#i have goldfish memory so its hard to remember a whole lot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vvideonasties · 3 years

Text

clear-cut

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance.

word count: 2k

pairing: jonmartin

warnings: discussion of canon related trauma, thoughts about body autonomy

While rifling through the kitchen drawers, Jon is unsurprised by the plethora of blades Daisy owns. There’s every kind of knife you could fathom and, thankfully, a few pairs of scissors. Grabbing what appears to be the sharpest pair (though they all look pretty damn sharp), he heads to the bathroom. He clutches the white of the porcelain sink and stares into the mirror impassively.

He used to actually quite like his long hair. He’d play with it while he was working, twirling the thick locks around his fingers and untangling knots absentmindedly. When he’d get frustrated he’d pull it out of its tie and tug at it. It was a strange way to ground himself.

Now, though. It’s been used too much for other people’s gain, has been in too many people’s hands for it to truly belong to him. The gravity it provided began to dissipate when Daisy attacked him - she’d grabbed a chunk of it and used it to yank back his head to expose the vulnerable expanse of his neck. As he’d stood there under the mercy of her blade, shaking and pleading, the stinging in his scalp lingered the entire time. It only got worse from there - the awful attempt at tenderness displayed by the Stranger as Nikola brushed aside a few strands to gain access to more flesh, to paste moisturiser onto it with her stiff fingers. The dirt he couldn’t quite scrub out of it after he left the Buried, even when he sat in the tub for hours on end. Even when the water began to run clear, he could still feel the clumps weighing him down, making his head loll to the side with it.

After all that, it wasn’t much to him. He’d wash it, dry it, tie it up. Try not to think of it.

Jon stares down at the gleaming scissors in the sink determinedly. Cutting it off won’t solve much, if anything at all, but it would make him feel a little more comfortable. It’s one of the only things he can control about himself at the moment. If he doesn’t like the way it looks, then fine. It’ll grow back.

His hand flexes and clenches into a fist. Tighten, relax, tighten, relax.

He reaches for the scissors and holds a piece of hair in front of his face, the blades open, hungry, ready to receive.

Then there comes a short, polite cough. He turns to see Martin standing just outside the bathroom, eyes a little wider than normal.

"Good morning," Jon says.

"Um," Martin replies.

Jon then realises that him holding a pair of scissors so close to his eyes not long after ranting about gouging them out would be rather concerning at first glance.

“I’m cutting my hair,” he clarifies, and Martin seems to relax at that.

“Okay.” A pause. “Why?”

He puts down the scissors and shrugs, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

“Just felt like it,” he says, which is kind of true. “Not particularly attached to it anymore.”

Martin hums, taking him at his word. He walks over on socked feet, close enough that Jon can feel the heat radiating from him. There’s a brief moment where his hands pass over the scissors.

“I could help?”

Jon turns to face him completely, brow furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, it’s just that I have experience? Kind of? I cut my own, and I used to cut my mum’s as well...” Martin’s mouth twists downwards at that, and Jon just frowns harder. “I won’t give you my mum’s style, I promise!” He jokes weakly. It falls flat, and the whole atmosphere feels stilted.

“Okay. Why not.”

“...Are you sure? I don’t want to interrupt your whole-”

“It’s fine. I could use some help reaching the back anyway.” As much as he just wants to lop all of it off, he doesn’t want it to look messy.

Martin seems to brighten, probably at the relief of having something to focus on, and he walks off to grab a chair from the small dining table as Jon hovers awkwardly. He positions it in the living room, close to the small TV they’ve been using sporadically. They’ve been steadily working their way through the small cabinet full of DVDs underneath it. However, Jon isn’t exactly sure how long they’re going to be staying, so they might have to...ration them. The week they’ve been here hasn’t exactly been the most vibrant when it comes to entertainment. Maybe one day they’ll relent and open up the dusty box of Monopoly. That could very well be a major test of their relationship, though.

At least, Jon thinks this is a relationship. They haven’t talked about it all that much. All that mattered in the beginning was escaping the Lonely, leaving London, then getting settled here. They’re fumbling around blindly in the dark, and all Jon knows is he wants to hold onto Martin as tightly as possible.

That little train of thought is interrupted by the small clink of Martin taking the scissors off of the sink and grabbing a towel from the rack. He gestures to the chair, inviting Jon to sit, and when he does so he feels the towel being gently wrapped around his shoulders.

There’s the brief sensation of Jon’s hair being pulled at, only slightly, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Okay?” Martin whispers. He understands without knowing, somehow, and Jon is glad that he can’t see the way his face is taut with apprehension, tinged with pain.

“Okay,” he whispers back, trying to emulate Martin’s tone.

“Can I use your tie?” His voice is still soft, and Jon should feel patronised, but he mostly feels soothed. “Just so it’s easier to cut through.”

Jon wordlessly removes the tie from his wrist and hands it over. He tries to hide the little shiver that passes over him when their fingers brush. Martin begins to hum a tune as he gathers the hair up into one handful (not like they did, he would never, it’s Martin, always so good to him), then creates a loose ponytail that falls to his shoulders.

“Fine so far?” Jon nods tentatively. “Alright then.”

There’s the distinct sound of the blades opening, and in one fluid motion Jon feels the weight he’d been carrying leave him.

“There.” Martin comes into view, holding the thick, dark ponytail aloft, smiling crookedly.

“Oh,” he croaks. “That’s...a lot.” His hand comes up to brush his the side of his head, then travels down and grasps at thin air where hair was a second ago. The cut seems to stop at his jaw, the small strands remaining ghosting over his skin.

“It is. Can I keep going?”

Jon, hand still close to his head, makes a noise of assent. Martin takes a second to throw away what’s been cut then returns. He sinks his hands into Jon's scalp, massaging the tension out of it, and Jon makes an unbidden noise of satisfaction that causes his motions to still.

"God, sorry, did I hurt-"

"No! No, it's okay. It felt nice." It felt really nice.

Martin clicks his tongue and continues for a while longer, fingers digging into Jon’s scalp over and over in a wonderful, rhythmic motion until Jon is practically boneless and falling asleep in the chair. He wonders if there’s a not-weird way to ask for this again outside of a hair cutting context.

“So how short are we going here? You kind of have a bob right now,” Martin laughs.

Jon hadn’t really thought about that. He just wanted it off, away, binned and out of his face. He shrugs. “I don’t know, short? Whatever you think will suit me.”

“Any hairstyle would suit you,” Martin points out, like it’s nothing. Jon smiles. “But I’ll do my best.”

A few moments of Martin muttering to himself and circling around the chair is followed by the coolness of the dual blades against the curve of Jon’s ear, the shhk of them pressing together giving him goosebumps. He clearly has done this many times before, given the confident way he navigates the scissors. Jon certainly couldn’t have done this alone, at least not without making a fool out of himself. Martin brushes some hair away from the nape of his neck. His hands are very warm.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you with short hair.”

Jon turns to him, puzzled. “Really?”

The thing with Jon is, when he cares about someone a lot, he tends to insert them in all of his memories, assuming that they’ve always been around (he also has the memory of a goldfish, but he’s sure that’s a whole other thing). Martin has become such an integral part of his life, standing neatly by his side like it’s nothing. Like he was meant to be there and always has.

“It has been quite a few years now, I suppose. Last I remember it was this short I was still in research.” When he goes to touch his head again he notes that he can feel for his ears without having to move a mountain of hair aside.

“Better late than never, I guess! I’m gonna move to the front now.”

Martin has to position himself at an awkward angle to use the scissors properly, his back practically curved into a C shape. His gaze is focused and intense, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Hair falls on Jon’s face as he snips, making him wrinkle his nose and grimace.

“Sorry. You can wash it off soon.”

Jon nods minutely. Then he sneezes. Martin just smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners, then continues.

He remembers why he rarely went to get a professional haircut now. That strange intimacy that comes with someone being so close to you - a stranger - it always disturbed him. The idle chatter that made him grit his teeth, how they’d act like they knew him. Then he didn’t have the time or energy to cut it himself after...everything.

Now he’s looking at Martin, though. It’s odd, yes. Intimate? Definitely. He doesn’t know whether to close his eyes or keep them open. But he’s always found it very hard to turn his gaze away from Martin regardless.

His eyes are a lovely shade of deep blue, and he has far too many scars alongside the smattering of freckles on his face. He looks tired. Very much so. There’s crows feet at the corners of his eyes and lines on his forehead. He notes absently that he actually has a thick beard, too. Of course he noticed it beforehand - he’s felt it scratching the back of his neck when he wakes in the morning with Martin’s arms around him - but it’s worth pointing out. It makes him look much older, especially since the grey in it seems to be overtaking the red.

Martin stands up straight and runs his hands through Jon’s hair a few times before standing back, head tilted to the side.

“I think we’re done. It’s not amazing, but.”

Jon is already shrugging off the towel and heading to the bathroom mirror, feeling weirdly nervous.

He certainly looks different. Unfortunately, though he searched high and low for them, Daisy doesn’t own any clippers. Martin did the best he could with what he had - he’s kept it a bit longer towards the front, some strands grazing his forehead, but the rest is cropped closely to his scalp. Jon tentatively touches it and leans forward. He tries to grasp a chunk of it, see if it’s long enough to pull. He fails.

“It’s perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Jon says firmly. “It’s just what I needed.” He walks back over to Martin and wraps his arms around him instinctively, sighing with contentment when he responds in kind.

“Thank you,” he mumbles into Martin’s t-shirt.

“Of course.” Martin is stroking the back of his neck gently. “You look very handsome.”

Jon’s face burns at the compliment, and he chooses to hide it further rather than reply. They stand there for a while, hair scattered around the floor like autumn leaves, and it feels like a new beginning.

#lil writes #jonmartin #ive been thinking a lot about hair and people's relationship to their hair recently. like. why it means so much to some of us #and it morphed into this #hair is one of the few things we can control since its physical and mostly our own #idk i just feel like its a good way for jon to reclaim some part of himself. it certainly feels that way for me so maybe i am Projecting #anyways! take it!#i was actually gonna write a sequel about martin and his hair but focusing on the hc i have that he grows a beard in s4 so he doesnt have-#to see his own face as much. but lets see how this one is received first!#tumblr is such a bad place to post fic because feedback is so sparse. god.#ILL SHUT UP NOW BYE #oh wait i need to tag #the magnus archives

215 notes · View notes

noircartoons · 3 years

Note

You got any advice for learning another language,,,? I rlly wanna know Spanish cus yknow,,mexican and it seems like a cool language,I'd like some tips or stuff for learning another language bc I have alot of trouble learning Spanish bc I end up loosing motivation or forget certain phrases bc I have the brain of a goldfish :,)

hmm i learned english through tumblr so i can't say much, and i'm going through the same problem of wanting to learn spanish but loosing motivation or having bad memory.

I'd say...put as much spanish on your routine as possible. songs and movies are great, but it's really helpful to find native speakers on social media that actually post a lot daily in spanish. taking online classes or tips also helps, of course, but it may be a bit hard to keep it up and not just loose motivation, which is why searching for stuff you actually like but seeing the content in spanish will give you motivation but also get used to the language.

of course, have patience. and i mean, a lot of patience. it took me 4 years to get basic english right, and i'm still learning and relearning stuff everyday(heck i still make easy mistakes like 'lose' and 'loose' even if i know the difference just bc i keep forgetting it). give yourself time to learn and relearn things, give yourself time to take breaks from learning the language, even if they're weeks of breaks(if that is what you need, and if you can get back after it). just don't ask too much of yourself, its a whole new language youre learning! it takes everyone several years to learn, why would you ask more of yourself when even native speakers take years to get used to their language?

songs help a lot in pronunciation. the more the better. listen them with english subtitles to start associating the words. it really works.

translators, whether google or friends of yours, will be your best friend. in my first year of english i spoke almost entirely through google translator, only being able to remember two or three words in a sentence. and it is a bit exhaustive, but it also helps you associate words.

idk if you have experience learning other languages or not, but that's really what you want the most, to be able to associate words in your head and translate in your head a sentence from english to spanish. after some time you may start doing it quicker and quicker, and youll find yourself writing entire paragraphs in minutes without needing to translate every word in your head! but to get to that translators will do wonders.(if you can't translate words in your head store bought is fine)

and lastly its always good to talk to native speakers and ask them to correct you, if theyre willing to. even if you feel like your spanish is awful, even if you need translators to talk to them, even if you keep wondering if you even make sense to them. the more you talk to native speakers, the more words and rules youll learn, and the more you forgive your mistakes and allow others to correct you, the better youll get.

i think thats about it? sorry its long xP

#pierre.txt #ask

8 notes · View notes

keyofjetwolf · 3 years

Text

Bonus Question Answers! (anime heat 3)

I asked a silly question! You gave me incredible answers. SO VERY MANY INCREDIBLE ANSWERS. If yours is listed below, you’ve earned an entry in a random draw to win a GIFTENING liveblog OF YOUR CHOICE

SURPRISE EVERYONE WHO ANSWERED THIS ONE GETS AN ENTRY (with extra entry if you pulled a specific line). This has been such a struggle for me for the past ... you know, million years or something, and each of you made me feel so good, thank you. ♥

—

Q: This is reaching back into the memory a bit, I know, but what's your favourite of my fanfic? (BONUS BONUS ENTRY if you pull a specific line!)

* i cannot remember a specific line off the top of my head but i remember the post-S series dealing with usagi's trauma from pharaoh 90 (sound of silence?) was a gut punch and a half -- anewconstellation

* "Blue shirt. Pearl buttons." I think this was the first time I read you writing the Outers, particularly Neptune and Uranus, and, uh, holy shit. Absolutely note-perfect dialogue and dynamic, particularly for that period of Sailor Moon S when Michiru and Haruka used intimacy of speech and gesture as an instrument of distancing and obfuscation (of their goals to the Inners, of their hearts to themselves and to each other, of the heli-pad to the staff at Mugen Academy, etc). It was so clear, and so clearly *them* that I could actually hear the intonations of their respective seiyuu. And then to deploy such spot-on character elements in combination with the stakes and the maturity the anime never reached for, my WORD, are you trying to kill me??? The pacing, the restraint! What an absolute gift. You're a wonder. (also your drabbles are fuckin peerless, and the BTL concept is such a clever series framework) -- @rasiqra-revulva

* This was so hard to pick from, but I finally settled on "Cause and Affect" - it's such a heartbreaking story, but the juxtaposition between the clinical lines of information from the computer to the memories Ami is dealing with to the horror of the visuals around her... it's so bright and sharp and PRESENT. It keeps me in the story, that mix of tones and feelings. And the final line? Perfection. "Number of regrets: none" What an amazing take on Ami and how she processes information and how she deals with the situation she is in. I still get chills up my back when I read the story. -- @amberlilly

* I love your Between the Lines series, it's how I found your Tumblr and liveblogs back in the day -- @amboato

* Author Alert. “So never, ever, going to live this down.” -- @crunchbuttsteak

* "Of her word" quote "But for all that, it remained sand. Rei erased it with one swipe." -- Dei

* Between The Lines. Adding further character/emotional depth to canon is YES PLZ. I really liked the whole idea of Usagi having trauma post-Pharaoh 90 and all the chapters that hit on that. On a less serious note Chibs' circus-related PTSD and freaking out when Hotaru wants to go to the circus kills me every time. ("But your precious dreams Hotaru-chan!") -- forgottenfae

* This is probably the obvious choice, but "The Sounds of The Silence" has haunted me in all the best ways since I first read it. The way you write Rei, Usagi, and Rei and Usagi hits me right in the heart every time. This particular fic, with Usagi so traumatized, and Rei being as soft and gentle as Usagi needs, will always stick with me. I pulled up the fic to try and narrow down a single line, and ultimately there's no real debate. "She would never stop trying to do more, but for now, she simply did this." That line is, at its core, the essence of Rei Hino. And it is perfection. -- gatorsandglitter

* I don't expect this to win at all, just sharing,, but I just super fondly remembered the goggles and all the amazing content, meta, and fic those inspired, both from you and others -- @goosebytrade

* "You Win or You Die" my favorite line is "She and Rei WOULD have The Moment, they WOULD get their thousand years of bliss, and they WOULD be making out after all this was over. Like, SO HARD." -- @i-needa-nap-please

* I'm always really bad at answering questions like this because my mind has pretty much become a goldfish in my old age and I have a hard time remembering specific fics; it all sort of starts to jumble up in my brain and things get lost. But I have always loved reading your writing, it's what got me onto this godforsaken website in the first place -- it was just before Crystal dropped, and we were all foolishly full of hope and excitement, and you were going through the Moon Pride video and waxing poetic about the FRIENDSHIPS and I was like, "YES! Finally! Someone who understands why I love this stupid kids' show!" I think I sent you an ask saying this before, (but who knows if you ever got it, Tumblrs being what they are - indifferent) but I tried reading fanfic and even published novels based on properties, like the Buffy novels and Star Trek and Star Wars novels, for a long time, and mostly found it frustrating and annoying and just... wrong. It always had this awkwardness and clunkiness to it that didn't do anything for me and just constantly screamed "THIS IS A FANFIC IT IS NOT REAL WRITING" at me. Didn't like it. But, I liked yours. Yours didn't feel awkward or clunky. You have never written any sentences like, "Rei watched the blonde stand up" where "the blonde" is Minako, and I don't know why fanfic writers think that calling characters "the blonde" or "the redhead" or whatever is sexy or cute but it ain't (sorry, pet peeve tangent). So, when you were writing stuff more, I would read it like it was going out of style, and you led me to Doc's writing, which had the same natural, "this is real writing" quality, and I loved hers, too. Anyway, my favorites of yours have always been the Between the Lines stuff. I just love the "hidden" moments that we didn't get to see. The Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead bits of Sailor Moon (speaking of fanfic that actually works) that bring so much depth to characters we know and love already or to characters we see only briefly. Also, the Shadow Senshi, because FUCK. Just... Kill Me. In any event, I know that writing has been difficult for you of late, and I know how that feels, so I hope that people who are actually able to answer this question have given you some places to go and draw strength from so that it can become part of your life again. TBH, I've been using the bonus questions on your Giftening surveys and Doc's 8 Days surveys as an excuse to try doing some small bits of quick, no pressure, nobody's gonna see it unless you or Doc actually LIKE it, don't think about it writing, and it has been helpful. I hope you can find something that gives you the same opportunity. Now that I've written you a novel that doesn't even answer the question you asked (goldfish, remember? *sigh*), have a gorgeous Tuesday! -- @incorrecttact

* The one with Pluto and Queen Serenity, where Serenity is selfish in a very Usagi way, but her arrogance combined with that selfishness makes it a fatal flaw? I liked that one a lot. -- Jules

* the bit you wrote to 'fill in' a gap for why during r did mamoru act like a distant jerk. My favourite parts were Rei coming to see the same dream, and despite being the one to have the biggest reason to believe in these kinds of prophetic visions, Rei still doesn't believe fate is set in stone. -- just... a fan. a well-baked one

* Make It To New Year's -- @kaleidodreams

* ahhh, where is a link to all of your fanfic? It's the series you started after S, with Rei comforting Usagi, because like you I was let down by the fact that they never followed up on what Usagi saw, or even how she dealt, with the end of S. runner up: the one where Usagi is about to give birth because everything you write with Rei and Usagi is amazing. -- kari

* There was a drabble/draft/something that you used one of my prompts for, and I prompted you with Usagi and Rei, but you did it from Luna's perspective and THAT WAS SO UNEXPECTED and it turned out SO GOOD cause like!!!!!! You made Sailor Moon both someone Luna cares for, because still the legacy of the moon, and someone utterly discouraging for her because *this should not be*, and wow what a way to make it both about Usagi herself and about her powers. -- katrani

* I love the btl fics, they fill in the missing gaps, add depth to the story, and sometimes smooth over things (SuperS) when canon is just...blah. One line I really liked was: “I was listening, at first, but then I started thinking about how hungry I was, and how a pork bun would be really good right now, and then I wondered what makes a thing a bun, and like, if you put ANYTHING in a bun, does it become a Thing-Bun, so could you make a bun out of another bun and would it be a Bun Bun, and wouldn’t that be the greatest thing to– Rei?” It's a great run-on, stream of thought sentence that just really catches Usagi's voice, is hilarious, and such a natural progression. -- @kumeko

* “HUG,” Usagi demanded again, because dammit, she’d been promised a hug and SOMEONE was going to deliver. (The one where Michiru has the hiccups. Because it's fun HaruMichi stuff, because it weaponises Usagi in a useful way, because it manages to (gently) make fun of both perfect!Michiru and saint!Usagi without being mean to either character, and also because I get hiccups a lot and I haaaaate them.) -- nerdy-flutterings

* I can't remember a specific fic, but I LOVE your Shadow Senshi headcanons and they're the main reason I started writing my own Shadow Senshi stories. -- @notesfromtheidiotbox

* The Figuarts saga is the Sailor Moon fic I never knew I needed -- Raye

* Special Delivery is a delight. So much Rei Certainty (that ends up being misplaced). So much Usagi being The Most Usagi About Pregnancy. So much Comedic Hijinks, because why the hell WOULDN’T ‘the Senshi get blindsided when Usagi goes into labor’ end up going full screwball? There’s a lot of great lines there (Rei’s theory about Chibs taking control of the Gate of Time and manipulating things is fantastic, as is the ending,) but my favorite is definitely “Rei Hino if I give birth to my daughter on the side of the road I swear I will go back in time and tear all the pages out of your favorite coloring book! [...] I’ll break the crayons too, Rei-chan!” Delightfully specific and childish, especially since Usagi sticks with it, and that particular brand of comic specificity is definitely a highlight of yours. -- Regalli

* Fire on Mountain!!! When I got to “Her voice was deeper than most expected when facing the certainty of her. It was rough, sandpaper running over cherry. She’d been a singer, once. Nobody would have believed her.” I was like oh. OH! -- Sasha

* My favorite of your fanfic, one one of the first I read is 'Hard to Break'. And my absolute favorite line is Usagi's panic when Minako tries to smoke: "Minako who was almost certainly dying, the cigarette had spread its evil and killed her instantly oh god." -- @shavedjudomonkey

* Tonight Ami would grieve, and wish she understood why.' This Between the Lines about Ami getting her mini computer both haunts me and brings tears to my eyes. -- @shonasof

* I can't remember the title, but it's the one where Minako realizes that Rei's been writing Sailor V fanfic under the name Red Bow -- Somariel

* You would think Mako-chan's Happy Ending, but nope, this one goes to Hard to Break (although I had to look up the exact name.) This thing is filled with such great lines. How am I supposed to pick out one? "[Watch out, boys,]" Minako said in smooth and entirely unnecessary English. "[Lady Super Cool is on the prowl.]" -- Ultrace

* I forget the title, but it's the 'last senshi standing' fic where Ami is reflecting on the battle that took the others from her. Detatched and cold as she analyzes Rei Minako and Mako and finally Usagi's death with a medical efficiency, going through her Visors readout and then reflecting that the clinical words were nothing compared to what she'd actually seen. following up the method of death of the senshi with a statistic in relation to her friendship with the girl. Number of milkshakes shared, number of conversations lasting well into the night, number of hugs, number of smiles that brightened the darkest of moods. Describing how Rei's heart was pulped in a monster's grip, Minako's once beautiful face smashed against the rocks, Mako's lightning that outlived its mistress as she and Usagi ran off, and then finally that one last attempt to protect Usagi failing as 'Cervical Fracture' flashes on her visor. And From there she just... accepts death. sitting beside where Usagi had fallen and waiting for the end. it's dark af but it's the first one that always comes to mind when i think about ur fics :> -- Vega

* I am extremely predictable here with two of my choices, as you know that I am obsessed with Fire on the Mountain and Blue Shirt, two things you wrote when you "definitely couldn't write" (Sidenote: My new year's resolution is to be harder on your about writing) We all know why I love blue shirt, it's basically an underhand pitch to the face for me, but Fire on the Mountain has a quality of regret and longing that I really connected with, something that really struck me in a way that was powerful. It's different from a lot of your inners work, and I think about Mina posing as Rei, in her disguise magic in the woods, and all the reasons why, fairly often. Something that MAY come as a surprise to you, is I really wish we got more ofyour overwatch stuff, and maybe I'll just keep asking for this for my birthday for the rest of our natural lives, but I think of like, the one you wrote on 7/14/20, with Pharah longing to have a man to shoot in the face because that would be easier than the emotions around whatever's going on with her, and I'm utterly tantalized. And I loved that hurt/comfort you wrote for me, where Pharah had this single minded drive to find out what had happened to Angela, and Tracer's trying to, well, comfort her, on some level, and the way you described Pharah's "animal cry" was FANTASTIC, and as always I am deeply jealous of your Tracer voice and IF YOU WOULD WRITE IT MORE IT WOULD HELP ME. -- WRITE, BITCH.

* The one were Hotaru confronted Michiru and Haruka about how they had tried to kill her in order to stop the Silence. Such a good little moment =w= -- zorrito

AND THEN THESE WERE UNSIGNED SAD FACE

* Chosen. I like your Overwatch stuff but Chosen was a goddamn masterpiece.

* Operation: Heart Angels. Senshi going after Mamoru for his bullshit was something I didn't know I needed.

* The entirety of Beggars Would Ride, including every single line of Anya's dialogue.

—

I’ll be drawing for the bonus liveblog around the start of THE GIFTENING 2020 (currently looking to be Monday, 11 January 2021). Each bonus question is another chance to earn an entry! I CAN ABSOLUTELY AND SHAMELESSLY BE BOUGHT.

#THE GIFTENING 2020 #THE GIFTENING 2020 admin stuff #THE GIFTENING 2020 bonus q #in which jw gets a fuzzy #jw writes stuff

3 notes · View notes

darklymelanatedstories · 4 years

Text

Dragonball High (ft Goku)

Its the first day at a new high school. I wasn't really nervous, I loved meeting new people plus my friends Bulma and Krillin were there. We've been friends my whole life. I put on my uniform, the classic white shirt, black pants and red tie. I gotta say I don't like formal wear so I put my jacket over it since I didn't have a blazer.

"Goku, hurry up its time to go!"

Master Roshi is calling. I better hurry, can't wait to see the strongest kids there and take them on.

I grabbed my stuff and ran out my room. I grabbed my giant lunch from the kitchen before saying bye to Roshi and flying off Capsule High. The first high school that let aliens and anyone else that wasn't human learn on Earth.

I landed outside the school gate. Half monsters, animal people, aliens and humans all together. It was a beautiful site. If only the rest of world was this accepting.

Next to me pulled up a nice, blue Capsule Corp brand car. Immediately I knew. She stepped out of the car dressed in her white shirt, blue skirt, wearing a signature brown glove, red Capsule Corp jersey and pink sneakers.

Looks like i wasn't the only one changing up the uniform.

"Hey Goku."she said. "Its been so long. How you been?"

"I'm good Bulma. So you finally got that drivers licence huh?"I asked, practically stating the obvious.

"Yep and my dad and I made this beauty. Now its perfect by my standards and full of surprises."she said confidently. "So you ready for your first day?"

"Yeah and I can't wait to join the martial arts team I've been hearing about and fight the strongest fighters here."I said, hitting my fist in my palm in excitement.

"Typical Goku."she sighed. Though Bulma does know how I get. "Though there is this guy who just transferred here a few weeks ago and he's a Saiyan too."

"Really? Another Saiyan!?"I exclaimed. Great. He must be strong.

"Yeah but he's a real meanie though."she sighed. "Anyway let me show you around." She led me inside and showed me around the school. Man was it huge. But anything sponsored by Capsule Corp should be.

The tour ended at my locker which was across from hers. She said I'd probably lose the key or forget the combination so she made me a fingerprint scanner on my locker. She knew me so well.

"Hey Goku!!"I turned away from Bulma to see my old buddy, Krillin, running towards us. He hasn't changed at all besides the fact that he grew hair.

"Yo, Krillin."I said waving to my shorter friend. "So whats new? Are you in the Super MMA team I've heard so much about?"

He expression changed after I said that, like he was angry and disappointed. He looked down in disappointment, his fists clenched.

"What happened buddy?"I asked.

"Well...its just..."

"He didn't make it."Bulma said, cutting him off.

"It wasn't my fault!"he exclaimed. "If it wasn't for Vegeta..." He was so mad, I've never seen Krillin this way. What did this guy do?

"Woah wait, who's this Vegeta?"I asked. They both just stood there in silence for a moment.

"Vegeta is the other Saiyan I was telling you about."Bulma said. "And he's not exactly Mr. Popular more like Mr Thinks-he's-high-and-mighty."she said sarcastically. "He's tormented a lot of people since he got here."

"That bad huh?"

"Yep and he's one of the strongest on the team, he's beaten everyone."she stated.

"Well in that case, how bout I teach him a lesson for bullying?"I asked. "Just lead me to him Bulma."

"Hold up. I can't, Goku, class is about to start and you can't just punch a guy you barely know in the face."Bulma said stopping me in my tracks.

"Wait, are you defending him Bulma?",Krillin asked accusingly. He folded his arms and glared at her. She immediately just laughed it off as a bead of sweat trickled down her forehead. "What....no, how could you even think that. Hehehe."

As if on cue, the bell rang. Karma taking Bulma's side once again. "Oh look the bell, lets head to homeroom Goku.",Bulma said, she grabbed my wrist and practically pulled me to class. I was actually unable to keep up and almost stumbled twice. Boy, was she in a hurry.

We entered our homeroom and immediately people started acting buddy-buddy with Bulma. She's probably the most popular in this school.

The teacher introduced me to the class before I went to sit by Bulma, Krillin and their friends.

I sat on an empty seat next to Krillin by the window. Bulma introduced me to their friends.

Tien, a triclops, I had to try so hard to stop myself from touching his 3rd eye.

Yamcha, Bulma's ex boyfriend, I'm pretty sure she's the one that gave him those scars as a warning to other guys below her standards.

18, she's apperently an android. And I caught Krillin looking at her funny. Whats all that about?

Apparently they're all part of Super MMA team too. But not Krillin, what the heck? He totally deserves to be on the team.

We were all talking for a while till the teacher started calling names. I was too distracted, thinking about the Super MMA team to notice the teacher calling my name three times.

"Goku!"everyone shouted causing me to fall off my chair in surprise.

"Ow.",I whispered. "Oh sorry Mrs...uh whatever your name is. Here." I nervously said.

"Goku, her name is literally engraved on the front of her desk.",Bulma stated. I scratched the back of my head and chuckled. "Sorry I cannot English today."

"Boy you're hopeless."

I sat back down as the teacher called Vegeta's name. I searched the room for him but he wasn't there.

"Vegeta?",the teacher called again.

"Calm down I'm here.",a voice said. I glanced at the door to see a spiky haired dude leaning against it. He was wearing a grey denim jacket over his shirt, no tie and black fingerless gloves. So that's Vegeta.

Everyone just stared in silence, some kid even stopped breathing once he saw Vegeta. Even the teacher looked nervous.

He walked past us and gave Krillin a glare. Poor guy almost fell off his seat. I'm pretty sure that amused Vegeta because he just chuckled then glanced at Bulma. A grin appeared on his face to which Bulma responded with sticking out her tongue. After seeing this he slowly licked his lips, which made Bulma blush and look away. He saw me staring at him and gave me a dirty look then sat in his seat at the back. This guy practically took the whole back row.

I was about to get up and talk to Vegeta when a black haired girl stumbled in. She was wearing the same uniform except with red fingerless fighting gloves and red sneakers.

"Chi Chi you're-"

"Yeah sorry I'm late Mrs...uhm...ms...sorry ma'am.",she stammered. Looks like I'm not the only one who forgot the teachers name. She looked familiar and I feel like I've heard that name before.

She glanced at me. I immediately sat back down, feeling a little weird. She came up to us.

"Hey guys.",she greeted.

"Hey Chi Chi."

She looked back at me. Her eyes hungrily stared at me like I was a piece of steak.

"Hello Goku.",she said softly. "Never thought I'd see you again."

What? How'd she know who I was and where have we met before? Well she looks like a fighter, maybe we met at a tournament. But I just stared in confusion.

"Uh. Do I know you?",I asked nervously. Everyone just fell to the ground. Chi Chi's eyes which were filled with what seemed like adoration changed to pure rage. I could literally see flames.

"Why you!",she started. "Bastard!" Woah, language.

"I can't believe you don't remember me!"she said as she punched me in the chest. It really hurt, I couldn't help but smile. Boy, she was strong, beautiful and fiesty. I just wish I could remember where we met.

"Hey sorry, its not my fault.",I said defensively.

"Yeah Goku fell on the head as a child and ever since then he'd sometimes have the memory of a goldfish.",Krillin said, stepping in between us.

She just huffed and sat on the chair next to Bulma, her arms folded.

The bell rang and we proceeded to head to our classes. Krillin and I had most of the same classes. Though I did see Vegeta a lot but he kept to himself unless he was terrorizing students.

It was lunch time and me and the gang headed to the cafeteria where I met some of their other friends. Puar, Oolong, Chiaotzu.

I left my table to get my food, the cafeteria food smelled delicious. Another perk of having rich people sponsor the school. I filled my plate but the lunch lady stopped me before i could finish everything. She even took five burgers off my tray. Aw man, now I was left with four burgers, two small bowls of noodles, 3 cupcakes, 7 apples and 1 pudding cup. I'm not gonna survive on this.

I sat back down in disappointment and everyone was staring at me.

"I forgot that Goku loved to eat." Krillin laughed. "Well I didn't, thats why I sent Roshi those lunch boxes as a welcoming gift for Goku.",Bulma said.

I immediately remembered the lunch boxes Roshi gave me today.

"Oh my lunch boxes. Almost forgot."I cheerfully said. Now I can snack after MMA tryouts. "Thanks Bulma!"

Suddenly I saw a hand snatch three of my burgers as fast as lightning.

"Thanks for the lunch, you fool."

I looked up to see Vegeta staring at me for a moment. Like he was observing me. Like he knew something about me that I didn't.

"Hey you!",Bulma shouted. "If it won't trouble your inconsiderate, annoying, high-and-mighty ass, we'd like to get back to our lunch."

He glared at her, he was really pissed, guess he wasn't use to someone speaking to him like that. Everyone in the cafeteria was soon staring at our table. Vegeta turned around, his eyes travelled around the room. The whole cafeteria bowed down to avoid his glare.

"Oh and keep the lunch. I know you don't get fed decent food and you're probably tired of eating out of the dumpster you call a home." Oh snap! Everyone lost it. The rich, preppy prodigy dissed the Great Vegeta.

"Why you little-",he started. I stood up in front of him so he wouldn't get any closer to Bulma. I knew she could handle herself but I really just wanted to see this guy fight.

"So I hear you're the king bee of this school, huh?"

"You could say that."

"Well I got a question for ya'.",I said. He grunted in response. "How 'bout we take this outside."

He smiled and followed me outside. Soon half the school was surrounding us.

I got in my fighting stance. "So Bulma tells me you're a Saiyan and that you're really strong.",I said.

"Oh she did, did she?" He glanced over at Bulma for a moment.

"Hey don't get any ideas!!"she shouted at Vegeta. He frowned and turned back to me.

"Lets see what you've got.",he said, getting into position. We both just stood their for a moment till Vegeta came at me with a punch. I blocked it then hit him in the jaw, sending him back.

"Not bad, for a peasant."he said. Wow he really does think he's high and mighty.

We went at each other with everything, well I was. I don't know if he was doing the same.

"Get him Goku!",Yamcha shouted.

"Yeah, punch that smirk off his face!",Bulma added.

Vegeta's foot aimed at my ribs but he got distracted by Bulma's words. That was my chance. I grabbed his leg and swung him around a few times before releasing him into a wall.

"Grrr...Kakarot.",he mumbled.

"What about a carrot?"

With no response he tackled me to the ground and punched me repeatedly, barely giving me a chance to block.

"Goku!" That voice. Chi Chi?

"Goku get up and crush this dweeb. Make him suffer!" Why do I feel like I've heard all that before?

"You dweeb, I'm gonna crush you."she said aftee trying to kick me in the face. I dodged it and tackled her.

"Do you give?",I asked, satisfied with her defeat. I held her arm tight and gropped her waist with her other arm in mine. Preventing any escape.

"Never!",she said. She stomped on my foot, making me release her arm as I winced in pain. "I'm going to make you suffer." She jabbed her elbow in my stomach. I coughed, clutching my stomach and chuckled.

"My you're strong. I've never met someone like you before."I, stated, still in a little pain. She positioned herself in her stance and smiled.

"Thats because there's only one of me."

Chi Chi, I remember now. I snapped out of it after hearing Tien.

"Shouldn't we help him?"

"Yeah, I say lets do it."Yamcha agreed.

"Guys wait Goku will be-"Bulma said. "Yeah, we should help him, Goku's my friend."Krillin said cutting her off.

Vegeta sent a ball of energy towards them before they could reach me. Guess, he didn't want any interruptions. I could hear their screams but knew they'd be fine.

Now's my chance. I punched him in the face and kicked him off me. I started forming my Kamehameha in the palms of my hand. Vegeta immediately followed with his own. We just stood there, balls of energy growing in our hands.

"KAAAAMEEEEEHHHHAAAAAMEEEHHH-"

"Stop!",a stern female voice made everyone freeze on the spot. Even Vegeta.

"Oh shxt its the Principal.",said someone in the crowd. I glanced over to the light purple woman, she had pointy ears and small white horns on her head, she wore a white suit, a black shirt underneath, black heels and her black hair was tied into a cute messy top bun.

She actually didn't look bad. Looked like she trains...wait the principal is an alien too!?

There were a bunch of guys in black suits behind her. Some alien, some human. Next to one of the guards stood a green dude in our uniform but with his sleeves torn, showing of his ripped muscles. He had pointy ears too and antennas on his forehead. He didn't look quite happy to be here.

The Principal glanced over at Vegeta. He tried to look tough but I could sense he was getting nervous.

"Vegeta.",she said.

"Yes I know ma'am, wont happen again."he said, his voice lowered a bit out of embarrassment.

"Hmp." She turned to me. "I assume you're the new student, Goku." It wasn't a question. She already knew.

"Uhm, yes and you're the principal right?"I asked. I lent out my hand hoping for a handshake but as soon as I did everyone gasped. She glanced at my hand and back at me.

"I'm Principal Toriyama. Goku, Bulma says you're close friends and she's convinced me to enroll you in our school.",she said leaving me hanging. "I hope I didn't make a mistake."

I frantically waved my hands in the air. "Uh no, no, ma'am, I promise it won't ha-happen again."I said.

"Good because I've requested Sensei to add you to the Super MMA team."

"What!!",Vegeta and I screeched in unison. But for completely different reasons.

"Yes, we'll be battling students from across the galaxy and we could use someone like you.",she said. "So, I assume thats a yes." I glanced over at my best friend for a minute.

"Only if my friend Krillin can join too."

"Really Goku!?",Krillin asked with hope I'm his eyes.

"Yeah you're my best friend, I'd be crazy to leave you behind."

"Well I was planning on filling that spot with Piccolo over here.",she said pointing at the green dude, who's arms were folded, still didn't look happy to be here. "But I suppose we have room for one more."

"Yes!",I shouted.

"No!",Vegeta retaliated.

"What was that Vegeta?"the principal asked. "I could easily give away your spot."

"Uh...nothing."

"Then its settled. Now-",she said. She snapped her fingers and a bunch of guys in suits came with a toolbox, a bunch of flowers, paint supplies, shovels, bricks and cement, a wheelbarrow. "-you three are going to clean up this mess and fix what you broke."

"Three?",I asked.

"Yes, you, Vegeta and Piccolo. Piccolo destroyed a few things too, earlier today."she clarified. After all this, her expression never changed. It was still cold and emotionless.

The bell rang and the principal cleared her throat. "Get to work you three. As for everyone else, head to class. Now."she ordered. "Oh, and stop calling me ma'am, makes me feel old."

"Umm, Principal Toriyama.",I heard Krillin say. "Can I help them?"

"Me too."Bulma raised her hand. "And us." The whole gang offered to help. Good 'cause I dont think it'd be a good idea to leave me alone with Vegeta and some grumpy looking green guy I've never met before.

"Sure, I don't care as long as everything is clean."she said blandly. She then left us there, with the men in suits following her.

"Aw, thanks guys."I said. Vegeta just scoffed, grabbed a shovel and began filling the crater we made, alone. I grabbed one too and went over to help him.

"I don't need you're help."he growled.

"Would you just get off your high horse and let us help."Bulma said. Vegeta just grunted and continued.

Boy does she have a way with him. If I said that I'd probably get punched in the face.

Everyone started working. Vegeta and I were filling the crater. Tien and Yamcha were fixing the wall. Krillin was fixing and repainting some benches and poles we broke. Chi Chi, Puar and Oolong tended to the flowers and plants. 18 was helping Bulma fix the wires Vegeta blasted when he tried to hit Krillin, Yamcha, 18 and Tien. Piccolo was fixing the fountain by himself, he enjoys his own company.

"Hey Piccolo."I called out.

"What?" He sounded almost annoyed.

"I'm excited to have you on our team. You must be really strong if they added you.",I said cheerfully.

He smirked and went back to working on the fountain. New school, new friends, new partners and a chance to fight the best fighters across the universe.

Yep, I'm gonna love it here at Capsule High.

#Goku #vegeta #bulma #chi chi #Krillin #Toriyama #Dragonball highschool au #highschool au #piccolo

4 notes · View notes

franklyshipping · 4 years

Text

Day 12 ~ Christmas 2019 Ego Fanfics

DAY 12 DARLINGS LET'S GET ON THIS LET'S GO GO GO WOOOOOOP LET'S DO IT!

Now, I think we can all agree that Christmas is very much filled with class, elegance and beauty. From glittering decorations on Christmas trees, to the uniqueness of each and every snowflake that falls during the season. However….Christmas also harbours some of the most tacky things in existence, but the fact that its Christmas makes us love it all anyway. I am talking of course, about Christmas jumpers. These gaudy eyesores that are celebrated the more obnoxious and disgraceful they are is probably one of my personal favourite parts of the season. They frankly are just wild….just like a pair of brothers I know actually; namely….the Demon Hunting Jims. The pair were sat on the floor of their office/cozy room, giggling as they watched Gooper roll around on the floor in delight in the forest green Christmas jumper that they’d both fashioned for him.

‘Doho you like it buddy?’

The eldest, known at Ouija Board Jim (or Ouija for short), asked with a grin, to which Gooper replied with the happiest string of gurgles and squeals known to man and goop. He was just rolling and hopping about as he relished in the soft wool surrounding his goopy form, overjoyed that someone had even thought to bring him into this tradition of Christmas jumpers. At his happy sounds, the younger, meeker Night Vision Camera Jim (or simply, Camera Jim for short), giggled.

‘Ihi think that’s a yehes…’

Camera Jim pet Gooper happily, smiling at the creature happy purrs as he wiggled into his touches. His older brother watched fondly; he adored the beacon of innocence that was his little brother, despite their spooky line of work, he never strayed from being an innocent little bean. Soon, Gooper gave both brothers little grateful nudges, before rolling out of the office giddily, beyond eager to show all the other egos the pretty gift. Camera Jim smiled as he looked on after the little glob.

‘He’s such a cutie…’

Ouija Jim snickered softly, and ruffled Camera Jim’s hair as he teased.

‘Just like you basically Jim.’

Camera Jim pursed his lips, batting his brother’s hands away and fixing his hair as he muttered under his breath.

‘A-Am not…’

Ouija Jim always teased him like this, Camera Jim sometimes felt like his brother just lived to try and embarrass him and emphasise on their 13 minute age difference. Ouija Jim grinned and retorted to his brother’s mumble.

‘Says the Jim with the cute snowflake jumper, snowflake themed socks, and squishy baby cheeks.’

Camera Jim’s mouth opened and closed indignantly as his cheeks gained warmth, like he was doing an impression of a flustered goldfish. So what if every Christmas since they were kids he liked to wear a snowflake themed jumper? It was certainly no grounds for mean teasing like that! And frankly the comment about his slightly less chiselled face was just SO uncalled for, it wasn’t his fault he was one of the few Jims with a baby face!

‘D-Don’t be mean, I-I can’t help my face!’

Camera Jim pouted, and took the mature decision to shuffle around on his butt so he had his back to his brother, and his arms folded, totally not like he was in a little strop. Ouija Jim couldn’t help but aww at him as he shuffled up to him, nudging his shoulder fondly as he crooned.

‘Awwww I didn’t say it to be mean! You’re a soft cutie-pie and we love you for it!’

Camera Jim let out a huff as he blushed even more, mumbling as he bowed his head.

‘B-But it’s embarrassing! I’m always gonna be the baby Jim w-with the baby face…’

Ouija Jim’s expression softened, and he decided to lean his head softly against his brother’s arm as he replied.

‘Hey now, even if that’s true, that’s not a bad thing!’

Camera Jim hugged his knees, his voice going even quieter.

‘Isn’t it?’

‘Hey! Of course it isn’t, you know that Jim!’

Camera Jim softly whined, making his brother frown. When he teased his brother about his baby face he always meant it endearingly and lovingly, h never meant to hurt his feelings or make him feel bad! He shuffled so he was sat in front of his brother now, and Ouija Jim cupped Camera Jim’s cheeks in his hands fondly as he spoke with a soft smile.

‘C’mon, what’ll it take to cheer you up?’

Camera Jim merely shrugged, keeping his gaze averted. Ouija Jim nibbled his lip in thought, trying to think of something that would lift his brother’s spirits…and as his eyes flicked over his little brother’s snowflake-covered Christmas jumper, he had an epiphany. A memory. A memory of a little family game. Ouija Jim grinned and whispered.

‘…what if we play your favourite Christmas game?’

Camera Jim’s eyes suddenly widened as his gaze snapped to his brother, before he then looked around the room for a moment to see if there was anyone else there or nearby. When he saw that there wasn’t, Camera Jim tentatively looked back to his brother, and fiddled with his jumper sleeves as he mumbled with a meek, hopeful smile.

‘….d-….d-doyoumeancountingsnowflakes?’

Ouija Jim smiled and nodded, and felt warmth build up in his chest as he saw all hints of moroseness fall away from his brother’s face. The game Counting Snowflakes, was a very special festive game….and it was a tickle game. Ever since they were little at Christmas, Camera Jim always wore clothes covered in depictions of snowflakes, with no exceptions, and a game had developed wherein Ouija Jim tried to count all the snowflakes on his brother’s festive jumpers or pyjamas (always resulting in Camera Jim getting tickled to smithereens, which he absolutely loved). It was Ouija Jim’s favourite game to, because he got to tickle the hell out of his adorable little brother like nobody else could; he smiled fondly down at Camera Jim now.

‘Do you wanna play?’

Camera Jim blushed a bright red now, just because the whole thing was so childish, but he nevertheless nodded bashfully. Ouija Jim kissed his brother’s forehead softly with a chuckle.

‘Okey dokey, now you lie down Jim, I feel like this is going to be a loooong game….’

Camera Jim let out a bashful giggle, lying down almost immediately as he grasped and fiddled with the sleeves of his jumper giddily, any past sad thoughts gone as the anticipation of his brother’s amazing, teasy tickling filled his flustered mind. Ouija Jim got up on his knees and loomed over his brother, humming and musing as he looked over him.

‘My, my, what a lot of snow we’ve had!’

Camera Jim giggled harder as his brother’s goofiness, whining into his hands which he kept bashfully at his face; Ouija Jim was trying seriously hard not to melt a his brother’s cuteness right now. He hummed once more, before teasingly stroking down his brother’s upper arms as he cooed.

‘I think starting at the top is the way we have to go little Jim! Now then, one, twooo, three….’

Camera Jim was encased in a proper giggle fit now as his outer biceps were tapped and traced with the gentlest of tickles, giving him goose-bumps and chills all over.

‘O-Ohohoho jeheheez….’

Ouija Jim grinned at how this was all already affecting his brother, how we already smiling and blushing up a storm. Ouija Jim thought back to all the other times they’d played….and how as his brother’s love for tickles grew, the game became a way for him to ask for it without him getting too embarrassed. Ouija Jim knew Camera Jim was loving every second, and so was he.

‘Having fun Jim?’

He cooed, making Camera Jim nod bashfully and cutely.

‘U-Uhuh huhuh….’

Ouija Jim’s grin widened as he kept tickling his brother’s upper arms, and he teasingly lowered his voice as he spoke.

‘I don’t remember your arms being this ticklish….this isn’t a tickle spot you forgot to tell me about, is it?’

Camera Jim squeaked at the playful threatening tone in his brother’s voice, and shook his head giddily with wide, innocent eyes.

‘N-Noho ihit’s nahat Ihi swehear Jim!’

Ouija Jim chuckled and kissed his brother’s forehead again.

‘Okay, okay I believe you….’

He cooed gently as Camera Jim hummed happily, before he let his fingers slide down to drum at his little brother’s tummy. Camera Jim gasped as his giggles went a much higher pitch very quickly.

‘J-J-Jihihihiiim!’

Ouija Jim smirked as he softly shushed his brother, before leaning right down over Camera Jim’s tummy as kept up the teasing tickling.

‘Shhhh Jim I’m trying to count! I don’t wanna have to start all over again!’

Camera Jim squealed and squealed, desperately hiding his face in his hands as his tummy became the victim of pokes and scratches. Every time Ouija Jim spotted a snowflake, he gave it its own, special little tickle….and let me tell you, there were a lot of fricking snowflakes.

‘B-Buhuhut ihihit t-tihihickles Jihim! Ihihit tihihickles soho muhuhuch!’

At Camera Jim’s sweet whines, Ouija Jim felt his heart swell, but he knew he had to maintain his role as tickler. So, he hardened his pokes and let out a dramatic gasp, leaning his head against his brother’s jumper clad tummy.

‘What? Are those the snowflakes talking? My name is Jim, what a pleasure it is to meet you all!’

Camera Jim was an absolute mess of squeals and snorts as he lightly kicked out, his body starting to writhe from the tickles as he cried out desperately at the teasiness.

‘NAHAHA JIHIHIIIM!’

Of course, being the evil older brother he was, Ouija Jim kept it all up. Not only did he poke the snowflakes at his brother’s tummy, but he got the ones up and down his sensitive sides too.

‘What was that snowflakes? Sorry, there are so many of you it’s hard to hear what you’re saying; oh, can you perchance tell me how many of you there are?’

Camera Jim spluttered desperately. He was so flustered, and yet at the same time he was just having the absolute time of his life. His giggles were hysterical, boyish, and entirely filled with adorable joy.

‘JIHIHIMMY NUHUHUH TEHEHEASIHING!’

Ouija Jim let out a laugh, dropping his façade as he giggled fondly along with his brother, poking his sides repeatedly as he cooed.

‘But you always love when I tease you Jim! I remember when we were little, you’d always squeal sooo happily when I talked to the little snowflakes on your tumtum!’

….Camera Jim was a mess of embarrassed squeals. Why did he have to bring that up? That was so unnecessary and embarrassing and evil! His eyes were wide and watery with flustered happiness as his arms flailed with his flustered energy.

‘OHOHO MY GAHAD JIHIM SH-SHUHUHUSH!!’

Ouija Jim snickered fondly, and had mercy on Camera Jim, reaching to stroke his hair softly as he giggled.

‘Ahaaawww why? Someone getting flustered?’

Camera Jim whined, peeking up at his brother through his fingers as he nodded amidst his residual giggles.

‘M-Mahaybe…’

Ouija Jim gave his brother a few minutes to catch his breath, and just relished in seeing him half-hiding his face and letting out the occasional flustered whine. Ouija Jim knew he probably shouldn’t pit him against the rest of their siblings…but in his mind, he was just the cutest Jim in existence. As he saw Camera Jim’s breathing settle, Ouija Jim smirked and leaned over him.

‘Now ah….I couldn’t help but notice that you have a few snowflakes on your feet…’

Camera Jim gasped into his fingers, his feet scrunching as he suddenly remembered that not only was he wearing a festive jumper….but festive socks too. Ouija Jim grinned, raising a playful eyebrow down at his brother as he teased.

‘Would you like me to count those too Jim?’

Camera Jim whined into his hands cutely, god he just felt like flustered child again and it was all so embarrassing…but at the same time, it was all that Camera Jim wanted, he was so happy…and squeaky as he replied.

‘…yesplease…’

Ouija Jim’s grin stretched into a gleeful smirk…and he wasted no more time. He dramatically dove backwards onto his brother’s legs, and used a pointer finger per foot to scratch devilishly at every little snowflake he could see on his brother’s soles.

‘Well with manners like that, how can I not tickle you?!’

Camera Jim was a squealing, frantic mess of laughter instantaneously as he laughed into his hands.

‘AHAHAHEHEHEHAHAHA!!!’

Once again, Ouija Jim was using every ounce of willpower to keep on tickling and not melt from how sweet his hysterical brother sounded. His hysterical laughter hadn’t changed one bit since when they were children, it was so high-pitched, bubbily, sweet, and almost inhumanly precious.

‘Ahahaaaww, do someone have ticklish feetsies? Does da ickle Jimmy have ticklish footsie wootsies?’

Camera Jim’s arms were flapping about once more in the wake of the tickling and teasing as he giddily nodded and cried out.

‘YEHEHEHEHAHAHA YEHEHES!!!’

Ouija Jim eagerly hardened his pokey scratches, focusing on the little snowflakes at the balls of his sweet brother’s feet as he cooed in the teasiest baby voice he could muster.

‘What a cute tickly baby boy you are! I could tickle these feetsies forever and ever and ever, they’re just so cute and ticklish!’

Camera Jim was a flustered mess, and honestly if I was in his position I would be the exact same.

‘EHEHEHEHEE NAHAT FOHOHOREHEVER JIHIM!!!’

His cry was filled with tender squeals as his mind raced at the notion of eternal tickling, a terrifyingly fun thought. Ouija Jim chuckled at his exclamation as he purred.

‘Not forever? Are you sure Jim?’

Ouija Jim chuckled fondly as he turned his head to see his brother nodding with frantic adorableness.

‘YEHEHEHES AHAHAHA!!!’

Ouija Jim hummed for a moment, because what kind of older brother would he be if he didn’t drag this all out right to last second? When it came to it though, he did have mercy with a fond grin in place.

‘Alright, maybe not forever, not this time anyway…’

As soon as Ouija Jim sat up, releasing his brother’s feet, Camera Jim hurried to curl up as he gasped and giggled into his forearms; he was just the image of cute happiness right now. Ouija Jim immediately hugged his brother to his chest, stroking his hair gently as he crooned.

‘How was that Jim? Were those some good tickles?’

Ouija Jim felt happy warmth bubble in his tummy as Camera Jim gazed up at him and nodded, replying giddily.

‘They w-wehere the behest tickles Jim!’

The two brothers eagerly snuggled, the elder one mumbling happily.

‘Cute little squish.’

Camera Jim giggled, no longer upset by the nickname…because he knew his brother was saying it with all the love in his heart. They stayed like that for a while, because who doesn’t love a good snuggle session? I know I do. After about 20 minutes or so though…a ping sounded. It was a notification on Ouija Jim’s phone, a reminder…and he gasped when he read it.

‘Jim! It’s time! It’s time for us to summon that festive demon Pink Jim told us about!’

Camera Jim gasped and squeaked with excitement, hurriedly sitting up.

‘You mean the Scrooge demon?’

‘Precisely Jim! I’ll get the summoning apparatus!’

‘I’ll get the cameras Jim!’

The two brothers then hurried about their summoning business, as excellent, talented demon hunters do…and as good brothers do, together.

HOPE YOU ALL LIKE THIS NEXT FICCY LEMME KNOW IF YA DO WOOOOO LUV YOUS XX

#markiplier #markiplier egos #jims #jim #demon hunting jims #ouija board jim #night vision camera jim #sfw #brothers #ego fic #ego fanfic #tickle fic #tickle fanfic #tickle #tickles #tickling #ticklish #day 12 #christmas 2019

27 notes · View notes

commandervisor · 4 years

Note

Since you're just about to start vol 7, is there any theories you have going forward? Is there something you really want to see happend? Have you been spoiled for anything?

Putting this under a “Read More” because this is just one thing after another…

Theories? In hindsight after writing all of this, most of it is not the main cast because I guess at the moment, they’re rather well-adjusted and/or recovering from their issues rather well lol, so I can’t make big enough guesses on them right now.

Emerald and maybe Mercury GTFO there, I think being stuck in Salem’s castle with Hazel until whatever goes down in Atlas I guess will

Emerald becomes a Maiden, my guesses are:

A “redeemed” Cinder thinks of Emerald in her last moments, but it’s kept vague if she was thinking of her because she actually cared about her or because of something completely unrelated to that (ex. “Emerald better have-*gets killed midsentence*”).

Otherwise, Cinder finds out Emerald is now a Maiden and turns against her. Now Emerald has to deal with her mother figure, the woman who saved her life, wanting her dead.

Either way, I think this could lead to her redemption.

Mercury is pretty hard to read, especially after what he said in V6 about why he acts the way he does and how he feels about his relationship with Cinder and Emerald. Tyrian summed him up as just putting up a tough exterior because he doesn’t know anything else, so if something like Emerald going rogue happens, then it’ll be interesting to see how long he’ll keep those barriers up against Emerald.

Cinder “redemption” arc. I don’t know how, but it would constitute showing her backstory (because that infatuation for power and not wanting to be powerless has to come from something, and she’s based on Cinderella, so.). V6 already had Salem basically kicking her out of the house for disobeying her (albeit she’s apparently still keeping an eye on her…), so Cinder left to her own devices could end up doing a lot more loose cannon-y things outside of trying to get revenge on Ruby and this eventually leads into her becoming an anti-villain and something of an anti-hero?

Pyrrha’s and maybe Amber’s souls are actually connected to Cinder, kind of like with Ozpin and Oscar, because 1) Maiden mechanics? and 2) It seems strange to me that back in V3 when they hooked up Pyrrha to Amber in that aura transfer machine, they made a big deal out of how Pyrrha “might not be the same” if the transfer works but then she died anyways so that part seemingly didn’t matter outside of brief angst? At the moment, I don’t know where this would go other than Pyrrha and Amber kind of haunting Cinder like ghosts, maybe this could lead to her “redemption”?

After what happened with Vernal, I don’t know what to make of Winter Schnee and Summer Rose as possible Maidens, but it seems relevant? We’ll just have to wait and see.

Likewise, I don’t really know where Hazel’s arc may go, either they’ll keep him as someone who refuses to move forward and ends up dying a bitter, meaningless life, or he’ll finally realize that and maybe help the heroes against Salem and/or Em & Merc leave Salem (I think him trying to take the blame for Cinder’s failure in V6 was foreshadowing), probably at the cost of his life because I can’t imagine him turning against Salem and managing to walk away alive.

Weiss tearing Jacques a new one, because we got Yang doing that to Raven in V5 and Blake (and Yang) doing it to Adam in V6 too, so I think we’ll continue to see cycles of abuse, hate, spite, and so on get broken from this point on.

And also take Whitley and GTFO there too, it’d be neat to see him unlearn his behavior from being under Jacques this whole time and I guess “redeem” himself… I have no idea who should take him in but he could stay with Maria if she and the group are parting ways in Atlas, it probably wouldn’t be safe for him to tag along with RRAYNBBOW (or however they’re called now lol). I pretty much envision this as what Eh**z said about Azulademption if it had happened in ATLA (”I’m happy.” “Yes, we know you are, Whitley.”).

Tai fighting, because they’ve established him as being retired while Raven and Qrow are still in action, so I think we might see him fight at some point as things come to a head.

Because RWBY is a good show that knows how to properly “subvert expectations”, it is to be expected that a lot of questions and mysteries will get answered (ex. Almost everything about Summer, Raven/The Spring Maiden subplot to come back, probably if a Maiden killing another Maiden actually boosts their power or not, whatever they have to do to teach Salem her lesson, etc.), and there are a lot of endgames they’re likely building up to (ex. Salem is defeated, Oz and Salem reunite and reconcile in the afterlife, Oscar is the last Oz reincarnation because Oz’s quest finally gets a happy ending, the Gods leave Remnant alone, maybe the Grimm disappear from Remnant, etc.).

Things I want to see happen (outside of ships because I think y’all know already lol):

I think this is a victim of the show trying to find its footing early on, which does happen, but I think it would be/have been neat if we got to see Ruby’s friends from Signal at some point (I’m guessing this might be prime self-insert OC material) or at least get a glimpse of the “elementary”/”primary” Huntsmen academies, if only because I like worldbuilding/lore and Chekhov’s guns/foreshadowing :P. Though I doubt this will happen since the show is moving in a really different direction from the school setting it had back in V1-V3, which is fine.

Jacques joining Adam in clown hell

STRQ flashbacks, and maybe a TRQ reunion? Again, I can see this as something happening as things come to a head, especially since this would require Raven to kind of turncoat back to the good guys.

EDIT: I would also like to see Goodwitch come back, but I guess that might be a while since we’re focusing on Atlas at the moment and then presumably Vacuo?

Watts shaving his dumb moostash

More anime voice actors, because OH WOW IT’S AMAZING HOW THE ACTING INDUSTRY WORKS, HUH VI?

I think that’s all I can think of for now… Anything else I usually wonder about is something I bring up in my liveblogs? I think??

Have I been spoiled for anything? Yeah, I guess, but it was because of people rb’ing RWBY on my dash/TL/whatever before I started watching the show, so I didn’t have context and I didn’t think much of any of it beyond that they looked neat. That, plus me having the memory of a goldfish about all of that probably helped… For example, ask me about Homestuck, The Adventure Zone, Critical Role, The Arcana, etc. because I see those on my dash a lot, but I have no idea what they’re about other than maybe some general info and a couple of character names.

That being said, I knew/know about some characters that hadn’t/haven’t shown up yet because that’s pretty hard to avoid (at the beginning, I only really knew RWBYJNPR, Sun, Penny, and also Ozpin, Qrow, and Summer but pretty much in name only; back when V7 started, I did notice a lot of popularity with certain characters from that volume), and some things I did know like someone being able to turn into a bird (when the Faunus lore got introduced, I thought this was going to be a Faunus power lol*), Blake was or was not a cat-person, Summer being gone, Bumbleby being the ship, and maybe more that I can’t remember at the moment.

* …“What I expected vs. What I got: RWBY Edition” is probably something that warrants its own post. Hmm…

It’s 3 AM and this is a huge garbled mess, but as you might guess, I’m really invested in RWBY right now and it’s fun wondering where they’ll take the story next. This is quality.

#thank you for asking #<3 #vi watches rwby #askteamgrey #ask #long post

10 notes · View notes

nightblogofficialbook · 5 years

Text

Chapter Three

Also available on the Tapas.io Website, search for Night in the Novels tab!

I don’t know when it was I fell asleep but I must have slept for an entire day because it was already morning again. I turned over, my body feeling heavy but not terrible and my mouth dry and sticky. When I opened my eyes, for a moment I didn’t know where I was. This wasn’t my room. This was too big to be my room. None of my things are here either, and mom would have definitely woken me up before this point.

And then my memory returned, much to my severe disappointment.

I sat up, my hair feeling like a nest on my head, and stretched. That strange tugging sensation made itself known and then grew idle. I sat on the bed for a long while, trying to muster the energy to get up. It was then I noticed a piece of paper sitting in front of my door, having been slid under while I slept probably.

The curiosity worked and I got up to get it, remembering that Rose and Co. still wanted to show me around. I unfolded it.

‘Hey Helen! It’s Rose. I figured you were probably still asleep so we didn’t want to bother you. But I wanted to explain to you briefly how this place works on a day-to-day basis, in case we’re not on break when you wake up. During the weekdays we have a course schedule, and yes, just like school :P Since you’ve never experienced any of this before they want us to have you kinda shadow us for all the classes so you can get some experience, and then when it’s all said and done you’ll be able to pick your own schedule. On the other side of this fold will be all of our schedule and times, and a map if you feel like trying to find us. If not, break periods for us are listed too, so you can just wait in the commons until one of us comes to check on you.’

I blinked. ...Class? Like, school classes? I turned the page over like the note said. A chart was drawn really neatly and concise of each girl’s name and their classes, in order by time. I glanced over at the digital clock on the bedside table. Looks like no one will be back until fifteen minutes from now.

Still feeling...off guard, I got up and went to the bathroom to address the state of my hair. I’ve always been kind of a sleep tosser but I guess last night I really thrashed about. Using the tools already in my bathroom I carefully combed the tangles out of my hair and flattened the morning frizz with a straight iron. The kitty cat pajama tank had my shoulder on full display in the mirror, and for the first time in...I guess only a day, it felt like ages, I was able to see to what extend the damage was.

The bite on my neck was all but gone, only a lingering redness now remained from where that guy, Zain, had bit me. I was amazed at how quickly it was healed, especially for how much I bled.

Ugh, blood.

The brief nausea passed, and I examined the next mark: a now-silver welted crescent scar that sat right between my collarbone and shoulder. I traced it for a moment in shock and a little bit of morbid fascination. It still throbbed a bit, but significantly less. This...was the bite that started this. The one that changed my life. I wonder why it was a crescent and not fang marks, like the other had been? It looked more like someone with human teeth had bit me. I looked closer at it, the shape showing irregularities to it. About where the canines would be on a human bite mark, defined a little more than the rest of the shape, were almost definitely two fang-mark scars set within the rest of the scar.

I shuddered. To bite down with a force that strong...I’m really glad I passed out for that. Maybe that was why I passed out.

After changing into some relaxed day clothes that were available to me I went downstairs to the commons, feeling like I’m on some sort of rich-kid summer camp trip. It was quiet but brightly lit from the sunlight pouring through narrow windows down the rounded walls, the outside just starting to reach the afternoon. Feeling awkward I made my way to the kitchenette area and perused through the cabinets and fridge, looking for something to eat. I opted for snacking on some cheese and saltine crackers, since the rest looked like they belonged to someone or required cooking of some kind, and I didn’t feel comfortable doing that just yet.

The door clicked and in walked Claire, who gave a start of pleasant surprise when she spotted me. “Helen! You’re awake!” She closed the door behind her, smiling. “Good morning! You were out a while, you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I actually felt pretty rested when I woke up, thanks for letting me sleep.”

“Yeah, cool.” She set her bag down and grabbed the box of goldfish cheese crackers I had passed over from the cabinet. “You get Rose’s letter by chance?”

I nodded. “If I understand right, I’ll be attending classes with you guys?”

“Yeah, it’ll just be for a couple of weeks to help you get used to being in the castle, then you’ll be able to decide what you want to do on your own. Cool thing is, nothing is mandatory.” She grinned, sitting down with the box. “You could just decide you don’t want to go to any of them in the end and chill all day.”

“Wha-really? Then why even bother?”

“Well, a lot of it is still really useful to learn, but mostly because of the perk points.”

“Perk points?”

She nodded, taking a handful of crackers and munching them. “Yeah, you get points based on attendance for class and bonus points for how well you do in them. Vampires get them too. They have a catalog for stuff you get in exchange for them, like new clothes or toys or games or extra snacks.” She shook the box of goldfish. “I like to spend mine on these, though I’m saving up the bulk of them for the excursion trip next spring. We’ll take you to go get your card set up and stuff and you’ll be able to look at the point system, but essentially the more valuable or the less ‘healthy,’” she used air quotes with an eye roll, “an item is, the more points it will cost. And vice versa, the more challenging a class is for you, the more points you get for it.”

“That actually sounds really cool,” I said, amazed.

“I know right? From what I hear about how schools are still done on the outside it’s WAY more awesome.” She glanced at her watch. “Alright, we should probably go head out to my next class, after that all of us have the same dancing class so we’ll trade you off after THAT class, and you’ll have just one more for the day with us.”

My head spun a little, not quite following what she said but I got the jist of it. She grabbed her bag and I followed her through the door into the open hallway of the castle. A fresh breeze drifted from the direction Claire was leading me, and almost as suddenly as we had left the dorm we were outside in open air.

The weather felt wonderful, the deep blue sky spotted with slowly drifting, fluffy clouds, blinking the sunlight in and out every now and then. The temperature was warm and comfortable, not at all like the summer heat it had been for the last month. And there were people. Everywhere. Mostly teens my age, but also adults. Children. I think I even saw a few babies. I was amazed, I never realized how big this place might be. It was like a whole village.

I watched the people pass me by as I followed Claire across the giant square courtyard I had observed just yesterday. Some were having a picnic complete with tablecloth, food, and family. Some were, like us, walking towards a destination in mind, and some were just playing games. It was how I always imagined a college campus would look like, all it was missing was the drunk frat boys and dumb shenanigans.

A wonder crossed my mind after we crossed the courtyard and into a different section of the castle. “Where are the vampires?” I asked.

“They’re asleep, they usually keep to a night habit like the myths used to say. But not all of them,” she added as a young guy with red eyes waved as he passed us, flashing a friendly-fanged smile. Claire waved back with a “hey Greg.”

“But for the most part they do vampire classes at night anyway,” she continued as we stepped into a classroom. “And usually in the other half of the castle. It helps keep traffic in the halls down so things don’t ever get overcrowded and stressful, and to keep some from getting too stressed out by the abundance of human smells.”

We sat down at desks and I was surprised about how...normal it was. It was just a math class, same as the one I failed a few days ago, only this teacher seemed pretty enthused. She talked over the coursework with passion, answering any questions that were asked and even re-explained some things in an easier to digest manner. I found I was able to follow along really well despite having to jump in the middle of a learning section.

Claire, on the other hand, looked like she was struggling to keep up, and hard. She was bent over her practice worksheet, looking relaxed but frustrated. I thought about asking her why she was taking the class if it was that hard on her, but then remembered how she explained the points, and her goal. I silently nodded to myself at the ingenious system they have here. It was a good way to motivate everyone to have a goal, and work towards it, but without forcing anyone to overstress about it.

And hour and a half had come and gone since we sat down, and class was dismissed. Claire stretched and groaned as we walked out.

“Man, I am so not good at math,” she said.

“Me neither, but that teacher was really good.”

“I know right? They don’t let anyone teach if they’re not up for the task. Anyway, I forgot about lunch between now and the next class, and…” she suddenly looked as if she was having an epiphany. “Oh yeah lunch! Dude!” She grabbed my shoulders excitedly. “You gotta see the food court they have here!”

My eyes widened and her excitement rubbed off. “They have a food court?”

…

They have a food court.

And it was incredible.

IMMEDIATELY, once I walked to the vicinity of its existence, I was hit by a myriad of delicious freshly cooked food smells. I’m talking bakeries, skillet cooks, sandwich bars, BBQ, breakfast food, lunch, italian, asian, and everything in between. I could hardly believe my eyes. I could hardly believe my nose. It was like there was a food festival going on.

Claire grinned at my expression. “Pretty cool, huh?” she nudged me.

“Claire…” I said, flabbergasted still. “Oh my god. I want to cry.” She laughed and took my hand, taking me to all of the booths and mini restaurant bars. Each one seemed to know her on a personal level, and, as she explained that I was new, free sample after free sample began to fill my tray.

“This is so much food,” I said in amazement.

“Yeah, I’ll be honest, I’m kinda pimping you out,” she admitted sheepishly as we headed for a table. “Normally you’re only allowed up to 2 free servings per mealtime, and any more is a point exchange.”

“Well, it worked,” I said, still incredulous. “Glad to be of help.”

“Helen! Claire! Over here!”

Rose was flagging us down; the twins and Wendy were already seated with her, in addition to a few people I haven’t met yet. We joined them at the table.

“Helen, this is Mike and this is Jason, they’re childhood friends of ours. Guys, this is Helen.”

Mike, who had short black hair and a shallow jawline and fair skin, gave a polite wave. Jason, who was far less reserved with bronzy-blonde hair, brown eyes, and a fairly strong jaw and nose, gave me a friendly lopsided smile and a look of interest.

“Um, hi,” I said nervously, sitting down next to Claire with my huge tray of food.

“Introductions later, it’s food time,” Claire said, excitedly picking out a sample from our haul.

I tasted as much as the food as I could, and shared the rest. Everyone chatted about their day so far and classes they were in and I politely listened, feeling a little happy. No, that’s not right. I was feeling a lot of happy. Everything was bright, and light, and friendly. Everyone was open and relaxed and feeling good. The tension I had been holding in my shoulders released.

And then suddenly something hot and soupy was dumped over the top of my head and into my lap. Claire leapt out of the way to avoid the splash, everyone else jumped in shock. I sat still, trying to process why there was suddenly chicken broth all over me.

“Oops,” spoke girl’s bored voice. Everyone’s eyes widened when they saw who stood behind me. I turned around.

She stood to be roughly my height with dark blonde hair pulled back in a bun, her blue eyes piercing cold and her expression haughty. She very clearly was holding an empty bowl, still over my head. I blinked.

“Sorry,” she said in the most uncaring manner possible. “Sometimes I don’t quite pay attention to where I’m going and things just…” Her eyes grew cold and vicious, reminding very much of Zain’s, and with a jolt I recognized her. “...happen, you see. But, I’m sure YOU, of all people, would understand, wouldn’t you Helen?”

“Hey, look, I-”

“Well,” she interrupted, ignoring me and addressing the entourage of people who were snickering behind her. “I supposed I should try to get more soup. I do hope they understand the little accident.”

“Oh, of course, Lady Victoria!”

“It was an accident after all.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“You can have mine, M’lady, if they can’t make an exception!”

“Thanks, guys,” she cooed to her little group as they left. “You’re the best.”

I sat there, dumbfounded, as they walked away, and turned back forward.

“...what just happened to me?”

“You got souped apparently,” Claire chimed, to which Rose reprimanded her.

“Don’t worry, we’ll help you get cleaned up, we can skip the next class if we need to,” Rose offered. I shook my head.

“It’s okay, I’ll just go get cleaned up and meet you guys there,” I said, my voice surprisingly normal considering I was drenched.

Claire looked at me in surprise. “You sure?”

I nodded. “Yeah, I have a map, and I’m surprisingly good with directions.” Except apparently when I’m in a hurry, I thought blandly to myself.

“If you’re certain…” Rose said, uncertain. “The next class is on the same floor, in the east ward across from this one. There’s four doors to enter from so it shouldn’t be hard to find as long as you make it to the right section.”

I thanked her and stood up, saying bye to Mark and Jason. They offered words of encouragement and good luck with cleaning up. Pulling out the map(which miraculously avoided getting souped as well) and going by what I remembered seeing on the way here I traced my way back to the dorms. Everyone I passed stared and muttered to themselves, some with pity, some with wonder. I couldn’t blame them for it, since I’d probably end up doing the same thing, and did my best to ignore it.

After a successful shower and change of clothes, it was now four o’clock, about fifteen minutes past when that class was supposed to start. I made my way across the courtyard to the ward across from the lunch area, now wishing I had eaten maybe just a little bit more and debating on whether I should even show up. The sun was in the second half of the sky, and by now majority of everyone out and about had gone back to wherever their own dorms were. It was crazy how many people actually live here.

I found the four doors Rose was talking about and heard music inside. Confused, I looked at the written schedule she had given. “No…” I opened the door, suddenly remembering with dread a small detail Claire had mentioned before.

Inside was a very large convention-style room, chairs stacked high against the wall. A large amount of people were scattered out in pairs, observing the teacher as he demonstrated what almost looked like a waltz with no partner.

Dancing. Great, just great...my stomach dropped, and as it did the subtle pulling sensation heightened.

The door slammed shut behind me before I could catch it and suddenly all eyes were on me. I flinched, feeling extremely embarrassed. “Sorry…”

“Not at all!” the teacher enthused. “Come in, come in! You must be Miss Morris.”

I sheepishly made my way to the edge of the wall out of the way but still in view, suddenly very aware of the fact that about 50% of the pairs of eyes still on me were red. I swallowed nervously.

“Alright, now I want everyone to try, on my count. Remember, you’re not looking for speed, you’re looking for precision. Make every move count until it becomes second nature. Now, one-two-three, one-two-three…” he flicked a finger in the air and suddenly music was playing.

I watched everyone try the steps, spotting the girls pretty quickly as they were having the most fun. Rose was paired up with Jason from before, Suzanne and Alice had decided to dance with each other -which made their synchronization so perfect it was almost creepy- and Claire was dancing with Wendy. Feet were stepped on, laughter was heard, partners were bumped into, it was an amusing scene. I smiled a little to myself, wishing I could join them.

I let my gaze wander around as the teacher also wandered amongst the dancers, giving form advice and praise as he passed them. I was amazed at how many vampires were here, considering it wasn’t really after dark just yet. Most were paired up with their own kind, but some had paired up with humans, a little to my surprise. And it looked like everyone was having fun.

“Hello Helen,” the teacher’s voice drew my attention to him; he had made his way over to where I stood, quietly addressing me. “May I call you that?” he asked sincerely.

“Sure?” I replied. He was pretty young looking for someone in charge of teaching a class, I would guess maybe super early twenties. His eyes were a deep hazel that seemed to change colors under different light angles, from blue to green to brown, and somehow all of the colors. His skin was fair and soft, his hair a short sandy brown that reminded me of some popular british actor I remember people fawning over. He was pretty attractive for sure, but something was strangely familiar about him.

“Excellent.” He looked relieved. “Allow me to introduce myself; my name is Dmitri. Some of my students call me ‘D’ but whether that be your preference to refer to me is entirely up to you.”

“Thanks, it’s nice to meet you.”

“And likewise you. Now, I understand that you are quite new to the castle, and that today is your first day during your adjustment period, so by all means don’t feel obligated to join right away if you don’t feel comfortable. We have a bit of an odd number currently so there would be no problems if you wish to sit out for now. But, if you do wish to join in, I would have no problems getting you up to speed.”

“U-um, thanks,” I replied, grateful for the extended invitation and surprised at how quickly he seemed to understand. “I think I’ll pass this time around...since there’s an odd number and all.”

He chuckled a little. “Not too fond of dancing?”

I grimaced. “How did you know?”

“I have been teaching dance for quite a while now, I can tell. I imagine you feel your skills are quite inadequate to even attempt the practice.”

“That’s an understatement,” I joked, feeling strangely relaxed around him. “My mom tried to get me into dancing for a while. I accidently broke the instructors foot once.” He laughed softly and I smiled a little. “She politely requested that I try out other hobbies after that.”

He looked outward, observing the dancing pairs in front of us. “Well, I won’t force you if you truly don’t want to dance, but if you ever feel interested, I would gladly be up for the challenge.”

He went back out to address a couple that had fallen over, helping them to their feet and explaining to them what had gone wrong. I smiled a little, feeling a little fuzzy inside, like I just gained a big brother. Dmitri seemed really sweet. The pessimism in my brain made me really hope he didn’t turn out to just have been flirting with an underage girl though. It didn’t seem that way, but...I’ve been wrong about people before.

Suddenly there was a strangely violent tug in the pit of my gut towards a single direction in the room. I looked up in surprise, holding my sides despite the fact that there really wasn’t an obvious origin to this sensation, and stiffened. One couple was dancing through the sea of everyone like wind through trees, effortlessly making every single person in this room look like stumbling baby deer. Their legs moved with practiced elegance, as easy as if it were breathing, their eyes almost bored and in another world. Zain and Victoria.

My stomach clenched with guilt and a twinge of jealousy. They looked good together. Perfect for eachother, I thought bitterly, remembering Zain’s childish aggression and Victoria’s stunt from today. Their skills looked matched, and though they seemed bored in this classroom environment, they looked relaxed. Comfortable.

Zain’s eyes darted my way and I looked down instinctively, my heart pounding for a moment, and then felt bitterness replace my emotions. It should have been her. I shouldn’t have ever been involved. Why did I end up at that clearing? Why did he have to bite me?

I heard a quiet tch! and looked up with just my eyes. The two had slowed to a stop, Zain’s face furrowed in frustration.

“What is it?” I heard Victoria ask, worried.

“It’s nothing,” he responded in a low voice.

Her eyes darted to me and I pretended to be watching the other people.

“Is it her?”

He gave her a small smile and stroked her cheek; a sharp pang hit my chest for a moment. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”

She still looked worried. “Okay.” Her eyes narrowed furiously towards me soon as he looked elsewhere. I pretended not to have noticed but I could feel the daggers emanating from her.

“Alright, I think that’ll wrap things up today!” Dmitri called out, clapping his hands. The music fades out and everyone gathered up any bags and things they had brought. He waved his hands and suddenly all of the chairs stacked against the walls unstacked and arranged themselves in the space everyone was just occupying. “Next class we’ll do a few more practice motions, and then try out partner changes. I look forward to seeing you all again.”

“Helen!”

The girls and Jason came over to me excitedly. The fact that I just saw legit magic fell to the back of my mind as I smiled a little at them.

“You made it!” Rose exclaimed. “We saw you talking to Dmitri, what did you think?”

“Dancing...really isn’t my thing,” I admitted carefully. “I’ve never been very good with the whole foot-body coordination thing.”

“She actually meant about D,” Claire snickered.

“I was talking about the class too,” Rose blushed slightly.

I thought for a moment. “He seems...pretty nice I guess. I mean, I just met him, at least I’ve gotten to know you guys for a bit.”

“Yeah, D is pretty chill,” Jason commented as we walked out of the room. I felt that elastic cord-feeling tug at me again and glanced back a moment, distracted by seeing Zain and Dmitri talking. Victoria wasn’t anywhere, I guess she had already left. The sight of the two felt vaguely familiar again, though.

“And take it from me,” Claire continue to speak, and I realized I had missed part of the conversation. “Dmitri is a SUPER good guy. He’s actually the one I told you about that saved me from my stupid aunt and uncle.”

“Wait what?” I asked, confused. “I thought you said that it was a vampire who took you.”

“Yeah, that was Dmitri,” she said. “It was his first time travelling with the embassy he said, I think.”

I looked back, but we had already gone out of sight, and then tried to collect my thoughts. “But...he...his eyes were…?”

“Ohhhhh right right right, I forgot about that,” Claire clapped in realization. “Yeah, vampires don’t ACTUALLY have red eyes, they just turn that color when they’re stressed out. Something something biology makes them turn red but they actually have fairly normal eye colors, for the most part.”

“It has to do with the way cortisol affects their system,” Alice spoke up. “They’re pretty human-based to begin with, so there's a lot of similarities, but there’s a chemical in their irises that causes it to glow red with the presence of stress hormones.”

“It used to be because they were always stressed when hungry,” Claire added. “That’s why it’s a pretty common addition to the myth. Also pretty scary.”

“But now it’s just because they have anxiety like the rest of us,” Suzanne finished.

“But...everyone’s eyes are red?”

“Well yeah, duh,” Claire smirked amusedly. “The heir and leader of their home was supposed to be bonded with a chosen Bride to solidify their strengths and safety, but something happened and word has spread that some rando is now the Bride.”

“They feel their future is uncertain,” Rose explained gently. “Humans, too. No one knows anything about you or what benefit or detriment you might bring.”

Jason stopped. “Hold on, wait…” He stared at me, his expression stiff. “You’re the…?”

“Oh shoot,” Rose swore. “I didn’t want to say anything yet, I’m sorry Jason.”

“It’s okay, I just…” he shook his head. “Damn…”

“U-um,” I started awkwardly. “Is that bad?”

“No, I just didn’t want it to be spread around just yet,” Rose admitted sheepishly. “I wanted to make sure you were comfortable first. I figured it would be awkward for you if everyone suddenly tried to avoid you and address you as ‘Lady’ and ‘ma’am’ and so on.”

“Do you...want to be addressed that way?” Jason asked nervously.

“Oh, god no,” I assured him quickly, and remembered Dmitri asking if my name was okay. “Please, Helen is just fine.”

He relaxed, relieved. “Lady Victoria all but demands everyone refer to her as Lady Victoria.”

“I’m definitely not doing that,” I grumbled. “Not after what she did today. I mean, I understand where’s she coming from but…”

They glanced at each other with worry, and I could tell they had something to say but didn’t want to say it.

I sighed. “Anyway, about Dmitri and the vampire eye thing.”

“Right,” Claire shuffled. “Um, that was probably it, honestly. Vampire’s look like people except when they’re stressed.”

“And they’re all scared of me,” I joked a little. They laughed a bit.

“Give it a few weeks,” Rose assured. “Everyone will have calmed down again. Your arrival shouldn’t effect Lord Zain’s ability to run the castle.”

“That reminds me,” I said, “how does age work for vampires? He looks like he’s our age. And Dmitri looked pretty young, too.”

“They’re about how they appear to be,” Rose explained. “Lord Zain is seventeen I think, Dmitri is...twenty-five?” My eyebrows lifted. “The ones who are born will age the same way humans do, just a little bit slower.”

“They stop aging when they reach about Dmitri’s age,” Alice chimed “At that point the body just doesn’t need to grow anymore.”

“And then they live foreeeeeever,” Claire added dramatically.

“Except the ones who are made,” Suzanne said sadly. “They’re stuck at whatever age they turned. Their bodies freeze in time, but their mind will continue to deteriorate.”

I swallowed. “So then...are most vampires born?”

“Mostly. Accidents can...happen though,” Rose admitted.

“That’s why they don’t let vampires do any biting,” Claire said. “The ones that turn usually have this weird desire to create more vampires, which would be a problem, and you have to basically drink vampire blood and die in order to turn, so keeping them away during feeding times prevents that.”

“Will...will I ever be turned?”

“Bride are a little different,” Rose responded this time. “You’d have to want to turn in order for it to work, because of the mutual agreement the bond creates between human and vampire, otherwise you’d probably just...die. And you’d be different than a turned vampire, because your partner would still be able to feed from you.”

“It’s not really a necessary procedure,” Alice added, “so I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that.”

My head spun. This was a lot of information to process. “Wait, one more question, if vampires live forever, what about the human Brides?”

“You’ll live forever too,” Alice answered simply. “It would be bad if their only food source died of old age. It’s part of the changes that now allow you to choose to become a vampire if you wanted it.”

“Yeah, it’s kinda like you’re half vampire!” Claire joked, and my chest tightened. Half vampire...I put my hand on my shoulder again where the bite mark still twinged every now and then.

Everyone split up at the edge of the center courtyard, Claire and twins heading back to the dorm, Jason heading back to his, and Rose going to her class. I was scheduled to follow Wendy next.

“This way,” she spoke, her voice soft and quiet like a whisper.

I followed, feeling awkward as I realized that this was probably the first time I’ve heard her speak. She was extremely reserved and somewhat nervous, every so often fidgeting with her fingers and not looking up anywhere. I wasn’t sure if it was because of me or if she was just...like that. I sympathized though. Up till now it was easy to borrow off of everyone’s energies to relax and adjust. The presence of her anxiety, though, kind of kept mine at bay.

“So, we’re going to...whoa, Horse Care and Management, whaaat?” I tried to give a friendly smile. “There are horses here??”

She nodded. “Yeah. They’re very gentle creatures, and understanding. I like them.”

I stared off in the distance with a small grin as we walked down an open stone hallway and away from the castle, feeling just a little excited now all on my own. I had never been on a horse, or near one for that matter. Wendy’s cheeks swelled as she smiled, and it seemed like she relaxed a little more. The stables came into view as we rounded the corner and the stone floors turned into a dirt path. The smell of fresh barnhouse and hay wafted through the air, growing bolder as we got closer.

Not many people showed up for this class, it seemed. In fact, as far as I could tell at least, it was mostly vampires here. A girl no older than us was currently setting out harnesses and saddles, wearing heavy duty working gloves and clothing, with a red bandana around her neck and a wide straw sun hat. She greeted us when we approached, then beamed at Wendy.

“Hey! Good afternoon, glad ya guys can make it!” She gave a wide grin. “Looks like some newcomers today, Welcome! I’m Amber, I’m kinda second-in-command runnin’ the stables here with my ma and her sisters, I’ll be teaching ya guys all about horses!”

“Last week I got most of ya introduced to the residents here, so today we’re gonna learn the proper ways to clean the equipment. It’s easy enough, but ya gotta do it right or the leather will get too hard, or just not clean at all. And if you don’t clean it well, ‘specially the reins and the bit, you can get the horses sick and we don’ want that.” She went through the proper techniques for getting started and had everyone start a piece of equipment. “Newbies follow me for a sec,” she called out, and to my surprise I wasn’t the only new person.

“Hey,” a young vampire guy, eyes still red, greeted me shyly after we followed Amber and then were told to wait. “You new to this class too?”

“Uh, yeah,” I responded, feeling just a tad awkward.

He smiled forward nervously as we waited for Amber to come back, running a hand across the back of his neck. He looked a bit older than me, his skin dark and his body pretty lanky and tall. Like, a whole-head-taller-than-me tall.

“I’ve never even been around one of these things before,” he admitted after a few seconds of silence.

“Me neither,” I said, deciding to try and make small talk at least. “I’ve always wanted to though, they looked pretty cool.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, and then stuck his hand out. “I’m Adrian, by the way.”

“Helen,” I replied automatically, shaking his hand.

“Helen huh,” he laughed nervously. “That funny, I think that’s the same name as that girl from outside the castle.

“Yeah,” I responded nervously, unsure whether to say anything about that. “Pretty...pretty interesting.”

Luckily Amber had already come back, leading a tall chestnut color horse. It had a white kite shape mark that spanned from it’s forehead down to its nose.

“This is Bitey,” Rose said, and Adrian stiffened next to me. “Don’t let the name fool ya, he used to be chomper when he was little but he’s quite behaved now. C’mon over and say hello!”

We both hesitated for just a moment, and then I stepped forward, feeling a little excited. The horse’s ears swiveled my way as I came up to it from the side, and he turned his head towards me.

“Hold yer hand out, fingers down,” Rose instructed gently. Behind me Adrian watched carefully as I did as told. The horse balked back a little, and then stretched out to sniff my hand. After a few seconds I reached forward to pet its muzzle. Adrian let out a breath of relief behind me.

“Now, horses are very sensitive animals, they can pick up on yer feelings pretty quick,” she said as Adrian worked up enough courage to come up beside me to also pet the horse. “They can be pretty skittish themselves, so it’s very important that ya introduce yourself properly.”

She had us step away after a moment of petting to demonstrate. “Ya always want to try and approach from a diagonal and make sure they can see ya. Cuz if ya watch him,” she stood at a severe angle from the back, “see his ears? They’re swiveled back cuz he knows I’m back here but he can’t see me. And if walk closer now,” she did, and he stepped away from her. “he’ll back up. It’s pretty nerve-wracking to have someone come up from where you don’t see em. That’s why it’s also a good idea to make sure you talk to em too. That way they can hear you and you don’t sneak up on em. NEVER sneak up on a horse unless you wanna get kicked in the teeth.”

Amber continued to explain how to approach and be around horses, how to present yourself, what to do if a horse charges at you, and had us practice approaching conduct correctly with Bitey. The whole time Adrian was very nervous, which I found just a little funny, all things considered; he could probably and easily take this animal down. It was a little alarming even. But then again...I hadn’t actually seen any proof that vampires have super strength or anything, I’ve just sort of assumed. A small spark of guilt set in my chest as I realized that...they really might be just like humans. Just people with different survival needs.

After a bit more practice she then had us rejoin the rest of the class to learn how to clean the tack, giving us the bit and saddle that Bitey had on. I went back to Wendy, who smiled at me and looked very relaxed and content. She was already drying off her piece of tack and had a couple bottles of some sort of leather oil.

The last half of the class was spent learning how to properly dry and oil the leather to help preserve its reliability, and just as the sun began to set everything was wrapped up and put away. I walked back with Wendy feeling strangely accomplished.

“That was...really cool!” I exclaimed with elation. Wendy nodded, smiling happily and quietly. “Like, never did I ever even think I would get to do something like that, not without paying a LOT of money.”

“It’s my favorite class,” she smiled quietly. “The horses really understand.”

I nodded, and remembered the vampire I had pet Bitey with, Adrian, and remembered how nervous he seemed but also how friendly. The horse wasn’t afraid of him, and prey animals are usually good at sensing predators. I thought about Dmitri, who I had no idea was a vampire, who wanted to make sure I felt comfortable with where I was. I thought about everyone I had met today, unable to help but compare it to how my life was before and how the people I had to deal with before. Against my inner denial about this whole situation, this...didn’t seem so bad so far. This actually felt...better.

We made it back to the dorms uninterrupted and I told everyone I was going to go ahead and turn in for the night, feeling exhausted. The gibbous moon had risen high enough already to cast some light in my darkened room, but I turned on a lamp anyway. The ambient lighting combined felt cozy and warm, but my room still felt too big, too open. Absentmindedly I walked to the window and opened it, then realized it had a balcony and climbed out onto it.

The night was pleasantly crisp for summertime. The sky was clear and bright as the moon’s light was cast down upon the world. Out ahead of me lay a sea of trees, and just beyond that were islands of houses. Neighborhoods. If I stared hard enough, I could almost spot the neighborhood I live in. Lived in. I breathed in and let out a sigh as I leaned against the railing, my mind debating with itself.

I shouldn’t be here. I should be at home. I should be helping mom get dinner ready, calling Emily to help her with homework. Sleeping in our run-down cozy house. Dealing with the same idiots entering the same society as me. I’m already starting to forget I’ve been kidnapped; this sense of open freedom is wrong, it’s a lie.

I looked down. It was only two, maybe three stories between here and the ground, and maybe only fifty meters between the castle and the surrounding wall. I could sneak away. I could do the bedsheet thing, anchor to the railing and then try to latch it to the decorations that topped the wall. I could go home, and try to ignore everything, pretend it was all just a bad dream.

Something lurched in my center, violently yanking at some core within me in an up-and-backwards direction. It was almost painful except for the fact that it didn’t feel real, didn’t feel tangible. I grabbed the railing to brace and support myself, my lips pressed tight in bitterness. That sensation continued to pull at me, almost like it was begging me to follow it. To follow it back to the one who bit me.

There would be no escaping that. There’s no undoing it, it would always be there. Following me, everywhere I go, no matter how far I would go. And he could probably follow it back to me. They’d find me, maybe even hurt my mom, maybe even go after Emily, and they would bring me back.

I sunk to my knees on the balcony, leaning my forehead against the railing as tears slowly filled my eyes and rolled down my cheeks. I had fun today. Today hadn’t been bad at all. Sure, I got soup dumped on me, but that was just one incident. Everyone was nice. I wasn’t caged, I wasn’t supervised. I was even allowed to make my way back to the dorms, all on my own. It was only the second day since I arrived. I could have gone somewhere else entirely. But I didn’t. Because being here today has been better than any other day in my entire life. I didn’t want to be here. But I wanted to be here.

“What’s wrong with me…?” I whispered out loud.

I don’t remember ever going back inside, but when I woke up I was in my bed. It was still dark out, the clock read just past 1 a.m. I sat up, still in the clothes I had changed into. I tucked my knees to my chest and sat there for a moment. My cheeks were sticky where my tears had dried.

The strange tugging sensation gave a nudge, not as violently as earlier, but subtly. As if giving me a suggestion. Without really thinking about it, I got up and went downstairs into the commons area, letting the tug pull me forward.

It was quiet in the room; plug-in lights with motion sensors lit up as I got closer to them, making the room have a strange dream-like glow. The girls were all still upstairs, sound asleep. The fridge in the kitchenette area kicked on with a hum for a few seconds before quieting down again. I paused like this for a little while, absorbing the atmosphere. Observing it. And then let my body be pulled forward again and out the door.

The halls were dim and quiet too. The carpet was soft but firm underneath my feet, muffling the noises of the world. I continued forward, my mind still in an almost fugue-like state. I didn’t care where I was going. I didn’t care where this pulling sensation would take me. None of it mattered anyway. Nothing I did would matter.

I came to the courtyard hub area that we crossed to get to the different areas of the human quarters, the Day wing, where classes usually occur. No one was here, but yet I could feel them here. The presence of people, the sounds echoed like the ghosts of a past memory occurring presently. I looked around and could almost see them. There wasn’t anyone here.

I felt a presence, a real presence, land behind me, and the direction of the tugging shifted and changed. I didn’t turn around or react, already knowing who and what it was but feeling nothing.

“Why are you here?” I heard his voice speak. It was soft, curious, and sad. A wave of somber confusion washed across me, but not my own. I turned around.

Zain stood right where he had landed, facing me. His eyes were firm but gentle, his expression matched the feelings in his voice. His hair shimmered in the moonlight, his red eyes glowing softly. He wasn’t angry, he wasn’t frustrated or resentful. Just...lost. Sad and lost, and looking for answers.

“I followed my heart,” I replied.

He looked on in confusion, observing me, his eyes searching. His heart searching. It felt like I could see it, his heart, reflected in his eyes.

“Why are you here?” he asked again after a moment, differently.

Tears welled up in my eyes. “I don’t know,” I answered softly. “I don’t know…”

His expression changed into a look of helpless anguish. “Why are we here?” he asked again.

And then my eyes opened.

Want to support the author? Don’t want to wait for more?

Purchase the book on Amazon!

#Chapter Three #book #original story #vampires #slowburn #romance #it's complicated #fantasy #depression #kidnapping #school life #nightblogofficialbook

1 note · View note

bionic-buckyb · 7 years

Text

White Lies: Part 2

A Bucky x Reader / Fake Dating AU Series

Master List

A/N: Here is part 2, to make up for my absence the past two days. It’s a bit longer than part 1 too :) I hope you like it. Please let me know what you think! I thrive on your feedback ♥

Word Count: 1,171

Warnings: - none. maybe language.

Tags: (at the end)

*gif is not mine.

“So how is this gonna go?” you asked Bucky in the car, on the way to his parent’s house, breaking the awkward silence that lingered.

“We just have to, yanno, convince my parents we’re a couple,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the road. You watched as his hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter.

“Hold hands, giggle at each other’s jokes, give flirty eyes, stuff like that?”

It was your turn to grip the handle of your bag tightly, causing indents from the material to appear on your hands.

“I mean, yeah. In order for my mom to get off my back, we have to be somewhat convincing…”

You swallowed hard, hoping Bucky didn’t see your discomfort.

“Do we have to kiss?” you blurted out. Bucky shifted in his seat.

“No, I mean… not if you don’t want to.”

You somehow managed to chuckle at his discomfort, even though your heart was absolutely racing at the thought of kissing those perfect, pouty lips.

“Well, it’d be mighty convincing, no? Maybe that should be saved for desperate measures.”

You reached over and patted his shoulder, and you felt him relax. He finally took his eyes off the road to look at you, for a brief second.

“Thank you for doing this for me, seriously. I’d be lost without you.”

“Like I said, Barnes. You owe me, big time.”

The rest of the ride to the Barnes residence was filled with laughter and impromptu karaoke. Your heart swelled watching Bucky try to remember the words to your favorite Rihanna song, recording it on your phone as“blackmail”.

When you finally pulled up the drive to their house, your throat became dry. It was a beautiful three story colonial home. Everything was in perfect condition, including the lawn. It was pristine, and you immediately felt out of place. Bucky shut off the car and looked to you.

“Are you sure about this, Y/N? If this makes you uncomfortable, we can go home right now. Just tell me, and I’ll take us home.”

Us. The word rang through your brain like a boomerang. You knew he didn’t mean it in the way you wanted to, but you couldn’t help but to get your hopes up. You wiped your sweaty palms on your jeans, knowing your hand would be wrapped in Bucky’s soon enough. Inhaling deeply, you let your breath out loudly.

“I’m good, I promise. If it becomes too much, I’ll let you know. Let’s do this.”

The smile that spread across his handsome face was reward enough, as he got out of the car and made his way around to the passenger side. Bucky opened your door and grabbed your bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He extended his hand to you and you took it, climbing out of the car. Except he didn’t let go of your hand, and a chill shivered its way throughout your entire body. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, only intensifying your goosebumps.

“I know my mom is already watching from the living room window. If she saw me not open the door for you or carry your bag, she’d murder me in my sleep.”

“Good to know that chivalry isn’t dead,” you smiled up at him. “You’re a real gentleman, Barnes.”

It was his turn to take a deep breath, as he looked at his childhood home, your hands still linked together.

“Alright,” he finally said. “Let’s do this.”

With one final squeeze to your hand, you followed behind Bucky up the driveway. His mother already had the door open, her body practically vibrating as she awaited her son to finally reach her. Her arms were outstretched to hug him, and Bucky finally let go of your hand to embrace her. With his hand gone, yours felt lonely, so you stuffed them both into the pockets of your jeans.

As you watched them embrace each other, you could see how much he looked like his mother. She was stunning, and they shared a lot of the same features in the face. Her smile was perfect and wide, just like Bucky’s, and her eyes were as blue as the ocean, as they finally darted away from her son, to you.

“It’s great to see you, Mom,” Bucky said, rubbing her shoulder. He looked back at you, as you balanced on the balls of your feet, waiting to be introduced.

“It’s always great to see you, my dear,” she replied, her eyes twinkling. “And who is this?”

Your head snapped up, and you looked from Bucky to his mother quickly.

“Where are my manners?” Bucky said, taking your hand again and pulling you forward. “Mom, this is Y/N. My girlfriend.”

The word echoed in your brain, just like before. Even though you knew this was all a scam, it felt so real.

“Hi, Mrs. Barnes,” you said quickly, outstretching your hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Your home is beautiful. I am completely envious of your flowers. I can’t even grow a weed.”

The sound of her laughter was like music in the air. Bucky was practically beaming next to you, so much so you could almost feel the heat radiating off of him. He squeezed your hand.

“Thank you so much, dear. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Bucky has told me so much about you.”

You glanced at Bucky quickly, trying not to make it obvious. What had he told her? Did he tell her the truth about you? This was something you’d have to discuss later. Any wrong piece of information you spewed, could ruin the whole plan.

“He’s told me so much about you too,” you replied, which he had. Bucky spent a whole day before you left, just telling you about his family. “You raised a great son, Mrs. Barnes.”

“Please,” she said, clutching her chest. “Call me, Winnie.”

“Yes, ma’am,” you smiled, sincerely liking Bucky’s mom.

“Please, come inside and meet George. I’ll show you where you and Bucky’s room will be,” she gestured with her hand for you to come inside. “Come, come.”

Suddenly, Bucky pulled you close, under the watchful eye of his mother. You made an odd sound, as the air whooshed out of your lungs. His hand was around your waist, his crystal blue eyes staring into your soul. Leaning down, he kissed you on the lips, sending fire throughout your veins. Your body became lax, your brain making noises like a VHS tape on rewind. As soon as his lips were on yours, they were pulled away, leaving you in a haze.

“Ohhhhh,” Winne crooned. “Young love is so sweet!”

Out of your peripheral vision, you could see his mother clap her hands together in delight, but your eyes were only on Bucky’s, as he continued to stare into yours.

As you followed Bucky into the Barnes house, you couldn’t help but think of the one question that wouldn’t stop nagging at you: Did he feel that too?

@howlingbarnes @jazzwoman897 @andhiseyesweregreen @feelmyroarrrr @vaisabu @sweetvengeancee @jurassicbarnes @mizzzpink @aikibriarrose @memory-of-a-goldfish @ladyrevealedofcloak @aestheticallywinchester @nadtandy @httpmcrvel @lumelgy @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan @caplansteverogers @its-not-a-tulpa @sanjariti @avengerofyourheart @la-meneur-louve @topthis808 @captain-amelia-bradley @caffeinatedcellist @bestmarvelmate @borkybeans @captain-rogers-beard @buckysmusculararm @hogwarts-the-history @tinaferraldo @supersoldier-buckybarnes @dayinthelifeofslender @sebbytrash @justareader @desertrose-saku @rebelslicious @theoutlinez @eyeofdionysus @chaoswandas @chameerah @tinyfistwarrior @buckymorelikefuckmebarnes @everything-but-the-not-natural @highlyfuncti0nings0ci0path @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @just-a-fandom-thing @societalfailure @4theluvofall @anyakinamidala @cutelittlepurplesouls @thatsbucknasty @wanderingkat77 @simplyme8308 @taya-bui @waywardpumpkin @standing-onthe-edge @a-book-pressed-rose @showbuckysomelove @specs15 @pandigirl11 @promarvelfangirl @sebspocketsquare @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @bearded-bucky @whocansavemenow @leah2901 @johnmurphys-sass @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @logan8546 @klmpun @ayeputita @marvelrevival @redxfangirl @daisy107 @autijahnerd13s-blahg @nebulaeofpie @lizzysugar @mellsstark @allofmyfoolishways

*some tags would not work. if they continue to not work, I will have to remove them. i’m sorry!

*Tags are closed. I’m sorry!

Part 3

954 notes · View notes

thorne93 · 7 years

Text

Number One

Prompt: Request from a friend: I was wondering if you could write about Tom Holland x Reader at a red carpet / award show and he gets jealous when your fave celebrity flirts with you? Leads to smut?

Word Count: 1539

Warning: sex/smut, language, jealousy

Notes: Sorry this took so long, hun! Hope I didn’t disappoint. My smut is about as sexy as a wet noodle...lol For @kaliforniacoastalteens...Beta’d by the ever amazing @like-a-bag-of-potatoes...Features Seb Stan

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaeling

Sebastian Stan Tag: @nedthegay @lostinspace33 @alwayshave-faith @elleatrixlestrange @buenostardissherlock @lenawiinchester @the-red-world-of-jess-chibi @memory-of-a-goldfish @mellsstark @crazybutconfidentaf

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

Flashing cameras, shouting, red carpet, namelists -- all the things that make a premiere a premiere. And this was no exception as you and Tom Holland walked the red carpet for the premiere of Spiderman: Homecoming. He in his fabulous, classic suit and you wearing an elegant dark turquoise gown, together you were slaying the red carpet. The paparazzi loved the two of you and they were doing everything they could to get their award winning pic of you.

About halfway down the carpet, you heard a familiar laugh and you looked back, only to see a man you truly cherished. He was your favorite celebrity aside from Tom, of course, but Sebastian Stan came second.

“Oh, I’ll be right back,” you told Tom quietly as he nodded and let his hand fall from its position around your waist. You nearly skipped down the carpet to see Seb, stifling a squeal when you got there. He was answering a question so you let him finish before calling his attention, but someone on the media crew saw you first and Sebastian turned to see what all the commotion was about beside him.

“Y/N! Hey!” he greeted as he opened his arms to you and you nearly ran into them, accepting a kiss on the cheek from him.

“Hey!” you said back.

“So good to see you,” he commented. “You here with Tom?”

“Absolutely,” you said, beaming.

“You look fantastic,” he said, grabbing your hands and eyeing your ensemble. “Spin for me. I want to see the whole thing.” He let you go and you spun slowly, then quickly, the skirt on your dress shining amazingly in the light. “My god, you look good. But then again, you could make a paper sack look sexy,” he noted with a wink. Tom, several feet away, saw the exchange and his jaw clenched ever so slightly as he balled his fist in his pants. He regained composure and went back to smiling and posing for the cameras.

“Oh, stop,” you teased. “I’m glad you’re here!”

“Well it’s Tom’s big day. It’s Marvel. It’s nearly mandatory for me to be here, but seeing you makes it all worth it.”

“You’re a charmer,” you accused, your cheeks blushing. You adored Seb, you even had a bit of a crush on him, even though he was fifteen years older than you...something Tom knew.

“Always,” he said with a star-studded grin. “Enjoy the movie. See you after?”

“Absolutely.”

You joined Tom far down the red carpet again, his arm snaking around your waist as he gripped it tight.

“What was that?” he asked quietly, barely moving his mouth as he posed for cameras.

“Just saying hi,” you informed, striking your own pose and faces.

“I saw him flirting,” he noted.

You scoffed. “Please, Tom, it was harmless. You’re my number one.”

“Good, remember that,” he said sternly.

-----------------------

The movie and after party ended, and you two were back at your hotel, seeing as Tom hadn’t gotten an apartment or home here yet, the two of you were temporarily staying at a hotel in the city.

“So, you thought Sebastian was good looking tonight?” Tom suddenly asked as he worked on undoing his bow tie.

“I mean, he looked alright,” you absentmindedly answered as you took out your earrings, facing away from Tom. Within two seconds, he was behind you, kissing your neck before spinning you around and pushing you against the dresser.

“Let me remind you who you’re with. Who your...number one is, as you so put it,” he warned with a salacious smile.

“Tom, Tom,” you started, remembering the last time he got jealous you were sore for two days, but his mind was set as he slid down to a crouch in front of your form. His hands gripped your waist, sliding down after him, resting on your ass. His nose came close to your hot core, the sensation of him brushing against you, through the dress nearly made you squirm.

“Spread your legs,” he commanded in a quiet voice. Still clad in heels, the flowing gown, and accessories, you complied. Tom’s hands slid from your backside to the front of your dress, slipping in between the delicate fabric to hook his slender, aware fingers into the lacey fabric of your panties and yanked down.

You were going to step out of them for him, but he beat you to the punch, his hands threw your dress to the side, his tongue assaulting your clit viciously. A jealous Tom was not a patient man.

Your legs quivered as he flicked his tongue back and forth quickly, making you yelp with arousal. You could feel the smile on the smug bastard as he continued the assault, switching from patterned flicking to slow and sensual licks, ellicting deep moans and sighs from you, feeding Tom’s desire.

In a swift movement, he somehow lifted your legs, sitting you down on the dresser, spreading your legs wide, the dress still fully on you.

"I'm going to make you cum so hard you'll always remember no man can make you feel the way I can," Tom warned before diving back in, his tongue darting deep inside you, making you nearly grind against his face, something he loved.

"Ah, ah," you breathed, your back arching as your fingers dug into the dark wood of the dresser, trying to keep some of your senses together.

He kept up a rhythm of darting inside, licking around the outside, then sliding his expert tongue up to your clit. It felt dizzying, the sensation strong at your core. But you needed more. You needed something more than just his tongue. Even more than his fingers. You needed something long, thick...

He repeated his movements over and over, your moans getting louder, deeper, your breath becoming more shallow. Tom recognized these signs easily and stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his jacket sleeve before kissing you hard.

"On the bed, on your knees," he ordered, thrusting his head towards the bed. You happily hopped from the dresser to the bed, on your knees, spread happily, wanting him to fill inside you. You were so wet and wanting, Tom could practically see you throbbing with desire.

He moved your dress out of the way yet again, unzipped his pants, pulled out his cock, fully hard, an effect of being between your legs.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Mhm," you nearly whimpered, getting more frustrated with every second that passed that he wasn't inside you.

Suddenly you felt it, the warm, rounded tip of his dick at your entrance and you nearly pushed back on it.

"Ah, ah. You were a bad girl tonight. You get this when I say you do," he informed.

You bit your lip in anticipation, knowing objection would just put you further from your goal.

He slowly eased it inside your overly wet pussy. excruciatingly slowly, he sank inside you, once centimeter at a time it seemed. Finally, he was at the base, your ass against his groin, and you finally felt full, reveling the sensation. Both of you allowed a sigh of appreciation.

But you still needed more. Being utterly full of Tom didn't help if he wasn't fucking moving.

"Who is your number one?" Tom asked.

"You," you answered.

"Again," he ordered as he started to slowly move in and out.

"You," you breathed.

"Tell me who can only fuck you this good," he instructed.

"You."

He began pumping more, a little faster.

"No one else?"

"No one," you assured, crying out in ecstasy as he thrusted more, and more quickly, finally giving you what you wanted.

"Damn right."

He pumped more and more, the feeling of him dragging himself out of you, then slamming back in making you quiver with want. His hands on your hips kept you steady as you happily took all of him.

"Who's making you feel this good, baby?"

"You."

"Say my name, babe," he ordered.

"Tom...Tom...Tom!" you cried as he pumped into you, his name accentuating every thrust.

He reached around you, his fingers began dancing on your clit and you knew the end was near as he expertly pulled out to the perfect point, then slid back in. The rhythm between his fingers and cock perfect as the sound of his

voice and panting filled the room. The ingredients for an orgasm just on edge until...finally, you released around his cock. Your walls clenching down on him, shuddering against his whole form, white filling your vision as you came - hard.

"Oh, god," you breathed as you started to come down.

Tom suddenly started to move a lot quicker as he noticed you were finished, his hips stuttering into you until he himself came, pulling out at just the right moment so you wouldn't have as much clean up.

You laid on the bed, euphoria enveloping you as Tom cleaned himself up before joining you.

He kissed your cheek.

"Did it all feel good?" he asked sweetly as he drew on your back.

"Wonderful."

"And you remember who your number one is?"

"I never forgot," you informed as you turned over to face him and kiss him on the cheek.

#number one #tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fic

114 notes · View notes

miahpascual · 4 years

Text

A Smile to Remember

Poem by Charles Bukowski

Themes

The themes that are present in the poem ‘A Smile to Remember’ are pain, domestic abuse, fear and death

Pain: This is one of the main themes of the whole poem. When reading the poem you can really feel the pain the mother is feeling through the author’s words. This is shown when Charles Bukowski writes, “Henry, smile! why don’t you smile? and then, she always did to show me how, and it was the saddest smile I ever saw upon the earth, like hell and hell and hell and hell, and nothing else.” This line shows us the weight of sadness and pain the mother is enduring in her home. She is trying to mask her pain by smiling and telling her son to smile even though she is breaking inside. This theme shows a contrast about darkness vs. light. The darkness which is displayed as the abuse and pain she endures from her husband. Whereas the light is displayed as the word ‘smile’ and the way she tries to inflict “happiness” onto Henry.

Domestic Abuse: Another main theme in the poem is domestic abuse. This is seen in the poem when Henry describes the way his father is treating his mother. He says, “....my father beat her two or three times a week while raging through his 6 foot two frame because he couldn’t defeat what was attacking him.” This line really tells us about how bad his life at home really is. It also tells us how toxic his parent’s relationship is. This surprised me because I did not expect the poem to have such a dark meaning to it. In the beginning, I thought that it was just about a kid who lost someone and that it was about sadness and death.

Fear: The fear presented in the poem is felt by Henry and his mother. This is evident when his mother is always telling Henry to smile. I think she does this so that they do not show that they are scared and that they fear his father because if they show this emotion it can result in more harm caused towards them. Being in a relationship where you feel like there is not an escape can cause fear in a person. Relationships that involve domestic abuse are never easy. Sometimes the abused person is so haunted and scared by their abuser that they don’t want to leave. They feel like the person might do something more horrible to them if they try to expose their actions. So they think that it is safer to stay in their current situation. I think this is why most victims of domestic abuse tend to stay quiet and not talk about their experiences because they don’t ever want to relive their experiences.

Death: We see the theme of death at the end of the poem when Henry says that his fish have died. He says, “One day all the goldfish died, all five of them, they floated on top of the water, on their sides, the eye on each top side still open. While reading this line I connected his fish with his mother. So when I read that his fish had died I also thought his mom died. But after reading the poem a couple of times I finally understood that his fish was like a visual representation of his mom’s life and emotions. I understood this when the author writes, “We had the goldfish and they went around and around in the bowl on the table near the purple drapes across our front picture window.” It was like a picture of how his mother’s aura is lifeless and just spends her days wandering the house and doing the same thing every day just like the fish. Not being able to fight back and just sitting back and always smiling and not being able to say a word to her husband. Knowing that one day she’s going to die and her husband will just throw her out like he threw the fish to the cat.

Do you agree of disagree with the poem?

I agree with the poem and its message. It instills the message of a toxic relationship and the subject of domestic abuse. Domestic abuse is a common subject that happens to millions of people around the world, especially women who get abused by a man in a relationship. Also sometimes even men who gest abused by women in a relationship. Domestic abuse can be inflicted in many ways such as physical abuse, emotional abuse, and mental/psychological abuse. In the poem, the mother experiences physical abuse which leads to mental/psychological abuse. She is getting beat constantly which affects her mental and psychological health. She constantly wonders why she is getting beat and why she isn’t worthy and good enough for her husband causing deterioration of her mental capacity. I also agree with the line, “ Henry, smile! Why don’t you smile?” I agree with this line because many people put up a frontier and just smile instead of showing their emotions. We never know if someone is breaking inside because they’re hiding their true emotions behind a smile. That’s why the eyes are a path to someone’s emotions, just like the saying, “the eyes are the windows of the soul.” When you look into someone’s eyes you can see the emotion they are feeling especially when they are sad.

Favourite line or Image?

My favourite line in the poem is “It’s better to be happy if you can be.” This is my favourite line because I can relate to it so much and I feel like other people can too. It is just a small little phrase but it holds so much meaning to it. The meaning of this line to me is so deep and it refreshed many sad memories in my life. When I read this line it was like being hit by a truck. Being happy makes life so much easier but life throws so many obstacles in our way that sometimes it’s hard to always be happy. Many people, like myself, try to be happy but sometimes it’s just so hard. Constantly putting up a smile so that your friends and family don’t have to worry. I do this all the time which I know is so bad for my mental health. People can always tell you to be happy and smile but it is harder to act upon it when you are not feeling like yourself and feeling broken. This poem is probably one of my favourite poems that we have read so far in class because of all the emotions the reader can feel when they read it. We relate to the little messages so much that it draws us in.

Personal Connections

A personal connection I can make with this poem is the way Henry’s mother is always trying to get Henry to smile even though they are in a tough situation. Growing up as a kid, I was always told that crying was a sign of weakness. I felt strong when I didn’t cry. I hated feeling vulnerable around my friends and family so that is why I never showed myself crying in front of them. I always acted unaffected in difficult times and just put a smile on my face or even just laughed it off. This was because I also didn’t want them to worry about me and seem like another burden being added to their problems. This led to a lot of bottled up emotions which really affected my mental health. I remember during elementary school, I didn’t cry a lot even though I got hurt. Not until I hit grade 8. This was when I realized that crying was not a sign of weakness, but the opposite. I realized that showing emotions and crying actually made a person strong because they are opening themselves up. Lol, I started crying left and right. I remember crying during our basketball tournament during regionals because my calves started cramping. It was one of the most painful things I have ever experienced, I couldn’t even walk to the bench, my friends had to carry me there. After this, I wasn’t afraid to show my emotions, especially when my favourite coaches left in grade 9 or when I got so mad during basketball I started crying in grade 10 or when I tore my MCL in my leg in grade 11. However, I do always start off by trying to laugh it off but sometimes my emotions just take over. This reminded me of how Henry and his mother had to act happy and smile their pain away.

0 notes

vegils · 7 years

Text

im... a sucker 4 surveys hey!!!

1: What is your name and does it mean anything?

marinella, someone told me it means “traveller” but i highly doubt that i like the break down of my name more marina, meaning “of the sea” and ella for “guiding light”

2: How long have you known your best friend?

my best friend sweetlana!!! been my good friend!!! for 7 DANG YEARS!!!

3: What position do you normally sleep in?

i sleep in fetal/yearning position and i think the description of the personalities that sleep in fetal/yearning position is very accurate

4: Were you a part of any “clique” in high school?

mmm i hung out with a lot of different people in high school i went through several cliques in the span of my four years i hung out with “popular” people, artsy groups, anime nerds, and drama people

5: Who was your favorite teacher in high school and why?

my biggest inspiration was my speech and drama teacher!! i love u miss macuha!!! one time i was crying about her leaving and she grabbed me by the shoulders and told me to never back down and keep doing what i’m doing and that some day i’ll be a great performer and i bawled on her lap she’s an angel and to this day her words still haunt me!! i never felt the reward a teacher reaped from seeing a student reach their full potential

6: Do you wish to travel a lot?

because im so young i do think about travelling a lot but it makes me sad to think about never being able to travel and i have gone to places but i wish i could see other grander countries i never had the opportunity to see

7: Did you participate in any sports while in school?

um...... i played badminton lmao

8: Show a sample of your handwriting:

how tho

9: Have you ever given blood?

apparently if ur anemic or have history of anemia then u can’t donate blood which makes me sad if i could i would!!!

10: Do you like the way that you grew up?

besides all the fun i had i wish i grew up more confident i am a very doubtful person and i grew up in a pretty hostile home and it felt very scattered and broken to me and i just wish those situations were different, other than that i think i am lucky to grow up ok

11: Do you like your siblings? Why or why not?

i like all of my sisters but they can get very frustrating at times i think we stand better now than we did as kids

12: How did you meet your best friend and why did you become friends?

i met sweetlana on the strokes tumblr tinychat back when they had a roaring fandom and we discovered that we’re both from chicago and we’d talk about silly things and we lost touch for a while but then we reconnected and she’s so darling!!! she would show me her paintings of the blues brothers and we’d talk about our hopes and wishes and now i realize we’ve been doing that for 7 years!!! all we do is exchange selfies and drawings and fantasize about crushes !!!i love her! i can’t imagine not knowing her and never meeting her!

13: Name one movie that made you cry.

my girl.......... shit dude

14: Do you prefer to read poetry, write poetry, or neither?

i’m not poetic but i like to HEAR poetry i love hearing the delivery

15: Things about someone that you find attractive?

i love people who are kind and thoughtful which is rly generic i also love the funny it doesn’t even have to be calculated jokes it can just be the way you said something or a facial expression i like people who manage to share a language with me that can’t be figured out by other people i think having a connection to a person where you can read each others minds can b creepy but also cool cuz u hang out w them so often that you can basically understand each other without much effort

16: What song are you currently listening to now?

year of the rabbit by eskimeaux

17: Have you ever broken a bone? If so, how?

nope

18: A random memory from you childhood:

going to chinatown and racing to the chinese zodiac signs and climbing up the stairs with my sisters, getting sponge cake and walking around the old sanrio store pointing out what i want

19: Where did you grow up? chicago

20: What was the last thing you watched on tv?

lmao we’re watching 13RW and its not for everyone but i read the book and im v invested

21: Do you think you’d make a good parent?

really!! hope id be! i mean i am cool with or without having kids but i want to be a good parent

22: Would you like to meet any of your Tumblr friends in person?

i already met some of my tumblr friends!! i met sweetlana and coney!!! i would like to meet @iamonmy-way when will i meet u!!!

22: What was the last dream you remember having?

my phone was hacked and it looked like internet explorer on my iphone and my cousin tried to retrieve back to normal by playing against my hacker on a boss battle level of mario

23: When is your birthday?

june 2 :---)

24: How many pillows do you sleep with?

2 and 1 reading pillow ^_^

25: Do you wear glasses? If so, how long have you been wearing glasses?

i’ve been wearing eye glasses since i was 6 and i’m 21 now so u do the math bud

26: What color is your hair?

black/brown

27: Name 5 facts about your appearance:

ive been told i have a nice complexion, small mouth, chubby cheeks, small hands and long torso

28: What is your favorite soda?

cream.. soda... i need to go to Hell

29: What is a strange talent that you have?

reading peoples moods online lmao

30: How’s the weather right now?

a cool and calming evening

31: Why did one of your friendships end?

this question makes me sad lmao

32: Who do you miss right now?

oops i can’t reveal who or what or when but i am missing someone

33: Why did your last relationship end?

because i realized i don’t like them that much and that i don’t understand dating I AM A VERY CONFUSED PERSON when i reflect on dating i realize i hate it so much but also crave it but when i have it i’m very repulsed

34: Are you still figuring out who you are?

yes!!! i am frustrated at myself because i don’t know who i am or what i want and i feel like it has set me back so much that i’m stagnant

35: Have you ever been admitted to a hospital? Why?

ya i had dengue fever and it was probably the most concerned i’ve seen my parents with me

36: What is your favorite restaurant?

pastaria!!! in st louis!! it’s so good!

37: What is word that you always seem to spell wrong?

privilege

38: Would ever adopt kids?

not against the idea of adopting children!!!

39: What is your favorite kind of pizza?

i like spinach on my pizza

40: What was your first thought when you woke up this morning?

why is it so dreadful to find yourself in bed with a whole day ahead of you

41: When was the last time you got really really happy and why?

um!!! my crush!!! k*rt !!! when we played the game!! and they were teasing and attacking me during the game! ah!!!

42: What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?

defo dinuguan (pigs blood stew)!! i dont recommend!! i just dip my puto in the sauce and call it a day! not a laman fan!

43: How do you start a conversation?

i tell them something embarrassing that’s also relateable and revealing and hope they find me somebody to be comfortable around!!!

44: What’s a band you’ve been obsessed with lately?

i hate answering this....... but joji........

45: Do you come from a family “of money?”

nah dude

46: Do you have a bucket list?

i think that’s what my life was missing tbh

47: What is your favorite series of books?

i don’t know i haven’t read a series of books in quite a long time i think i pretended to like percy jackson in high school lmao and i was such a nerd for hunger games but i don’t think anything could replace my deepest love for series of unfortunate events, the boxcar children, judy moody, and horrible harry! ooh! and amelia bedelia!!!

48: When was the last time you laughed so hard your stomach hurt?

i laughed rly hard last night cause patrick was so invested in 13 reasons why and my sister n i kept asking 4 justice 4 zach dempsey and patrick threw a pillow at me for saying that what zach did was severe in hannah’s eyes

49: Where do you go when you’re sad?

i slip into bed and silently cry or if i don’t need that i cry in the shower ahhh how pathetic

50: 5 random facts about yourself:

i actually am rly good at acting and i don’t think anybody but high school and college ppl know this, i’m painfully shy, i don’t like mayo!! all of my goldfish in the past have all been named variations of “Freddy” and !!! i am rly good at stitch (from disney’s lilo and stitch) impressions

6 notes · View notes

news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 6 years

Text

Read an exclusive excerpt from Markus Zusak's new book 'Bridge of Clay'

13 years. That's how long Markus Zusak, author of the The Book Thief, has been on hiatus. But for readers eager to dive into a new novel from the acclaimed author, the wait is finally over — Zusak is finally making his return to bookshelves with the publication of his latest effort Bridge of Clay.

The book follows Clay, one of the five young Dunbar brothers who are raising themselves after their mother dies and their father disappears. When the Dunbars' father suddenly returns, asking for help building a bridge into the wilderness, Clay is the only brother who decides to help.

SEE ALSO: It's been 10 years since 'The Book Thief' was published. Does it still hold up?

"At its heart, the book is obviously about Clay – the fourth Dunbar boy – who feels the weight of his family’s history, and his own part in its tragedies," Zusak told Mashable. "He builds a bridge to make something perfect – to be better than human, for just a moment. He builds it for his brothers, I think, but also for himself – for a miracle and nothing less."

It's a premise that is very different than Zusak's breakout hit The Book Thief, which is narrated by Death and finds its protagonist Leisel in Nazi occupied Germany. But Zusak says the reason for his long hiatus wasn't because he was competing with the success of The Book Thief — it was because he was competing with the very idea of Bridge of Clay itself.

"People talk about the pressure associated with writing a book that does better than expected, as The Book Thief did for me, but I feel like Bridge of Clay was always going to take a while," he says.

"From the moment I started, it felt like the last piece of my writing career so far – almost the amalgamation of everything I’ve done up to this point, whist also trying to reach further. In the end, I think the books take longer because the more experience we gather, the more we find fault with what we’re doing … That said, I’m hoping the next book doesn’t take another decade."

While he says that his books aren't competing, Zukas does clarify that he hopes Bridge of Clay is better than The Book Thief.

"People would say, 'It doesn't have to be better than The Book Thief – it just has to be different.' That's helpful advice, but I still disagreed with it. I'd say, 'But I've always tried to write a better book than the last one … That feels like the whole point.'"

Bridge of Clay doesn't come out until October 2018, but Mashable has a sneak peek at the book. Meet our protagonist Clay Dunbar in the exclusive excerpt below.

Image: Alfred A. Knopf

Bridge of Clay by Markus Zusak

growing up the dunbar way

So there they were, way up in the far-flung future:

A cantankerous bird.

An acrobatic goldfish.

Two bloody boys.

And look here at Clay, in the backstory.

What can we say about him?

How did life begin, as a boy and a son and a Dunbar?

It was pretty simple, really, with a multitude lying within:

Once, in the tide of Dunbar past, there were five brothers, but the fourth of us was the best of us, and a boy of many traits.

How did Clay become Clay, anyway?

In the beginning there was all of us—each our own small part to tell the whole—and our father had helped at each birth; he was first to be handed to hold us. As Penelope liked to tell it, he’d be standing there, acutely aware, and he’d cried at the bedside, beaming. He never flinched at the slop or the burnt-looking bits, as the room began to spin. For Penelope, that was everything.

When it was over, she’d succumb to dizziness.

Her heartbeat leapt in her lips.

It was funny, they liked to tell us, how when we were born, we all had something they loved:

Me, it was my feet. The newborn crinkly feet.

Rory, it was his punched-up nose when he first came out, and the noises he made in his sleep; something like a world title fight, but at least they knew he was alive.

Henry had ears like paper.

Tommy was always sneezing.

And of course, there was Clay, between us:

The boy who came out smiling.

As the story went, when Penny was in labor with Clay, they left Henry, Rory, and me with Mrs. Chilman. On the drive to the hospital they nearly pulled over; Clay was coming quickly. As Penny would later tell him: the world had wanted him badly, but what she didn’t do was ask why.

Was it to hurt, to humiliate?

Or to love and make great?

Even now it’s hard to decide.

It was morning, summer and humid, and when they made it to the maternity ward, Penny was shouting, still walking, and his head was starting to crown. He was very nearly torn rather than born, as if the air had reefed him out.

In the delivery room, there was a lot of blood.

It was splayed on the floor like murder.

As for the boy, he lay in the muggy atmosphere, and was strangely, quietly, smiling; his bloodcurdled face dead silent. When an unsuspecting nurse came in, she stood openmouthed and blaspheming. She stopped and said, “Jesus Christ.”

It was our mother, all dizzy, who replied.

“I hope not,” she said, and our father still grinned. “We know what we did to Him.”

As a boy, as I said, he was the best of us.

To our parents, in particular, he was the special one, I’m sure of it, for he rarely fought, hardly cried, and loved everything they spoke of and told him. Night for night, while the rest of us made excuses, Clay would help with the dishes, as a trade for one more story. To Penny he’d say, “Can you tell me about Vienna again, and all those bunk beds? Or what about this one?” His face was in the dinner plates, the suds across his thumbs. “Can you tell me about the statue of Stalin? And who was Stalin anyway?”

To Michael, he’d say, “Can you tell me all about Moon, Dad, and the snake?”

He was always in the kitchen, while the rest of us watched TV, or fought in the lounge or the hallway.

Of course, as things go, though, our parents were also editors:

The stories were almost-everythings.

Penny didn’t tell him yet how long they spent on a garage floor, to beat, to blow and burn themselves, to exorcise past lives. Michael didn’t talk of Abbey Hanley, who became Abbey Dunbar, then Abbey Someone-Else. He didn’t tell him about burying the old TW, or of The Quarryman, or how once he’d loved to paint. He’d said nothing yet about heartbreak, or how lucky heartbreak could be.

No, for now, most-of-truths were enough.

It was enough for Michael to say he was on the porch one day and met a woman out front with a piano. “If it wasn’t for that,” he’d tell the boy, “I wouldn’t have you or your brothers—”

“Or Penelope.”

Michael smiled and said, “Damn right.”

What neither of them could know was that Clay would hear the stories in their entireties, not long before it was too late.

Her smile would be hoisted up by then.

Her face would be in decay.

As you might imagine, his first memories were only vague, of two particular things:

Our parents, his brothers.

The shapes of us, our voices.

He remembered our mother’s piano hands as they sailed across the keys. They had a magical sense of direction—hitting the M, hitting the E, and every other part of PLEASE MARRY ME.

To the boy her hair was sunny.

Her body was warm and slim.

He would remember himself as a four-year-old, being frightened of that upright brown thing. While each of us had our own dealings with it, Clay saw it as something not-his.

When she played he put his head there.

The stick-thin thighs belonged to him.

As for Michael Dunbar, our father, Clay recalled the sound of his car—the engine on winter mornings. The return in the half dark. He smelt like strain, long days, and brickwork.

In what would later go down as the Shirtless Eating Days (as you’ll soon see), he remembered the sight of his muscles; for apart from all the construction labor, he would sometimes—and this was how he put it—go out to the torture chamber, which was push-ups and sit-ups in the garage. Sometimes it was a barbell as well, but not even heavily weighted. It was the number of lifts, overhead.

Sometimes we went out with him:

A man and five boys doing push-ups.

The five of us falling away.

And yes—in those years of growing up in that place, our dad was a sight to see. He was average height, slight in weight, but fit and tight-looking, lean. His arms weren’t big or bulging; they were athletic and charged with meaning. You could see each move, each twitch.

And all those Goddamn sit-ups.

Our dad had a concrete stomach.

In those days, too, I remind myself, our parents were something else.

Sure, they fought sometimes, they argued.

There was the odd suburban thunderbolt, but they were mostly those people who’d found each other; they were golden and bright-lit and funny. Often they seemed in cahoots somehow, like jailbirds who wouldn’t leave; they loved us, they liked us, and that was a pretty good trick. After all, take five boys, put them in one small house, and see what it looks and sounds like: it’s a porridge of mess and fighting.

I remember things like mealtimes, and how sometimes it got too much: the forks dropping, the knives pointing, and all those boys’ mouths eating. There’d be arguing, elbowing, food all over the floor, food all over our clothes, and “How did that piece of cereal end up—there—on the wall?” until a night came when Rory sealed it; he spilled half his soup down his shirt.

Our mother, Penny Dunbar, didn’t panic.

She stood, cleaned up, and he would eat the rest of it shirtless—and our father got the idea. We were all still celebrating when he said it:

“You lot, too.”

Henry and I nearly choked. “Sorry?”

“You didn’t hear me?”

“Ohhh, shit,” said Henry.

“Should I make you take your pants off, too?”

For a whole summer, we ate like that, our T-shirts heaped near the toaster. To be fair, though, and to Michael Dunbar’s credit, from the second time onwards, he took his own shirt off with us. Tommy, who was still in that beautiful phase when kids speak totally unfiltered, shouted, “Hey! Hey, Dad! What are you doing here in just your nipples?”

The rest of us roared with laughter, especially Penny Dunbar, but Michael was up to the task. A triceps was slightly flickering.

“And what about your mum, you blokes? Should she go shirtless, too?”

She never needed rescuing, but it was Clay who’d often be willing.

“No,” he said, but she did it:

Her bra was old and broken-looking.

It was faded, strapped to each breast.

She ate and smiled regardless.

She said, “Now don’t go burning your chests.”

We knew what to get her for Christmas.

In that sense there was always a bulkiness to us.

A bursting at the seams.

Whatever we did, there was more:

More washing, more cleaning, more eating, more dishes, more arguing, more fighting and throwing and hitting and farting, and “Hey, Rory, I think you better go to the toilet!” and of course, a lot more denying. It wasn’t me should have been printed on all our T-shirts; we said it dozens of times each day.

It didn’t matter how much in control or on-top-of-things things were, there was chaos a heartbeat away. We could be skinny and constantly agile, but there was never quite room for all of it—so everything was done at once.

One part I remember clearly is how they used to cut our hair; a barber would have cost too much. It was set up in the kitchen—an assembly line, and two chairs—and we’d sit, first Rory and me, then Henry and Clay. Then, when it came to Tommy’s turn, Michael would cut Tommy’s, to give Penny a small reprieve, and then she’d resume and cut his.

“Hold still!” said our father to Tommy.

“Hold still,” said Penny to Michael.

Our hair, in lumps, in the kitchen.

Sometimes, and this one comes so happily it hurts, I remember when we all got into one car, the entire lot of us, piled in. In so many ways I can’t help but love the idea of it—how Penny and Michael, they were both completely law-abiding, but then they did things like this. It’s one of those perfect things, really, a car with too many people. Whenever you see a group squashed in like that—an accident waiting to happen—they’re always shouting and laughing.

In our case, in the front, through the gaps, you could see their handheld hands.

It was Penelope’s fragile, piano-playing hand.

Our father’s powdery work hand.

And a scrum of boys around them, of elbows, arms, and legs.

In the ashtray there were lollies, usually Anticols, sometimes Tic Tacs. The windshield was never clean in that car, but the air was always fresh; it was boys all sucking on cough drops, or a festival of mint.

Some of Clay’s fondest memories of our dad, though, were the nights, just before bed, when Michael wouldn’t believe him. He’d crouch and speak to him quietly: “Do you need to go to the toilet, kid?” and Clay would shake his head. Even as the boy was nodding, he’d be led to the small bathroom, and cracked tiling, and proceed to piss like a racehorse.

“Hey, Penny!” Michael would call. “We’ve got bloody Phar Lap here!” And he’d wash the boy’s hands and crouch again, not saying another thing. And Clay knew what it meant. Every night, for a long, long time, he was piggybacked into bed:

“Can you tell me about old Moon again, Dad?”

Then to us, his brothers, we were bruises, we were beatings, in the house at 18 Archer Street. As older siblings do, we marauded all that was his. We’d pick him up by his T-shirt, right in the middle of his back, and deposit him somewhere else. When Tommy arrived, three years later, we did the same to him. Even by the time Tommy was four, we craned him behind the TV, or dropped him out the back. If he cried he was dragged to the bathroom, a headlock at the ready; Rory would have his neck.

“Boys?” would come the call. “Boys, have you seen Tommy?”

Henry did the whispering, by the long blond hairs in the sink.

“Not one word, y’ little prick.”

Nodding. Fast nodding.

That was the way to live.

At five years old, like all of us, Clay began the piano.

We hated it but did it.

The MARRY ME keys and Penny.

When we were very young, she’d spoken her old language to us, but only as we went to sleep. Now and then she’d stop and explain something of it, but it left us year by year. Music, on the other hand, was nonnegotiable, and there’d been varying degrees of success:

I was close to competent.

Rory was downright violent.

Henry might have been brilliant, if only he could have cared.

Later, Tommy had only done a few years when Penny fell sick, and maybe she was already broken by then, mostly, I think, by Rory.

“All right!” she’d call from next to him, through the barrage of broken music. “Time’s up!”

“What?” He was desecrating that marriage proposal, which was fading by then, and fast, but would never fade completely. “What was that?”

“I said time’s up!”

Often she wondered what Waldek Lesciuszko would have made of him, or more to the point, of her. Where was her patience? Where was the branch of a spruce tree? Or in this place, a bottlebrush or eucalypt? She knew there was a big difference between five boyish boys and a father’s studious girl, but there was still a disappointment as she watched him swagger away.

For Clay, sitting in the corner of the lounge room was a duty, but one he was willing to take; he tried at least to try. When he was finished, he’d trail her to the kitchen, and ask his two-word question:

“Hey, Mum?”

Penny would stop at the sink. She’d hand him a checkered tea towel. “I think,” she’d say, “I’ll tell you about the houses today, and how I thought they were made of paper. . . .”

“And the cockroaches?”

She couldn’t help herself. “So big!”

But sometimes I think they wondered, our parents, about why they’d chosen to live like this. Most often they would snap over minor things, as the mess and frustration mounted.

I remember how once it rained a whole fortnight, in summer, and we came home deep-fried in mud. Penny had duly lost it with us, and resorted to the wooden spoon. She gave it to us on the arms, on the legs, everywhere she could (and the dirt, like crossfire, like shrapnel), till finally she’d broken two of them, and threw a boot down the hall instead. As it tumbled, end over end, it somehow gathered momentum, and altitude, and hit Henry, a thud in the face. His mouth was bleeding, and he’d swallowed a loose tooth, and Penny sat down near the bathroom. When a few of us went to console her, she sprang up and said, “Go to hell!”

It was hours till finally she checked on him, and Henry was still deciding. Was he ridden with guilt, or furious? After all, losing teeth was good for business. He said, “I won’t even get paid by the Tooth Fairy!” and showed her the gap within.

“The Tooth Fairy,” she said, “will know.”

“Do you think you get more if you swallow it?”

“Not when you’re covered in mud.”

For me, the most memorable arguments our parents had were due mostly to Hyperno High. The mountains of marking. Abusive parents. Or injuries from breaking up fights.

“Jesus, why don’t you just let ’em kill each other?” our dad said once. “How could you be so—” and Penny was starting to seethe.

“So—what?”

“I don’t know—naïve, and just, stupid—to think you can make a difference.” He was tired, and sore, from building work, and putting up with the rest of us. He waved a hand back out through the house. “You spend all that extra time marking, and trying to help them, and look here—look at this place.” He was right; there was Lego everywhere, and a scattergun of clothes and dust. Our toilet recalled those public ones, in the time of her spoils of freedom, not one of us aware of the brush.

“And what? So I should stay home and do the cleaning?”

“Well, no, that’s not what I—”

“Should I get the bloody vacuum?”

“Oh, shit, that’s not what I meant.”

“WELL, WHAT DID YOU MEAN?” she roared. “HUH?”

It was the sound that makes a boy look up, when anger spills over to rage. This time they really mean it.

And still it wasn’t quite over.

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE, MICHAEL!”

“I am!” he said. “. . . I am.”

And the quieted voice, even worse. “Then how about actually showing it.”

Then after-storm, and silence.

As I said, though, such moments were isolated, and they would soon reconvene at the piano:

Our symbol of boyhood misery.

But their island of calm in the maelstrom.

Once, he’d stood behind her, as she recovered by playing some Mozart; then he placed his hands on the instrument, in the sun on the lid by the window.

“I’d write the words I’m sorry,” he’d said, “but I’ve forgotten where all the paint is—” and Penelope stopped, she turned to him. An inkling of smile at the memory.

“Well, that and there’s really no room,” she said, and played on, on the handwritten keys.

Yes, she played on, that one-woman band, and while sometimes the chaos spilled over, there was also what we’d call normal arguments—normal fighting—which were mostly between us boys.

In that regard, at six years old, Clay had started football, both the organized kind and the one we played at home, front to back, around the house. As time went by it was our father, Tommy, and Rory versus Henry, Clay, and me. On the last tackle, you could kick the ball over the roof, but only if Penny wasn’t reading on a lawn chair, or marking that flow of assignments.

“Hey, Rory,” Henry would say, “run at me so I can smash you,” and Rory would do it, and run straight over the top of him, or be driven back into the ground. Every game, without fail, they would need to be prized apart—

“Right.”

Our father looked at both of them, back and forth:

Henry all blond and bloody.

Rory the color of a cyclone.

“Right what?”

“You know what.” He’d be breathing hoarse and heavily, with scratch marks on his arms. “Shake hands. Now.”

And they would.

They’d shake hands, say sorry, and then, “Yeah, sorry I had to shake your hand, dickhead!” and it was on again, and this time they’d be dragged out back where Penelope sat, the assignments littered around her.

“Now what have you two been up to this time?” she’d ask, in a dress, and barefoot in the sun. “Rory?”

“Yeah?”

She gave him a look.

“I mean, yes?”

“Take my chair.” She started walking inside. “Henry?”

“I know, I know.”

He was already on hands and knees, collating the fallen sheets.

She lengthened a look at Michael, and a collegial, cahootsful wink.

“Goddamn bloody boys.”

No wonder I got a taste for blasphemy.

And what else?

What else was there, as we skip the years like stones?

Did I mention how sometimes we’d sit on the back fence, for end-of-morning trackwork? Did I say how we’d watched as it all got packed up, to be another forgotten field?

Did I mention the Connect Four war when Clay was seven?

Or the game of Trouble that lasted four hours, maybe more?

Did I mention how it was Penny and Tommy who won that battle at long last, with our dad and Clay second, me third, and Henry and Rory (who were forced to play together) last? Did I mention that they both blamed each other for being crap at hitting the bubble?

As for what happened with Connect Four, let’s just say we were still finding the pieces months later.

“Hey, look!” we’d call, from the hallway or kitchen. “There’s even one in here!”

“Go pick it up, Rory.”

“You go pick it up.”

“I’m not pickin’ it up—that’s one of yours.”

And on. And on.

And on.

He remembered summer, and Tommy asking who Rosy was, when Penny read from The Iliad. We were up late, in the lounge room, and Tommy’s head was in her lap, his feet across my legs, and Clay was down on the floor.

Penny tilted and stroked Tommy’s hair.

I told him, “It’s not a person, stupid, it’s the sky.”

“What do you mean?”

This time it was Clay, and Penelope explained.

“It’s because,” she said, “you know how at sunrise and sunset the sky goes orange and yellow, and sometimes red?”

He nodded from under the window.

“Well, when it’s red, it’s rosy, and that’s all he meant. It’s great, isn’t it?” and Clay smiled then, and so did Penny.

Tommy, again, was concentrating. “Is Hector a word for the sky, too?”

That was it; I got up. “Did there really need to be five of us?”

Penny Dunbar only laughed.

The next winter there was all the organized football again, and the winning and training and losing. Clay didn’t especially love the game, but did it because the rest of us did, and I guess that’s what younger siblings do for a time—they photocopy their elders. In that respect, I should also say that although he was set apart from us, he could be just the same. Sometimes, mid-household-football-game, when a player was secretly punched or elbowed, Henry and Rory would go at it—“It wasn’t me!” and “Oh, bullshit!”—but me, I’d seen it was Clay. Already then his elbows were ferocious, and deliverable in many ways; it was hard to see them coming.

A few times he’d admit it.

He’d say, “Hey, Rory, it was me.”

You don’t know what I’m capable of.

But Rory wouldn’t have it; it was easier fighting with Henry.

To that end (and this one), it was fitting, really, that Henry was publicly infamous back then, when it came to sport and leisure—sent off for pushing the ref. Then ostracized by his teammates, for the greatest of footballing sins; at halftime the manager asked them:

“Hey, where’s the oranges?”

“What oranges?”

“Don’t get smart—you know, the quarters.”

But then someone noticed.

“Look, there’s a big pile a peels there! It was Henry, it was bloody Henry!”

Boys, men, and women, they all glared.

It was great suburban chagrin.

“Is that true?”

There was no point denying it; his hands spoke clearly for themselves. “I got hungry.”

The ground was six or seven kilometers away, and we’d caught the train, and Henry was made to go home on foot, and the rest of us as well. When one of us did something like that, we all seemed to suffer, and we walked the Princes Highway.

“Why’d you push the ref, anyway?” I asked.

“He kept treading on my foot—he was wearing steel studs.”

Now Rory: “Why’d you have to eat all the oranges, then?”

“Because I knew you’d have to walk home, too, shithead.”

Michael: “Oi!”

“Oh, yeah—sorry.”

But this time there was no retraction of the sorry, and I think we were all somehow happy that day, though we were soon to start coming undone; even Henry throwing up in the gutter. Penny was kneeling next to him, our father’s voice beside her:

“I guess these are the spoils of freedom.”

And how could we ever know?

We were just a bunch of Dunbars, oblivious of all to come.

WATCH: This might be the world's quietest library

#_author:MJ Franklin #_uuid:5bf0c6cc-8acb-3148-9bb4-8c03ca9ecdf1 #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_revsp:news.mashable

0 notes

jennywarhurstsmith-blog · 7 years

Text

Manifesto(es)

I’ve got a multiplicity of ideas about what I want this blog to reflect and record. The ideas which I’m hoping to put down aren’t solid. Even as I’m starting to channel this manic burst of inspiration (thank you late afternoon coffee paired with IMing Jennifer Taylor for madcap blog title ideas) into an introductory post, I’m getting distracted by my Dad arriving home from working at his friend Geoff’s and wanting me to talk to him and help him pick raspberries from the garden, on this very grey afternoon. So all I can do is to tell you now about how I feel today, and what I want this to become. And why I’m nervous and finding this so hard to compose.

I’ve got brain cancer, and it can’t be operated on. And that’s the first and biggest fact I am going to reveal about myself. The shadow on the scans creeps over my whole life, and it chokes all of the ideas that I have and checks my ambition. It stunts the growth of the flowers of poetry. It comes knocking at my doors and my windows insistently, carrying an insidious bouquet of chronic fatigue. Today it’s a mild headache, a compulsion to sleep. I don’t know where my illness is going to take me, or stop me from going. It is from a sense of confusion and flux that this blog will begin to take shape.

The beginning of this blog came from a few different places. Firstly, I guess, there’s the fact of my new feeling of impermanence. For a while, I really did feel like I could just die at any time. And although I’m still more aware of being weaker than I was, I have begun to rationalise this idea of frailty against comforting ideas (although bear with me, because they are very morbid…)

Every day, we do things that have a risk factor just to survive. And that’s why although I can accept that I have cancer and that as a result I get more tired more easily and I struggle with big gaps in my memory and concentration, I refuse to accept that I am closer to death than anyone else. I’m simply not. I’m sick, yes, I’m maybe a little weak, yes, but I’m also just as likely as you to get hit by a car or choke on my next (illicit, sorry Slimming World!) chocolate biscuit or even trip and fall in the canal. So I’m going to do it. I’m lighting a fire under my own arse and committing a gross act of creation, I’m going to indecently expose my innermost thoughts to the world. And I’m going to do it in a way which reflects the hormonal rollercoaster of emotions which has definitely sped up recently, but has really always been a part of ‘Jennifer Louise Smith,’ as my long suffering friends and family can attest.

Lovely Siân of the City Hospital Teenage Cancer ward is responsible for this particularly madcap and infuriating mode of self expression. She began the whole thing by giving me a scrap book early on in the phase when I was first beginning to gain an awareness of what was happening to me. I made a lot of progress early on, but as I began to get busier, this format began to suit me less because firstly I was filling up my days by leaving the house, and secondly I was becoming more self aware and self critical. Quite often I find my artistic skills lacking. However, I’m hoping that the early style I was developing which was really mixed media and responsive can continue, because my artistic inspiration really does come from all sorts of sources less obvious than just the books that I read and my day to day life.

That’s the other reason behind the mixed up format I’m hoping to embrace. Around the time when I first received this scrapbook (which I hopefully titled ‘I AM MORE THAN MY ASTROCYTOMA’, which became darkly funny because I was later re-diagnosed with Multifocal Glioma….multi….as in there is ‘more’ than an astrocytoma…) I was still really struggling from the most surreal aspects of the tumour and associated raised pressure inside my skull. I was having big memory blanks, some of which I still haven’t been able to re-obtain (something which frustrates me, and is part of the reason I’m constantly writing down every scrappy idea that paddles through my brain) and I was also having some slightly trippy and surreal experiences. Those issues have mostly resolved themselves and I’m much more acquainted with the here and the now and the rational and the solid. But I feel in some way the strangeness of those experiences is something that I really won’t ever be able to forget, and that the experience of losing parts of me has changed something essential about me.

For a long time, I couldn’t have concentrated for the extended periods of time that any type of blogging would recquire. Let’s call this my goldfish phase…due to the problems I was having just with every day life, I was referred to a wonderful occupational therapist called Zandra, who has really helped me to look at methods to improve my life not only in terms of getting back to work but really at helping me be at one with my personal circumstances once again. It’s hard to hold onto anything in a concrete way when you can’t even remember what you’re doing as you walk from one room to another. Perhaps I’ll include some of the things which Zandra encouraged me with – one of the first being these big sort of day planners that my Dad was writing for me around Christmas 2016. These planners/journals were a way to check and record myself and try and replace my memory. It’s from these early ‘diaries’ that new ideas developed.

Zandra also really pushed me to think about the future. The way that this episode has positioned itself in my life is beautifully ironic (though not to all parties involved, just to me, Miss Morbid.) My most dramatic symptoms coincided with the end of my time at Sussex University, and my collapse and first admittance into hospital happened as I was undertaking a liberation graduation Eurotrip with my American friend Amanda. So all of this happened just as I was about to leave education, as I was about to become a fully fledged adult and begin to experience life for myself. I wanted to make concrete roots and career successes. I hoped for boyfriends and travel and excitement.

It’s difficult not to sound dramatic when I touch upon how these things aren’t accessible to me now, like they felt that summer in Amsterdam and Berlin with Amanda.

Still, maybe this could be the start of a new future. And if it isn’t, it still feels wonderful to begin to re-organise my thoughts in a way that other people can understand.

I’d hoped to be a teacher some day, but I just don’t have the ability at the present moment to be reliable. Due to my medical issues I wouldn’t be allowed to learn to drive. I feel for the same reason that perhaps I would no longer be able to take responsibility for a class and teach. So when I was finally coming back to myself and Zandra was helping me come up with goals, I had to refigure. Because I am not the same girl who was travelling with Amanda. I’ve shared a lot of experiences with that previous Jenny, but she doesn’t know me anymore. What I know now is that some parts of me are fragile but simultaneously resilient. And I have interesting and insightful things to tell people because of what has happened to me, but I also still have a lot to learn.

If I’m not going to be able to teach, maybe then I can pursue less practical career paths without feeling like I am being selfish and not giving back to society. Perhaps the most generous thing I can do now is to recover as best as possible in order to bring peace of mind to the people who care about me most. In a lot of ways this entire work will be dedicated to my family and all of the things they have always done for me. My mother in particular – I just CANNOT express how grateful I am. Even if I was to fill a library with the word ‘Thank-you’ it couldn’t begin to tell you how thankful I am for my family and my friends and everyone else (medics and counsellors and members of the public) who have all contrived to create a new niche to cradle me in and help cushion my return to lucidity.

So although I feel my oxymoronic noble-selfish wish to teach (selfish because it allows me to remain in academia) I also know that I’m probably not currently reliable enough to take on students – a student-teacher relationship is one where the tutor must be available to the student first and foremost, and I feel that a lot of the time I’m just not mentally THERE. This has left me a fish out of water – where do I go from here? I’ve also lost the ability to travel the world independently, which was another huge motivation and a dream for the future. Yet while my world is shrinking, I’m also feeling the strangest kind of zoom effect. Everything seems to carry more significance and beauty than it did before. Sometimes I feel like a receptor for nature. Other times I feel like a lump, and an undeserving one at that, because I don’t really contribute anything to society at this moment in time.

One of my strongest convictions is that creating optimism and drive in your immediate life moves outwards from you like the rings created by dropping a stone in water. This butterfly effect is all I can have for now, so I may as well take all of my frustration and devastation and turn it into something. Anything at all! Its better that I’m sat here expressing this big lump which sits between my heart and my throat than just letting it catch every time I sit about listening to other people rather than speaking my mind.

A lot of the time, that mental voice is just screaming YOU HAVE CANCER YOU ARE DYING over and over again. It’s not a thing that’s easy to ignore, but it’s something I have to put into its box and just let it stew. I can’t look that thought in the eye.

So much has become unreal recently that I find it difficult to explain simply to anyone what it is exactly that I’m feeling. I’m going to put a positive spin on it for the purposes of this blog post, however, and just say that although I can feel my limits, and they never go away, I also feel liberated in other respects because something as simple as getting out of bed and getting dressed has become a victory. I can be proud of myself for not giving in. And in that way I’m hoping to use this adventure in journaling as a way to celebrate all of the interesting outcomes of a really cruddy situation.

Yes, my writing makes me cringe. And I’m already critiquing myself and second guessing every single word choice that I’m making. And I do intend to edit and refine the work that I create and publish on this blog. However, I also want to show resilience and ambition. Being so physically weak has helped reinforce how much I really do love reading books and how much I’d love to continue to study. I keep getting this idea that I could succeed in a creative writing course. Perhaps this will be the very first chapter of that narrative.

I don’t want to give up anything more. I’ve given up enough already.

The use of this format, the blog, is a substitute for an ideal format that I’ve been thinking about a lot over the past few months. I’ve been struggling to describe exactly what I want this to look like and show, but I haven’t generated all of the content I’d want to be contained within it. So this is all a work in progress. That’s part of the reason I’m calling this post ‘Manifesto(es)’ – like an avant garde artist I want to set out to explain to you what exactly it is I want to show you, because I’m not yet certain how I’m going to execute it, and I may even need your help to make it possible.

I can’t get the idea of the spider’s web out of my mind. Having such pervasive cognitive issues, these big gaps and misty confusions, I spend a lot of my day trying to re-create arcs of thought which have occurred, bursting into life then fading back into the general miasma of my brain. The only way I can think of to describe the way my brain feels is to picture that old secondary school technique, the mind map (or sometimes known as a brainstorm). By linking ideas, memories, pictures, photographs, messages and factual information, I can mimic the paths which my thoughts have taken, and use them to build new ideas and create a new memory artificially. For a very long time now I’ve been keeping notes of all sorts of abstract ideas on paper, on my phone, but now I’m becoming engaged with society again I need to be able to explain them to people, to make this ‘second brain’ a physical thing that I can access. It’s a sketch of my brain. I wish I could sketch it, perhaps using a computer programme to make it interactive? However, I don’t yet have the skills. My solution in the meanwhile is to use the popular medium of the hash tag at the same time as the standard chronological blog format. In this way, I can keep a diary which is multimedia, which chronicles my recovery, which allows me to edit and curate what other people can see and will also help me develop. Because perhaps, if I can become more confident in my ability to express what my brain is trying so desperately to make known, I can recover myself.

Because that is what’s breaking my heart about my illness. It feels like the border between me and the rest of the world has been damaged. Nobody else quite gets me anymore. I’m me, I’m vivacious and silly and embarrassing...but I’m also this fragile brain damaged train wreck. Sometimes I feel like I’ve lost so much, sometimes it feels more like I’ve learned from this experience. But always, it feels insular and lonely inside my skull. And even this, thinking about my thinking, is cathartic. And I’m hoping that eventually this blog can help me feel like Jenny Smith again.

Manifesto{es} is an unashamedly pretentious title for an early blog post, but I’m hoping to keep writing new variations on these explanations, and keep adding to these ideas. And I’m also going to add hash tags to the blogs I write in order to show the secondary methods of sorting and linking the ideas in my brain. Over time, I’m hoping this will create a structure to model the way my mind works and perhaps to solidify the changeable. However, only hard work and time will allow me to live out this experiment. So I’ll sign off here, and start to input old thoughts onto the blog. I’m going to try and back date as much stuff as I can, even if it doesn’t yet seem relevant. It’ll help assuage some of the fear I have of losing the little memories I’ve recovered. And perhaps it’ll even help me build up my creative impulses, and become a half decent writer. So the way the new structure is going to work is that I’ll sign off each post with dates and times, and if I go back I’ll acknowledge the changes. It reminds me of Joyce’s ‘Trieste, Zurich, Paris 1914-1921.’ This is my palimpsest, my monument of sand shored against the tide:

Written on my laptop from my bedroom, 3rd July 2017, altered from a piece started 27th June 2017

0 notes

girlwithglasses1245 · 7 years

Text

Survey Says!

Do you think someone is missing you at the moment?

Probably Dan? Since he’s out of town this weekend.

Can you think of one reason why some people might not like you?

Well, I am not friends with those people anymore and the reason was really petty. So I am just going to respond with a no comment.

So we’re two months into 2017. How has it been for you so far? Has anything happened in the past 2 months that you think you will always remember? It was going pretty well in January, but February has been pretty shitty expect for Valentine’s Day.

Can you describe what was going through your mind during your last kiss? That it’s going to suck not seeing Dan for about 4 days while he goes to his NRA class thing up in Ocala. But I’ll survive, I have stuff to do here.

Are you talking to anyone while filling this in? What are you talking about?

Nope.

If you’re in a relationship, are you happy? And if you’re single, are you looking for someone?

I am in a relationship yes, and I am quite happy. Dan isn’t just my boyfriend, he’s my best friend.

Have you ever been so drunk that you could barely stand? Not to my knowledge.

Was your last hug from someone of the opposite sex?

Uhh Dan on Thursday?

Will you be sharing your bed with someone else tonight? Alone. :(

Is there anything wrong with you right now? I need a job, please!

Have you eaten chocolate today?

No.

Think back to last night … did you go to sleep before midnight?

Perhaps? I was watching a movie and I passed out and woke up around 12:30 and realized my lamp was still on and my movie ended. lol

The last time you sent a text to someone, did you add a kiss at the end?

No, but I did say lots of love. :)

Where did you meet the person you love/like?

Plenty of Fish initially and then Tiki’s for drinks the next day. :D

Have you had any recent calls or texts from any unknown numbers? Did you answer them? I answer ones that have my area code since I am job seeking right now, but if its unknown I’ll ignore it.

OK … let’s just say I’m going to buy you a present … but I don’t know what to get :/ Would you mind if I just bought you a box of chocolates? Sure I guess, just no peanuts.

Has anyone ever stolen food from you?

Not technically.

What is something that people make fun of you for?

God only knows, I’d rather not know.

Which supermarket do you like to shop at? Publix or Aldi. lol

Do you think you might have any obsessive compulsive tendencies?

A little, but doesn’t everyone?

Who was the last person to text you? Do you think this person cares for you? Dan. And yes I think so!

Did you have a conversation last night that made you smile?

Yeah.

Has anyone paid you a compliment at all today? My mom kinda did. She was said it was nice to see me all smiley this morning. Does that count?

Have you ever been told that your boyfriend/girlfriend wasn’t good enough for you?

Yeah...

Do you think it’s okay to flirt with someone that’s already taken, as long as it goes no further?

No, but apparently I am guilty of doing that according to some people. This is why I hate people, they get my friendly intentions confused with flirting.

Have you ever been on the phone for more than an hour straight?

I have been know to do so. But texting is easier and preferred.

Are you a spender or a saver? I’m a bit of both these days.

Are you currently wearing anything pink? Nope.

If someone close to you is upset, does that make you feel upset too?

Yes. I don’t like to see people upset and I play off their emotions. I never really noticed I do that until Dan mentioned a few months ago.

Do you struggle to say ‘no’ to things you don’t want to do?

Yes, but somehow it all works out.

Are you wearing any label brands of clothing?

I have Pink brand panties on at the moment.

Do you think it’s really possible to love just one person until the day you die?

I think so.

Someone attractive is staring at you. What do you do?

I kinda doubt that they are looking at me and just do whatever.

How long can you stay single after a relationship break-up, before you feel ready to be with someone else? Well, it depends on slightly what happened. But I’ll use Jeffrey as an example. After we broke up (maturely) it maybe about six months until I even could think/want to see someone else.

Do you miss someone at the moment? Does that person know that you miss them?

Yes. I am sure he knows since I said yesterday in a text. lol

Are you friends with someone a lot of people dislike?

No I don’t think so.

Do you always have something on your mind? What? My mind is a weird place sometimes. It’s hard for me to always put to words that’s going in their sometimes, but other times I know exactly what’s going on and how to say it.

Who do you think about most constantly? Why? I am thinking about my future a lot lately and what my next steps are and how I am going to take to them.

Have you ever felt like you were being suffocated by a significant other? Ugh, my first “boyfriend” Alex was quite suffocating in 2011. I don’t think he realized it really; the understood his negative toxic role he had on my life post relationship up until 2 years ago. After thought; damn that was 4 years of my life now that I think about it. I don’t think I’ve ever talked about it with anyone. Just something I’ve always kept to myself. But I am better now.

If yes, how did you handle it? I have blocked him on social media and have changed my phone number so he has no way to get in contact with me even if he tried. So I guess that’s how I handled it.

Who was your most recent ex? Why did it end? Shawn. He went away on a cruise and we were supposed to see each other again when he got home from said trip. Something clicked in his head when he got home that he didn’t want to see me anymore since we wanted different things apparently. But it all worked out 3 weeks later I met Dan. :D

Do you often fight with your guardians? About what? I don’t think we fight per say, just disagree on stuff like me staying with Dan or whatever.

Does any part of your body hurt right now? Why? My neck sorta hurts from falling asleep in an odd position last night for a few hours.

Have you ever had a pet fish? What was it’s name? Yes, I had a Goldfish and a few Bettas. I don’t remember the name of the Betta’s, but my Goldfish was Goldie. So imaginary right?

Don’t you find life all a bit funny? Somewhat, depends how I look it it.

What’s your opinion on hardcore, conservative Christians? Everyone has their opinion. I am Christian, but I am not super hardcore about nor am alter conservative either. I am just a moderate who see the world as gray not black or white.

Do you wish on falling stars? What for? I don’t think I’ve ever seen one; sooooo I have no comment.

Have you ever wanted to be a Princess from a Disney movie? Which one? I loved Belle from Beauty and the Beast.

When was the last time you had a serious break down? Why? Probably Friday of last week.

Can I have a memory where you were truly happy? When I was up in Buffalo with Dan the night before his cousin’s wedding. He was introducing me to his mom’s side of the (huge) family and I felt happy to be with him and excited to meet his whole family.

Are you a generally chipper person? Why or why not? I guess so even when I am stressed out according to my counselor lol.

Do you think that world peace is achievable? Why or why not? I would like to think so, but sometimes its far fetch.

Do you correct people when they speak? Sometimes if I know for sure they are wrong.

If you saw yourself at the mall, would you attempt being your friend? I don’t approach random people.

Why or why not? ^

Have you ever considered yourself to be something other than heterosexual? Nope.

When was the last time you were kissed, romantically?

Wednesday night.

How many relationships have you said you were in love, but really weren’t? None?

How often do you meet up with your friends? Once a week or so?

Would you consider yourself to have a lot of friends? I have about 10 friends I can rely on and that’s it.

Do you see a difference between friends and acquaintances? For sure.

If you had to go live with ONE of your bestfriends for your life, who? why? Dan!

Do you ever look back and ask “how the hell did I get here?” All the damn time.

Do you like where you are in life right now? Could be better, but could be worse.

Are your parents over protective? How so? My father is over protective, but my mom is just right.

Do you still live with them? Why or why not? During the week usually. Weekends I am not home.

Do you really love your family? Yeah even though they drive me crazy. lol

Have you ever been in love? With who? Jeffrey and Dan.

#Survey

0 notes