hey!" Blossom's high-pitched squeal cut in and made them both wince, "That's a great idea!" She snatched the wand from Peaches and spun it on the floor, slightly frustrated when it didn’t point to anyone in particular. Peaches looked bewildered, took a long drag from the hookah, and passed out next to her slumbering sister. "What?" Naboo looked misty-eyed and confused. “We used to play this at summer camp, you have to make out with whoever it points to!” "Good grief, how old are we?" Saboo scoffed. “Are you allergic to fun?” Saboo gave a snort of derision, “You’re the only woman still awake, what if I have to kiss one of these two?” he waved his hand vaguely at Naboo and Barry. “Are we not quite secure in our masculinity?” Barry mocked good-naturedly. “Of course I am.” Saboo brandished his glass, sloshing liquid down his hand, “I’ll take on any one of you. If you felt the power of Saboo, you’d be bent for life, my friend.” Barry wasn’t listening, and had spun the wand and stopped it blatantly with his finger when it pointed to Blossom. Blossom grabbed hold of Barry and bent him backwards over her knee, kissing him with full-force. Naboo spluttered with laughter, his smile lighting up his face. Saboo pretended he didn't notice. "Get a room!" Blossom released Barry with a noise like a blocked sink. His eyes uncrossed and he glared at Saboo. "Fine. It's your turn." "This is so purile." Saboo rolled his eyes, but spun the wand with a flick of his wrist. Barry was not keen on people who were opposed to a good time. He was moving into the 'hallucination phase' of his evening, but had enough consciousness left to stop the wand with a discrete bolt of magic as it pointed to Naboo. Naboo raised an eyebrow. Saboo panicked. "I'm not kissing him!" "What's wrong with me?" Naboo took on an expression of mock indignance, "I've been told I'm charming." "It would be unethical for a man in my position to-" "Methinks the shaman doth protest too much." Giggled Blossom. "Hey, if he's uncomfortable with his sexuality, leave the man alone." Barry laughed. "You're all mouth and no trousers." Naboo jibbed. "It's not that! I'm just-" Before Saboo knew what was happening, Naboo knocked his hat off with a deft back-swipe, took hold of his face with both hands and kissed him hard on the mouth, then sat back smugly. Saboo blinked in astonishment, and tried to frame some sort of retort, but nothing seemed forthcoming. "I knew it." Naboo slurred triumphantly, "You talk loud enough, but when it comes to the crunch-" "The Crunch? Don't you bring the Crunch into this," Naboo had inadvertently touched a nerve, "I practically invented the Crunch!" And with that Saboo grabbed the smaller man by the shoulders and kissed him back. He tasted sweet and sticky from the alcohol, and was soft and responsive as their tongues met tentatively. Much to Saboo's consternation, the look in Naboo's twinkling eyes when he pulled away did not say 'Well, that taught me a thing or two about the nature of the Crunch'. Saboo determined to teach the insolent tyke a lesson if it took him all night, which he rather hoped it would. It occurred to him that he shouldn't be getting into it this much and that he'd regret it tomorrow. He felt Naboo's hands inside his jacket and decided that rather than worrying he would gently push the little shaman back onto the cushions and make out with him some more. Through his scrambled consciousness, Naboo concluded that this Saboo wasn't as much of a twat as he'd first thought. He sighed happily as he breathed in the smell of burning paper and incense. He felt slender fingers slide over his hips and fumble with the sash at his waist, and in return he pressed himself against Saboo's hardening crotch, satisfied at the sharp intake of breath this produced. Saboo pulled away for a moment and looked Naboo in the eyes; having never propositioned a man before, he was at a loss as to how to put it. "Listen, Naboo, I'm… I really…" Naboo smiled, "I know, me too." Saboo sat up, taking Naboo's hands and pulling him up too. Naboo got to his knees unsteadily; getting up had produced the revelation that he'd really had way too much to drink, and was beginning to feel distinctly dodgy. An ominous stirring in his stomach told him he had to get out of here right away. He put a finger to Saboo's lips and tried to look at him with what he hoped was a seductive and fathomless gaze. "Hold that thought, I have to, y'know, take care of something. I'll be back, wait here for me." "Don't be long." Naboo staggered to his feet and swayed perilously for a moment as his head protested against standing vertical. "I won't. Stay just as you are." He attempted to wink, though he suspected he was just squinting, before hurrying out of the tent as nonchalantly as possible. On his way out he noticed Barry speaking garbled, unrelated nonsense to Blossom, who was beginning to realise this man was in no state to give her the sweet loving she'd been promised. "I can see outlines as if they were… colours… look at that!" Barry had become fascinated by a cushion tassel. When he got outside, Naboo looked about urgently. Most people had gone back to their tents or fallen asleep where they fell, a few were still dancing or wandering from one place to he other. The booze was really fighting back now, and Naboo realised he was going to be sick. He managed to get a few paces before his legs gave up on him. "Ooh it's all gone wrong." He observed meekly as he sank to his knees. His stomach lurched and, finding no better alternative, he took off his turban and threw up in it. Bollo had been roused by a bad feeling, and had gallantly left the dance floor and his potential conquest to look for Naboo. He spotted a small, unmistakable figure hunched on the ground, his glossy black head bent over something he clutched in his hands. Bollo decided he was getting good at this whole intuition lark. Naboo looked up through bleary, watering eyes and spat blue as Bollo approached. The ape knelt down in front of him and gently lifted his head. "You're the best familiar ever, you are." Naboo conjectured before hiccuping and slumping forwards. Bollo caught him before he landed in the mess he'd made and picked him up. "Come on den." He sighed, hefting the limp little body over one shoulder and picking up the discarded turban with his free hand. Naboo moaned something indistinguishable as he was carried back to his own tent. As they made their way across the field, Bollo noticed Barry running wildly with his anorak tied round his shoulders like a cloak, holding a cushion out in front of him and yelling at the top of his voice. These shamans, when they let go they really let go. "Ooh, my head. What did I do last night?" Naboo groaned as a tremendous hangover descended upon him the next morning. "It must have been pretty good for me to end up like this, eh?" Bollo merely grunted as he handed his boss a plastic cup of coffee and two aspirin. Later, they loaded their tent and bags onto Naboo's magic carpet, unaware they were being observed from a distance by a dark, glowering figure with a high feathered collar and hat. Saboo hadn't been this furious since that time in college when Tony Harrison had told Saboo's girlfriend he had crabs. He had waited most of the night for this hot shaman sex he was promised; that idiot Barry had got so far off his chops that he had run off screaming with a cushion, the fat girl had gone to find him, and Saboo had sat there with two unconscious women for three hours feeling like a complete fool. He was vexed and humiliated and all manner of fumingly, seethingly, angry. One day, he thought, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day he'd deal that little bastard such a slice of Crunch he wouldn't know what hit him. He shook his fist in impotent furry and stalked off to pack up his things.

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #naboo #naboo the enigma #saboo #naboo/saboo

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