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cupofteaguk · 5 years

Text

what you want

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

genre: post breakup au | fluff

warnings: depictions of alcohol consumption

word count: 5k

a/n: taken from “things you said while we were driving” on my old blog

In a way, Jungkook knows you’re on the other side of the line even before he answers the phone. One could argue that it’s because he remembers your strange and cute and endearing habit of always calling him at ungodly hours of the evening for absolutely no reason at all, or how its been a few months since things ended between the two of you and he still jumps at the notification of text messages and still catches glimpses of you on the street.

While all those things are true, he probably knows it’s you because he has yet to change the ringtone on his phone that corresponds to your calls. That way, his action of leaping off the couch and making a dive for his phone is slightly more justified as he slides the answer button and presses the device to his ear. “Hello?” He exclaims breathlessly, cursing himself out just a moment later because he didn’t even think to cover up the eager quality in his tone and probably sounds like he had been waiting around for your call—which he has but you didn’t need to know that.

“Hey! Jungkook!” You exclaim from the other end, a concerning amount of time between his question and your response that he can already feel his eyes narrowing and can already feel a little voice in the back of his head telling him that it doesn’t matter how he reacts to your call.

You’re likely way too drunk at this point to notice.

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, bringing a finger up to tap at the crease as not just a means to calm himself but also a means to give himself a better handle on the situation. You were never the heavy drinker, especially when the pair of you were dating, so he doesn’t have any sort of default speech or words of caution to throw at you during this kind of specific predicament. From that, the only thing he can properly manage to say back to you is: “Are you drunk?”

A pause. “No of course not!” You shout back over the line and Jungkook sighs because the pieces are just beginning to connect in his mind. You only ever shouted when you were drunk, when your mind and vocal chords couldn’t process the depth or volume of your tone. “Why would I do that?!”

“Y/N, you’re shouting,” He points out, looking down and despite everything, despite the fact that he should really be pissed at you for disrupting his evening, despite the fact that your wellbeing shouldn’t be a priority in his life anymore—he can’t help but allow the corner of his lips to quirk up in the smallest smile. A smile of relief that you’re here and well and talking, a smile of relief that stops the flood of questions from escaping his lips.

Another pause, and he imagines you tilting your head to the side, imagines the drunk gears turning like a wheel over and over again in your mind as you comprehend his words and attempt to adjust your own lifestyle accordingly. “I am?” You return, but your voice has lowered significantly from grand yelling to soft whispering.

Jungkook can’t help it. A noise of laughter escapes from the back of his throat. “You’re insane,” He speaks without an ounce of remorse in his tone as he straightens up and off the floor, continuing to unconsciously cradle the phone against his ear, pressing it closer as if pulled by a desire to hear every curve of your voice. “Though I didn’t know you were the type to drunk dial…”

“M’not drunk dialing,” You point out, your voice still retaining that hushed quality but there’s something different about it, something sensual and vulnerable and it only captures Jungkook’s attention more. “Jungkook, I need you.”

The statement forces Jungkook into an immediate frenzy as he allows himself one second of completely disregard for the situation, for the fact that you were drunk and likely just spewing nonsense, the fact that the pair of you weren’t dating anymore, the fact that it has been months since your last conversation—all thoughts seems to fling itself out of the window. This leaves Jungkook alone in the living room, choking on his words. He swallows thickly because drunk words were sober thoughts, were they not? “Y-You need me,” He repeats back slowly.

You whine at that, a vulnerable noise Jungkook hasn’t heard in so long that it makes his heart tighten slightly in his chest. It’s not a reaction that comes out of need or physical desire, but more so as a deep unconditional sort of longing. He misses you, misses you definitely a lot more than he should be missing an ex-partner but he can’t help it.

“I need you for a ride,” You reply back, the addition of those last three words to that sentence doing little to diminish Jungkook’s attention on your voice. It doesn’t matter that you seem to have only called him for your own personal reason. “Karly dragged’m to this party and I don’t trust anyone else to pick me up.”

“So you need me… to pick you up from a party?” Jungkook echoes, gradually lowering himself onto the couch. He doesn’t know the protocol of open lines of communication between someone who use to (and still does, but people didn’t need to know that) mean the world to him. He doesn’t know if he should be more watchful, more careful, more aware of its hidden implications or if he should take situations like these with a grain of salt.

His genuine cluelessness about relationship norms has come to bite him back in the ass, yet he’s not too sure if it’s a bad thing or a good thing.

However, his restating of your request seems to click something in your mind because you let out a groan. “Oh god,” You say, letting out a big sigh. “I can’t ask you to pick me up.” It’s hard to tell if you’re talking to Jungkook or convincing yourself otherwise.

So Jungkook just leans against the couch, continuing to press the phone against his ear, closing his eyes just enough to the sound of you breathing lightly on the other side because holy shit it feels like lifetimes. “Well, why not?” He asks, lowering his gaze to stare down at his leg, the texture of his jeans. His finger comes out to trace at the denim mindlessly, desperate to keep you on the phone partially because he’s long since forgotten the lapsed sound of your breathing but also because that part of himself that’s always been protective over you longs to ensure your safety.

“You must be busy, right?” You grumble, voice slightly muffled and he imagines you leaning heavily against a wall to maintain your balance. “I don’t want to bother you… I just need to figure out how to get home.”

“N-No, it’s okay,” Jungkook reassures, pushing himself off the couch and already starting to rummage around for the important belongings such as his wallet and his keys. “Do you think you could drop a pin for me? I need to know where you are so I can come get you.”

You hum. “R-Really?” You manage. “You would do that?”

He swallows down the part of himself that almost admits he would do anything for you, not because he fears you retaining that statement but because he knows that speaking the words out loud would mean facing the truth he’s spent months trying to bury away.

So he reaches over to lightly scratch the back of his neck. “Yeah, I mean…” He starts, biting his lip, trying to find the right words that don’t give away too much of his feelings yet can still convey his desire to look after you. “I still care about you.”

He closes his eyes after the words escape, a wave of curses and frenzy and something akin to smashed keyboard lettering piling up in his mind. Fuck, fuck, that was definitely not what he was trying to go for.

Yet on the other side of the phone, you laugh softly and quietly and it sounds more tired than anything else which only gives Jungkook a greater incentive to go out and find you. “You’re too good for me Jungkook. I don’t know how I can return the favor.”

He feels himself practically melting at your words, at your ability to say the right thing without even having to try and it makes him wonder. His mind wanders to where it all went wrong, what happened between the two of you, why he’s here on the other side of the phone line in an apartment that feels much too empty and lonely rather than at that party with you and hearing your voice directly in his ear and not through some hazy reception. Or even better, just spending the time alone within each other’s company—playing video games or watching movies or cooking meals or just anything in general that involved being within each other’s company. Those things, once so common and mundane to the average day-by-day playback of his life, have quickly become his favorite things to reflect upon in his spare time. At least, until the realization of his lingering feelings for you and the fact that a breakup didn’t equate to breaking apart the remnants of his emotional connection.

He simply smiles. “Text me where you are. At least drop a pin.”

“Okay,” You manage and he can practically hear you nodding your head furiously to showcase the depth of how hard you were going to work to ensure that would happen. “I will. I really will.”

The pair of you hang up shortly after, and Jungkook finds himself letting out a breath. He hadn’t realized how nervous he would be at getting to converse with you after so many long months of silence; just a proof of testament to how you still had the full capability of continuously inching yourself underneath his skin.

His phone buzzes, capturing his attention as he reaches the device to his line of sight and sees the text message from you.

from you: [PINNED LOCATION]

from you: did tiowork

from you: jgnkook plaes tell me oyou got htaht

from Jungkook: I got it, just stay where you are okay?

from you: holy sih t did i use tehncaoloy coreectly im ga fucking genius

from you: jungkok guhryy up im tured i mgith

from you: fall sasleep

from Jungkook: DON’T

from you: jungkook ure too godoo for me

from you: what did ideo to derserve you

He pockets his phone after that, because although your messages are more than enough to send him into another burst of uncontrollable emotions, he knows immediately that his absolute first priority is to get to the party before you dropped your guard even more. He can’t even begin to imagine what would happen—his thoughts getting the best of him given that Jungkook doesn’t trust a little more than half of the overall human population and those fragments of alternative realities is what forces his feet to slam on the gas pedal and his eyes to frantically scan back and forth on the street to ensure that he would most definitely not miss the house.

He doesn’t. He gets the house right, and luckily doesn’t need to be double checking his work because not only are there long rows of cars parked along the sidewalk, but also a handful of people are littered outside along the porch. Given the quiet neighbor, their hushed voices make sense, but they’re all holding bottles and cups that leaves little to the imagination. Jungkook parks, steps out of his car, shuffles towards the house and his approaching figure is barely spared a glance as he makes his way up the steps and into the house.

Inside, the conversations are a little louder, a little more rowdy—the laughter is freer, a mixture of different voices are heard ringing down the hallway and the rooms that individuals have gathered in. But none of those things matter to Jungkook. He doesn’t care about the prospect of drinking with strangers, the typically alluring temptation of free alcohol. The only thing he cares about it—!

“Jungkook?” A voice sounds from one of the couches in the empty living room, the familiarity of the tone forcing him to stop completely in his tracks as he whirls around towards the source of the noise. His heart does that painful stuttering thing it always does when he sees you and he can practically feel the desperation and overwhelming swell of emotions erupting throughout his body—like that time you stepped out his bathroom for the first time in his clothes or the first time he woke up next you and saw the golden rays of morning light hitting all the curves and angles of your face. Or one instance post-coitus tangled with one another atop the mattress, deep breath matched into the evening, his fingers and eyes developing an intense fixation on your lips; that was the moment he realized he was in love with you.

And now those emotions seem to be hitting him like a wave the longer he stands there staring at you, taking you in because even though you are curled up on the couch half asleep, you’ve never looked more beautiful and months apart definitely does not change that.

“H-Hey,” Jungkook manages, taking the few steps towards you, quickening his pace slightly when he notices you struggling to sit yourself up on the couch. “Wait, don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself,” He instructs lightly, kneeling before you yet you still attempt to pull yourself up. You are somehow able to get your arm underneath yourself, using your strength to push your body. Your head almost falls to the side but Jungkook starts forward to hold the side.

Your eyes slowly find his, flickering upwards until they land upon his face and the corner of your lips quirk up in a tired yet gorgeous smile. “Hi Jungkook,” You whisper, your voice that low huskiness that always takes form when you’ve drank too much and yelled too much. He remembers bits and pieces of your drunken facade and knows this particular one to be your tired and exhausted shell. “It’s been awhile.”

You sound significantly less drunk than you had been over the phone, which he takes to be a good sign and that you’ve spent the few minutes it has taken Jungkook to drive from his house to this to sober up and start the process of trying to make yourself as well as you possibly could be in this state.

“I know,” He returns back.

You laugh, a mere exhale through your nose, eyes drifting close for a second before they open again. “This is’not how I wanted you to see me after all this time.”

He smiles softly. “Pretty sure I’ve seen you through worse.” And it’s true. He definitely has. “C’mon, my car is right outside.”

For a second, Jungkook is not entirely sure what to do with his hands. Under normal circumstances he would have no doubts about gathering you in his arms and leading you to his car himself, but these are not normal circumstances so he just settles with bringing a hand down to the curve of your waist.

“Can you stand up for me?”

Keeping both hands on his shoulders, it helps propel you upwards and although you aren’t completely uncoordinated, you still cling to him and Jungkook allows you to lean on him heavily as he holds you close in order to guide you out of the house and down the lawn.

You hum quietly under your breath, eyes fixated downwards to watch your footing. “Do you remember…” You start slowly, the exhaustion from the alcohol starts to eat away at your system. “Do you remember my house… like, where it is?”

“Yeah, yeah I remember where it is,” He answers, slowly open the passenger door and leaning over to help you sit down. You practically slump against on the seat, providing the further fluidity of your bones and muscles, still doing enough in dragging out the sheepish laugh from Jungkook. As if by instinct, he reaches over to tug the seat belt over your frame, crossing over your body to lock the buckle in place. This forces himself closer to you, forces him within such a close proximity to your frame that he can smell the lingering after effects of alcohol fill up his nose. But underneath that, he can still smell your perfume and the lavender scent of your shampoo. He clears his throat. “Uh, you good?”

You nod slowly, gaze unwavering from his face as he pulls away far enough to meet your eyes. You are unwavering, orbs flickering back and forth with a scary intensity that he momentarily questions the level of intoxication you are under. The only way he can know for sure is through the glassy complexion of your eyes.

“What?” He speaks, feeling too self-conscious to ignore the look across your features.

You inhale slowly. “You smell the same.” There is a sense of longing in your voice that Jungkook is almost sure is just the alcohol talking.

Almost.

He takes in a breath. “Y/N, you’re drunk,” He says, not sure if he’s trying to convince himself or you more. “Just try to get some rest, okay?” You look like you’re about to open your mouth to further explain your situation—because a tired you equates to a rambling you—but he pulls back and slams the car door shut without a word.

Not for long though, because he reappears on the driver’s side, sliding into place and sliding the key into the ignition to start the car up.

“Being drunk has nothing to do with how you smell the same,” You note quietly, shifting to stare longingly out of the window.

“Being drunk means everything,” He returns, making sure to keep his grip tight on the steering wheel keep himself focused on the road rather than you. “It means you’ll say something you’ll probably regret in the morning.”

“I highly doubt that,” You say, but he doesn’t believe you. Even when you readjust yourself once more to stare at his side profile. “Jungkook, I missed you,” You start. “So, so, so much.”

Despite his increasing heart rate, he manages a weak laugh. “You’re just saying that because I’m picking you up from a party.”

“No, no, no,” You protest, shaking your head. “Not true. I mean it. I missed you so much.”

That statement forces his mind into a complete 180 rotation as Jungkook is so startled at your confession that his foot accidentally slams down on the gas, forcing the pair of you to dart forward at such a speed that both heads slam against the back of the seats. Jungkook curses loudly, managing a right turn just before the overhead light turns red.

Jungkook’s breathing picks up as he tightens his grip on on the wheel. “Fucking hell—Y/N don’t say things like that!”

“Why not?” You protest, leaning back against the headrest of the seat. Your eyes slide shut and stay closed for a few seconds. “It’s true…” You let out a gentle sigh from between your lips, grumbling something that he can’t make out and Jungkook decides to take advantage of your incoherent nature to just fix the rest of his attention back on the road. Seriously, if you could keep your mouth shut for the next five minutes, he could actually maintain some semblance of his sanity to prevent any further potential accidents.

Luckily, aside from the occasional hum that leaves your lips, you are quiet which allows Jungkook to carefully navigate the streets before finally pulling up to the curbside in front of your apartment complex. The sight definitely brings back memories, but he swallows them down long enough to take himself out of the driver side and make his way back around to your side of the vehicle.

You’re still hunched against the seat when Jungkook opens the door, eyes closed and lips parted and bombarding him with memories of good times, better times, that he almost doesn’t reach him to shake you awake.

Key word: almost.

He leans in to gently grip your shoulder. “Y/N, we’re here.”

You open your eyes just as he’s reaching over to unbuckle your seatbelt, but Jungkook doesn’t get far because just as he’s about to pull back, your hands dart out to grasp at the hem of his jacket. Despite your sleepy facade, your grip is surprisingly strong and it keeps Jungkook within a close distance to your face.

He swallows down his heart threatening to crawl its way out of his throat.

“I’m not… fucking around Jungkook,” You insist. “The months when you’re not with me suck. They really fucking suck and…” You aren’t drunk but you definitely still are battling with the remnants of alcohol clouding your mind and judgment and Jungkook wants you to stop, wants you to put a halt to something you will surely regret in the morning, but he also knows that you would chew him out for continuously trying to interrupt you. Even if it’s for your own personal benefit. You’re funny and stubborn and adorable and endearing in this sense.

Back to reality. He blinks, biting his lip, hoping you cannot hear his rapidly increasing pulse drumming underneath the skin. Rather than put a stop to it, he can’t help himself this time around. He encourages your drunken mind. “What are you trying to say?”

Your gaze dances across his face, eyes still glazed and shimmering underneath the light of the car and the lights from the building behind the pair of you.

Then, without a warning, you lean forward and dust your lips against his.

For a moment, everything seems to leave Jungkook. Everything: from his sanity to his state of mind to the ground behind his feet to his sense of balance and belonging, leaving him alone with his raw and infinite love for you and a desire for more more more. He barely processes the way your hands move up from the hem of his shirt to the collar until you’re luring him in again for another kiss, one a little bit more firm and a little bit more intoxicating.

Jungkook practically whimpers at the kiss, a little noise of desire escaping from the back of his throat, because holy fucking shit, it may just be because he hasn’t kissed anyone over the past few months or maybe just because he hasn’t kissed you that’s making him feel this way, making him realize just how much he really fucking misses you and how perhaps breaking up wasn’t the best idea. For a split second, he longs to forget that you’re drunk, that you’re definitely not in your right state of mind, that you broke up for a valid (unfortunate) reason, that this is wrong. So very absolutely wrong.

Although it hurts every bone in his body, Jungkook has to force himself to turn away and pull back from you. “W-Wait,” He manages, processing the fact that his voice is low from the events that have just happened. His cheeks feel warm and he feels lightheaded, but he forces himself to stay focused on what is the right thing to do and definitely not trying to notice the way you look: from the flushed cheeks to the darkened lips to the distracted eyes. “We shouldn’t do this. It’s not right.”

The light once flickering so hopefully in your gaze dies down at his firm words, as you cast your head downwards in a mixture of utter shame and embarrassment. He can hear the gears turning frantically in your mind, can feel the way your hands pull away from his frame to settle tightly on your lap, can see the way you press your lips together as if you’re trying to keep yourself from saying anything further.

But his eyes widen as you inhale sharply before a heart-wrenching sob tears itself from your throat. Your hand flies up to cover your mouth, but it does little to stop the hiccups and Jungkook can only watch helplessly as you crumble apart right before his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” You admit quietly, such a soft whisper that he almost doesn’t hear you but he does and you are so broken that Jungkook’s own heart cannot be protected as he kneels down with eyes like a deer caught in the headlights. Questions swarm around his mind, desperately trying to figure out what to say because he should have known this would happen. He should have remembered that at the end of the day, after the laughter and the exhaustion have taken their phase in your identity like passage of the moon—it all ends with this. It all ends with the emotional part of you, when the alcohol gets to your head and leaves nothing but a sobbing mess behind over anything and everything. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” You start to ramble, each word broken up by a sharp inhale for air like your tears are drowning you. “I’m so sorry Jungkook, I’m so stupid, I’m so sorry…”

“Hey,” Jungkook starts. “Hey, stop apologizing. Why are you apologizing? Why are you crying?”

The questions do little but prompt further crying as another strangled sob escapes your throat and you turn your head with a refusal to even look in his general direction. Your jaw is clenched together, your hand is still at your mouth as if attempting to muffle your whimpers to little success.

“B-Because,” You stammer, your whole body shaking with the effort to contain the wave of your sufferings. Jungkook’s heart stutters painfully in his chest, sinking down to his stomach, as the words of how this was all his fault ring like a bell in his mind. “Because you probably hate me. You hate me, d-don’t you?”

He scoots a little closer. “No, no, of course I don’t. Y/N, where did you get that idea?”

You shake your head, eyes slamming shut. “H-How could you not hate me? I just kissed you and we’re not even together anymore, we haven’t been together for months and it just hurts so so much because I’m stupid, I’m so stupid…”

“Y/N, take a breath, you have to calm down,” Jungkook speaks gently, bravely reaching over to rest his hand on your knee, attempting to draw soothing patterns over the denim and hoping more than anything that you can feel the warmth and reassurance of his touch against your skin. “You aren’t making any sense. Why would you call yourself stupid?”

You pull your hand away from your mouth and you glare at him through your tears. Your face is bright red and wet with tears, but still so beautiful it really hurts. “Because I’m still in love with you,” You speak, swallowing down your uneven breathes and forcing yourself to make the statement as clearly as possible. “Because I’m still in love with you, and I’ve been trying to get over you this entire time to no luck. A-And I thought going to that dumb party would help me, but I-I guess not because I’m here being an asshole and trying to kiss you even though you hate me…” Your face crumbles and you look like you’re on the verge of tears all over again.

“Y/N,” Jungkook speaks up, leaning forward. “Y/N, please, stop beating yourself up for this. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you—you were the most important person in my life. I mean… you still are.”

You sniff, reaching up to wipe at your nose. “What are you trying to say?”

“I miss you too,” He replies quietly, gazing down for a moment to study the rest of your body. “I miss you so much all the time it hurts. If I had to give up a penny for every time I wanted to call you or text you… well, I’d probably be broke.”

You blink away the layer of tears clouding your vision. “D-Do you mean that?”

“I would never lie to you,” He admits, looking down and gently reaching over to grasp your hand. He runs his thumb over your skin, momentarily basking in the skin-on-skin contact with you.

Your body jolts with the occasional hiccup as you quietly try to let the previous wave of sobbing pass over you. “I’m sorry,” You whisper again. “I probably made a mess of your evening.”

He shakes his head before he even realizes what he’s doing. “No, it’s okay, I’m just glad to see you home safely.”

You look down at your joined hands. “S-Since you miss me, and I miss you,” You start, biting on your lip. “Can we start over?”

He gazes up at you. Every nerve in his body screams YES, because goddamn, it has been too long and he’s sure that if the universe was willing to give the pair of you another chance, you both would do anything and everything to make it work and not fall into those same traps that broke you apart last time. He has wanted a lot of things, but never has badly as this and he wants to hold you tightly and crush you to his chest and inhale your lavender—and yet.

The sinking sensation seems to hit him in that moment that you’re still drunk and under the influence and thus, not in your right state of mind. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. He doesn’t think he can handle that.

He lets out a sigh. “If you remember this tomorrow,” He says. “Then we can.”

You start fading again as he takes you out of his car and helps you up the stairs to the correct floor of your apartment, helps your roommate in guiding you into your bedroom, and leaves with a prompt ‘just… take care of her, please…’ with such a sad edge to his voice that Karly gives him a sympathetic pat on the back and a request to drive home safely.

He does, but there is a longing in his chest, a doubt, a warning not to expect too much from this situation.

He loves you too much for the disappointment.

The next morning, he wakes up to surprisingly sunny skies, golden rays, and a text.

from you [7,18am]: Since you miss me and I miss you, can we start over?

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get use to your unpredictability, your determination—and for the first time in months, his smile is brighter than the outside.

#bangtan bookclub #bts writing cafe #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #bts scenario #bts fluff #bts x reader #traci writes

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hellimagines · 5 years

Text

Right Decision -- James Patrick March

*My masterlist link can be found in my blog description*

Request: “James March having an affair with The Countess’s sister HCs,,like he’s married to elizabeth but then her sister and he immediately falls in love her”

Summary: You come to visit your sister in Los Angeles, only to find love instead.

Warnings: None

Pairing: James Patrick March x fem!reader

Word Count: 2,000+

A/N: This is my first one-shot/imagine in months. So uhhhh rip.

Walking into The Cortez was like something out of a flicker. The ceiling seemed to never stop, the chairs and red carpet sparkled with elegance, and the faintest smell of illegal champagne lingered in the air. It was nothing compared to the hotels in your hometown of West Virginia. A sharp ring broke you out of your daze, and you glanced around the hotel lobby for the source of it.

“Over here, miss!” Looking over to the voice, you grinned when you found the reception desk with a young gentleman behind it.

Hurrying over, you plopped your suitcase to your feet and gave him a gentle wave. “Hello! I’m here to visit my sister, Elizabeth Johnson,” you smiled.

“Oh, yes, of course. Miss (Y/N) Johnson, I presume?”

You nodded, “Yes. Though you must forgive me, I am a few hours early.”

“That’s quite alright, we’ve assured your room has been ready since yesterday,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no fee, and here is your room key. Room 72 is where you shall be staying.”

“Thank you very much!” The man was quick to give you directions to your room before sending you on your way.

Navigating the hotel was much more difficult than the gentleman made it out to be. Once you had stepped out of the elevator and onto your floor, you were amazed by the twisting hallways and various doors. Gripping your suitcase tightly, you began to march down the hall, reading each of the numbered doors carefully. You took a right, and then a left, and then another right until you found yourself in a door-less hallway.

“Oh bother,” you sighed, doing a 360-turn in hopes of redirecting yourself. “Where is that room?”

“May I be of assistance?”

You jumped and let out a loud yelp at the unexpected voice, immediately lifting your suitcase as a form of defense. “Who are you?” you immediately questioned when you turned and saw the strange man that had been speaking to you. However, the more you looked at him, the less strange he became. He had perfectly styled jet-black hair, a mustache lining his upper lip, deep brown eyes, a suit, and a cane he was twirling in his hand.

“James Patrick March, owner and creator of this hotel,” he introduced, holding out his hand for you to shake. “I meant not to scare you, my dear. This hotel is tricky, and I wouldn’t want someone as beautiful as yourself getting lost.”

You shook his hand as a blush danced across your cheeks. “Oh, my apologies, sir. I meant no disrespect.”

He laughed softly, “None taken.” Lifting your hand to his lips, your blush deepened as he grazed the back of your hand with a gentle kiss. “What room are you staying at, my dear?”

“Room 72,” you answered with a smile as James dropped your hand gracefully.

“Would you like me to escort you there, Miss…”

“(Y/N), you may call me (Y/N). And yes, that would be much appreciated!”

“Ah, wonderful! Miss (Y/N),” James held out his arm for you to take while picking up your suitcase in his free hand.

You bit your lip as you looped your arm through his, thanking him for his generosity quietly. As the two of you walked down the hallways, you were embarrassed to find that you had accidentally passed your hotel room during your impromptu adventure.

“Oh, how embarrassing,” you sighed, releasing James’ arm so you could cover your flushed face. “I must’ve passed this room a hundred times!”

“Nonsense, you would’ve had to be here for hours,” he grinned, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “I trust you have your key?”

“Yes, I do. Thank you very much for your help, Mr. March. I apologize for taking you away from your duties,” you apologized, sliding the key into your door and unlocking it. “If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, please inform me. I shall be here for a week, at the least.”

James shook his head quickly, “There are no need for apologies, my dear. I am more than happy to assist you with anything you desire.” A glint fell upon his chocolate eyes, and your breath hitched slightly.

You pushed open your hotel-room door and walked in, with James following close behind. He placed your suitcase by the door as you began to speak, “Well, I shall be sure to ask you if I need anything else while I’m here. Where may I find you, if such a thing happens?”

A smile lit up the man’s face, “My office is Room 64, just down the hall from you. You should not get lost finding it,” he teased, flashing you a wink.

“Yes, I sure hope not,” you giggled.

James sighed quietly, a crestfallen look now on his face. “Well, I suppose I must take my leave. It has been an absolute pleasure, Miss (Y/N). I do hope you enjoy your stay at The Cortez.”

“I do believe I shall.” James grabbed ahold of your hand once again and gave the back of it a lingering kiss.

“Until we meet again.”

“What do you mean the owner of this hotel helped you to your room?” Elizabeth asked sharply, leaning over the table to stare you down. You rolled your eyes at her antics, swirling the ice cubs in your glass.

“I was lost, so Mr. March showed me where to go,” you shrugged, looking around the lounge you were seated in. It was truly magnificent; the way it overlooked the bustling lobby, the beautiful lighting of the ‘fake’ bar, and the plush chairs you were seated in. You could’ve stayed in the lounge for days.

“Are you an idiot?” Elizabeth hissed, glaring at you.

You scoffed, “No, of course not. What is your problem this time, sister?”

“He’s my husband!”

You nearly choked on your sip of water at her declaration, staring at her wide-eyed. “What? You said you hated the man you’re married to! How could you possibly hate a man like that?” you gasped, setting your cup down to better scrutinize the woman before you.

“Because I am not young and naive like you,” she growled, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Don’t ever talk to him again.”

“Why shouldn’t I? He was very nice and extremely helpful,” you huffed, sticking your nose up just the slightest bit. You couldn’t tell if your sister was being jealous, possessive, or protective over you and the man, but you couldn’t care less. She had no right to dictate your life

“Because I said so, (Y/N). Now, I have a meeting with an old friend of mine, so I have to leave you behind. Do not leave this hotel, and do not talk to James. Understood?”

“Yes,” you sighed, picking up your glass and continuing to swish the ice cubs, feeling like a small child under your sister’s gaze. Elizabeth nodded in approval before pushing away from the table and swiftly exiting the lounge. You watched as she walked down the grand stairs and left the hotel, not bothering to look back at you.

“I do hope you don’t plan on taking her advice.” You looked over the rim of your glass to find James seating himself across from you, frowning sadly. “I enjoy your company.”

You smiled and set your cup back down. “I don’t listen to my sister. Her concerns are her own.”

James grinned greatly at your words, before flicking two fingers at the bartender. He flashed you a wink as the man brought over two glasses filled with a green liquid. “Keep this a secret, my dear,” James said to you, before picking up his glass and taking a sip. He moaned quietly as the liquid fell to his tongue, his eyes fluttering shut in bliss.

You judged your own glass for a few seconds, before shrugging and taking a light sip. You recoiled almost immediately, blanching at the foreign taste hitting your tongue. “What is this, Mr. March?”

“Please, call me James. And it is my father’s liquor recipe,” he smirked, taking another sip of his drink. “It is an acquired taste, I must admit. But it does marvelous things. However, the small amount in your cup will not hurt you, I promise.” You nodded slowly at James’ reassurance, before giving the liquor another chance.

A few hours later, you found yourself giggling quietly in James’ office, running your fingers over his desk and its many items. He was sat in his office chair, watching you with a fond smile as you picked up his letter opener. James rarely allowed people in his office, but seeing the way your eyes lit up after a glass and a half of his liquor, he knew you would be safer with him. He had plans of going out for a hunt tonight since Elizabeth was gone, but it was clear now that that was not going to happen.

“This is so sharp, James. You could cut someone with it,” you hummed off-handedly, twirling the opener in your hand.

James quirked an eyebrow at your words, watching you handle it carefully. “Yes, I suppose you could. Have you ever thought of doing something like that?” he asked slowly, drumming his fingers against his chair.

“Only a few times. The boys back home don’t know how to treat a lady, and sometimes I get very sick of it,” you admitted, before placing the opener back where you found it. “I must say, this is a very beautiful hotel.”

“Thank you, my dear. I put much of my energy into it, and I’m glad to see how far it’s come,” he smiled, slowly standing up.

You sighed sadly as you looked around the room, before settling your gaze on the man before you. “I do not understand how my sister could not love you.”

James chuckled quietly, “Yes, well, we all have our faults.” He didn’t seem too bothered by the fact, which shocked you.

“Her faults are moronic. I do not enjoy talking ill of Elizabeth, but it is unavoidable. You are a very kind, generous, and handsome man. She’s just entitled,” you huffed, giving James another look-over, before turning away to continue looking around the room.

“Oh, you believe me to be handsome?” James smirked, walking over to stand beside you.

“Oh yes, very much so. I’ve never seen a man quite like you before. It’s… intoxicating,” you giggled, blushing at your openness.

James smiled in return and placed his hands on your waist, slowly pulling you closer. He gave you the opportunity to reject his advances, but you did no such thing. Instead, you placed your hands on his chest, tilting your head up at him curiously. “You are a nice breath of fresh air, my love. Much different than your sister. Where she is sharp-edges and crude glances, you are gentle touches and bright smiles.”

“You’ve only known me for a few hours, James,” you breathed, blinking up at him in wonder. “How could you be sure of such a thing?”

“Trust me, darling. I’m always sure of what I do.” James paused for a moment, looking down at you in adoration. Slowly, he placed his palm against your cheek, “May I kiss you?”

“Yes,” you whispered without hesitation. Instantly, James was pulling you up and ducking his head, granting your lips a soothing kiss. Instinctively, you whimpered, your eyes falling shut as he deepened the kiss.

When James pulled away, there was a content look on his face while he rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone. “Yes, I am very sure I’ve made the right decision this time.”

All Writing Taglist (OPEN): @teageowen @mads---world @alex--awesome--22 @scarletraine @hxdesworld @frozenhuntress67 @samanthasmileys @simonsaysyasss @michael-langdxn

American Horror Story Taglist (OPEN): @featherpool-852

#james patrick march #james march #james patrick march imagine #james patrick march x reader #james patrick march imagines #james march imagine #james march imagines #james march x reader #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs imagines #ahs x reader #american horror story #ahs hotel

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

sincerity is scary, chapter I (shalaska + pearlet) - ageofyvie

A/N: very loosely inspired by the tv show skam. mainly shalaska and eventual pearlet with some other pairings thrown into the mix since ‘the course of true love never did run smooth’. feedback is highly appreciated and feel free to come and say hi to my blog @ageofyvie !!!

Alaska closed her eyes and leaned in for another kiss, smiling as Sharon’s lips softly pecked hers. “Why are you in such a good mood today?” She asked once they had pulled apart a little, her girlfriend’s arms still possessively wrapped around her middle. “Nothing, really. I was just thinking that I’m really lucky. You’re so pretty, baby”. Alaska couldn’t help but whine at the other’s words and buried her face in Sharon’s neck to hide the blush she knew had appeared on her cheeks. “Shut up” She mumbled “You’re one to talk”. She felt Sharon kissing the top of her head and sighed in content at the gesture, silently thanking the universe for giving her such an amazing girlfriend. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about” Alaska rolled her eyes and chuckled, looking up at Sharon as she waited for her to continue. “Jinkx’s mom has been acting crazy lately and I was thinking-” “Morning lovebirds!” Alaska almost jumped at the interruption and didn’t even bother telling Sharon off as her girlfriend cursed out loud. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you” The redhead apologized “So, Shaz, can I come?” She then added, her tone going from sheepish to excited in a matter of seconds. “I was just about to ask” replied Sharon “Before someone decided to interrupt. Baby” She continued, addressing Alaska instead “Do you mind if Jinkx tags along this weekend?” Alaska had to bit down on her bottom lip to stop a rude reply on the tip of her tongue. “I.. I thought it was going to be just the two of us” “Nevermind then” Jinkx butted in, awkwardly shuffling the weight from one feet to the other before shooting her best friend a nervous smile “I don’t want to intrude or anything” “Nonsense” replied Sharon “The house is mine and I decide who to invite” Alaska lowered her gaze. She didn’t want to argue and cause a scene but she really had been looking forward to the weekend alone with her girlfriend at her lake house, and as much as she liked Jinkx and considered her a friend, she couldn’t help but feeling disappointed. “Alright then” She eventually replied “I better get going now. See you at lunch break!” Alaska shot the other two a forced smile and scurried off to class without even kissing Sharon on the cheek.

When Alaska entered the classroom the teacher was already there, so she quickly sat down on the first available seat. After she took out pens and papers from her bag she noticed that the girl sitting next to her seemed to be frantically looking for something. “Uh, do you need to borrow a pen?” “да! I mean, yes. спасибо” Alaska raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging on her lips. Only then she realized that she had no idea who the other girl was - had she always been around? Was she a new student? “My name’s Alaska, what’s yours?” She whispered, taking advantage of the fact that the teacher was still busy setting up the Powerpoint presentation for the day. “My name’s Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova, but you can call me Katya. I just moved here from Boston, but my family is from Russia” “That’s cool” Before Alaska could say anything else, the teacher clapped her hands and started talking, so the girls had no other choice but to pay attention. “Good morning, class. I’m Miss Michaels and I’ll be your History teacher for this semester”. Despite being old-fashioned, Miss Michaels turned out to be a pretty good teacher who seemed to know exactly how to hold the students’ attention. When the bell rang, Alaska was honestly surprised that time had gone by so fast. “Do you wanna sit together at lunch?” She asked Katya as they were packing their bags.“My girlfriend’s gonna be there, and our friend Jinkx too. They’re really nice” “Sorry! I kinda already promised my neighbour I would sit with her today. Maybe another time?” “Sure, no problem” Alaska shrugged “See you around then!” She waved Katya goodbye and headed off to the next class, a small smile on her face.

A couple of hours later, Alaska walked into the cafeteria, her eyes wandering around the big room as she tried to spot Sharon and Jinkx. Her gaze fell on the table they usually sat down at, but the seats were all taken by what looked like a group of juniors. An unpleasant feeling began to settle in the pit of Alaska’s stomach. In an effort to calm herself down, she checked her phone - perhaps they were simply late. But no texts from her girlfriend showed up on the screen. No texts from Jinkx either. Alaska was almost about to turn around and walk out of the room when she heard someone calling out for her. “Alaska! Here!” Smiling brightly, Katya motioned for her to come closer. “Privet” She greeted her once she had reached the table. “This is my neighbour, Violet. And these are Max and Trixie. подруги, this is Alaska, from History class” Alaska felt her cheeks reddening as everyone stared at her, but she forced herself to relax. “Hiiii, it’s nice to meet you” “Where’s your girlfriend?” asked Katya. “Actually I- I don’t know” the blonde girl admitted, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice. Without missing a beat, Katya pulled back the chair next to her and gestured for Alaska to sit down. “You can sit with us then” Alaska smiled gratefully at the other girl and hesitantly sat down. In a matter of minutes, all her discomfort had vanished and she found herself laughing along with the rest of the girls. Trixie and Katya never run out of jokes to tell and Violet’s dry remarks were actually pretty funny. Max was more of the silent type, but she offered Alaska some of her strawberries. “So, we’re all going to the party tomorrow night, right?” Everyone nodded at Trixie’s question except for Alaska, who had no idea there was even a party in the first place. Trixie caught the other’s expression and quickly offered an explanation. “Adore’s mom is out of town so she’s throwing a party at her house tomorrow night. You should totally come!” “I- I don’t know” Alaska couldn’t remember the last time she had been out dancing with some friends and part of her really wanted to go, but she didn’t want to intrude. “Come on, it’ll be fun!” added Katya “You can bring your girlfriend if you want” “Alright” gave in Alaska “I’ll be there”. Her reply was met with a cheer by Trixie and Max, and Violet offered to add her to the group chat. Alaska’s eyes accidentally landed on a group of girls sitting a couple of tables behind them, laughing at something one of them was showing on her phone. She could have recognized those laughs anywhere. Alaska sighed as she stared at Detox and Roxxxy, the girls she used to refer to as her best friends. The last time they had spoken to each other was during the argument which ended their friendship. Alaska often missed her two best friends and the good times they had together. She had tried to make up for the loneliness she felt by spending as much time as possible with Sharon, but she knew that relying almost completely on her girlfriend for affection was not the right thing to do. After spending time with Katya and her friends though, she felt hopeful that perhaps things were finally going to change for the better.

#rpdr fanfiction #shalaska #pearlet #sharon needles #alaska thunderfuck #violet chachki #pearl liaison #group fic #ageofyvie #sincerity is scary

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gifsbysimplysonia · 5 years

Link

Just a lot of personal rambling behind the cut on how I feel about the way “going out alone” seems to be portrayed in media these days.

So, this came across my Twitter timeline and I took a look because I often have to go to concerts, drag shows or wrestling shows alone. My bestest friends don't live close by, my sister and I don't share the same taste in almost anything and my brother tends to be a homebody unless it is something he is super passionate about. I have a local friend that is nice enough to let me tag along with her or will come with me to stuff she isn't even that big of a fan of, but I don't want to bother her constantly and she is often busy with her own interests. Therefore, if I wanna do and see things that mean a lot to me, I gotta suck it up and go alone.

And funnily enough, it isn't something that ever crossed my mind to be bothered about, which is weird since I am overly affected by others' opinions of me. And I'm forever being told by people online I'm too old to like wrestling, drag and my favorite bands. So the fact that I've gone to so much stuff by myself is a hilarious contradiction to who I usually am, but I'm glad about that, for once.

2 years ago, I think, I decided to be impulsive and get myself a VIP package to a Simple Plan concert. I haven't followed their music for YEARS because I didn't connect with their self titled album all that much so they fell off my radar. However, I always check in on them from time to time and I saw that they were going on an anniversary tour to celebrate an album that meant a lot to me, I listened to on repeat and was just a big influence on my life. So, if they were gonna play that album, I wanted to go and if I wanted to go, I had to go by myself. I was able to afford a VIP package so why not treat myself while I'm at it?

I got in early and since I did not want any merch, I somehow grabbed a spot on the barricade all the way in front of the left hand side of the stage. And I had an absolute blast. The openers were good, Simple Plan was just as energetic, silly and great on stage as I remembered. And then afterwards, I got to go to the Pizza Party that came along with my VIP package.

I felt awkward collecting my slice and can of pop because THEN I realized, not only was I oldest than everyone there (which was ALWAYS the case when I went to SP shows, except for any guardians at the shows), I also seemed to be the ONLY one there all by myself. BUT, I had my phone and my NorCal bestie is on Cali time so I had someone to talk to and I ate my pizza and drank my pop on the floor and was fine.

When 4 of 5 members of the band showed up (David D didn't attend), they spread out on the floor. And like a drag show I attended at the House of Blues once, there were separate lines to meet n greet the guys. It was super chill.

I didn't need to worry about the drummer, cuz no, haha. I will not get into my history with him. But for Jeff, Seb and Pierre, I got in line. Even though I had my phone, I also had my awesome camera that my brother got me years ago that takes fantastic concert photos and videos. But if I wanted a photo on there, I had to ask for help, so I did. I turned around and asked the group behind me if someone would please take the photo for me.

Someone agreed and asked me if I was alone, and when I confirmed that I was, she said to me, "Wow, you're so brave." That comment has STUCK IN MY CRAW ever since.

Make no mistake, LIVING YOUR LIFE is definitely an act of bravery for millions of people who are not me. So I was, and still am, baffled as to why attending a concert alone would be considered an act of bravery by anyone. What is going on in the younger generation that they see being alone as brave? That is HELLA worrisome because to me, that translates into people surrounding themselves with WRONG crowds and/or staying in bad situations JUST so they won't be alone. And that is frightening to me.

I know I am not a great person, but I know I'm not a horrible person. I have problems and issues, but I'm surprisingly comfortable being with myself and only myself for the sake of going out and being able to enjoy shows and acts and concerts that bring me joy. Happiness is so fleeting as it is, so if I can go out and capture it for a few hours and the only caveat is that I must do so alone, I'm gonna do it!

But then stuff like this article pops up on me and shows me that the culture as a whole seems to view being alone or doing things alone as negative. At least negatively enough that people wanna tell you why it is NOT bad, or give you tips on how to cover up the fact you're alone ... and it's like, I'm nobody but as someone who has done a lot alone, how can I help someone else see that it is not the end of the world? I've had some of the best times of my life when I was by myself.

So at the end of all this pointless and nonsensical rambling, if someone made it, I just want you to know this:

Going out alone to enjoy the things you love is not a big deal and not anything you should feel bad about

If it makes you nervous or anxious? 100% get it and sympathize. That’s a different battle to be fought and I’ve had to fight that one as well.

But in terms of just LIVING YOUR LIFE? Don’t let the prospect of fun pass you by just because you’ll have to go alone. I did that for a long time, regretting it pretty much EVERY time. But the times I’ve said EFF IT and just done it? I’ve had so much fun and nothing but good memories to keep in my heart.

My next single outing will most likely be C2E2 in March in Chicago. I bought myself a weekend pass and a Doctors Photo Op with David Tennant and Matt Smith. I’m TRYING to convince my brother to go since he’s the one who got me INTO Doctor Who but he really doesn’t wanna go. So? Gotta suck it up and do it myself! I hate con crowds, but there’s SO MUCH to see and do at a con (went to C2E2 my first time all alone to meet my favorite author, Sherrilyn Kenyon) that the hours fly (if I’m not waiting on a photo op or autograph lol) and before I know it, it’s over. But I had fun seeing a lot of neat cosplay and cool merch and hopefully having a cool handshake with people I admire!

#ticket tips #personal #being alone

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winchesterprincessbride · 6 years

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Whatever It Takes

This is for the “Alpha for Hire” square on my @spnabobingo card. Beta’d by the ravishing @kittenofdoomage

Characters: Alpha! Dean Winchester, Beta! Sam Winchester, Omega! reader, Beta! sister Terri (OC)

I remember the noise and bright lights of the ER and being disoriented and shaking with fever. The gripping pains in my stomach had me thrashing on the stretcher hard enough to tear out half of the tubes and wires attached to me.

I vaguely recall hearing my sister Terri screaming for help, then arms holding me down until darkness overtook me and everything went still and cold.

When I woke up again it was much quieter, and I opened my eyes gingerly, squinting against the bright light. I quickly surveyed my surroundings, catching sight of Terri folded up in a chair next to the bed, staring into space. She looked exhausted.

“T?” I whispered. “What happened?”

“What do you think?” she answered, her voice strained and tired. “Your heat came early. I found you passed out on the kitchen floor. You were burning up. You nearly died, Y/N.”

“Why does this keep happening?” I asked with a choked sob. “What is wrong with me?”

Terri shook her head, looking at me with sadness in her eyes. “I don’t know, but we’re not leaving until we get some answers. This is the third heat in a row you’ve ended up in the hospital. You can’t go on like this! If I have to go psycho big sister on these doctors, I will but I want to know what is going on.”

“So, Miss Y/N. I see from your chart that is your third heat-related hospitalization. Would you say the symptoms have been getting gradually worse?” This doctor wouldn’t even look me in the eye, so I didn’t have high hopes for this line of questioning.

“Yes,” I said simply, not bothering to waste words on a conversation that was going to get me nowhere. This guy was the third doctor that had been in to see me today, and none of them had anything worthwhile to say.

Thumbing through my chart, the doctor made some notes on a piece of paper, ignoring me and Terri for the moment. I looked at her and rolled my eyes. This one had a terrific bedside manner! Finally, he stood up and actually made eye contact for the first time since he’d entered the room.

“Do you know what’s wrong with Y/N?” Terri demanded, her patience at an end.

“As a matter of fact, I do. Your sister has Turner-Singer Syndrome,” he commented as if that explained everything.

I couldn’t help but snap at his casual answer. “And that means?”

“It’s a rare condition that affects about 1% of Omegas. It causes higher than normal hormone levels during heats. Suppressants are completely ineffective in controlling it, and the symptoms get worse with each subsequent heat,” the doctor told me. “The fevers can be life-threatening.”

“So if suppressants don’t work in controlling her heats, is there anything that will?” Terri asked him.

“Yes. An Alpha.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I snarled, my tone high pitched. “Well, obviously I don’t have one, that’s why I’m taking the damn suppressants in the first place! So what am I supposed to do, go out and beg some Alpha to knot me, because if I don’t I could die?”

“There are reputable agencies that handle this sort of thing…” the doctor began.

“Get the fuck out of my room!” I shrieked, grabbing the pretty blue vase of daisies my sister had purchased at the gift shop and chucking it at his head. He ducked as it hit the wall behind him and shattered, spraying him with water.

“I will have my nurse give you some information,” he said quickly as he backed out of the room.

“No, no way in hell!” I told my sister angrily after I had been discharged from the hospital. “I am not hiring some Alpha hooker to get me through my heats. It’s not happening.”

“Do you know any Alphas who can help you? Do you?” Terri replied, her cheeks red with frustration. “So unless you’re planning on hitting the bars, what choice do you have, Y/N? You heard the doctor! They are only gonna get worse! Stop being so damn stubborn and look at the damn website! Because next time I might not find you in time! I’m going home, I’d like to sleep in my own bed if it’s okay with you!” Her argument hung in the air as she stormed out of the room, and I simply gaped after her.

I heard my front door slam and I knew I was acting like a selfish brat because Terri had spent the last 3 days basically living at the hospital. Fishing the pamphlet out of my purse, I turned on my laptop and went to the company’s website, www.Alpha4.com.

It was simple enough to create an account, enter my credit card information, and fill out a very long and very detailed questionnaire about my likes, dislikes, and preferences. When I was finished, it said to check my email as I would shortly be receiving a welcome email with a contact number that I should call when I felt my heat starting. A “qualified” Alpha4 associate would be dispatched “to take care of my needs in a timely manner.”

“I can’t believe I am doing this,” I muttered to myself. “This has got to be a new low.”

I sent Terri a text.

I did it, I signed up! I hope you’re happy. If I catch a disease, I’m blaming you!

I should have had three months until my next heat hit. But my body had other ideas. A mere two months later I woke up sweaty and aching and I dialed the number I had saved to my contacts with shaking hands. “We will send someone right out.” The person had told me in a no-nonsense voice.

An hour later there was a knock at my door and I scrambled up to answer it, fearing who would be waiting on the other side. What if he was old? Or he smelled bad? I pulled the door open and just stood there, staring.

He was tall, dressed in faded jeans and work boots, wearing a red flannel shirt, the sleeves rolled up over his muscled forearms. His scent hit me, and it was a combination of cinnamon and apples that smelled like freshly-baked pie. His moss green eyes gave me a once-over, and he smirked delightedly.

Just the sight of him made my legs tremble and I could feel the slick gushing from my core. I leaned against the wall for support. I was suddenly furious. I hated this situation that I had been forced into, and I hated him. I wanted nothing more than to slap the smile off his smug face.

“Are you coming in or not?” I demanded.

“Anything you say, sweetheart,” he commented. His voice was rich and deep, and it sparked something in me.

“Don’t call me sweetheart!” I snapped, slamming the door shut behind him. “My name is Y/N. In fact, how about you talk as little as possible?”

“Want to get right to it, do you? I like that,” he leered, grinning at me.

“I’d rather not do this at all, but that’s not an option. What should I call you?” I asked, trying to fight the rising need of my heat.

“I’m Dean,” he replied, his arms crossed, just waiting.

“Bedroom, Dean. Now.”

Part 2

@skybinx-blog @percywinchester27 @a-sea-of-fandoms @dorky-and-i-know-it@tokyoghoulyz @pinknerdpanda @atc74@jayankles @notnaturalanahi @midnightjazzmine @moonlitskinwalker @we-are-band-sexuals @winchestergirl-love @gecko9596 @ronnie248-blog@essie1876 @bohowitch@just-another-busy-fangirl@jotink78 @captainradicalpassion @keelzy2 @disneymarina @kittenofdoomage @mrswhozeewhatsis @oriona75 @frankiea1998 @akshi8278@stylinson531@valynsia @dr-dean@theoutlinez @imweirdandobsessed @growningupgeek @luciisthebest @laurenisnot @maddieburcham1 @canadianjelly @muliermalefici @brewsthespirit-blog @ilsawasanacrobat @nanie5 @weasleywinchester-blog @samisimportant @fatalcrossbow @violetsamalamb @letmusicguideu @grantsgorgeousgirl @faegal04 @feelmyroarrrr @kay18115@milkymilky-cocopuff @mikimausiii @the-greatest-temptation @superpanicromancesummer @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @emoryhemsworth @squirrel-moose-winchester @jennifromtheblock1013

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theonlyjelly-iwillput-inmybelly · 6 years

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The Ghost of Christmas Past

Hi, nonny! I wrote prompt 13 as a separate post for my own organizational purposes; I dislike writing fics in the question format because...aesthetics. Idk, I’m weird.

Prompt 13 became a cute lil fic that I so cleverly entitled ‘Ho, Ho, Ho, Bitch’ and you can read it on Tumblr HERE or my AO3 HERE.

Hit up the My Fics page on my theme for more of my fics, or search the ‘my fics’ tag on my blog.

Thank you!

A/N: This is a sharp contrast to prompt 13, and this is also the angstiest, saddest fic I have ever written to date. I’m sorry. I also explored the idea of making the antagonist...Logan. It was an interesting exercise, to say the least (I hurt my bois and I hate it)

Sorry for spelling it’s late and I’m tired

Prompt 16: “Christmas is lame.” -“You’re lame! You, you, you grinch!” -“Oh. Ow.”

Words: 3,749

Pairings: Prinxiety (Roman/Virgil)

Warnings: Swearing, arguing, crying, emotional breakdown

READ IT ON AO3 HERE!

“Come on, Virgil! You can’t hate Christmas that much!” Roman cried out in a dramatically shocked voice, a hand splayed over his heart as he steadied the ladder for Patton, who was in the process of hanging mistletoe from apparently every nook and cranny in the entirety of the mind palace.

“Actually, Roman,” Virgil retorted from the couch, where he was surfing Tumblr on his phone, “I can hate and not hate whatever the hell I want, regardless of the pressure you idiots with your Christmas fetishes put upon me.”

“I’d like to interject with the statement that I have never had a fetish for anything in my life, all things Christmas included, and that I also am not an idiot,” Logan said calmly as he entered the living room from the kitchen, “I have reason to believe you don’t entirely understand what a fetish is, Virgil, so I shall explain. A fetish, according to the Oxford English Dictionary-”

“No, I know what a fetish is, teach, thanks,” Virgil quickly interrupted, “I was just being sarcastic about these nerds’ obsession with Christmas.”

“It is not a fetish!” Roman cried, his cheeks flushing, “I’m just enjoying the Christmas spirit-”

“Now boys, don’t fight!” Patton chided, tying the red ribbon around the mistletoe securely, “Roman, Virgil’s allowed to like or dislike whatever he wants.”

“Yeah, I’m allowed to like or dislike whatever the hell I want,” Virgil said, jutting his chin out and grinning mockingly at Roman. He flipped the creative side off when Patton’s eyes were back on the mistletoe.

Roman huffed and stuck out his tongue, but grinned triumphantly when Patton said “I saw that, Virgil.”

“Saw what?” Virgil asked, tucking his phone and hands into the pockets of his hoodie and staring at Patton with a look of complete innocence. Roman scowled.

“You gave Roman the bird! You know that’s rude,” Patton cried, climbing down from the ladder, “Please make an effort to be nice, kiddo. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Christmas Eve, Shitscram Schmeve,” Virgil huffed, flipping up his hoodie and digging his phone out of his pocket again.

Patton breathed out a heavy sigh as Roman and Virgil began bickering again. The two had become closer friends since the disastrous foray into Virgil’s room, but they still bickered on sore topics that they both stubbornly took sides on. Patton couldn’t tell whether or not their bickering was actually the good humored sniping that came from strong friendships or whether or not they actually still felt malice towards one another based upon an old habit struggling to fade away. It was confusing; they’d argue, but then they’d grin at one another whenever they flipped each other off.

He shook his head of his thoughts in time to hear Virgil mutter “Christmas is lame.”

At this, Roman was flabbergasted. “Dude! How? You know what...Y-You’re lame! You...Y-You grinch!” he said, fumbling with his words.

Virgil looked up at Roman over the edge of his phone, his expression unimpressed. “Oh, ow. That sure hurt,” he said scornfully, flicking his gaze back into the blue glaze of his screen, “I expected a better nickname from the creative side.”

They continued to bicker, Roman even seating himself on the couch next to Virgil so that they could have an easier time at flipping each other off.

“Boys!” Patton said severely, his hands on his hips. He sighed when the other two ignored him, and looked imploringly to Logan, who was coolly reading a book on physics while seated on his armchair. “Logan, can I get some help here, please?”

Logan marked his page and closed the book, gently placing it aside. He quietly cleared his throat, and stood, looking to Roman and Virgil expectantly. Patton grinned when silence fell over the room; Logan had the stern aura of a gentle yet serious professor who would simultaneously give advice yet take no nonsense.

“Roman, I believe that it is best that you heed to Patton’s advice; not everyone in this world has to have the same opinion as you do. Do not give me that look; you should know this by now,” Logan monotoned, silencing Roman’s protest with a furrow of his eyebrows. Virgil grinned, but his smile faltered when Logan’s analytical stare fell upon him.

“Virgil, I believe what you are doing now is what they call ‘lashing out’, which is when a person has something on their mind that is deeply bothering them, so they try to ‘expel’ the negative emotions by taking physical or verbal action that can be harmful to themselves or others,” Logan murmured, taking off his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his shirt, “Naturally, this does not work nearly as well as when someone opens up about the potentially negative feelings they may be harboring. So, Virgil, do you have any negative feelings you wish to expel, or do you wish to keep bottling them and risk injury to you, Thomas, or us?”

Virgil snorted, pulling his hood down further along his bangs and rubbing his chin in mock thoughtfulness, “Well, let me think. Do I, the literal fucking embodiment of anxiety, have any negative feelings?”

“Virgil, language,” Patton scolded.

Logan placed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. “I sense that that rhetorical question was laden with sarcasm.”

“Yeah, ya think? Man, you can be dense sometimes,” Virgil hissed, pulling his legs up closer to his chest, his lips curling and his jaw clenching.

Virgil had hit a sore spot; Logan tensed up, his arms folding and his shoulders squaring. “Falsehood!” he snapped, raising his voice, “And what you’re doing now exactly proves my point! You’re lashing out because I appear to have unearthed a sensitive topic; your feelings about Christmas, or, rather-”

“-Hey, leave him alone, Logan, you’re-!” Roman started to say, but Virgil stamped his foot, cutting him off.

“I’m not lashing out about anything!” Virgil shouted, leaping up from the couch, his hood falling back to reveal disheveled hair that only added to his threatening appearance, “Jesus, I voice one negative opinion and you all bash me down and start psychoanalyzing me! I just don't like Christmas, and you all Whos in Whoville just have to accept it!”

Logan, normally so collected, was turning bright red; he was about to open his mouth to argue further when Patton quickly hurried over and laid a hand on his forearm. Logan shut his mouth, and merely fumed as Patton looked reproachfully at Virgil.

“Kiddo…” he said quietly, “Why do you hate Christmas so much?”

Virgil gawked at Patton, blinking incredulously. His arms were stiff at his sides, his legs splayed apart and bent as if he was about to spring. He let out a high pitched, stuttering laugh, one that was heavy with sarcasm.

“Why do I hate Christmas?” he snarled, ferociously zipping up the hoodie, “I’ll let you guys resurrect the Ghost of Christmas Past to answer that question.”

And with that, he sunk out of the room.

Logan was the first to break the heavy silence. “I wasn’t aware that Virgil was a Dickens fan.”

“I don’t think he was fanboying about Charles Dickens, teach,” Roman said quietly, his disturbed expression fixed on the spot where Virgil had disappeared.

Patton furrowed his brow, and squeezed Logan’s arm tighter to draw him out of his reverie. “Who’s Charles Dickens? What did he mean, ‘Ghost?’ It’s Christmas, not Halloween!”

Logan chuckled, and pried Patton’s hand away. “He was referring to the famous British novelist and journalist that authored A Christmas Carol, a fictitious tale of a stingy and bitter old man by the name of Ebenezer Scrooge, who was visited by a series of spirits, the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Yet to Come. They all tried to show him the error of his greedy ways and tried to teach him the magical message of Christmas kindness. All nonsense of course.”

“Oh,” Patton said, his expression troubled, “Why would he mention that when I asked him why he hated Christmas?”

“Well, A Christmas Carol is a rather dark tale for Christmas, so perhaps he hates the holiday because he dislikes Dickens’s view-”

“No, shut up, Logan!” Roman said suddenly, leaping to his feet. Patton and Logan turned to look at him incredulously, but their gazes turned into ones of concern when they saw the alarm on Roman’s face. He was running his hands through his hair and turning in slow circles, a common thing he did when he was feeling guilty.

“Consider me shut,” Logan said after a few moments, prompting Roman to speak.

“...I think Virgil said ‘resurrect the Ghost of Christmas Past’ because he wants us to think back on all of our previous Christmases,” Roman began slowly, his face whitening, his throat constricting violently as he swallowed with difficulty, “So let's think about Virgil’s past Christmases.”

The three sides fell silent as they delved back into their memories.

But no matter how far back they wracked their brains, they could not see a single picture of Virgil enjoying Christmas. There were no memories of him decorating, no memories of him baking, no memories of him watching stupid Christmas TV specials.

And that was because-

“...Virgil has never had a real Christmas,” Roman whispered in a small voice.

Logan blinked rapidly, placing his palm on his forehead, his breath hitching. “Oh, my god…” he breathed.

Patton’s lip wobbled, his hands pressing against his cheeks. “Oh no, oh no…”

Roman sank back onto the couch, the sound of Patton bursting into guilty tears echoing in his ears. His heart was pounding in his ears, and he too felt intense shame and guilt wash over him, pricking at the back of his eyes in the form of tears. He thought his guilt would go away since Virgil had forgiven him all those months ago, forgiven him for believing that Virgil was a villain that Thomas wanted, needed him to vanquish or else Roman would fall out of favor, but here that guilt was again, like a scar or a flashback to a traumatic time.

Roman blinked minutes later, forcing himself to surface after submerging himself with his dark thoughts. He saw that Patton was still sobbing, but he now had a blanket around his shoulders and that the fire was roaring. Logan was awkwardly patting his back, his expression troubled and tinged with guilt.

“Why did you have to go and...and expose him like that, Logan?” Roman snapped, his tone much more vehement than he had intended.

Logan looked up sharply, his mouth a thin line. “What do you mean?” he asked, his tone defensive.

“I mean you had to go and nitpick him, saying that he’s got all these problems pent up and that’s why he was acting up!” Roman hissed, his hands wringing.

“But that is the truth, Roman, why be so frivolous when it is much more efficient to not ‘beat around the bush’, as you would say?” Logan deadpanned.

Roman opened his mouth to retort, but all that came out was a hollow, incredulous laugh. Anger seethed in his chest, and he felt himself agitatedly stand up, pacing back and forth, his hands clinging to his hair.

“Jesus, why are you so emotionally dense?!” he hissed, his eyes glinting like sword points at Logan.

Logan was upright in an instant, his eyes flashing. “Because emotions are not my forte! You should know this!”

“And you should know that feelings, especially Virgil’s, aren’t something that are to be dealt with ‘efficiently’ like they’re some puzzle!” Roman shouted, turning sharply to face Logan, his eyes blazing, “He is a person, an actual, feeling person, not some equation for you to solve!”

Logan looked like he was about to shout something scathing when the sound of Patton crying increased and they both saw Patton burying his head in his arms. Logan and Roman exchanged glances before Logan knelt down beside Patton.

“No, no, no, not on Christmas Eve, please not today!” Patton cried, his voice muffled. He shrunk away from Logan’s touch, and lifted his head.

“...Patton,” Logan said quietly, his head drooping with shame.

“I just want us all to have one holiday together with no fighting and no arguing and I just want us all to get along, is that too much to fucking ask for?!” Patton sobbed, his voice growing in volume until it ended with a completely uncharacteristic screech. Logan and Roman were stunned at the venomous tones to the moral side’s voice, and were struck completely dumb by the swear. Patton buried his head in his arms again and wept inconsolably.

Roman was completely shaken. It didn’t hit him until just then that the family was crumbling apart on Christmas Eve.

He couldn’t take it anymore. He turned to leave, trying to force the sound of Patton’s weeping out of his mind. He covered his ears, and stumbled towards his room, his stomach twisting in knots. He paused just outside of his door, his hand reaching for his door knob when he swore he heard something breaking in the far off distance.

He turned his head quickly in the direction he came, listening hard. Oh god, he thought to himself, Patton didn’t throw something, did he? But no, there came another crash, although this time Roman was certain that the noise was coming from deeper inside Thomas’s mind. He turned to peer down the shadowy hallway that lead to the darker corner of Thomas’s mind. Virgil’s old room was there, and that was where he lived before he had been welcome to a room closer to the commons. Roman swallowed, and felt himself moving down the hallway only slightly against his will; he felt an instinct deep in his gut telling him to find out what the source of the crashing was.

He padded farther and farther down the hallway, until it melted into something that wasn’t a hallway, or even an indoor structure, at all. It felt like he was in a huge, cold cavern, and all around him there rushed a cold, damp breeze. Roman shivered. He couldn’t imagine living here.

He kept walking for what felt like ages. The sounds of renewed arguing from the commons had completely disappeared. With every step, the crashing noise grew louder and louder. Roman swallowed nervously, his eyes skittering in every direction. He paused as he felt his lungs tighten and his heart begin to pound.

Suddenly, he knew where he was.

He was in the land of the Forgotten.

This was the place where all the forgotten memories were lost. This was where all the useless information that was cleaned from Thomas’s consciousness by Logan each night while Thomas dreamt was sent. In the shadows there were inklings of thoughts, faces of people Thomas had long forgotten, whispers of knowledge remembered but now lost.

Here in the Forgotten Land, there was Virgil.

Roman paused in his tracks, giving a small cry of shock when a great shattering of glass pierced his ears. The dreadful noise echoed and throbbed throughout the great cavern, the whispers and faces letting out thin moans. Roman swiveled around when he heard a faint growl.

There, on the edge of a precipice, stood Virgil.

He seemed remarkably unflustered for one who was literally feet away from entering a part of Thomas’s mind where he would well and truly be forgotten. His hood was up, the dark purple of the patches pulsating like cysts. The anxious side was conjuring plates and throwing them as hard as he could against the ground; hence was the source of the crashing noise. With every plate he threw, he heaved a grunt of rage.

Roman didn’t know what to do, didn’t know what to say. He bowed his head, the rhythmic crash of the plates ringing in his ears.

“What’s up, Ro?”

Roman jerked his head up sharply. He saw Virgil, his back turned, with his hands now thrust deep into his pockets. Roman was surprised. Virgil didn’t sound mad, or even sarcastic.

He sounded exhausted.

Roman shuffled his feet, thumbing his sash. “...Does that help?” he asked, gesturing to the scattered shards of ceramic. They looked like stark white drops of blood against the dim light and black stone.

Virgil turned around slowly. His hood was up at such an angle so hat Roman couldn’t see his face.

“...Kind of,” he whispered.

There was a thick silence as they stared at the shiny, damp cavern floor, surveying the wreckage of the plates, surveying the work of Virgil’s rage and suffering. The faint wind ruffled their hair, the whispers of the forgotten tickling their ears.

Suddenly, Virgil stamped his foot, his hands grappling at his hood.

“It’s all so fucking stupid!” he cried, grinding shards under his shoes, “We were just screwing around, you know, you and me, Ro?”

Roman blinked, reaching out so as to hold Virgil, his fingers curling into a fist that he withdrew when Virgil began to shake.

“You and I were just messing around, we fight about stupid stuff because that’s what best friends do,” Virgil cried, his voice shaking and sounding as if three people, all speaking in different octaves, were speaking over one another, “But Logan had to go and...had to go and make me remember...”

Virgil slapped his hand over his mouth, and began to shake violently. Roman felt like crying out when Virgil began to quake violently, muffled sobs fighting to escape from between his clenched teeth and suffocating hand.

“Virgil…” Roman said in a small voice, for once completely at a loss for what to say.

“Had to make me remember that you guys hated me, made me remember... remember that I never had a fucking real Christmas. Treated me like...like a t-thing again,” Virgil gasped, sucking in panicked, shaky breaths.

Roman jumped when Virgil snapped his head up, tearing his hoodie back. Roman felt the knots in his stomach constrict and felt his eyes sting when he saw that Virgil’s eyeshadow was pierced by tear stains, the anxious side’s eyes wet and red as more and more tears streamed down his face. He made searing eye contact with Roman, his stare making Roman’s heart squirm with pity and guilt.

“A thing, Roman!” he wailed, clasping his sweaterpaws over his eyes and completely breaking down. He fell to his knees, his joints cracking loudly as they hit the freezing rock below their feet. He wept openly, his body wracked by sobs.

Roman quickly knelt before him, not caring when the shards of ceramic pierced the fabric of his pants and scraped his skin. He reached his hands out, so wanting to hold Virgil, but he didn’t know whether or not he was crossing an invisible boundary he wasn't meant to cross yet. He felt his own eyes welling up with tears as Virgil sobbed brokenly.

“Virgil…” Roman squeaked, his voice cracking with the emotion that was forming a lump in his throat. He quickly cleared it, and continued, “Virgil...you’re not a thing. Logan was just being an utter asshole again. To me, you’re...you’re a friend, a wonderful friend.”

Virgil cried harder, his shoulders hunching.

“No matter what you do, no matter what you think, no matter what Logan ever says, you will never be a thing,” Roman said between gritted teeth, trying his hardest to stop himself from crying empathy tears, “And while it may not seem like it right now...you’re family.”

Virgil sniffled, pausing long enough in his crying to take a breath and look at Roman. He looked utterly defeated.

“Sure, tell that to me again when they’re not always picking me apart like I’m some fucking psych ward patient, or like I’m some corpse on a table.”

“I did say it might not seem like it right now,” Roman reminded him gently, “...We all have a lot to work to do. But just...just understand, Virgil, that I…”

Roman swallowed, and looked at his twisted hands in his lap. When he remained silent, Virgil was bereaved with another round of sobs.

“Virgil…” Roman started again, gently reaching forward to hold the anxious side’s knees, “...C-Can I give you a hug?”

Virgil stiffened noticeably under his hand.

“...Please…” Roman whimpered, “...I just want to help you feel better.”

Virgil melted, crying out but nodding. Shakily, Roman unfolded his legs from underneath himself, sat pretzel style, and gently lifted Virgil under the arms. He was much lighter than Roman had imagined; who knew what bony frame was hidden beneath that hoodie? He situated Virgil in his lap so that Virgil’s side was leaning into his chest. Virgil squirmed until he was as comfortable as he was going to get, and merely shook as he tried to suppress his tears.

But what little composure he had left broke when Roman gathered him close, wiping the tear tracks from wherever he could reach. Virgil’s head slumped against Roman’s chest, and he tilted his head so that he might hide his face in Roman’s shirt. He clung to the fabric of Roman’s sash, crying his heart out as Roman whispered him soothing platitudes and bounced him gently in his arms.

Eventually, Roman just sat in silence while letting Virgil cry, opting instead to stroke the anxious side’s back and nuzzle his nose into his hair so that the other side would be reminded of Roman’s presence when he felt Roman’s breath.

Eventually, Roman couldn't take it anymore. He trembled slightly as tears of his own slid down his cheeks. He squeezed his eyes shut, grieving for Virgil, who was going through a pain Roman had never wanted him to go through again. He squeezed Virgil even closer to his chest, letting himself gasp out one small sob before completely shutting himself off

Eventually, Virgil calmed down enough until he was only sniffling and whimpering, pawing at Roman’s chest and curling closer to the strong warmth.

“I’m sorry I...I’m sorry I forgot why you hate Christmas,” Roman whispered, his voice shaking.

“...It’s OK.”

“No it’s not.”

“...I’m too fucking sad and tired to argue with that right now, Ro. Just...you’re wrong, OK?”

“...OK.”

Thin silence.

“...I wish we could all just...get along.” Virgil whimpered into Roman’s chest.

Roman squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore visions of Patton crying, himself and Logan yelling, and Virgil smashing plates.

“...Me too.”

Alas, getting along was not to be. For that year, Virgil still did not have a real Christmas.

None of them did.

@celiawhatsherlastname @monikastec @jordandobbertin @greymane902@lostgirlgwen @kittenvirgil @iamahumanwaitnothatsalie @logan-logic @jet-black-hearted-girl @gay-ace-trash @shadowjag@thestoryoferissur @lexboydfandompanda@alyssadashrubjustanotherpurplebutterfly @sarcastic-florist

#my fics #the ghost of christmas past #prinxiety #sanders sides #thomas sanders #christmas

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dark-oratorio-blog · 6 years

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Getting Organized

I began writing the first draft of Tattered during National Novel Writing Month back in November of last year. I managed to finish the month with 54,000 words under my belt (the total goal is 50k), but there was still quite a ways to go before the first draft was done. Even now, I have two more chapters to write in David's story, with the final one looking like it'll be a doozy, if my old outline is anything to go by. I'm far removed from the frantic pace of NaNoWriMo, and have seen my writing slow down immensely since then. I've been working on finding new ways to keep myself moving forward, with two of them in particular having helped quite a bit.

First off, you should know that I am possibly the messiest, most unorganized person on the planet. You might think that's hyperbole, but you also haven't been in my home. Have you ever seen Joe's Apartment, that old MTV movie with the singing cockroaches? No? Look it up. It's like that, but with less singing and dancing. I digress.

The point is that my overall sloppiness has spilled over into my writing. My desk is currently covered in thirty or more papers, all notes that I've written over the past couple of months. Some of these notes were scribbled out at work, on sticky pads and ripped receipts, while others were torn from notebooks and old printer paper. I don't know what most of these pages say. I assume many of them are outdated, with me having already passed that point in the story, while others are probably for way in the future (I have a tendency to plan too far ahead for my own good). Either way, I usually can't be bothered to try and decipher my own handwriting, or to look for whatever relevant ramblings I had scribbled out two weeks prior.

My solution to this messy nonsense? Get this, it's gonna blow your socks right off.

A n o t e b o o k. Wow.

I'm not even kidding you. It took me months to actually start carrying a notebook with me (and a pen, of course), and my productivity has increased more than I would have guessed. These pages are still unorganized, but at least they're all in one place! The image above is from said notebook, and is the first draft of last week's blog post. Focusing more on handwritten notes and drafting has also had an unexpected side-affect. I often find that I focus a lot on word choice, especially word repetition, which becomes less of an issue for me when writing something out on paper. I believe it’s easier for me to tell when I’m using a word too often, or when something doesn’t flow well, when I can ‘feel’ myself writing the word out, as opposed to just pressing keys. Because of this, I've generally felt more satisfied with how my pen and paper drafts have been coming out, or at least I've been better about identifying when something I've written is complete and utter shit. (I'm writing this solely on the computer, by the way, so if this is garbage, I probably haven't noticed yet.)

The second tool that's proven very useful for me is being able to record audio on my phone. There's been plenty of times when I've wanted to write something down, but wasn't able to, so recording a quick memo would have to do. Carrying a notebook has alleviated some of that, but there are other times when I just need to know how something sounds, rather than how it looks on the page. For example, of one the characters in Tattered is a singer, so it really helps me get in his head-space, and to write his lyrics, when I know how his songs sound (and no, you will never hear these recordings). Another character writes poetry, and word choice doesn't mean a damn if the words themselves don't flow. Speaking these poems out loud has helped me correct some tempo issues. I plan on also using audio to re-evaluate the dialogue at a later date, when I finally have the first draft completed...which I probably should have been working on instead of this blog post.

Next time, maybe I'll actually answer some questions about Tattered itself. For now, thanks for putting up with my inane ramblings!

You can also find me on Twitter, if you're into that sort of thing.

#nanowrimo #writer #writers on tumblr #organization #writing #national novel writing month #keeping motivated #lgbt #indie #dark oratorio

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flyingangelofblueislands · 7 years

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Over the Weekend part 1

UP10TION XIAO (Lee Dongyeol)

Bias X Reader

Genre: Fluff high

You walked into school and your best friend, Bo, almost threw you sideways trying to greet you. “Hey!” You blurted at her while trying to get your balance back. She kept right on smiling like she hadn’t almost smooshed you into the floor. “Sorry. But I almost died waiting for you to get here!” She whispered excitedly. You smiled and rolled your eyes as she hooked arms with you and walked towards homeroom. “Did you really.” You asked sarcastically as Bo went right on talking. “So I was on Instagram last night stalking Nana’s pictures, leaving her all kinds of crazy messages- you know how we do- and she posts a picture of ya’ll getting ready to go out on Friday.” “Me and Nana?” “You and Nana.” “What picture was this?” You quickly pull out your phone, surprised you hadn’t seen the picture yourself. You went straight to Nana’s Instagram and saw the picture Bo was talking about. Someone, most likely Bo, had taken a photo of you and Nana, in your big t-shirts and fluffy headbands. You had both been caught off-guard, your bodies were facing front but your heads were turned around facing the camera, your hands holding a mascara wand, Nana’s holding a tube of lipstick, with mouths open as if shouting at the surprise photo. “Oh my god!” You exclaimed and cackled at the photo, “She posted this?!” “Why shouldn’t she?” “No reason.” You settled down, “I guess it’s funny. She looks cute enough in it. So what about it?” “Go in the comments.” You clicked on the comments and eyeballed them wondering what exactly you were supposed to be looking for, until you saw his screenname with the comment: Very Cute 😍 You couldn’t help but wonder if he meant the picture in general. Or just Nana. Or, more hopefully, you AND Nana. “Do you see it??” Bo squealed at you, shaking your arm. “I see it. So what?” You mumbled while trying not to smile. “Don’t you get it? No. You wouldn’t get it since you only get on Instagram on the weekends.” Bo rolled her eyes. It wasn’t like it was new news. You disciplined yourself for the sake of your schoolwork. You said to yourself that when you started high school, during the school week, you would only be active on one social media platform. You picked You Tube. Where you did DIYs, Study tips, and Book Reviews. Plus, you had to watch videos. You just had to. Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter, Facebook, all put together couldn’t beat YouTube in your mind. But, of course, the whole school seemed to LIVE on Instagram. So you missed out on a lot. You used to try and catch up on the weekends, but you got important news from Bo regardless, so you stopped bothering. This was the one time you wished you hadn’t though. Bo broke you out of your quick stream of thoughts. “He only ever comments on pictures with you in them.” Bo pressed her finger into your temple. Your eyes widened, feeling your heart already speed up at nothing. “Seriously? Are you sure?” “I swear. I swear on my Copic markers.” “You dork!” You laughed and started to move towards your seat. Bo sat right next to you. “But can’t you tell how serious I am? Listen. I only realized it myself last night! After I saw that comment something clicked in my head like ‘wait a minute. Déjà vu.’ So I go looking at all Nana’s pictures with you in it and I’m like ‘there he is. There he is again. There he is one more time.’ Girl, I’m so serious I started screaming, my brother came in the room and told me to shut up. We got in a whole fight about him talking to me all crazy- you know how he talks. I’m gonna stuff it with old socks or something if he keep yelling at me. Who does he think he is?” You amusedly listened to Bo’s conversation take a left turn as your mind started wheeling its own direction. You finally spoke up, “If he’s so busy commenting under all the pics with me in it…why doesn’t he even follow me on Instagram?” “What for? You hardly post and everybody knows you never on there anyway except in on somebody else’s page.” Bo laughed as if the answer was obvious. “Besides, you know Dongyeol. He’s a lil’ shy or whatever.” “He’s doesn’t seem that shy now.” You said out of the side of your mouth. You gestured towards the front door where Dongyeol had just walked in pretty cheerily with his arm around the shoulders of another girl classmate. Bo stifled a laugh at your sudden sour disposition.

“Jealous?” “Jealous of what?” You answered, trying not to scoff. You opened your notebook and began doodling. “Exactly. Your boyfriend is allowed to have friends. Don’t be that kind of obsessed.” Bo lingered around her chair without sitting down. You whipped your head around and stuck your tongue at nothing in particular. “I’m not any kind of obsessed.” “Except about him.” “I will make you eat this pencil.” You flatly threatened turning back around. Bo rolled her eyes at you before starting to walk away. “I’ll be right back.” You didn’t bother to answer her as she was already walking away anyway. You casually looked up and saw her sauntering towards Dongyeol, the girl classmate he walked in with, and his best friend, Hwanhee. You watched, out of the corner of your eye, Bo greet them casually and start talking mostly with the girl. They had a couple periods together, without you, so they were close enough for Bo to strike up random conversation. You watched Bo for a little longer as she and Hwanhee began to squabble louder and louder. You had a strong feeling of what was to come- “Y/N!” You heard your name getting called over the classroom noise. You looked over and saw both the girl, and Bo, urgently waving you over. You stood up to walk over and realized that Dongyeol was still sitting on his desktop, facing Hwanhee, who was seated at his desk, with the other classmate and Bo standing between the two. Your heart started to beat in your throat as you got closer to them. You saw Dongyeol take notice of you and then avert his eyes to the book he had previously put down on his desk. He thumbed the pages of it at his side before standing from his seated position on the desktop to sit properly in his chair. His back now turned slightly away from all of you. You tried to swallow your bitter feeling. “What is it, Bo?” “Hwanhee is over here saying you and J are talking! That he saw you two at a café this weekend sharing hot chocolate from the same straw!” Your jaw dropped. You had only met up with J this weekend to help him go over some notes for both of your’s AP World History exam this week. He said he’d treat you to a drink for helping him cram so last minute. Hwanhee must have seen you all when you were telling J that they messed up your drink order. You asked for a mocha latte with cinnamon and hazelnut syrup, but they gave you a mocha latte with vanilla. He took the drink from you saying he would drink it instead and then told the waiter about the mistake. “It wasn’t even a hot chocolate.” You answered plainly, with a slight scowl. Hwanhee was such a busy body. You didn’t necessarily hate him, but you wished he’d be more careful with his mouth. Especially with Dongyeol listening. You suddenly fought with yourself whether you wanted to clarify what had happened, or just let everyone squirm. What did you care? Dongyeol was currently avoiding even looking in your general direction and seemed to be mumbling under his breath as he scratched nonsense shapes in a page in his own notebook. Bo lightly shoved you with her mouth pinched and telling you to say something else as the other girl began talking over Hwanhee’s incessant chatter. “You shouldn’t talk about what you don’t know, Hwanhee! Especially about things like that.” Hwanhee suddenly stood up, “But you heard her say it from her own mouth!” “All she said was it wasn’t hot chocolate! I shared my water with Dongyeol this morning-does that mean we’re something too?” She seemed to be asking sarcastically. It kind of relieved you. You were about to thank her for her defense argument for you, when Dongyeol jumped into the conversation without even bothering to turn around, “Don’t bring me into this conversation. I don’t care either way.” His voice was cross and a bit whiny. “Why are ya’ll over here talking about me anyway?” You folded your arms across your chest as Bo answered, “We weren’t. We were just talking about what we did this weekend when Hwanhee,” She practically spit his name out in annoyance. Hwanhee pulled a face and moved to get Dongyeol’s attention. Dongyeol waved him off and put in his earphones instead. “Started proving he has no business of his own, so he has to mind everyone else’s!” Bo shot over her shoulder while you had turned to leave and go back to your desk. Bo told the other girl she’d talk to her later before coming back to her seat as well. “I have a right mind to tape Hwanhee’s mouth shut.” “He was just saying what he saw-“ “But Dongyeol-“ “You heard him. He didn’t care either way.” You mentioned bitterly just as the teacher walked in.

************************************************************************* Hello there my fluffy Marshmallows! 1.6 k words, it’s a babyyyy. So it turns out this will be a series too. hahaha As I was writing it, I realized it would be much more intricate that previously thought out and so I figured instead of trying to cram it all into one installment, or leave things out just to skim it down, I said, why not give Xiao a series?? I do miniseries all the time!

I have two more ACTUAL one installment fics that will be posted for other Biases before I post part 2 of this fic again, just to keep things at a certain pace.

P.S. I started a new thing for my blog a little while back- Lyric-Photobooks! They’re selections of songs I think fit a theme (something like, exes still in love *hinthint*) and they’re the selected biases parts only. I translate/interperate them as best as I possibly can and pair them with photos. I have one out now on noisetrade (a site for free ebook/music downloads). If you scroll down on my blog you’ll see it. I mention it here because it is a member of the same group Xiao is in, so if you’re a Honey10 who is Jinhoo biased-Maybe you’ll wanna check that photobook out! It’s kind of staged like, he took these photos for you, and wrote something expressing his varying feelings over time. So I hope you like that.

P.P.S another photobook is almost finished and going to go up over the holidays. Also so will installment 2 of the (EXO) Kai series. *hinthint* The photobook is featuring someone from the same group. Okay bye~~

Love, peace, and quick Fluff reads!

Admin Fluffintine

#fluffintine #up10tion #up10tion xiao #lee dongyeol #up10tion lee dongyeol #fluff scenarios #up10tion fluff #up10tion scenarios #xiao fluff #xiao scenarios #lee dongyeol fluff #lee dongyeol scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop scenarios #up10tion xiao scenario #up10tion xiao fluff

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elle-stevens · 5 years

Text

The Break Up Blog - Day Thirty Nine

This is getting harder and harder to do every day.

Don’t get me wrong, keeping a blog about my feeling since breaking up with X has been helpful and even cathartic to an extent. But dredging up every moment in my memory and every feeling that comes with it is exhausting.

I slept alright save for the hours when I kept waking up and stressing about class. Every Friday, the students now have to write a diary entry in the books that C designed. Simple in theory, right? Except the elementary students at our school seem to genuinely have zero English skills. Or they have the requisite skills, but get completely flustered when they actually have to use it, kinda like me and my ambiguous relationship with Mandarin.

So I changed the topics for grades 3 and 4 and thought that simplifying their task would help by writing vocabulary on the board. It kinda worked with grade 3 and all the students in my class managed to write a few sentences each.

But grade 4?

For 40 minutes, I sincerely thought that I was in a zoo and all the wild animals had gotten loose. One of my autistic students had a very OCD day and wouldn’t stop shouting out ‘The bus isn’t here!’ in Korean, too many of my boys were queuing up in front of the classroom computer to use the online dictionary. And of course, SB had a dumb fight with with another student, E, and legit walked out of my class and slammed the door on top of it.

I’d love to say that the latter pissed me off simply because SB was in the middle of it. But he’s actually been relatively well-behaved in class in the last two weeks, almost like he’s had a lobotomy. And honestly, by the time he pulled that crap on me, I was too exhausted and dumb-founded to take offence. Now that I’m thinking on it now, I definitely need to tell SH about what happened in class. I hate to bother her about it because she already has to deal with this nonsense as their homeroom teacher, but I’ve just had it with the total disregard for my authority in class.

I was forced to sit in the grade 6 homeroom and wait for them even though I knew they wouldn’t make it for class while having their school event during the day. I don’t get why the homeroom teachers force the foreign teachers to hang about like chumps during school events in the unlikelihood that the event will finish early and we’ll be able to pick up the slack with the dregs of the class period? It’s starting to feel like I went back to university two years ago and got a teaching certificate for nothing. I’m just an over-glorified babysitter at this point in my life and it sucks.

N came to find me while I kept the grade 6 classroom warm (or chilled in this case because the afternoon was hot af). She wanted to have her ‘official’ conversation with me about renewing my contract at the school. I did change things up a bit when N mentioned tried to persuade me to consider applying for a teaching position in the high school department of our school. I initially wanted to do that months ago, but ML was pretty adamant that I was unable to change the terms of my contract since my school only hires high school teachers in the second semester and my contract ends in February next year. Never mind the fact that I initially interviewed for a high school position at my school before coming to my city, but got recruited into the elementary department at the last second when one of the teachers broke his contract in the middle of the school year. But who really cares about minor details like that?

I told N I’d keep an open mind about it if she could swing things for me to work teach high school instead. I stopped considering it before when I thought that ML would stay in the managerial position for another year. But C told me that ML’s going back to Korea next year, so working under a new manager might actually be better. H might get pissed off at me for switching departments though; she’d probably take it as a personal affront to her management style. It is in part because of that, but honestly, I’m just done in general with this school. It’s too much bullshit layered with bullshit at every turn.

After my meeting with N, I went back to my office, only for H to talk to me about a punishment I gave my fifth graders two days when they wouldn’t shut up in class. Instead of disciplining the students in my own way, H suggested that I turn the classroom in a democracy and let the students decide on their own punishments and rewards in the near future. It’s a great idea in theory, but now that I think about it, it’s basically an FU to the teacher. As it turns out, I’m pretty much irrelevant in my own classroom.

And people actually wonder why teachers want to leave this school...

I saw N and ML talking out of the corner of my eye while H talked to me. I guess N gave ML the ‘good news’ about me wanting to leave. I could care less at this point. H’s eyes looked strangely red-rimmed during our talk, like she was seconds away from crying. I wonder if she heard about my news already? Who knows and honestly, who cares at this point?

I’m over it.

Still, I sat with CI at lunch and we had a good talk about our different classroom woes. He’s become a really good work buddy, I’m glad that C picked him out from a sea of what was probably a lot of crap teachers. Even talking to N about some of my minor grievances helped too. I even found time during the day to perform surgery on a clay doll one of my third grade girls made that had its leg and sword hilt (I don’t know what kids are into these days, lol) ripped off by her classmate. I went home to get my glue gun because the departmental ones are suddenly missing and I sutured the old sport’s injuries. Then I left said doll in the third grade homeroom, I hope my little chica finds it there.

All of this dumb shit that happened - It’s ok really when I think about it. Now I know that I’m done with being treated this way. Good luck to my school principal with finding teachers that are half as competent and caring as C, me and even CI, even though he’s staying another year.

After all the fuckery at work and the number that X pulled on me, I’m done with people taking me for a James Blunt in my professional and personal capacities.

‘James Blunt’ in this case is British rhyming slang. Do yourself a favour and look it up, it’ll give you a good laugh.

I may look like a ‘James Blunt’, I may even act like a ‘James Blunt’ when I’m taking the piss. But don’t get it twisted: I am not a fucking James Blunt by any stretch of the imagination. You can’t fuck with me and expect me to treat you the same way ever again.

It only needs to happen once. And after that, I’m done with you. I may smile at you and even help you with things from time to time. But I will never open myself up to you again.

That’s what happened to X in the end and I can see how it will happen with some of my current colleagues as the months progress. I thought it was kind of C watching C and H’s friendship turn to shit in real time when H became our manager. But I get how it happened: when you get a little of anything good, it makes you selfish and you end up turning on the people around you.

I did that when I dated X. She became the centre of my universe and I lost track of everything and everyone. I even had a huge fight with P and G because of X when I used too much bandwidth from the family router to video call X every day for a year.

That was a really bad fight and the way my siblings looked at me while it happened still haunts me. It’s like they saw me, but an uglier version, and they didn’t like it one bit.

I shudder when I think of that memory, especially when it was all for nothing with X. I nearly lost my relationship with my brother and sister over X. And what the fuck was even the point of it all?

I don’t ever want to be that way again the next time I fall in love. I want to go into the whole affair with my eyes completely open.

There were some positives at work. Besides having some good heart-to-hearts, my colleagues really liked the coconut tarts I baked for them. Even if they were just blowing smoke up my ass, it felt good to hear the compliments and know that I’m not sucking at this too.

I’m feeling really tired today, so I hope I have enough energy to exercise in a little while. I ordered dinner from a chicken restaurant below my apartment complex, I’ll cook something tomorrow. Since R wants me to charge me an arm and a leg for a physiotherapy consultation, I made an appointment at a local clinic tomorrow instead so a doctor can look at my right arm that keeps twinging whenever I move it. I hope someone speaks English there, I’m tired of floundering about like a beached whale with zero Chinese speaking skills.

My sinuses are still pestering me, but not as bad as before. I still have to check through my student diaries this weekend and mark and correct them. That’s a problem that can wait till tomorrow after I’ve had a good night’s sleep. D’s birthday gift finally arrived, I also have to figure out when I can drop it off at her apartment.

I just want to rest this weekend and not think about anything. After Sunday, I’ll be done with my current workout programme; I might switch to something simpler like swimming after this.

I’m just done.

My body and brain need a proper rest.

I might stop writing these blog entries after Sunday is over, I’ll see how I feel. Right now, I don’t want to think and just drift off deeper into myself.

#breakupblog #daythirtynine

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ethelbertpaul444-blog · 6 years

Text

Nicki Minaj and the Abusive Stan Culture Epidemic: Where Do I Draw the Line?

We have went to do something about the stans. At their most benign, they’re ruffling. Their hyper-devotion can reach them insufferable little adherents to whatever or whomever it is they fawn over, be it their favorite preserving creator or a movie right they’ve been immersed in since they were aged sufficient to zip up their Yoda pajamas. But the most difficult various kinds of stans swing their fandom like a sword, ready to cut down anyone that sweeps their fave. It doesn’t matter if an external infidel has besmirched the name of their elected deity or if some unworthy dreg is subverting their beloved institution from the inside–the stans will swarm and sting, and you will feel every bit of their ire. Of track , nothing of this is news. Much has been written about internet bother, stan culture and how they affirm a certain harmful socialization that’s occurred online. It’s a odious combination of wish-fulfillment and syndicate mentality that had now become normalized after years of watching it devolve into the kind of digital blood athletic that leads to celebs or those who have flouted against a celeb having to leave social media absolutely. The ultra-devoted fanbase has been around for decades, but in the age of social media it’s mustered into something much more aggressive and abusive than a teen idol fanclub of yesteryear. The most obvious recent example came politenes of Nicki Minaj, her cadre of superfans (” The Barbz “) and a Toronto freelance journalist who dared express their views about a popular master. Pop culture scribe Wanna Thompson became unintentionally prominent in July when she tweeted out a essay of Nicki Minaj’s contentious antics in the lead-up to the superstar’s again-delayed album Queen . ” You know how narcotic it would be if Nicki bring out ripen material ?” predicted the tweet from Thompson.” No dazed shit. Just wondering on past relationships, has become a boss, afflictions, etc. She’s touching 40 soon, a brand-new direction is required .” Nicki apparently appreciated the tweet, took special exception to being referred to as” stroking 40 ,” and launched into an acidic denunciation over what was fairly innocuous evaluation. Thompson would subsequently screenshot a direct message she received from an indignant Nicki Minaj. ” When ya ugly ass was 24 u were propagandizing 30? I’m 34. I’m touching 40? Lol. And what does that is therefore necessary to do with my music? Eat a dick u hating ass hoe ,” Minaj DM’d Thompson on Twitter.” Got the gut to have a trini pennant on ur sheet. You must not have heard the Pinkprint. Or lozenges n tonics, Bed of lies, save me, my recent peculiarity with Alicia keys, Tasha cobbs. Just say u resentful I’m rich, acclaimed rational, moderately and start! But wait! Leave my pellets! Tired of u sucking them .” Once Thompson announced the screenshotted send, Nicki’s swarm jumped. They provoked Thompson across every social media platform, and even texted her cellphone. They encountered Instagram pictures of her daughter. Thompson lost an internship for a music blog and numerous targeted the paw at Minaj. Meanwhile, her superfans assaulted the 26 -year old in every digital platform they could occupy. ” Hello, unemployed gloom skin pitch-black guttersnipe bitch ,” read one e-mail from a fan designated as willam daish to be submitted to Thompson.” Why is it that it’s always the dark bitches that are so jealous and full of bitterness. I anticipate the only solution for you is to kill yourself. You are too poisonous for the world and for your child .” In a recent Rolling Stone story about The Barbz, a Nicki superfan identfied as “Ayan” acknowledges that this kind of over-the-top piety can go too far–but seemed fluffy on just where the line is: ” Where do I draw the line? I signify, extinction is certainly a little bit too far. I feel like that is a little bit more far. However, I likewise have that devil’s advocates mindset where the line is never more far for the person that is coming at the personality. Why is it that when the fan of that notoriety is reacting that the line is becoming too far? I tend not to touch on category either, fatality and all that kinda nonsense, but I can definitely receive where they are are coming from when they do touch on those things, because everyone has their different boiling point and is it OK? No. Do I understand where the hatred is coming from? Most surely .” This kind of hyper-defensiveness isn’t limited to pop wizards. There is a same allegiance presented to popular recreation symbols of all kinds. Granted, the spirit behind the opposition of those movie/ comic book/ video game fanbases is less about protecting the beloved practice from detractors, and more about harassing anyone allowed to join the hallowed franchise’s family tree–especially if the outsider is non-white and/ or female. In June, it was reported that Star Wars actress Kelly Marie Tran, who plays Rose Tico in The Last-place Jedi , deleted her social media chronicles following months of online persecution from the franchise’s more obsessive and abusive followers. The backlash stimulated Nerds of Color to mobilize for Tran at Comic Con in San Diego. When the brand-new trailer for the upcoming Teen Titans movie debuted at Comic-Con in late July, actress Anna Diop was the target of an ugly prejudiced resentment online from a host of Teen Titans devotees. Diop was subjected to malevolent statements on Instagram and ongoing harassment on Twitter. She addressed the comments via a now-deleted Instagram post: ” Too often social media is abused by some who find refuge in the obscurity and withdrawal it plies: misused as a tool to persecute, defamation, and spew hatred at others. This is weak, terrible, and a direct reflection of the abuser. Racist, derogatory, and/ or callous commentaries have nothing to do with the person on the receiving tip of that ill-treatment .” It’s become increasingly outraging to witness as it thrives more permeating by the day. The teen hotshots of a live-action Kim Possible reboot were persecuted for not according the cartoon personas’ physical dimensions to some supporters’ penchant. Future’s “FutureHive” once was believed to have spoofed the domain to onetime competitive rapper OG Maco’s site. And every week a new “stanbase” is going to great lengths on social media( and beyond) to raze some perceived “threat” online. So what do we do about the stans? Your guess is as good as excavation. “Stanbases” have become the most difficult various kinds of internet subculture over its first year. Kudos to those co-stars, producers and purveyors who won’t allow their colleagues to be targeted by the nasty and anonymous online. In the case of aces like Nicki, loudly and consistently denouncing online provocation would go a long way toward at least describing a line for the persons who come at your uber-famous feet. Recognizing that not every critic is your person foe and no longer fanning the flames with hypersensitive overreactions wouldn’t hurt, either. But ultimately, this is about people taking some broth of themselves and their behavior. We all enjoy what we love. But going to campaign over it with strangers–especially with the force of an continual online provocation expedition is currently conducting en masse — impels you an obsessive abuser who maybe should be swiped with a restraining order. You’re a digital stalker in the name of celebrity. And that’s a nice fucking pathetic concept to be. Read more: https :// www.thedailybeast.com/ nicki-minaj-and-the-abusive-stan-culture-epidemic-where-do-i-draw-the-line http://dailybuzznetwork.com/index.php/2018/09/15/nicki-minaj-and-the-abusive-stan-culture-epidemic-where-do-i-draw-the-line/

0 notes

ethelbertpaul444-blog · 6 years

Text

Nicki Minaj and the Abusive Stan Culture Epidemic: Where Do I Draw the Line?

We have went to do something about the stans.

At their most benign, they’re ruffling. Their hyper-devotion can reach them insufferable little adherents to whatever or whomever it is they fawn over, be it their favorite preserving creator or a movie right they’ve been immersed in since they were aged sufficient to zip up their Yoda pajamas. But the most difficult various kinds of stans swing their fandom like a sword, ready to cut down anyone that sweeps their fave. It doesn’t matter if an external infidel has besmirched the name of their elected deity or if some unworthy dreg is subverting their beloved institution from the inside–the stans will swarm and sting, and you will feel every bit of their ire.

Of track , nothing of this is news. Much has been written about internet bother, stan culture and how they affirm a certain harmful socialization that’s occurred online. It’s a odious combination of wish-fulfillment and syndicate mentality that had now become normalized after years of watching it devolve into the kind of digital blood athletic that leads to celebs or those who have flouted against a celeb having to leave social media absolutely. The ultra-devoted fanbase has been around for decades, but in the age of social media it’s mustered into something much more aggressive and abusive than a teen idol fanclub of yesteryear. The most obvious recent example came politenes of Nicki Minaj, her cadre of superfans (” The Barbz “) and a Toronto freelance journalist who dared express their views about a popular master.

Pop culture scribe Wanna Thompson became unintentionally prominent in July when she tweeted out a essay of Nicki Minaj’s contentious antics in the lead-up to the superstar’s again-delayed album Queen .

” You know how narcotic it would be if Nicki bring out ripen material ?” predicted the tweet from Thompson.” No dazed shit. Just wondering on past relationships, has become a boss, afflictions, etc. She’s touching 40 soon, a brand-new direction is required .”

Nicki apparently appreciated the tweet, took special exception to being referred to as” stroking 40 ,” and launched into an acidic denunciation over what was fairly innocuous evaluation. Thompson would subsequently screenshot a direct message she received from an indignant Nicki Minaj.

” When ya ugly ass was 24 u were propagandizing 30? I’m 34. I’m touching 40? Lol. And what does that is therefore necessary to do with my music? Eat a dick u hating ass hoe ,” Minaj DM’d Thompson on Twitter.” Got the gut to have a trini pennant on ur sheet. You must not have heard the Pinkprint. Or lozenges n tonics, Bed of lies, save me, my recent peculiarity with Alicia keys, Tasha cobbs. Just say u resentful I’m rich, acclaimed rational, moderately and start! But wait! Leave my pellets! Tired of u sucking them .”

Once Thompson announced the screenshotted send, Nicki’s swarm jumped. They provoked Thompson across every social media platform, and even texted her cellphone. They encountered Instagram pictures of her daughter. Thompson lost an internship for a music blog and numerous targeted the paw at Minaj. Meanwhile, her superfans assaulted the 26 -year old in every digital platform they could occupy.

” Hello, unemployed gloom skin pitch-black guttersnipe bitch ,” read one e-mail from a fan designated as willam daish to be submitted to Thompson.” Why is it that it’s always the dark bitches that are so jealous and full of bitterness. I anticipate the only solution for you is to kill yourself. You are too poisonous for the world and for your child .”

In a recent Rolling Stone story about The Barbz, a Nicki superfan identfied as “Ayan” acknowledges that this kind of over-the-top piety can go too far–but seemed fluffy on just where the line is:

” Where do I draw the line? I signify, extinction is certainly a little bit too far. I feel like that is a little bit more far. However, I likewise have that devil’s advocates mindset where the line is never more far for the person that is coming at the personality. Why is it that when the fan of that notoriety is reacting that the line is becoming too far? I tend not to touch on category either, fatality and all that kinda nonsense, but I can definitely receive where they are are coming from when they do touch on those things, because everyone has their different boiling point and is it OK? No. Do I understand where the hatred is coming from? Most surely .”

This kind of hyper-defensiveness isn’t limited to pop wizards. There is a same allegiance presented to popular recreation symbols of all kinds. Granted, the spirit behind the opposition of those movie/ comic book/ video game fanbases is less about protecting the beloved practice from detractors, and more about harassing anyone allowed to join the hallowed franchise’s family tree–especially if the outsider is non-white and/ or female.

In June, it was reported that Star Wars actress Kelly Marie Tran, who plays Rose Tico in The Last-place Jedi , deleted her social media chronicles following months of online persecution from the franchise’s more obsessive and abusive followers. The backlash stimulated Nerds of Color to mobilize for Tran at Comic Con in San Diego. When the brand-new trailer for the upcoming Teen Titans movie debuted at Comic-Con in late July, actress Anna Diop was the target of an ugly prejudiced resentment online from a host of Teen Titans devotees. Diop was subjected to malevolent statements on Instagram and ongoing harassment on Twitter. She addressed the comments via a now-deleted Instagram post:

” Too often social media is abused by some who find refuge in the obscurity and withdrawal it plies: misused as a tool to persecute, defamation, and spew hatred at others. This is weak, terrible, and a direct reflection of the abuser. Racist, derogatory, and/ or callous commentaries have nothing to do with the person on the receiving tip of that ill-treatment .”

It’s become increasingly outraging to witness as it thrives more permeating by the day. The teen hotshots of a live-action Kim Possible reboot were persecuted for not according the cartoon personas’ physical dimensions to some supporters’ penchant. Future’s “FutureHive” once was believed to have spoofed the domain to onetime competitive rapper OG Maco’s site. And every week a new “stanbase” is going to great lengths on social media( and beyond) to raze some perceived “threat” online.

So what do we do about the stans? Your guess is as good as excavation. “Stanbases” have become the most difficult various kinds of internet subculture over its first year. Kudos to those co-stars, producers and purveyors who won’t allow their colleagues to be targeted by the nasty and anonymous online. In the case of aces like Nicki, loudly and consistently denouncing online provocation would go a long way toward at least describing a line for the persons who come at your uber-famous feet. Recognizing that not every critic is your person foe and no longer fanning the flames with hypersensitive overreactions wouldn’t hurt, either. But ultimately, this is about people taking some broth of themselves and their behavior. We all enjoy what we love. But going to campaign over it with strangers–especially with the force of an continual online provocation expedition is currently conducting en masse — impels you an obsessive abuser who maybe should be swiped with a restraining order. You’re a digital stalker in the name of celebrity. And that’s a nice fucking pathetic concept to be.

Read more: https :// www.thedailybeast.com/ nicki-minaj-and-the-abusive-stan-culture-epidemic-where-do-i-draw-the-line

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