#some of the old sketches have been driving me insane but I don’t want to spam you if you don’t want to see essentially the same thing twice!

[naboosands]

A very quick poll for research purposes

#some of the old sketches have been driving me insane but I don’t want to spam you if you don’t want to see essentially the same thing twice! #star wars #my polls

[blondrichclosetwitch]

900/902afraid of everyone

903 wishful thinking

9:11/9:12 Deanna live

936/938/939 hallelujah

1011\1012 kangaroo

1039 pushing forward back

1102\1103 no favors

1103 I almost do

1109\1111\1112 Rome

1112 coming down

11:36/11:38 Neptune city

1138 /11:39his story

1203 we can’t stop

1209 fourth dimension

1211\1212 golden years squandered

12 36\1238 wish you were sober

1238 /1239living in one country

102\103 fuck your acid trip

109 don’t forget me

111/112the tools of the inner warrior

136’pavane for the deceased child

138\139 lady

202 maniac

202/203song for Bob Dylan

209\211\212 thunder

212 telling lies (238\212)

236\spies

238-\239 strange wire

302no yeah

302\303-\309\3 11\312 straight no chaser

336 stay away Nirvana

336\338-\339 born to run

409\411\412 when the music‘s over live at the Isle of Wight

436 le promenoir of the two lovers

438-\439 ashtanga yoga opening

5 o’clock favorite crime

502\503 every time I’m with you danger mouse

509\511 I want you she’s so heavy

511\512 beautiful strangers

536 1979

602/603 seraphims

609\611\612 fish

636\and it stoned me

638\639 Dolly’s suite

6:53 bound 2 (14)

836/838-\839 the chain demo

9 o’clock\902-\903 it’s my own cheating heart that makes me cry

936 ghost

936\938-\939 freak

2 202\2203 dark but just a game

2209\2211 shout Tears for Fears

2211:\22:12 the gate

2236\Daddys gone danger mouse

1102 sketches and annoyances of a big man

1102 keep my Spirit alive

11 36\11 38\1139 hotel

1139 by my car

1153 divorce

1209 hoax

12:11/12:12 new again

12 36\12 38\1239 illest motherfucker alive

With my kid on my shoulders I try not to hurt anybody I like

Your voice has stolen my soul

Meet you down at the bottom, finish your bottle

I heard a rumor, everybody’s talking about you now

I cum a death’s head in your frock and we discuss the murder plan

Well this is a car and this is a gun and this is a day number one of our little crime-worn histories

We will eat out of their pantries and their parlors, ashy leaving in their beds and will unload into their heads on this mean season.

I’m down here for your soul

I’ve been here before I’ve seen this room and I’ve walked this floor

When I first saw you you had on blue jeans knew what I was doing I came against them didn’t say excuse knew what I was doing.

Falling down, now I know her

I’m about taking a risk, that might fuck up your life

How many hot verses till you bitches start acknowledging the pictures we’ve been painting

Insanely perverted, rapey and scurvy

Oh we made quite a mess, babe

I’ll be driving, you look the other way. That ain’t easy to ignore when your shutters are open all the way.

I’m coming down

Neptune city (this showed up on the playlist 4 times today, usually Indicative of a blond with 4 planets in water; my mother said she had a “really bizarre” fall around 11:30)

Girls have an image too, but when they get mad at you there is no telling what they’ll say to hurt you.

Why you wanna go and tell a lie on me

We can’t stop (bookmark)

If I get locked up, I won’t finish the sent…

Wish you were sober

The clouds above and the fish below

Because of what you do all my world is you

don’t put a hex on me baby

Making me want you somehow

You were with your friends partying when the alcohol kicked in; said you wanted me dead.

Psychopathic don’t be so dramatic

We had magic, but you made it tragic

Now you’re manic, honestly I’ve had it

Listen to yourself; you need to get some help

Some words had truthful vengeance that could pin us to the floor; brought a few more people on and put the fear in a whole lot more

“From the brow of the super brain.”

Couple of songs from your old scrapbook could send her home again.

Is this my Sweet savior or the devil in disguise

Only the children born out of me will remain

I’m telling lies

You’ll come to me with tears and blame

Knowing this may help you to open up your eyes…Spies.

There’s something going on that’s not quite right.

Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, let me read your mind for the final time.

Straight no chaser

Stay away.

Everybody’s out on the run tonight but there’s no place left to hide

What have they done to our fair sister

Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and beat her stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn and tied her with fences and dragged her down

Music is your only friend until the end

I was you’re willing accomplice, Honey and I watched as you fled the scene

You used me as an alibi

It’s bittersweet to think about the damage that we do because I was going down, but I was doing it with you.

Your favorite crime.

Every time I’m with you I am drunk and you are too. We get so trashed. And every time I’m with you I’m fucked up and you are too.

Maybe there’s a singer with no ring around their little finger

If you ever hear that gunshot

I know you better than you fake it to see

I started wars in the heads of men

There’s bitches in my business

Bound to fall in love

When a real bitch hold you down, you’re supposed to drown

This that what we do, don’t tell your mom shit

I think making up/faking up stories is all right. Fiction is my thing. My attitude is always I and me and mine. It’s funny how me fucking her about has got me in this fucking mess. Liar liar liar liar liar pants on fire, lies and alibis lies more alibis.

So this is where the outcome unfurls and the truth is being told.

And one day in New York City, baby a girl fell from the sky

Hands are full of a fishing rod

There were bottles two, one for me and you

It’s dark but just a game, so play it like a Symphony.

They’ll both go down in infamy.

In violent times you shouldn’t have to sell your soul

I hope we live to tell the tale

shout, shout let it all out these are the things I can do without

I’m talking to you

Didn’t used to be so needy just more broken than normal

“He gotta get paid.”

Lyin in the hospital when I got shot

“Met ‘em in a hotel.”

I’ve known you for years. I know all your moves. I just can’t believe that it caved in this soon. I’m playing it over and over again in my head.

And I’ve killed little baby rabbits

All you got to do is say it

Divorce

This has broken me down

You knew the password so I let you in the door

But what you did was just as dark.

Cause you know you would never live up to my ex, though

Most insane out of body experience

“Keep your mask on.”

When they vandalized, He’ll evangelize

“I need a slow motion video right now.”

#8/30/2022

[apherod]

Rubian Soulmate AU

I finally finished writing it ahhhh

I eventually decided that I was going for a sketch-style writing for this. Just short bits and pieces here and there, piecing together some scenes, but not fully fleshed out into a storyline (it coincides with the original story mostly anyway)

So here it is! Enjoy!

This is a Liam and Ruby Soulmate AU requested by an anon (possibly @thedarkestcrew?) ask, in which damage done to one half of the soulmate pair would translate to the other half. 

Word count: 4400

===

Liam

“Where did all these bruises come from?”

I was driving through Highway 95 in Maryland when I noticed the bruises crowning my knuckles. They just…appeared, like petals floating to the surface of water. It is possible that I punched something—or someone—at some point in the last few days, or tripped and fell, and using…my fists to break the fall? But I don’t recall doing any of that.

Then again, my head hadn’t been the most reliable in these past few weeks, either.

They weren’t the first. A couple of weeks ago, I woke up with a cut on my upper arm, and the blood drenched half of my sleeve, but the sleeve wasn’t torn or cut, so it couldn’t have been me… Another one came a few days after that, when I was driving, and a sudden searing pain came to my wrist, like I was burnt by a frying pan, but that part of my skin wasn’t even touching anything. The list goes on.

I think I’m going insane.

Some people…some who are lucky enough to find their soulmates, found themselves with identical wounds on them, because when one half of that bond gets hurt, the other one suffers, too. Mom’s bruises never translated onto our birth dad. Maybe that was why he was so okay with hurting her. It wasn’t until she met Harry, did that magic—or curse—work on both of them.

But that’s exactly that—it only happens after you’ve met the person. If I’ve somehow met her, and didn’t know who she was, then I’ve really screwed up. Big time.

It couldn’t have been anyone in Caledonia, otherwise I would’ve known. No one from home, either. There weren’t even that many of us left. Could it be someone from East River? For some reason, I just couldn’t be sure… There’re this weird quality in my memory when I think of East River, glowing tinge surrounding everything, blurring details, and flaring up the edges, making it hard to see for too long.

Also, if I met her in East River, why isn’t she with me?

If she’s really out there, I felt sorry for all the pain I’ve caused her in the past few days. When I narrowly escaped that group of Skip Tracers, my arms were all cut up, real pretty. I can’t imagine the horror she must have felt when her arms just, out of nowhere, started spontaneously bleeding half of her blood out.

I really ought to take better care of myself, even if it’s just for her sake.

When I crossed the state boarder into Pennsylvania, I managed to find an old payphone, and left a voice mail for my brother to let him know where I am, and that I’m coming his way. I didn’t want to—asking for Cole’s help was one of the few things that I genuinely want to avoid—but I’m really desperate.

The truth is, just imagining him gloating about this—about me needing his help—was almost enough to make me turn around. Think about the last time I asked for his help… didn’t work out so well, did it? But whatever Cole has to offer, whatever nightmare I have to live through going back to the League, is better than being hauled back into the camp.

I don’t think they’d actually take me back into a camp, anyway.

When I got passed the wrong Wilmington, I briefly glimpsed the road sign that read US 13, and a voice suddenly rang in my head.

Turn off here. It urged.

The feeling was distinctly different from my reluctance to meet Cole—it was a drive, asking me to go somewhere, rather than run from somewhere.

Whatever it was, I can’t listen, no matter how hard I wanted to, no matter how it warmed my heart just thinking about that impulse, like it would lead me home, even though I had no idea how.

I got into the city of Philadelphia, and found my brother’s apartment soon enough. When I got into his building, a woman threw me a sideway glance that made my hair stood on their ends.

Please don’t recognize me, please don’t recognize me, please don’t recognize me… I muttered in my head while I pressed the buzzer. The door swung opened, and I was snatched inside by a forceful arm.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Cole snarled before I could even lay eyes on him properly. “Why didn’t you call me when you got here?”

He looked much better than me, that much was clear. Cole never had any wound that wasn’t his own, and from the looks of him, he hadn’t seen much action lately. His hair was clean-cut, brushed neatly away from his face. He was wearing a white shirt and dark blue jeans, with metal-frame glasses which were clearly without diopters to finish the look. In this getup, you’d expect him to be a graduate student in U Penn, not a high school dropout.

“I… I didn’t have any money to place a call.” I muttered, feeling my voice getting smaller. Gosh, I hated this. I hated that I felt like a child again. I took off my jacket, and hung it on the peg right next to his. They were two identical black leather jackets, which Mom bought us years ago—she got them a couple of sizes bigger than we were at the time, in anticipation that we would eventually grow into them. Cole did, whereas I felt like I still hadn’t.

Cole let out a long and harsh breath, and gave me a scan head to toe. “You’ve seen better days.” He commented eventually, a subtle amusement in his tone. “Even for you, this is a bit excessive…” He gingerly lifted my right wrist, and got a good look at my forearm, all cut up.

You don’t say. I wanted to retort, but didn’t. “What are you doing in Philly?” I asked as I retracted my hand.

Cole raised an eyebrow. “You really want to know?”

Maybe not. “I’d probably know eventually, wouldn’t I?” I said.

He scratched his chin, frowning. “You know what this means, right? You know where we’re going?”

“Look, if I could just find Mom and Harry…” I began, but he raised his hand and stopped me.

“No,” He snapped, “We don’t have that kind of time. My assignment here is done. I’m being extracted at midnight, which is in less than four hours, and if you think I’d let you out running into the wild and being hauled into a camp again, you’d have another thought coming.”

Choose me. I remembered the subtext of what Cole said that night when he left home, and now it was ringing in a different tone. Now I don’t have a choice.

“All right.” I sighed. “Whatever you say.”

He frowned deeper. But it took him a while to say something. “Look, I know the last time you came with me, it didn’t end so well, but things are turning around.” He said, palms down, pacifying. “I promise, just stick it out a few months.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

He bit his lip. “I just do. Trust me.” He said, then gave me a tight smile, “Tell you what, I’ll go get us something to eat, and you clearly need a shower.” He took off his glasses, grabbed the keys, then, as if remembered something, added with a grin, “Do not, drown in the bathtub.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I rolled my eyes.

Before he could open the door, though, I stopped him. “Cole,” I began, but didn’t really know how to finish.

“Yeah?” He prompted.

“Have we...” I caught myself just for a moment. What am I doing? “...have we ever been to Virginia Beach?”

Because that…memory? was so vivid, that I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there, calling me at every moment I so much as allowed my mind to idle for a second. But it also had that bright glare around it, like it didn’t really belong to me, like I was seeing it through a mirror, into a different dimension where we were all happier people.

Cole was there, looking exactly like how he was now, but Claire was also there, and that didn’t make any sense…

“No…?” Cole said, “We lived in Wilmington. We went to Wrightsville, remember?”

Of course I do, but… I shook my head. “It’s just… I kept seeing this…memory, that we were there, and Claire was there, too…”

Cole pressed his lips tight. I know mentioning Claire’s name would probably put him on edge, but it’s not like I have other people to talk about her with anyway. A part of me wanted to be a bit mean about it, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I didn’t have the strength.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He said, voice rigid. “Just go take your shower. I’ll be back with the food.”

And he left, leaving me alone in his white and bare apartment.

I still couldn’t be sure that it was a good idea coming here. If I’m being honest with myself, it wasn’t even about my negative view on the League, or what it had turned my brother into, but that…I’m not sure how to be his brother anymore. I’m not even sure that he needs a brother.

Hell. Looking around this place, I got the feeling that a brother wasn’t the only thing he didn’t need. But then again, knowing how Cole kept his room, it was maybe a good thing that he had so few belongings here. This place…it didn’t even feel like someone actually live here; there were so few things breaking the white of the walls, it was almost glaring to my eyes.

I first went to check his bed, to see if he still has that weird habit—falling asleep with cigarettes still in his hand. His bedsheet looked clean enough; nothing charred. No ashtray, either. Maybe he quit.

Satisfied, I went to grab a t-shirt and a pair of pants from his closet, and dived into the pressurized water in his shower.

I can’t remember when was the last time I had running water. Probably…when I was in the League’s safe house? Gosh. My skin is so filthy, the water only started running clean after a good ten minutes of scrubbing, and I was scrubbing hard.

I was extra careful when I cleaned my arms, though. Not particularly because I was scared of pain, but more that I didn’t want to hurt this…person who might share this unfortunate connection with me, however low the chance might be. I didn’t want to make her suffer even more—somehow, I knew it was a her, for reasons I couldn’t quite put into words.

When I got out of the shower, I felt like my entire body had been turned inside out. My skin was glowing pink against the white tiling of Cole’s bathroom. He is an inch or two taller than me—which was sore to admit, but hey, I went through puberty in a lot worse condition than he did—so his pants hung a little too long around my ankles.

Then I finally got a good look at myself in the mirror. Damn, I looked awful. The dark shadows under my eyes were so purple, they looked almost black. Not to mention the countless scratches and bruises. There was a new one on my left cheek, just above the jawline. Whether it was mine or hers, I didn’t know.

Just as I threw the towel over my head, and started rubbing the water away from my hair, I heard it—siren. It began from a distance, a low wailing, but it was enough to set every hair on my back on its end. As I flew out of Cole’s shower, grabbed my jacket, and rushed to the window side, the siren got closer—and multiplied. The sound of them were like a harmony from hell.

Should I run? Should I stay?

I should run.

Even though they might not be coming for me, I knew better than to push my luck—it hadn’t really been on my side recently, and that woman who looked at me a second too long when I got in the building was probably proving me right. I threw the apartment door open, and on a second thought, ran for the roof instead of the ground floor.

I can reconvene with Cole later. I need to stay out of sight now. Cole’s a smart guy, he knows what to do in a situation like this.

It had started raining. I tripped on a mossy patch on the rooftop, and almost broke my jaw, but I stood up and kept running. I pushed myself over the ledge of the next building, and sprinted for the fire escape on the far end. The sound of the first bullet fired almost made me lose my bearing when I lowered myself onto the metal shaft.

They are on the other side. There were two fully populated buildings between me and those bullets, and they were firing at someone else—which means I’m not who they’re after. These are all good news.

Right?

Since when had I been that lucky after I turned twelve?

I pulled the hood of the jacket over my head, and dove into the shadow of the next alley. The gunfire had stopped, which meant that they probably got whoever they were after. I took the long way around the block, trying to get a hang of the situation, getting an idea of where I could find Cole without being spotted—

Oh, I found him alright.

Fuck. No. Fuck.

I only caught sight of him for a second before they slammed the back of that van shut, and in that brief second, he looked up, and he saw me.

No.

Christ. No. I… I got him caught. I did… I did this… Why didn’t I warn him? Why didn’t I go to him as soon as I heard the siren?

What have I done?

If you’re caught, you’re disavowed. I still remembered that phrase like it was etched into my skull. If anything encapsulates what I hate about the League the most, this is it. And now, Cole is going to be another casualty under that cold hard rule. The thought almost made my knees buckled, but instead of crashing down, I up and ran.

I ran. From this nightmare of my own making.

+++

Ruby

“Ruby!”

The scream came before the punch could land. I didn’t register what was happening in that first moment, not until the blood was dripping down my elbows, and staining the blue mats under us.

“Go to the infirmary!” Coach Johnson ordered, and I gladly obeyed. I could hear the whispering judgements forming even before I left the training room—what was that? What’s wrong with her? Where did those come from?

I knew exactly where they came from.

If Chubs was here, he’d likely yell at me for not getting these wounds taken care of immediately, but I simply…couldn’t. I ran for the shower stall, being careful not to stain the curtain, and turn on the tap.

With the water pouring out the showerhead, steaming up every bit of air around me, blurring my vision, I finally let the tears fall.

My arms didn’t hurt that much. At least, not as much as my heart. The bruises were bearable—who doesn’t get those occasionally living in the wild? I got one every other day even just from the training. But these cuts…he was in danger. Maybe he only got away with it within an inch of his life.

The only consolation I had was that I wasn’t mortally wounded, which meant he wasn’t, either. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t regret my decision of letting him go every second of every day.

If I did that to protect him, all these wounds and bruises only proved how wrong I was, how in vain my suffering had been.

“Ruby?” Cate’s voice.

I swallowed hard before answering. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?” She asked, standing outside of my stall.

“Yes.” I lied.

“Coach Johnson said you were hurt—” She didn’t buy it. “Look, if you don’t want to go to the infirmary, I can take a look—”

“I’m fine.” I cut her off. The timer on the tap beeped, warning me that the water would start running cold. My blood was dripping down from my fingers, dropping into the shallow water on the concrete floor like roses blooming in the snow.

“Ruby, I can see the blood.” Cate said dryly, then softer, coaxing. “Come out, please. Let me dress your wounds.”

Only if I could just close my eyes, and pretend for a second that the person who was waiting for me with antiseptic was Chubs, not Cate. If only I could pretend that these wounds were mine, not of the boy that I dreamt of every night for the past few months.

If only I could pretend that they were here with me, or that I wasn’t here at all.

I sighed, and brushed the curtain open. To Cate’s credit, she didn’t flinch at the sight of me. “Oh, Ruby…” She said with a tone like I was a stray cat ready to be put down. She reached out, and gingerly lifted my hand to get a better look at my arm.

“Press on it.” She handed me a towel, and sat down on the bench before patting the empty space beside her, motioning for me to join her.

I did as she said as she tore open a paper package. “This is going to hurt a little…” She gently dabbed the fabric square on my wounds, and I hissed out of reflex. I hated this. I hated showing her my weakness, and I guessed, in a weird way, she understood that. She didn’t comment on any of it, only continued to wrap my arms up in silence.

“There.” When she’s done, both of my forearms were wrapped entirely in gauzes.

“Th…thank you.” I managed to choke out.

She gave me a tender smile. “Don’t mention it.” She stood up, collecting the empty packages off the bench, and turned to leave.

Before she was out of the door, however, she turned around, and said, “You know, you get those wounds together, and you heal together, too.” She paused for a second, “You’re…not entirely helpless in this situation.”

Ten minutes after she left, I was still sitting on that bench, pondering her words. I didn’t even know what she said was true, but if it was, it meant that when I took care of myself, I took care of him, too. That, somehow, didn’t seem so bad.

I wondered how Cate knew that. She and Rob were clearly not soulmates, and I didn’t even know why she would want to date him, even without considering that fact. Rob—ruthless, arrogant, hateful—was everything opposite to what she seemed to hold dear.

But then again, she probably didn’t understand why someone would find their soulmate only to let them go on their own.

That day when I let Liam go, I made a decision that I would be whoever the League wants me to be, and make it so that they wouldn’t miss him. And for the longest time, I had kept to that promise. But not today, not now.

I just want to be myself again, even if it’s just for a moment.

So I brushed open the curtain to the stall, and allowed myself to be vulnerable again, for everyone and no one to see.

+++

His eyes traveled from my face to where the water had collected on my chest, and I raised my arms just that much higher.

His mouth half-opened for what I was sure to be a snide remark, but whatever it was never managed to pass his lips. His face froze, brows drew together, and he reached out. Before I could shift away—to where though, I had no idea; my back was already against the wall—he grabbed my wrist, and lifted my arm.

“It was you.” Cole said with a tone of half astonishment, half…anger?

“What was?” I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to hide how much I felt like a kid being caught red-handed, stealing candy bars.

He threw me a “really?” look. “Don’t insult my intelligence.” He snapped, “These are Liam’s, aren’t they?”

I almost asked “how do you know”, but that would confirm his suspicion. “What makes you say that?” I asked instead.

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not playing games with you.” He huffed, “Soulmates should stick together. What were you thinking sending him out into the wild? Do you have any idea how dangerous he is to you? Or you to him? The poor bastard doesn’t even know you exist!”

“And as long as I stay in the League, that fact shall remain.” I said, more resolute and calmer than I thought possible.

He blew out a sigh of exasperation. “Look, I don’t care what kind of sainthood complex you have going on, I’m telling you—you are not doing either of you any favors, and if you think this is somehow a good idea, I beg you, think again, because you definitely look smarter than this.”

“What do you know?” I retorted, finally couldn’t keep the lid on my anger anymore. “Do you have any idea how much he hates it here? How hard he was trying to avoid this place before you drag him into this mess?”

Cole really laughed. “You think I don’t know?” He raised an eyebrow at me, and I met his glare head on. “I was the one that let him go when he got away that first time.” He tried to brush his hair back with his hand, but it gave out a weird flex before he could reach his head. “And I’ve seen enough soulmates pairs in my life to know that I never want one. Have you any idea what would happen to him if you were injured when he was on the run? Soulmates stick together so they don’t double their chances on dying, but I guess no one ever set your logic straight, did they?”

My head was so flushed with anger that I actually let him finished.

“Go find him.” Cole snapped. “And for Christ’s sake, stay together this time.”

+++

Liam

“I didn’t need freedom; I needed you!” I half-screamed, trying to get the frustration out past the chaos raging in my head. How could I—? How could she—? What the hell—?

On the receiving end of my scream, Ruby’s face was painted with grief, lined with tears that almost made my anger buckle. Almost.

“Did you just…not want to be with me anymore?” Facing her silence, my pain came out softer eventually. Please, just tell me, and I will leave you alone.

“No…” She choked out. “I… I was wrong.” She swallowed hard before continuing, and despite the anger still roaming my vein, I wanted to reach out and touch her. “We should…we should stay together. I knew I couldn’t bear to see you with the League, see them take away all the good in you that I love…”

“Is that how you think of me?” I snapped before I realized what I was doing, “That I am so weak that the League is bound to break me?”

“No!” She shook her head violently, “No, I don’t think you are weak… If anything, I think you are much stronger than me. But I was weak.” She finally looked back at me, her green eyes gleaming in the dim light of this dust-covered room. “I’m so sorry.”

Before I could react to what she said—I didn’t even know what I was going to say or do—the sound of a gunshot broke every single thought clean out of my head.

Ruby was running before I could do anything about it. She pushed the door of the shop open, and another shot blew open the window on the outside, shattering the glass all over the floor.

“Ruby!” I shouted as I dodged, crouching with my hands over my ears, but she was already up and running again, out of the door and behind the woman that was escaping the scene—with a gun in her hands.

“Ruby, stop!” I shouted again, got on my feet to catch her, but I never manage. I skidded on the broken glass, and fell, hands first, into the shards.

I heard her hiss. She stopped dead on her way, and whirled around to find me on the floor, holding my right hand on my laps, pressing it against the fabric of my jeans to try and stop the bleeding.

The blood was dripping down to her fingers. As she walked slowly towards me, the red, looking almost black, dropped on the dust-covered floor, leaving a spotting route, marking her path. When she knelt down beside me, finally close enough to touch me, I found that she was smiling. A totally mirthless, wry and painful smile.

“Give me your hand.” She said softly, almost like a whisper.

“You should treat yours first.” I said, trying to catch her hand, to see how much of a damage I’d done.

“We only need to treat one of us.” She let out a small breath, almost like something caught there. “We get them together, and we heal them together, too.”

That, somehow, broke through all the mess in my head and reached my mind. I let her take my arm, and carefully wrap her scarf on my hand, all the while her words played on repeat in my head.

We get them together, and we heal them together, too.

When she was done wrapping my hand up, the wounds on her hand stopped bleeding, too. I didn’t know why—I wasn’t even completely over that anger or frustration—but when she placed her hand in mine, a tender “there” escaping her lips, all I wanted to do was kiss her.

Instead, I gently enveloped my fingers around her hand. “There.” I said, pressing my good hand over hers.

And we stayed in that silent, that touch, just a little while longer.

+++

#tdm #the darkest minds #ruby daly #Liam Stewart #rubiam #soulmate AU #request #fanfic #writing #Cole Stewart #cate connor

[kz-i-co]

Within This Room: Part II

» Summary: In fear of ruining an engagement might sending you packing sooner then you thought.

» Pairing: Taeyong x Reader

» Genre: smut x angst

» Words: 3.3k

» Part 1  ╫ Part 3

» m.list ╫ nct 127 masterlist

-

"Hi." You froze. "I'm (Y/N)."

"Nice to meet you." She smiled warmly. "How do you know Taeyong."

"Oh we're old friends."

"Of course, you went to this school. Such a shame what's happening."

You just nodded awkwardly as Taeyong was distracting himself from something in the distance. He was uncomfortable as much as you.

"I better help my mom, but it was nice to meet you." You said and quickly took off.

"I can't do this. I should of never come." You panicked as you made it over to your sister.

"Whats wrong?" She asked.

"His fiancé is here."

Your sister followed your eyes. "Oh shit, he's engaged?" She laughed but didn't realize how it was effecting you. "What's wrong it's been 6 years since you both were together."

"I know it's crazy but I think I still have feeling for him and I probably fucked up everything last night."

"Wait-"

"Girls come help me with these." Your mother was calling you over.

"What happened?" Your sister was trying to get it out of you while heading over to your mother.

"I can't tell you here. Later."

"These are being sent to the board, so put these in his box." Your mother handed you some plaques of different achievements.

....

"Ooo, your year book." Taeyong and his fiancé were helping out in the library and she happened to find the 2014 class yearbook. "Can't wait to see how handsome my man was."

Taeyong just turned his back going through another shelf not fazed. He couldn't stop thinking about you and last night. He couldn't help himself from smiling at how beautiful you have become.

"You were prom King? You didn't tell me you were popular. I mean I could of guessed but..." She laughed to herself. She flipped through more pages seeing you and Taeyong together more and more. "Wait a minute? That girl from earlier is your ex?"

"Taeyong?" She raised her voice getting his attention.

"What?" She held up the book stating the obvious.

"What's your point? I don't ask you about your ex's." He shrugged.

"Looks like you guys are still close?" She said getting annoyed.

"We've only seen each other for the first time yesterday in 6 years." He said then turned back towards his books.

She didn't pressure him any further since the atmosphere was tense.

....

"Come on, lets take a break. There's plenty of food from last night." Your mother said. "So have you caught up with Taeyong last night?"

"Yeah." You smiled sarcastically not really wanting to talk about it.

"I can't believe he's engaged. I was hoping the sparks were still there-"

"Mom.....please let's stay out of their business. Okay." Your sister looked at you with concern.

"She's not even that pretty." Your sister whispered as she bumped you with her elbow.

"Not nice." The fact was that she was EXTREMELY pretty. She was clean and priss and she seemed to have her life together.

....

You were taking your old prize winners (paintings) to your car, clearly struggling to the car as your mother and sister were way ahead of you.

You took a deep breath as you stopped for a second to take a breather.

"Let me help you." He took the canvas off your hands and you finally could see in front of you at the handsome face that still caused butterflies.

"Thank you. I don't even know why I'm taking this old junk." There was a huge dumpster to clean out the school and you were just tempted to toss the old embarrassment but your mother insisted on keeping them as a reminder of how far you've come.

"It's not junk (Y/N)." He chuckled and looked behind him losing his smile. "Actually I was wondering if we could talk about last night? How long are you staying?" He said more quietly.

"Well a few days the most. But I can't stay away from work for that long."

"You want to go out for dinner tonight. Jaehyun and Mark are here for the weekend."

"Hanging out with your bro's like old times? Huh?" You teased.

"Also Johnny and Ren will be there as well since they are engaged-"

"Johnny is her new fiancé? They hated each other."

"I guess they just had sexual attraction for each other."

"I see." You giggled.

"May I keep this?" He was referring to your old painting.

"It's all yours." You laughed at his ridiculous question.

"See you later." He walked away leaving to travel back alone.

....

"How do I look?" Your sister said as you finally finished your sketch.

"Beautiful." You turned your book around.

"Wow. I look so cute." She smiled. "May I keep it?"

"Sure." You rolled your eyes as you tore out the page out of your sketch book.

"Have you ever thought about selling your art work on eBay? I saw it on tik tok."

"You and that app are driving me crazy." You giggled.

"I get bidders at the gallery, they're just all cheapskates in the city." You continued.

"Your art deserves more credit. You should be making MILLIONS." Your sister was over dramatic like usual.

"Unfortunately that doesn't happen to an artist until their dead." Your sister pouted at your dark response.

"You're no fun. But anyway are you and Taeyong hanging out tonight? Did I hear dinner?"

"It's a friendly get together and it's not just me, it's with some old friends."

"Okay." She smirked. "Just be careful."

You sat there to think. Not just what your sister said but over everything. Last night was a mistake and you had to straighten it out. If Taeyong was happy with his fiancé, you couldn't ruin it for your own selfishness.

...

You decided on a simple black dress with a denim jacket and doc martens and you waited outside for your Uber driver and before you know it you were standing outside the restaurant, too scared to even go in.

"(Y/N)! Oh my god!" You heard screaming and all of a sudden you were being crushed by two pairs of arms. Once you got to turn around and make contact, you were faced with a pink hair Ren.

You hugged her back tightly as you both screamed causing Johnny to plug his ears. "How are you?"

"I'm great, how are you?" You responded. "Your hair is pink."

"My hair is pink. I didn't think you could get more gorgeous, you suck Miss Prom Queen." She laughed.

"You're gorgeous. And you're engaged I hear....to him?" You looked at Johnny with a teasing look.

"I know, it's insane." She laughed.

"So where were you last night?" You asked.

"I don't care about some dumb school reunion. I had better things to do." She continued. "Come on let's get inside. It's freezing."

You followed her and Johnny inside ready to begin your night. You took a deep breath as you saw Taeyong looking beautiful as ever. You can do this. You can be just friends right?

There was a few more of his friends already at the table as well once the host assisted you.

"(Y/N)! How's it going I haven't seen you in forever." Mark was the first to get up and hug you.

"Where were you guys last night? I missed you." You said still embraced in his arms and eventually made your way around to Jaehyun and Doyoung.

"I couldn't make it and these guys had their own reunion." Mark said taking his seat.

"We already got a lecture from Dayoung." Ren said as you sat down between her and Taeyong.

"Speaking of Dayoung, where is she?" You asked.

"She was gonna come but she's having a lot of back pain so she rather stay home."

"When is her baby due?" You continued to ask since you lacked information from your old friends.

"December 7."

"That's just a little over a month." You couldn't believe she was that pregnant.

"I know." She laughed. "But she might be sooner then that, her baby is already 8lbs."

"Can I get you something to drink." The waitress was finally here cutting off your conversation.

"Soju?" Johnny asked and everyone agreed. You on the other hand rather stick with a simple water but your friends insisted and you didn't want to seem lame now you were older.

....

"You idiot, you were the reason we got caught skipping 4th period." Ren and Mark were arguing non stop and the alcohol on top was causing more of a scene but the rest of you were laughing, enjoying the show.

"Was not. You were the one that went to the wrong car."

"You said it was your car."

"No I said it looked like my car."

"Will you two just shut up." Doyoung took another sip.

"Shall we get going soon? I rather talk to you alone." Taeyong spoke quietly next to you, only you can hear.

You nodded. "Alright guys, we're going to head out." Taeyong pulled out his wallet and tossed cash on the table.

"Where are you two going?" Ren pouted.

"I promised (Y/N) I'd drive her home and I don't want to be out later then Jiyoon gets out of work." He made a concerned expression.

"You two still fighting?" Mark asked as you and Taeyong got up.

"It's every little thing with her, but she's been better." He nodded.

"Alright man, take care.....you to (Y/N) it was nice seeing you." You both said your goodbyes.

"Promised me a ride?" You teased your tone being flirtier then you wanted.

"Well, I needed to talk to you about last night. Alone." He began as he guided you to his car.

You bit your lip awkwardly, wanting to avoid the whole thing. You wanted to just pretend it didn't happen and move on.

You got in the car waiting for him to begin but he was just as uncomfortable as you. "Are you alright to drive?"

"I only had one shot. I feel fine." He looked at you leaning your head on the seat. "What about you?"

"I'm not driving." You looked at him confused.

"No I mean, how are you?" He laughed. "You good." He waved his hand in front of your face.

You laughed smacking his hand away playfully. "I only had two shots."

You both laughed until the car filled with silence as he finally took off.

"Do you ever miss being back here?" He asked.

"A little. But I love where I live."

"So you have no thoughts on moving back?" You were surprised from his sudden question.

"No. I mean I love my family but I live in my dream home now.....well....a nicer apartment would be nice." You giggled not realizing the car stopped outside of your house.

"Do I have to wait another six years to see you?" He asked turning the mood down again. "I want us to stay friends (Y/N)."

"We can. We can FaceTime and-"

"So until you're back for the holidays?"

"I really can't afford to visit, that's why I don't.....If I sell a piece, I get $1000 the most and that only goes to my bills and food-"

"I get it (Y/N). It's okay. I just miss you that's all." You both made eye contact and you could feel the pain he was holding.

"We left things off, really shitty." You started. "Especially me."

"You were hurt, I get it." He shrugged.

"I just want to apologize......And also apologize for last night. It was wrong and I'm sorry for everything." You continued. "Just seeing that room........you, I missed my old life."

"I just.....I don't want to leave thinking I caused so much chaos. It's probably just best if we pretend it didn't happen. You're fiancé seems to be really nice and I just want you guys to be happy."

"You're right." He said causing your lip to tremble. You knew he was thinking the same thing, you didn't know why it was so unexpected.

"R-right, exactly."

"It was wrong." You nodded. "But that doesn't mean I want to pretend it didn't happen."

"Taeyong I want you to understand my intentions.....I don't want to-"

You were cut off with his lips attached to yours. Your heart was beating faster then it ever was before. What was he doing? You were hesitant to responde but there was comfort with his lips. A feeling only he could cause. He gently caressed his hand around your neck bringing you closer as the kiss deepened.

The kiss grew more desperate quickly as he pulled you to straddle his lap. He had his hands under your dress caressing your thighs. You couldn't help but rock against him causing more friction between the both of you. He moaned against your lips from by the way you effected him. You had to pull away to catch your breath but quickly leaned down farther to kiss down his jaw.

He pushed your jacket down and letting it fall behind you, hitting the wheel as you were taking your time with his buttons letting more of his chest to be exposed.

He brought his lips back towards yours before he was working on the top of your dress letting it fall off your chest exposing your strapless bra. He was quick to kiss down your chest letting your bra fall more uncomfortably. You could feel him full erected underneath you as you were still rocking against him.

His breathing became heavier that he stopped what he was doing to lean his head against the back of the seat for a second. He looked you in the eyes before they drifted down focusing on your undies. You lifted yourself to help take them off as you began to unbuckle his pants. You gently took him in your hand and slowly jerked him only enough to lubricate. You leaned forward guiding him in and relaxed as you could adjust.

His muffled sounds were so beautiful as you began your movements. The pleasure was unreal. You only wish it was only a dream, to save you from trouble. You knew it was wrong but why couldn't you stop?

You leaned down kissing him passionately as you quickened your pace. Once you lifted for air, you grabbed his hands leading them to your chest. You tilted your head back enjoying the pleasure.

As you felt like you were lost in your own world, he grabbed your hips helping you keep the rhythm. You moved your hand to the front of your folds to guide your climax closer to the edge. Just as you were about to release, he beat you to it causing the room to spin. You felt numbness scattered throughout your body.

You collapse on top of his body as you both could catch your breath. You felt happy at the moment, like you didn't want to move but the guilt came rushing back causing you quickly run away. You got yourself redressed as Taeyong looked at you with concern.

"This was a mistake." You felt your eyes water. Taeyong was quick to dress as well from you being so upset. "I shouldn't have come back here."

"I'm sorry Taeyong but we can't see each other anymore, not even as friends." You were panicked.

"(Y/N) this is my dumb mistake too."

"Unless you're ending it with your fiancé, I can't be in the picture no more." You looked at him for a response but he looked down staying silent.

"Okay then. Goodbye."

He grabbed your hand before you could leave the car. "You're just upset. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"No because as long as we're alone together I can't help my feelings around you and that's not fair for your fiancé."

"I can't anymore." You finally left his car and quickly made your way inside. Why were you so weak?

-

You've done it again. You had to leave as soon as possible, the guilt was killing you.

"You leaving?" Your sister asked as she saw you packing your bag.

"Yeah, Haejin called me and said I'm needed back at work." You lied.

"Oh." She pouted.

"Aren't you leaving? You have school tomorrow."

"I'm leaving tonight." She was lucky she had a car.

"A few more years and you can live with me." You winked.

"Sure." She smiled.

"There's one more thing I want to do before I go, can I borrow the car?" She nodded and you quickly left so you can go back home.

You stopped at a cute little townhouse village and followed the number Mark gave you. You just hoped it wasn't some random address giving you more chances not to trust him. You knocked on the door and waited until someone finally answered it, causing your stomach to drop.

"Oh hi (Y/N)." Jiyoon smiled at you but it didn't feel very genuine.

"Hi. I'm leaving I just wanted to say goodbye to Taeyong." You said sweetly.

"Taeyong is at work unfortunately." She shrugged.

"Oh. Just let him know I said goodbye and oh yeah....congratulations for you two."

"Thank you. We still don't know our date but it's probably the beginning of next year the latest."

"Can I be honest with you (Y/N)?" You looked at her confused. "I know you and Taeyong were very serious and I can't help but feel a little uncomfortable with you two still being close."

"I'm sorry you feel that way." You looked at her with concern to hide the fact you really wanted to pull her hair out.

"I have bad experiences with ex's too and I have to compromise for Tae so I'm sorry if I make him do the same thing."

"You have nothing to worry about. I live in Seoul."

"Oh that's great." She smiled at you once again and it seemed more fake then before. "I hope you don't get offended if I don't invite you to our wedding."

"I'm sorry but is Taeyong okay with that?" You finally showed your real expressions.

"He'll understand."

"Taeyong and I split up 6 years ago."

"Like I said compromise."

"Maybe I should talk to Taeyong about this?"

"I'll doubt he'll talk to you."

"Why's that?" You crossed your arms.

"I don't know. He just seemed pissed off at you after he came home last night. He even tossed your painting in our garbage. Did you want it back?" Fake fake fake.

"I'm sorry to hear that, I'm not sure why.....Have a great day....." You walked back to the car. "Bitch."

You didn't know what to believe. He could be upset the way you left last night but on the other hand he seemed more upset then angry. Was she lying? The best thing was to just get back home and that's what you did.

The train seemed longer then on your way there, probably from your lack of sleep that eat up the time last time. You couldn't get Taeyong out of your head. Even if she was lying, it was still clean you weren't invited to the wedding. How messed up is that?

The worst part of it all was you never got the chance to ask for Taeyong's cell number. You couldn't imagine him having the same phone from 6 years ago.

You got off the train, being greeted by Haejin. "I never missed you so much in my life."

"So how was everything?"

"Terrible." She looked at you concerned as you got in her car. "I did something really bad."

"I saw my high school sweetheart again."

"Okay?" Haejin listened.

"And we kind of slept together.....twice."

"What's wrong with that?" Haejin winked.

"He's engaged.....and the worst part is I still have feelings for him."

-

to be continued....

#nct angst #nct fanfic #nct one shot #nct fluff #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #taeyong fanfic #taeyong imagines #taeyong smut #taeyong fluff #taeyong oneshot

[ravenwolfie97]

2020 Art Summary

Yep, it’s 2021 already. 2020 is finally over. It felt like it lasted forever, and it felt like the end would never come, but here we are. Crazy how the time flew by.

I felt like I didn’t get much art done this year because of Current World Event, but I made a lot more than I thought I did. Even some of my new favorite pieces came out of this year, so I think that’s worth celebrating and looking back upon!

I was insanely productive during the first month of 2020, and looking back I was surprised at all the stuff I did, but then I remembered that that winter season was actually one of the best times of my life! I started being more socially involved, and I think my newfound drive at the time translated into all the art I pumped out this month. This is just a small fraction of what I made in January, but I only have so much space. Quite a few complex pieces in both style exploration and polishing my own style.

Apparently February was a rather intimate month. Things began to slow down in terms of my own art here, with me spending more time in social settings and school work ramping up, I didn’t have as much time to coop up in my room to draw. I did wanna do something for a friend’s Valentine’s Day OC art challenge, so I drew my lovey-dovey couple from Dance of 1000 Words havin’ a dance. Nothing actually came of that challenge, but it was fun to do regardless.

One of the things I was most proud of in the winter season was making more friends, and one of the closest friends I made was completely coincidental. I met a person named Kiri on the bus one night I decided to volunteer somewhere by myself, and we ended up chatting and getting along. They quickly told me their tumblr username, and I shot them a message immediately after they left. A couple days later, we met up for brunch, and we started becoming really close friends and creative partners!

Not much else happened in March cuz that’s when Current World Event started becoming an issue, but Kiri and I still kept in close touch and we randomly started developing a concept for a Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Galar Edition. These are a handful of characters we thought up, with Skipper the Scorbunny and Dross the Dreepy as the main characters, Morgrem as the main antagonist, and some shopkeepers such as those of the Greedent Bank and the Indeedee General Store. This was also my first time drawing all of these Galar Pokemon (except Scorbunny, but I also made Skipper a bit more unique than a regular Scorbunny).

Lots of events happened this month. First of all, Steven Universe Future ended, one of my favorite and most influential shows was no longer continuing. I had to do something as tribute, both as a send-off to one of the greatest cartoons in the world and as a cathartic release for my feelings towards it.

A while later, I got the opportunity to start playing an MMO in beta called Fer.al, by the same people who made Animal Jam, which coincidentally I had also beta tested for back in the day. I ended up getting really attached to my first character, a Senri I named Sasha, and though I’ve made more characters than them since, they’re still my absolute favorite. Though I haven’t touched the game in a few months, I was really engrossed for a long time and enjoyed playing through the beta and early access phases.

At the end of the month, some friends of mine invited to a roleplay group with some mutuals, and we all played characters in a crime syndicate. Just a bunch of ragtag thieves and criminals who ended up together in order to protect an artifact called the Crown of Thieves, which was essentially a flag to be taken by other groups to prove that they are the best thieves in the land. My character was based heavily on my sona (if it wasn’t obvious) and was also influenced by Cloud Strife, since the FFVII Remake had just come out and I was super into watching the cutscenes at the time. My character’s (code)name is Valkyrie, and they are a mercenary, going between multiple different employers to carry out whatever duties they need to do. They have a more complicated backstory, but presently they were recently hired by recommendation of their friend Shark (played by @shmoots-universe​ who is also My friend now ily maya) who works with a group called the Court Cards who are currently in possession of the Crown of Thieves. Valk never really had a place to call home, but staying with this group of people had to be the closest they could get to that feeling. They still sleep with a knife under their pillow because of trust issue but that’s okay.

Okay, so technically these examples started in April, but I continued making content with them in May, and the month was just pretty void of art in general, so here I am addressing them.

There were two main things I worked on this month: a Steven Universe AU of my own and the whole #sixfanarts thing that kicked off around then. Let’s start with the fanart bits. I did two and a half of them (six in April and nine in May), and it was so much fun to be able to draw stuff I don’t normally do! My personal favorites are shown here: Blake Belladonna from RWBY, Roll from Megaman, Yuki Konno from Sword Art Online, and Link from The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. The other thing I’d been planning for a while was a Steven Universe AU, probably to cope with the show being over but also because I was inspired by a lot of those SU AU artists I started following at the time. I won’t share the details here because it’s gonna have its own blog at some point, but the example I’ve shown here is of a comic I made loosely in order to introduce a divergence in the plot of the story as well as introduce a character unique to my AU. It was a lot of fun figuring out how to draw the characters and get a feel for the style.

As the year progressed, my amount of art I made per month began to dwindle, this time mostly because school was kicking my ass especially hard with finals. However, I took what time I had to get some backburner pieces finished, like the Tigerlily picture which I sketched out a couple months back, and the Gunvolt picture which I started working on SIX YEARS AGO. I don’t quite know why I got the urge to work on it again after so long, but it was nice to finally realize. The other drawing for DOTS was done in the dead of night but I was really happy with how it came out.

Despite only having two summer classes left of school, this month was really rough because they demanded a lot of my time and attention. I did not have the gumption to do anything digital, so I stuck to my sketchbook to get out what I felt like getting out.

My friends and I did a stream of the game Helltaker, and I really enjoyed the concept, so in following my friends I made my own Helltaker demon OC named Raksha the Ravenous Demon (it’s a pun but also got mythical insp). I also got super into Hazbin Hotel at this point, mostly because the Addict music video dropped and I couldn’t get enough of it, so I doodled Angel Dust cuz I felt like it. The other drawing I did was actually a free commission I gave a friend of mine as a prize for a trivia game show I ran back in June. He along with a couple other friends got some free drawings from me for getting the top three scores, and this one in particular was fun because of how interesting it was. He wanted me to draw a video game reviewer called the Irate Gamer from a specific moment, and I decided to go ham and just make it as dramatic as possible.

University classes finally wrapped up and right after that I was in the process of moving out of my apartment and getting adjusted to living with my parents again. I did a couple of agg.io drawing sessions with my friends from the Court Cards group as well as a new Dungeons and Dragons homebrew group I had joined. I drew some more of Valkyrie and came up with a design for my DND character Qakuqtuq (or Kai for short). He is monkey grandpa and I love him.

My main focus was on finishing a polished piece for my friend Cake, whose birthday was in the upcoming month. I wanted it to be as amazing as possible, so I put a lot of time into getting more detailed and making them look good. In addition to that, I did a few TOME doodles just for fun. The creature on the bottom was for this month’s art challenge on my Discord server where we made original TOMERPG monsters, and I created Hundylow, a Crystal-element monster based on the Grindylow from English folklore.

This month was a lot more productive than the past few had been. I tried to do a 31-day art challenge called Creatober but failed to get past the third prompt because I was still swamped with other work. I’m still happy with what little I did, including the piece with my characters Kyle and Guarudan from DSWD.

I don’t remember how, but I also suddenly rediscovered an old Flipnote Hatena series called Tales of LostClan, a Warriors fan series that I would say was the most obscure thing I’ve ever been super invested in. It was what got me into the actual Warriors books, and I liked it so much I redrew the animations into a comic... twice. Didn’t get nearly as far the second time but clearly my love for this little fanfiction had not waned after nearly a decade. I felt like drawing a book cover/movie poster for the series, just to get it out there and see how much I’ve improved over all that time.

Also I felt like making a vampiresona just before Halloween because I never dress up for Halloween in art (or real life anymore, for that matter), and I wanted to do something like that for once. It was short-lived but I really liked the design!

The focus of this month was definitely on Pokemon stuff. As per usual I contributed to the current Gotta Draw ‘Em All collab, and I was tasked to draw Regieleki. It was really fun to figure out how to make it stand out and look like it was made of electricity.

I also committed a lot of my spare time to my Fakemon Gym Leaders, as I had been working on bringing them to life in the past year or so now. As of this post, I’ve finished rendering their full body poses and gym badges, but I’m still working on completing all eight VS portraits, the first half of which are shown here.

I... didn’t draw anything this month, actually. What I’m showing here was worked on in the last few days but has actually been in progress for a couple of months, and I just finished it earlier today, in 2021. But I needed to show something off, and it’s also about time I mentioned it.

Back in October, I kept seeing people rave about this game called Genshin Impact, and I was interested but not so much as to start playing it... until my friends started playing and I was like “fuck it, let’s download it”. Since that day, I have been super immersed and in love with this game, to the point I came up with my own canon based on my gameplay experiences. This also included the creation of an original player character: Astra, the non-binary Traveller. And now, I’ve finally drawn them and brought them to life.

It has been one hell of a year. I had some of the highest highs and lowest lows in 2020, lots of changes, and I have now officially moved onto the next chapter of my life now that my time at university is finally over. I’m very excited for what 2021 has to offer, and I’m going to go forward with great ambition.

#my art stuff #art summary #this is always a joy to do every year and i'm glad to keep up the tradition for the sixth year in a row #this year was super good for this as well just to look back on what i was actually able to accomplish #long post #tome #hazbin hotel

[evienyx]

"I’m quite sure that I’m not bringing Jet back, and if I do he’ll barely even be there, but who knows, I might. Just don’t count on it if you really like Jet." - Evie, Queen of the Plot twists. On that note, I can't wait for Jet to get there, and suddenly Kya's yelling in his face, and he's just sitting there like, "Katara?" Jet looks at Hakoda and is like, "What happened to you guys?" Also *glances around nervously* I honestly like Fractures better than MuffinLance's work, which is still great.

One of the beauties of Avatar being (technically) a children’s show is that all of the deaths are rather ambiguous, making it very easy for me to swoop in and be like ‘naw they lived.’ 

The mental image of Jet arriving at the Fire Nation to Kya and Hakoda and thinking they’re Katara and Sokka is amazing, by the way.

Kya, hitting Jet with a stick: Stop! Trying! To! Kill! The! Fire! Lord!

Hakoda, standing to the side, watching: Try an uppercut, honey.

Jet, sobbing in confusion: When did you guys get so old? How long was I on that boat???

And that final statement, too. I have some things to say on that, and none of this is gonna be coherent but here you go, anyway.

I’ve found myself being compared to @muffinlance a lot, lately. 

It makes sense, of course. We’re both modern ATLA fic writers with constant updates, active tumblrs, and a focus on Zuko (primarily in angst and hurt/comfort, with some found family on the side and a dab of very odd scenarios). And while Muffin has a relatively larger following than me and more fics out (for now hehehhehe), I can completely see the similarities.

And, adding onto that, we both have fics with quite a bit of popularity. Muffin’s Salvage is currently the second most-Kudos’d fic in the fandom on Ao3. Out of over 11000. Fractures, too, just reached number 10 in terms of Kudos as of, like, last night.

(which, by the way, is insane, like, omg, we hit 5000 kudos and got #10 all at once i cant breathe)

I admire Muffin as a writer. I think we all do. She’s an incredible writer, and dedicated, and creative, and so many other things.

And that’s probably why I feel so weird every time I get someone who says that they like my work as much as hers, or that they like mine more. I have multiple people say stuff like that in the comments every time I update, I’ve had people message me and say that, I’ve had people put it in asks, and it always messes with my head. 

For a long time, I’ve used writing as a way to let go, to escape from the utter emptiness that life sadly often seems to give. I fix things in stories and I change them around to see what could have happened. And yet, for a long time, I never wrote any fics other than like, little ones that I didn’t care for, or an x Reader (i know ugh) that I was honestly annoyed with before the story could even really start.

I read fics for the same reason, to escape. Muffin’s fics were some of the first I read in the fandom that I actually latched onto, and found myself interested in. Muffin’s overall attitude on Tumblr was so enjoyable. Her stories were original and funny and they helped bring the community back to life. Muffin was the one who inspired me to start writing again, in the way that I wanted. Muffin gave me the inspiration to stop writing for other people and to start writing for myself. All of her stories felt so raw and spoke to me in a way that a fic never really had before. 

I can even remember the specific day when things suddenly became oddly... clear. It was the first of August. It was blisteringly hot and I was camping. I had my old laptop out on top of a towel on the picnic table, hooked up to a hotspot from my phone to get internet, and I was reading Little Zuko v the World. I was at the end of one of the chapters when I felt something just shift.

Google Drive was open in another window, because I had been working on an assignment earlier. I went to it, dived into my fanfic folder, and read through the outline for a story I had sketched out a while back, maybe a month before, as well as the first chapter. I looked back at Ao3, open in the other window, with Muffin’s fic just... shining back at me, and I broke.

Half an hour later, the first chapter of Fractures was published on Ao3.

I started this whole thing as a writer in this fandom (a serious writer in this fandom) with Muffin. If I’m being honest with myself, I never would have published Fractures if I hadn’t read her work. 

So, every time someone compares me to her, it’s weird, because I know that comparison would have never even happened if she hadn’t published her work first, and I can’t help but wonder, every time I read one of those comments, how anyone could ever possibly think I was as good as she is.

That was probably nonsensical, but I think I also needed to get it out of me.

#fractures atla #ask #ask away #this ask started out so simple where did we go wrong #if you read to the end though #congrats! #you made it through one rendition of some of evie's inner thoughts #hooray! #tune in next week where we tackle her confidence issues #*jingle plays*

[tired-college-student-writing]

The Painter’s Daughter Ch 3

Summary: Marinette is the daughter of two bakers

Marinette is a happy sometimes naive girl

Marinette is loved to create and make more than they liked to destroy

or was she?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3 (HERE)

Chapter 4

_________________________________________

Marinette grew and grew.

At age 5 her mother married the baker across the street and all of them ended up hyphenating their names to Dupain-Cheng, Tom became her Papa after her Dad reassured her it was alright on one of his visits as he brought her fabric flowers and a lovely set of paintbrushes. He was always bringing her gifts, mostly art supplies but sometimes sketches he’s made and even one of his paintings, given on Her first birthday after Helen met her. When people came over they always commented on the odd brown painting in her room, how it didn’t seem to match the rest of the decor, a sprawling landscape with a single woman resting up a tree, hair blowing in the wind Marinette just shrugged and said it was a present from her dad, one Mama hadn’t been too pleased about.

At age 7 she met her rival, Chloe Bourgeois, and ranted and raved about her to her Mama, Papa, and Dad. Her mother looked worried every time she ranted for a while before she overheard her Dad offering to turn Chloe into paint only for Mari to scrunch her nose and tell him that she didn’t want to be the reason someone died. She knew what her Dad was, knew what he did, and she still loved him but she would not allow him to work in her name.

At age 10 she had mastered sewing and began making her own clothes. It took a few times to get right, but she had a lot of practice patching things up since her Dad often had cuts and rips in his clothes and she hated to see him look anything less than his best. Whoever heard of a ragamuffin serial killer after all. Soon she was making her the majority of her own clothes from the fabrics her Dad and parents bought her, and she made them cl too. The creeps often commented on The Painter’s new outfit, an updated version of his old one and asked if they could have some too. By age 12 Marinette had endeared over two dozen creeps to her by eagerly making them more durable clothes for them to wear on hunts and willingly patching them up if they promised not to hunt in Paris outside of missions they were required to do.

At 13, Marinette was given the Ladybug Miraculous, becoming a heroine. Her Dad had laughed hysterically at this when he visited after she first transformed, feeling the ancient magic swirling through her, claiming her as much as Slender’s magic did. They had always been worried about her becoming a creep or proxy, unfeelingly ending lives like her father and here she was, with the magic to heal and bring life back. The power of creation from a being just as old as Slenderman and Zalgo.A true holder of the Ladybug earrings, born to control the magic of creation Tikki had greeted the creep with a warm smile and fierce eyes, telling him that her bug was safe, safer then she ever was before even if she was flipping over rooftops and fighting magical foes.

At 14, a new rival appears right as Chloe is starting to try harder, this one is named Lila. Helen’s blood boils as he listens to his daughter’s tales, knowing this girl would be the exact he would string up by her ankles and bleed like a pig for his next piece if only he promised years ago to leave anyone in Paris alone. He still offered though, and this time her refusals were hesitant and unsure, as the words got harsher and harsher as the lies spun became more intricate.

At 15, the class showed their true colors and the once-bustling friend group broke apart into two camps, Team Lila, with Alya, Myrlene, Sabrina, Rose, Juleka and Ivan, and Team Marinette, with Nino, Max, Nathanial, Kim, Alix, and Chloe. Adrian was strictly neutral, refusing to take either side, fearful of his father finding out about the mini-war and removing him from school. Her Dad wanted to remove him himself but Marinette told him no. The boy was sheltered beyond belief and had to be convinced that the lair’s constant unwanted touching was sexual harassment clear and simple. He meant no harm with his ill-suited advice and ideals of the high road.

Now at 16, she was faced with an even bigger issue.

Her Dad had arrived unannounced as always, never knowing when he’d freely be able to come visit without the police trailing him. They ate dinner, all four of them talking as they always did, avoiding talking about Helen’s job, instead asking about new stories of creeps’ blunders. After dinner, the married couple had shooed her and her dad upstairs so they could clean up.

“I want to kill someone,” She told her dad, slowly once the door to her room was shut, from where she sat on her chaise, sketchbook balanced on her knees as she sketched without looking at it. She couldn’t tell anyone else her thoughts, mama and papa would both panic, others would think she was insane…

"Let me do it," He offered as easily as if he was offering to drive her to her friend's house as he sat down next to her, “I’m sure they would make a lovely painting for you to hang on the wall. Just tell me who. Or if not a painting I’m sure Jeff would put them to sleep, or EJ could make a meal out of them, or-”

“You don’t get it,” She hissed, eyes hard as she stared forward with an unblinking stare, pencil dancing, “I don’t want them dead. I don’t want you or any of the others to handle the situation. I WANT to kill them, by my hand no one else’s, I can picture it.”

He stared at her for a long second, face blank, but she could see his form flickering. Her dad mentally was over 40 at this point and appeared it most of the time too, but Slenderman always kept the proxies the age they were when he created them. She rarely saw her father looking her age, the age he was frozen at forever.

It only came out when he was killing, or when he was in emotional turmoil and unable to keep hold of the magic-making him appear older.

He didn’t know what to say to her announcement, didn’t know what would come of it, what advice he should offer.

They both knew the rules. If she killed someone, truly intentionally killed someone, she was Slender’s. She had met the being back when she was 10, greeting the horror with a smile and gifted him a new tie, faded charcoal with red skulls seeming to be ingrained within the fabric, from a distance or through Slender’s fog it simply looked red but the effort…   She had apologized that she only made him a tie, but wasn’t sure if she could create a suit to match his dimensions as Helen had told her about his tendency to change his height and the tentacles that would appear from his back on occasion. To say that Slender was gone for the girl was stretching it, but he was pleased with her and her attitude towards the darkness that was her dad’s world.

It didn’t mean that anyone wanted her to become part of his domain permanently.

“Tell about them,” Helen finally settled on, “Why do you want to kill them.”

“Gabriel Agreste, and Lila Rossi,” She whispered, eyes faraway. He heard their names before, the absentee, borderline abusive father of his daughter’s crush and the liar that nearly broke his ray of sunshine. Two people ripe for the picking if only Marinette hadn’t ruled Paris off-limits to all creep hunting that wasn’t mandated by Slenderman.

But she told them that they didn’t deserve to be killed.

“What changed?”

He couldn’t quite keep the snarl out of his voice, but Marinette didn’t comment instead of continuing to stare at the wall.

“Gabriel hired Lila to keep an eye on Adrian, back when she first came back. They struck up a deal where she reports back to him about what Adrian and his friends won’t and in exchange, she can model with Adrian all she wants and gain the benefits of being a Gabriel Model, along with having open access to Adrian. This was after she broke into their house and posted a picture of her kissing Adrian’s cheek without his permission. He knew what kind of person she was and still, he struck up a deal and refused to let Adrian tell him about any problems he had with Lila. He shut Adrian down every time he tried to tell him about the sexual harassment, about isolating him from the rest of the class.”

She paused pain flickering in her blank depths, “Then last week Chat Noir showed up on my balcony in tears, shaking so bad I was surprised he didn’t fall off any of the roofs on his way over. He told me he really needed a friend he could trust, someone he could be truthful with and transformed in front of me, begging me not to turn him away, not to call my parents. Adrian basically curled up on my bed at that point and wouldn’t stop sobbing. He told me how Lila had slipped him something, how he couldn’t move as she took off his clothes and…”

She paused as the mechanical pencil shattered under her grip, plastic scattering across the room, anger flashed across her face for a second before

“He begged me not to tell anyone because he didn’t think anyone would believe him. His dad wouldn’t even let him talk about the sexual harassment to him, he didn’t want to be shut down trying to explain. He’s been running around as Chat Noir for since then, only stopping here to shower and get food. Plagg is furious and wants to kill them too, but refuses to leave Adrian for even a few minutes. He’s… he’s so very broken, Dad. His eyes are more hollow than some of the proxies. I’m surprised he hasn’t been akumatized yet.”

“You won’t let me kill them?” He asked again, hands trembling as his image flicked down to 14 and refused to rise again.

“No, because I don’t just want them dead,” She laughed hollowly, “I’ve been drawing these for the last three days.”  

She flipped around the sketchbook to show the two new outfits she had drawn. On the left was a bleached white leather suit, flawlessly put together with bulky buttons just as white as the suit. On the right was a leather dress, dyed deep red with a ribbed corset. He didn’t understand what was wrong with the designs until he looked closer and saw faces on the back of each outfit, the suit had a face with its eyes and ears sewn shut with venomous green thread, while the face on the dress was split in two, one half scowling with a black eye, with a horn stabbed through the temple, the other a smiling happily as a green eye. Each material was listed as she usually did, but instead of the usual fabrics, all it said over and over again was hair, skin, bone.

“A death worthy of a proxy,” He commented slowly, not sure what else to say.

Silence overtook them. Both knowing what lay ahead, but being scared of what could come up.

A knock at the balcony door made both of them jump, Helen’s glamor instinctively rising up.

“Chat,” She called, a blond head poking through the trapdoor only for him to freeze when he saw Helen.

“Easy Kitty,” Marinette whispered, “This is my Dad, remember I told you how he stops by every once in a while when his work allows it. He’s safe, I promise.”

“Safe for you guys,” He mumbled, “the rest of this city outside of this house? Not so sure anymore.”

Chat gave him a weary look but slowly moved down the steps, “What does that mean?”

Helen looked at the boy, passed the mask and the blank expression and really looked. Marinette was right, he looked broken, broken as a new proxy, one that was still scrambling to understand they had reached their breaking point, to realize what they had done now that the bloodlust and sickness had faded. He looked like Helen had back when he first killed Tom.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

“You’re going to detransform,” He told him, “Get a shower and eat. Then we’ll talk.”

He turned on his heel and marched down the steps to the kitchen where he found Sabine and Tom relaxing.

The pair jumped at his sudden appearance especially since he had shifted back to 14 as so as he closed Marinette’s door.

“What’s wrong?” Tom asked, “Business?”

Helen frowned, then sighed, “Maybe, but… it’s complicated. Chat Noir is here though and he needs food, I don’t think he’s eaten at all today.”  

Sabine’s eyebrows furrow, “Is that why Marinette’s been sneaking food? She could have said something, of course, we’d feed her partner.”

Helen snorted at that as he helped the woman go through the leftovers and make up a heaping plate, along with some leftover pastries from the bakery, “I’m fairly certain that she doesn’t know you two know about her being Paris’ saving grace, plus she promised him that she wouldn’t tell anyone he was here. Something bad happened to him, in his civilian life.”

“How bad?”

“I’ve seen proxies and creeps form from less,” He admitted, “He’s in danger of snapping.”

He disappeared upstairs with the food before they could respond.

There floating in front of Marinette was a tiny cat-like being. Power pulsed off of it making the hair on the back of Helen’s neck stand on end. Plagg, the cat of destruction.

“So,” Helen started, “You’re the counter to Tikki’s power then? Almost felt like Zalgo in here.”

The cat hissed, “Don’t compare me to that bastard. He’s an ass and deserves a solid cataclysm to the face.”

Helen smirked, “Ah so this is why Slender said you were an interesting being. Either way, I’m Helen, and we need to talk.”

“If you want to break my kit-”

Helen cut him off harshly, voice like ice, “Don’t. While some of my coworkers are assholes, I would never intentionally break anyone, but Adrian is holding on by a thread and something needs to be done if you don’t want to become part of the next creep, or worse, down a user.”  

His whiskers drooped as he glanced towards the closed bathroom door, “... What do you have in mind?”

Sabine and Tom didn’t check on Marinette until the next morning and were only slightly surprised to see a note signed with a smiley face, ladybug, and cat on her made bed.

The kids need to see what happens if they snap.

_________________________________________

Tag List: @marinettepotterandplagg @sassakitty

#miraculous ladybug #creepypasta #marinette dupain cheng #Helen Otis #Adrian agreste #TW Rape #mental instability #lila rossi #Lila Rossi is the worst #gabriel agreste a+ parenting #TW murder #TW gore

[soranihimawari]

Shatter

A story in several parts:

tw: reader chan’s sibling is a toxic force to be reckoned with; officers mentioned in later parts (civil servants for young adults); mentions of accidents and scarring [both emotional and physical]; young adult 18+ for strong and suggestive language 

word count: 6.8 K

tagging @oikawa-obvs​ @m0nstergeneration20xx​ @smolbludandelions

the characters and other tie in works: 

seijoh 4: oikawa, iwazumi, hanamaki, mattsun

spin off of the Running at 6a.m. feat. hanamaki and his s/o [plus s/o family]

Throughout this story, mattsun & q learn how important the actions of others does not define a set path.

Next >>

I.

“If I get one you like, you can have it,” you say with a wide smile. You still remember the third day of the last month of the year. You were nearly on the cusp of being eighteen within a few short weeks. You had heard a few weeks prior that one of your friends from middle school had moved to across town once her relatives agreed to taking her in during the summer leading into your respectful third years. Recently your were surprised your friend was so openly affectionate toward a certain strawberry blonde. You  would tease her saying that she was insane for having him wake her up at six in the morning during one of your late night voice calls.

“Well, Makki-kun is part of our school’s volleyball team,” she says. You sigh because your friend is right. “Besides aren’t you still interested in getting your hands a little dirty? I’m in serious need of my right hand mechanic to give me a hand running a few diagnostics…”

“I’ll clear it with Naka-one,” you say. “You know how much my sister worries.”

“Says the woman with the muscle memory of a saint,” your friend’s voice is singing sweetly into the receiver. “Besides, I think I can’t keep hiding my best friend away from those giants.”

“I suppose you’re right. Meet me at the station on Saturday, ok?”

“You got it. I can finally prove to Makki-kun’s friends that I do have other friends.”

II:

[Saturday//Ice Cream & Journals\\]

Winter was no joke as she briskly shared her wind across the neighborhood you found yourself visiting. You had arrived not too early in the mid-afternoon; you had an overnight Hershel bag with your various journalistic tools stacked in according to importance. You were a designer by instinctual honing skills whereas your friend was a hands on mechanical genius in her spare time. The two of you used to race up and down the hills of your childhood streets. Your drive to inspire others was something your sister had maintained with a skilled hand, but you were defiant against the dainty life she was grooming you to try to emulate. The argument reaches its pinnacle the night before you were supposed to be leaving to visit your friend:

“Your hobby is just that! A hobby! You can’t keep losing more hours of sleep over a career our parents didn’t think suitable for a teenager like you!”

Your markers container was the closest thing to your sister’s hands and instead of strangling you, she knocks over the matte boxes you so ideally spent hours recataloging. You say nothing, that is until those hands of hers reach for the journals you kept your portfolios of car designs is in her hands. 

“Don’t!” was the last word you were able to yell before the sounds of tearing roars into your eardrums. You are left alone collecting the shreds of your dreams on to the kitchen table. Your sister was as mad as a hatter, but you were too. If her madness only saw the way you clung to the last bit of your individuality like it was a godsend. 

So in the morning, you send a message to your friend who meets you at the train terminal. She dons sunglasses and extends a pastel jacket to you; the jacket has your nickname stitched on it with the sigil of a craftsman:

“I got your message. Man, you sister is really fucked up,” she says. 

“I know,” you retort. 

“You even cut your hair into a more asymmetrical cut. It looks good on you Q.”

Q is for Quantum. Your parent who birthed you chose that perhaps having born two daughters roughly seven years apart was not the best idea, but alas, here you were still wandering the corner of the outskirts of a city close to the palisades your host lives in.

The mod scarf you brought with you is wrapped around your neck in a double knot. The rest of your winter attire is kept simple in the various hues of indigo and splashes of cerulean pearls. Your best friend, you notice, is a bit more tan than before, but her ever present pizazz shines through like it always does. Women can be anything they set their minds to so long as they have the right know-how. 

“I have the guys meeting us up at the ice cream parlour not too far from here,” she says stifling an amused laugh when you scrunch your nose in a slight snarl. “What? You did want to meet the person I’m dating after all. And not to worry, this is only a small gathering.”

Your snarl subsides only to remain as neutral as possible. You nod as your friend rounds the corner of a children’s park across from the ice cream parlour bells chime when the door is pulled open by other patrons.

“Thank you,” you and your friend say walking through the open door which automatically closes behind you both. Your eyes are averted for a moment toward the glowing holographic menu cards above the cashier. The ice cream parlor is paired with an adjoining coffee bar as you take a look around. Your friend has a nickname too and the moment you hear a subtly calm voice call out to her, you realize you recognize the voice (from the photos she sends you, you know their names only as ichigo no kori, cinefile, pretty boy, and…) 

“Oh look, they’re all on time for once,” your friend says as she takes the lead with you close behind. When you reach the table, you unwrap your scarf from your neck.

“Makki, your girlfriend brought a friend,” the cinefile says. His winter attire is typically laid back as far as you could see; he donned a hoodie under his jean jacket and matching slacks. The person to his left, is the pretty boy. Apparently he was the aforementioned princely type who was more popular and it clicks in your brain why: Seijoh has a reputation for being a powerhouse. Then your eyes shift to the strawberry ice haired neighbor you were told so much about from several text conversations you had had. 

“The chisana josei has a right to bring whomever she likes, Iwazumi,” the baritone voice is curious as he eyes you quietly. 

“Of course she does,” your friend winks at you. You hear her whisper a play nice to you as she takes her place at the table next to her beau. You roll your eyes after your friend sits down, you shake your head like an etch and sketch. New slate for the weekend. I’m just here for a few days to give my sister a few days of quiet. Your consciousness rumbles.

“She’s awfully quiet,” the prince chuckles when you make a face. “Is it because she thinks I'm handsome?”

“Oh my god, the world doesn't revolve around you Oikawa,” the one named Iwazumi says through gritted teeth.

“Boys, boys, you’re both pretty, but remember Makki is dating me,” your friend reminds them and her boyfriend smirks. “Have a seat Q, before you actually start growing roots. Mattsun, be a dear and make some room for my best friend will ya?”

“I prefer to stand,” you said with a shrug. “If you want to flip for it, go right ahead.”

“You sure? I mean, Mattsun does make a pretty decent chair...” your friend’s voice trails off when she sees your gloved hand open and close. 

“That’s easy for you to say to an old friend,” you say when you take off your backpack when you hand it to her. “You’re not the one who was kicked out of the house again, so please excuse me if I decline the invitation for now.”

The conversation moves on after Makki challenges Iwazumi to another arm wrestling match while Oikawa heads to the counter to order a round of hot cocoa because it had already been sanctioned it was his turn to pay. Your friend converses at the end of the table with you and Mattsun together trying to act as a buffer between the most withdrawn people in the group. 

“Mattsun, did you know that Q is an excellent designer? She helped me forge the gas tank for the bike I use,” your friend sings your praises. How does she know what to say to push your buttons like that? Mattsun is apathetic, yet upon closer inspection of his softened features, he reminds you of an older cat. One who has both a playful and mischievous personality and your imagination wonders how fast you’d fall for him not knowing he was wondering the same thing. The middle blocker keeps a neutral expression as he stands up to help Oikawa with the drink carriers with the mugs. After a rocky start, you realize that the group is not so bad. You were now a group of six third years and you liked the odds of having a small unit composed of your best friend and her reverse harem. They walk with you two all the way back to their respective blocks and when Iwazumi along with Oikawa branch off, you are left with your best friend, Makki, and Mattsun in your company

“Six in the morning again?” your friend sighs. Her breath is caught in the chill air when he kisses her temple. You see how smitten they are for each other and while you had just survived an hour into the prolonged sabbatical, you wonder if you would eventually get a shot.

“We may have lost the game chisana josei, but at this point, I think it’s just Oikawa wanting to make sure we’re still sharp.”

“If you say so, but I’m not going to be joining you. It’s too cold,” she teases. “Q’s here to hang with me.”

“I’m sure I can find something to do for the meantime tomorrow,” you answer. “I don’t want to inconvenie--”

“She can run with me,” Mattsun speaks up, scratching his cheek. He had this quiet charm about him. The offer throws you off course for a little bit in the afternoon sun. 

“What do you think, Q? You up for a little excursion tomorrow?”

“Sure. It couldn’t hurt. You trust these two.Techinically dating one, but that’s besides the point.” The two of you laugh before realizing you set up a first date right under your nose. 

“Careful with this one Mattsun,” your friend teases, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. Your bag is now carried on one of your shoulders after you leave the cafe. “Q is really one of a kind. A gem if you will. See you guys tomorrow morning. If it’s snowing, we’re both staying indoors and you two can run together…”

It didn’t snow the following morning.

--House Hours--

You heard movie nights were a tradition, so you had tagged along with your host for the weekend away from home. The first day you had arrived, you had hot cocoa with her ‘reverse harem’ as she would like to call it followed by having dinner with her aunt and uncle; the following morning and true to their words, both Makki and Mattsun picked you two up for the daily morning run which ended with your friend getting another piggyback ride from her boyfriend (and you wonder why she fakes it from time to time, but it’s worth the way Makki’s ears burn a scarlet hue), yet you keep a steady pace much to the other party’s delight; the rest of the second day was filled with you trying to piece back together the shredded blueprints your sister ripped in front of your face. You look at the scraps tossed on the floor of the spare bedroom you were staying in and when the aunt of your best friend walks in to ask you a question, she doesn’t proceed with it since your sniffling kicked in her maternal mode: you explain to her you allow yourself to feel horribly for about five to ten minutes daily and you move on about your day, however after this particularly rudeness your sister had showcased, you needed more time before you were able to head back to your suburb. Her niece had explained the situation already a few days prior to your train arriving, but to see the damaging effects it had on you, her aunt calmed you down with some sage advice:

“Your faith is shaken, but you still believe. Give ‘em hell kiddo. I got you,” she says pulling you into a side hug. “Now, shall we make some tea? I think you deserve a break.”

Your friend came back from running an errand to the store because she wanted to buy a few more strips of tape as well as another set of trail mix with the granola clusters you like. See, you were invited at the request of the benevolent prince to his home to indulge in a movie night. “Makki said we’re going to start off the movie night at Oiks’ place with whatever you want to watch. It was Mattsun’s idea too apparently,” your friend says, handing you a hair elastic. 

“Can you ask them if Oikawa is ok with playing ‘His Girl Friday’?”

“Sure thing.”

You two had dressed in similar fashions lately due to the steady drop in temperature.A lot of muted royal colors were your in your wheelhouse of clothes you had brought with you, so tonight it was forest green tweed pants layered with a peasant belted sweater dress. Your host had snapped a photo of you getting ready and she nearly choked back a laugh when you scold her for sending it to her boyfriend. 

“You look stellar,” she says when she brushes her hair back into a loose ponytail. 

“Do I though? When was the last time you saw the scars the fiberglass left on my shoulder, chise?”

“Seventh grade,” she answers. “Scars or not, you’re still my best friend. Even if you just made a portmanteau of the harem’s nickname for me.”

You bop your head and laugh. “I suppose you’re right… we should get going, yeah?”

Oikawa house, 19:32

You walk side by side with your friend after she mentions it was her turn to bring the snacks. You divide the work explaining that you know what they need more than you do. Although all dreams must end, your life was not some hallmark film. Sometimes the hardest thing and the right ones are the same, your subconscious reminds you to be more freeing of your worries.

“Let go have some fun,” you mumble. You reach the counter with your friend ahead of you. She had the usual assortment of candy to mix into the popcorn, she noticed you have new pens and a crossword puzzle. 

“Crossword puzzles in ink was always something I wanted to try,” your voice is confident. “Besides, didn’t you say the boys were providing the food?”

When the final tally was tabulated, you leave the store together and head north at the next intersection, you two walk reminiscing your play days together.

“Oh! Your mother was so angry,” you friend says laughing about the time you stole one of her baking sheets to go sledding. “Wasn’t she going to use that pan for the crescents at the holiday party?”

“Yeah, she was. Haha,” your laugh is a foreign sound. However it is a sound you don’t often make anymore. 

“You miss her too,” you friend says as she stops in front of a modern home. 

“What child doesn’t?” You ask looking up at the sky. 

The constellations twinkle a tarnished image of a family who prided themselves in raising functional perfected youths and while your sister doted on your parents every whim, you rebelled. The rebellion sparked many fears for your family; a tomboy with a high marks should not get into scuffles on the school yard. Such a fiery spirit could only be doused for so long. You were allowed to keep your hobby of drawing because it’s what calms you the doctors mentioned. Ever since the first cold snap when you lost your mother (you were a child in the seat behind her solving a crossword in pencil) in a hit and run, the last embers of creativity sparked a carnal desire to be free. Yet here you were seven years later with a sister so emotionally damaged who in her toxic mindset didn’t understand that for you, art and designing (like the paint job you oversaw before your childhood neighbor moved across town) for automotive purposes was your way to find balance. The girl who moved across town to be close to family had a stronger support system, but after hearing what her aunt had to say it suddenly makes sense, so when she calls you out from your trance, you remember you are always evolving: keep moving. One step at a time. 

“Oikawa’s place is this one? Wow he really is a prince with a castle,” you joke in the front walkway. 

“I know right? I know he’s one of the top setters in the prefecture, but with all those interviews he does, it helps, haha. Mind holding this real quick?”

The small convenience store bag is passed to you to hold for a moment while your friend knocks thrice times. 

On the inside the boys were talking amongst themselves. It had been three days since you arrived for your holiday, and each morning after your first night, you woke up at six to run with half of the team (Makki, Mattsun, you, and your host). 

“Q is really good at keeping up with us,” Mattsun says. There is a moment where he notices his friends stop talking. They figure it out and tease the tallest middle blocker like he was discovering a crush for the very first time. 

“Oh~ is our little Mattsukawa finally growing up?” Oikawa cooed. Luckily Iwazumi’s shuts him up saying to get the door. 

Makki sends Mattsun a text and judging by his best friend’s face, Makki confirms his disposition. Iwazumi mentions he’d be heading to the couch in the living room to create more space for the girls and Oikawa. 

“Chisana mentioned you wanted to watch ‘His Girl Friday,’ so it’s already queued up.”

“Yeah, it’s really well written. Thank you,” you carry on the conversation as naturally as Oikawa points out the half bathroom in case you need it out of anything you can have your friend show you where things are since this wasn’t the first time everyone’s been over since the school year has started. 

“No problem. Ah! Here we are,” Oikawa’s arm extends outward to showcase the kitchen area where the rest of group was. Makki greeted your friend first and you wave politely. You say a quick hello to Iwazumi and you know if you could hear a stare, you would when you greet Mattsun last. 

“Greeted him last, huh?” you friend muses. 

“You greeted your strawberry first,” you argue back. 

“I don’t mind,” Mattsun says, his voice is hauntingly rich like the darkened wood finish on the tables outside. He leans in a little toward you before he stands he whispers in your ear, “you look pretty.” Your mood changed slightly as you hear his compliment. Then you remember the company you are in front of.

“We’ll go on ahead,” Makki suggests as he grabs the bowl of popcorn he separated for your friend to dump all the candies in. You nod when your friend silently slides you both kit-kat minis for luck.

“I heard you,” you say softly before you tap the back of the middle blocker’s hand. “C’mon, let’s not keep our friends waiting.”

Mattsun doesn’t give you the opportunity to remove you hand because he turns his palm up and you run your fingers barely ghosting over his future line from palm reading; you both hold a conversation behind curious eyes. 

“Leave them alone, they’ll be alright,” your friend says in a lower tone. 

Makki backs up the sentiment his girlfriend states with a stern glare at both Oikawa and Iwazumi, as one of them clicks the console control and the opening credits start to play. 

And just once, you remember what your scars mean: it’s kind of fun to do the impossible. You eat the KitKat your friend left behind as you walk away from the kitchen and sit next to Iwazumi. Mattsun observes this and decides to take matters into his own hands literally. He walks toward Oikawa’s den area, he chooses to sit on the floor in front of you like a guard dog throughout the rest of the film. The film wraps up while the next film was being chosen. When the conversation goes on much longer than expected, you can excuse yourself for a moment back to the kitchen to pick up your crossword puzzle; you cross back to the other side of the den’s layout to sit down where you were earlier. Your pen is in your hand (youyou had tucked into the bag) as you begin to solve the first puzzle. 

“I’m just saying horror movies are great,” Oikawa said. “Sci fi too.”

“Then it shouldn’t be that hard to choose,” you quip without looking up from your booklet. Your pen moves diligently as you flip over to the next page. To be quite honest, you aren’t really paying that much attention to notice Iwazumi and Mattsun switched places. 

“Twilight Zome collection it is!” Oikawa exclaimed. He pressed play. 

The evening draws to a close once you see that almost everyone had taken short catnaps around each other. You questioned whether or not the boys slept, but at least one or two of your company stayed awake.You close the crossword puzzles when Mattsun turns his head to look at you; you quirk an eyebrow at him You two were the only ones awake during this round of animated featurettes, so when Mattsun reaches for one of your hands he forces you forward a little too much, but you stop yourself from toppling over. You whisper something to him, causing him to make room for you on the floor; when you are sitting next to him, you lean into the side of his arm comfortably. 

“My my, someone is affectionate today,” you tease. 

“You don’t make it any easier,” he whispers in low tones to you. 

“I suppose that is true. Is this ok? I mean, your face is more impressionable now than before,” you call him out on the subtle changes of his features. 

“Is it? I haven’t noticed. My running partner is improving,” he tells this to you when you hold his hand in yours again. Neither of you want to let go.

“I think this is the beginning of something new,” you say calmly. “I’m still healing,you know.”

Instead of an answer, he shows you his understanding through squeezing your hand in a gentle manner: ‘you don’t need to run; you’re fine as you are.’ 

A couple minutes go by before you nod off. Mattsukawa was about to ask you a question, but chuckles lightly to himself that his question would be saved for another time. To him you are much more than a casual acquaintance of his best friend’s girlfriend. You’re shaping up to be someone he likes to know more of; you gravitate towards each other and now perhaps he realizes the appeal of having someone be a constant in life. There are many people who take the time to learn everything about the person they are crushing on, yet you and him are laid back enough to balance out your friends’ personality. You on the other hand are learning to forgive yourself one day at a time, but it’s the first time someone else is willing to wait for you. How long, you don’t know, and yet here was this casual acquaintance from your  best friends new neighborhood willing to wait for you to feel better about yourself. Mattsukawa tells you how he wants to hang out with you tomorrow; just the two of you. You were lucid enough to agree. 

Next >>

#mattsukawa issei x reader mini series #this is part 1 and 2 #⌚️queued #tw: toxic sibling behavior #tw: strong language and violence #tw:mental health and learning to deal with trauma #angst to fluff mattsun x reader #🌻— flying around collecting pollen—queue #🌻sora scribbles #🌻.txt

[thorinthehottotty]

May 6th - Lyn's Writing Event - Thorin

Prompt - Childhood Neighborhood

A/N: Holy shit these settings are almost over! Nooooo don't let it end! Seriously, this has been a blast! Partially based off of me bringing Cory home the first time...

Summary: Thorin has arrived in our world and accompanies you to your childhood home to meet your parents.

Warnings:

He had seen you nervous before, but you'd always had a handle on it. Packing had been a nightmare. You were pacing and obviously couldn't think straight as you ran between rooms collecting way too much for the weekend trip to your parents. You were muttering to yourself and he was surprised by how insane you looked, running back and forth.

"Should we pack snacks for the ride?" You call from the kitchen. "It's only a couple hours away, but you know, in case?"

Thorin frowns, becoming nervous himself at how chaotic you were. "Grab something for you. I will be fine." He'd easily gotten his things around for the trip. Easily. Quickly. Efficiently... This was a train wreck, as you would call it.

When he'd finally coaxed you into the car you bit your lip, not turning the key in the ignition as you hesitate. "Y/N, we don't have to visit them if you're uncomfortable." He can visibly see the racing of your pulse in your neck.

"Okay," you start firmly and turn in your seat. "I'll give you the run down of my family." You're staring at him, more intensely than he's ever witnessed and its unnerving. "I have never brought anyone home before. Ever. Ever. Okay?" Thorin nods slowly. This was going to be a big deal to you then.

"I can handle that."

"My mom is going to be all over you. She's weird and wants to be liked. Expect her to say weird things and get in your space. My brothers, that should be a breeze. They'll probably try to give you a hard time because you're quite a bit older than I am. They're annoying shitheads with big egos." Thorin cracks a smile, adoring the nervous preparing you were giving him, your words blending from your fast speech. "My dad," you croak as if in pain and he sees your eyes beginning to water, "my dad is the bane of my existance. He has no filter. At all. And he enjoys making people squirm. Expect him to say some... Horrible things at my expense." Thorin was now a little nervous himself, but mostly amused by your reaction.

"I can stay here if you desire."

"No, no. I'm not worried about them not liking you. I'm worried about them behaving themselves around you."

"I will not think ill of you." He grips your hand on your lap and you let out a sigh of relief. While you were still nervous, you weren't mad with it.

He could handle this. The next hiccup didn't come until you had arrived at the great big house with a worn dirt drive. You narrowed your eyes on the garage, something askew to you. "That's weird. There are no cars." The land was flush with gardens and trees and greenery. It was calm and peaceful as you parked. Cicadas, as you called them, were buzzing loudly.

He watches as you pull out your phone, and lift it to your ear. He can vaugely hear a woman pick up. "Hey, ma. Thorin and I are home. Are you guys here?" You ask. There is an answer and your eyes bug in exhasperation. "What do you mean? Coldwater is like two hours away! I though you guys were going to be here!" Thorin smirks at you, amused to see you deflate. "Well when are you going to be back?"

He could see your frustration and felt sympathy for you. He could see where some of your 'planning' side came from. If your family was this whimsy with plans than he could understand why you always felt the need to have a plan.

You turn to find him grinning at you. "Alright, alright. I'll see you guys when you get here. Love you too. Bye." And you hung up the phone before turning to Thorin, nostrils flaring as you give a close mouthed scream of frustration. "My parents left cause my mom wanted to go look at a car in coldwater. Let's just unpack the car and go inside."

Thorin nodded and followed in behind you. Gazing around in amusement at the different themes that liter the house. He was curious to know how you grew up and this was greatly expanding that curiousity. Your childhood home! How nice! You lead him upstairs, calming a barking dog that wiggled excitedly at the both of you before moving into a room.

"This is my old room. Enter at your own risk." He gazes about, surprised to see the bookshelves lined with books and a large lofted bed, a desk and computer underneith. He sets his things down while you toss your bag up on the bed. And he begins to gaze over the titles on the shelf. There are a couple missing titles and he reaches for it.

"No, no! I would recommend not looking at the sketchbooks!" You laugh nervously. "I'm not the greatest artist."

"I was unaware that you drew," he murmurs.

"I used to. Haven't had time lately." He could see the burning of your cheeks. "Nothing that interesting in them, ya know." He arches an eyebrow at you.

"Somehow, I doubt that." He doesn't miss your mischevious smile.

It's quickly gone when the dog begins to howl and you dart to the window. Horror fills your face. "Oh no! My grandpa's here." You fly to the door. "Oh no! Oh no!" Thorin frowns.

"Stay here! Don't touch anything!" You gasp, flying from the room. Thorin pauses, then tugs at a rather worn hardcover sketchbook. And he opens it, shocked by the detailed faces that flutter through each page. He hears you greeting your grandfather down stairs. There is an exchange and then you groan.

"Papa, don't be mad about this. But I should probably introduce you to someone. Hold on." Thorin quickly sets the sketchbook down and moves to meet you in the doorway. "He sat down," you grumble, frowning. He's here to stay. "I was not prepared to have you meet my grandpa... He's a little harsh. And I'm his favorite."

"Oh, are you?" Thorin asks.

"Yes, now come on." And Thorin trots down the stairs behind you to find an elderly man sitting in a recliner comfortably. He sees the shock turn to raunchy amusement.

"What were you two doing in your room?" The man grunts, sipping a thermos.

"Mom and Dad are supposed to be here! We just got here, don't give me that!" You shout.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Grandpa, this is Thorin. Thorin, this is my grandpa who shows up unannouced frequently." You muttered the last part to Thorin and he sees your grandfather narrow his eyes on you.

"What?" He grunts.

"If you wore your damn hearing aid you'd know!" The old man waves a hand and stands up with a great deal of effort.

"I'll leave you both to your canoodling. Just tell your ma that I stopped by." You are left to more frustration. The old man shakes Thorin's hand and they grin at each other, sharing in amusement at this.

"He looks like a hippy," the old man grunts as he leaves, patting you on the shoulder. It makes you roll your eyes as he shuffles out. You shake your head.

"If that's the worst of it... You can relax."

"Oh god... He's gonna tell my whole family we were canoodling alone in my room!" You cry, stomping dramatically up the stairs. Thorin followed, chuckling. Your frazzled nature is amusing him a great deal more than it should.

"Relax, we were not canoodling. Whatever that means."

"Were you looking at my sketches?" You gasp. Before he can answer there is a wild shrieking from outside. A long annoying noise that has you glowering.

"Ah fuck. Well. My brothers are home." He was beginning to like this more and more. He'd never found you so animated.

The hours passed, you grew increasingly nervous as your brothers annoyed you. They both were struck dumb by the dwarf standing in your bedroom. And went quiet at the sight. Then began the nonstop questions of him. Some were forgotten quickly. Others not as much.

Eventually you buzzed, making tea as they made (pleasant) conversation with him. Quickly falling into his kingly charm. And then it happened. The kitchen door opened and in stalked you parents. Cooly greeting everyone.

They were perfectly polite and it left you flabbergaust. How dare they act normal! The one time you were preparing for their theatrics and they act normal! You deflate into your seat as Thorin chuckles.

"Don't."

@tomisbaeholland

#thorin #thorin thursday #thorin durin #thorin x you #lyn's writing event #childhood neighborhood

[bluewatsons]

Alice Bolin, The Ethical Dilemma of Highbrow True Crime, Vulture (August 1, 2018)

The “true-crime boom” of the mid- to late 2010s is a strange pop-culture phenomenon, given that it is not so much a new type of programming as an acknowledgement of a centuries-long obsession: People love true stories about murder and other brands of brutality and grift, and they have gorged on them particularly since the beginning of modern journalism. The serial fiction of Charles Dickens and Wilkie Collins was influenced by the British public’s obsessive tracking of sensational true-crime cases in daily papers, and since then, we have hoarded gory details in tabloids and pulp paperbacks and nightly news shows and Wikipedia articles and Reddit threads.

I don’t deny these stories have proliferated in the past five years. Since the secret is out — “Oh you love murder? Me too!” — entire TV networks, podcast genres, and countless limited-run docuseries have arisen to satisfy this rumbling hunger. It is tempting to call this true-crime boom new because of the prestige sheen of many of its artifacts — Serial and Dirty John and The Jinx and Wild, Wild Country are all conspicuously well made, with lovely visuals and strong reporting. They have subtle senses of theme and character, and they often feel professional, pensive, quiet — so far from vulgar or sensational.

But well-told stories about crime are not really new, and neither is their popularity. In Cold Blood is a classic of American literature and The Executioner’s Song won the Pulitzer; Errol Morris has used crime again and again in his documentaries to probe ideas like fame, desire, corruption, and justice. The new true-crime boom is more simply a matter of volume and shamelessness: the wide array of crime stories we can now openly indulge in, with conventions of the true-crime genre more emphatically repeated and codified, more creatively expanded and trespassed against. In 2016, after two critically acclaimed series about the O.J. Simpson trial, there was talk that the 1996 murder of Colorado 6-year-old JonBenét Ramsey would be the next case to get the same treatment. It was odd, hearing O.J.: Made in America, the epic and depressing account of race and celebrity that won the Academy Award for Best Documentary, discussed in the same breath with the half-dozen unnecessary TV specials dredging up the Ramsey case. Despite my avowed love of Dateline, I would not have watched these JonBenét specials had a magazine not paid me to, and suffice it to say they did very little either to solve the 20-year-old crime (ha!) or examine our collective obsession with it.

Clearly, the insight, production values, or cultural capital of its shiniest products are not what drives this new wave of crime stories. O.J.: Made in America happened to be great and the JonBenét specials happened to be terrible, but producers saw them as part of the same trend because they knew they would appeal to at least part of the same audience. I’ve been thinking a lot about these gaps between high and low, since there are people who consume all murder content indiscriminately, and another subset who only allow themselves to enjoy the “smart” kind. The difference between highbrow and lowbrow in the new true crime is often purely aesthetic. It is easier than ever for producers to create stories that look good and seem serious, especially because there are templates now for a style and voice that make horrifying stories go down easy and leave the viewer wanting more. But for these so-called prestige true-crime offerings, the question of ethics — of the potential to interfere in real criminal cases and real people’s lives — is even more important, precisely because they are taken seriously.

Like the sensational tone, disturbing, clinical detail, and authoritarian subtext that have long defined schlocky true crime as “trash,” the prestige true-crime subgenre has developed its own shorthand, a language to tell its audience they’re consuming something thoughtful, college-educated, public-radio influenced. In addition to slick and creative production, highbrow true crime focuses on character sketches instead of police procedure. “We’re public radio producers who are curious about why people do what they do,” Phoebe Judge, the host of the podcast Criminal, said. Judge has interviewed criminals (a bank robber, a marijuana brownie dealer), victims, and investigators, using crime as a very simple window into some of the most interesting and complicated lives on the planet.

Highbrow true crime is often explicitly about the piece’s creator, a meta-commentary about the process of researching and reporting such consequential stories. Serial’s Sarah Koenig and The Jinx’s Andrew Jarecki wrestle with their boundaries with the subjects (Adnan Syed and Robert Durst, respectively, both of whom have been tried for murder) and whether they believe them. They sift through evidence and reconstruct timelines as they try to create a coherent narrative from fragments.

I remember saying years ago that people who liked Serial should try watching Dateline, and my friend joked in reply, “Yeah, but Dateline isn’t hosted by my friend Sarah.” One reason for the first season of Serial’s insane success — it is still the most-downloaded podcast of all time — is the intimacy audiences felt with Koenig as she documented her investigation of a Baltimore teenager’s murder in real time, keeping us up to date on every vagary of evidence, every interview, every experiment. Like the figure of the detective in many mystery novels, the reporter stands in for the audience, mirroring and orchestrating our shifts in perspective, our cynicism and credulity, our theories, prejudices, frustrations, and breakthroughs.

This is what makes this style of true crime addictive, which is the adjective its makers most crave. The stance of the voyeur, the dispassionate observer, is thrilling without being emotionally taxing for the viewer, who watches from a safe remove. (This fact is subtly skewered in Gay Talese’s creepy 2017 Netflix documentary, Voyeur.) I’m not sure how much of my eye-rolling at the popularity of highbrow true crime has to do with my general distrust of prestige TV and Oscar-bait movies, which are usually designed to be enjoyed in the exact same way and for the exact same reasons as any other entertainment, but also to make the viewer feel good about themselves for watching. When I wrote earlier that there are viewers who consume all true crime, and those who only consume “smart” true crime, I thought, “And there must be some people who only like dumb true crime.” Then I realized that I am sort of one of them.

There are specimens of highbrow true crime that I love, Criminal and O.J.: Made in America among them, but I truly enjoy Dateline much more than I do Serial, which in my mind is tedious to the edge of pointlessness. I find myself perversely complaining that good true crime is no fun — as self-conscious as it may be, it will never be as entertaining as the Investigation Discovery network’s output, most of which is painfully serious. (The list of ID shows is one of the most amusing artifacts on the internet, including shows called Bride Killas, Momsters: Moms Who Murder, and Sex Sent Me to the Slammer.) Susan Sontag famously defined camp as “seriousness that fails,” and camp is obviously part of the appeal of a show called Sinister Ministers or Southern Fried Homicide. Network news magazine shows like Dateline and 48 Hours are somber and melodramatic, often literally starting voice-overs on their true-crime episodes with variations of “it was a dark and stormy night.” They trade in archetypes — the perfect father, the sweet girl with big dreams, the divorcee looking for a second chance — and stick to a predetermined narrative of the case they’re focusing on, unconcerned about accusations of bias. They are sentimental and yet utterly graphic, clinical in their depiction of brutal crimes.

It’s always talked around in discussions of why people like true crime: It is … funny? The comedy in horror movies seems like a given, but it is hardly permitted to say that you are amused by true disturbing stories, out of respect for victims. But in reducing victims and their families to stock characters, in exaggerating murderers to superhuman monsters, in valorizing police and forensic scientists as heroic Everymen, there is dark humor in how cheesy and misguided these pulpy shows are, how bad we are at talking about crime and drawing conclusions from it, how many ways we find to distance ourselves from the pain of victims and survivors, even when we think we are honoring them. (The jokey titles and tongue-in-cheek tone of some ID shows seem to indicate more awareness of the inherent humor, but in general, the channel’s programming is almost all derivative of network TV specials.) I’m not saying I’m proud of it, but in its obvious failures, I enjoy this brand of true crime more straightforwardly than its voyeuristic, documentary counterpart, which, in its dignified guise, has maybe only perfected a method of making us feel less gross about consuming real people’s pain for fun.

Crime stories also might be less risky when they are more stilted, more clinical. To be blunt, what makes a crime story less satisfying are often the ethical guidelines that help reporters avoid ruining people’s lives. With the popularity of the podcasts S-Town and Missing Richard Simmons, there were conversations about the ethics of appropriating another person’s story, particularly when they won’t (or can’t) participate in your version of it. The questions of ethics and appropriation are even heavier when stories intersect with their subjects’ criminal cases, because journalism has always had a reciprocal relationship with the justice system. Part of the exhilarating intimacy of the first season of Serial was Koenig’s speculation about people who never agreed to be part of the show, the theories and rabbit holes she went through, the risks she took to get answers. But there is a reason most reporters do all their research, then write their story. It is inappropriate, and potentially libelous, to let your readers in on every unverified theory about your subject that occurs to you, particularly when wondering about a private citizen’s innocence or guilt in a horrific crime.

Koenig’s off-the-cuff tone had other consequences, too, in the form of amateur sleuths on Reddit who tracked down people involved with the case, pored over court transcripts, and reviewed cellular tower evidence, forming a shadow army of investigators taking up what they saw as the gauntlet thrown down by the show. The journalist often takes on the stance of the professional amateur, a citizen providing information in the public interest and using the resources at hand to get answers. At times during the first season of Serial, Koenig’s methods are laughably amateurish, like when she drives from the victim’s high school to the scene of the crime, a Best Buy, to see if it was possible to do it in the stated timeline. She is able to do it, which means very little, since the crime occurred 15 years earlier. Because so many of her investigative tools were also ones available to listeners at home, some took that as an invitation to play along.

This blurred line between professional and amateur, reporter and private investigator, has plagued journalists since the dawn of modern crime reporting. In 1897, amid a frenzied rivalry between newspaper barons William Randolph Hearst and Joseph Pulitzer, true crime coverage was so popular that Hearst formed a group of reporters to investigate criminal cases called the “Murder Squad.” They wore badges and carried guns, forming essentially an extralegal police force who both assisted and muddled official investigations. Seeking to get a better story and sell more papers, it was common for reporters to trample crime scenes, plant evidence, and produce dubious witnesses whose accounts fit their preferred version of the case. And they were trying to get audiences hooked in very similar ways, by crowdsourcing information and encouraging readers to send in tips.

Of course the producers of Serial never did anything so questionable as the Murder Squad, though there are interesting parallels between the true-crime podcast and crime coverage in early daily newspapers. They were both innovations in the ways information was delivered to the public that sparked unexpectedly personal, participatory, and impassioned responses from their audiences. It’s tempting to say that we’ve come full circle, with a new true-crime boom that is victim to some of the same ethical pitfalls of the first one: Is crime journalism another industry deregulated by the anarchy of the internet? But as Michelle Dean wrote of Serial, “This is exactly the problem with doing journalism at all … You might think you are doing a simple crime podcast … and then you become a sensation, as Serial has, and the story falls to the mercy of the thousands, even millions, of bored and curious people on the internet.”

Simply by merit of their popularity, highbrow crime stories are often riskier than their lowbrow counterparts. Kathryn Schulz wrote in The New Yorker about the ways the makers of the Netflix series Making a Murderer, in their attempt to advocate for the convicted murderer Steven Avery, omit evidence that incriminates him and put forth an incoherent argument for his innocence. Advocacy and intervention are complicated actions for journalists to undertake, though they are not novel. Schulz points to a scene in Making a Murderer where a Dateline producer who is covering Avery is shown saying, “Right now murder is hot.” In this moment the creators of Making a Murderer are drawing a distinction between themselves and Dateline, as Schulz writes, implying that, “unlike traditional true-crime shows … their work is too intellectually serious to be thoughtless, too morally worthy to be cruel.” But they were not only trying to invalidate Avery’s conviction; they (like Dateline, but more effectively) were also creating an addictive product, a compelling story.

That is maybe what irks me the most about true crime with highbrow pretensions. It appeals to the same vices as traditional true crime, and often trades in the same melodrama and selective storytelling, but its consequences can be more extreme. Adnan Syed was granted a new trial after Serial brought attention to his case; Avery was denied his appeal, but people involved in his case have nevertheless been doxxed and threatened. I’ve come to believe that addictiveness and advocacy are rarely compatible. If they were, why would the creators of Making a Murderer have advocated for one white man, when the story of being victimized by a corrupt police force is common to so many people across the U.S., particularly people of color?

It does feel like a shame that so many resources are going to create slick, smart true crime that asks the wrong questions, focusing our energy on individual stories instead of the systemic problems they represent. But in truth, this is is probably a feature, not a bug. I suspect the new true-crime obsession has something to do with the massive, terrifying problems we face as a society: government corruption, mass violence, corporate greed, income inequality, police brutality, environmental degradation, human-rights violations. These are large-scale crimes whose resolutions, though not mysterious, are also not forthcoming. Focusing on one case, bearing down on its minutia and discovering who is to blame, serves as both an escape and a means of feeling in control, giving us an arena where justice is possible.

Skepticism about whether journalists appropriate their subjects’ stories, about high and low, and about why we enjoy the crime stories we do, all swirl through what I think of as the post–true-crime moment. Post–true crime is explicitly or implicity about the popularity of the new true-crime wave, questioning its place in our culture, and resisting or responding to its conventions. One interesting document of post–true crime is My Favorite Murder and other “comedy murder podcasts,” which, in retelling stories murder buffs have heard on one million Investigation Discovery shows, unpack the ham-fisted clichés of the true-crime genre. They show how these stories appeal to the most gruesome sides of our personalities and address the obvious but unspoken fact that true crime is entertainment, and often the kind that is as mindless as a sitcom. Even more cutting is the Netflix parody American Vandal, which both codifies and spoofs the conventions of the new highbrow true crime, roasting the genre’s earnest tone in its depiction of a Serial-like investigation of some lewd graffiti.

There is also the trend in the post–true-crime era of dramatizing famous crime stories, like in The Bling Ring; I, Tonya; and Ryan Murphy’s anthology series American Crime Story, all of which dwell not only on the stories of infamous crimes but also why they captured the public imagination. There is a camp element in these retellings, particularly when famous actors like John Travolta and Sarah Paulson are hamming it up in ridiculous wigs. But this self-consciousness often works to these projects’ advantage, allowing them to show heightened versions of the cultural moments that led to the most outsize tabloid crime stories. Many of these fictionalized versions take journalistic accounts as their source material, like Nancy Jo Sales’s reporting in Vanity Fair for The Bling Ring and ESPN’s documentary on Tonya Harding, The Price of Gold, for I, Tonya. This seems like a best-case scenario for prestige true crime to me: parsing famous cases from multiple angles and in multiple genres, trying to understand them both on the level of individual choices and cultural forces.

Perhaps the most significant contributions to post–true crime, though, are the recent wave of personal accounts about murder and crime: literary memoirs like Down City by Leah Carroll, Mean by Myriam Gurba, The Hot One by Carolyn Murnick, After the Eclipse by Sarah Perry, and We Are All Shipwrecks by Kelly Grey Carlisle all tell the stories of murder seen from close-up. (It is significant that all of these books are by women. Carroll, Perry, and Carlisle all write about their mothers’ murders, placing them in the tradition of James Ellroy’s great memoir My Dark Places, but without the tortured, fetish-y tone.) This is not a voyeuristic first person, and the reader can’t detach and find joy in procedure; we are finally confronted with the truth of lives upended by violence and grief. There’s also Ear Hustle, the brilliant podcast produced by the inmates of San Quentin State Prison. The makers of Ear Hustle sometimes contemplate the bad luck and bad decisions that led them to be incarcerated, but more often they discuss the concerns of daily life in prison, like food, sex, and how to make mascara from an inky page from a magazine. This is a crime podcast that is the opposite of sensational, addressing the systemic truth of crime and the justice system, in stories that are mundane, profound, and, yes, addictive.

#true crime #adnan syed #media #ethics #The Way We Live Now #culture #andrew jarecki #james ellroy #criminal justice #detective fiction

[maxdark158]

This is chapter two of my fic based on @ozmav ‘s Damian Wayne x Marinette Dupain-Cheng au that I LOVE, please check them out.

Angel in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Part 5 ~ Part 6 ~ Ao3

Demon in Gotham: Part 1 ~ Part 2 ~ Part 3 ~ Part 4 ~ Ao3

Fanart for AiG: Riddler ~ Joker thank you @thegreysman

Please tag me in any fanart you draw for this guys ^^

oooOOOooo

“Marinette, seriously?” The annoyed voice of Marinette’s once-best-friend Alya Cesaire was grating to her now. “You need to stop running away just for attention, it won’t work.”

It had been a long day for Marinette. It started off well, even after being forgotten by her class, because she got to hang out with Damian. But The Riddler kind of spoiled that. After her talk with the police, Damien waited with her for a teacher to pick her up from the station. They parted when her teacher arrived, Marinette promising to text him when she got to her hotel room.

The teacher that picked her up was Professor Mendeleiev. While the science teacher’s strictness had unnerved Marinette for years, lately she had begun wishing she was in her class instead of Ms. Bustier’s. Ms. Bustier’s tactics of being a better example for a bully were starting to wear on her. Professor Mendeleiev wasn’t perfect, but Marinette would have taken being in her class over being in Ms. Bustier’s now.

When the teacher asked why Marinette had been away from the group in the first place, Marinette told her that she had been forgotten by Ms. Bustier and her class. Professor Mendeleiev went silent after that.

The rest of the ride was silent too.

It was silent until Professor Mendeleiev dropped her off at her room where Alya was waiting to rip into her about being attention-seeking and rude.

“Hello?” she sounded angry now. “Are you even listening to me? Do you think if you ignore us we’ll believe you were ever nice again? Lila told us the truth about who you are, you-”

“Alya!” her teacher snapped. “Your classmate was caught in a villain attack today. Leave her alone.”

Alya gaped. “But”

“That was not a request,” Professor Mendeleiev growled. “Do you think you can escape my detentions because we are on vacation?”

Alya squeaked and ran off to her room.

Marinette blinked, not quite sure what just happened. Relief was the cool feeling applied to a headache, stopping the pain.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. Professor Mendeleiev nodded and stalked off, mumbling something about having a long overdue talk with ‘Caline’.

Alya must have gone back to her hotel room, as Marinette didn’t encounter her or anyone else on her way back to her room.

The relief hit again, but the hint of sadness was like mint in her mouth and wetness on her cheek, despite her not actually crying.

It was hard to remember that Alya used to be her best friend. It got harder every time Alya got after her for bullying or lying or anything else that she didn’t actually do. Marinette almost wishes they hadn’t ever become friends, the betrayal would have hurt less.

It seems some wounds take years to heal.

Marinette arrived at her room and unlocked the door with her room key. She entered and immediately flopped on her bed.

“Marinette, are you alright?” she heard Tikki ask.

“I’m just tired,” she mumbled. “I’m more used to akumatized villains, not insane people with riddle obsessions.”

She felt Tikki brush aside some of her hair. “I’m just glad you’re alright. You scared me for a moment, Marinette. I don’t know what I would have done if I lost you.”

Marinette smiled. “Thanks, Tikki.”

“It’s simply the truth! Also, didn’t you tell that boy you would text him?”

Her eyes widened. Marinette rolled over and got her phone out of her purse. “Thanks for reminding me!”

Tikki giggled out a, “no problem,” and rested on Marinette’s stomach.

Angel: I’m at the hotel now.

Damian: That’s good Damian: Did you get in trouble?

Marinette smiled to herself. It felt nice, being worried about… Even if she didn’t want him to worry. But the fact that he cared felt like a warm hug.

Angel: Professor Mendeleiev must’ve been tired or something. Angel: She didn’t leacture

She frowned. That had to be wrong.

Angel: Lecture?

Damian: *lecture

Marinette rolled her eyes. In the two days she had known Damian, she knew he was a stickler for grammar. Though he wasn’t harsh about his corrections, as he knew English wasn’t her first language, it was a tad annoying. Marinette was much better at speaking and reading in English than she was at spelling.

Angel: Quiet, English is hard

Damian: Understandable. Damian: In my original question I meant any of your classmates btw

Angel: btw? Angel: Oh by the way

Damian: yeah

Angel: I’m good at text slang in French, okay

Damian: I don’t doubt you

She rolled her eyes and smiled. Annoying, but the banter was nice. It wasn’t like with Chat Noir when he was trying to flirt with her.

Angel: Anyway Alya tried to bother me but I’m good now Angel: Professor Mendeleiev told her off for bothering me after my ‘traumatic’ encounter with a Gotham villain

Damian: Speaking of, are you SURE you’re alright Angel

Ooh, capital letters. He must be really worried. Guilt rested on her shoulders again on that day.

Angel: I’m fine Angel: I’ve survived akuma for three years, I’m not about to let some riddle fanatic with terrible clothing choices ruin my day

Damian: His clothes are that bad?

Good, subject change. Maybe she can get him to stop worrying.

Angel: Too much green, for one Angel: Green shouldn’t be used in large portions when it’s that bright of a shade Angel: Also the cloth itself was cheap, but the kind of cheap meant to look expensive if you don’t know cloth good

Damian: *well

Marinette smiled. She hoped her little intentional mistake would make him stop worrying.

Angel: Whatever Angel: Also his hat didn’t match the type of suit he was wearing Angel: If he wants to go old fashioned he should at least match the time period Angel: Longer coat, more layers Angel: He is an atrocity

Damian: he is

Angel: If I had time to cry then my tears would had been blood

Damian: *have

“Seriously,” she grumbled to herself. The guilt had long since lifted but Damian’s need for correct grammar was going to drive her mad.

Angel: istg

Damian: It appears you’re learning

Angel: Yepp

Damian: Also the Gotham news posted an article online about you Damian: “Unnamed Teenager From France Holds off The Riddler Until Batman Arrives!”

Angel: Wait what? Angel: But we both held him off?

Damian: I was kind of useless, you did most of the work Damian: I left shortly after you solved his riddle because the Robins had arrived

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. She had been scrolling through the article Damian had mentioned, realizing that it did not have any mention of her throat punching The Riddler. It did say she took him down with physical force, but it was in self-defense and she was okay.

She just didn’t want Damian to find out she punched someone in the throat. It would make him think she was violent and he’d hate her forever and never talk to her again and she’d loose the only friend she’s made in the last three years and-

Her phone, which had fallen asleep, buzzed again.

Damian: You there?

Marinette sighed, mentally reining her anxieties in.

Angel: Yeah. I was just reading the article Angel: The Riddler was bad at hand to hand combat. It was easy to take him down with the practice I have from Paris

Damian: I bet. Damian: It’s getting late, Angel. We should go to bed. Damian: Goodnight

Angel: Goodnight Angel: Also I’ll find a chat name for you soon, promise

Damian: lol okay

Marinette smiled and put her phone away. Hopefully, she would get to spend more time with him tomorrow.

This was day three of their trip to Gotham. The entire trip lasted nine days. She wanted to make the most of her trip by spending time with her friend until she had to leave.

While the thought brought a brief sadness, she put it out of her mind and continued to get ready for bed.

oooOOOooo

Marinette managed to get up on time this morning.

Meaning, she woke up from a nightmare at around four am and couldn’t go back to sleep after that because she started fully sketching out some of her outfit ideas she had yesterday. She even made a few based off the Gotham heroes, coloring those ones in.

Despite all the designing she finished, Marinette was still the first one ready and in the lobby where the class is supposed to meet every morning.

Marinette was wearing her messier clothes today. After yesterday where she confronted The Riddler in leggings, she decided to stick to pants today too. She loved the dress she brought but it would not work if she managed to confront another villain.

Besides, the dress code was more lenient today. Marinette had on a white crop top with her signature flower pattern and dark gray overalls on. She had her hair in a French braid so it was out of her face. Her tennis shoes were the same pink as the flowers and as always, she had her purse for Tikki.

When the teachers came down to wait for the class, they saw Marinette there. Professor Mendeleiev gave her a nod, to which Marinette smiled. Ms. Bustier looked conflicted for a moment before ultimately deciding to sit down away from both her and Professor Mendeleiev.

The class began to filter in. Marinette made sure to stay out of sight from everyone but the teachers. They grouped together, talking about mindless things. Mostly about what they’d do with their afternoon. Today they were going to the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum in the morning, then after lunch the rest of the day was free until 5:30 pm.

Lila arrived last. Marinette knew that she likely did it so everyone noticed her entrance. She also realized that Lila arrived a few minutes before everyone had to get on the busses, so people had time to talk to and about her.

The designer simply tuned the liar out. She didn’t care anymore.

Well, she didn’t until she heard a certain name.

“Damian is such a sweetheart,” Marinette glanced up from her phone. “We might get back together again soon, I’m not sure though. I hope so.”

“I forgot that you’re on and off,” she heard someone else say, though who didn’t matter.

“Did you say Damian?” Marinette asked before she thought out the action. Her voice was loud enough that suddenly everyone was staring at her as if they forgot she was there in the first place.

They likely had.

“Uh, yeah,” Alya scoffed. “Lila and Damian Wayne are an on and off thing. You’d know that if you weren’t skipping the field trip for attention.”

“Alya, it’s alright,” Lila sighed. “We keep it out of the tabloids and Marinette doesn’t like me, it’s not her fault she didn’t know.”

“That sounds like it’s her fault! Marinette just needs to get over herself!”

Marinette was tuning her classmates out. She felt like an idiot. But at the same time, he never told her. He must have had a reason for telling her.

But there was no mistaking it. The Riddler called him, “Wayne.” They met when she was trying to get into Wayne Enterprises. His first name was Damian and he knew the tour guide…

She tuned back into her classmates’ conversation.

“Anyway, Damian and I went and got ice cream last afternoon. That’s why I was gone, you see. He would have walked me back, but we would have attracted a crowd. Plus he got a little chocolate ice cream on his shirt, he’s so messy.”

Marinette closed her eyes. Rage is hot and fiery, her nails dug into her palms.

Calling Lila out does nothing.

But she couldn’t help but remember Damian telling her that chocolate ice cream was among his least favorites when they went to get ice cream yesterday.

And he isn’t messy.

oooOOOooo

Marinette found the museum interesting. It gave her some anxiety, learning about everything villains did to the city was nerve-wracking.

She wondered if there would ever be a Paris Museum for Akuma.

It also gave her some ideas. Learning about the Gotham Hero’s greatest feats and how they accomplished them was eye-opening.

She was doing this whole battling-Hawkmoth-thing wrong! Instead of a case by case akuma battle, which are much less frequent nowadays, she should partner with the police! There were cameras all over Paris and, unlike Kwami, corrupted butterflies appeared on them. Hawkmoth may only be attacking around once a month now, but he still needed to own up to the terror he reigned on Paris and the world.

Marinette felt a little stupid for not realizing all of this before, she realized as she whispered her ideas to Tikki in the bathroom. She could have ended it sooner if she thought to get investigative about her enemy.

But as interesting and terrifying as the museum was, the trip only took the morning. By lunch, her classmates were waiting for the teachers to decide who to take where, as no restaurant had enough room for all of them.

She pulled out her phone and opened her text chat with Damian.

Angel: Kill me now

Damian: What’s wrong?

Angel: We have to all get lunch as a class before I’m free Angel: I’m in the group with Liar Rossi Angel: Death would be sweatier

Marinette mumbled a curse under her breath. She meant sweeter! Stupid autocorrect.

Damian: *sweeter

Angel: Rude

Damian: Anyway Damian: You can’t die yet Damian: We still technically didn’t get ice cream

She managed to smile. Damian made her do that a lot now that she thought about…

Her phone pinged again.

Damian: Also you’re at the Gotham City Heroes and Villains Museum right?

Angel: Yes I am

Damian: I’m nearby

Marinette’s eyes widened. What?

Damian: I can pick you up for lunch

Angel: OMG really? Please do I’d really really like that

Damian: omw

She looked up, seeing that her teachers were still discussing. She walked up to them, waiting until they saw her.

Ms. Bustier did first. “Marinette! What did you need?”

“My friend invited me to eat lunch with him,” she looked at Professor Mendeleiev as she spoke, not Ms. Bustier. “May I go?”

“After what happened yesterday? I don’t thi-” Ms. Bustier was cut off by Professor Mendeleiev.

“Is this the friend you were at the station with?” she asked, voice sharp. Marinette nodded.

Professor Mendeleiev hummed, contemplating. Ms. Bustier gaped at her. “You can’t be considering allowing her to go!” she said, “Not after how mad you got at me-”

“Caline, I got mad at you for forgetting her. Allowing her to go is not the same thing,” Professor Mendeleiev glared at her, “We’re allowing you to go on your own after lunch anyway, as long as everyone has a buddy. Finding you a buddy in this class, however, is likely going to be difficult…”

She trailed off before digging into her bag. “We got trackers for this free afternoon, though we couldn’t afford them for everyone,” she brought out a black bracelet that looked plastic. “This will only give me your general location. We will still have enough for everyone else as long as they’re in pairs. If you take one, I will allow you to go to lunch and such with your friend.”

Ms. Bustier’s brows furrowed. “You’re giving her special treatment? But-”

“Caline, you forgot her twice,” Professor Mendeleiev sounded patient, as if she were an adult talking to a toddler. “Marinette earned this and she will be with a friend from Gotham, something nobody else in this class truly has besides her.”

“This is my class,” Ms. Bustier was beginning to fume. “You accompanied because two teachers were needed, but these are my students-”

“Caline,” Professor Mendeleiev sounded more annoyed. “I am allowing her to go. Since I’ve been teaching for longer and because you told me to hand out the tracking bracelets, my decision overrules yours. Your argument is pointless.”

Marinette stared as Ms. Bustier tried to find words to retaliate with and failed. She took the bracelet from Professor Mendeleiev and thanked her.

It felt nice to have someone stand up for her again.

In the corner of her eye, Marinette noticed Alya walk toward the teachers and her. She looked angry and upset, a face she nowadays wore often around Marinette.

She remembered what she thought last night, about Alya’s betrayal. How it hurt remembering the good times they shared. Marinette took a deep breath.

It still hurt. It still hurt remembering the good times they had as friends, but she had to be fair to herself. She had to remember the bad times too.

She had to remember the times Alya demanded every detail, said friends tell each other everything. She had to remember the times Alya pressured her into things she wasn’t comfortable doing. She had to remember the times Alya took her for granted, the time Alya decided she wasn’t worth as much as a liar.

She has to remember what Alya is doing to her now.

“Where is the liar going now?” Alya scoffed. “Getting permission to run away this time?”

Marinette rolled her eyes and slipped the bracelet on. She would be okay. Alya wasn’t her friend anymore, she had better ones to look out for her.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Alya gaped.

Luckily for Marinette, Alya didn’t have time to think of a response. A car drove up, and Marinette saw Damian wave to her from the backseat. She smiled.

The door was unlocked, so she opened it and got in. She didn’t look back at her classmates faces as the driver, an aged man in a suit, drove away.

“Where would you like to eat, Angel?” Damian asked.

Marinette shrugged. “I’m not sure, I don’t know what’s here.”

Damian frowned. “Angel, you okay?”

That’s when her previous realization hit. He was Damian Wayne, son of Bruce Wayne. He was one of the celebrities Lila liked lying about the most. And he was her friend, currently best friend.

“I’m okay,” she mumbled. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now.”

Damian looked like he wanted to press the issue, but decided against it. He told his butler to take them to a restaurant she didn’t recognize the name of while she took deep breaths. She felt Tikki press gently against her hip, trying to reassure her.

Alya was a bad friend. Marinette wanted to be a better friend to Damian. He already made her so happy! Warm fuzzies and smiled and giggles were rare in the last few years, but she experienced them all with Damian. He kept a secret from her, likely for his own reasons, and she found out what it was behind his back.

Damian deserved better than that.

“I know,” she blurted out. “I know you’re Damian Wayne. I just want you to know that doesn’t change anything. You’re still my friend, and I don’t care who your dad is and who you are.”

Damian gaped at her for a moment before shaking his head. “I’m sorry you had to find out on your own. I should have told you-”

Marinette interrupted, “you didn’t have to. You don’t owe me that.”

He looked confused. She chose to elaborate.

“As a stranger or even a friend, you don’t owe me any details about who you are. Ever,” Marinette told him. “You’re allowed to keep secrets and not tell me things you aren’t comfortable sharing. It isn’t fair of me to demand you tell me everything.”

She was going to be the friend she needed to Damian. It was the least he deserved.

Marinette pushed down any disappointment that came with the word friend, not knowing why it was there. Maybe it was left over from her classmates’ treatment of her.

Damian was staring at her. She wasn’t sure what his expression meant, but it looked… Awed?

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. “I… nobody’s ever said secrets are okay…”

Marinette shrugged. “I can’t help if I feel left out, but forcing you to tell me everything isn’t how friendship is supposed to work. If you don’t want to tell me, it’s okay.”

Damian’s smile was small, but it made Marinette feel warm. Was he the sun?

“Perhaps instead of a restaurant, I can take you both to the mansion for your lunch?” the driver said, his accent different from Marinette’s.

“You sure Alfred?” Damian asked.

She saw his nervousness. “You don’t have to if you aren’t comforta-”

“No, it’s not that,” he assured. “My brothers can be… rambunctious.”

Oh. Marinette smiled. “I can handle them if that’s the only reason you’re nervous.”

Damian thought for a moment before sighing. “Alfred, please talk us to the mansion.”

“My pleasure, Master Damian.”

#marinette x damian #damian wayne #damian wayne au #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #marinette dupain cheng #maribat #daminette #damimari #maridami #alfred #marinette is hurt #she doesn't want damian to be hurt #she is also smart #smart marinette #batbrats #filler chapter #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #batman fanfic

[6ninaph9]

Climbing up the temple (a short sceen)

I’ve been feeling kinda shit about the plot and worldbuilding of my book, so I went back to the reason I write in the first place: the characters.

So here, have some ‘Clementine just being Clementine’, cause writing that makes me happy, and maybe you’ll like it too!

~Nina PH

It was a slow day and that hated it.

For most people, slow days are good in the temple: no battle, no cleaning duty, no exam to study for. While everyone else is laying back and relaxing, I just can't seem to do the same.

I walked to the sleeping quarters through the empty hallway. I don't like hearing my footsteps in the hall in the middle of the day. The day is supposed to be active, the halls buzzing with people. I like the clamor of conversations as people walk by me, of a hundred feet hitting the wooden floor as they all go their own separate way. Today everyone was sitting around in the gardens, talking, eating sugar, and playing card games in small groups, like they themselves were flower bushes growing underneath the cool shadows of the trees. Now there were only two feet in my ears and it was driving me insane.

I entered the sleeping quarters and took in a deep breath of the refreshing air. The windows were partly closed and the blindfolds shut down, keeping the room cool, almost chilly in comparison to the heat of the outside world. It felt alien to step in this secret pocket of existence, like walking into a new undiscovered cave, filled with darkness and mysteries demanding your attention. But no, it was the same old boring sleeping room and my eyes didn't need to wait to get used to the lack of light as muscle memory sat me down on my sleeping mat.

The room was empty, except for me and the sleeping bundle under the blanket. My blanket. I kicked him in a friendly fashion: »Max! Wake up!«

He groaned and kicked me back: »No.«

»Oh come on,« I stole my blanket from him, letting the cold air shake him awake. My plan was unsucesefull: underneath mine, he was still tightly holding onto his own blanket, bringing it over his head to try to escape me.

»Nothing is going on. I want to do something.«

»I'm not stopping you…«

»Let's go spar.«

»No.«

»Max!« I shook him, trying to rip the blanket away from him, but he held on to it like it was his family honor. »You can't just nap through the entire day.«

»Watch me,« he yawned.

He left me no choice: I got up and with my full force half-fell half-jumped on him, shoulder first. Even if this wasn't going to work, the noise he made alone was entertainment enough. It sounded like a deer that swallowed a blader ballon and was trying to vomit it back up. Max did not find it as hilarious as I did.

»How can you be so cruel? To wake me up at such an unhuman hour…« he squeezed his voice from underneath me.

»It's 16:45 and you've been napping for 3 hours.« I got off him, mostly because his knee was sticking into my shoulder blade. Max is a terrible pillow.

He slowly sat up, able to breathe again: »That's still 5 hours too little…« He rubbed his eyes: »Can't you bother Pietar with your boredom?«

»He's busy with work…«

I didn't check in his office before coming to Max. I didn't have to. A beautiful summer day without a single cloud in the sky, perfect to take a break from daily work and hustle? Where else is Pietar going to be but locked up in his office, buried under a mountain of papers he doesn't actually need to file till another month. I'd bet all my money, of which I have non, that his office window is locked closed, making the air inside smell that all too familiar odor of sweat mixing with dust and oily stale ink. I was not going there, no thank you. I was bored, not desperate.

»I'm busy too…« his hand grabbed for the blanket, but mine was faster, throwing the warm fuzzy fabric on the other side of the cold room. He groaned and slumped right back on his matt: »I was having a particularly nice dream.«

»The brunet?«

He smirked: »The ginger one with freckles.«

»Oh, you hoe!«

»That's my middle name, baby.« He threw his arm over his eyes, blocking out the light that wasn't really there: »You can join me. We'll be hoes together.«

I lay down next to him: »As much as I love being a hoe with you, no. I can't just lay around and do nothing. I'm not made like that.«

»Have you ever tried?«

»Why would I try if I already know it sucks?«

He sighed, every air particle escaping him filled with annoyance and disappointment in me: »Than just… do something while doing nothing.«

»… Dude, saying stupid stuff is my thing, not yours.«

»I mean while relaxing occupy your mind with something. Make a plan of how to get Pietar out of his office, draw a map of the temple grounds. At Astis, you love numbers so much, just count to 100 in your head. Most importantly,« his face turned to mine, his eyes slim from sleep: »do it in silence.« And he turned back away from me.

I stared at the ceiling for a while, thinking. No, I wasn't counting to 100! Neither was I planning to drag Pietar out of his office. I've tried it before, but if I haven't managed it in the last 13 years, I wasn't gonna succeed now.

Drawing the map part… That I could get behind. The problem was, a map of what? I already have more than 20 of them. I've drawn the temple gardens, all the floors and rooms, Pietars office alone counted about half of my map collection. There was no place inside the temple walls I haven't sketched and measured and calculated in size. I know every inch of land inside the walls by heart. But… outside the walls…

I stood up over him: »Come on, get up.«

»Hmgg…« he grumbled. How can a human fall asleep so easily?

»Come with me!« I started pulling his arm up.

»Why? What?«

»We're gonna climb.«

»That's… the opposite of what I told you to do!«

»Trust me, you'll like it.«

»There's climbing involved: I will not.«

»You'll still get to sleep.«

He sat up, his eyes skeptical: »If this is a trick, I'm gonna kick you in the kneecaps.«

»Deal!«

I walked to the window, opened them and shoved the blinds up, letting light and heat take over the room. Max very slowly, his feet dragging on the floor, more in bored defiance than actual tiredness, approached me. I jumped on the window sill and slid on the outside wall of the temple, still looking through the window at him: »You coming?«

»… We're climbing on the temple?«

»Yeah.«

»… You lied to me. Give me your kneecaps.«

I laughed: »Come and get my kneecap,« and started climbing up.

The stones were hot, the wall absorbing all the heath and shooting it back into my hands. No one ever climbed in the summertime. No one ever climbed on the temple any time, but even the climbing rocks right outside the temple were in this time abandoned and silent. I presume it's exactly because of the heat of the stone. I never minded it. The walls being hot or freezing cold didn't make it harder, it just made it more interesting. I was already at the next floor by the time Max even got his footing on the outside wall, overanalyzing every next step and position on the stones.

He yelled up at me: »If I fall and die you're gonna have to explain to my parents what at Astis I was doing climbing up a building!«

»You're not gonna fall!« I turned around, waiting for him to catch up. I held myself in place with one hand and foot, letting the other two limbs relax in the open air. The Red Sun shinned harsh on my face but I loved it. The small beads of sweat on my arm disappearing just as quickly as they appeared, stolen away by the still, windless air. My muscles tense and under pressure, held me locked to the wall 15 meters above the dry dirt. If someone were to fall, they'd go even farther, rolling another 30 meters down the steep hill the temple is set on, only stopping when their body would crash in the swamp. They probably wouldn't survive it.

I smirked at the thought. Me? Falling? Yeah right.

Max finally climbed face to face to me. His limbs were almost digging into the walls, arms tense to the point you could see his veins popping out. His face was turned forward with his body shaking at even the thought of moving a centimeter away from the wall. He eyed me up and down and squinted his eyes in annoyance. »You look like a sail on a boat.«

»Thank you.« I knew he didn't say it as a compliment, but what can I say, I enjoyed being better than him at something.

And he wasn't wrong, I was a sail: free in the open air, ready to take on the world and travel to places no human has been before. Or, in my case, just to the rooftop.

»Hey snail, I thought you wanted to go back to sleep quickly.« I climbed on, Max not able to keep up.

He grinned weakly: »I could beat you to the top! If I wanted to…«

»Keep telling yourself that!« I jumped to the next stone that poked out slightly, probably giving Max a tiny heart attack because I was moving so 'carelessly'. I wasn't careless, I just knew how to do it.

Left hand to the left, leg locked to the right, the other one put up- nope, not that stone. »Watch it, this one is shaking!« The stone above? Yes. Past Pietars window, completely shut closed and blinds down – called it! And one more pull up with my right hand and, voila! My butt was on the edge of the roof.

When Max got in reach I offered him a helping hand. He cringed as the sweat of our hands mixed together, his hands shaking from discomfort while I pull him up and next to me. He quickly let go of my arm and wiped it in his shirt, still breathing deeply.

After he caught his breath he looked at the view in front of us: »Wow…«

I smiled and followed his eyes. Green colors, dark and bright and those turning into yellows, covered the land all to the horizon, the fields lined on one side by a thick forest, on the other by the mountain range. We've been to the fields countless times, but being up here, where you could see how far they stretch, in constant motion either by the wind or small animals hiding in the grass, it stopped being just a piece of land to walk on. It was alive and grand and sitting here, I understood why the gods loved our world. One glance at it explained it better than any book or monk could.

A blue stream splits the land in two, the fields of our and of the east temple, and ends up in the small lake in between our and their hill. I didn't bother looking at their side, ours was much prettier. From up here, you couldn't hear the gurgling of the water, but I liked to pretend I did. The thought of going anywhere near that death puddle was deeply disturbing to my stomach. I'd much rather experience the falling-down-while-climbing situation than have to step in a half meter radius of that thing. But the sound of a tiny stream rolling over shinny stones… I've never heard it. And in all of Maxes books, they described it so beautifully.

So I sat on the warm roof tiles, my feet dangling in the air, pretending to enjoy what I imagined the flowing water sounded like.

Max had laid down much further away from the edge, spreading his arms and legs wide, eyes closed, taking in the warmth: »This is nice…«

»Oh, so you might say that the climb was worth it?«

»Your kneecaps are safe,« he smiled: »for now.«

So we spend the slow day on the roof, Max napping and stretching, his skin getting even tanner, if that's even possible, and me enjoying the sight beneath and around me. I tried to take in every detail, to remember distances between landmarks, to calculate what proportions I would choose to fit it all on a piece of paper, yet not making it so small that the charm and complexity of the land would be lost in it.

The Red Sun touched my cheeks, like giving me their blessing to immortalize in ink the world they have created.

I smiled. This will be a fun map to draw.

#NinaPH #Nina PH #TTT #Clementine #mywriting #mybook #Clementine doesn't need food and water to survive #Just climbing and drawing maps

[mychemicalficrecs]

Can you recommend some high school AU frerard or Ray/Mikey fics? :3 thank u

Hi Nonny!

I'm going to make seperate lists for this again. Can't promise the second one will be ready by tomorrow but I'll try ;)

I'm not a big reader of High School AUs, so the second half are fics that looked promising on AO3!

Frank/Gerard High School AUs

In Repair by autoschediastic, 33k, Explicit. "Shit," Frank mutters, and shoves both hands through his hair. He looks around the kitchen like he's gonna find what he should do scratched into the old linoleum, then looks back at the bot. He gnaws on his lip. Fuck it. He already knows what he's gonna do. He's just gotta do it. Getting down on his knees, he braces a hand on the edge of the crate and leans over the bot. It's dressed in a plain white tee and matching drawstring pants like an escaped mental patient. Frank rolls his neck and cracks his knuckles, shaking the ache out of them before carefully laying his palm against its cheek. He's pretty sure his voice is steady when he says, "Activate." Nothing happens. Fucking shitty packaging-- the thing's busted. But Frank keeps his hand where it is, jumping a little when he feels the surge of energy beneath it. The robot's skin goes from room temperature to lukewarm, then warm. Frank watches it open its eyes, the light behind them adjusting until they're a pale sort of brown. It looks at him and asks, "Am I dead?"

Get Naked (I Got a Plan) by autoschediastic, 11k, Explicit. Frank slides his hand all the way up to where Gerard's arm and tentacles fuse at his armpit. The difference between the feel of one beneath his palm and the other is literally the stuff his dreams are made of. His wet dreams.

A State Of Orange by gala_apples, Frank/Mikey, Frank/Gerard, 20k, Explicit. Being a halfling in a red state can sometimes cause issues for Frank Iero. He’s the weakest at Jett Clement High School, and probably the entire state (not counting the meal plans). His moods are oddly stable, as much as he tries to be mercurial. And being able to withstand the sun for up to twenty minutes only allows him more time to be forced into chores. Still, his parents are insane if they think he’s going to be happy about their decision. Frank doesn’t want to move to a Mixed state. How is he supposed to get great friends? How is he supposed to find great food? How is he supposed to have great sex? But Frank doesn’t have a choice. He’s New Jersey bound for the next year, if not longer. He’ll be surrounded by tame vampires who have been nagged out of a sex drive, and humans he’s not allowed to eat. Mixed states suck. Lucky for him, not every person in Jersey sucks.

The Truth Is I'm On My Way by samanthahirr, 6k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank's been drawing on himself since elementary school, up under his sleeves and pant legs where his teachers and classmates won't see; he knows how to color inside the lines. He doesn't need Gerard to do it for him. (A high school AU.)

You Only Hear the Music When Your Heart Begins to Break by Solarcat, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank has high school figured out. His mom has given up arguing about the amount of time he spends in Gerard's basement, and he doesn't actually care if people think it's weird that he and Gerard hold hands in the hallways and go to the bathroom together. The only thing Frank cares about is figuring out why Gerard's suddenly avoiding him -- because what's the point of losing your virginity on Prom Night if you can't tell your best friend about it in the morning?

Smokeless Flame of Fire by tabulaxrasa, 21k, Mature. Frank blinked. "What kind of name for a genie is Gerard?"

to the midnight land by akamine_chan, 24k, Explicit. Being a teenager is hard. Being a Blooded teenager, one with a connection to the Moon and his fur-self, is even worse. He's got to contend with his own hormones, high school, and the fact that he's in love with his best friend. Luckily, Frankie's got the determination to see things through. He's got family, friends, and a community of shifters to lean on, and he's not going to give up. Frankie's not patient, but he's stubborn when he knows what he wants. And he wants Gerard.

Thing-Thing by sinsense, 43k, NC-17. When Gerard signed the admissions paperwork for the Fordhaven School for Boys, he knew he was signing up for four years of sexual frustration. No one was gay at Fordhaven. Gerard was all-too-aware that he would be a virgin until he graduated. In his senior year, though, this stupid gay freshman disproves Fordhaven's straightness, and throws Gerard's entire world off-kilter. Now, in between drawing, avoiding bullies, running an incredibly serious tabletop RP game, failing out of math, and hanging out with friends, Gerard is also busy kind of falling for this asshole who's way too young for him. It's not what he planned on, but it's what's happening. In conclusion: high school sucks.

You'll Always Feel This Way by wakingup, 14k, Not Rated. It's Frank's birthday and he's gonna A) get drunk B) hit on Gerard C) get laid. Yeah, it's definitely going to work out like that. (Spoiler alert: it might not be that easy)

Nothing Comes as Easy as You by rivers_bend, 9k, Explicit. "Um, I've heard, you know, around, that like, there are guys who can get off three times without stopping. And I was, I mean—" god he sounds like a fucking idiot. "Have you ever heard of that?"

Church of Hot Addiction by spleenjournal, 0nlymemories, Frank/Gerard, Frank/Mikey, 36k, Adult. When Gerard Way gets transferred to Our Lady of Peace in Arlington a few weeks into his Senior year, he thinks it's his chance to be cool. Too bad his idea of "cool" is no cooler than it was in 3rd grade, even if there aren't any green tights. (AU of the INO AU, more or less.)

The Marching Band AU by frankiesin, many pairings in a bunch of different works, 150k, General Audiences, Teen And Up Audiences, Mature, Explicit. A bunch of gay teens are in a band and do dumb things while in high school. There will be a lot of pairings, each part can be read without reading the others, and the series is in chronological order.

We're all Okay by rivers_bend, 28k, Explicit. A story in which Frank is not a stalker, Gerard is not a psycho, and Mikeyway is nobody’s boyfriend.

Where Did The Party Go by frenchpirate (Whiskey_n_speed), 16k, Mature. The one where Frank get's a new and nocturnal neighbor, Gerard throws a Halloween party that turns out far from what was expected, Pete wakes up on a strangers couch and Mikey really doesn't want any serenades (but that doesn't mean he isn't getting any).

Miss Congeniality by melusina, 11k, Mature. Gerard pretends to be a girl, Frank and Gerard discover email and Mikey’s good advice goes unheeded.

honey, this mirror isn't big enough for the two of us by orphan_account, 17k, Explicit. You should have raised a baby girl / I should have been a better son. (the unholy union of a high school au and a gender feel)

SKETCH by frnklyiero, 77k, Teen And Up Audiences. "You having a problem with drawing straight?" "I'm having a problem with being straight." Gerard Way happened to be the most fascinating sight in school to Frank Iero perhaps besides Jamia Nestor. Every little detail of his perfect features made Frank itch to sketch them. There are just a few problems: 1) Gerard is probably straight as a ruler, 2) Jamia isn't thrilled that her boyfriend may or may not have been secretly doodling Gerard in his notebook, 3) No matter how much Frank practices, his Gerard sketches still look like eggplants with creepy faces on them.

Save Me (From My Self Destruction) by cyanidepurified, 14k, Teen And Up Audiences. Frank and Gerard are best friends, both are unaware that they're in love with each other. When Frank discovers Gerard's secret, will he be able to save his best friend?

Speeding in a School Zone by 1001cranes, languisity, 16k, Teen And Up Audiences. High school AU where Frank and Gerard are awkward, Pete is romantically confused, Patrick owns, and Bob is a ninja. Pete, the first time we met you proposed to me. I don’t think your heterosexuality was ever all that secure.

The Chasing of Moons by Helena_Hathaway, 110k, Explicit. The biggest dilemma in all of this is that Frank slept with his future husband. Now Frank’s just got to make sure that the future with him stays intact, but it’s not so easy when present day Gerard seems to hate his guts.

Early Sunsets Over Monroeville by FedeLove96, 11k, Explicit. Frank Iero was a junior when he fell in love with Gerard Way, but their love story was just at the beginning.

A Case of Unknown Identity by Helena_Hathaway, 44k, Explicit. Frerard High School AU. Frank is a teenager with only a few friends, one of whom is a charismatic guy who is just like Frank. He might even be falling for the guy, but the only problem is that he’s just a username on a website without a face or a name. The guy goes by 'Watchman' and he’s perfect in Frank’s eyes, he doesn’t even need to meet him to know he’s amazing. Frank also deals with bullies which makes it hard for him to hold onto friends, but things start to become better after he befriends the antisocial kid Mikey, and realizes that Watchman might just go to his school. Watchman might also know a little more about Frank than he’s letting on.

But The Pages Are All Torn and Frayed by blindlyseeking (orphan_account), 55k, Mature. Basically, this is based off of the music video for “I’m Not Okay” and it also includes (but is not limited to) gratuitous mentions of a drunken fascination with a lamp, one evil lacrosse team, two breakdowns in a bathroom, grandmothers with green hair, a couple bruises, and a whole lot of revenge. Enjoy!

#fic rec list #frank/gerard #frerard #high school au #alternate universe

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Lost one sibling, gained four more; Queen x teen reader pt.1

*Author's note*

Can this be true? Two updates in one day?! Well you better damn BELIEVE IT MY PEOPLE!!! I just got this request FINALLY done after working non-stop when I could and finally I had time to just sit down and finish it. So I'd love to thank the requestor for being SOOO patient. And yes this request is VERY long so this is just Part one, pt.2 will be posted immediately after this so just hang tight my darlings :)

So warnings include: INSANE FLUFF, cancerous sickness (leukemia), some angst (but not in the part but buckle up for pt.2), and the lovely and nasty Queenies :) Hope you all enjoy this fic as much as you've enjoyed the last one :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural

@plethora-of-things

@ixchel-9275

@waddles03

@geek-and-proud

@platawnic

@queendeakyy

@coolcxt

______________________________________________________________

*Tokyo, Japan 1974*

Being here in Tokyo, Japan has been such a thrill. Even though the boys weren't overly popular like the Beatles or Elton John just yet back home in England, at least here in Japan they've greeted them like royalty. There were screaming fans everywhere to greet us at the airport holding up pictures, drawings and signs welcoming the guys to their home country.

The boys had a press conference earlier today and now we were in a special garden just behind the Tokyo tower for the tea ceremony. It was such a beautiful day for such a ceremony and the cherry blossoms were in full bloom.

As I looked at the boys I could tell they were extremely happy to be here. I looked down at my art book and went back to sketching the boys who were all sitting along the blanket holding their Japanese teacups. Making sure to get each detail of each of their features, and the last detail like the wind blowing their hair down just right.

Oh I should introduce myself; my names (y/n) (l/n). I had gotten a job being an assistant to the band's lawyer Jim Beach just before Queen began recording their 3rd album "Sheer Heart attack". Since joining the boys over a year ago when I was just 16 years old, they have become like a second family to me.

And it's exactly what I needed because—well I've been dealing with some hardships in my family as of late for the past few years now, so being with the guys has really helped brighten my day.

As I watched the boys play with their gifts given to them by the Japanese fans and giving them a recorded message, curtesy of the Japanese press that had joined us along with the ladies who help run the tea ceremonies for only the elite politicians of Japan.

God were they ever silly, Roger photobombing behind in almost every message, Deacy being a secret cheeky guy, Freddie interrupting Roger's greeting, and Brian stepping in when he felt like it during Fred's message. I continued my outline of the boys on the blanket with the Tokyo tower in the background, when I felt something touch behind my ear.

"A blossom for our blossom." I softly grinned and turned around to see Freddie and Deacy standing behind me. I lifted my hand to see just what he had done but he told me, "No, no darling don't touch it. Deacy darling, take a picture of us two."

I blushed and tried to bury my face into my hands.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no love not this time. You've been avoiding all pictures ever since we got here. I deserve at least one with you in it for myself." Deacy said as Freddie pulled me close onto his lap and leaned his head against mine.

"You guys are nuts, you know that?"

"But you love us dear." Freddie said as he gave my temple a quick peck.

"Yeah, guess I do."

"Alright you two look this way." Deacy said as he prepped his camera. We turned to face Deacy and I wrapped my arms around Fred's neck and his arms went around my waist as we leaned our heads against each other's. Deacy got in a few pictures and he said. "Beautiful."

"Tell me we can see the blossom in her hair Deacy."

"Yep, got a clear picture of that." I gently removed the twig from my hair to see a multiple line of cheery blossoms. I smiled and that's when Fred grabbed my art book.

"Working on some new sketches darling?"

"Yeah, Japan's definitely given me some beautiful inspiration. But most of it is still a work in process, so no lookies."

"Aww c'mon dear let me have a sneak peek, please? From one designer to another?"

"No not even if you were my professor Freddie."

"Oh you better hand over the sketch book (Y/n) darling, if you know it's good for you." He playfully threatened. I gripped my book tightly to my chest and that's when he said. "Fine, you leave me no choice. Roger!"

"Shit no!" I took off running and before I even knew it, Roger quickly swooped in and swung me around and he said.

"Might as well give up lovie, you know it's useless to get out of my grasp." He emphasized his point by nuzzling my head like a cat and peppering my face with slobbery kisses.

"Eww Rog! Cut it out!!" I tried to escape his grip but as always it was pointless to escape the arms of Roger Taylor. He kept peppering kisses all over my face, even poking me in the sides slightly tickling me till the grip on my notebook was just enough for it to fall.

Deacy caught it and handed it to Fred.

"Thank you my darlings."

"Deacy, Rog, you both are on the official hate list. I no longer like you two." I huffed.

"Aww, that hurts poppet, that really hurts." Deacy mocked using the puppy dog eyes on me that he knew I couldn't resist.

"After all we've been through (n/n) you'd just dump me like that?" Roger faked cried.

"You are such a drama queen Rog." He grinned and playfully ruffled my hair and that's when Freddie said.

"Ohh (y/n) darling. These are—there's not even a word that can describe what I'm looking at. The realism is uncanny down to the last detail. You even got Brian's hair right and not even I can do that."

"I'll admit, even though I'm no artist that these pictures look like a photograph being developed. You're truly talented (y/n)." Deacy praised me as he looked over Fred's shoulder. Brian soon came up and he said.

"I must admit Fred's right. Every hair detail for all of us is down to the straight detail. Do you—think I could get a signed copy of this?"

"Not if I take one first Brian." Roger spoke up.

"I swear darling, you should go to the university I went to; Ealing Art college. They'd be soo lucky to have you."

"Well.....I mean they're okay but I don't think they're worthy of that university." I muttered.

"Don't be so modest darling, I'll even give you a recommendation. As an alumni I can have the rights to help you get in." he decreed.

"Well I'll—I'll think about it Freddie. Right now I just want to get through secondary school and graduate from that." After that conversation, the five of us continued to have a fun time in the Japanese garden.

After the tour in Japan, I arrived back in London and as the guys were piling in the cab Roger said.

"C'mon love let's go."

"Actually I promised my mum that I'd wait here for her. She said she was gonna take me home."

"You sure?" asked Brian.

"Yeah, she might be waiting outside right now. You guys go on ahead I'll see you guys next week."

"Alright, thanks for coming with us love."

"Thank you guys for inviting me. I had a wonderful time."

"You always make our tours and trips more memorable (y/n) dear. Drive safe." He came up and kissed my cheeks and hugged me. I hugged each of my boys and they piled into the cab waving goodbye to me. I blew them a kiss goodbye and they took off in the cab.

About five minutes after they left, my mom's van pulled up. I smiled at her and picked up my luggage and headed towards the car. I placed them in the backseat and I hugged my mum.

"Did you have fun love?"

"Ohh Japan was so beautiful, I wish you and Kay could've been there to see it."

"I'm sure your sister would've loved to have gone with you."

"How—how has she been?"

"Well we—had a bit of a scare just the other week, but she's stable now."

"What? What happened to her?! Why didn't you call me?"

"I tried but each time I did no one was answering. Plus with the time difference and this internship I didn't want you distracted."

"Mum, if something happens to Kaylee, I deserve to know." She cupped the side of my face and said.

"You're right I'm sorry. Do you wish to see her?" I nodded and said.

"I still gotta give her that gift I promised her." My mum shifted the car into drive and drove us out of the airport to London hospital.

Once we arrived at the hospital, my mum checked us in and we headed towards my sister's room on the 5th floor. Now you remember me mentioning about the family turmoil right? Well it all has to do with my bestest friend in the whole wide world, my older sister Kaylee. See about 4 or 5 years ago we noticed how she'd always get high fevers and suddenly seemed to be losing weight.

At first I thought she was going anorexic but when she passed out and my mum and I saw the bruises forming on her arms, we immediately rushed her over here to the hospital where they diagnosed her with acute myeloid leukemia.

It devastated the whole family and it really began to take a toll on my mum and now we're hardly able to afford my sister's medical bills to pay for all the chemo she has to go through. That's why I got the job with Jim in the first place.

Any checks I get from him, go straight to my sister. Not my college fund. In fact I'm not even going to college, cause I want to continue to fund for my sister's health, and finally get her the cure she deserves.

When we got to her room, there she was lying on her bed, beanie on top of her head to cover her bald head. She turned over to me and smiled tiredly.

"Hey (y/n)." I smiled and rushed over to her and hugged her without hurting her. "How was Japan?"

"It was beautiful. Maybe once you're out and better we can take a trip there."

"I hope so."

"Oh hey, I got you what you've been asking for." I went into my bag and pulled out a poster of the Queen 2 poster that had all the guys' signatures on them. I had asked them while we were in Japan if they could sign this for me. Easily able to trick them, I told them to write it for Kay, telling them that it was a nickname of sorts.

"Oh my god." She squealed softly as she took the poster in her hands and looked at it. See she's the reason why I got into Queen. Since she's two years older than me, she first heard about the first Queen album and kept playing it on repeat.

Liking the music I was hearing, she gave me a brief education on Queen and ever since then, we've been fangirls of Queen ever since. They're music has really helped my sister a lot especially since her leukemia has seemed to be getting progressively worse in the past year.

"Thank you (y/n). You are so lucky that you get to work with them."

"Well it's mostly just doing stuff for their lawyer. I don't actually help make the songs."

"Still, you're living every girl's dream right now at the chance of even being close to them. Are they nice?"

"Oh Kay, nice doesn't even begin to describe them. They're so sweet and down to earth. Cheeky at times especially Roger and Freddie, but they are all so supportive and treat me like I'm a part of their little family."

"I'm glad they're treating you right." I then showed her some of the pictures that I had drew while I was there and some of the photos I took. "God (y/n). I envy you for your drawings. And the fact that you were in Japan. You know I always wanted to go there."

"Well—maybe when you get out, we can take a trip there." Unaware of my mum's solemn attitude, my sister smiled and said.

"Yeah. Maybe we can make it just the two of us squirt." She playfully shoved my head, our friendly little gesture of affection since we were kids.

"Hey I'm 2 years younger than you."

"Still a squirt compared to me." She teased.

After about a week of being back home, I went between my final few weeks of home schooling, the studio and the hospital. Right now I was sitting with my sister, the two of us having the boys' "Sheer Heart attack" album playing in the background as my sister and I were chatting away.

"Okay so FMK; Paul McCartney, David Bowie or Elton John." I asked my sister.

"Oh Goddamnit (n/n) why make me choose those three. I love all of them!" she whined.

"Cause I'm evil like that. No c'mon you made me have to kill Brian the last time so this is payback."

"Okay, okay. So.....ugh I hate you. Okay I would marry Elton, fuck Paul and I'm sorry David. God I hate you so much!"

"Haha!"

"Well don't let David hear you say that darling." Oh god it—it can't be. We suddenly looked up and there stood Brian, Freddie, Deacy and Roger.

"Oh my god what are—what are you guys doing here?"

"You left your journal at the studio last night. We called your mum to see if we could give it to you at the house but she told us you were at the hospital." Answered Deacy as he held up my art journal.

"At first we got worried that something bad had happened to you, but then she explained to us what was going on." Continued Roger.

"So you must be the real Kay." Freddie pointed towards my sister.

"Guys I'm—I'm sorry I tricked you, I just....."

"It's alright love. There's no need to explain. It's sweet you got something for your sister after all you've done for her. But we figured maybe a visit from the real band might make her day a bit better." Brian said with a soft smile.

"I—I....." Kaylee started as the boys all came in and sat around us.

"So Kaylee darling, which of our three albums is your favorite?" asked Freddie.

"Uhh well I—it's hard to pick but I guess your recent album Sheer Heart attack is probably my favorite."

"Do you have a favorite song from the album?" asked Brian.

"Oh god uhh—can't I say I love them all? It's so hard to pick a favorite song of yours."

"That's understandable." Replied Deacy.

For the rest of the time, my sister got to ask the guys so many questions about how their musical processes, how they choose which lyrics work the best, how the arrangement works when performing, how they all got together, everything she had been dying to know since she was a music nut.

And bless the boys they answered all her questions no matter how ridiculous or embarrassing they were. Soon a nurse came in to tell me that visiting hours were over.

I hugged my sister goodbye and even the guys gave her a hug and kiss goodbye, which made her heart meter skyrocket, especially when she got a kiss to the cheek from Deacy.

I walked out with the guys and we all piled into the car and I said to them.

"Thanks you guys."

"For what lovie?" asked Roger.

"For—being nice to my sister. You four.....have made her happier than my mum and I have seen her in years since she's had to go back and forth between home and the hospital."

"You're family to us (n/n). And if we could give a little bit more back to you, it's always worth it. We're honored that you let us in on this personal matter of your life. Thank you for letting us have your trust." Said Brian.

"Just—promise me that none of this gets leaked out."

"Don't be ridiculous dear. We wouldn't dare proclaim this secret of yours out to the public. Your sister's secret heath crisis is safe with us." Freddie said as he stroked down my hair. I smiled and thanked them once more.

One year later in 1975 I was with the boys, Mr. Reid, Paul Prenter and my boss Jim Beach. We were currently in Ray Foster's office waiting for Freddie to arrive for the meeting of the next hit album. I leaned my chin against my palm as I drummed against the armrest of the chair I was sitting in.

Finally Freddie walked in greeting us with a hello.

"You're late." Said Mr. Foster.

"Am I?" questioned Freddie.

"Saved you a seat." Paul said as he gestured at the chair I was sitting at. He then glared down at me ordering me to move. I sat up but then just before I could walk away to stand beside my boss, I was pulled onto the couch and saw that it was Roger who had pulled me in to sit on his lap. He winked at me and placed a quick peck on my forehead as Mr. Reid introduced my boss to Ray Foster.

"You must stop calling him that." Freddie said as he lit himself a cigarette.

"That's his name." said Mr. Reid.

"No we cannot keep calling him Jim Beach. No that's absurd not to mention unspeakably boring." He breathed in a quick drag before proclaiming. "Miami. From now on; I dub thee, Miami Beach." My boss chuckled then said a quick little teasing joke of Miami Beach.

Truthfully I liked it, hopefully I can have the honor of calling him that one day but for now I'll just settle on Mr. Beach as I have been referring him as.

"Right now that everyone's got an acceptable name let's get to it. Look; we just really need something special. More hits, like "Killer Queen", only bigger."

"It's not bloody widgets we're making. We can't just reproduce Killer Queen." Said Roger as Freddie sat up and walked towards Ray's record player taking out a record from his bag.

"No. We can do better." Said Freddie as he placed the record on the vinyl and turned it on. He lifted the needle and placed it at a specific point and soon coming out of the speakers was the famed song from Carmen. I grinned and as Freddie gracefully walked around moving his finger around to the tun, Mr. Foster bluntly stated.

"It's opera."

"Opera!" exclaimed Mr. Reid.

"Opera." Echoed Paul.

"Ahh there seems to be an echo in here." Deacy stated which made me choke out a laugh. As the song continued, when it got to the big crescendo part of the song, Freddie went all out waving his arm in tune before on the final note, slamming his hand down on Foster's desk. He almost couldn't contain his excitement as I chuckled softly.

Brian, Rog and Deacy were also in tune to the idea as they with less enthusiasm as Freddie but the same interest followed the next crescendo of the choir. Freddie turned the volume down as Brian said.

"See we don't want to repeat ourselves. The same formula over and over."

"Formulas are a complete and utter waste of time." Freddie stated bluntly.

"Formulas work. Let's stick with the formulas. I like formulas." Mr. Foster said.

"We'll call the album......A Night at the Opera." Hmm after a Marx brother's film. Sounds interesting.

"Are you aware that no one actually likes Opera."

"I like it." I said to myself, but I guess it was loud enough because Mr. Foster looked right at me through his shades and asked skeptically.

"Do you?"

"I do as well." I heard my boss say. I looked at him and he gave me a slight nod. God he was such a cool boss.

"No don't misunderstand darling, it's a rock and roll record. With the scale of opera. The pathos of Greek tragedy, the wit of Shakespeare, the—unbridled joy of musical theatre. It's a musical experience. Rather than just another record, something for everyone something—something that will make people feel belongs to them. We'll mix genres, we'll cross boundaries, we'll—we'll—we'll speak in bloody tongues if we want to."

"There-there's no musical ghetto that can contain us." Proclaimed Roger.

"That's it." Freddie pointed towards Roger.

"No one knows what Queen means because it doesn't mean one thing." Deacy pointed out.

All was quiet, man I have a feeling that this album was gonna be the one that would put Queen on the map of the entire world, that after this they were gonna change the name of music forever.

"What do you think John?" Foster asked Mr. Reid.

"I—agree with the band."

"Of course you do." He then turned towards me and asked, "How about you uhh—" I was shocked that he wanted my opinion. I looked to the guys and they gave me an encouraging nod.

"(Y/n). Well—fortune favors the bold, does it not?" I felt Roger pat my shoulder. Freddie then leaned against Foster's desk as he said.

"Surely a man of your—unique taste. Isn't afraid of a little risk?" Foster debated before finally saying.

"Please don't make me regret this."

"You're fun." Freddie pointed out with a grin.

After the meeting, Jim called me into his office and I said as I peeked into it.

"You wished to see me sir?"

"Yes c'mon in (y/n). Have a seat." I took a seat in front of his desk. "Alright (y/n), now it's come to my attention that since you and the boys have gotten so close with each other since you started working here, I feel it's best that since I can't go with them to Rockfield due to my legal matters here as their lawyer, that I'm electing you to go with them to keep an eye on them."

I was flabbergasted. Me? Go with them to Rockfield studios?

"M—Mr. Beach....."

"Miami." Wow he did he really just ask me to call him that. "Freddie's insisted that you refer to me as that from now on." Ahh that Freddie Mercury.

"Miami. I mean it's an honor but I—I don't think I can go away for that long. I mean....."

"Please (y/n). You know as well as I do that Paul has no good intentions when it comes to Queen." That I do. Ever since working with the boys, I've had a sickening feeling about Paul Prenter. There was just something about him that felt—slimy, ill, almost like a virus.

"Yeah."

"There's no other person I would trust more to go with the boys to the farm. Plus they all believe that you should go with them anyway so it's out of my hands either way."

"I'll think about it."

"Just make sure you tell them in two days' time when they leave for the recording." I nodded and stood up. "Oh wait, one more thing. Your paycheck." He then took out his checkbook and wrote down my pay for the 2 weeks. I thanked him but when I looked down, my eyes widened.

"Wait uhh—Miami. This....this is double the normal amount you pay me."

"I know."

"I agreed to be paid 500 pounds."

"It's come to my attention there's some financial struggle you're going through. The boys wouldn't explain it in full detail but they made me aware that you were in dire need of it. Plus I know they can be a lot to handle, so you deserve 1000 anyway." I looked down but couldn't help the small smile across my face.

"Thank you—Miami." He smiled and nodded at me and I left his office with my raised paycheck. As I walked across the hall, I saw the boys go from the snooping position to trying to act nonchalantly, like they weren't spying on me. "I know you four had something to do with this." I said raising my check.

"We have no idea what you're talking about (n/n)." said Brian as he looked over his six-pence coin that served as his guitar pick.

"So you're coming with us right?" asked Freddie.

"I—I'll get back to you on that. I—I need to talk to Kay about it."

"I'm sure she'll let you come with us. C'mon love just say you'll be coming with us." Roger said as he came up and wrapped his arms around me.

"Besides you'll be much better company than Prenter. I'll go mad if I have to see him every day while we're there." Said Deacy.

"Exactly Deacy!" agreed Roger.

So that night after work, I was in Kaylee's room and I told her about what I was going to do for the summer and she was psyched for me.

"I say you go!" she proclaimed.

"But what about you?" I asked. She reached over and took my hand and she said.

"You've been doing too much for me. You've always put me over yourself. And this is your last chance to be a free kid before you start thinking about college. So please for my sake go with them. If not I'll never let you live it down. Ever."

"Okay, okay. I'll give Fred a call tomorrow and tell him."

"Call him tonight."

"Fine. And you're sure you'll be fine."

"Yes. I've got mum to look after me. And I expect new drawings, pictures and lots of stories from you when you get back."

"I promise Kay, thanks girl." She smiled as I leaned forward and we hugged each other.

In two days, the guys picked me up right at 4am on the dot so that way we'd get there by sunrise to the farm. Deacy put my bags in the trunk while I hugged and kissed my mum and sis goodbye.

"Now be sure to be good for these boys (y/n)."

"I will mum. Promise me to keep me updated on everything?"

"You know me, I'll be calling you every night." I smiled and separated from my mum before finally standing before my sister.

"Don't do anything insane till I get back." I told her. She smiled and scoffed playfully.

"How can I? You're taking all the insanity with you." I grinned back at her and the two of us embraced each other. "Have fun tigress."

"Be strong lioness."

"Oh come on let's get a move on! Anymore wasted time here and we'll be late!" I heard Paul cry out.

"Piss off Prenter! Let her say goodbye to her family." Brian sneered.

"Go on, don't want you to get into trouble." Kay said as we separated. I waved bye to them one last time and I got into the car with Rog and Deacy and soon we drove off.

"Since it'll be a long drive and it's still pretty early, why don't you try and go back to sleep (y/n)?" suggested Deacy. I nodded and leaned my head back against the car, but Deacy offered his shoulder for me to sleep on. I took his offer and in his playful jealous tone, Roger spoke up.

"What about me?"

"You fidget around too much on long car rides." I moaned tiredly.

"Why you little—"

"Face it Rog, she loves me more than you do when it comes to sleeping buddies. Isn't that right love?"

"Yeah." I heard Rog huff but then he said.

"Well at least I provide the best blankets." He emphasized that point by draping his fur coat over my shoulders as a blanket.

"Won't deny that though. You both take such good care of me."

"Only the best for you love." I nuzzled into Deacy's shoulder and exhaled tiredly through my nose and began to fall back asleep.

#bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody imagines #bohemian rhapsody movie #bohemian rhapsody imagine #bohemian rhapsody x reader #roger taylor #freddie mercury #john deacon #brian may #queen #queen fanfic #queen fanfiction #queen imagine #queen imagines #queen x reader #queen x reader fluff #freddie mercury x reader #rami malek!freddie mercury x reader #rami malek!freddie mercury #freddie mercury x teen reader #brian may x reader #brian may x teen reader #gwilym lee!brian may #gwilym lee!brian may x reader #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x teen reader #ben hardy!roger taylor #ben hardy!roger taylor x reader #joe mazzello!john deacon x reader #john deacon x reader

[dcmaurys]

i picture it, soft (and i ache)

or, lucas is in love with eliott. it takes eliott a while to figure it out. | (1.5k), ao3

“i think i might like her, lu.”

whenever eliott meets someone new, lucas is the first person to know.

this time, it’s a girl who lent eliott her tattered copy of a salinger book a month ago. lucas remembers eliott bounding up behind him, eyes bright and hopeful, telling him about the girl with pretty eyes and a smile like sunshine.

see, eliott has always been hopelessly, hopelessly romantic. (this starry-eyed boy with eyes that turn into half-moons when he smiles.)

he has these grand ideas about what love is and what love should be, sticky-sweet, naïve, and endearing, punctuated by forlorn sighs and wistful eyes.

he’s going to break lucas’ heart one day.

“i’m gonna ask her out.”

lucas’ head whips up at the words. he finds eliott worrying his lip with his fingers, eyes so, so blue in the lowlight. lucas’ hands might shake a little when he reaches up to squeeze eliott’s arm, but he smiles just the same. “that’s. that’s great, eliott.”

he feels the tired brag of his heart in his chest. it’s fine. he’s fine.

–

lucas thinks it might be in his best interest to avoid eliott for a bit.

things have been going really well with him and lucille, and while it makes lucas happy to see his best friend constantly smiling and laughing, he isn’t going to lie and say it doesn’t kill him.

he isn’t going to lie and say he doesn’t wish it was him that eliott came home to, sometimes.

in the tv shows lucas watches, pining fruitlessly is romanticized so much, you wouldn’t think it’d be this painful. lucas has lived through it enough to know that it doesn’t get any better, really. it doesn’t fuel or motivate him, doesn’t make him pour himself into his school work in an effort to bury the hopeless feeling.

it just hurts.

so lucas slips away, gradually. enough that eliott doesn’t notice it, the first few weeks. it’s self-preservation, really. it’s self-care.

–

eliott: hi lu

eliott: i know you’re probably busy with school so sorry if im bothering you

eliott: just. i miss you a lot

eliott: text me back sometime yeah? just so i know you’re alright

–

eliott’s waiting for him when lucas gets out of biology, a couple of days later. eliott’s eyes are trained on the ground, his fingernails bitten raw, and lucas wants to reach out and touch so badly that he aches with it. eliott’s eyes meet his before he can give it a second thought.

when he steps towards lucas, it’s slow. tentative. his smile doesn’t reach his eyes and lucas misses the warmth of it—how, if genuine, it’d turn the cold blue of eliott’s gaze into crinkly, crescent moons.

“hi,” lucas says. his voice is quiet and it breaks a little.

“hey, stranger.”

there’s a teasing lilt to eliott’s voice–one that’s gone the second he scans lucas’ features. it’s enough to make lucas feel bad, almost, for not smiling back. he hates when eliott turns unsure of himself like this.

“are things alright?” and, right. eliott’s definitely nervous. the tone of his voice is enough for lucas to look up at him, wide-eyed.

it hurts when he’s met with the way eliott’s hair turns into a soft halo around his head in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

it hurts because he’s beautiful, even when he’s breaking lucas’ heart.

“is—is your mom okay?”

“mhm,” lucas nods and looks away again, stares at the scuffed white of his sneakers. “i’ve been visiting her a lot. she’s doing really good.”

“that’s really—that’s great, lucas. i’m glad.”

he hears eliott heave out a sigh of relief, and his heart twinges at the sound of it, his fingers itching to reach out and clutch at his chest like some lovesick fool.

eliott, oblivious as he is, is earnest enough to ask about lucas’ mom before anything else.

lucas misses him so much he could scream.

there’s a pause in their conversation that lucas is grateful for—a pause lucas wishes would last longer then it does. eliott breaks it after a moment, voice hesitant and soft.

“are we okay?”

and he sounds heartbroken, is the thing. and lucas is, too.

he gathers up all the courage he can muster to look at him one more time, nod absent and smile small. “yeah, eliott. we’re okay.”

–

a week later, lucas finds eliott pacing in front of the door to lucas’ apartment complex, phone in his hand. lucas freezes at the sight of him, brows furrowed, lips bitten red.

eliott doesn’t see him. he’s too engrossed in his phone to look at anything else. lucas watches from afar as eliott’s fingers falter just before his thumb presses a button, watches as eliott’s eyes close out of frustration, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

when he finally presses call a few moments later, lucas feels his own phone buzz in his hand, and.

it’s him eliott’s calling.

he’s too confused by the principle of it that he lets the call go to voicemail, absently, stupidly. when he looks back up, he sees eliott’s face crumple at the rejected call. he watches as eliott closes in on himself, little by little, shoulders hunched and fingers shooting up to worry his bottom lip.

and, like. lucas isn’t sure if he likes this–likes the way eliott’s gone and made himself small, over lucas, of all people.

before he knows it, he’s bounding up the sidewalk, gathering eliott’s entirely too tall body into his arms, because he can’t help it, really. one sad look on eliott’s face and lucas is ready to spread himself thin, ready to crumple into a heap at eliott’s feet.

“lucas,” eliott mumbles, breathless.

slowly, his arms spider around lucas’ torso, warm and familiar enough that lucas feels himself burrow into it. lucas folds into him because it’s all he knows to do. it’s all he ever will if he could.

“i was about to call you.”

lucas pulls away, thumb running circles into the crook of eliott’s arm. “yeah?” he says, dumbly.

he’s a little embarrassed by the softness in his own voice—knows eliott has definitely noticed it with the way his face eases into a smile, eyes soft and helplessly fond. “yeah. i was going to tell you—i think i figured it out.”

lucas’ brows furrow, head tilting a bit. “figured what out?”

“i drew lucille something a few days ago. she kept bugging me about the sketches i have on my walls, asking if i’d ever draw her someday. so i drew her a fox—because foxes are clever and quick on their feet like her, you know?”

the mention of lucille’s name makes lucas’ heart close in on itself like a fist, but eliott goes on, eyes unreadable, grip on lucas firm like an anchor.

“she uh. she hated it. she kept telling me she didn’t get it. i guess she wanted me to make this hyper-realistic drawing of her or something, and i—“

“i remembered the first time we hung out, you know? you asked me what i would draw you as and i almost drove myself insane thinking about the answer. then i gave you this drawing of a hedgehog, because your hair has a life of it’s own, really, like a hedgehog’s spikes, and then you gave me this, like. this huge smile, like it was the best thing you’ve ever seen. like it was something out of the louvre instead of a badly drawn sketch on the back of an old math test.”

eliott is rambling. lucas’ mouth is dry. “eliott, i don’t—“

“i’m saying you get me, lucas. you’re so patient with me, and you actually care about the shitty drawings i make, and you’re so fucking gorgeous, everything about you, really—and i. it took me a drawing of a fucking fox to realize, but i really, really like you, lucas. i like you so much.”

and lucas—surely, lucas is dreaming. because he’s wished for so long that this would happen, would drive himself crazy dreaming about something half as much as whatever this is, right now.

“lucas?” eliott laughs nervously, eyes imploring, and earnest, and so, so blue. “please say something. i’m dying here.”

lucas surges up to kiss him before he can say anything else.

see, eliott has always been hopelessly, hopelessly romantic.

he has these grand ideas about what love is and what love should be, sticky-sweet, naïve, and endearing, punctuated by forlorn sighs and wistful eyes.

but when lucas laughs into the kiss, their teeth knocking together, urgent, and messy, and so fucking perfect eliott could die, eliott thinks, yeah.

maybe he’s just hopeless for this boy.

#skam france #elu fic #elu #ok #for some reason the original post of this just. went missing? #which makes me really sad but what can you do #i'm posting this again just cos i physically want this to be in my blog still #but you can find it on ao3 too #writing

[identityexcavationstation]

The High Fidelity Remake is Good and my Identity is Irreversibly Linked to Music Consumption

Hi! So, I’m kinda insane about playlists.

This year I’ve made a lot of them. They’ve been short and snappy on index cards, scanned and pasted in a book and uploaded to the internet. (I’ve really fallen in love with index card playlists and they’re my thing now and I think everyone should do them always and forever.) They were easy to churn out as a retrospective exercise because the music I listened to as a teenager really defined my high school experience. Also, I have most of my favorite songs from that period in a very dramatic playlist I started in 2014 so it was really a game of copy-and-paste. 

Making these smol boys in batches has been a really peculiar experience because for years now, I’ve only made one playlist at a time. In my second semester of college, I’d officially burned myself out listening to only CHVRCHES for three months and began venturing elsewhere. (Don’t get me wrong, CHVRCHES absolutely bangs, but you can only listen to “Never Ending Circles” so many times before getting seasick.) All of the random songs I was listening to made me feel kinda hazy and purple, like I’d done all of this before. So I made a playlist full of them and called it “Deja Vu.”

I added to it all semester, and then suddenly it was summer and I didn’t feel purple and hazy anymore⁠—everything was blue and crisp on the way to South Haven as my friend blasted “Settle Down” by Kimbra in her beat-up Honda. So I started a new playlist and named it the first word that popped into my head: “Roots.”

Using Deja Vu as a rubric, I developed some ground rules for the playlists I would go on to create. They are pretty nonsensical but also exceedingly firm because if I don’t make rules for every area of my life I feel like I’m falling into a deep and limitless void. Health! Anyway, the rules are:

The playlist’s title has to be a short noun (seven letters maximum).

This has since transformed into a noun that is also a verb.

To generate a title, I ask myself what short word I would use to describe the phase of life I’m currently in. The answer comes quickly and reflexively, and I choose the very first word I think of.

One song per artist, no repeats!

Exceptions are made for artists who are featured on a track.

There have been times when I’ve obsessively listened to a whole album or an artist’s entire discography, so I have to choose just one song that represents the very best of that album or artist.

Tracks are added chronologically, based on when I first hear them and/or start listening to them compulsively.

The playlist has to contain an amount of tracks that is divisible by five.

If a song in a playlist is deleted from Spotify, I have to find a replacement asap that is accurate to what I was listening to when that playlist was being created.

and, most importantly, 

I can’t make a new playlist until I feel I’m finished with the current one.

These playlists represent seasons of my life, cycles in which I change and evolve and stagnate and fuck up and try again. The only rule I have for beginning a new playlist is that I feel done with the current one—those songs are a little stale and don’t represent me anymore. These “seasons” don’t have any set length, and I can never predict when I’ll feel like a new being who needs new songs to define her. So far, my life has looked like this:

Deja Vu - 176 days (12.03.16 - 05.28.17) Most common lyrics: now, love, time, need, take

snow that covers ivy that covers bricks, towers made from dining hall dishes, smiling at the bus stop without knowing, sheet masks in the dorm bathroom at 2am, pink string lights and pink crocheted blankets and pink shag carpeting, cheap beer behind tarps and walking everyone home

Roots - 111 days (05.28.17 - 09.16.17)  Most common lyrics: love, one, give, wanna, know

t-shirt tan lines, mozzarella and tomato and basil and singed spaghetti, sunset walks around abandoned high schools, green leaves outlined in watercolor, the smell of mildew and old paper in banker’s boxes, sweat-soaked french braids, the knife twist of eye contact, tarot readings under lamplight

Walls - 110 days (09.16.17 - 01.04.18)   Most common lyrics: wanna, know, baby, take, feel

crying in the gender-neutral restroom, pretty boys holding guitars or rolling rock, photos in the forest, blue carpeting and lofted bedframes, pitch-black bonfires, sitting in the dining hall to just watch the people pass, snow on eyelashes in large wet clumps, laughing at lies

Bite - 78 days (01.04.18 - 03.23.18)    Most common lyrics: know, love, stay, come, need

impatience at the airport, texting on the laundry room floor, nervous night drives, five grilled cheese sandwiches, acne like freckles, ceiling photos taken in secret, watercolor lines and paper houses, broken glass on the sidewalk, ink-stained forearms, notebook paper comics, writing small on basement walls

Windows - 131 days (03.23.18 - 08.01.18)   Most common lyrics: love, now, know, baby, fall

books piled up by the bed, rum and coke and orange juice and vodka and cheap white wine, rainy day night walks, streetlights turning the leaves orange, echoes from the party upstairs, solo trips to the grocery store, always leaving the blinds open, aperol and chai lattes and smørrebrød, never coming home

Grip - 136 days (08.01.18 - 12.15.18)    Most common lyrics: know, boy, lost, girl, night

read receipts, the creaking of an empty house, sand and bricks and traffic cones, sitting on the curb and shaking, applause at dinner, bubble tea, bike rides in torn jeans, mr brightside blasting at 10am, doodles during lectures, embroidery at the kitchen table, blue bus panic attacks, half an apple for lunch

Wait - 117 days (12.15.18 - 04.11.19)  Most common lyrics: heart, want, one, back, know

crying in the lobby, measuring oats by the quarter cup, drunken voice memos, shoes on power lines, another bowl of granola, reading all the lyrics, photos taken with the flash on, sleeping on strange couches, shoeboxes full of photographs, wire catching the sunlight, fifteen minutes of windchill

Wave - 108 days (04.11.19 - 07.28.19)  Most common lyrics: wanna, know, now, love, come

dancing on the porch, reading on the roof, tipsy trips to the corner store, silent heavy parlor air, chocolate cake with peanut butter frosting, barred windows and string lights and exit signs, highlighting the important parts, nails tapping on wooden tables, wet wind before the storm, biking straight into the smoke

Home - 178 days (07.28.19 - 01.22.20)   Most common lyrics: down, know, now, wanna, think

steep downhill walks, fingertips covered in graphite and lead, blank faces on green walls, forest walkways, hands gripping thighs too tightly, light leaks in darkrooms, the handwriting of strangers, chains trapped between teeth, white words left unread, twirling at the tennis court, yellow becoming blue

Hand - 63 days (01.22.20 - 03.25.20)   Most common lyrics: know, time, love, die, back

masking tape messages, laughing four shots in, BiC .07mm HB mechanical pencils slipped into coat cuffs, cheeks blushed with red ink, green floodlights and kissed knuckles, windows fogged from the inside, falling asleep with earbuds in, finger guns and everything in boxes, wedging open locked doors

_______________________________________________________________________

It’s interesting to look back at these playlists altogether, see them as self-contained units, little stories I tell about myself, about the people I used to be. Adding a song to one of these playlists was like making a vow, entering a relationship with a collection of sounds. It’s like I was saying “this song is now a part of me.” I constructed this little world for myself in the space between my ears, and it, in turn, created me.

I really mean it when I say that the first word that floats to the front of my mind becomes the title of whatever playlist I’m making. I never question what the word means, and its meaning always ends up describing that season of my life. 

“Roots” became a period of reconnecting with essential pieces of myself I thought I had abandoned. 

During “Grip,” I was holding on so tightly to things that had left me ages ago, and I think I knew that, even if I was unable to admit it to myself. 

“Wait” revealed itself in two ways: it was a time in which 1.) I felt stagnant and restless, unable to be patient, and 2.) I was forced to grasp with a physical and emotional weight that had been bearing down on me. 

The mind is a magical thing—it processes what we refuse to recognize. 

Speaking of which, these playlist covers have been driving me up the wall for ages. They’re like nails on a freaking chalkboard for my synesthesia. Is “Bite” a heavily blue playlist? Sure. But is “Home” purple? Is “Grip” pink??? I think the fuck not! 

(I could do a whole goddamn blog post on synesthesia, and I might.)

Now that I know how to switch out playlist cover art (can you believe it’s taken me this long to figure out how to do that?), I have decided to issue myself a challenge/project/way to procrastinate actual work I have to do. 

I’d like to make a piece of cover art for all of the above playlists. And because I am, to reiterate, insane, I’m setting up some Rules For Creation:

All works must be the same size, on the same type of paper using similar materials (tbd but probably graphite, colored pencil, watercolor, fineliners, and/or collage).

The preliminary sketch for each cover must be created while listening to the playlist.

Each piece can (must?) incorporate the five most common lyrics as listed above because goddammit I did not spend four hours compiling lyrics in a web-based word cloud generator for nothing.

If I’m not having fun, I won’t make myself do it because this is literally just for laffs. 

Anyway, I’m looking forward to creating some fun weird art! I know nobody is gonna read this and nobody is gonna comment but if, by some miracle, you feel like it, comment a playlist you’ve made that you’re really proud of! Or comment if you have some weird playlist rules! Or cyberbully me! Anything’s fair game. 

TL;DR playlists are fun and I’m a maniac :)