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little-mouse-gardens · 5 months

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Rottmnt oc head-cannons part two

continuing on with my rottmnt oc headcannons

I have already done Marcy’s right here, https://www.tumblr.com/little-mouse-gardens/734298414127382528/rottmnt-oc-head-cannons-so-im-gonna-be-doing-hcs and the other parr right here https://www.tumblr.com/little-mouse-gardens/734344664762777600/some-more-random-hcs-that-popped-up-in-my-head

And now I have finished Sunny’s!

- her mother let her grandparents pick the middle names of her and her sisters. Her grandparents chose her middle name to be rose because the first flowers she ever was close to were roses.

- has a matching skateboard and roller skate set (everyone in her family learned to roller skate at some point in their lives)

- used to be pretty good at basketball but she hated how aggressively competitive she got so she quit and just does it as a hobby

- hates going to bowling alleys because the noise in there gives her headache (she and Marcy just chill outside or go hang out by the arcade)

- Very good at nail art. Has a little shelf and kit in her room where she can do her nails or other peoples nails.

- loves up-cycling. Literally half the stuff she has in her room is stuff she’s refurbished and made into something new.

- Loves pottery, painting it and collecting molds to make different pieces. The basement area of her and her sisters home has a space where she keeps all the molds for pottery she randomly comes across and the kiln her grandfather gave her for Christmas

- prefers to keep her hair in braids because it’s just a little easier on her (hates when her hair gets tangled because her scalp is a tiny bit sensitive and it’s super painful for her) but she does like to style her hair differently every month or so.

- Collects and makes headbands, bandannas and clips to match with her outfits

- Favorite song is riptide by Vance joy (her and Skye love to swim so they always listen to this on trips to the beach or their grandparents farm)

- Struggles a lot with having mutant abilities and keeping them under-control in public spaces (inhuman strength makes her super terrified she’s gonna hurt someone) wears a necklace her mother asked senor hueso to buy for the girls to help out a bit in public so she doesn’t accidentally hurt someone

- Cares deeply about her sisters. Like would lay down her life for them and kill anyone who makes them cry (she’s a rationally sweet person up until a point) Knows all their tells and how they think. They may drive her crazy some days but she’ll always go to them when they need her the most.

- doesn’t have many memory’s about their dad (passed away when they were real young) but visits his grave every so often to drop off flowers (sometimes raph will go with her at night to comfort her)

- trying to improve her gardening skills, has a little set up in the kitchen and in her bedroom. Focuses on vegetables and flowers but has a herb garden safely tucked on the fire escape.

- Has a pet cat who she babies and a pet duck who lives on her grandparents farm. Likes to make little sweaters and bow ties for them both.

- When she gets older she gets a bunch of floral and wildflower tattoos. Mostly on her arms and ribs (she also got her and Raphs wedding rings tattooed)

- self care days and weekends are a must (her and raph include them as dates and couples activities when they started dating)

- Has scars on her ribs from getting captured by the kraang (covers them with tattoos for her eighteenth birthday)

- she and raph, after a build up, started dating halfway through the start of season two (he confessed to her while they were over at the lair) their first date was a rooftop picnic to watch a drive in movie. He got her some earrings as a gift and she sewed him a new bandana (she also stole a teddy bear from a stand for him but shhhhh-nobody knows about that)

- Hates when her stuff is messed with like-if she finds all her stuff messed around with, broken or missing there’s gonna be a problem

- Trying to learn to sew from her sister Marcy, knows how to knit but can’t embroider for the life of her

- buys a lot of cottagecore themed clothing

- Her room = cottagecore dream

- has a particular facial expression her siblings, raph (and eventually her and Raphs kids when they are older) call the stare down which is a signal that she’s not putting up with BS in the moment

- actually loves to read, her and Marcy visit the library twice a month for new books to read, favorite book is

- Collects a lot of cutesy or asthetic stationary to keep at her desk. Leaves frog sticky notes for raph to remind him to take a breather every now and then or notes to remind her sisters of something.

- Loves visiting her grandparents farm. Favorite place to hang out is the flower garden by the lake.

- Favorite fruit is Mangos or honeydew, used to eat it as a snack when she was little and she kind of just has a taste for it ever since

- Her and Raph love to knit, they have made each other hand made gifts like blankets and plushies all the time. (bought him knitting materials for Christmas because she saw he loved it so much)

- has a small collection of plushies she keeps in a hammock above her bed. Her favorite is a donut whale plushie she nicknamed jellybean (because she sprayed jellybean scented cologne on it to help her sleep)

- cuddling/physical affection and words of affection are her love language. So her and Raph can often be seen cuddling, holding hands or just laying across each other (sprawled out across his shell, despite the fact he is terrified he’s gonna hurt her like-BABE THE SPIKES-she doesn’t care, she loves every part of him spikes and all)

- face nuzzles? FACE NUZZLES. They do it all the time (donnie Claims it makes him wanna puke even though he literally does the same thing to marcy-HYPOCRITE)

- She tries her best to keep stress and pressure off of him, even if she’s stressed herself. Like distracting him for just a few moments by squeezing his hand or reminding to him to grab himself something to eat or drink. Comforts him through his panic attacks (just lets him hold onto her for support, and he does the same for her ect.)

- Basking with raph in the sun? Yes please. If she’s over at the lair, they just grab a couple blankets, pick the sunniest spot and just lay there basking in the sun for hours (the sweet boi literally just uses his shadow to shield her if she gets to hot) cuddled up together, playing video games, reading ect.

- definitely has MAJOR trauma from the kraang incident (seeing her future self, her sisters future selves, the future turtles die, nearly suffocating to death, raph getting turned into that kraang thing, her sisters almost drowning-) Carry’s a few scars across her back that she covers with tattoos later on. Her and raph just help each-other through nightmares, ect. Spontaneous group sleepovers because everyone’s having a bad night? Blankets and snacks acquired, favorite movies put on in the projection room in the lair or the living room over at the girls house and it’s a night of literally just everyone sticking to one spot.

#rottmnt oc #oc : sunny #rottmnt raph #rise raphael #rottmnt ocs #rottmnt headcanons #oc x canon #rottmnt #next up should be Skye and Angie

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iamverysmall-andihavenomoney · 3 years

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Forgotten Birthdays

Haikyū!! Masterlist

Word Count: 2k

Pairing: Oikawa Tōru x Gender Neutral! Reader

Warnings: Your parents and friends (except for those in the volleyball club) forget your birthday

A/N: One last bit before the angst later. Plus, this is a little self indulgent, not gonna lie.

When people asked, your answer was always the same. “I don’t know. I forgot it a while ago.” So many people would ask how you could forget something so important. So many people would laugh and give you a look that you read all too well as a look of pity.

Though you couldn’t blame them. Who could forget their own birthday?

Well, to be honest, you hadn’t. But you said you did. It made things easier to cope with. No one else ever remembered.

You hoped this year would be different. Your trust and love for your boyfriend and his volleyball club had given you a bit of hope that you hadn’t thought yourself capable of, any longer. For the first time in years, you woke up on your birthday with a smile, wondering if maybe Tōru had broken the cycle and remembered.

It didn’t take long for you to tug on your uniform and practically fly out of the door to school.

You should have known better. Maybe that would have made the inevitable heartbreak the tiniest bit easier. But, when you greeted your boyfriend, any trace of hope that anyone would ever remember or care just... faded.

“Hey Tōru,” you greet your boyfriend with a kiss to his cheek, which he responds to with an almost sheepish grin. Then, you look at the other three third years, waving to them with a light smile.

“What’s got you in such a good mood today?” Hanamaki raises an eyebrow in your direction, “You’re usually pretty tired in the mornings.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, your boyfriend nods his head, “Today special?” He asks you curiously.

If he hadn’t looked away when he did, he might’ve caught the crestfallen look that flashed across your features. It seemed Iwaizumi was about to ask you something, when Tōru speaks up again, “Hey, Y/N, I’m sorry to pull it away from you, but would you mind if I had my jacket back? We’ve got a practice game later and I’ll need it for then.”

Managing a weak smile, you nod and silently slip the jacket from your shoulders, before handing it to him. It takes you a moment to swallow the lump in your throat and speak, but luckily, you did manage to keep your voice level. “Of course... I have a class I’ve got to be to early, this morning. So, I’ll see you at lunch?”

Visibly flinching at your words, Tōru frowns. “Cutie, I wish I could but I-”

“Need to practice. I understand.” You nod, before glancing at the other three, “See you three later...” With a nod and an almost awkward wave of your hand, you carry on towards the school.

You barely manage to carry yourself to the nurse’s office, before tears brim your eyes. The look of pity that came from the school nurse is what had the tears finally trickling down your cheeks, your meek question for an area to discreetly regain your composure silenced by her ushering you to a bed and pulling the curtain closed, for you.

...

2:37

From: My Pretty Setter ‘You coming? You’re usually here before most of the boys.’ ‘Y/N? Everything alright?’

Sent to: My Pretty Setter ‘I haven’t been feeling well, today, Tōru.’ ‘I’m sorry, but I’m just going to go home and see if laying down helps. But let me know how it goes, okay?’ ‘I’ll be rooting for you, from a distance.’

Locking your phone, you tuck it back into your bag. Maybe it was for the best, anyways. You didn’t know how much more you could take after the pitying ‘Happy Birthday’ was thrown your way after the nurse looked over your file.

You began the walk home with your eyes glued to the pavement in front of you. You could contain your tears until you got home, couldn’t you?

The walk felt like it lasted an eternity before you were finally able to enter an empty household. You left the lights off as you trudged to your room, shutting the door behind you. You pull your phone and laptop from your bed, gently placing them on your bed before you drop your schoolbag to the floor.

Slumping back in your chair, you feel the tears start to fall. You felt humiliated and you weren’t even sure why. You’d been such an idiot to believe this year would be any different than any other.

The morning spent, slowly realizing that despite all of your efforts to not care about your birthday and to not remember it, you did remember it, and you did care. Then, you spent your lunches alone. And you went home as soon as school ended... And you spent the evening all alone, sometimes making a subpar cupcake or cake for yourself.

Your brows furrow as you glance in the mirror. You felt pathetic and you fucking hated it.

With your attention so focused on your reflection in the mirror, you didn’t realize someone else was in your house, until you heard your door creek, as it was pushed open. And there stood the last person you wanted to see right now.

Sinking to the edge of your bed, you bring your hands up to quickly wipe away the tears that quickly rolled down your cold, wet cheeks, “Tōru, what are you doing here? You have a practice game—”

“Y/N, stop,” he comes to kneel in front of you, in between your legs, softly cooing to you. “Sweet baby, hey, what are you doing here? Alone?”

Tōru, of course, knew that your parents were seriously absent in your life. They were almost never home, and you were left alone, more often than not, which was why you both called and texted one another as frequently as you did. Unless he could be there with you, then he was spending the night as often as he could.

But today was your birthday. Not just that, but your eighteenth one, at that. Why weren’t they here to celebrate with you?

“What do you mean?” Your confusion broke his heart, “It’s just like any other day. They’re never here.”

“No, it’s not. Today is your birthday and they—” His breath caught in his throat, realization hitting him. So that was why you pretended to never know your birthday. Because even your parents had forgotten. “Baby did they...?”

You frown, looking at the ground, “You — You forgot too,” your voice is weak and as you fall silent, you bite down on your bottom lip in an attempt to keep the quiver out of your voice. “But, it’s not important. You have a game to get to, anyway.”

Tōru’s shoulders fall. This morning had been a display of what the four third-years thought to be bad acting. They’d never forget your birthday and they thought you’d have figured out what they were up to, by now. There was no practice game. Only a birthday party for you that the team had put together. Which was why your boyfriend had been so quick to retrieve you.

“Baby, none of us forgot your birthday. Stupid idea to act like none of us remembered, honestly, I know. It is important and... Just come with me, yeah? We’ll talk about this thing with your parents, later. Sound good?”

Your eyes move back to him, tears filling them all over again. “You - You didn’t..?”

He shakes his head, bringing his hands to gently cup your cheeks, gently wiping his thumbs over your wet cheeks. “Of course I didn’t. You can’t imagine how very important you are to me, Y/N. I wasn’t going to let you go without celebrating, today. Because no matter how unimportant you think today is...” He laces his fingers together with yours as he speaks.

“The day that my favorite person in this world and the person I love more than anything came into this world is just as important to me as... Making it to Nationals, if you can believe that.”

His comparison makes a quiet laugh escape you, sniffling a bit. “I’m sorry for assuming you forgot.”

“Don’t apologize.” Tōru scolds you, “But I am serious when I say that I need to have a serious talk with your parents. No child should go without ever getting to celebrate with the people who care about them. That’s just not how it works.”

Wrapping your arms around your boyfriend, you allow him to pull you up so that you’re both standing, wrapped in one another’s arms. The way you bury your face in his chest and allow yourself to relax against him reassures him.

...

After allowing you time to clean yourself up and get dressed, Tōru takes your hand and quite literally drags you all of the way back to the Aoba Jōsai volleyball club gym, grinning stupidly as he knocks a few times on the door to let them know that you were both there. Then, he pauses and turns towards you to look at you in excitement as he waits for them to get ready inside.

After a moment, he manages to kick the door open, tugging you into the dark gym. He moves to your side, but still, his eyes don’t leave you. He silently wondered if this was your first birthday party. No matter if it was, or not, though, he wasn’t to see your reaction to all of his meticulous planning... After all, he had been planning all of this for a solid two months.

It was all he’d been talking about to Iwaizumi, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa. Though, they would admit that it was nice to see him so invested in something that wasn’t volleyball, for once.

As the lights are turned on, you find yourself looking at the (mostly) smiling faces of the volleyball club that you had grown so familiar with. Though you weren’t officially a manager, you were always here to support them at practices and games. They all knew that if any of them came and asked you for help with anything, you’d do it for them in a heartbeat. Everyone in the club adored you.

Shittykawa had done himself well, finding you and everyone in the club agreed.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” a chorus of voices call out to you, some leaving you to register and take in your surroundings, while others immediately approached so that they could speak to you.

Iwaizumi is the first to reach you, “I hope you like it. Loserkawa has been planning this for you for months.” Though most around you laughed at the seeming jest, you took his words for what they were: a subtle way of telling you that Tōru had planned this all, by himself and deserved the credit for it.

After speaking to some of the team, you see your boyfriend go to grab a parcel with a bow on it for you, bringing it back to you with a grin. “Open it.”

Giving him a look of confusion, your hands begin to peel open the parcel, allowing your boyfriend to pull the trash from your hands so that you can use both of them to see your gift. It was a jacket, themed with your school’s colors, teal and white. You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you look at the words on the back of the jacket.

‘Y/N L/N ‘Seijoh’s Manager’

Turning it over in your hands, you looked at the front as well. Next to the zipper, on the right side of the jacket and below the collar, rest more words.

‘If found, please return to Tōru Oikawa’

“So, do you like it?” Your boyfriend wears a sheepish, almost apprehensive smile as he tries to gauge your reaction.

“I love it, Tōru. I love it all... Thank you.” Your words are accompanied by a sweet kiss to his lips.

“You two, the first years are present, come on, now.”

“So mean, Iwa-chan! Now how about we turn on some music and treat this like an actual party?”

General Taglist:

@thathoneybee3 @bratkugo

#🤍.suna #🤍.works #oikawa comfort #oikawa tōru x reader #oikawa tōru comfort #oikawa x reader #oikawa torū #oikawa angst

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inarizakibabe · 3 years

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Changes

As the first prince of his country Suna had just about everything his heart could want. Riches, fine silks and linens, and more food than he could eat. One would expect with a life as luxurious as his he would be happy. Unfortunately his father could see the sadness deep in his son's eyes. Maybe he needed new hobby or more servants to boss around? Then again looking at things carefully the king noticed his son avoided the servants as much as he could. Just what could cheer up his son and bring back the joy in his eyes? Oh! Maybe that could work.

"You called for me father?"

"Yes Rintaro. I've noticed your sour mood these past few months and I think I know what could make it better." the king smiled down at his son. "I remember entering a funk as you young kids say and your grandfather threw a ball in my honor and I ended up meeting your mother."

Suna fought hard to hide the disgust creeping onto his face. Surely his father didn't really think he wanted to meet someone.

"So that's why three days from now we will have a ball and invite all eligible maidens to attend. Maybe I'll be able to see you smile again,"

"Um father with all due respect I don't really see how a ball will improve my funk as you called it. Maybe if I took a ride around the forest I'll feel better?" Suna hoped his father would get the message but knowing how stubborn he was he'll most likely be engaged three days from now. "I'll even bring my attendants to make sure I'm alright."

"Nonsense going for a ride isn't what you need. Trust me on this Rintaro. A ball is exactly what you need. You're dismissed. You have a ball to prepare for." The king said before turning back to the papers on his desk.

Suna sighed and left his father's office. Maybe if he ran away nobody would miss him. Or the entire kingdom would be put on lock down until he was found. He couldn't put his people through that so there was only one thing to do.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next day Suna found himself taking a walk in the garden. If all goes to plan he wouldn't have to propose and maybe he could get the freedom he was craving. Sure castle life was fun but when you have people constantly telling you how to live and doing every thing fro you it can get tiring. Before he turned eighteen he didn't have as many responsibilities as he does now. Life was simple he would take lessons during the day and after a certain time he was free to do what he wanted until dinner time.

Now he's stuck behind a desk everyday taking on the tasks of the kingdom he father didn't want to do. If he got to leave the castle anymore it was for business and once all was settled he'd come right back home and behind the four walls of his personal office again. His home had become a prison and his office his cell.

"You know if you continue to frown at the ground it's less likely to open up and take you away from here."

Suna looked up and found one of his attendants speaking with him. He had two personal attendants who miraculously happened to be twins. They met each other at the age of six and have been together ever since. The one speaking to him now was the blonde one Atsumu which meant his brother Osamu, with gray hair, was most likely harrassing the kitchen staff.

"That sounds like a dream come true right now. Don't you feel suffocated here? You've lived here your whole and trained to work for me. Was it something you always wanted or was this chosen for you?" Suna asked.

"Sounds like someone is scared of their responsibilities. Alright Rintaro tell me what's wrong." Atsumu offered Suna an encouraging smile until he noticed the deadpan look on Suna's face. "You don't have to look at me like that you know."

"No offense but, actually take as much offense as you can from this but last I checked advice giving wasn't something you were capable of. Where's Osamu?"

"Looking up one of the maid's skirts. Now what do you mean I'm not a good advice giver? I happen to give great advice to people in need." Atsumu huffed.

"Right right remind me again why ten percent of the palace guards quit after you left 'inspiring' words with them." Suna mused.

"Be glad you're a prince." Atsumu muttered dejectedly.

"Threatening the crowned prince? That's grounds for dungeon time. Let me know if you want gray or white sheets." Suna laughed as he continued in the direction he was headed before.

"I'll take green. Look the fact of the matter is you're clearly not happy about something and as one of your attendants it's my job to fix that. I can get your horse saddled if you want and tell your father you had an entire platter filled with cheese." Usually Suna would grimace at the mention of cheese but a ride through the kingdom sounded more like what he needed.

"Thanks but no thanks, after the last time my father would kill me if he found out I ran off again. If you did want to cheer me up you could figure out a way to get him to cancel this ball he's throwing in my honor."

"You know as well as I do just how stubborn your old man is. You'd have better luck raising the dead than changing his mind. Look on the bright side. There'll be cake." Atsumu smiled at Suna who in turn frowned at him.

"For saying that you get purple sheets."

"Wait! Let's talk this out!"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The following day Suna found himself in his room being fitted for a new suit. In the twenty minutes he's been standing there he's been pricked by pins three times.

"Last warning tailor. The next time you hurt the prince you'll be charged for treason." Today Osamu was keeping Suna company

''Forgive me your highness. You're more built than I'm use to dealing with. Rest assured this suit will be the most beautiful suit you'll ever wear." the tailor put another pin in the fabric he was working with and prayed he hadn't pricked Suna again. "If I may ask, what occasion is this ball in honor of? The last celebration we had was your eighteenth birthday and I believe your birthday isn't until next year so what's the joyous occasion?"

"You'll find out the day after the ball until then please focus on leaving skin on my body." Suna sighed.

"Of course your highness my apologies again."

"Tsumu talked to me yesterday. What's going on with you?"

"He talks too much. He simply saw me walking in the garden nothing else."

"Oh yeah? I heard that princess you met in Shektor is coming tomorrow. Should I make arrangements that she's your first dance of the evening?" Osamu smirked at Suna who scowled at him. "Oh dear your highness what an expression. Be careful Princess Tsumaki doesn't see it she might think one of the wind goblins is tickling your nose again. In fact I'll write a letter to her right now to bring her special medicine to cure you!"

"Osamu you bastard! Ow! Alright fine enough I'll answer both your questions just stop tormenting me! I should have both of you locked up for treason." Suna growled trying to keep the parts if his sanity he still had.

The tailor and Osamu smirked at each other as Suna began to speak again. "I just felt trapped behind these walls recently. Is everything I'm doing really important? I sit down and sigh papers all day either about farm rations or mining and I just don't see the need to do any of that. The people know what they need to survive and they know how to do what they need to survive so why should I waste time looking over it for them? They're not children who need to be supervised they'd be well off without me. The again if I don't do that then what is my purpose here? What am I suppose to do with my life? Am I just the face the people use when they need something? No wait that's my father's job so I'm just here. I make agreements and trade deals with other countries and attend diplomat meetings my father can't make it to. If I didn't do any of that then I'd be a regular boy in the kingdom maybe doing stable work. Sounds better than being the one everyone blames for everything if things go wrong. My father apparently doesn;t know me very well and thought I was lonely so he's throwing a ball for me to find a wife. What's not to love about that?"

Osamu sighed and pulled one of Suna's cheeks. "First don't talk about yourself like that. Like it or not this is how you were born and there's literally nothing you can do about that. It doesn't matter what kind of job you do even if all you did was tell someone to move a chair you still did something and it benefited somebody in the long run. You can't see yourself for the things you do but me and everyone else around you can. You just need to look at things from a different point of view."

Suna looked away from both of them and sighed while taking in Osamu's words. Maybe all he did need was to view things from a different perspective. Yeah maybe that could work. "Ow!"

"You didn't have to stick him again Mori." Osamu sweatdropped.

"Nope that time definitely was an accident. Please try not to move your highness." Mori smiled innocently.

Or maybe his tailor would take him out first. Whichever came first he guessed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The day of the ball finally arrived and carriage after carriage arrived at the castle holding nobles and royals from near and far. Suna was in his room again watching from the window as carriages entered the palace grounds. Maybe if he's lucky he could make a run for it during the party and jump the fence to get away from everybody to maybe save himself for a little while. Or maybe one of guards sees him and tries to follow him and ruins his plans.

"Just sit through the ball and I'm sure your father will let you leave for an hour tomorrow."

"Yeah right after his engagement announcement. Listen Rin if you don't want to do it then I don't see why you should."

"Don't listen to Tsumu. We'll help you if you need a breather every now and again but we can't cover fro you the entire night."

"Or eat these two slices of cheesecake right now and be excused for the rest of the night." Atsumu suggested wiggling his eyebrows.

It was a pretty solid plan but a night of pain wasn't worth missing the ball. His father might only postpone it and he'd be confined to his room until everything passes.

"Well gentlemen it's my last night a single man. If I'm lucky Tsumaki won't be my future bride. The small bout of freedom I had was nice but it's time for me to be a big boy and do what I have to. Once I'm king the first thing I'm doing is making sure Asami doesn't go through this." Suna sighed.

"I doubt she'd have a problem with it. Which girl doesn't want to be entertained by a handsome man? Bonus points cause he's rich." Atsumu shrugged.

Suna's eyebrow raised in confusion, "Are you calling the princess a money whore?"

Atsumu chuckled softly and smiled at Suna. "You and I both know that's not what I meant. You're really the only person who has a problem with palace life. Asami is actually looking forward to her happily ever after which is something you need to start doing. You can hate it but if it's something that has to be done then you have to suck it up and get it over with."

"You can say that because it's not your life. I need to teach Asami about how dirty boys are. Osamu you'll be the example for what you and Mori did yesterday. Who could've imagined my attendant and the tailor conspiring against me. The mutiny." Suna shook his head in mock disappointment.

"Be disappointed all you want. I did what I had to do. Now you have to get ready for tonight. If you need us you know where we'll be." Osamu left with Atsumu right behind him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*

Night fell quickly and two hours into the party Suna finally met all the young women his father had invited. Many were kind and some more beautiful than necessary but all quickly looked away when Princess Tsumaki approached him. The night continued on as his father hoped with Suna being forced to mingle with everyone present. Eventually his social meter began to run out and he retreated to a hidden balcony for air.

A sound close by caught his attention and Suna found a young woman who seemed to be in the same situation as him. If he remembered he remembered her name was (y/n) third princess of a neighboring country. Suna tried to sneak away before you could see him but alas luck wasn't on his side.

"Your highness good night."

Suna counted to three then slowly faced you with a friendly smile, "Good night my lady. I hope you're enjoying the party."

"It's lovely and so is your country. Please give your father my thanks for inviting my family."

"I can assure you he'll give his thanks for attending. If I'm not being too forward may I ask why you're out here instead of enjoying the food?" Hopefully pressuring you like this will give Suna the quiet time he was hoping for.

"Forgive my rudeness but the amount of people inside made the room a little stuffy. I came out here for a little air." you smiled at him.

"Fair enough. I hope the air is to your liking."

"With all due respect your highness it's been a long night and it's exhausting speaking like this so if you don't mind we can call each other old acquaintances and speak like old friends would. It would be an honor if you would call me (y/n)."

Suna blinked at your request and fought the grin trying to rise on his face. "If that's so then feel free to call me Rintaro. Blame my father for taking things the wrong way and forcing us all to go through this."

"We can't really fight what our parents want us to do. Comes with the title really. You seemed upset earlier should I assume that you don't really want to get married?"

Suna sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't mind getting married I just don't think I should get married because my father thought I was in a funk as he called it. Sounds cliche but I actually believe in meeting someone and falling in love."

You blinked at the prince and giggled. "You're very cute Rintaro. I like to believe everyone wants to fall in love that way. Nobody wants to have their partner chosen for them. What good is being married if you're gonna be miserable everyday."

"If it means I don't have to sit through marriage consultations and weird balls like this one then I may just prefer the other way."

"Careful what you say. I think we both know your father is capable of that. I saw princess Tsumaki looking for her Rinnepoo earlier. Maybe I should let his majesty know you've chosen someone." You looked up to find Suna pouting at you. "Careful your highness they may send you back to etiquette classes for making such a face."

"Good evening Prince Rintaro. It's a pleasure to make your aquaintance tonight. I do hope that-"

"Ok! That's enough! Don't you dare repeat that."

Suna smirked and hid his mouth behind his hand. "Pardon me princess. I just found your greeting to me this evening amusing. I mean no harm it's just you were so cute. How many times did you practiced that?"

"Whatever. Let's see what you would do if the roles were reversed."

"Sorry princess but this isn't about me." Suna giggled.

"So you can smile and laugh. I almost thought you were emotionally constipated. Is that the funk your father thought you were in?"

Suna sighed being reminded of the situation he was in. "It's more than that but nobody would understand."

You smiled at him encouragingly. "The whole you're royalty so you have absolutely no reason to not be happy thing?"

"Exactly that. It's gonna sound stupid but I guess I miss the freedom I had before I turned eighteen. Well more I don't see the need for me to do the things I'm doing."

"Ah you feel monarchy should be abolished. Look at it this way crackers taste good on their own but with cheese the taste is elevated. Cheese and crackers is superior to just plain old crackers by themselves or just cheese by itself. Yes your kingdom could probably prosper on it's own but there are situations the people shouldn't handle on their own. Budget distribution, land distribution, diplomatic matters and many other things. We exist to keep harmony in the kingdom. Imagine leaving children to raise themselves. Many would unfortunately die before reaching a certain age. Think of your kingdom as your very own children. They're self sufficient yes but without you to guide them in the things they don't understand they'll be hurt. You can still do the things you love but your children come first. If you don't take care of them then someone may just take them away. "

Suna sighed. "I can understand that but I just don't understand why it has to be me."

"I don't understand why it can't be you. Anyone could've been chosen for the job but you were chosen. I don't know you well enough to speak on certain things but I have heard rumors that you basically run half of your kingdom on your own. The fact that nothing has fallen apart shows that you're more than competent to do your job. You need to have more confidence in yourself. I've only known you for a short time but I can already tell you're a wonderful person. Don't sell yourself short." You smiled at Suna who looked at you unsure.

Suna shrugged, "If you say so (y/n). Are you hungry?"

"I'm alright for now. But I do think we need to get back before someone misses us."

"What's the rush? You know the reason for this party."

"Is that you asking for my company your highness?"

"I didn't hear a no princess." Suna smirked when you giggled.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A few months later Suna found himself sitting in his office again. He was hard at work but this time with a slight smile on his face. A knock on the door took him away from the work he was doing and Atsumu stepped into his office.

Atsumu placed a sandwich and a cup of tea on the table in front of Suna "You seem to be in a better mood these days. What's your secret?"

"Sorry but secrets are secret for a reason."

"Keep your secrets then. Simply means I can't tell you the one I just heard." Atsumu smirked.

"I heard the dungeons don't have heat." Suna shrugged.

"Really? Just make sure my sheets are red."

Suna laughed and shook his head, "You little turd nugget. What's going on?"

"Alright fine but only because you asked so rudely. I heard your favorite princess is coming by later today. Maybe if you finish all your work you can be at the doors to greet her."

"Lucky for me this was the last page I had to look over. Prepare two horses and I'll make sure your sheets are maroon."

"And you call me the turd nugget." Atsumu rolled his eyes. "His majesty said you can do whatever you want for the rest of the day once you stop keeping him in suspense."

"Sounds good. Thanks for lunch."

Things were definitely starting to look up and with one simple question later tonight Suna's life was about to change again. This time for the better.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #suna rintaro #Suna Rintarou #Suna #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyu x reader

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siriuslyshewrote · 4 years

Text

Adore You - F.S

Some cringe fluff for our boy Finn Shelby.

Request - ““Shut up, or they’ll hear you.” You ans Finn are secretly dating but Michael knows. In the garrison you're talking quietly about your love and plans for later in the night and Michael elbows Finn to be quieter since his brothers are only across the table. Thank you x”

Walk in your rainbow paradise

The Garrison was, as usual, crowded as hell - several groups crowded around a table that was only meant for a couple, the temperature so warm it felt like the middle of summer, and poor Harry the bartender looking so rushed off his feet you would have gone to help him, if you were not currently squashed into a booth in the little side room next to the bar, with a family you knew so well they felt like kin - the Shelby’s. Michael was on one side, quietly observing the happenings, a whiskey in hand, with Finn next to you, his hand on your thigh under the table, which for him, was quite daring, considering he was across the table from the rest of his family, who knew nothing about the two of you.

Finn Shelby. Your partner in crime, best friend, and family, ever since your family had moved next door to his during the war, when you were five, your mother no longer able to afford the bills of the country house you had previously lived in with your father and older brothers dead and gone.

You had been the kid with the funny accent that everyone teased at school, and the one who played outside alone, until Finn had kicked a football in your face (accidentally, he said, though you weren’t sure). After several minutes of your furious yells at him, and his red faced apology, you, surprisingly became friends. You’d spent the rest of the school term close friends, and the whole time since then - twelve years now, with you both nearing your eighteenth birthdays.

When being at home got difficult, as it did a lot, it wasn’t rare that you would end up tucked up on the sofa in the Shelby home, and Finn was usually right there beside you, having snuck down in his striped pajamas that matched yours (they had been a present off Polly for Christmas). The Shelby’s would let you stay as long as you wanted, Polly telling you with a laugh it was easier with you around - she didn’t have to worry about Finn getting into as much mischief anymore. You grew to love them all a great deal, and soon, you were as much a part of the family as Finn was.

Strawberry lipstick state of mind.

You were both fifteen when the line between platonic and romantic began to blur. Holding hands didn’t feel the same as it once did - there was suddenly meaning behind it, your heart started to beat a little faster when you interlocked fingers, your cheeks heating up. Kissing cheeks turned to kissing lips, friendship turned to something more, though you didn’t address it, not back then.

It took until your sixteenth birthday for Finn to officially ask you out, after months of this muddled friendship, and it was then that you realised that you really did love your best friend.

I get so lost inside your eyes

“What’re you thinking about?” Finn’s head was tilted towards yours, his words quiet, his eyes sparkling and just a little intoxicated. He was bored, not wanting to be stuck in this tiny room on a hot summers day.

“Just the past.” You replied with a soft smile, sipping the drink you had been given a while ago - the ice had melted now, creating a weird watery liquid, but you drank it anyway.

Would you believe it?

“The future’s better.” He grinned, knowingly.

“And what makes you think that, Shelby?” You smirked.

“Cause we’re gonna be living in our little country house like you lived in when you were younger-“

“With our chickens.” You inputted. This plan was well versed at this point - you had both been talking about it for years, and you had no doubt Finn would somehow make the dream come true.

“With our chickens.” He agreed. “And a goat.”

“And our kids.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“I cannot handle three kids.”

“Four, including you.” You laughed.

“You’re literally the youngest.”

“Look at this face, Finn. I’m the epitome of maturity.” You joked.

“Yeah, I can see the wrinkles setting in already.” He pointed towards your forehead, as you swatted him with your hand.

“Pillock.” You said affectionally.

You don't have to say you love me

“You guys do realise you are right across the table from everyone else?” Michael whispered with a grin, jolting you and Finn back from your little bubble.

No one was looking at you, though you swore Polly shot you a knowing smile.

The thing about you and Finn was that you hadn’t told anyone yet. He wanted it separate from the business and his “nosy family” (his own words). You agreed with him on that quickly - not wanting to think about the amount of teasing you would both get at the hand of his siblings. Besides, you were both young, and you didn’t really know what you wanted yet, and you didn’t want the pressure of everyone pushing you about marriage, especially not yet.

Finn had a small look of realisation, as if remembering where he was, before nodding. He elbowed you a tiny bit - your cue for when you were both bored.

You let out a large yawn.

“I think I’m going to head home. I’m shattered.” You spoke, getting up, squeezing past Finn, saying goodbye to the rest of the family with a smile.

“I’ll walk you.” Finn said with a grin, following you quickly out of the door.

You don't have to say nothing

“So.” Polly said dryly. “When do we reckon’ they’re going to tell us?”

Just let me adore you

Like it's the only thing I'll ever do

#peaky blinders headcanon #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #finn shelby angst #finne shelby x reader #finn shelby headcanons #finn shelby imagines #finn shelby x reader #finn shelby imagine #finn shelby #michael gray

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leam1983 · 3 years

Text

It’s the end of the work week and, well...

I’m having thoughts on labor culture.

My father was born in 1958. He lived as the son of an absent father of five children who had no ability to truthfully express his love and care, and who instead chose to bury himself in work as a means to display his commitment. My paternal grandfather made and sold mattressees and died quite young of a cancer strain that today would’ve seemed benign. He was described as a hard worker, either up to his neck in his business or wanting just a scant few hours per day to himself. It made an aloof lover out of him and a distant father - who still loved his wife and children to bits but who felt emotionally castrated in a sense, as were men of the era.

The family consensus is that his work killed him.

My father is now 65 and survived a bout of Non-Hodgkinian Lymphoma. The oncologist and anyone with half a brain agreed that stress was the culprit. Early on, Dad had the family as an excuse for his tendency to overwork. He had to provide for us, after all, and garnish my mother’s meagre savings. All she has is her government-issued pension plan, while my father does have his own pension as a retiree of the City of Montreal’s Real-Estate Appraisal service. Considering, he felt obligated to pull a heavier load to bring in more, so they’d have better investment opportunities. Later on, he kept working out of a sense of fealty and attachment to his division, breaking out of retirement during the pandemic to join the work-from-home team. He wanted to help techs and city officials find ways to bring more of the traditionally snail-mail-based parts of the system online so the city’s Land Management service wouldn’t be paralyzed by COVID-19. What was supposed to be a single month turned into four, which turned into twelve.

By the end, they were begging him to stay on the team and to pull longer hours. We’re talking twenty hours per day, in some particularly grueling stretches. That means being logged in by breakfast and scarfing bagels down with Urban Design techs on Zoom instead of your own family, or having supper with your boss because she needs a play-by-play of the situation to stave off her executive anxiety.

Long story short, I didn’t see Dad much during the first wave. His reasoning was that he’d eventually stop, pool all this cash, and chuck it into his and Mom’s Registered Retirement Savings Account - with maybe an extra two thou or so in case the country reopened enough for their postponed trip to Cuba to take place.

Guess what? His zona flared up and he ended up with odd, shingly bumps along his scalp which to this day the local dermatologist grimaces at and tentatively has us dab with cortisone cream.

Mom, though? She’s a retired and registered nurse with a self-negating streak and a chronic propensity to undervalue her own physical ailments. Someone who quite literally understands the pain of busted hips on a clinical level because she was trained in Gerontology - and also someone who refuses to schedule an appointment with her GP and who inexplicably self-medicates with white wine.

As for me, I’m a 37 year-old man with a paycheck I consider massive with its meagre six bucks above the minimum-wage threshold - someone who chose to shack in with his folks until the current crisis ends and who therefore has a history of a single, willingly terminated apartment lease that originally began in the Planned Housing market. The apartment I want is basically a Barbie doll house for adults, a gleaming fantasy I’ll never have enough capital to touch unless I feel like trying my hand with criminal applications of my skills. The apartment I can get right now is a shithole, and I have the audacity to think I deserve a shithole that at least wasn’t someone’s former cockroach den.

Now here’s the kicker: I value my sanity and my health. I know my mental stamina levels and I know from experience that after working seven-point-five hours per day with the occasionally shorter Friday, I’ve found my limit. I could invest more if I worked more, yes, and I’m already in a better position than my parents, retirement-wise. I’ll never be rich, but I’m already set to be comfortable, provided I don’t spend my golden years trying to make it as an unsponsored TechTuber or anything else that’s equally ludicrous.

Where that’s a problem is in the toxicity this is generating. See, I have the gall to slide my daily schedule later so I can start at an hour that fits my biological clock and ends at an hour where I’m at my most creative. That means the folks saw me spending my pandemic mornings on Animal Crossing while Dad was trying to wrangle Excel spreadsheets for non-tech-savvy fellow Boomers while preventing the dog from eating his meeting notes. That means they guzzled vinho verde like it was Kool-Aid after seven while I made sure to find more concrete means to distance myself from work - ideally ones that didn’t involve functional alcoholism.

Naturally, what was bound to happen, happened: Dad soon spent his evenings calling me shiftless or “unwilling to commit”, while I was stuck watching him miss all the cues his stressed-out body were sending him. We already had Trump’s last desperate months and a global plague to handle, I really didn’t want my work to turn into more of a nuisance than it already is. I already love the people I work for and hate what I do (repeating the family cycle, it seems), but I’ve at least decided to give myself ample Me time every single day.

I’ve paired that with smaller, if consistent portfolio investments, along with a few new habits I wanted to get into to stay saner. Dad pulls crosswords or plays competitive chess in the wee hours, while I usually lay down to meditate around midnight and fall asleep by 1 AM at the latest. I’m half-expecting my father to pull a Tyler Durden and to sneer at me, at some point. “Self-care is masturbation,” he’d probably say.

Looking at classifieds for rentals, it’s obvious that the entire system is predicated on abuse. Work yourself down to the therapist’s office, right down to the fucking bone, and you just might earn a half-decent retirement because nobody’s taught you to invest incrementally. Nope, Society seems to say, you’re supposed to buy, buy and buy some more, until you realize you have ten years left to start from scratch!

I remember Dad’s face on my eighteenth birthday. “Why would you want a Disability Care Savings Account, Brain? You just turned into a legal adult by Canadian standards - you’re in no rush, right?”

I told him the real gift I wanted for my birthday, that day, was a ride to the family’s Financial Investments counsel. I pulled up the PDFs I’d printed out and filled and brought them over. From then on, if I dropped a penny in my nest-egg, Ottawa would drop another one. If my share grew, so did the government’s. In the twenty-odd years since, it’s expanded exponentially.

Dad thought I’d done this to have a big cushion by the time I’d retire. Mom thought I’d done this in case my disability worsened and I started requiring equipment or physical assistance. Honestly, my dumb, if slightly prescient eighteen year-old self figured I’d rather spend my time reading or playing video games than working. I knew I’d need something to help cushion my admittedly low career-related ambitions. I might throw several thousands at a new computer every seven to eight years, but that’s because I’ve saved them up for just as long, little by little. I have no vices beyond what sillicon offers and what you’d find in the pages of a book and don’t exactly need a big ‘ol, stonkin’ humidor stuffed with conoisseur stogies.

I have a shoebox with a poked-out Ziploc bag and a sponge, with a handful of joints and a few Santa Anas I got off of a buyer’s pool from work. Five of us occasional chair-bar goons pooled cash together on Cigar Chief and cushioned prices with a single, shared and massive order. I’m nowhere near rich, but assuming the housing market can catch its breath eventually, I’ll be able to live modestly - with one or two markers of occasional luxury I’ll have chosen.

I have a shittier job than my father has had and I’ve chosen to be happier than him. It’s just sad that the usual response elevates overwork as the supposedly one, true way to leave a mark in society.

No, Dad. I don’t want to die while my own cells eat me alive, I want to die blazed out of my fucking mind, happy because I’ll have had time to enjoy my friends’ company and to finally make some sense out of Kerouac’s Subterraneans or to figure out what the fuck is going on in Joyce’s Illiad. I’ll die crusty as shit and fulfilled as a Pop Culture jockey, because I’ll have either finished Persona 5: Golden in my lifetime or I’ll have watched the entirety of the MCU’s output before Disney finally manages to kill their golden goose.

I want to die decades from now, feeling like I at least owned my choices and didn’t spend my time tethered to someone else’s professional expectations of me.

#personal life #thoughts #work culture #overwork #cancer #free time #mental health

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leguin · 3 years

Text

tagged by @prettyboysdontlookatexplosions!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line, then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

tagging @karasweirdfantasy @melthedestroyer and anyone else who wants to do it!

1. ontario sunshine (the kid detective):

The lock scrapes and clicks, and she huddles in her blanket, back pressed against the wall as though that's ever protected her.

2. making mountains out of molehills is a good habit to get into (the magicians):

The group therapy is Julia’s idea.

3. small craft on a milk sea (palm springs):

They leave Palm Springs in separate cars, Sarah heading to her apartment in Austin and Nyles going to pick up his dog, and then on to his house in Santa Cruz.

4. edge-stepper (succession):

It takes three weeks for anyone to fill Stewy in on what had happened to Kendall after the press conference.

5. reach for the latch (cobra kai):

As a kid, Johnny Lawrence hadn’t liked staying at home.

6. (a)drift (succession):

It’s not really a gay thought so much as an objective observation of Tom’s that Greg has a sort of youthful, hypnotic beauty to him, one that Tom sometimes finds himself resentful of.

7. tighten the bolts (succession):

When he steps onto the helicopter he’s still not quite sure what he’s going to do next.

8. straw house, straw dog (succession):

It’s so much easier to go through the motions.

9. objects not found in nature (succession):

When Marcia and Amir slip out of the room, Kendall becomes certain that there will be no getting out of this.

10. he has fixed his sign in the sky (cobra kai):

In 1981, Johnny loses the All Valley Under-18 tournament for the first time.

11. and now the final frame (cobra kai):

The thing you gotta know about Johnny Lawrence is that he’s always looking for a fight.

12. never die, never die (cobra kai):

Cobra Kai has three rules, and Johnny could recite them backwards in his sleep if you told him to with enough of a bite in your voice.

13. lacunae (the magicians) [this has like 3 different ‘first lines’ so i just picked one]:

dark hair curling just so over his forehead, and he’s reaching out a hand to touch it when someone jerks him out of sleep and

14. knowing is kin to the sound (the magicians):

There’s a certain terror to the Monster disappearing to satisfy its curiosity about something.

15. empty promises, empty promises (the magicians):

Two months and four days after Quentin dies, Eliot sees him in the bathroom mirror.

16. carpentry and other demonstrations (the goldfinch):

Theo’s on his way out the door from a Barbour family lunch, which eight months on from Amsterdam have become excruciating in only the mildest of ways, when Kitsey puts a hand on his arm and says, “Oh, Theo, I have something for you.”

17. like having nothing at all (the magicians):

The morning is very bright, and the coffee is very hot.

18. How to Sell a Globe (documentary now!):

Pete flies economy class from Tallahassee to Cincinnati on a Tuesday morning.

19. bikinis, handguns, and diner fries (preacher):

Tulip slides cold french fries across her plate and listens to Jesse talk himself into circles trying to explain the stupidest fucking idea in the history of ideas.

20. in infinite trust (the goldfinch):

Theo and Boris get married the day after Theo’s eighteenth birthday, at the Clark County Office of Civil Marriages.

my gosh is that a lot of fics. really the main pattern i’ve noticed here is that i don’t think of the literal first line of most of my fics as the First Line Hook - that’s usually the job of the summary. the actual first lines tend to serve a much more utilitarian purpose of like...well, the story has to start somewhere. they do also generally set the tone, which i suppose is also utilitarian. have to say i’m surprised that getting 20 fics in didn’t even scratch the surface of my magicians or goldfinch fics! (you can read any of them here, i was too lazy to link to them individually).

#long post #my stuff

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greylunar · 4 years

Note

hi! I took your quiz and the result was wrong but I loved it and your writing, where can I find more of that?

HahahA I respect this ask IMMENSELY thank you very much for it, and for loving the quiz despite it’s flaws. Prose wise, I’ve got a frighteningly long star trek fanfic you can read, and other than that I think I’m just responding to everyone who asks me about poetry/writing with a poem under the keep reading, and you can find my writing and those posts under the “tal writes” tags because i literally haven’t put my writing on here before so! Hope that’s okay! if yall have a better idea let me know haha

Warnings on this poem: its about the Trans Experience TM and discusses themes of vaguely internalized homophobia and transphobia as well as dysphoria, but ends positively and is more about learning how to own your identity and your gender? Yes haha i think that about covers it

This Poem Is a Real Male Bathroom, For Real Men™️ Only

I know something is wrong when he turns around at the urinal.

Despite being new to this whole bathroom thing, I am certain that there is a rule about this specifically.

As he asks me what my name is, I wash my hands.

I almost say Miles, the name my mother says she would have given me if I was born a boy, but my brain tells me that this is Too Gay. My own name does not even cross my mind.

Miles is the name of my grandfather. He worked in the same steel mill for forty-six years. I do not believe he ever looked at a man for more than five seconds at a time. I know this, because he is the one who taught me to keep my head down at the urinal. To keep my head down at all times.

Still, I say Max. In my mouth, it sounds like a dogs name.

I stand there and try to remember the steps that go into washing your hands as he keeps talking. I am aware he is facing me completely now, I am aware of his frame in the background of the mirror I cannot look at, I am aware that there is one rule in male bathrooms, and so my brain keeps looping and repeating do not look up do not look up do not look up.

He asks me what my number is, and when I recount this to my mother a week later, I cannot find a way to describe how it feels like a threat. How it feels like wanting to count the tiles to the exit door but not being able to stop washing your hands because you simply can’t remember how it’s done anymore, what that last step is that lets your brain know the process is over. I try and work through it again. I restart, get more soap.

He keeps saying things. My brain flicks through quotes in my head like rapidly choosing what to wear into battle. I misremember the one I end up choosing, find myself unable to fix the clasps on a breastplate that I built for myself, it should have fit me. I feel like this strangely has to do more with what is inside my chest versus the flesh that lies on top of it, regardless, I play the quote again.

“The poet’s job, in the midst of the flood, is to remember the color of the water.”

And again.

The sink is just clear. I am trying to convince it to be blue, for a grocery list of reasons and the ghost of a voice saying “poetic cinema”, when he says something else, and I blink and it is Wednesday.

I joke to my friends that I am not sure if my superpower is time travel or teleportation. We decide that it is the latter because if I could time travel, I would just go forward til things were better. Instead, I just end up somewhere else days later, blinking back into my body, trying to remember how I got there. I am not wearing my jacket anymore. I still can’t find it now, and I only have a vague recollection of frantically looking for a sharpie to scribble out the rainbow flag on the outside, not because I am ashamed but because I have always needed a safety blanket, even now and it just doesn’t feel safe anymore.

My sister made it for my eighteenth birthday, not to celebrate my birth but my continued existence, she says it is a gift so that I can remember how brave I have been.

I am wearing it when I am too scared in an empty cafe to hold the boy I want to marry’s hand.

Six people write down brave as an adjective to describe me out of ten for a class project. I realize, after an hour of not understanding these results that everyone who has said this is LGBT. They do not think I am brave in my actions, they know I am brave for being alive.

I do not like that my sheer existence is heroic.

Later that night, or maybe a month before, I have been teleporting so much lately that I can’t remember time, I ask my partner if he thinks I am gay enough.

He asks me what I mean, and I do not know how to answer him,

I cannot tell if people see me as a boy or girl when they look at me anymore or if I just look small.

I tell him that it feels like I am just now realizing that I have missed my train and that I have been sitting at the station for eighteen years waiting for something that simply will not come,

When a girl tells me I am pretty I think of how I pictured myself looking in college.

I stand next to my little brother as we get out of the car and he is three heads taller than I will ever be,

I remember joking with him, when I did not know anything, that I would always make a better soldier than him.

I remember the first time I realized he would always be stronger than me when a news alert goes off on my phone saying I am too expensive to be in the military.

I tell my boyfriend that I have never seen myself as trans as I picture my father in Germany, my grandfather taking a picture of him in uniform as he helps pull a man over a wall my father made sure crumbled, I wonder if the picture took him more than five seconds to take, or if it’s okay to look at men through glass, through a viewfinder.

The only picture I have left of his is one of my mother holding me as a child, and there is much love in that single faded frame that even the photo paper feels soft, and still, today, I cannot help but wonder what he would think of me.

The water in the bathroom is clear as I wash my hands. My name is not Max. I know this because it took me four years to choose the perfect one. To make sure it fit right, like a safety jacket.

On a Thursday, my therapist asks me why I am scared, and suddenly I am in bed reading a text from a friend that asks the same thing, and maybe it actually is time travel.

“I do not know,” I say, both times, and they echo and I can’t make out which voice is mine, the high pitched one in my head or the one people hear when they meet me again for the first time in years.

I do not know, I say, because I have never been righteous I have never been angry. The group chat talks about what kind of historical gays they are. Elliot says he would have been an 80’s escort, in rich extravagant clothing, taking women to parties their husbands could not attend. Phoenix is a second brick at stonewall kind of gay, apparently. They ask me what I would be doing then. I say Berlin and Vietnam, respectively.

I have made it a goal, for the past two years, to tell someone on the internet every day that I love them. I did this after a person I barely knew died. His mother made a post about how we should not say that he “committed” anything, because that it makes it sound like a crime. I tell people I love them and sometimes it still feels like I am committing the act of love.

A boy once wrote to me saying he was happy I was finally writing happy poems. Even as I tell myself that life is circular, and sometimes backwards can still be forwards, I try to make this poem happy for him.

As I write this, I know I am traveling faster than the speed of light. That a few days from now I will blink and wake up and find this on my computer and wonder how it happened.

I will continue to taste the word brave on my tongue and try and use it to wash the sound of Max out of my mouth.

I will continue to try and name of the color of this flood, but it does not feel colorful, it does not feel rainbow. It still looks clear when I wash my hands.

I am itching more lately, and I try not to think about being allergic to my body.

The water is clear when it washes over skin that I cannot tell is mine.

The water is clear still.

I turn the faucet off. And I dry my hands. I have remembered these steps, in the end.

The water was clear, still.

And I am in love, still.

And I am love, still.

And I try to think of how all these things can exist at once.

And I land on the answer.

I am in multiple places at once.

I refuse not to call this a superpower.

I have decided to title this poem This Poem Is a Real Male Bathroom, For Real Men™️ Only.

And I want the guy whose penis I did not look at in that bathroom, to know,

That this poem is not for him.

Because I was the only real man in that room.

#tal asks #quiz mention #tal writes #okay to rb #your-url-is-problematic

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merlins-hurt-comfort · 4 years

Text

I’ll be here until you’re okay

Fandom: TS Sanders Sides Warnings: parental emotional abuse, talking about violence (only talking, though), food mention, Roman swears once, Remy’s mother is kind of transphobic and sugarcoats anxiety. Pairing: Remy/Emile Characters: Remy Sanders, Emile Picani, Patton Sanders, Logan Sanders and Roman Sanders Wordcount: 3511

A/N: so first of all, this is for @shut-up-emrys, i love you lots. the thing with this fanfiction is that it’s kinda personal, i basically put my mother in this story and made Remy go through some of the things i had/have to go through and have them comforted in the end. because that is what hurt and comfort fanfictions are for, isn’t it. whatever. i do feel better after writing this, though.

The early morning sun shone through a little window in Remy's room, lightly waking them on this mild Tuesday morning.

After a few times of turning around, trying to get ahold of the sweet warm sleep, Remy stretched their body and slowly sat up, leaning against their bed's headboard.

They rubbed their eyes and blinked a few times to get their eyes used to the bright rays of sun, lighting up their room- or more accurate- their mess of it.

Remy breathed in deeply but the heavy weight on their shoulders didn't ease. They felt their throat hurting, warm anger rising as they remembered last night's events.

No surprise their mother was involved. Remy remembered trying to open up to her, telling her about yesterday's therapy session. Not to get them wrong, they loved their mother. And their mother loved Remy. At least that's what they were sure of. But sometimes Remy couldn't think of her anything other than hurtful, then again they immediately felt guilty about thinking that way. Their mother was a good mother. She was. Even though Remy felt like her hatred towards certain groups of people outweighed her love for her child.

Remy didn't want to get up. Not this day. A long work day was ahead of them and their motivation non-existing. But since not coming to work due to emotional issues was "just being lazy" and "not going to happen", according to their mother, they slowly got out of the warm bed to get changed while thoughts about other events, similar to last night came crushing down. Like that one time, years ago, when they took all the courage they got. They wrote their mother a letter, explaining being non-binary in all it's details.

Remy started shaking, just as they had been shaking back then, as if they were reliving the whole scenario instead of simply replaying it in their thoughts. They didn't get support. They didn't get thrown out either but that could not be where the bar for acceptance was. Instead, after getting interrupted, their mother tried to talk Remy out of it, brushed it off as a phase and neither of them brought up the whole conversation ever again. That day Remy swore to never come out to her ever again.

But their mother was a good mother, she let them visit a therapist to manage their anxiety issues. After six months of all of their professors talking to her, she finally agreed. She didn't like her child going to therapy. It would not look good on college or work applications, she said. They would never get an "actual full-time job", she said. It would ruin her good reputation, she said. Almost as if that was more important than Remy learning to deal with their anxiety. Almost. She loved them, Remy knew it. They just didn't feel it. But she was a good mother, right? She was. She had to be.

Remy shook their head, trying to get rid of all the memories as they dropped the clothes they slept in on the floor. After last night's argument, Remy didn't manage to do anything else other than walk into their room, slam the door shut and lie down on the bed hoping to fall sleep before the growing heartache would tear them apart.

They picked a blue jeans and a white shirt from The Chair™, put them on and turned around to look in a mirror hanging on the wall to fix their sleep hair. One look in the mirror made them stumble back in shock. All those thoughts, racing and stumbling through their mind, made them forget that this day was their eighteenth birthday.

Usually, they didn't care about their birthdays. What's so great about them? Remy was glad their friends respected their feelings and didn't bring it up. And every other birthday would have been just another ordinary day. But not the eighteenth. On one's eighteenth birthday they would get a black mark somewhere on their body where their soulmate would touch them first. Or next- if they already knew each other.

After a few seconds, Remy stepped closer to the mirror, carefully touching their left cheek with their fingertips. There was a black handprint on their face covering half their chin and lips and the cheek they were so delicately touching right that second. In awe and confusion Remy traced the print of the thumb to below the left eye and the other four fingers just below their left ear. All those thoughts about their mother disappeared, that stain was the only important thing in this moment, until-

Remy was outraged. So their soulmate would slap them? Was that what was going to happen? They scoffed, of course other people got friendly touches and they were left with this.

"Seems like, it's just what I deserve," they mumbled to themselves. For a short moment they considered covering the mark with make up but they decided not to do such thing. If people knew, people knew. And they would know- one way or another.

They put on their black leather jacket and grabbed their phone to leave the house, not bothering to say good morning or goodbye to their mother. She didn't bother either.

On their way to work Remy put in their headphones and let the music take over, trying to ignore the strangers looking at their face, now decorated with a black handprint.

A few miles away Emile stared at his right hand. Today was his eighteenth birthday as well and he couldn't help but overthink it. When he woke up this morning, his right palm was all black.

Emile's thoughts have been creating dozens of possible scenarios already. It could be a handshake, or a high-five. It could be a mark from holding someone's hand. Nonetheless, he worried a little bit. What if he would slap his soulmate? Could happen, right? Less likely than all those other possibilities but with his luck, that's what it was going to be.

He just took a shower and got dressed, a black jeans, a light blue sweater and his brown coat. He then grabbed his phone and backpack and left for uni, hiding his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Halfway there, Emile stopped at the local Starbucks and entered the café. It was a busy morning but to see his best friend Remy behind the counter brightened his mood. Somehow, Remy, as the most sarcastic and pessimistic, also unquestionably short-tempered person, always managed to cheer him up. As a psychology major, college took a lot of Emile's time and Remy covered many of their coworkers shifts, but they still managed to spend time together. Remy was working on one of the coffee machines with their back to Emile but their coworkers already noticed him.

From the other end of the long queue Emile watched Patton say a few words to Logan, then take a paper cup from the counter and make his way through the café to the psychology major.

Patton was older than Remy and Emile and already got his mark months ago. Two fine black lines on his forehead, looking like someone would touch him while brushing some hair out of his face. Logan didn't have his mark yet.

"Good morning, Emile. Remy already prepared your daily order!" Patton pulled them in for half a hug and light pats on his back before handing Emile the cup.

"Patton, hey! Thank you for bringing me my hot cocoa." Patton smiled so brightly, it was literally contagious, then pushed up the glasses on his freckled nose.

"Always my pleasure. We wish you a very happy birthday! Let's see your mark!" Emile took his right hand out of the pocket of his jacket and opened it, showing Patton the black palm.

The café employee was fascinated. "That is so cool!!" His eyes widened. "I bet it's a high-five! Or you shake their hand." Emile chuckled lightly, stepping out of the way for some customers exiting the Starbucks. "I hope you're right about that."

"You should see Remy's mark. But I feel like it's not my place to tell you about it." Patton's voice got softer. "They wish you a very happy birthday, they said they will text you after work." Emile raised an eyebrow in confusion. Where could Remy's mark possibly be? He was tempted to just walk over to the counter but even the fact that they're his best friend didn't change that right there and then would not be a good place or time to talk about soulmate marks.

Patton interrupted him spacing out. "Now off you go or you'll be late for your first class." He stopped while making his way back to the counter, turned around and made finger guns, pointing to the hot beverage in Emile's hands. "The cocoa is on us, by the way. As a birthday present."

Emile left the café, thinking about soulmates.

Remy's shift took forever. Even though they had a lot of work, time still refused to pass. They knew every customer at some point stared at the fresh black soulmate mark. And no one said it out loud but Remy knew they all shared the same thought. Their soulmate would hit them in the face. They tried their best to get on with work as if it was any other given day and forget about the handprint adorning their face but with every single new customer looking at them, they got reminded of what would inevitably happen.

After a long day of serving people all different kinds of drinks and cleaning more tables than they could count, they finally registered the cash and Patton locked the store. Logan's shift had already ended earlier that day.

The freckled boy put the keys in one of his pockets, then encouragingly looked Remy in their eyes. "Don't worry about the mark too much, Remy. It does not look like a slapping hand to me." Patton gave them a soft smile. "It's your soulmate, it will be alright."

Remy sighed and buried their hands deep in the pockets of their leather jacket. "I hope you're right. I don't think so, but I hope."

"Kiddo, you need to tell me as soon as you meet them!" Their customers couldn't exactly tell but Patton, Logan and Remy weren't only coworkers, they also were good friends, knowing each other almost as long as Remy and Emile knew each other.

"Of course I will. But only if you'll tell me about yours, and don't kiddo me, you're only a few months older!"

Remy put in their headphones after the two Starbucks workers said goodbye and went their separate ways.

At home Remy carefully walked into the kitchen, stopping close to the door. They watched their mother cutting some carrots for dinner before quietly speaking.

"Mom? I wanted to talk-" Their voice failed them.

Their mother put the knife down and sighed. "Speak, Remy. I don't have all evening." After eighteen years with their mother, she still managed to take away all of their courage the moment they tried to talk about something that was important to them.

"I-" Remy started, but it felt like all the sentences they formed on their way here were gone as if they didn't know any words, as if their head was empty, making room for anxiety to slowly fill their body limb after limb. Remy's heart raced, their body was so cold they felt it in their bones. They already regretted trying to get their mother to make up for last night.

She turned around, impatient of their child's silence, but of course noticed the mark before anything else. She raised an eyebrow.

"Looks like someone's gonna get slapped."

Remy started fidgeting with their fingers, took all the energy their racing heart provided them with to say it as quickly as possible. "I wanted to talk to you about last night." This was supposed to be about last night, not about the mark.

Their mother sighed again, crossing her arms. "Remy, there is nothing to talk about. I get it, your therapist diagnosed you with an anxiety disorder." She took a deep breath, like what she just said had cost her all of her energy. "Listen, we all get nervous sometimes and I could help you just as well, I don't see why you have to see a therapist for that."

Remy tried their hardest to not show their hurt as it climbed up their throat.

"But, mom-"

Their mother cut them off. "Well, thank you for the conversation, I was not done talking. I taught you better than speaking out of turn." She massaged her temple and closed her eyes, letting out an exasperated sight. "You don't understand my situation. What will people think? I need to get used to this."

She turned around, picked up the knife and continued cutting the carrots. A few seconds passed. By now Remy's chest felt like a rattling nest full of angry wasps, their breathing short and uncontrolled. "Don't tell me you're crying."

Remy was close to crying. But they knew their mother- crying was for weak people and they were not weak. They couldn't be weak. They tried to swallow the hurt, pushing it all down to wrap the angry wasp nest.

"I am-", they cleared their throat, taking a deep, long breath. In a voice, as steady as possible, they continued. "I am not crying."

"Good. Adults don't cry." Their mother put the cut carrots in the pot on the oven. "Do you want to help me cook dinner?" she asked, in a tone implying that this whole conversation didn't happen. Remy knew she simply couldn't stand the atmosphere she created. They wanted to cry.

"Actually, I am going to meet Emile."

Remy's mother aggressively grabbed the tomatoes. "I am doing everything for you, Remy." She almost threw them in the sink. "And I ask for help one time, just once, but no." She washed them quickly and started cutting. "I have to do everything myself. You're making me break down, do you hear me? I'm going to break down. You don't ever help me."

"Gee," Remy wondered while closing the kitchen door on their way out and leaving the house. They wiped their teary eyes, then pulled out the phone to text their best friend. "I wonder why."

This didn't go the way they planned. But then again, with their mother, things would never go according to plan.

Emile sat on his favourite table in the local library when he got a text notification. He tapped twice on his dark display to wake it up and read the message.

"Hey, can we meet?" Remy. Emile got excited. So their shift was finally over and they got to spend some time with each other.

He leaned back in his chair and typed. "I am in the library. Do you want to come here?"

It only took seconds for Remy to answer. "On my way."

Emile often came to the city's local library, sometimes to read but most of the time to study for an exam. Just like this day. He shifted in his chair to get comfortable and continued reading and making some notes.

After another ten minutes, he heard the big front door opening and quietly closing. A distant. "Hello, Remy!!"

Emile looked up from his book. Remy was here and that made him so incredibly happy, even though it was kind of late already and he was exhausted from hours of studying after a complete day at uni. He heard a weak "Hey." in response to Roman's greeting.

Emile's heart dropped. That did not sound good. The bad feeling in Emile's gut got confirmed when Remy appeared in his vision.

Head down, hands in the pockets of their jacket, walking with slow, tired steps. As if something had drained them for everything they had- or someone. Emile knew about their mother, she was something Remy had been dealing with their whole life, much longer than Emile knew them.

He stood up and walked around the table to Remy, softly pulling them in for a hug. Remy slowly put their arms around Emile as well and buried their face in the taller boy's neck, holding him close. Emile carefully put one hand on the back of Remy's head as he slowly rubbed their back with his other hand. Neither of them moved.

Remy was safe now. They could cry now. Feeling Emile's beating heart so close to theirs, his warm-sunshine presence all around them, feeling his hands holding them, his steady and calm breathing, Remy finally felt like they could give in to the hurt stinging in their chest, poking the angry wasp nest everytime they breathed in.

The words just spilled over. "Emile, you need to know that I love her. I do." They paused, getting quieter with each word they said. "She just makes it so hard for me. And- and I think she loves me. I mean, she has to, she just has to-" Their voice cracked as tears filled their closed eyes. Remy was glad their face was hidden, that no one could see them this vunerable, even though Emile kept telling them, crying was healthy and human. "I just can't- I just can't feel it."

Emile closed his eyes, fighting back his tears. This was Remy's moment and he knew they didn't get many of those.

"Remy, it's alright. You're here with me now, only with me." Emile's reassurance was nothing more than a quiet, soft whisper, and that was all Remy needed.

"I'll be here until you're okay." As Emile felt their shoulders trembling, he pulled them even closer, holding his sobbing friend in silence. Minutes after minutes passed, neither of them knew how long they stood there, until Remy had cried all that there was for them to cry.

"Thank you, Emile." Remy mumbled, definitely sounding like they were feeling better. Emile slightly loosened up, not enough to break the comforting atmosphere, but enough to have their foreheads almost touch. He cupped their face, carefully wiping away the tears. "Always, Remy."

"Heeeyyy, guys. I just wanted to tell you it's almost closing time."

Emile waved Roman hello as Remy turned around, startled by the librarian who popped up out of nowhere as he continued talking.

"But if you want to stay a few- uh more minutes that's- that's not a-." Roman's words failed him, leaving him speechless for a few seconds.

"Woah. Those are fucking magnificent marks." Helpless faces stared at him, as if he just spoke in a different language. Roman cleared his throat and gestured at the stains. "Yea, your soulmate marks, don't tell me I am the first to see them!"

Emile looked at his hand, the palm no longer black but instead looking like white marble. At the same time Remy carefully touched his face, right where Emile's hand was just a moment ago while they turned around to their best friend again.

They looked at each other. Emile's heart grew warm as he saw the young adult standing in front of him. His best friend with not only a clueless look on their face but also a handprint in the most beautiful blue Emile had ever seen.

Roman was sure, at this point Emile made actual heart eyes at Remy. He smoothly stepped forward and handed them a tiny mirror. He believed it to be of great importance to always carry one with you. Roman then left them alone to put a few more books back in the shelves. It appeared this day he could not close on time, but it didn't bother him at all.

Remy couldn't trust their eyes as they saw their reflection. The hand print that shocked them so much this morning, that made them so angry, that they slowly knew they would grow to hate was now as blue and deep as the sky.

They looked back at Emile, delicately waving his right hand, the palm like white marble. He had a smile that bright, it could easily compete and win against the bubbly-sunshine Patton.

Emile raised his hand and carefully put it on his friend's face. That touch alone was enough to make Remy burst into tears of happiness as they fell into a tight hug. They could have spent hours standing there, holding the other as close as physically possible, if it weren't for Roman.

"Guys, I am having a Déjà vu here." They let go of each other, just then being able to stop laughing.

Emile looked like he would pass out from excitement any second as he very proudly declared: "Well, looks like I have the best freaking soulmate on this planet, huh?"

Remy took Emile's hand in theirs, tracing the grey lines. "Emile." They cleared their throat as they met their soulmate's rich chocolate brown eyes. "I don't need fate to know we're meant to spend our lives together."

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lvstfuvl · 4 years

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❛ diana silvers, 20, cisfemale, she/her ❜ was that HARLOW LOFTLAND i just saw hurrying across the quad? you’d think they would know what happens when a SOPHOMORE is late to class. then again, the LINGUISTICS MAJOR has been known to be pretty DEMANDING. maybe being so ALTRUISTIC helps keep them out of trouble. i heard they aren’t an angel, though, and that they are BISEXUAL and love DADDY/MOMMY KINK + BONDAGE.

so i’m rosie, and the Number One fact to know about me is that i suck at intros. so here’s the best i can do.

from new haven, connecticut, harlow has a gigantic family. like... massive. four brothers and two sisters. their family is catholic by name only, but she has casually dipped into religion on her own. it wasn’t so much the religion or the relationship with god. for harlow, it’s more the community, and the stories. she sees religion like history, and she’s obsessed with history.

she sees languages that way, too, and she began to pick up on the basics of french, spanish, and german at a very young age. it’s easy for her to learn languages; she’s fluent in the languages above, she’s learning swedish, she’s conversational in japanese, with portugese as being next on her list. she’s also fluent in ASL, but we’ll get there.

harlow liked being on the younger end of the loftland spectrum, because it meant that there were fewer eyes on her. as young as 13, she would sneak out of the house, meet up with friends, and get up to no good.

she was never into heavy drugs or promiscuous sex, but she did smoke a little weed and cigarettes (she’s quit cigarettes since) and lost her virginity to a Nice Young Man(tm) when they were both fourteen.

at fifteen, harlow met someone she fell head over heels in love with. unfortunately, he was literally double her age, married, and way more professional than she would like. he was charming, kind, generous, and took an interest. harlow did what any girl in her position would do: she swore to bring him to the dark side.

what he saw was a young woman who was struggling with identity and who she was. what she saw was a golden opportunity. and maybe, yeah, they fell in love a little bit with one another.

he waited until her eighteenth birthday to kiss her. she was on a cloud after that night, but on her way home from their (very casual) dinner, he called to say that he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t leave his wife and their future for an eighteen-year-old with barely a future.

CAR CRASH TW (SKIP THIS PARAGRAPH IF TRIGGERING): heartbroken, sobbing, harlow should have pulled over her car, but didn’t. she wound up crashing into a pole and sustaining a pretty serious head injury. she was in a medically-induced coma for a few days for the swelling to die down, but at least her family knew she’d get through it.

she suffered from hearing loss as a result of the injury. at first it was total hearing loss, but she’s gained most of it back, though she still suffers from tinnitus. for harlow, during the period of hearing loss, when she wasn’t sure if she would gain it back, the only appropriate thing to do was learn ASL. naturally.

now that her hearing has mostly returned, she wants to be an ASL translator. she saw how frustrating it was for some of her family to not be able to appropriately communicate with her during those few months.

harlow is a little anti-love now, but pro-sex. having that older connection has given her one hell of a daddy/mommy kink, and she also loves being totally bound and helpless. do those things and she’s yours 25/8.

she is VERY attached to hunter, as they’re close in age, and everyone needs a big brother to look out for them.

let me know if you want some connections. this is a trash child and you may have her any way you wish.

#noru.intro #car crash tw #(the paragraph is clearly marked so you can skip if this triggers you)#about: harlow

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atlasfms · 5 years

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𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐩𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐚 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒎 .

user : @atlasdeniro . date & time : 06 / 25 / 2019 , 06 : 31 AM . post type : photo . stats : 2,431,768 likes , 201,349 comments .

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 : mentions of death , abuse , suicide , drugs , alcohol & grief .

𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆’𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒍𝒚 honest , atlas isn’t sure why he found himself here . perhaps his grief had gotten to the point where he had subconsciously dragged himself here in a half drunk state , having started drinking early & not really stopping until he knew he was where he wanted to go . it’s strange , really , how your drunk mind takes you to a place you would never dare go sober , & as a slightly cool breeze blows through the blossoming trees , he feels a chill go up his spine .

of course , this could also be due to the fact that he’s currently in a graveyard , but the amount of alcohol running through his system has relieved any sort of apprehension he might’ve previously had about the cold . frankly , he doesn’t really care about the cold . he feels numb to it just like he feels numb to everything else today ; every sense of motion , every emotion from anger to love to hatred is lost in this bone aching , nerve tingling feeling of heart breaking grief that he’s been avoiding feeling .

perhaps it’s his own fault . he was told to go to the funeral ; told that it would make him feel better . but he couldn’t go . he couldn’t do it . atlas simply couldn’t face the fact that his best friend was dead . he spent months not talking , barely eating , drinking , or sleeping . so much so that he was beginning to look like a different person . but suddenly something changed & he woke up , as if an alarm he’d been hitting the snooze button on for three long months had eventually been left to go off & he was awake again .

now , he doesn’t feel like that . the ache in his chest feels a lot worse ; the thoughts clogging his brain so much darker than what they had ever been . he tells himself it’s something to do with the weather , but he knows that’s the sorry excuse poor people use when they try to pull out of work for the day . but slowly , he’s been feeling more withdrawn , & as the days have neared closer to this one he’s become more & more animated , acting more out of impulse than anything else & trudging through the days in almost a robotic way . if anything , the half - empty bottle in his hand serves as a comfort blanket .

the bronze liquid swishes unceremoniously in the clear bottle as he perches himself on the headstone in front of the one he’s been searching for . it took him longer to find it than it should’ve done , but since he wasn’t here for the burial he figures all the zigzagging between graves is payback for feeling too weak to face saying a proper goodbye to one of the best people he ever knew . he figures that’s where the problem lies . atlas never got to say goodbye , & four years later , he’s scared it’s too late as he reads the writing on the headstone he’s been staring at for the past five minutes .

here lies jason rhodes . february 20th , 1997 — june 25th , 2015 . beloved son , friend & student . now at peace .

he feels like scoffing . actually , he’s pretty sure he does scoff to fill the silence of the graveyard , but he just doesn’t acknowledge it . in all of these four years , he’s never been able to find the strength to come here . it’s like every bone in his body rejected the idea of coming to visit until this day . maybe somewhere he thought it’d be the right time , but now he’s here , he’s not sure if there would ever be a right time . he doesn’t even know what to say .

atlas rolls his eyes . get a grip . ❛ fuck . shit , sorry . disrespecting the dead , ❜ he says , realising that he’s sitting on a headstone which is , in fact , disrespectful , but he doesn’t move . ❛ i really hope you can hear me , jace , ❜ he utters quietly , as if his best friend is sat right next to him & only he can hear his voice . maybe he can , but atlas isn’t sure . all he knows is that he feels like he’s speaking to an empty space . ❛ i hope you can hear me because i’m so mad at you , jace , i really am . ❜

he pauses , taking a swig from his bottle , gulping it down with the lump in his throat . ❛ why didn’t you tell me what he was doing to you ? ❜ the question hangs in the air as the voice of detective bryant replays in his head . his father was abusive . ❛ if you told me , i could’ve gotten you out of there . i would’ve helped you . i could’ve ❜ he looks up at the sky , the sun starting to break through the early morning clouds as it rises . ❛ maybe then you wouldn’t be ❜ he can’t bring ��himself to finish the sentence , as if saying it would make it true . even though it’s been true for four years now . he looks back at the black granite headstone , looking at the date . ❛ maybe then you wouldn’t be dead . ❜

as soon as the words leave his lips there’s a lingering silence , as if he didn’t really believe them until now . ❛ it’s funny , before now i guess i convinced myself that you weren’t really ... gone . that you were just taking a long vacation . because the thought of not seeing my best friend again is just ❜ he can’t bring himself to finish that sentence , not wanting to say out loud what he’s been afraid to face . ❛ you were the only one that understood . the only one who knew what it was like & then i learn that you did this on purpose ... ❜ all he wanted was for it to end . the words echo in his brain like the questioning was yesterday . ❛ i’m so fucking pissed at you jace , because you were my fucking brother , & then you were gone without even saying goodbye ? ❜

he feels water start to pool in the rims of his eyes & has to inhale to clear them . ❛ god , i remember the day that we met . i was with eden & i think you were dating ... melanie , was that her name ? i can’t remember . i guess now’s a good time to tell you that it was me who fucked her at danny’s eighteenth birthday party , & that it actually wasn’t connor , ❜ he admits casually , bringing the bottle to his lips again . ❛ sorry . ❜ he takes another mouthful & swallows it down , holding the bottle out in front of his face before letting it down again . he was told this would happen ; the first day of those dreadful three months , his father told him that if he didn’t let himself grieve , it’ll catch up to him . now it finally has .

❛ i remember the first party i took you to , actually . you looked at that joint in my hand like you’d never seen drugs before . god , the look on your face , ❜ his voice is wavering now , slightly shaky . his chest feels heavy & he hates that feeling . ❛ i was so fucking naive . i literally thought you were so damn clean , that you’d never touched any drugs & that it was my fault you got caught up in it . that it was because of me that you died that night . & the worst thing is i felt like i deserved the blame , because i genuinely thought i dragged you into this world that i was stuck in & you fucking let me . ❜

he shakes his head . ❛ sorry . everything’s kind of fucked up right now . i’m not really mad at you . hell , you probably can’t even fucking hear me . i’m literally just talking to myself in a graveyard . how much more depressing can my life get ? ❜ atlas laughs a sardonic laugh . maybe he just came here to say the things he didn’t want to say before , because now he’s realised how much everything is falling apart . ❛ dad had this stupid idea that we should have our own tv show . it’ll premiere soon , i’m not sure when , but i feel like i can’t even breathe anymore . remember when i told you my life couldn’t be anymore public ? well , i was wrong . ❜

❛ i just feel like everyone’s going through shit right now , & my biggest problem is that i can’t get over the fact that my best friend died four years ago . how is that fair on everyone else ? ❜ he sucks in a breath . he doesn’t want to burden anyone by telling them what’s really going on . he doesn’t want them to know why he was really gone for over a month , when work only took a week out of it . instead he’s unloading his problems to a graveyard full of forgotten corpses . how much more morbid can he get ?

❛ i keep seeing you , ❜ his words are quiet when they leave his lips , but in the silence they sound loud . ❛ whenever i close my eyes , i see how you looked that night & i can’t erase it . i can’t . i’ve tried . i’m sorry . ❜ the sun has almost completely risen , making his red - rimmed gaze look almost luminous . birds are starting to chirp somewhere in the distance & he’s reminded that there is life out there , after all . ❛ the doctor said i’d experience trauma , but i didn’t think it’d take this long . i didn’t think it would be like this . ❜

he takes another long drink from his bottle . it’s getting close to being empty now , the bronze dimming to a dark golden colour . this is the worst day of the worst time of year , & he tells himself that all he needs to do is get through today , & he’ll be fine . everything will go back to normal tomorrow . ❛ i should probably go . your mom normally comes out here early & spends the day crying over your grave . i hope you know that . ❜

standing , he pulls out the lid for his bottle & caps it , stumbling over to his best friend’s headstone & placing the bottle next to it , resting a hand gently on the top . he stays there for a little while , just looking down , his chest aching worse than before . atlas knows grief ; he’s lost people before . but this is different . hearing you’ve lost someone you love hurts like hell . but watching it happen , seeing the life drain out of them & knowing you can’t do a damn thing about it is a whole different kind of grief , & he knows that now . ❛ cheers , buddy . sleep well , ❜ is the last thing he says , staggering off to find the path that will lead him back to reality , knowing he’ll need something more than alcohol to get him through today .

#death tw #drugs tw #abuse tw #suicide tw #alcohol tw #grief tw #those triggers are ..... a Lot fgkjfg #this is dramatic ?? & a lil extra ?? yeah #but i tried to make it funny but sad so u guys smile but also cry #fkgfgjkgf #this is the first of the thing #i'm EXCITED #◟ 𝓐.𝓓. ┈ ´ › 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝒎𝒊𝒓𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐦𝐞. ╱ gram.#◟ 𝓐.𝓓. ┈ ´ › 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐢’𝐦 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝. ╱ development.

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tfcrp · 5 years

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THIS IS YOUR GAME

Name: River Tate Age: Eighteen Class Year: Freshman Position: Defensive Dealer, #17 Hometown: Brooklyn, Indiana This character is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns.

THIS IS YOUR MOMENT

TW: abuse, misgendering

They weren’t always as fierce as they are now, as uncompromising, as unwilling to accept any less than what they deserve. If what they are now is a phoenix, then they spent the better part of their life as ashes, ground into dirt and dust under the uncompromising weight of their father’s burning rage and their mother’s colder hatred. Living in the thin walls of that house was a seeming life sentence they shared with their older sister Dana—literally, as the two of them shared a room, even if they didn’t seem to share anything else, each of them preferring to lick their wounds alone and unable to spare any sympathy for the hurts of their sibling, because it meant it was one they didn’t have to bear themselves.

On the night of her eighteenth birthday, Dana lay on the floor of their room and said I don’t think I can stay here another day. They hadn’t thought anything of it, their lives had been unbearable from the moment they were born, and yet they’d both continued to endure them anyway. But they woke up the next morning and Dana was gone, just like that, River having missed their chance to say goodbye. They could never blame her for getting out when she could—in their house, it was everyone for themselves, and they had never been each other’s allies, only each other’s unwilling shields.

Though, sometimes, when their father’s fists would come down and there’d be no one else to take the brunt of it, they couldn’t help but feel angry—though it was mostly an anger born of jealousy, the unfairness that came from being the second, youngest child. But that unfairness became their fuel, and they started planning their escape, dreaming of the life they could have when they finally got away. Dana had traded Brooklyn, Indiana for Brooklyn, New York, living in a cramped shared apartment and working as many jobs as she could to stay afloat. She was only a phone call away, she told River when they finally got up the nerve to call, but by unspoken mutual agreement they didn’t talk much. It wasn’t like either of them knew what to say.

Home was a crushing weight, and every day there seemed to another rock piled on top of them, pushing them further and further to breaking. But the thing that made them finally decide that, like Dana, they couldn’t stay another day, wasn’t home at all. Exy had always been their escape, a shit team in a shit town that barely had enough kids for a full lineup—but something that was theirs. Exy was the thing that they had carved out for themself, the court the place they could be themself, not holding their breath, not apologizing for their existence, not afraid.

But somewhere in there they’d miscalculated, and the easy camaraderie they’d found among their teammates soured they second they opened their mouth and said actually, I’m not a boy at all and found that it didn’t seem to mean or change a thing. That no one understood, and so they just acted like they had never said anything at all, treating them like the boy they’d always been assumed to be. Any attempts to say otherwise, to stand up for themself, were shut down with rapidly expiring patience, why do you always have to be so difficult? the refrain that followed them off of the court and out of the boys locker room. They were sixteen years old, and suddenly it didn’t seem enough to wait anymore. I need out now, they thought to themself, I need life to get better now.

And so they stole their father’s credit card and bought a bus ticket to New York, showed up on Dana’s doorstep with a duffel bag and a desperate plea: please, you can’t make me go back. They hadn’t called ahead, they knew she would have told them not to come. But once they were already there, she didn’t have the heart to turn them away. And, when their father came calling, she stood her ground for their sake, and her threats to involve the police were enough to get him to back down, and for River to be allowed to stay—to be free.

SEIZE IT WITH EVERYTHING YOU’VE GOT

It wasn’t always easy: balancing school and practice and bussing tables at the diner where Dana worked to help her pay their bills. And it wasn’t like they and Dana had ever learned to communicate, or be kind to each other, and their smallest complaints piled silently on top of each other until they got into screaming matches as bad as any of the ones the four walls of their home back in Indiana had ever seen. But it was a life, with a team and a fucked-up little family and a name they had picked for themself, and that made up for everything else.

And River decided that they were done with taking what life handed to them, that they were going to go out and grab life with both hands, and do everything they could to make it better for themself. They’d suffered enough, and for so long. They deserved it. And so, their senior year of high school, they didn’t just send their stats and tape to Coack Wymack, they took a twelve-hour bus ride to deliver them to him in person after a Fox game. Well, as long as you’re here, kid, Wymack had said, and put them through their paces on the Foxhole Court before putting them on the bus back to New York with his phone number and instructions to look out for a contract, which came not even a month later. And then fall took them to Palmetto, where they’ve kept that determination alive: a relentless drive to win both on the court and off of it, and to heal—to never feel trapped, or afraid, or unhappy, or anything other than wholly themself.

RIVER TATE is portrayed by TYLER YOUNG and is TAKEN

#river tate #riverbio #a #f #t #tf

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lifeofbouyd · 5 years

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Church girl

Dear Bouyd,

Sometimes I wonder what the fuck I did with my life. Shit happened so fast I lost myself along the way. Ima tell you a story about how I fucked my life up with what should have been a mentor.

I spent most of my life in the church as my parents went to church at least three times every week. Sometimes twice in one day. I knew the bible enough to preach it. Throughout my early teens, I was the lead singer in the choir, not much time for anything but church. The older I got, the more sexually aware I became. I predicted getting married on my eighteenth birthday just so I could get some dick. Most of the girls in my class were “hood rats” from the seventh grade. I was the only one acting all dainty as if I was lined with gold. Don’t get me wrong when I say that, a woman’s body is her treasure and I treated myself as such. I never had a boyfriend until I was 18 and even today I still can’t believe who took my virginity.

Spending so much time in the church gave little to no time to socialize. Most of the people I knew were the same People I’d see every day, and there wasn’t one that I saw myself with. It continued like this until pastor Mark moved to our church. He wasn’t the average miserable, old man. He was only twenty-three and built like an athlete. His voice made me tremble whenever he spoke. To me, he was a man of God, a holy and righteous man. One who practiced what he preached. I watched this man cast Demons from people, baptize people, pray for people even read people. There was nothing suspicious about him. He invited me to see him a few times after church which I didn’t have a problem with. After all, a little prayer ain’t ever killed nobody. I spent so much time with this man I fell I love with him. I couldn’t wait to see him. It was as if he became the key ingredient to my survival. I noticed he started making jokes about stuff that wasn’t even Christian anymore. How lovely my legs look, do I ever get wet, would you let me oil you down and open heavens gate? I didn’t know what to think so I humoured him. One day he got super stiff after anointing me with olive oil. His hands gently glided across my legs while I shivered in fear. I could see his dick stretched across his pants. He asked me to stand and raise my skirt, which I did.

Pastor: I see the devil is after you. Take off all your clothes and let me pray for your protection. “Dem set Duppy ina yuh clothes”

Like a scaredy cat, I flashed my clothes off with not a second thought. “Holy, holy, Jesus, look pon di body weh dem wa go to waste”.

I had nothing on but my underwear while he rubbed me from head to toe with olive oil. He squeezed my nipples and grabbed my ass while he spoke in tongues. As terrified as I was it felt damn good in a perverted way. He again rubbed my legs then stopped at my waist. Grabbing my ass and thanking God. He rubbed his face against my “front” and I felt it in my head. That weird swinging or see-saw feeling. Butterfly tummy they call it. He whipped his dick out, claiming it the holy stick. Rubbing it against my leg while he chanted. He asked where I got my underwear then told me to take it off. “Dem season yuh jaaz fi mash yuh up”. I flashed it off as if it was burning me. Not a second thought in my mind. His dick kept jumping while I shivered in fear. Is this true, who would want to kill me, why me god, why me? “ I’m gonna relive you of this Demond today with this blessed device,” he said while taking his clothes off. He oiled his dick and my buff before licking my juices. He stopped in the middle of devouring me and got on his knees, “ God, forgive me for not praying before I eat”. He took his time and slid it inside, whining like a snake and making me cum all over the place. His strokes were steady and not too deep, just enough to hit the spot. I came so many times my body was numb. Who would have thought that I would lose my virginity to my pastor, trying to relieve me of a Demond I didn’t know possessed me? Not me. He got dressed after cumin. As handsome as he was, his cum face was no pretty sight. He seemed as if he had crossed eyes and suffered a minor stroke. I couldn’t help but laugh even when he was praying before I left. To be honest, I felt relieved, like I had lost a Demond that was holding me back for years. But now that I think about it, I was just a horny fucking girl, and my virginity was the Demond.

Funny thing about all this is I ended up pregnant. After relieving me from several other Demons that never existed, my tummy started growing. Having an abnormal “period” I didn’t really pay much attention until I was four months in. I thought life was working for me and my weight was my reward. I realized the food I used to like would make me sick and I could hardly wake up in the mornings. I would throw up after every meal. My sister suggested a pregnancy test as if she knew something about me. “I’m still a Virgin you know unless I’m Mary I am sure I’m not pregnant. I can’t believe you’d even think that”. I was nervous in my stomach. What if I’m pregnant, what would I tell mom, how would I go back to church? Scared and confused I consulted in a pregnancy test who also let me down. Two strokes on my first attempt. I took four more just to be sure and all four were positive. I almost shit myself. A baby for a pastor, I ain’t even married, what am I gonna do? I went to him for help but he just fucked me again. I hated him, I wanted to kill him and slash his balls. I went to several clinics trying to get an abortion done, but no one would do it. Claiming I was too far along and I might die. So here I was with the devil's child in me, facing the world on my own. I turned to my sis, who ratted me out to my mom, who threw me out with nowhere to go. With no source of income or comforting, I was left for dead.

Luckily, I knew someone who’d do anything do anything to fuck me back then. I slept next to him for three months before he could even look at what was between my legs. He deserved it. He treated me so well I felt like I owed it to him. He even took my child as his own. Today I’m his wife and mom of his two kids. As for my sister, I found out he (pastor) was fucking her too. Hence the bitch selling me out. I slashed his tire a few times but that didn’t make me feel any better. After twelve years I still want to kill that son of a bitch, but I guess “wicked people really hard fi dead”.

I just pray that won’t happen to anyone else. Moral of this story; the people set to lead us are the ones who normally fuck us. Literally.

Yours Truly,

Lexi

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unfortunate-rp · 5 years

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Congratulations, CLAIRE! You have been accepted as your original character, KITTY OSWALD. Please be sure to complete the steps listed on the NEW MEMBER CHECKLIST and send in your account within the next 24 hours.

Well, young lady, have you been good to your mother?

OOC INFORMATION

Name: Claire

Age: REDACTED

Pronouns: she/her

Time zone: cst

Activity Level: 8 (I will endeavor to be on at least once every day.)

Tumblr account (for contact purposes): REDACTED

How did you find us?: search through the tumblr rp tags

Triggers: none

Anything Else?:

IC Information:

Name: Kitty Oswald

FC: Chloe Bennet or Phoebe Tonkin

Date of Birth: September 5th

Age: 24

Character Quote: “She was like the moon – Part of her was always hidden away.”

Pronouns: she/her

Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Biromantic

Occupation: waitress at Hungry’s Diner, mechanic, car thief

Affiliation: Civilian

Neighborhood: Downtown, apartments above Black Cat coffee

Personality: (charismatic, resourceful, pragmatic) (Stubborn, tempermental, vindictive)

Biography:

Kitty Oswald was born in the Hinterlands. A place which here is synonmous with prison, or with hell. There were three things she loved about her home. Her mother, her uncle, and a blue toolbox with chipped paint. The first of these boarded a train two week after her tenth birth. The second taught her work a car. The third she took with her when she left home at eighteen. The identity of her father was a mystery her mother never revealed and rarely spoke of. After her passing (as they would come to call it) she became the responsbility of her Uncle Otto.

She grew up with greasy hand, overalls, and a pragmatic head. Work came first, then homework, then dinner, and occasionally (on third sundays and fourth thursdays) there was ice cream. She tutored well under Otto’s instructions, leaning how to fix a car up like new and how to mess up the job just enough that the customer returned one month later. In that junkyard with her uncle, she blossomed. Blossomed is a word that here means grew into a headstrong, occasionally visious, and confident young woman. One that had outgrown the hinterlands. So on her eighteenth birthday she got carrot cake (courtesy of a neighbor), stamps, and a bus ticket to the city.

Ambition was for others. Kitty spent her years waitressing, occasionally searching for her parents, and avoiding drama. She took up rent in a one bedroom apartment, adopted herself a (vicious) cat, and spent her days in Hungry’s Diner. Her nights were spent in a much less noble profession of procuring stolen vehicles for her uncle to sell or breakdown into parts. And, in bed some nights, she could not shake the sensation that she was missing something, something obvious, and it was just out of reach.

Connections:

Daughter of Jefferson Oquassa

This is a fact that is unknown to both father and daughter. They had not even met until Kitty was nineteen and came in Kakao. As a chocolate fiend, she is always splurging at the restaurant and has made passing acquaintance with the owner. If anything his staff finds her a bit annyoing as she loves the food, but does not make enough to tip them well.

Acquaintaince of Farrah Abassi

A regular customer at Hungry’s Diner, Kitty enjoys bantering with the woman and can sense that she’s not your typical late night guest. She makes sure to keep the woman’s coffee topped off and finds time to sneak across the booth and snatch a few minutes of easy conversation with someone who wasn’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth.

Friend of Cassidy Cantrell

Originally a professional arrangement to garner insights into the families in the city and possibly her own heritage, Kitty has grown actually fond of Cassidy. They share a similar thirst and stubborness that endeared her to the woman. When she needs someone to bounce ideas off of, Cassidy is her go to gal.

Headcannons:

She is allergic to bees and once got rushed to the hospital after being stung. Doctors say if she is stung again she could die in less than a minute.

She doesn’t know how to swim. Growing up in the Hinterlands there was little options for swimming lessons. This is a fact she hides and is ashamed to admit.

She can do long division in her head and like her mother has a head for numbers. Multiplication, calculus, whatever it might be she can do without paper or pen. From the age of ten, she managed the books for Otto’s Auto Sales.

Plans: I’d love for Kitty to be recruited into the VFD and have her flirt with the ideals of the firestarters, even join their ranks. She is the daughter of two VFD volunteers, raised literally at their doorstep and I think it will take time for her to find her footing in that world. Eventually I’d like her to be swayed into the status of a volunteeer and to become Jefferson’s protege.

Roleplay: Kitty, despite her pragmatism, is a bit of a loose cannon. She’s smart talking, confident, and yet more vulnerable than most. She has built herself up on quicksand and when the time comes she will find out about her family and her history. I hope to bring someone that evolves over time, that grows and strengthens from being able to access her truths and flex her muscles.

Writing Sample

OO,

Midnight. Orion’s Observatory. Bring chocolate.

Secretly,

She’d found the note pressed between two random pages in Uncle Otto’s books. It was yellowed, worn at the edge, and still bore the marks of being folded twice. At twelve, only two years removed from her mother’s passing, she’d held the message reverently. She’d traced the long dried ink, and felt along the creases. The date on the bottom, written in the man’s spidery scrawl was exactly 365 days before she’d been born. As Oona Oswald had been fond of pointing out, there are no coincedences only people to blind to see the connections.

She’d slipped the note into the back pocket of her overalls and then into a drawer in her bedside table. Uncle Otto would be none the wiser. The books, the numbers, the mathematics of a business were beyond him. He lived for greasy hands, sticky fingers, and warm bathes in the evening. He was always saying his big sister Oona had passed, always collecting sympaty, and never explaining more. In this context, passed meant less death and more packed suitcase, train ticket, and no goodbyes. She’d stuck around long enough to fill Kitty’s head up with something other than gasoline and then made for the hills.

Never one for attachments that Oona Oswald. And yet she’d kept that message.

She rolls back into the Hinterlands that weekend with minestrone soup, oysters, truffles, and vehicle relieved of her plates. (and her previous owner) The shop looks empty, with crows perched on the rusted sign, and dirt encrusted on the front door. But she sees a pair of legs in jeans and mismatched boots poking out from under a car. As she idles to a stop in front of the garage, her Uncle slides out squints in the yellow evening sunlight. She slips out from behind the wheel, gifts in hand, and nods a greeting.

“Uncle.”

“Not much Hinter left in you is there?” He spits and stands. Six years since she left to go live in the city. They haven’t been kind years on him. He’s greyer, fatter, wrinklier. “You look like a posh city girl.”

She snorts. She doubts any of the uptown girls she sees could pop open a cars dashboard and jumpstart it in less than four minutes. “And you look like a rotting piece of fruit,” she bites back.

There’s a pause. She stares and him, he stares back and then …in a flash he tips his head back and laughs. The Oswald laugh. Head tipped skyward, neck bent back, hands on hips, one leg tilted forward. A family trait shared by them all, and offered only sparingly. “Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.”

She steps forward, wraps and arm about his shoulders and squeezes. “I’ve brought you gifts you old bastard.”

“You got it all?” She nods. “Soup?” She nods. “Oysters?” She nods. “Chocolate.” Eye roll and a nod. When have I ever forgotten something. “And what about the wheels.”

She tilts her head back. “The owner won’t miss her. She’s got four others just like it.”

“What about her heart?”

She smiles. He means her engine. She took a look last night after stashing the car in an empty parking lot three blocks from her apartment. One hand on the warmth of the battery and she could tell just how young the model was. “Young,” she says. “Strong. Expensive.”

Maybe she should feel bad about stealing cars for her Uncle’s shop, but she doesn’t. Next month when she rolls in for her monthly visits he might have gutted the beauty and tossed her parts into many different cars scattered about the junkyard. He sees dollar signs in every part and she can rattle them off in her head with just as much ease. And yet, she’d much rather take her apart, get at her mechanics and then stich her back together. Uncle Otto would say that’s the city’s influence, making her soft. Or her father’s blood.

“Christmas in July.”

She nods, looking to her boots and the dirt below them. “I spoil you rotten.”

He guides her gaze back to him with a hand beneath the chin. “You ain’t still looking for him are you?”

“No.” But that’s a half-truth. The thing with having a mystery in the place of a parent is that you are always looking for them. Even when you’ve given up, even when you’ve put the puzzle pieces down they are still there. Here’s what she knows:

His initials are JO

He lives/lived in the city

He once snuck into Orion’s Observatory with her mother at midnight.

That’s not much to go on. When she first moved out and into the city she looked up every James O'Brien, Jeffrey Ocasto, and Joseph Owens in the phone books. Now the urge comes to her like a rising tide. She’ll look at some gentleman in uptown with a suit and top hat and think, is that him? It’s not. It never is. It never will be. But still …

“Or for her?”

She huffs under her breath. “She can be eaten by the Lachyrmose Leeches for all I care.”

#mystery rpg #oc rp #oc rpg #city rpg #crime rpg #accepted

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petite-neko · 6 years

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Chapter Characters: Corazon, Doflamingo, Law, (Baby 5, Buffalo) Pairing: (eventual) LawLu Rating: M Warnings: Vampire AU, (Mostly) canon compliant, Angst, Survivor Guilt, Blood, (Kinda) drug use/addiction, dependency, child grooming, child abuse, abusive relationship, major character death (Other warnings may be added) A/N: Well. I made one part of this story less feelsy....

Except I then proceeded to make the ending far more worse than it originally was. Ooops.

Also all the love to @oturai who is an amazing sounding board for ideas~ Thanks for your help. Helped me flesh out a few more things for this story. AND she’s beta-ing~

Also!!!!!! Just so I do not overwhelm you guys, I add in world-building facts as they become relevant. Don't feel afraid to ask. If it isn't a spoiler I'll probably answer the question :D. I just don't like just plopping a bunch of world-laws all in one text dump. Because a) you may not recall all of it if I give it to you all at once and b) it's boring af to read through that shit. XD.

.xxx. > Time/scene skip

.+++. > PoV change

(Wanna buy me a ko-fi? Link in blog description!)

Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2

From what I could tell, my brother had turned his most loyal subjects. The ones who found him. The ones who convinced him to kill our father.

And, of course, turning them was not an overly concerning issue. Not in the grand scheme of things. But, he did keep it secret. In fact, he hid behind the charade he had created for us:

We had found an old ruin containing a stash of vials that had not been exposed to the air.

And so, he had used those vials to make us stronger. And, my brother had leftover vials that he had kept. Vials that he would grant to those who proved an undying loyalty to him. Vials were hard to come by, after all.

(Of course, not many knew the truth. And, even from what I could tell, only those original four had known the full truth. Any others who found out due to my brother turning them only thought him a ranked vampire, and not a full breed. Vials, to us, were hardly a barrier. We could make them at any time to prove his story true. In fact, I am very certain he has them, stored somewhere to backup his story. My brother is very meticulous, if anything.)

Perhaps that was why this cursed child came to us. Why he sought us out, of all pirates, to pledge his loyalty to. To have us assist him with his revenge. Maybe he hoped to be injected, just like my brother’s executives had been, supposedly. That – or… well, we were one of the most powerful pirate crews in the North Blue...

(Of course, that was merely because we had two purebloods, and plenty of rank 1 vampires turned by my brother himself.)

Looking at this human child, however... it was eerie. It reminded me of things that I would rather be left in the past. Memories I hid away, but never truly forgot.

This human child, the one driven by vengeance... he reminded me of my brother. All those years ago. The pureblooded vampire who killed his father for the mere action of trying to live amongst those lesser than him.

(Part of me couldn’t help but wonder. Did he use our father’s blood as our charade? Did he have Homing’s blood in vials in a fridge somewhere... to use as proof of our injector status? Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past him. Doflamingo was an egotistical bastard. Of course he wouldn’t use his own blood unless he had to...)

And, frankly, I do believe my brother saw the same thing I did. That, upon looking at this human child, he saw a reflection of his past. And perhaps that was why he kept this child. Fostered him and trained him... Even though this human was doomed to die.

But - merely because of that. Because this child would die, I didn’t worry. Why should I worry about a potential threat if it was only to die in a short period of time, anyway?

.xxx.

Of course, despite that, I did encourage the children to leave. Baby 5, Buffalo, and the new one. I tried to show them rejection. I challenged their abilities. Pushed them away. All in hopes that they would leave. Leave and become respectful citizens of the world.

Of course, it never worked.

No, they were set on remaining in this faux family that my brother created.

If I was honest, I think they would have made good marines. Just... except my brother had gotten his hands on them first. He had a knack for attracting those who had bad pasts. Drawing them in with the promises of happiness and acceptance. Of protection and support. To give them just exactly what they had lacked.

He attracted the trash. Attracted them and lured them in.

And I knew. I knew all too intimately just what those promises did to a person.

Sengoku had made the very same promises to me.

There was a reason why Doflamingo picked this trash pile as his headquarters.

He wanted humans. Humans desperate for a change in their lifestyle. Humans who had been neglected and rejected by the marines and vampires.

The marines, or should I say: the government’s loyal guard dogs.

(I also knew just how literal that phrase was. At least among the higher ranks...)

Of course, the marines were full of vampires. Humans, too. Those loyal to the government and their cause. Or humans who opposed the vampire hunters known as pirates or revolutionaries. Many humans who, upon promotions, were either turned, or at the very least, were offered an injection if they wished to remain human.

My brother attracted the darkness in mankind. And he abused it.

That was one of the reasons I had returned to his side.

I knew my brother was planning something. Something to upset the very nature of our world. He wanted to disrupt the hierarchy. Making high ranked vampires, where there were few. Creating injectors when they were a rarity. He was plotting something. Something bad.

Sengoku did not approve.

Of course he didn’t. He saw just how affected I had been after witnessing my brother murder our father in cold blood.

Perhaps I was what my father wanted. A pureblood child able to empathise with the mortals. Able to understand and support them. My brother, however, had lived too long amongst the purebloods. He had been tainted, per se, by them. Learned to live like them. Act like them. And, with the negativity that had greeted us... it had only emphasised his hatred towards the humans.

My brother thought himself superior. A god.

And, it was my job to stop him. I was the only person he would trust within his family. Not to mention... well...

The more pure blood there was around, the better.

And now, now I observed. I observed as he trained and tutored this doomed child. Law, they had called him. Trafalgar Law.

The lone survivor of Flevance.

Just - why? I could not understand. Perhaps it was to show the other children that, no matter your fate, he would help you. Perhaps it was a show. An example.

Another reason for them to follow and revere him.

My brother sickened me.

Almost as much as seeing that look in Law’s eyes. The look that reminded me of those moments before my brother shot our father.

It only spurred on my motivation further.

.xxx.

Law was the oddest child of the group. Death-doomed or not.

Because, well... he was one of the weakest. Baby 5 had come from a mother who abandoned her because of the scarcity of food. Buffalo had come from origins just as sad. They had both survived on scraps. Digging through garbage cans.

And, in the process, they had apparently pricked themselves on discarded syringes.

Syringes in which remained a small amount of blood. Syringes that had changed them. Empowered them.

These children were injectors. Not by necessity or desire, but merely by accident.

But Law? Law was nothing. A plain human child only driven by vengeance. A desire to make those pay just as he had. Make them pay while he still breathed life. While he still survived. Because his time was limited and scarce. Soon, his sickness would get the better of him and he would succumb to the pain his family and country had.

Perhaps, in an alternate universe, this child would have become a great doctor who saved many a lives. But in this one, he had become a homicidal teenager. A being that used his medicinal knowledge to the detriment of others.

All because somebody had decided that his illness was contagious, when it was not.

And every time I looked at him, I was only reminded of my own mission: to stop my brother before he enacted his plan.

Both of us, it seemed, had time limits...

.xxx.

Months turned into years and I watched as the disease slowly ate away at this human.

Which was why, when I saw him getting better - stronger - I became concerned. Suspicious, even. I know my brother had mentioned that he would look out for Law. That he would try and find a cure for him while he remained here, but...

Well, to be frank, the only cure that I could think of was turning the child.

Of course, that was not remotely an option. Once a human was turned, their lifespan increased dramatically. They aged at a much slower rate.

And, with that being said, nobody turned children.

Not the purebloods, who were above the law, turned children slaves. Not the ranked, who were born as and gave birth to humans. Turning a child - it was the ultimate taboo.

To turn a child, a person at the age where development was timely and key... it could do irreparable damage to them. They also did not have the proper... morals to survive in this environment. It hindered their development. Slowed it. It extended their puberty process from a mere five years to at least fifty. And growing children hungered more than any adult would.

It was torture. Torture and...

The world would not easily be able to sustain many children vampires.

That was why the noble ranked vampires waited until their children’s eighteenth birthdays to turn them. Why anybody who was a candidate for turning had to wait until they were adults.

Of course, Law was only a child. A child who, quite simply, did not have enough time. He would die before adulthood. Thirteen, was what he had said. He wanted to kill as many people in the next three years before his time was up, which was somewhere between his thirteenth and fourteenth birthday - if he was lucky. That was what his father’s notes had said.

Pirates or not, even I knew that my brother was not above that law.

(Not only would a child vampire be high maintenance for a crew filled with vampires - if the world government ever found out... well, Sengoku didn’t need my assistance to find a reason to permanently rid the world of my brother.)

And so - how? I was baffled. Baffled at just how this human child - who should be encumbered by his progressing illness - was moving faster. Was getting stronger. Was... progressing as any other normal human should be. It just... was inconceivable. He should be dying, not thriving.

If Doflamingo had found a cure, I knew I would have found out one way or another. The children would be celebrating. It would be broadcasted... something. So... just what was it? From what I had heard, the disease never did seem to let up, even in the final stages. It only ever worsened until the inflicted could no longer move or feel....

It only made me wonder if the path I chose with the children was wrong. Should I have been bonding with them instead of pushing them away? Should I have been offering my ear and my smiles? Should I have been happy and supportive?

Perhaps, then, Law would have indulged me in just what was going on with him...

.xxx.

It had been a few weeks before I had begun figure out just what was going on.

My brother was off on one of his missions. He said it was too dangerous for the children. That he had to look after his family, after all. And he was quite insistent that I remained behind to defend the children. (Part of me worried that maybe, just maybe, he suspected me. That he thought I was the reason the marines were hot on our tails. That they always seemed to know just where we were.)

It caused a momentary panic, but I agreed. I didn’t press. I couldn’t give him for cause for concern. Perhaps he was just worried about the children in his own twisted way.

And the children? Well, they were off on their own. Training. Gossiping. Playing. Just as children should be. (Well... minus the former point.)

It was Law, however, that drew my attention. Something was off with him. It had been a few days since my brother had left and he seemed... impatient. Jittery, even. There was this way his eyes darted back and forth. The way his fingers fidgeted. The bitten lip. The way he would grasp at his arm, or face, or neck or shoulder.

The latter, if it weren’t for his newfound strength, wouldn’t have been as concerning as it was. I knew the spots he was gripping. They were the places that were afflicted with the amber lead.

There was this certain... look in his eyes. It bespoke desperation. Fear, even.

Those amber eyes met my red ones. And suddenly an entirely new emotion reached them, and I was afraid to even name it.

Then, his eyes darted down. Down to my waist. Down to where he had jammed a blade into me all those years ago.

“C-Corazon...”

He never did call me the affectionate nickname the other children had given me. But then again, Law was an unusual child, after all.

Our gazes met again.

The desperation - it had reached his voice now, and he was clinging to his arm again, but only for a moment as that very hand grasped at my coat.

“Com’ere,” he said, tugging me away. “I gotta ask you something.”

I was suspicious - but at the same time, I couldn’t say no. No, if I did I would be pushing him away, and by now I did not want to do that. I wanted him to confide in me. I wanted to know just how and why he was looking healthier.

Very well.

I let him tug me away.

However, while his... question, per se, was not exactly expected, it was not entirely unexpected either.

The little bastard had drawn his dagger and lunged at me once more.

This time, I was not oblivious. This time, I was not unguarded. And, so, I twisted and grasped tightly onto his wrist - ensuring to use my superior strength against his.

What the hell?! I thought we were past this already!

I looked at him with a guarded and discerning look in my eyes.

And his eyes met mine, with that same disturbing expression.

They met mine before he tugged his hand away and-

Wait. No. That was impossible! There was no way a dying human child could have pulled out of my grasp!

It was the surprise that allowed him to gain a blow against my palm, drawing blood.

How the hell?!

However, it was when I followed his gaze that all the dots began to connect together. The way that his eyes were focused on one thing, and one thing only: my palm. Or, more specifically, the blood pooling in it.

His regaining vitality. The strength he should not have. The look in his eyes. The desperation. Those jitters...

The way he looked at my hand. Eyes entranced by the blood there...

The fact that he asked me. The sole targeting of me...

My brother - Doflamingo - was feeding this child. Feeding Law his blood to keep him alive. Strengthening him so his body could battle the disease that was eating away at him. Giving him the ability to overcome it. To live and survive. Prolonging his life day by day...

And now Law was feeling the effects of it. Feeling that addiction that was so common with humans who ingested the blood of a pureblood. The dependence and that need. To feel that strength again. The high and adrenaline rush...

All of which was only emphasised by the fact that Doflamingo’s blood was - quite literally - the only thing keeping Law alive...

(I only remembered that hint of fear I saw within the child. Of the way his illness began to manifest once more as the blood left his system, as he weakened once more...)

I did not know I could hate my brother anymore until this very moment.

I sighed dejectedly, feeling as my heart sank. This wasn’t Law’s fault. He didn’t attack me out of malice, but out of fear. Out of desperation because his body was craving it. His mind was, because Law wasn’t a stupid child. He knew that our blood was, or would be, the only thing keeping him alive. Keeping the Amber Lead at bay. And so, he did the only thing he knew how to do: go after the only source nearby. Because if Doflamingo was a pureblood, so must be his blood brother.

And, so, I held out my hand.

I definitely had a number of words to exchange with my brother when he returned...

#lawlu #trafalgar law #monkey d. luffy #one piece #petiteneko:story #tlaw #onepiece #luffy #corazon #fanfic:clandestine

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maribricklove · 6 years

Text

Trapped Under Ice - Part Two

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Platonic!Reader, John Winchester (mentioned), Bobby Singer (mentioned)

Summary: Imagine being an old hunting friend of Sam’s (and something more) from before he went to college that he thought was dead, and while coincidentally working on the same case you were, you run into each other again. Astonished to see you after almost twenty years, Sam tries to figure out how you survived, but you don’t want to relive the pain and terror of how you were separated.

Word Count: 1326

Warnings: Implied PTSD (No disrespect to people with PTSD. Just something for the character), fluff, angst, eventual blood, gore, death, mild swearing.

Prompt: None

Disclaimers: I do not own anything from CW, Warner Brother’s, any of the photos in this collage, or you. This is a work of pure fiction -obviously.

Read Part One here

Sam’s POV

“Wait. Y/N Y/L/N? Y/F/N’s daughter?” We both nodded. Dean immediately grabber her and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “Where the hell have you been? We found your dad’s body but not yours. We thought you were dead.”

“I thought you guys were dead. I saw all the America’s most wanted stuff on the t.v. all those years ago, and then there were these news reports about how you were killed in a helicopter explosion and your bodies were found five years later with your heads chopped off,” she said in an agitated tone. “Explain how you’re both here when you’re supposed to be burned to a crisp and decapitated.”

“It’s kind of a long story. What happened to you?” I asked.

We sat down at the table and started rubbing her hands together nervously. “It’s kind of a long story. Gosh. You guys have really changed.”

“You haven’t. You look amazing,” I added. She smiled again and blushed a sweet shade of red.

“Why didn’t you get in contact with us after the accident?” Dean interjected. “We would have found you, and you wouldn’t have had to be alone all these years.”

“Our dad would have let you stay with us,” I added.

“Like I said: long story, but seriously, how have you guys been? It feels like it was just yesterday we were cleaning guns and making bullets together.”

“Yeah. It sure does,” I said.

“You know, maybe we should just order some food to go and maybe catch up back at the motel,” Dean suggested.

“Yeah. That’s a good idea. What do you think, Y/N?” I asked.

“Sure, and maybe work on the case a little, too. I mean, that’s what we were going to do before we had a bit of a reunion,” she said lightly chuckling.

“Oh, yeah. We’ll do that too. Food first, though,” Dean said before he walked away to order our food.

“Okay. Dean’s still a foodie. That hasn’t changed at all,” Y/N said with a small smile.

I laughed and replied, “Yeah, and he still treats his car like it’s the most precious thing in the world.”

“I saw the Impala outside,” she said factually. “It’s still a beautiful car after all these years. I honestly thought he would have dumped it after a while and got a better one.”

“Oh, no. Dean would never do that of his own free will. He doesn’t like traveling at all if it’s not in his car. Too many good memories in that car, and many more emotional attachments along with them.” I paused as I thought about when we would travel together.

Flashback

It was the middle of freshman year of high school, and Dad and Y/F/N were working on a case a few towns over. Dean, Y/N, and I were in the Impala on our way to school. Dad had just given Dean the car for his eighteenth birthday last month, and Dean was still really pumped that the car was now his. We were in the car, and Dean was blasting his Metallica tape through the radio. He and Y/N were singing at the top of their lungs along with the music, and I couldn’t help but watch her from the front seat as she poured her heart out to the music. She loved music, and I loved seeing her enjoying herself.

We pulled into the parking lot of our newest school this year, and we all climbed out of the car. Dean told Y/N to go ahead into the school, and that he had to talk to me for a minute. She agreed and went on towards the school. “Dude. If you keep staring at her like that, she’s going to get creeped out.”

Stammering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean.”

“Yeah, you do, Sammy. You’ve had a crush on her since we met two years ago. Just tell her how you feel, man.”

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way? What if she thinks of me differently after I tell her?” I asked.

“Dude. I have a feeling that she does. You don’t notice it, but she looks at you the same way. Seriously, Sammy, I know what it’s like to have your first big crush. Just remember that in our life, it might not work out like the fairytales.”

“Wow, Dean. Way to build me up and tear me down,” I said back.

“Just tell her. It won’t hurt as much as you think.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Okay, Sammy. Let’s get to class. You got your books? Everything?” he asked.

“Yep,” I answered.

End of Flashback

I just couldn’t believe it. She’s right there sitting in front of me. She kept looking down at her fidgeting hands. “I really missed you, Y/N. We all did; Dean, Bobby and I. We thought we’d never see you again.”

“Yeah. Me too,” she said anxiously.

“Are you okay? You seem a bit on edge. Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s just, so many emotions are going through my head right now. I wasn’t expecting to see you after, what, almost twenty years?”

“God. Yeah. About twenty years. It really is a shocker, but I’m glad we found each other again,” I said softly as I reached for her hand, but she quickly pulled it away, in what seemed like fear. I just kept watching her, trying to take in every feature that had and hadn’t changed over the years, and a few times, she looked at me and smiled.

Dean came back with our food and drinks, and we left the café. Y/N followed behind us in her car back to our motel room. Dean walked into the room, and I was about to follow suit, but I looked back, and saw Y/N still in the car, a dazed expression on her face. I walked over and knocked on her window. I think I startled her, because she let out a small scream, but I shook it off after she started giggling.

“Don’t scare a woman like that, Sam,” She said opening stepping out of the car, still laughing.

I couldn’t help but smile at her laughter. “I’m sorry. You were staring off into space. I was wondering what you were thinking about.”

“I was thinking about how my motel room is coincidentally four doors away from yours,” She said after grabbing her purse and briefcase and closing her car door.

“You’re kidding,” I said surprised.

“I’m not. My motel room is literally a short walk from yours,” she said laughing even harder. Her laugh is still the same light, happy laugh that I remember.

Reader’s POV

I was surprised when I followed the Winchesters into the parking lot of my motel room. I followed Sam into his motel room after locking my car.

“Dean. Guess what I just found out,” said Sam.

“They make hair conditioner for men?” he asked sarcastically.

I started giggling again after that comment from Dean, and Sam gave me a quick glance of his classic bitch face. “Very funny Dean. I was talking about the funny coincidence that Y/N’s motel room is literally four doors down from ours.”

“You’re kidding,” Dean said looking at me surprised, and I replied with a simple head shake, no. “That’s crazy.”

“Tell me about it,” I said. “But what I’m curious about is why Sam is using women’s hair conditioner.”

“It’s a mystery that may never be solved, Y/N,” Dean said in the calmest way possible without cracking a smile. Myself on the other hand just continued to laugh as Sam now gave us both the bitch face. For once in a long time, I feel like nothing has changed, and that I was fourteen again with my two best friends in the world. I never thought I would have this again, but I knew it would never be the same as before.

Part 3

#supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #sam x reader #sam x y/n #Sam Winchester #samxreader #sam imagine #sam fanfiction

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