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hellobunny044 · 9 months

Text

Panels. | Series

panel. in manga art, panels refers to the frame that wraps around one moment in time.

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an original Haikyū AU pairing Udai Tenma (the og little giant)

warning!! : containing some manga content.

word count : 3540

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Panel - 1

“Udai-san, this part and this one need to be reworked.”

“Which one?”

The guy with shoulder-length curly hair shifted, almost sending his chair to fly closer to the serious, glasses-guy. His face serious and his tone polite and organized, while beside him, the curly guy in his hoodie is casually listening to everything he says like an obedient puppy.

“The monologue is too long. It seems unnecessary and a waste of time. That’s it from me.”

“Akaashi-san, don’t you at least have something nicer to say to me?”

“That was the nicest I could be.”

“Geh.”

The curly black haired guy was, Udai Tenma, next to him was Akaashi Keiji, the editor.

Akaashi sighs, “There is also one thing I couldn’t agree with on the next page.”

“Which one?”

“This one.”

Following the editor’s finger pointing at a panel, Udai seriously listened to the way Akaashi specified the whole scene as ‘overly exaggerated’.

“It’s either you come up with another idea to picture the entire event, or you find another way not to make this panel look like this.”

In other words, a just-cut-it-out-of-the-page-and-good-luck-coming-up-with-something-more-worth-publishing.

“Do you think so?”

A confirmation from Akaashi had Udai nod in understanding. He takes his phone out and notes down everything the editor said while casually listening and answering what he needs to answer.

After Akaashi wrapped the discussion up, Udai casually decides, “Alright. I’ll hand it in in two days.”

“No can do.”

“Eehhh?” Staring at the editor’s serious face, Udai insistsing, “Why not?”

The editor sighed before he starts, “You have a fansign next month for this edition. Everything has to be published by the end of this month. I can only accept tomorrow at the latest, at seven in the morning.”

Udai started to whine, dropping his head on the table after Akaashi made a decision on the deadline. But to what end, though? The deadline had been decided and the dearest charming editor, Akaashi Keiji, is simply someone too savage to give a damn about anything when it comes to the deadline.

In the end, Udai did have to work hard to finish the latest edition of the manga tomorrow morning at the required hour.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Udai-san.”

Udai, with a helpless languid look, while hugging the manuscript sheet that Akaashi had corrected, turns around and stares at his editor pityingly. Still having a little determination to negotiate with the charming editor until there is a more humane leniency from him. He put on his most pathetic face in front of the editor, basically trying his best.

“If you understand, please go home and start working.”

Snorting, Udai jerks himself out of the room like some cranky bear, nearly flying, a little uprising against the unfair working hours. Or perhaps, he just hadn’t yet realized that everything is the result of his amazing skill to procrastinate and pile up all his work at one time, forgetting that he is only human and not a manga printing machine that can be pushed to go the extra mile.

But really, drawing is fun.

Since a long time ago, drawing had been an escape from fear, boredom, anxiety, and some random feelings that oftenly creeped up on him.

Whenever those unfamiliar, unpleasantly all too familiar feelings creeped into his mental frame, he would always tear up a piece of paper and start doodling. About anything. Whatever his eyes caught, or whatever his head imagined, or about some places wherever his brain took him to.

In the subtle sound when his pencil met the paper, there was the peace that flushed through, and it almost felt like he was in the heart of a serene forest. Then the chaos inside him would slowly die down.

There is peace in drawing.

Then here he was, back to the room where almost over twenty volumes of his manga were born. In a room where his pen met several strokes of paper in definite or indefinite lines, where his pen met the screen of his computer at busy hours before all those stories were brought to life as some book, namely manga, working for another extra special hour.

Udai Tenma was not a familiar name before the Zombie Knight Zom'bish manga became as famous as it is now. He was just a normal citizen, an ordinary guy living within the framework of a normal story somewhere in Tokyo.

Although he no longer yearns for those days, for those who still remember, they might recognize him better by a nickname other than his real name. Call it The Little Giant.

With that name, youths familiar with the volleyball of his day would immediately raise an eyebrow, amused, welcoming with a sky-rocketing expectation in the face of that particular figure who in his days was revered for his outstanding ability despite a fairly obvious weakness. The very figure to conquer the orange court of the famously annual national’s spring high volleyball tournament with some player known as the crows.

But those days are over.

Just like the beginning of a fiction novel, the past was left behind and the reader moves on to the next chapters, looking forward to what might lie ahead.

Udai Tenma is one of those readers who diligently turns the pages of the life story that fate had written for him.

His days as the little giant had come to an end when he decided to turn to the next chapter. Now, he is in the chapter where he is just the ordinary Udai Tenma, the manga artist Udai Tenma, living up to the result of his hard work creating over twenty volumes of manga, and is currently and will always be struggling with deadlines from his editor.

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Udai-san, the deadline is tomorrow by seven am in the dot. Please don’t be late.

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Udai grimaced as he read Akaashi’s message from the notification bar of his phone.

It’s not that he will pretend to be on a temporary memory-lost something funnier.

He is working hard.

Despite almost swallowing some of his curly strands as his mouth is busy munching some chips, his hands are busy working on what he had to fix on the entire panel.

“That damn Akaashi really is a dictator. He’s such a sadist. He really is one.”

His hands take a slight pause, scooping up a handful of chips that are almost gone on the other side of the table and feeding himself. He is busy. Very busy. Munching and working on those panels at the same time.

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Udai could barely finish the latest volume of his Zombie Knight Zom'bish.

He grimaced at the fact that the editor is a sadistic perfectionist who alwa time, valuing time too much.

Of all the things that made him grimace more was how Akashi was always she looked like a pathetic misfit every time he handed in a new script.

At first glance, while waiting for Akashi to finish scanning the revised panels with his eagle eyes that always demanded the best of the best that he, as the artist, could come up with, Udai's feet shuffled anxiously under the table as his brain roamed, thinking about whether Akashi Keiji had ever once looked as pathetic as himself right now.

When Akashi Keiji is working as an editor, the room will be so quiet that Udai swears he could hear a needle dropping from the next room. Udai was even convinced that the charming editor had stppped breathing to look for mistakes that aren't worth publishing, to make sure that they wouldn't slip away from his eyes. But honestly, if anything, Udai couldn’t ask for someone better than Akaashi Keiji of all people.

One of the reasons would be that, "There are chips in the second drawer."

Udai had a bad habit of biting his finger as he waited patiently for the dearest editor to do his job scanning over the revised book. And Akashi, surprise surprise, apparently had gotten used to that bad habit of the manga artist, so, amusingly, he prepared the chips in his drawer. Knowing well that the artist had a high level of addiction to msg.

There will always be only a chip in the drawer and that's for Udai.

The curly-haired guy swears that Akashi is probably a hero who only ate healthy food on a daily basis, probably had been sworn over whatever good and bad throughout the heavens and the earth that he shouldn't eat chips.

Witnessing the way Akaashi Keiji being such a perfectionist that he is, making Udai almost lost the last trace of worthiness in himself.

If Akaashi Keiji is just a normal human being, then it should be that Udai Tenma is just a trash.

"Akaashi-san, you're indeed the most understanding person I've ever met in my life."

"Please eat something more proper at home, Udai-san."

Munching, Udai glanced at Akashi and replied, "I eat properly. It's just that, it's not complete if I don't get chips in a day. It's like my brain's freezing."

He held the chips solemnly in his lap while gazing out the window of Akashi's room.

Tokyo was slowly getting to start its bustling, busy morning as he would soon take a rest after this all was over.

"If you eat chips and work hard for the next volume, I don't have anything to say."

"I eat chips while working."

"You've always been on more chewing terms than drawing."

"For the record, I came just in time before the deadline, Akaashi-san. Let's not forget about that."

Udai ignored that Akashi sighed just after he spoke. It was the loudest and clearest he ever heard.

It was quiet for some time until Akaashi turned the last page and all the checks were completed.

Glancing at the table, Udai was still half-chewing when he asked, “Are you finished, Akaashi-san?”

Akaashi confirms, then adds, “If there are no obstacles, the publication will proceed as scheduled.”

Udai nods, “I guess I can rest now.”

“Please.”

Udai almost complains, but instead he helps himself to stand up and excused himself. “Then. I’ll go home and rest. Ja ne, Akaashi-san. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

Udai had stepped away when Akaashi called out. So he stopped and turned back to the editor who immediately greeted him with a question.

“Are you free on the weekend?”

Udai frowns. He did not expect such a question coming from a guy at all.

“This weekend?”

Akaashi showed two tickets to Udai who was increasingly confused about what he was dealing with. “I got extra tickets for the theater show on the weekend.”

Udai paused for a moment, trying to figure out the best response in the midst of his confusion. Wait a minute. “We’re... going together?”

“No. I’m busy this weekend.”

Of course.

Udai feels betrayed by Akaashi’s flat, nonchalant answer. Something so obvious shouldn’t have been said out loud like that. And how do he explain this… he feels rejected and uncomfortable as his head went everywhere, to the most ridiculous things he could think of.

“You can go with anyone with those tickets.”

“Anyone?”

“Anyone. Someone of your friends or maybe your girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?”

Then Akaashi’s question came like a bolt of lightning, “You don’t have something like that?”

Udai laughed blandly. “No.”

His laughter was gone but a smile was forced to line his lips when he rewarded the editor with a more or less the same question. “Why don’t you take your girlfriend instead?”

“I told you I’d be busy this weekend.”

Udai was caught off guard. He was half taken aback when he asked, “You have a girlfriend, Akaashi-san?”

“Yes.”

“Eeeehh? But who?” It would not be an exaggeration to say that Udai was almost shrieking at that surprisingly unexpected fact.

But on the other hand, Akaashi was too casual about it.

“Of course it’s none of your business.” The editor responded. This time he added, “If you can’t take these tickets, you’d better go home and rest. Please reduce your eye bags by getting enough sleep and eating regularly. Your fansign is next month, Udai-san.”

Udai laughed, he shook his head as he said, “Akaashi-san, you must have been a strict nerd with an angelic heart.”

“Thank you. I don’t know if I have ever been a nerd for even once.”

“Geeeh.”

Akaashi’s brows lifted, watching the curly-haired manga artist, “hm?”

Udai turned after bowing very politely to Akaashi, forcing the editor to return the bow properly. He then excused himself politely and closed the door very quietly. Weekly Shonen employs one hell of an editor and it’s Akaashi Keiji.

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After a long and fairly strict process, the 22nd volume of Zombie Knight Zomb’ish was finally released. Reader responses were varied, but positive responses dominated. Then after all the process was over, the long awaited fansign that had been scheduled had come.

If asked about how familiar he is with fansigns—given that he is a manga artist—then Udai would honestly say that to this day he is still unfamiliar with some interaction with fans or fan service in modern words.

At his first fansign, Udai barely said anything and just kept his head down, focusing on the part where the fans came to ask him to sign their books. It wasn’t until Akaashi came whispering to him, telling him what he should say and do when his fans came, that Udai improved.

It wasn’t just a newfound nervousness. Since long time ago, Udai had never been very good with people. He had never really grasped the full feeling of being attached to his surroundings. Or maybe, he had, but only briefly.

Today, however, as the manga artist Udai Tenma, when he was confronted with fans lined up to wait their turn for just a few seconds with him, he had to overcome that weakness of his.

Sitting behind the the table was Udai, dressed more neatly than usual: not in a hoodie or plain t-shirt wrapped in his usual dark jacket, but in a light blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair, well... his hair remained in its usual style. Only, this time, he tried his best to avoid Mr. Akaashi always-demanding-the-best-of-what-one-can-give Keiji protests by styling his hair a bit neater.

From beside the desk where he sat, it was Akaashi who stood watching him like an owl from time to time.

“Good afternoon, thank you for coming and reading Zombie Knight Zomb’ish!”

In front of him was a quiet middle school student, reminiscent of the days when he was a student: the aloof, hostile, not really stood out, high-schooler Udai Tenma.

Udai wrote down that fan’s name after he spelled it and signed in the same place as where he signed it to the fan before him after learning that he had no special requests. Just like that, the youngster excused himself quickly from the spotlight. Udai was intrigued by the bit of the past that the fan brought before him, catching a little fragment of himself that used to hate attention in more or less the same way.

His smile lingered as he greeted the next fan who was surprisingly excited to meet him. Without prompting, she expressed her thoughts on his work. It was always pleasant to hear some people express their likeness about how good his works are, but to hear someone passionately declare an addiction to his work was something quite ridiculous and amusing.

Just before security let the next fan in, from behind came Akaashi who commented, “At least that person won’t be having an msg overdose.”

Udai still had a chance to reply, “Come on! It’s not that I’m addicted to some weirder things.”

“Alright. Please turn around and say hello to your fans, Udai-san.”

Udai returned to being the manga artist his fans had been eager to meet.

“Good afternoon. Thank you for coming and thank you for always reading Zombie Knight Zomb'ish!”

Udai didn’t expect that someone would talk about anything other than how much they loved and appreciated his work. He did not expect that the day would come when one of his fans would say something about him.

“Seeing you in person really amazed me. You have a very handsome face and a very sweet personality.”

“Eh?”

Udai almost stopped when he realized that of all people, he was the one who objected most to what was said about him instead of feeling grateful that one of his many fans was saying nice things about him in person. No, instead he was amused at himself blushing over the unsubstantiated accusation.

He swore he wanted to say something in his defense if only their time was not up and he had to attend to the next fan immediately. In the end, in a low tone under his breath, Udai said, “You must have the wrong person.”

Behind him, he caught an amused huff that made him take the time to slightly threaten the dreamy editor through his gaze. He had just enough time to return before the next fan arrived, more than enough to hear how the first thing the fan noticed was that the very editor standing behind him had a cute face.

That was definitely not something new. It was no secret that Akaashi had a charming face that attracted attention from the moment Udai first met him. As a man, Udai admitted that Akaashi had everything that made him worthy of being called a handsome man: a certain amount of coolness, a charming face, a serious and hardworking tendency in everything he did, a dexterity that he picked up from his days as a setter at one of Tokyo’s powerschools, and a fashion sense that was definitely a ladies’ delight. But definitely not with how fans express Akaashi Keiji in their dictionary.

Udai swore that he desperately had to hold back his laughter when the fan said that Akaashi looked like a baby owl.

If only Udai had enough time to pull out his cell phone, he would have taken a picture of Akaashi blushing. A super rare sight.

From then on, after the fansign, Udai started bringing up the fan’s words. It was clear to see how the strict editor Akaashi Keiji was caught off-guard by a fan praising him out of the blue.

At lunchtime, Udai didn’t stop teasing Akaashi about it, being so serious when stating that soon, the editor might be getting his own fans, or might soon be holding his own fansign considering that, at the end of the fansign, some fans had gathered and questioned whether the editor-san could get into the photo.

After quite happily colonizing Akaashi with the childishness he suddenly developed at the last minute, Udai excused himself and went to the toilet.

When he finished, Udai was walking at a leisurely pace. But fate wrote something different by still making him bump into someone even at the most leisure pace he took, even when he made sure that he paid attention to his surroundings this time.

Right in front of the corridor, a cell phone fell to the floor, followed by its owner he had just bumped into who immediately bent down to apologize and immediately followed to pick up her cell phone at the same time as Udai who also rushed to grab the phone for her.

Udai did not immediately get up when his eyes caught something he did not expect. Something unfamiliar yet familiar and warm in his memory. He stopped when the person he bumped into walked past him.

The sound of her footsteps gradually moving further away from her back, then stopped.

Seconds slowed in his world. The bustling sounds of the shopping center were drowned out by the silence that suddenly erupted through this unexpected coincidence. His heartbeat slowed down as if accounting for every second that passed. Inside his head, questions about this and that swirled around. He was not exaggerating anything to say that his world had once a blizzard. When the voice came, the snow in his world melted away, forcibly driven away with the unfamiliar warmth of spring bursting from the bottom of his chest when the voice rang in his ears.

“Udai... san?”

There were a few seconds that he missed before he helped himself to turn around, welcoming a presence he never dared to expect to be anywhere before his eyes.

His world turned into a black and white panel as all the color he knew returned to the girl.

“You’re... Udai-san, right? Udai Tenma-san. Right?”

Udai knew what name he would call, what he would say when his senses reconnected with that presence. Her.

He swallowed, swallowing all the feelings that came together in this unexpected encounter, trying to stem them with a little courage to open his voice.

“Sasaki?”

Sasaki Tsubasa, the one who is staring at him with a glimmer of newly flushed pleasure in her eyes. Her smile amused. Her eyes warm. Steadily, not awkward like him, she helped herself to face him properly.

“Oh. It’s really you, Udai-san.”

The time her smile bloomed, his world that once was a black and white panel, turned colorful. Just like when cherry blossoms bloomed during the first day of spring, she was there to color everything again.

“Thankfully, I didn’t get the wrong person.”

—

next chapter coming soon.

#udai tenma #the little giant #manga artist udai tenma #udai tenma the little giant #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #udai tenma x female oc #udai tenma and akaashi keiji #weekly shonen akaashi keiji #haikyu angst #my story #haikyu manga reference #haikyu post time skip #tenma udai #haikyu au #original story

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bad-hellaverse-ideas · 2 years

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I’m trying to take a break from interacting with the fandom but I really had to get this theory out.

Another user was talking about how long “Hell years” could possibly be, and it’s an interesting question. However, they came to a VERY different conclusion than I did. They took evidence from king Solomon that it had to be 118 earth years.

Personally I don’t like using old texts as my main evidence since we’ve seen multiple times that Vizie changes things from them. I don’t find it to reliable enough to use. I use it for inspiration at most. Just because something happened in mythology, doesn’t mean it happened in this universe. Every adaptation is like that. Not saying others can’t use that stuff, it’s just not my style. So I will strictly be looking at the show itself and the Hazbin Hotel pilot.

First up, let’s make a few things clear:

Many cultures have their own calendars systems. It is possible that Hell years might be something similar to that since the original inhabitants probably had their own system before sinners started appearing.

Sinners probably still use their old system, and as such, both Earth and Hell years are common and valid forms of keeping track of dates in this world.

I believe Hell’s technology growth mimics Earth’s. While the other theory countered this with the fact that it could be the other way around, it’s just headcanon based and I will be following my own headcanons until proven otherwise. I also have a counter to this in one of my upcoming points. Besides, with all the sinners coming down, especially with their spot on the higherarchy, it just makes sense to me that they have an influence on Hell’s culture.

This isn’t me trying to go “grrr other theory bad!” No, I just got the idea from it, and I like discussing theories. I actually really enjoy that person’s blog and if anything this is mostly me having fun and wanting to spark discussion.

Alright, let’s get to it!

The clock tower

While pilots are often changed, I don’t think the lore will change that much so I still think it’s worth bringing up.

Either this shows that Earth years are a common system down there. I don’t think exterminations would be following Hell years if they are longer. With population control, they don’t wanna wait too long otherwise that would give them more work. However, IF, by the chance that they are following Hell years…this just confirms it’s the same as ours and “Hell Years” is just a title that refers to what marks a year in Hell since it ain’t rotation around the sun…which would mark this post as completely useless. Still, it is the only thing we see referencing a year, and thus, it’s worth noting either way.

Loona’s adoption

Two points come from this one: her age, and the photo. Let’s talk about her age first, since her age was referred to as “hell years” outside of the show.

Loona mentions she was almost 18 or something when Blitzo adopted her. Meaning this picture would be set a few hell years back. Now, notice how this picture has color. If he’ll years lasted an exceedingly long time, it would either be in black and white or there would be no picture at all. Meaning, Loona had to grow up in modern times.

Alastor’s manifestation and influence

To quote Vaggie: “Decades ago, Alastor manifested in Hell”

It’s unknown if she’s using Earth time or Hell time, BUT we do get evidence that Hell’s tech mimics ours.

Alastor was a radio host in the 1920s-early 30’s. When he came down, that radio trend was still alive and very popular. Like Vox, he took over the radio. The point of reflection to our world comes in once you consider their rivalry. Alastor is old school technology, he had his day, but Vox came around once TV hit and radio was left in the dust. I mean it’s all about video killed the radio star with them.

If Hell’s technically was ahead of us, why would this happen? Why is it that radio was popular down there at the same time it was on earth? Why would TV blow radio out of the water when going on that logic, it would probably already exist? That would really throw a wrench into their plot line and narrative.

A glimpse into the 1950’s

In Alastor’s official comic, it’s the earliest we’ve seen of Pentagram City. One thing I wanna note, I believe that some sinners like to hold onto the past, so no matter what year it is, there will be people with old fashioned clothing, objects, etc. But we do know this comic AT LEAST takes place in the 1950s because that’s when Vox came to Hell and to power.

If Hell’s tech didn’t mimic ours, I find it odd how things that fit the 50’s, and nothing like cell phones and crap that we see throughout the show. Even the only car we see is an old model

I don’t think this is a 50’s car. I don’t know shit about cars but the wheels don’t look 50s to me, it look more 40’s or 30’s, maybe earlier. BUT, this car isn’t modern, and in a society that advances way before ours…it’s just odd that we don’t see any of it.

Young Charlie picture

I’m sure we’re all familiar with the look and aesthetic of Stolas’s childhood. It looked the same way it does in the show, as to be expected from the childhood of someone in their 30’s.

Charlie is over 100, I think 200?? While there are what looks like to be paintings, there is what looks like a photograph.

All dressed up and ready for the titanic. This is clearly a very old picture, based on both the Edwardian clothing and colors. This makes sense considering how old Charlie is, she would’ve been a kid back in these days. That, and we know for fact she’s older than Stolas. Her aging is clearly slower than his (though I have no doubt Stolas could live to be very old. He just ages faster)

And honestly I’d just be repeating my previous points I made in the last two sections.

So, what do I think?

I still think Hell Years are different than Earth years. There’s no way I can narrow down to an exact length, BUT I don’t think Hell years are absurdly long or short. They’re different, but not completely unfamiliar, much like calendars in other cultures, or years on planets like Mars or Venus.

So, really this post is just me speculating and talking about things that caught my interest. I hope Vizie tells us eventually. I also hope this inspires everyone to come up with their own takes and headcanons.

#helluva boss #hazbin hotel #hazbin #headcanon #helluva boss theory #hazbin hotel theory #theory

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away-ward · 10 months

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hi, i’ve always been too shy to comment or send asks before but i’m making this my first bc i wanted to let you know how much i appreciate your work! i read your hell yeah fanfic a couple of months ago & when i stumbled upon it again recently & found a whole master list worth of fanfics added, i was super ecstatic & read all of them in one go hahaha

my personal favourites are reality & arrival <3 reality bc their conversation in the carfax room was so in line w their characters, it just re-emphasised how much i wish we got more of willemmy outside of blackchurch. having a scene like that in nightfall would’ve really grounded them as a couple in the present. all the snippets from the first three books plus the high school chapters of willemmy were such good buildup only to have the willalexaydin bs instead 🤧 anyways, i have a soft spot for arrival too. to have the damon & indie dynamic play out like that makes so much sense! damon & will already have such a strong & unique bond so for will, of all his friends, to have the first girl in the group would definitely make their relationship extra special.

on a side note, your post abt aydin being a few years older than canon made me lose my shit btw since i completely agree 😩 whenever i’m in my devil’s night brain rot, i always pictured him like 6 years older especially w how penelope douglas was trying to portray aydin & emory together. oh & your timeline for the character’s ages made me happy! it never occurred to me for will to be the oldest of the horsemen (which i’ve seen a few ppl comment on). given his may birthdate, i just assumed he was born the following year after michael, kai, & damon were. i mean, it makes sense right?? he’s the baby of the four. i could be wrong but then that would mean damon is the youngest which i refuse to imagine for some reason given all the shit he’s been up to 💀

this post is getting longer than i expected & i could probably continue rambling on but i just wanted to thank you again for your contribution 🙏🏽 this fandom has practically a drought in fan fiction unless it’s for second gen but seeing as kaibanks & willemmy (my biases) were done dirty in the series, your account has truly been such a gem to follow.

It’s nice to hear from you!! I’ve definitely been on the fence about whether to reach out to someone or not but I’m so happy that you decided to leave this message. It really made my day.

I feel that ‘reality’ is the closest I’ve ever come to getting Em and Will right. I also a snuck in a few references that are dear to me, so it’s special in my eyes, despite its needed edits. It was originally a request, so I can’t take all the credit for it, but I’m just so I’m happy that it’s one of your favs.

And ‘arrival’ has been a personal HC of mine for a long time. It took me a while to get out onto a page, so it’s great to hear that it’s struck home with others too.

A lot of my fics are borne out of that ‘we didn’t get to see this in the book but we should have’ and ‘what would have happened if…?’ feeling. Having had the chance to speak to other fans, I know I’m not alone in that, so it’s nice that so many people are finding my fics...fulfilling? I know other writers could do better, but until then, I’m happy to be around to fill a void.

Ahhh! The aydin age thing! Thank you! Anytime Aydin’s age is brought up in NF I’m like, ‘no you’re lying. You’re, like, 32/33.” But nope. He’s 26???? smh. Missed opportunity. It could have done so much for his character to just age him up a bit.

Regarding the timeline…as much as I would have loved for Will to the oldest…I think he is the baby. For clarification, I think Michael, Kai, and Damon were born in 1994 and Will in 1995. I didn’t want to give actual years in the post because I think the vibe that PD was going for was a timeless/infinite ‘this could be taking place at any point in time’. except for the points where they put in things that would date the books, the years and timing were purposefully left vague. I didn’t want to take that away by giving concrete dates. But I stayed up til an ungodly hour on a work night, going over this stupid timeline with a friend who has never read the series because trying to untangle it in my head was driving me absolutely nuts. So I had to record it somewhere.

In the chart, they all start the school year the same age* and then end the school year the same age, but within that nine months, it goes Michael, Kai, Damon all before Devil’s Night on October 30th, the new year, and finally Will in May.

That being said, at one point we did get stuck on whether Will was actually the oldest and I loved what it did for his character too. If at some point, he got held back a grade, it would go to why he’s a bit insecure, feels like he’s the dumbest in the group, and doesn’t trust himself to act on his own. I kinda wish Will had some sort of learning disability like dyslexia or ADHD because I think it would contribute to his lack of interest in school and strengthen his addiction storyline. None of that is canon and I don’t HC that it is. I just kinda wish it was there…

But according to my calculations, Will is the baby of the group, and of his family. That, along with his privilege, can also explain why he is the why he is.

Also Damon being the youngest would be hilarious and I wish it were so.

No worries, I as a wordy rambler myself, I appreciate everything you had to say. Feel free to drop by any time. I talk way too much, but it’s nice to get this devil’s night brain rot, as you so accurately termed, out to others who understand.

Thank you so much for your message and have a great day!

*well, if the school year starts in August, which some places in the US do. Others start in September, in which case, Michael will already be the next age up at the start of the year.

#asked and answered #devil's night series stuff #the horsemen of devil's night #my writing #timeline #ages #asked and answered 14

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reading-wanderer · 2 years

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A Compendium of Magical Artifacts

Chapter 9: Cage of Eternal Flame

Prompt: Burn

AO3 Link

[It takes you a while to find the page in question— it’s actually something like thirty seven pages Before the Nevermelt Ice page, oddly enough. You’re still kind of grumpy about it. All the pages seemed to have the right pictures with them, how had they managed to keep those together but not pages referencing each other? You knew the book wasn’t in order, but you had hoped that it would have at Least been After the Ice page. You’re starting to think it might be worth taking the book apart and rearranging some things when you finally decide to get out of this comfy chair, brave the busted up castle, and take it home in… probably less than an hour you decide after glancing out the window again. Finding this page took a lot longer than you expected. For now you just read the passage you spent all this time hunting down.]

Name: Cage of Eternal Flame, the Core of the Unfaltering Flame

Description: The cage looks like an old bird cage— round and tall with thin bars. The whole cage is pure flame and does not appear to have any kind of ‘door’. (Considering the cage’s captive is never meant to leave, it makes sense.)

Known Abilities: The cage is said to be made from the core of a fire ghost that somehow managed to take on the primal essence of fire and win. They were the only creature that could stand up to, and finally beat, the ghost known as Frozen Death. Their fire is said to be the hottest in existence and they could burn the entire Infinite Realms to ash were it not for, originally, their will and protection-based obsession. Now that they have been reduced to nothing more than a containment device, however, it is only the opposing element of the cage’s occupant that keeps the fire in check.

Location: Currently held in Molten Core by the Living Fire clan of ghosts.

Notes: While the ghost “Frozen Death” is spoken of with nothing but malice and anger by the fire cores that guard the cage, the “Unfaltering Flame” appears to be like a deity or hero to them. Their accounts of his exploits tend to be much more flattering despite how often they seem to include the ghost accidentally burning things around them and being forced, both by circumstance and other ghosts, to fix their mistakes.To me, it seems as if both ghosts, fire and ice, were out of control and could only be brought back into control of themselves around each other. It would be nice to be able to speak with an ice core clan to see if they have any stories of the duo that might give a more complete picture, but unfortunately the Yetis are the most powerful and oldest of the ice ghosts in this part of the Infinite Realms and they don’t seem to like me for reasons beyond my understanding. Perhaps there could be some kind of library in this Sector unaffiliated with either group. I will have to look into it later.

[Disappointingly, there doesn’t seem to be any more of the story written down or any other reference to the parts of the Nevermelt Ice notes that were ripped off. Now that you know that the pages are scattered worse than you had first thought, you think you might actually be able to find it elsewhere as you look through the book. Of course, even if you don’t find it, there’s plenty of other items in the book to keep your attention.]

#Ectoberhaunt22 #EH Chaos #Day 6 #Burn #reader writes a thing #Danny phantom

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therubymuse · 2 years

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Dissociative Identities, A Roundup

Coming to realize I have DID was both a slow-burn discovery and a headlong collision into myself. I have the history of familial trauma, both physical and psychological, and so from an early age, the original alter, the child, has been present, and she has come forward in times of breakdown and stress, and I didn’t understand who she was or why I no longer could hold back her emotions. Looking back there are several formative encounters with her that shaped our relationship now.

But another event also pushed me into awareness, and that was weed trip I took a few years ago in the presence of my partner. I had taken edibles before, and never felt much, so one night in the lead up to dinner, I took one 10mg edible. But what I learned is that edible weed can have considerable psychotropic effects on me. A friend of mine says what I describe from this event sounds and feels a lot like an acid hit. I dropped completely off the earth, and traversed some places I’d never been. My partner talked me through it isolated in a bedroom. She says she spoke to dozens of us, and I believe her. So after that event, I started taking stock of things in my life.

And I realized I had been losing a lot of time. Sometimes I’d go for a drive and not remember how or why I ended up where I did. Sometimes three days of work would go by and I wouldn’t remember barely anything outside of my commute and bedtime routines. One of my alters straight up bought a car after work one day, drove us home, and I didn’t remember the next morning what had happened. I thought my old car had been stolen until I found the keys to the new one in my purse and a folder of paperwork in my backpack. I never dared to tell anyone any of this. I know that, by and large, institutionalization is no longer a looming threat, but I still felt that stuff like this was so bizarre that they’d make an exception.

So I started writing things down. Thoughts that seemed out of character. Time I couldn’t account for. Dreams that I couldn’t understand. And I started to get a picture of who is here, and form identities and find names for them. And I allowed myself the grace to do this without having the inner critic tear my ideas down and call me crazy. Here’s what I found.

The child’s name is Coral. She’s around seven or eight years old, and she holds a lot of emotional trauma and some physical trauma. When I become hysterically upset, it’s often Coral expressing what she can’t anywhere else. And until this year, I didn’t really have a figure that was able to take care of her. I had to learn to mom parts of myself. And the mom figure that has emerged is Rainbow. She’s about my age, late 30s, and her aesthetic is the chubby mom. I find her presence really helpful, not just for Coral, but for all of us, because we didn’t have a healthy relationship with our blood mother. Then there is Ramona and Alastor, the two protectors. Ramona is like a tough punk dyke. If a fight is worth having, she’s going to have it, and so when someone is rude or disrespectful it’s often her at the ready with a face full of defiance. Alastor is a fictive, a term I’ve learned for alters who are fictional characters. I had to work a lot on Alastor to come to terms with him, because I didn’t think it was possible for a fictional character to completely encompass an alter’s persona, but here we are. He’s dramatic and will also defend the system but where Ramona has limits, Alastor has none. He is connected to a lot of the shadow work we do in our witchcraft, which is where he draws his power. He is at once one of the most charming and most dangerous elements in the system.

Lastly, there are two muses, Yorkie, and Francesca. Yorkie is very loosely in reference to a character in the Black Mirror episode San Junipero, but unlike Alastor, she does not embody that character, it’s more that she embodies the aesthetic. While all of the adult alters are lesbians except Alastor, Yorkie represents the awkwardness and angst of our second puberty the strongest. She is gay longing and quiet rebellion. And then there’s Francesca. She is also a muse, but unique in the system, because she is actually a manifestation of a past life I discovered years ago but, like much of my dissociative discoveries, I hid away for years. Fran was born in 1951 and spent the majority of 20s in the 1970s. She wears flowing clothes and large hats, and carries herself like the nameless love interest in Al Stewart’s song Year of The Cat. Incense and patchouli and large plastic framed glasses. Through Fran, I have access to memories and spaces that are razor sharp but that I couldn’t have possibly lived through, as this body was born in 1986. I know she passed in 1982, suddenly, but haven’t found the reason. She is the source of our powers of intimacy and fashion. And combined with Lily, the placeholder and our system’s home, that makes the Leroux System.

#dissociative identity disorder #mental health #alters #dissociative system

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textribe · 3 months

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Difference Between Afterward or Afterwards

When it comes to understanding the nuances of English language, even small variations like "afterward" and "afterwards" can spark curiosity. Both terms are adverbs, commonly used to indicate a sequence in time or events. While they are often used interchangeably in casual conversation, there are subtle differences in their usage and context that are worth exploring. AspectAfterwardAfterwardsPart of SpeechAdverbAdverbDefinitionRefers to a time or event that follows anotherSimilar to "afterward," but often considered more formal or literaryOriginMiddle EnglishMiddle EnglishPronunciation/ˈæf.tər.wərd//ˈæf.tər.wərdz/Common UsageUsed more commonly in American EnglishPreferred in British EnglishVariants-Afterward (less common variant in American English) Difference Between “Afterward” and “Afterwards” Definition of Afterward "Afterward" is an adverb that denotes a time or event that follows another. It's typically used to indicate what happens following a particular action or event. For instance, "He went home afterward" implies that going home occurred following a preceding event. Definition of Afterwards "Afterwards" shares the same definition as "afterward," serving as an adverb to indicate subsequent events or times. The primary difference lies in its usage context, being more prevalent in British English and often perceived as slightly more formal or literary. Origin of Afterward The term "afterward" finds its roots in Middle English, evolving from the phrase "afterwarder" which meant 'more toward the rear' or 'later in time.' This term has been simplified and streamlined over time to its current form. Origin of Afterwards Similarly, "afterwards" also originates from Middle English. It is derived from the Old English word "æfterweardes," which translates to 'after' or 'behind.' Over time, it has been adapted to its current usage and spelling. Pronunciation - Afterward: Pronounced /ˈæf.tər.wərd/, this term emphasizes a clear, concise sound without an additional 's' at the end. - Afterwards: This is pronounced /ˈæf.tər.wərdz/, with a noticeable 's' sound at the end, distinguishing it from "afterward." Comparing Afterward and Afterwards While both "afterward" and "afterwards" are correct and interchangeable in many contexts, their usage can vary based on geographical location and stylistic preference. "Afterward" is more commonly used in American English, whereas "afterwards" is the preferred form in British English. This difference, however, does not impact the meaning or comprehension of a sentence. Usage in Sentences with Explanations Use of Afterward in Sentences - After the movie, we went out for dinner. – Here, "afterward" indicates what happened following the movie. - She cleaned up the kitchen and took a nap afterward. – Demonstrates a sequence of actions. - He said he would call me afterward, but he never did. – "Afterward" is used to refer to a time following a specific event. - Afterward, we realized we had forgotten our bags at the restaurant. – Shows a realization occurring after a preceding event. - The lecture was boring, but the discussion afterward was interesting. – Contrasts two different time periods, highlighting the interest in the latter part. Use of Afterwards in Sentences - We decided to go for a walk afterwards. – Indicates a plan for a time following a prior event. - Afterwards, she understood why the decision was made. – Refers to gaining understanding subsequent to an event. - The concert was great, and the meet-and-greet afterwards was even better. – Shows an event following immediately after another. - He mentioned that he would be busy afterwards. – "Afterwards" here refers to the time following the current conversation. - Afterwards, the streets were deserted. – Paints a picture of a scenario following another event (e.g., a festival or gathering). Conclusion In conclusion, "afterward" and "afterwards" are both correct and functionally similar, differing primarily in regional usage and slight stylistic nuances. "Afterward" is more common in American English, while "afterwards" is preferred in British English. Understanding these nuances enhances one's ability to use these terms appropriately in different contexts. Commonly Asked Questions - Is one form more correct than the other? - No, both "afterward" and "afterwards" are correct. The choice between them often depends on regional preferences or stylistic considerations. - Can "afterward" and "afterwards" be used interchangeably? - Yes, in most cases, they can be used interchangeably without altering the meaning of a sentence. - Do "afterward" and "afterwards" have the same meaning? - Yes, they both refer to a time or event that follows another. The difference is largely in their usage across different forms of English. FAQ What is the difference between "afterward" and "afterwards"? There is no difference in meaning between the two words. Both can be used interchangeably to mean "at a later time." How are "afterward" and "afterwards" used in a sentence? Both words can be used to describe events that occur one after the other or events that are widely separated in time. For example, "Jane went to church and then attended the coffee hour held afterward/afterwards." Is there a regional preference for using "afterward" or "afterwards"? Yes, there is a general regional preference. "Afterward" is more commonly used in North America, while "afterwards" is more commonly used in British English and Canadian English. Can I use either "afterward" or "afterwards" based on personal preference? Yes, ultimately, the choice between the two words comes down to personal preference. Use the form that sounds better to you in your writing. Read the full article

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kazemi-archive · 5 months

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let me start with tw: discourse. tw: vent. tw: mentions of sexual harrassment.

tl;dr: i got my name dragged through the mud by a mutual who lied about our relationship and took all my friends from me. who lied about my character and targeted people she knew she could turn against me in order to leave me all alone. who set the progress i'd made on my self-worth, people pleasing, and trust issues back years. and i refuse to take this into the new year with me when i've been carrying it for so long.

to the people who stood by me through this, truly heard my side and were witness to the evidence of this all happening… thank you for consistently reminding me that my existence here is okay.

i'd really like to leave this all in this year, so for the last new moon of 2024, in the light of new beginnings and wiping the slate clean... let me get some things off my chest.

i started this blog in 2022 and it happened to be a really hard year for me. the second half of the year left me single after a 2year relationship, a breakup that also left me homeless for a month. this community did so much for me, giving me friends i could talk to and count on that made me happier. it meant the world to me.

that all got ripped away from me in 2023. all the anxiety that took me so long to get rid of when it came to interacting reset fully.

let’s start from the beginning of it all

in october 2022, a mutual of mine came back into tumblr after a hiatus. her name is Lina. (you may know her as her past users @/tsukina @/celcero, @/zorotits @/millionsknive, @/trafaligar, or her current users @/mrscorazon @/mylaw)

we were extremely close before she left and picked right back up. at the end of october, she confessed her feelings to me and i confessed mine back. i thought things were fine, we didn't pursue a relationship but we flirted all the time and were well aware of the feelings that existed. below are messages of when i thought maybe feelings were possible before we confessed and our actual confession.

(i skipped some messages for the sake of her privacy about personal issues because although i owe her nothing i won’t expose those things)

i started making more friends, closer friends in this time. in december 2022 lina suddenly and without explanation to me, stopped speaking to me as frequently and although it hurt, i didn't push it much, especially since when she returned to conversations it seemed like all was fine. i was brought into her discord server and we would talk in there frequently as friends, never cluing people into how we spoke but she would tell me she loved me and tell me i was hers constantly during our personal conversations.

i did have a few friends on here in this time that i confided in. some getting details from the beginning, having consoled my original freakouts when i realized i had developed feelings for Lina and sticking with me. they were there when i cried about thinking i’d done something wrong when Lina hadn’t been talking to me and wondering if i’d somehow been annoying or overstepped somewhere. for a while i also spoke to a friend from here and had gushed about the good things about Lina. that friend was Maple. that is, until Maple also stopped speaking to me as much.

the last time that Lina told me she loved me (to my recollection) was on new years. it was an hours long conversation that included many voice memos that i can’t post here but here are some screenshots of those messages in question. (for reference about what i'm about to say after i understand its a lot of pictures but its important to me that you understand what our dynamic was at this point)

in february of 2023. the day after submitting to an appearance matchup game for Lina’s blog, i woke up valentine’s day to find that she had blocked me with no explanation. on everything. every social media we had together. (i never checked our imessages but i assumed there too.) not only her, but her online best friend at the time had blocked me as well.

i spiraled trying to figure out what i had done wrong and knowing that i probably would never know. i didn't want to cross boundaries of friends and force them in between us by asking them to ask her and i didn't want to cross her boundaries by reaching out that way either. any friend that found out she had blocked me i had assured that i did not want them to confront her nor did i want them to try and choose a side because what happened between me and here did not have to affect our other mutuals.

this seemed to do nothing to keep her from doing the exact opposite though. within a month... besides Lina and the original other, i was either blocked or soft blocked on everything by 4 other mutuals i had in common with Lina with no explanation. i then lost two more in the same way in the next three months. all of those i lost were close to Lina more than me, at least they had been in recent times. i also was asked to leave the server with this as my only explanation:

(this message was deleted within the hour and i was instead just kicked from the server) i had been effectively excommunicated from the friends i thought i had with no explanation. and i would get no explanations until august 2023.

around april of 2023 i became closer to two mutuals that were also her mutuals. this was Cherry (now @/tonedtsumu) and Peri (now @/bunnyperi). i met Cherry originally in Lina’s server but had really started talking to her after another mutual of mine had brought her into my server. Peri and i met when one friend wanted to include her in the small group of friends i had that we all thought were supportive. after getting to know each other, i finally confessed to Cherry and Peri about what had happened in the past few months and how i had never found out what i'd supposedly done. i’d told them about the fact that it left me with a lot of anxiety, thinking every sentence i spoke was wrong and how i’d pulled away from a lot of people on accident because of this anxiety.

Peri and Cherry at the same time they got closer to me, got closer to her. Peri originally found this strange, telling me that Lina had never attempted reaching out to her as a mutual until they had become more actively interacting with me on tumblr. Peri was invited to Lina’s server to play fortnite when they made the joke that now they could “be the inside man and find out what happened.”

i was repeatedly promised by Peri that if they found out why i was blocked by everyone then they would finally tell me and that nothing they would be told about me would ever affect our relationship. i was also repeatedly told that they weren't "that close" to Lina and her new small group of friends. i felt that i was just being anxious thinking we had started to speak less and convinced myself i was being dramatic. i found out later, however that all of that was a lie as well.

in july of 2023 i took a trip that had been planned for months. the goal was to meet two mutuals of mine before flying to meet Peri and Cherry. before i got to my second destination, i was informed that Peri had gotten an explanation of why i was blocked. previous to this moment, i only had a vague explanation from one person that Lina had said i’d “crossed a boundary” but that she was very nondescript while explaining that.

Peri admitted that Lina had told them the following explanation: Lina claimed that all of my feelings were one sided. that when she noticed i had romantic feelings that she tried to take a step back but i kept lying to Star and Maple about the things Lina was saying to me. and then, that i’d sent a picture that was “too booby” for her appearance matchup and that was a crossed line she couldn’t ignore and she blocked me. (now, this is a picture i have used in many matchups and i was unaware it was ‘too much’ had i known that, i never would have sent it.) she told Peri that she then told this recount of the events to others and they decided to block me because it was “creepy”

i had issues with this story because although, yes, Lina had been distant a bit before i was blocked, she had continued telling me she loved me and my feelings were not "one sided" like she'd claimed (as seen by the screenshots i included above from only a month and a half before i was blocked)

however, i then learned that this is not the only story that Lina told people. Peri went on to say that Lina had told Cherry that i sexually harassed her for months before she finally blocked me. (i can only assume that her story changed for every person)

knowing this made me extremely nervous to visit Peri and Cherry. however, the plans were already made and i was hoping that i could get the chance to defend myself in person.

during my time with them, there were times that i thought my anxiety was just getting ahold of me too much. even feared that they would block me the second i left and they were just waiting for it. i was assured, however, by them that everything was fine on multiple occasions and i chalked it up to my new paranoia over friendships.

all my fears were justified when the morning after i arrived back home at the end of july 2023, i woke up blocked on everything by Cherry. i was heartbroken but i didn’t know what to do, i didn’t have emotional energy to bring the conversation up to Peri yet, or to even really talk to anyone much. especially when i noticed Peri slowly cutting the ties between us one by one. by august i was blocked by Peri as well. both had given me no explanations. and both were now closer to Lina.

august was mostly spent on the couch crying and trying to figure out what had happened. Being incredibly distraught about friendships, believing i didn’t deserve any friendships and worrying that all my friends would somehow blame me for this drama and i would just be bound to lose everyone one by one until i was alone.

finding out Lina had adjusted her story about me for every person left me feeling extremely hopeless. especially when no one had tried to talk to me and give me the chance to show my proof of my side. finding out that Lina said, even once, that i had sexually harassed her was incredibly heart-breaking to hear. the hundreds of text messages and voice memos of her confessing to me and saying she meant it as more than a friend. her asking me to move to her. her telling me how she wanted to kiss me and undress me and the sexual comments she made towards me that i specifically chose to ignore because she'd only get sexual when she was drunk and i didn't want to cross a boundary reciprocating that while she was influenced. having tried so hard to preserve her relationships with people and defend her while she had no problem lying about my character in that way made me feel so broken.

i could have more to say about how she treats the people she calls friends and go on, but i will leave it at this for now and say this:

to lose people from lies, to get excommunicated from a community i found safe, to have the progress i'd made with trusting people get set back by yeeeeaaaars by one girl. one girl who decided to turn people against me for reasons i'll never get to know. the amount of nights i've cried myself to sleep over this, considered deleting my blog over this. the fact she dragged it out for 6 months. i open tumblr fearing i've lost another friend. open discord fearing i've been blocked with no explanation. i hope i can one day but i’m honestly not sure if i’ll ever be able to open one of these apps and just double check i still have mutuals or that people i thought i was close to haven’t randomly unfriended me.

she took all our mutual friends from me. well, took them or dropped them. while i so desperately tried to keep to myself about it, not wanting something that happened between her and i to affect her and other people.

tumblr should be safe for people. it should not be a place where we accuse people of doing things that they didn't. it shouldn't be a place that we fear coming to. it shouldn't be a place that stirs anxiety within us.

and god. to Lina. to the ones who left me after i confessed things to them. the ones who made me trust them that they would tell me what happened then lied to my face... truly i hope karma bites you in the ass.

if you read all of this; i apologize for airing my shit on dash but this needed to get off my chest before the new year. (i will be turning off anon for the time being. if you would like to reach out you may do so privately).

#cw.discourse #anons will be turned off for now and simply block me if you dont like what i have to say #𓇻 information

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mayermayer65 · 2 years

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hermes crocodile birkin 9

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theawesomeaki-kun · 2 years

Photo

An artstyle meme of my childhood inspirations! Drawn from 2016年. I butchered a lot of them but, close enough :’)

Ridiculously lengthy description from DeviantArt:

You can find the blank template here: fav.me/dalsfkf

If you're using it, make sure to tag me so I can see your work! ;w;

Okay, so, I've wanted to do this for a long time now. xD

Took me 3 days to make, but holy flying potatoes, it's all worth it. My younger self can rest in peace now. ; n ;

There were a bunch of art styles I wanted to try to mimic but I decided to cut it in sets and start with this one for now; a set as a tribute to the art styles that helped me develop and improve my very own from the beginning of time--Featuring my male OC persona [*at this time lol], Akihiko Shourikawa.

I'm aware most of these are anime adaptions (thus pure cell-shading with my coloring)and perhaps the company that animated the series did some changes on the original art style, but eh. I think the spirit of the original art style's still there haha

I also thought of including other series that have been part of my childhood like

Cardcaptor Sakura,Yakitate Japan,Samurai X,Slam Dunk,Yamato Nadeshiko, Special A, Kaichou wa Maid-Sama, and Ranma 1/2 but those weren't really much help in my art style's development (that, or I just really couldn't attempt to mimic their styles x'D)

And so, here's 11 art styles that made it in this art meme that I owe a lot with my own from childhood.

The hyperlinks will redirect you to the author/artist's and series' information, as well as the character's picture that I used as a reference for drawing.

Oh and this lengthy lengthy description per art style is just a bit of my reflection, perhaps with some really old drawings of mine occasionally linked here and there to see how they influenced me haha it's too long, carry on if you must xD

GOSHO AOYAMA ( Edogawa Conan fromDetective Conan ) This is one of my very first anime series, and it scared the living lights out of me while simultaneously making me feel like aiming to become a real detective someday.(Buuut reality's a douche, real life detective work ain't that fun, and I got no brains for it. Dreams shattered.) What intrigued me the most was the way the nose was drawn in the series. Noses in animes were usually triangular in shape, but this one has a literal triangle as a nose. XD It had a very distinct art style that was very easy to mimic for me, and helped me with mischievous facial expressions like the symbol smirk Shinichi/Conan usually does in the show. It is much, much simplistic compared to the other art styles, but it's very memorable and neat.

NAOKO TAKEUCHI ( Tuxedo MaskBut I used a different character as reference hahafromSailor Moon ) This one brings me back to good 'ol days haha. I remember being addicted to Sailor Moon at one point and some other similar shows like Sugar Sugar Rune and I made (or attempted to, anyway) my own Mahou Shoujo story...it's giving me the nostalgia and cringe. .v. Anyway. Her art style was certainly girly, but I liked it. The earliest memory I have of this is basically sparkles. This might as well be where my love for sparkles originated haha I didn't do very good in imitating it, but I tried my best. xD Akihiko's hair wasn't the easiest to emulate into Sailor Moon's style. And I was trying not to imagine the kimochii face meme, but failed midway. I am so sorry Naoko Takeuchi.

HIROYUKI TAKEI ( Yoh Asakura fromShaman King ) Because of an older sister, I've been influenced and made fun of from watching a lot of shoujo/mahou-shoujo animes. But there was also a point in my life where it was all pure Shounen. Shaman King is part of that. xD Aside from the characters themselves in the series, I found the art style cool; The eyes were barely anything special and it was only black fill with a bit of circle lighting on an upper portion (for the most characters), but it looked cool and even much more expressive compared to some anime styles that have full detailed eyes. And for the lols, enjoy this and this and this Shaman King fanarts I made when I was...8? 9? 10?? Basically really really weabish and kiddish orz to make you feel good about yourself and your art. Dear lord. xD

YOSHIHIRO TOGASHI ( Killua Zoldyck fromHunterXHunter ) You cannot talk about HunterXHunter without hearing me fangaying into the distance. Jk, I just really love this series. The actual show aside, the art style was...honestly, okay. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't really that good either. But it shined the best in its best moments in the anime. Oh and I'm talking about the 1999 version one, btw. x'D After some years went by and just recently I replayed the series, and it inspired me a lot. There was one time in class I doodled and it came out kiiiinda similar to Killua and Gon and this one random OC that I made while thinking of Komugi from rewatching the series over and over too much. JK who am I kidding, there's no such thing as rewatching HxH "too much", amirite. And I really love Killua. Hhhhhhhiatus.

BISCO HATORI ( Tamaki Sou fromOuran Highschool Host Club ) Wow, I made Akihiko look bishie with this style o-o; Anyhoo, hands down, this is probably my most favorite reverse harem anime/manga. Outside the show, I didn't really find the art style all that appealing at first; it looked like the short and thin style similar to most shoujo stuff like Special A and whatnot. But I eventually saw the beauty of it; the gracefulness and smoothness of the style was pleasing to my eyes and I eventually loved it. I did make a fanart of the group from 2 years ago, buuut it was 'eh' xD I might as well remake it sometime. As for what it contributed to my own style, I can't think of any obvious traits but from this style, I've learned that eye highlights can also be placed at the bottom lol (because I always see them on the upper left or right and I just went with that ever since. xD)

RUMIKO TAKAHASHI ( Inuyasha fromInuyasha ) This one was the first anime series I ever binge-watched. It also influenced me the most when I was just starting with drawing, along with the series Ranma 1/2, also made by the same person. But the style I mostly absorbed was the one on Inuyasha's. My oldest drawings got burned but the ones I saved that had the most prominent Rumiko Takahashi-style influence was this and this. My eyes are cringing to death. I was like 6 or 7, dammit. Anyway, this style in general, now that I look back to it, wasn't the best. It had the old feel most 90's animes do, but it was still very memorable and still displayed coolness with Inuyasha's best moments in my memory.

AKIRA AMANO ( Sawada Tsunayoshi fromKatekyo Hitman Reborn! ) Tsuna isn't the coolest shounen protagonist, especially from the beginning of his story. Characters like Yoh and Gon were already intriguing and gave off a 'cool' feeling since the very first episode, but Tsuna was...no good. xD I always found the style on Tsuna's character a little too girly and unfitting, and it was sorta annoying at first. But when later arcs came along with other characters, I saw the variety in Akira Amano's art style; The cuteness of the arcobalenos and child characters, the girlyness of most female characters and the coolness of characters like Hibari, Lal Mirch, and especially Tsuna's dying will mode. It was amazing, and I aimed to have that sort of variety in my own style, too. I'm still struggling with that goal, but I'm slowly working on it. xD

PEACH-PIT ( Amu Hinamori fromShugo Chara! ) Oh. my. god. This was the shoujo series I got most hooked at. I was so obsessed with this series that I made so much fanart for consecutive years. Like this and this and this and ooh, this and of course this one. What can I say, I loved this series when I was a weabkid and I still love the art style up until today. I aim to make mine as cute and neat...and so far I'm failing, but I'll slowly get there. xDD And now I can see how a lot of its art style influenced my own. It's kinda cool and weird to see lol And Akihiko turning into a full shota xD

MIN AYAHANA ( Chacha fromAkazukin Chacha ) It's one of those silly old animes I really enjoyed and loved. The cute art style complimented the show very well. I found it to be similar with some other animes that aired in its time (around the 90's, I guess? I dunno, I was born in 2000 sooo... xD), but this one had bigger eyes and bigger mouths. It was...odd, but super, duper charming and cute. xD It helped me a lot with chibi expressions and developing my own chibi style in general.

YANA TABOSO ( Ciel Phantomive fromKuroshitsuji ) Yana Taboso's artstyle is one of the prettiest art styles I've ever seen. I first saw the anime, and it was great. When I took a look with the manga, holy crapola the art is just as good, if not, even better. It's unfortunate that I butchered it. XD I AM SO SORRY YANA TABOSO, I'VE DISGRACED YOUR HOLY ART STYLE-- I didn't really absorb much with this style, ( Even though I wish I did, I should revisit this series =w=; ) but upon watching the series, there was a dark time for me when my art style was changing and so confused from my desire to be alike to this style, kinda like this and this. Dark times. But I surely want to further study this art style.

And lastly, but definitely not the least,

AMY LUONG( Teddy Emmick from @Pacthesis Games (Specifically, Chrono Days Sim Date) ) Where do I even begin. Amy's my flash hero, as well as the reason why I pursued digital drawing and told my parents "Hey, I think I want a drawing tablet". Aside from spending most of my adolescent days playing her games, (wait, am I still considered adolescent now. I'm confused xD)I also splurged in attempting to make my own. It's still in the works, but hey, it's slowly comin'. xD I think this was unconsciously done by my brain, but now I can see how kinda similar my art is from hers. She's definitely one of the most biggest impact on me and my art as of today.

And so, if you got all through that, congratulations haha

And a big thank you to these artists, even if they'll never see this, they're the reason why my art is how it is today. And I wouldn't be drawing if it weren't for them. Please do check them out if you've got some time! They're wonderful and inspiring artists and creators. ^^

AND I'M SO SORRY FOR BUTCHERING YOUR STYLES OMFG I SWEAR I DID MY BEST ; A ;

Welp, now that this is done, I'm gonna go rest and start on my pending stuff haha

I'll probably make more of these, the next batch being art styles of some close drawing buddies I got.

But that's all for now, and I hope you have a great day! > w < )/

~ How about you, who were your childhood idols and inspirations? ^^ ~

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lillywillow · 3 years

Text

Swapped

Summary: When you lose your grandfather’s pocket watch, you pick up a stranger’s compass by mistake.

Word Count: 1096

Square Filled: Steve’s Compass

Pairings: Steve x Reader

Warnings: Maybe the tiniest bit of angst if you squint

@star-spangled-bingo

When your grandfather passed away, one of the things he left to you was his pocket watch. It was worth quite a bit of money but to you, that didn’t matter; it was the sentimental value that was important to you. Your grandfather received it on his 21st birthday, he carried it throughout his time in the army and because of that watch, he met your grandmother. The watch held a picture of her inside. You carried it everywhere with you, keeping it in pristine shape. Your grandfather’s pocket watch was your most prized possession.

...

One afternoon, you were in a big rush to catch a particular store before they closed. You were in such a hurry, you didn’t notice when a person walked into your path, causing you to collide, sending both of you to the ground.

“Ow...” the man groaned.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry!”

You scrambled to your feet to help the stranger up. He smiled sheepishly and got to his feet. You were both dusting yourselves off when you realised you were missing something. The pair of you searched the ground in a panic before picking up your lost items with a sigh of relief.

“Oh, shoot! Now I’m really late!” you cried, running off once more. “Sorry again!” you called over your shoulder.

...

Later that day, you took out your father’s pocket watch to check the time when you realised something. The photo of the woman inside the lid was not your grandmother... and this was a compass. Panic rose in your chest. Why did you have this object? You suddenly remembered your collision earlier in the day. This compass must have meant just as much to the man as much as your compass meant to you. He would be long gone from the place you bumped into him but you knew you had to return it to him.

...

Steve had a bad day. He didn’t sleep well the night before meaning he didn’t get up in time for his usual morning jog, nor did he make it to his favourite diner before they stopped serving breakfast, the training session with Nat later in the day had been brutal and to top it all off someone in the park ploughed into him. Steve didn’t really blame the stranger but he was tired and cranky. Wanting to feel a little better, he took out his compass to look at the photo of Peggy only to find not only was this not his compass but the woman was not Peggy. Why did he have this pocket watch? The abrupt crash in the park with the stranger entered his mind. He must have picked it up then by accident. Maybe Stark could help him track down the watch’s rightful owner using facial recognition or whatever it was they used nowadays.

...

Using the newspaper clipping as a clue to the mystery woman’s identity, you were deep into your research, completely forgetting your original mission. Peggy Carter truly was an amazing woman with incredible accomplishments. She was definitely the type of strong female role model you looked up to. You jumped as your phone rang, the sound pulling you from your thoughts.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hi. Um... is Y/N L/N?” a male’s voice asked on the other end of the line.

“Yes, it is. Who may I ask is calling?”

“My name is Steve Rogers. I think we bumped into each other at the park... literally.”

“Oh, it’s you! I’m so glad you called. I have been doing research to find the rightful owner of the compass... how did you get my number?”

“I have a friend who helped me track down any living relatives of the woman in the compass. I called your father first and he gave me your number...”

“I see... Well, shall we meet up? I imagine you’re just as anxious to get your compass back as I am to get my watch back.”

“I am...”

After arranging a time, a place and what you would both be wearing so you could correctly identify each other, you hung up.

...

A while later, you were sitting at a cafe nearby waiting for Steve when a man wearing a blue baseball cap and sunglasses approached you.

“Y/N?” he asked.

“Yes. You must be Steve,” you replied, encouraging him to take a seat as you retrieved the compass.

Steve sat down and got out the watch and soon the pair of you had your items back with a small sigh of relief.

“She was beautiful,” Steve remarked, referring to the photograph.

“She was... my grandfather met her in a watch shop back when he was in the service. Her father owned the shop and he brought this watch in for repairs. He carried her picture in it when he was shipped out as a promise to return to her. When he did, they were always together until the day she passed... the watch brought great comfort to my grandfather, especially when the dementia set in...”

Steve listened to your story with interest. He briefly wondered if it was the kind of story he and Peggy might have had if circumstances had been different.

“Who was Peggy to you?”

Steve looked at you in surprise.

“How did you...?”

“I used the newspaper article to work out who she was so I could try to find you. I got so distracted by everything she did; I forgot to look for any next of kin... so, who was she to you?” you repeated.

Steve became flustered and that’s when it dawned on you.

“Are you...?”

Steve looked at you, silently begging not to blow his cover.

“You really are, aren’t you?”

He nodded and looked at his hands.

“This... this is amazing,” you whispered reverently. “May I buy you a coffee? It’s the least I can do after crashing into you the way I did...”

Steve thought about it for a moment. Perhaps this was the universe telling him to move on and start a new life.

“Sure,” he smiled.

You spent the rest of your day getting to know each other better and swapping stories. In a way, losing your grandfather’s pocket watch was one of the best things that could ever happen to you and Steve could say the same about his compass.

#ssb2021 #Steve's Compass #Swapped #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america #Pocket Watch #meet cute #marvel #marvel fanfiction #Peggy Carter #Grandparents #love story

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the-scarlet-witch-22 · 3 years

Text

Chaconne (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: You are an aspiring concert violinist who attends an audition for the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra, under the new direction of famous conductor Agatha Harkness

Word Count: 4.2K

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NBNquKkKcF4

A/N: Hello! This is an AU fic heavily inspired by one of my favorite tv shows Mozart In The Jungle. This is going to be at least 3 more chapters, and I already have the second part done so it should be uploaded by the weekend. Also, I added a link to the piece that is heavily mentioned throughout this fic. It’s not necessary to listen to it before reading (or at all haha), I just thought I’d add it in for anyone curious :) Hope y’all enjoy! Please let me know what you think, and my inbox is always open for any questions. Also: I do not own Mozart In The Jungle...Jeff Bezos please do not sue me.

You rushed through the bustling streets of Manhattan, silently cursing yourself for not getting a cab. Not that it would’ve made much of a difference; rush hour in the city was horrendous no matter what form of transportation you chose. But at least you would have been sitting in an air conditioned car and not running through the crowded streets. You tightened your grip on your violin case as you hurried across the street, destination clear in your mind.

You had been finishing up your final private lesson of the day when you received a call from one of your old college friends. They informed you to drop everything you were doing, not literally because that would include your very expensive and very fragile violin, and hurry down to symphony hall because one of the first violinists in the Manhattan Symphony had sprained her wrist and they were holding open auditions.

A part of you knew the odds of being selected from hundreds of the best violinists in one of the most affluent cities for music was slim to none, but you also knew you had to take this chance. It’s what you had been working so hard towards during undergrad and grad school, and it would be nice to have a more...stable job. The Manhattan Symphony Orchestra was one of the greatest and well respected orchestras in the world, and you would kill to earn a chair.

You ran faster than you had in months, and made a mental note to add more cardio to your basically nonexistent workout regime because wow, you were out of shape. Rounding the corner, you quickly dodged running into other pedestrians and could see symphony hall a block away. Despite the burning in your lungs begging you to stop running like a mad woman, you picked up the pace and sprinted to the building.

Ever since you started playing the violin you swore to anyone who would listen that you would play in the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra. Your siblings would always ask for concert tickets to see their favorite band, or sporting tickets, but you always begged your parents to take you to the symphony. While your siblings hated it and complained how long and boring it was (and the outrage that they weren’t allowed to bring food inside), you were enraptured by the entire experience.

You fell in love with the sounds of Dvorak, Beethoven, Brahms, and Tchaikovsky. Sitting in the concert hall you waited in anticipation to watch the musicians who had spent their entire lives preparing for that moment; to pour every ounce of their soul into their instruments. Ever since the moment you stepped inside your first concert hall at the young age of five, you knew this is where you wanted to spend the rest of your life.

Shaking those thoughts aside you hurried through the building to where the blind auditions were being held. You silently thanked whatever genius came up with the idea of a blind audition, because you were a mess after running over twelve blocks from your apartment. Following the signs on the walls, you found the warm up room, but was surprised to find everyone packing up.

There were over a dozen people of various ages, and you noticed one of them crying. A woman around your age noticed your disheveled appearance and sighed. “If you’re here for the blind auditions, they were cancelled.”

You felt your heart drop. “What? Did they already find someone?”

“No, because the new conductor is a total psycho,” Someone else said angrily. “She kept yelling about how we’re all wasting her time and she’d rather have her pet rabbit play New World Symphony.” He motioned to the girl who was sobbing. “And she told Megan her tone was so bad that she would personally throw her violin into a wood chipper so no one would have to suffer through her performing again.”

The new conductor he was referring to was one of your favorites. Agatha Harkness. She was beloved throughout the music community and had many fans, but you had heard rumors of her hard work ethic and ability to make people cry in under a minute. You thought back to your undergrad violin lessons where one of your professors told you that your tone while playing Mendelssohn sounded like a dying donkey. Musicians were often times very blunt.

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“A bit?” The guy rolled his eyes. “This job isn’t worth it. I’m going to audition for the second violin chair in Iowa. It might not be as great of an orchestra but at least their conductor isn’t the devil incarnate.”

As the others continued to pack up, you still felt your gut twisting at what could have been. Feeling rejected, you left the room and saw the back entrance to the stage open. From a quick glance around it appeared the hallway was deserted, so you quickly ran through the door, violin case still in hand.

Time came to a stand still as you walked on stage and stared into the seemingly empty concert hall. You dreamt about this moment more times than you cared to admit. There was something so peaceful about being on stage. Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes and pictured a scene you had spent years dreaming about. Realizing the opportunity to play in this hall wouldn’t likely come again, you made the split decision to open your violin case.

Staring at your violin, you briefly wondered if this was a good idea. But, you silently argued that no one else was around, and besides, you did run half a mile to get here. It would be a waste to not play and appreciate the gorgeous acoustics. Plus you could feel your fingers aching to play something, anything, to let out the feelings of disappointment from missing the auditions.

Gently pulling out your bow, you applied a generous amount of rosin before grabbing your violin. You took a few minutes to tune, and the moment your bow hit the strings you felt a shiver at how the sound bounced off the walls. You went through a condensed version of your normal warm up and played a few different scales before debating on what piece to play.

Although your friend had briefly explained the audition would be sight reading and then playing excerpts from Dvorak’s New World Symphony, the auditions were over and you wanted to play something else. It wasn’t the flashiest piece, or one of the better known violin concertos, but it felt right. Vitali’s Chaconne arranged by Charlier. You had originally learned the gorgeous piece during your junior year of undergrad for a concerto competition and it had quickly become a favorite.

Clearing your mind of everything but the music, you closed your eyes and began to play. Your bow swept across the string, producing the opening g-minor chord. The melodic sound rang through the empty hall and you felt your heart ache at how good this felt. It had been a while since you had the time to play this piece, but it was like it had been no time at all. Your fingers danced across the strings and you felt all the uneasiness leave your body.

While this wasn’t the most complex piece you had ever played, it required your full attention. The chaconne was structured as a simple sixteen bar phrase that was rephrased and dallied up with different techniques and melodies which made it easy enough to memorize, but hard enough that you needed to focus on the pattern your fingers made.

With every movement of your bow, every run you made up and down the fingerboard, you were letting out the pain and sadness you felt radiating through your body. It was hard to put into words how playing the violin made you feel, but the best explanation you had come up with was that it was your salvation. There was no sweeter medicine than performing. No matter how out of control life was, how bad things got, your solution was turning to music. It saved you.

As you neared the end of the piece, you felt your bow arm gently ache and you knew you had to have complete focus if you were going to hit the upcoming octave slides that led to the double stops of doom. Octaves were never a violinist’s favorite technique, and they were your own personal kryptonite. You had rather tiny hands, which made the stretch from your index to your pinky rather difficult on a good day. You changed the position of your hand to make the reach to hit the upper octave, but briefly winced when you realized you had fallen flat on the lower note.

You ended with a flourish of your bow on the final g-minor chord and let out the breath you had been holding in. You stood there for a moment, soaking in the afterglow of your performance and enjoying the quiet that radiated throughout the spacious room. Just as you went to clean off your violin and leave before you got kicked out, you heard the sound of slow clapping from within the hall. The hall was dimmed and you saw a figure sitting far up in the upper rows. The mystery figure continued clapping and they stood up and walked down the steps towards the stage. There in all her glory stood Agatha Harkness, the newest conductor of the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra.

“Not bad, but your octave slides could use some touching up,” Agatha offered as she stood at the bottom of the stage. “You tend to go flat on the lower notes.”

You felt your breath hitch as you saw the famous, and apparently very scary, conductor staring at you. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was still here.”

“Ah so you aren’t here for the auditions?” Agatha questioned, arching an eyebrow up at you. “What are you doing here then, breaking and entering? I’d hate to have to call security on you.”

“What? No, no I’m not...” You stammered, feeling your cheeks turn red. “I came for the auditions but I was told they were cancelled.”

Agatha laughed, and you noticed how it was more of a cackle. “They were. But believe me dear, I’m sure you would have done the same if you were in my shoes.”

“One of them said you threatened to throw their violin in a wood chipper. Isn’t that a little mean?” You pointed out.

“You did not have to listen to that imbecile butcher the opening of Mendelssohn,” Agatha argued, folding her hands across her chest. “Throwing her violin in a wood chipper would be the least I could do to ensure no one else suffers hearing that disgrace of a sound ever again.”

You stifled a giggle that threatened to escape. “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

Agatha waved her hand in the air. “Maybe. But you,” she pointed a finger at you, intrigue colored her features. “You were good. Vitali’s Chaconne is a personal favorite of mine. Everyone always chooses to play Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major, or Mendelssohn, or Brahms, or something big and flashy. I’ve always preferred a more subdued piece like Vitali. Violinists don’t take enough time to appreciate the beauty of a chaconne.”

You stared at her in disbelief. Almost no one had even heard of Vitali’s Chaconne, but she did and it was her favorite. “Thank you, Miss Harkness. I-“

“Ah ah ah,” Agatha waved a finger to silence you. “I’m not finished. You were good, but not great. Your octave slides were flat. Your bow hold is giving me a headache, you need to relax more. Your vibrato is too fast, we need to work on slowing it down. Didn’t your teacher ever tell you that? And don’t even get me started on your opening chord.” She eyed the younger woman before continuing. “But despite all that, you have promise.”

You were speechless. She wasn’t yelling at you? “You think I have promise?”

Agatha nodded. “Which is why I’m offering you a job.”

“I got the position?” You smiled. “I can’t believe it.”

Agatha’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not ready to play with the Manhattan Symphony.”

“But you said you were offering me a job,” you repeated the words of the older woman.

“And I am. As my personal assistant,” Agatha explained as if it was the most obvious answer.

“You want me to be your assistant?” You said in disbelief. “Miss Harkness I’m not so sure if I’m qualified-“

Agatha cut you off again. “If you’re serious about being a violinist, especially being a violinist in my orchestra, we need to work on your technique. Natural talent only gets you so far my dear.” She shrugged. “And I may have just fired my newest assistant for being entirely incompetent.”

“I don’t know what to say,” You admitted. This certainly isn’t how you expected your day to go.

“I’m not going to force you to work for me, dear,” Agatha drawled out. “You can walk right out that door and continue on with your presumably simple and boring life.”

“And if I stay?” You prompted, already knowing what you were going to choose.

Agatha slowly walked up the steps of the stage and approached you. “Well then I’ll have my work cut out for me. As will you, darling. I’ll be working you quite hard.” You blushed at her suggestive tone and she smirked at your reaction. “Blushing already? I’ve barely even started.”

You cleared you throat before nodding. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Then let’s get started.” Agatha smirked. “This is going to be fun. Now, let’s take it from the top.”

Working for Agatha was interesting. She was very hard to read, and you could never tell if she was mad at you or if she was just in a mood. You had spent the past few weeks helping her prepare for the first symphony rehearsal of the season. Granted you weren’t doing much to help, all she was asking you to do was make copies of parts and to organize folders for each section.

Today was different. You entered the mostly empty building with a drink holder containing two cups of coffee in one hand and your violin case in the other when the sound of Agatha’s heels came click-clacking down the hallway. From the moment she rounded the corner, you could tell she was in a foul mood.

She was mumbling something incoherent but she stopped when she spotted you. “You’re late.”

You chose to not comment on the fact you were an hour early and instead carefully set down your violin case to hand her one of the cups of coffee. “Bad morning?”

“Hayward is an asshole,” Agatha seethed. “I had the entire season planned out but he thinks I’m not appealing to our investors.”

Well that explained it. Tyler Hayward was CFO of the Manhattan Symphony Orchestra and was a Grade-A asshole. You only had a few interactions with the man but they had all been quite unpleasant. He was less than pleased to discover Agatha had fired the assistant he hired and chose to hire you without consulting him. Luckily Agatha had all but kicked him out of her office and told you to come to her if he gave you a hard time.

“How is Dvorak’s Symphony No. 9 not appealing to investors?” You asked in confusion. “Everyone loves The New World Symphony.”

“That’s not the problem. He thinks I’m playing it too safe with the soloists,” Agatha explained and you thought of the soloists selected thus far. You could see how they would be safe options, but who doesn’t love Joshua Bell?

“But it’s too late to get out of those contracts without losing money,” You pointed out. “Does Hayward not know that?”

“Oh believe me, Hayward always gets his way,” Agatha spat out, and you noticed she appeared to be growing angrier. “He’s still mad I was voted in as music director by the board instead of his choice for the position, so he’s punishing me. And now I have to deal with Maximoff.”

You made a mental note to address the first part about Hayward later when Agatha wasn’t as grumpy, but grinned at the mention of the famous pianist. “Maximoff as in the Wanda Maximoff? She’s-“

“A wild card and not the soloist I envisioned having,” Agatha finished for you, glaring at the mere thought of the woman as you both walked towards her office.

“But she’s an amazing pianist,” You argued, remembering the one time you had the opportunity to watch her perform live with the Royal Philharmonic. “The way she plays is beautiful, and magical, and-“

Agatha growled and glared at you, picking up the speed she was walking at. “And she has no control. She doesn’t listen to direction and thinks she’s always right. Her ego is her downfall.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Wow, that sounds absolutely nothing like you.”

Agatha let out a laugh but still sent you another glare. “Don’t push it, darling,” Agatha warned you as she unlocked the door to her office. “I am nothing like Wanda Maximoff.”

You rolled your eyes after she turned around. “Right. So I’ll take the Beethoven parts out to make room for Wanda’s piece?”

Agatha sighed and combed her fingers through her wildly curly hair. “Well I’d rather just tell the little Sokovian princess she’s not allowed anywhere near my orchestra. But since that would be frowned upon, yes put the Beethoven back. Her agent should be emailing us the parts later today.”

You set off to prepare the dreadful task of reorganizing each folder while Agatha studied different scores. She had her baton out and was mindlessly conducting as she went through the fourth movement of the Dvorak. Over the past few weeks you had started to fall in love with watching her conduct. There was something so mesmerizing by the way she could bring different pieces to life with the mere movement of her hands. You watched her right hand lightly grip the baton and noticed the position of her fingers lightly grasping the silver object while her blue eyes scanned the score.

She felt your staring and smirked as she continued conducting. “See something you like, dear?”

Blushing furiously you went back to your task of sorting music, but every once in a while you allowed yourself to take a break to watch Agatha conduct, and although she smirked whenever she noticed, she didn’t make any more comments. Eventually you finished the work and put the folders away while filing the Beethoven in the cabinet.

“Good, you’re done,” Agatha said as she stood up. “Now it’s time for my favorite part of the day.”

You internally groaned and realized what she wanted. “Where you make one of the interns cry and go get lunch?”

“Close, dear. But no.” She motioned to your violin case. ��Come.”

This was your least favorite part of the day. Now, you were used to receiving constructive criticism, and even just good old fashioned criticism. Over the years you had less than kind violin teachers, and you shuddered at the memory of Stefan throwing a chair across the room when you only had three pages of Mendelssohn fully memorized two months before your recital preview. He kept yelling in Russian that he would not be the first faculty member to have a student fail a preview. Or the time Jacqueline caused you to have a panic attack right before your sophomore year concerto competition because she didn’t ‘like your stage presence’ and went on some insane rant, and then yelled at you more while you were sobbing. Ah, the fond memories you had of college.

But there was something so intensely nerve wracking about performing in front of Agatha that it made all of those encounters seem like fun and games. You weren’t sure what it was about the woman, but there was just something about her presence that constantly had you on edge. What made it ten times worse was that Agatha seemed to be aware of the effect she had on you, and did whatever she could to make you blush.

You took a few moments to tune your violin and roll your shoulders back while Agatha made herself comfortable in the audience, but you both knew she wouldn’t stay out there for long.

“Now darling,” Agatha called out from her seat. “I want you to remember what we’ve been working on. The first impression you set when your bow hits the string needs to be dominating. I want to feel like you’re pinning me down on the stage. Make me want it.”

You stared at her incredulously and shook your head, trying not to visualize what she just said to you. “Right...pinning...dominating,” You murmured as you straightened your stance and took a deep breath. Setting your bow on the string, you made sure it was positioned at the frog.

“I can see you tensing from all the way out here,” Agatha said in a mocking tone. “Do I need to come up there and help you relax?”

You knew her coming anywhere near you would do the opposite to relax you. “Nope. Just stay where you are!”

“Oh, are you the one giving orders now, my dear?” Agatha teased as she slowly got out of her seat and made her way towards the stage. “I’m just trying to help. You need to relax your shoulders, otherwise you’re going to end up with a hunchback.”

“I like the Hunchback of Notre Dame,” You offered weakly as you watched her stalk her way up the stairs, her heels clicking up each step.

Agatha rolled her eyes. “Of course you do.” She closed the distance between you and put her hands on your shoulders. “You need to relax.” She examined you closer and arched an eyebrow. “And breathe, my dear. Unless you want to fall in my arms.” You had taken to staring at the floor of the stage until you felt her hand gently cup your chin, forcing you to gaze at her. “Am I that hideous to look at that?”

“Ha, you’re so funny,” You managed to get out before taking a deep breath, and once again tried to relax your shoulders.

Despite your best efforts, you still felt tense, and Agatha noticed it as well. Letting out a gentle huff she moved behind you and began to rub your upper back. “Jeez, have you ever had a massage? It seems like you need one.”

“That’s a bit above my current pay check,” You quipped and blushed when you heard her responding chuckle.

“If you’re asking for a raise, you’re going to have to do better than that,” Agatha replied, her breath tickling your ear and sending delightful shivers down your spine. “You need to let go, darling. This much tension in your shoulders will do too much damage to your posture.”

She hit a particularly hard knot and you couldn’t help but moan at the sensation. You thought you heard Agatha mumble something under her breath but you were so lost in the sensation you didn’t ask her what she said. Agatha continued rubbing your shoulders and you slowly felt yourself relax into her touch.

“That’s it,” Agatha murmured. “Good girl.” Your eyes shot open at the praise and you heard her lightly chuckle. “Relax, dear. I could do this all day.”

Your shoulders eventually loosened up and you couldn’t help but groan when Agatha took a step away from you. “Quit your whining and play that chord,” Agatha demanded as she turned away from you, clapping her hands loudly. “I want to be wowed.”

Taking a deep breath, you fixed your stance before setting your bow back on the string. You were hesitating, and Agatha knew it too.

“Any day now. It’s not like I have anything else to do,” Agatha’s words were sharp but you knew she meant it as encouragement.

You let go of any fears you had of what would come next as you positioned your fingers on the string and rolled your bow to produce the g-minor chord. Your left wrist was loose enough to slow down your vibrato and you went through the first section without any interruptions from Agatha. As you began the next phrase you remembered what Agatha had told you about making it bigger and better than before.

“Always leave them wanting more,” Agatha had instructed her. “Make each phrase slightly different. No one wants to suffer through ten minutes of the same few notes.”

You added more vibrato for this phrase and changed the dynamics so you were growing in sound until you heard her calling for you to stop.

“Stop! Stop, that’s enough,” Agatha yelled as she walked back towards you. “That was...better.”

“Dare I say you sound surprised?” You joked causing her to glare at you.

“Fishing for compliments, are we?” She questioned, but eventually relented. “You’re getting better.”

You grinned wildly at her praise. “That was the nicest thing you’ve said to me so far today.”

“Keeping score?” Agatha mused, a smile threatening to tug at her lips at your enthusiasm. “Like I said, you’re getting better, but there’s a lot of work to do. I want to hear those octave slides and not feel like my ears are bleeding from your intonation. Chop chop.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha wandavision #wandavision #agnes x reader #agatha harkness x you #marvel au #wandavision au #orchestra au #Agatha Harkness

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 3 years

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Begrudging Allies (Aaron Hotchner x Trans!Male!Reader)

Summary: Aaron and Y/N's marriage is suitable enough, given that Aaron secretly loves men and Y/N secretly is a man. When the one year anniversary of their amicable nuptials brings forth correspondence from their estranged families, Aaron takes the opportunity to potentially make something more out of their arrangement.

AN: This is one of my entries to the "Enemies 2 Lovers" challenge set by @imagining-in-the-margins on Tumblr!

Reader is trans male and uses he/him pronouns.

WC: 2.4k words

Content Warning: References to era appropriate homophobia/transphobia but nothing actually mentioned. Two dumb fucking gay men trying to flirt.

Photo Credit // Masterlist // AO3

Your name: submit What is this?

Aaron Hotchner and Y/N L/N were served breakfast together every day they were in the house together. They sat not at opposite ends, but the seat left adjacent to them. That way, they did not have to look at each other whilst they ate. Breakfast was the only meal with which they shared each other’s company. Why make it unbearable first thing in the morning? They read the morning paper - and any post - while eating. Only the scrape of their plates and muted chewing was to be heard before the chairs scraped across the floorboards and both men departed.

Today they both received a note from the L/N household back in their old country.

“I assume your letter reads the same as mine,” Y/N dropped his beside his plate before pushing it further away.

Hotchner raised his eye from the headline that had been mildly entertaining him, “It does.”

In cursive flicks, the usual complaints of their emigration had reached his eyes not moments prior. The closing of his family’s letter however broached a new request: a photograph of the happy couple on their first wedding anniversary, specifically a recreation. The ungrateful bunch, the only remaining wedding photographs of the wedding were in their hands.

“I don’t have the dress,” Y/N scoffed and looked aside. Even from this end of the table, Aaron could see that he was trying to mask his tears from the dawn. The wedding day was the culmination of their greatest shames.

At least Aaron had tried to make the best of it, but there was no relief for Y/N until they were in their separate chambers and free from all betrothment attire.

“Suppose we should arrange for a fitting. Though how we’re going to do that without arousing any suspicion here is beyond me.” “Perhaps we can go north, find a seamstress and a wigmaker there.”

Aaron did not patronise Y/N by pretending he understood his plight. He himself had never pictured himself with a wife; worse was that Y/N had never pictured himself to be a wife.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to remain a woman?” He had said after Y/N had confessed during their third arranged rendezvous.

With venom spitting from each syllable, Y/N’s reply was one that he remembered vividly: “I was never a woman to start with.”

They were not friends, they barely spoke, but the enemy of the enemy is a friend. This sentiment made Y/N a begrudging ally.

However it did not make the occasions they had to pretend to be a happily wedded couple any simpler. Y/N did look most becoming in white, but Aaron knew that there was no worse day for Y/N than that day in the church. Any reminder was like a stake through the heart.

“I’ll arrange for the fitting,” Aaron quietly volunteered.

Y/N was quick with a brusque reply, “I can organise my own affairs.”

“Of course, but perhaps it would lighten your load if I took on those responsibilities.” Aaron paused as Y/N pushed aside his breakfast plate, his eggs now making his stomach turn. He used his newspaper as a shield, “And as your husband, I give you permission to dress how you please.”

Y/N blinked then nodded. He did not ever say thank you. That was his problem, Y/N, too proud. Too nervous to admit that he had been graciously allowed to exist like this because of his marriage to Aaron. As if that was ever any part of their agreement, both of them had blackmail worthy material. Y/N just seemed to forget that, or at least he was not the type of individual to dangle Aaron’s secrets before him like a carrot on a stick. Why Y/N thought that Aaron was that type though, he had some idea.

“A member of the bar?” was the response Aaron got from Y/N, disgust thinly veiled, upon their first chaperoned walk through the L/N estate. It must have seemed contradictory later down the line, to be a protector of the laws that criminalised his very own existence. It was not as uncommon as Y/N believed however, and there were much worse laws to break between trials than being attracted to men.

A man of his word, Aaron prepared for a fitting in the comfort of their own home. A friend of theirs was a tailor; accommodations were no economic issue. Of course, this friend did not know either of their secrets, but other than that, he was a companion who would be greeted warmly into their home.

Y/N watched the tailor from the chaise whilst pretending to be interested in a book. His eye would raise itself to see each adjustment made to Aaron’s wedding suit, which he had surprisingly kept – folded in a box at the farthest corner of the house. Then Y/N would go back to the page and reread the top few lines. Every time, Aaron would pretend not to notice. But the jiggle of Y/N’s knee, the absence of progression through the book’s narrative, taught him that Y/N was anticipating this fitting with something more positive than last time.

“All done, thank you, Aaron!” “Y/N, your turn.”

His book snapped shut and Y/N stepped up to the podium. Aaron swapped places with him without acting out the role of an aloof reader. As expected his expression was well disguised as neutral, but Aaron’s practice in law gifted him with a pair of spectacles into the soul. Y/N’s glee of the tape measure taking in his proportions was masked so that only his eyes smiled. Once or twice, the corner of his mouth ticked up, only to iron its creases out when the tailor moved into his eyeline. When asked what colour he would consider, Y/N mulled deliciously his options before selecting a gentle blue. His fingers were cautious but as soon as they touched the royal fabric offered, they fanned out and welcomed it for his new suit.

From the moment they broke apart, his hands were restless. Ticking against his teacup or tapping against his legs were two of their new favourite hobbies. Even when the suit arrived, Y/N could not keep himself still. His beautiful face was scrunched up in the mirror as he attempted for a third time to make the right knot in his cravat. The photographer was waiting for them downstairs.

Aaron sighed and knocked one knuckle to the door, “Allow me.”

Y/N rolled his eyes, “I can do it myself.”

“I know. But this knot will look better.”

Their eyes locked in the mirror, before Y/N turned around and released his tie. His chin pointed parallel to the carpet. His neck was still so as not to drop the breath he was holding. Aaron flicked with the tip of the cravat as his hands slotted it through, his focus on the column of Y/N’s throat, because meeting his gaze now was an impossible feat. They were too close for that. He bent the stalks of his collar into place then stepped back as if to admire his handiwork. But that was not at all what he really regarded.

He cleared his throat, “There.”

As Aaron removed his hands, Y/N spun to face his reflection head on. “Adequate. You’ll have to teach me that one.”

Finally, they greeted their photographer, who had set up his camera in their garden. It was a lovely day, not to be wasted inside. At least that’s what the photographer said as he unceremoniously ushered them into place and posed them to his liking. There was no instruction for how to position their faces so Aaron kept his the same as their original wedding portrait.

His plan for relaxed facial features hit a bump in the road. As the photographer ducked beneath his sheet, Y/N snorted. His hand was quick to follow and it clapped over his mouth. The photographer emerged with concerned curiosity. A strand of his combover was standing on end.

“My apologies, there was a tickle in my throat.” He pressed his lips together and ducked his head, his feet scuffing one inch’s worth of dirt before he regained composure.

The photographer tried again. Aaron could see, in the corner of his eye, that Y/N’s corners of his mouth weighed down to prevent a break but it was unsuccessful.

“Do forgive me,” He said, his voice quivering, “I remembered a jest from last week. It isn’t even worth the laughter it brings.”

Despite his detractions, Y/N kept guffawing to himself as the photographer kept dodging about his cloth and camera. It spilled from between his pressed lips like an overflowing goblet. Aaron had not heard such delight before. He would describe it as infectious if the joy in Y/N’s notes was comparable to a plague. No, this was intoxicating, a mead he would heartily drink until he too was giddy on the stuff. Y/N, clutching Aaron’s arm to stay standing, almost stumbled as Aaron bent over with equally bashful laughter.

“It would possibly suit you better if you sat,” said the photographer through a faux smile. He then ushered over to one of the benches, the one amidst the tulips, before he wrangled with his camera after them.

Seated on the cool marble, Aaron kept a few inches between himself and Y/N. Their hands took that space but waited to hold hands. Y/N was still shaking but his smile was minute now, replaced by mild embarrassment.

“It wasn’t that funny,” He said. But there was a twitch in his voice, a breath that indicated otherwise.

“No, not at all,” whispered Aaron, his head tilted against the invisible line between them.

Y/N turned, his nose pushing their boundary and almost brushing against Aaron’s cheek when he too turned to face him.

“At long last, we agree.”

Y/N’s lips betrayed him again. A bubble of laughter popped between them, letting out the smallest of smiles. Yet it shone through with such luminosity that it almost outdid the flash of the bulb as their photograph was taken. There was delight at the absence of the melancholy pose that a long exposure wedding portrait promised. Oh, the wonders of new technology.

As was with his new suit, Y/N practically waited by the door for the photographs. His hands were beyond ravenous for them by the time they arrived. They snatched at the envelope and tore with as much care as he could muster, his voice catching in the roof of his mouth as he called for Aaron.

On the chaise together, their knees were brought in close to rest the papers upon. Their faces looked as though they were carved into the paper with charcoal, smudged by an artist’s thumb. That radiant smile among it all was the centre of the photograph. Aaron noted the distance between them was mirrored in their past selves as they sifted through their options.

Then Y/N held aloft the ones for their respective families, “Sit with me while I pen the reply.”

Aaron was not usually welcome in Y/N’s study. Yet, as he pulled up a walnut wood chair with red velvet seat beside the bureau, behind Y/N’s matching one, he felt like he was in place. With anticipation, he watched the most passive aggressive comments that had ever been put to paper. All bar one was spun from Y/N’s inspiration. Aaron had but one to add and it took some convincing for Y/N to put it in his family’s correspondence – he was writing since his writing was far neater. Even so, there were a few loops of the ‘l’s that slanted when Y/N was particularly amused by something that Aaron had commented on.

“There,” Y/N said as he closed the second of two envelopes with crimson wax. As he lifted the seal, he spoke quieter, “Just a thought, nothing more, but I almost wish I could see their faces. Only the first second though.” The seal was placed in his drawer and the letters were left in the centre of the desk while one remaining photograph was selected by Y/N, “I want to keep this. In the drawing room.”

Aaron’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, “You do?”

Y/N nodded once with finality, his broad smile returning, “It’s the first time I was myself in a long time, the best I’ve ever looked! Besides, I am your husband and I say it will stand above the fireplace by the end of the week – once I find a suitable frame.”

He held it up, squinting to imagine what frame might work best with the décor. His chair itching to be closer, Hotch leant over and cupped his hand over Y/N’s so that he could see the photograph too. It stayed there, and perhaps it was his imagination, but Hotchner could have sworn that Y/N’s back slacked and swayed to the right an inch, almost resting against his shoulder beside Aaron’s.

Y/N’s quiet voice was back, “Thank you, Aaron.”

“You do not have to say thank you.”

“When are you going to stop telling me what to do?”

There was no accusation in it; it was asked as simply as one would ask for another napkin. But Aaron did not quite know how to answer.

“I don’t mean to come across as a drill sergeant,” He said softly.

“Aaron,” Y/N lowered their hands but kept them together beside his lap, “You don’t have to worry about me and what I’m going to do, just like I don’t have to worry about you.”

And what Aaron thought about being ignorant of an answer before, that became a lie. Aaron wanted to worry about Y/N, and he did worry. Not for himself or his identity being exposed, but because he did care for his husband. He didn’t want to worry or have Y/N be worried about control in their home. They should exist as equals, not in blackmail but in respect. Maybe one day, in love.

Aaron settled instead for: “My apologies. And I thank you too. It was the first time I was myself as well.”

Y/N blinked, then avoided his stare. It was a revelation therefore when he laced his fingers with Aaron’s for the briefest of squeeze and replied, “No thanks necessary. It was my pleasure.”

Then the bell tinkled for breakfast and the two men were up on their feet. Y/N was in the dining room first. He sat two away from the head of the table this time. With enough care to drag his chair loudly across the floor, Aaron mirrored that seating, dragging his cutlery and crockery into place. As they were served, Y/N swiped the newspaper before his husband could with a smirk hidden behind the pages. Hotchner poured his coffee and smiled into the brew. He was, for once, thoroughly glad that they had breakfast together.

----> ----> ----> ----> ---->

Tagging

Aaron Hotchner fics: @averyhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds imagine #r: male #r: trans male #wc: 2k+#my writing

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kiingocreative · 3 years

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The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book

There are some buzz words everywhere and, in the writing world, and it feels to me like ‘journaling’ is one of them. It’s something everyone seems to be doing.

It took me a while to build a journaling habit, and I wouldn’t say I’m quite there yet with my Journaling discipline, but whatever experience I’ve had with it has been incredibly beneficial.

What’s Journaling?

Back to the old trusted dictionary! Journaling is defined as:

To write in a journal or diary.

Simple, right?

For those of you with a penchant for etymology and random fun facts, the word ‘journal’ comes from the Latin ‘diurnalis’, or ‘diurnus’, meaning ‘daily’. In late Middle English, a journal originally referred to a book containing the appointed times of daily prayers. (If you use this as an ice-breaker at your next dinner party, please let me know!)

Nowadays, journaling is a lot more about keeping track of one’s praying schedule, and much more about recording one’s thoughts in an informal, free-flowing, stream-of-consciousness manner.

It’ll take different forms for different people, and the great thing about it is that (in my view) there isn’t a right or wrong way to journal. The only right way to do it is the way that feels right to you. As with any form of writing, craft or art in general, it’s all about individual preference, and highly subjective. And because Journaling is generally something that remains personal and private, you can do whatever the heck you want with it.

Pretty great, isn’t it?

Why Journaling is Good For You.

Based on my own experience, I’ve found a few benefits to journaling:

Pressure-free writing.

I’ve found that Journaling, because it follows no set rule and isn’t meant to be shared, is a great chance to write without any pressure. To write just because you want to write, with no other agenda than indulging in your love of putting words together on a page.

To me, writing without an outcome in mind is always liberating. It’s a chance to reconnect with your craft in way you might not if there was a clear purpose to it, like writing a book due to be published or a blog article meant to be posted online.

Experiment with your writing.

Journaling is also the perfect format to experiment with your writing, and try your hand at something new. Maybe you normally write fiction, and Journaling is a chance to give poetry a go. Maybe you generally blog, and your journal can start hosting plots and ideas for a novel, regardless of what you make of it later. Maybe you’ll want to try writing exercises—like jotting down ideas from a prompt or in a specific style. Or you could start recording dreams and memories you can remember.

Discomfort is where we grow, so putting yourself in those situations regularly is a great opportunity to expand your writing abilities and hone your skills. Who knows, there may be writing gold in there somewhere!

Never forget an idea.

I don’t know about you, but I often get ideas for my writing and beyond at the most inconvenient moments—in the shower, whilst cooking, doing the dishes, or picking up dog poop (I know, oh the glamour of a writer’s life!). I always think that I’ll remember these, but the truth is, most of them get forgotten, never to be retrieved again from the confines of my mind.

Journaling is a great way never to lose sight of an idea. My Journaling involves a lot of notes about random ideas I have for a plot, a story, a post, or life activities in general. They serve as inspiration for the future. Writing them down helps me rest assured that I can go back to that list and explore it later, whenever convenient.

Free your mind &notice trends.

One of the most important things I’ve notice happen when I journal, is that it helps me empty my mind fro ma lot of the never-ending thinking loops I tend to fall victim to. By putting thoughts down on paper, I’m able to see them more clearly, and my brain finally feels like it no longer needs to hold onto them. Jotting things down is a great way to break your pattern of thinking (or, if you’re like me, obsessing) and to allow yourself time to take a step back and look at the big picture.

Whether it’s something you’re stuck on in your writing, or in your life in general, journaling on it is powerful, especially if you do it regularly. Not only will you create more space in your mind for better and brighter things—say, your next brilliant writing idea!—but it’ll also give you a chance to notice trends and recurring themes. And that’s a great way to build awareness about your own patterns of behaviour, and start eradicating your most negative or toxic thinking habits.

Keep a record.

Performance coach Tony Robbins (yes, him again! What can I say, I’m a huge fan) says that ‘if your life is worth living it’s worth recording’. I couldn’t agree more. Journaling gives you a chance to be your own life historian. To keep track of where you’ve been and how far you’ve gone. To look back on those day-to-day accomplishments that may look minute at the time but all add up to something big and wonderful in the end.

Looking at your own existence and experience as something that’s worth keeping a record of also sends your subconscious mind a clear message: that’s you’re worthy. You’re enough. Every moment of your life has an impact, the good and the bad, and helps mould who you become.

I’d say there are few more powerful truths to embrace in your lifetime!

Getting Started with Journaling.

That’s all well and good, you might say, but where do I start?

Fear not, my friend, here are some suggestions to get you started.

1. Set a schedule — If you don’t make time for it, chances are it won’t happen, because life has a habit of getting in the way. Identify a time that works best for you—whether that’s morning, midday, evening etc.—and schedule it in your calendar, setting a reminder so you don’t forget about it. If finding time daily feels daunting or unrealistic, why not start with once a week, or a couple of times a week?

2. Make it a habit — Stick to it! Whether it comes naturally or not, be disciplined about it. Embrace whatever comes, both the joys and the discomfort of it. Set yourself a goal—every day for a week, every other day for a month etc.—and sit with it for the entire duration you committed to.

3. Set a timer — Journaling doesn’t have to take a lot of time. I tend to journal for about ten minutes at a time on average, sometimes less and sometimes more. If you’re unsure what duration to start with, set a timer for ten minutes and see what comes up.

4. Let it flow — As I mentioned above, Journaling may or may not feel natural at first. It may feel great or it may feel uncomfortable. Whatever comes up for you, let it flow. Why not journal about the sensations and feelings the experience of journaling brings up? It may end up being one thing one day and something altogether different the next. Whatever it is for you at any given time is what’s right. Be open-minded, remember this is unique and personal, and no one—not even you—should ever judge it.

The Power of Rituals.

If you’re still unsure about the value of journaling, or about getting started with it, let me say this one final thing: the most important piece of the puzzle, as with anything else you do, is defining your ‘why’—i.e. the reasons behind your decision to start (or continue) journaling. Ask yourself:

Why do you want to start journaling?

Why is it important to you?

How do you think it’ll make you feel? How do you want it to make you feel?

What difference do you think it’ll make to you, to your life, to your writing?

Clearly defining your ‘why’ and your intentions will help you maintain the habit. More importantly, understanding the value this holds to you will take journaling from a mere habit—which can feel like a chore—to a ritual of self-care. That’s the difference between doing it because you think it’s cool, or because everyone is doing it, or because you think you should do it, and doing it because you know for a fact, in your core, that this will make you and your writing better and stronger.

This will go a long way in making it more enjoyable. It’ll help you build rituals around it that are nurturing and caring. Get yourself to acknowledge why it’s good for you and why it’s pleasurable, and then set up the environment to make your journaling time feel like an absolute treat. Maybe that’s setting the scene in the room where you journal with a candle or some background music. Maybe that’s selecting a nice notebook if you’re doing this by hand, or picking your favourite writing spot, at home or beyond.

Eventually, these will all act as triggers to get you into the right journaling mindset whenever you’re sitting down for it.

And if you’re not quite sure what that all looks like for you… Well. Isn’t that a great topic to start journaling about?

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